Page 42 of Surfaces
“Hmm.” I was learning new things about this underwater world daily. Sometimes, I wondered if the learning would ever stop or if I’d always feel like a foreigner. “And what’s her attitude regarding government?”
Sahar shrugs. “It’s hard to tell. She doesn’t talk much. Lost a brother to a fishing net once though, when she was younger, so my guess is she’s not the biggest fan of sailors.”
I nodded. The odds were stacked against me then.
“Alright. Well, there’s the first set of people to know. But I’ve got more,” Sahar stated with sarcastic enthusiasm as she pointed at her list.
She really was quite fun when we were alone together. And quite socially perfect when we weren’t. Damn her for being the perfect adviser, because my plans to make her room a statuary faded.
She dug into the list, rattling off names, stations, and holdings for the next two hours until we arrived.
I was ready for my ice-cold greeting by the time she’d filled my head with a hundred facts and figures, mostly because I would at least get a cup of fermented bubble to go along with said greeting. But as I peered out the window of my carriage, past all the competitors on their dolphins and sharks, I realized that Sahar’s description of Gorgono as “competitive” had been an understatement.
The city gates were gaudily decorated in mirrors set onto gears that rotated so that the glass was constantly spinning. Someone had designed the contraption, which rose on a wooden arch above the gates, so several mirrors caught the sunlight and pitched it over to the next. The mirrors played a game of catch with light, sending beams crisscrossing over the open gate until it looked like a pattern created on a loom.
“That’s incredible,” I breathed, nose up against the glass as I tried to work out which mirrors were first in the sequence.
“That’s Gorgono.” Sahar sighed. “He’s going to try to prove to himself he’s more clever than you, so watch out for that,” she warned with a wave of her golden finger.
I nodded. “Got it. Yes. Be stupid to make him feel superior.”
She smacked my shoulder. “No! Don’tlethim feel superior. Men need a pecking order. He needs to know he’s not in charge. Just be on guard.”
She glanced over at the gate, which we were rapidly approaching. “Come on. Let’s get out and ride with the driver. The people will want to see you and wave.”
We got ourselves settled onto the narrow bench on the front of the carriage. Bortie, the driver, a siren with a spine as twisted as a piece of seaweed and wrinkles deep enough to poke your finger into, welcomed us aboard with a grin and a wink.
All the men of the tournament brought their animals to a halt over to our right, next to the entrance gate, and clambered off their mounts. Watkins was the first off and instantly, his mount shifted and they began chatting in low tones. My eyes narrowed suspiciously at the shark shifter because he was always planning something. Part of me wondered if I should force him to stay at my side so he’d never have the opportunity. But then I’d be torturing myself with h There was no way to win.
I scratched at a plankton that had brushed past my cheek, annoying as a gnat, while I watched the others.
Per the direction of a few guards, the servants stayed with the animals and all the crates full of traveling necessities. Meanwhile, the competitors fell into single file lines on either side of the carriage, as if they themselves were my guards.
I heard Felipe and Ugo grumbling about this, but they were perched on the back of my carriage, holding onto the luggage rail with one hand and their spears with the other. They were close, but not close enough for my nosy tendencies because I couldn’t make out a single word they said.
I glanced over at Sahar, who was straightening her spine and looking proper, just like I should. But mischief struck me and I gave her a grin as I shot my hand forward, announcing to the driver, “Onward, to heartache and hatred! Let’s go make people who hate me pay for my dinner.”
The driver snorted, while Sahar just shook her head as if I exhausted her. “I take back anything I said earlier about my son. You’re no longer allowed to be around him. He’s obviously a horrid influence.”
“Keelan,” I called out loudly, searching the lines of swimming competitors for him. Instead of Keelan, I saw Mateo struggling near the back, but burly blue Taft was helping him, letting Mateo lean on his arm.
I saw Humberto in line, his eyes straying over to the sharks and dolphins loaded with trunks, giving me a bit of hope on Gita’s behalf. I’d have to follow up with her later.
Valdez gave me a slow nod as he swam in formation, the competitor behind him giving him a large berth. Stavros was swimming next to Julian, instead of behind him, their conversation animated as if they were becoming fast friends. Good. I hoped more competitors formed friendships.
Keelan appeared seconds later at my right side, Mr. Whelk perched lazily atop his head. He gave me a grin, those amber eyes of his dancing merrily.
My giddiness increased once my co-conspirator arrived.
“Yes, Queenie?”
“Your mother just had the most wonderful suggestion. She thought that you all could do flips as we swim through the city to entertain the crowd. And the man with the most can sit next to me at dinner.”
Keelan pumped his good fist, displacing Mr. Whelk, who scolded him with a soft whine before swimming over to me.
The turtle settled snugly onto my lap and I patted his leathery head while Keelan asked, “Who’s judging?”
Ha. I knew it! I knew he wouldn’t second-guess this plan at all.
