Engle took a break from breakfast only to tilt his head and say, “That looks like a town.”
Tor couldn’t see anything. Captain Forecastle produced his spyglass, pressed it to his eye, and nodded. “That there’s Siren’s Wharf,” he said. “Nice little town. Devoted to all things mermaid. A few jolly pubs. Good sweets, too.” He turned to Engle. “Have ye ever had sea salt caramel bars?”
“Can’t say I have.” Engle turned to Tor.
“No.”
“But you just heard Melda and Vesper. We made up more than enough time.”
Tor didn’t look up.
“We need to get provisions for the journey!”
“The boat has everything we need.”
Engle’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to think of another reason to stop in the seaside village. He brightened. “I read that book! The Book of Seas. It says the mermaid’s comb was lost to time. Maybe it’s there. If we can find it, we get a wish, and we can just wish for the pearl! Then we don’t even need to go to Perla, or get the compass, or any of it.”
Tor glanced at Captain Forecastle. “Have you heard any talk of the comb?”
The pirate nodded. “Of course. Every pirate and their captain has searched for the thing.”
“And how likely is it that we’ll find it in Siren’s Wharf?”
Captain Forecastle glanced at Engle, whose eyes were pleading. “Er, there’s always a chance, right?”
Engle punched at the air and jumped around.
Tor rolled his eyes. “One hour. In and out.”
Maybe a break in a new village was just what they needed.
Melda didn’t look pleased as they were docking, very predictably reminding Tor about their deadline. Her protests fell dead in her mouth when she saw a small ribbons shop by the harbor. She gave him a look. “One hour.”
Once they were off the ship, Engle said, “Not to be a downer, but how do we know no one will steal it?”
Vesper shrugged. “Because we’re taking it with us.” Moments later, the ship was tiny in her hand, and she stuck it in her pocket.
Captain Forecastle blinked. “Brilliant emblem, lass.”
“Yes,” Melda said, mouth tight. She turned to Vesper. “Do try not to steal it and sail away without us.” She walked briskly toward the ribbons shop.
Vesper sighed and ducked into a shop advertising enchanted cream to shield from the sun. Her shoulders had turned a bright, painful-looking red.
Siren’s Wharf was a small village with a harbor that could only fit a few nice-sized ships. Many more rowboats crowded the dock, which seemed to be arriving from just down the coast, where a neighborhood of houses had been built along a sandbar.
The town square looked modest, but crowded. The wooden shops had been long stripped of most of their color, courtesy of the salty breeze, and stood no taller than Tor’s hut back home. Most only fit a handful of people at a time, but that didn’t stop them from crowding inside. Many seemed content simply to point out objects in the window. Tor scrunched his nose. Down the boardwalk, a fish market had been set up, and something smelled sour.
At the center of the marketplace Tor saw something that stood out altogether in the humble village, in its shining richness—a giant statue of a mermaid, perched on a rock, hair reaching her waist.
“They idolize them,” Captain Forecastle said. “Which only means they’ve never seen a real one in the wild.” He shook his head. “There’re many species of mermaid, ye know. Most don’t know that. Sirens are the worst kind.” His shoulders twitched like a chill had snaked down his spine. Then, he grinned, gaze landing on a pub called the Crusty Barnacle. “Excuse us, boys.”
Engle shrugged and headed toward a shop that looked entirely made of gingerbread called Lolly’s.
Tor grabbed him by the back of the shirt. “None of that. We’re here to find the comb, like you suggested. Remember?”
Engle sighed, then followed him through the town square, all the way to the siren statue. A small fountain was positioned at the bottom of her tail. She stood so tall, Tor had to lift his chin to see her face.
“It looks like she’s combing her hair, doesn’t it?” Tor said, studying the statue closely. Her fingers were positioned right at the top of her tresses and were stuck together, like they had been holding something.
Perhaps the comb had once sat right in the siren’s grip.
Tor sighed. If it had, it was gone now.
“Throw a coin in, and your wish will come true.” Tor turned to see a hunched over old man standing there, with a wide, toothless grin. “This here’s an ancient, enchanted wishing fountain.”
Engle immediately went for his pockets, only to find nothing but crumbs. Then, his eyes narrowed. “Hey, there isn’t a single coin in this wishing fountain.” He turned to the old man. “Are you taking them?”
The man quickly hobbled away, just as Melda strolled across the square. Her typically unruly black hair had been fashioned into a single braid at the side of her head; a glimmering golden ribbon weaved through it. She was holding a large text against her chest, and Tor wondered how she had possibly already found time to locate a bookstore.
“Melda?” Engle said. She brightened, a finger going to her braid, as if he might say something about it. “Do you have dobbles?”
She glared at him and sighed. “Yes. Ever since last time, I’ve made a habit of carrying currency with me.” Engle opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a hand. “And no, I won’t be gifting you any.”
Melda walked away, and Engle trailed after her. “Not gifting! Just borrowing. I’ll pay you back!”
Tor walked into the bookstore. It smelled of paper and salt and had a muggy feel to it, like a library at the bottom of a ship. The space was small but efficient. Shelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and across the walls was a wallpaper of book spines. A silver spiral staircase sat
