“You were afraid of the shells?”
“I was afraid of what I was asking them to do,” she says.
“Are there any other rules?”
“The sirens of the past told me that we can only control physical things that have been made,” Maire says. “We cannot control things that are more elemental. Air, wind, water—you cannot control the things that have almost always been.”
“And we can control people,” I say.
“Their bodies,” Maire says. “But we cannot control their souls.”
“Is there anything else?”
“You have to be near the object when you command it,” Maire says, her tone practical, instructive. “At least that is how it is for me. And eventually your command will wear off. You and I won’t be able to communicate through the shell forever.”
She stands up. “I need to get back.”
“Wait,” I say. I’ve realized that this information isn’t just interesting in abstract—it’s useful for me now. I could use this in the tanks. “You’re saying you can command other things,” I say. “Not just people. Not just shells.”
“That’s right,” Maire says.
“And the trick is to not be afraid,” I say.
“It’s not a trick,” Maire says. “It’s the way it is. And you have to listen.” She pulls her black robes tightly around herself. “It’s time for me to go.”
She doesn’t look back. I don’t follow after her.
When I glance down at the pool, I see that all the coins have come up to the surface. They’re floating there. All I have to do is pluck them from the water and put them in my bag, if I want them. But coins sink. They don’t float. Unless—
My aunt must have told them to do it.
Maire has done something very dangerous, I realize, by teaching me so many things when she knows sirens are to be taught only under Council supervision. But what Maire’s done isn’t public. I’m the only one who knows. She’s put herself in my hands. I could go to the priests, I could tell Nevio the Minister, I could warn the Council about what she can do and what she’s said to me.
I have the power to make things very difficult for my aunt, and she is the one who gave that power to me.
Does that mean Maire trusts me?
I don’t know. But I do know that she’s told me something that could help me make it Above, alive.
As I walk to the gondola stop, I think about my new idea and try not to jangle the coin I’ve taken from the pool. It’s heavy in my pocket. When I pick up my pace to pass a group of people, I think I hear a voice, a person crying out, and I turn too fast. I slip unexpectedly and fall hard to the ground, hitting my knees and hands and sending an aching, sharp song through my bones.
A woman near me exclaims and reaches down to take my arm and help me up.
“Thank you,” I say, after a brief pause, to make sure the pain won’t come out in my voice. I’m still stunned by the suddenness of the fall. I should have been more careful.
“Are you all right?” someone else asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I don’t know why I slipped—”
And then we see it.
A small puddle of water, right there on the ground. In unison we all look up to try to find a source.
“Is it a leak?” someone asks.
A drop of water sails down from somewhere up high.
“Where did it come from?” I ask.
“I think it’s coming from one of the rivets near that fifth seam,” someone else says. “Can you see?”
I try to focus on the ribs of metal sky arching above.
A peacekeeper pushes through the crowd. “What’s the problem?” he asks.
“It looks like a leak,” says the woman who caught me. “This poor girl slipped in the water from it.”
“Don’t worry,” the peacekeeper says. “We’ll get it fixed straightaway.”
I’ve heard of tiny leaks before, but I’ve never seen one. I’m fascinated by the growing pool of water on the ground, and I have this strange desire to kneel down and touch it, maybe even taste it. Real seawater, sneaking in from the outside.
When I change into my racing suit, all I feel is focus. I have to see if this will work. If what Maire says is true. And if I am strong enough, powerful enough.
Once I’m in the water for my practice swim, I open my mouth, and I speak. Unafraid.
I use my real voice, but it sounds different under here. And of course my mouth fills with water even though I try to let in as little as possible. There is only so much you can say like this, but all I need is a word or two.
“Come,” I say.
And the fish and the eels come to me, without hesitation.
“Go,” I say, and they swim away.
I am exhilarated.
I might survive this after all.
The fish and eels are small. But if I can control them, is there also a chance that I could control the mines out there in the water? And could I tell the doors of the morgue to unlock and let me in when it’s time for me to shroud myself and go up through the floodgates?
For once in my life, something is easy. I used my voice, and it worked exactly the way I wanted. Does the water magnify my voice? Make me more powerful? There’s so much I don’t know, and it feels wonderful for the first time, instead of miserable.
I swim up and down and up and down the lane, wearing myself out, practicing telling the fish what to do.
Maire and I are not like the other sirens.
Even things that aren’t alive have to obey us.
For once I’m glad to be like my aunt.
When I get home, I look at my pile of coin and my pile of fish and I feel a deep satisfaction. I’m not there yet. But it’s coming together.
Except for one thing.
When I lift up Bay’s shell, it has gone silent.
No singing, no breathing. Not even the sound of the ocean. Nothing at all.
Is it because I am getting closer to the Above? Because I am going to hear Bay’s real voice again soon, in person? Or has the magic worn out? Maire said it wouldn’t last forever.
My sister is gone again.
CHAPTER 13
It feels like I might be the last person alive in Atlantia. The deepmarket stalls are shuttered and locked against thieves, and it’s dark and quiet. But then I hear sounds, hiding sounds, hurrying sounds, and I move fast and keep my eyes straight ahead and make sure I stand tall and walk with my shoulders squared.