But the ship did not stop. So, when the stars came out and the sea looked like ink, they went to bed.
The next morning, Tor had just asked the ship to brew him a morning cup of cocoa when the wooden walls of his room groaned, and they came to a sudden halt.
He threw on clothes and ran up the stairs. The sharp beam of sunlight made him squint, reminding him he had been meaning to ask the ship for a hat. Melda and Engle were already on the deck, muttering to each other.
“What’s wrong?”
Engle was squinting, which was unusual. “We stopped, but I don’t see anything. No land in any direction.”
Tor whirled around. Engle was right. They had anchored right in the middle of the sea, no coast or island anywhere to be seen.
Then how had they reached Captain Forecastle?
Melda sighed. “Maybe I was wrong.”
Tor walked past them, up to where a wheel might have sat if this was a normal ship. He strode to the mermaid, to see her view.
He swallowed. “No, Melda. I think you were right.”
A gaping hole the size of Estrelle’s town square had been cut away from the sea and completely drained, all the way to the seafloor. Water rushed down its edges like continuous waterfalls, the rest of the ocean completely intact. Their ship sat perilously close to the edge, just a few feet away from tipping right over the watery cliff and straight down hundreds of feet.
Engle gasped. “There’s a man down there!”
Melda blinked. “I guess we found Captain Forecastle.”
The Moon’s Revenge
After its reflection was stolen, the moon swore vengeance.
Each full moon, the sea sits still, afraid to stir. Fish escape to its depths. Pirates stay in port. Even the wind is quiet.
Tides can rise and fall in minutes.
Ships might shatter to pieces.
The dead surface from the sea’s depths.
Beware a waxing moon. For when it becomes whole, chaos ensues.
And even mermaids can be drowned during a full moon.
7
Captain Forecastle
Tor wished for rope. It spooled at his feet, then down across the deck. Engle tied a knot around the mermaid and gave it a tug. “This should hold, I think.”
Melda gave him a look. “Very reassuring.”
Engle ignored her. “How do you think he got trapped down there?”
Melda sighed. “Probably not by being an upstanding seaman.” She turned to Tor. “Be careful. We can’t trust him.”
Engle rolled his eyes, “What’s with you and trust issues lately?” He threw a pointed look at Vesper, who was eating a fresh bowl of seafoam on the lower deck.
Before Melda could respond, Tor said, “She’s right. He’s probably a pirate.”
Tor grabbed the end of the rope; Melda, Engle, and the siren held the other side. Then, he jumped.
He bit his tongue so hard tears blurred his vision as he fell, fell, fell, until Melda and Engle pulled taut on the rope, and he came to a sudden halt, its rough strands burning his palms. “Sorry!” Melda yelled down. He looked up and saw the mermaid peeking over the entrance to the hole, the ship still slightly visible through the water. He was only about twenty feet down.
The ocean was a wall in front of him. Fish swam on the other side, schools of them. Coral bloomed far away. A shark swam over, regarded him for a moment, then swam off. He dipped a hand through and pierced the wall easily, his fingers coming back wet.
Little by little, Melda and Engle released the rope, sending him farther and farther down. He watched the sea the entire way, trying to distract himself from the distance below his feet. And the man who waited there.
The sea’s layers were fascinating—each different, just like the sections of the rain forest Zura. Closer to the sunny surface, the sea creatures were a rainbow of shades, like the painter who had imagined them had every color in his palette to choose from. He saw an orange clown fish, a blue wiry-legged starfish, a purple eel with golden spots that slithered like a serpent and changed its shade to green right before his eyes. A tiny lavender octopus swept gracefully by, its tentacles looking tangled together. It was followed by two others, one the pink of watermelon, and the other light blue with white smudges, as if it had decided to mimic the sky.
Farther down, it seemed as if the painter had used up all of his bright pigment. The creatures below embraced the darkness, their shades becoming more muted, just like traveling through Emblem Island.
It became harder to see into the ocean the more he traveled, and, for a moment, he wished for Engle’s emblem. Just to see what lived this far down—if anything. Though Sandstone was built into the seafloor, it was not far off the coast, not nearly as deep.
Tor knew they must be in the middle of the ocean, in some of its most vicious waters. He wondered, truly wondered, what lurked this far below.
His feet pressed against sand.
Tor whirled, prepared to defend himself against what must be a crazed man, after being stranded in such a place.
But the man before him was grinning. He had long, curled hair and tanned skin leathered by the sun. Swirling tattoos trailed from beneath his long sleeves all the way down to the tips of his fingers. He took off his captain’s hat, revealing a rather large bald spot with an eye tattooed in its center, then gave a bow. “Don’t get many visitors down here, as ye can imagine!” he said. His brow furrowed as he surveyed his surroundings, as if seeing them for the very first time. “Might we interest ye in some…er…fermented seaweed?” He pointed at a sad lump of dark green. “Or giant tube eel jerky?”
Tor resisted the urge to gag. “Um…no thanks.”
The man kept talking. “Ye sure? Caught it ourselves!” With a slicing sound, he quickly unsheathed a long curved and gleaming pirate’s sword from his belt, raising it
