She looked down at him, glasses slipping to the bridge of her nose. “Can I help you?”
“What do you know about that statue?” he asked, pointing behind him at the siren.
The woman pursed her lips. “A lot, I suppose. It was the first thing built in Siren’s Wharf. And it’s the most solid, tallest thing in the village. No shop or house is allowed to be built taller than it, out of reverence.”
“Has the statue changed over time?”
She raised her eyebrows at him. The woman was thin, with a head of curly white hair, like a living dandelion. “It’s made of stone, boy.”
“I know. Just—” He stopped himself. Better to be specific. “Did it used to have a comb?”
The woman smiled. “You’re observant, I’ll give you that.” She pursed her lips again, deciding something. Then, she shrugged. “Yes, she did. It’s the lore of our village, but some truly believe it. Believe Siren’s Wharf was built around it, founded on the power of the comb.” Tor must have looked hopeful, because she frowned at him. “Now don’t go running off on a treasure hunt. Even if the stories are true, that thing is long gone. Probably in a museum somewhere. Or at the bottom of the sea, for all I know.”
“Thank you.” Tor rushed out of the shop. He remembered the blood queen’s words—the enchanted compass could find anything someone had lost.
If the siren statue had once held the comb, perhaps they could use her and the compass to find it.
And if they found the comb, all they would have to do was wish for the pearl.
Engle was right. Wishing for the Pirate’s Pearl seemed a lot easier than having to compete with the Calavera, a Swordscale traitor, and a spectral to find it…
Most importantly, by changing their plan, perhaps they could change fate and avoid the oracle’s deadly fortune altogether.
Yes—they needed the comb. Tor swallowed. To use the compass to find it, the siren statue would have to be holding the enchanted device. But they couldn’t afford to come back to Siren’s Wharf once they located the compass… He could ask Vesper to shrink the statue, but stealing the town’s prized possession seemed like it would bring them endless trouble.
Tor brightened. Maybe, they didn’t need the entire statue for the compass to work, just a piece of it.
He approached the statue once more, looking for something. A crumbling bit, small enough no one would notice it was gone—
“Looking for a souvenir?” The hunched-over old man was back again, this time holding up a transparent pouch full of powder. “Shavings from the siren statue,” he said, lifting a small blade, grinning. Tor saw he did have one tooth, hidden far in the back. “Said to bring luck. All sailors would be wise to keep a piece of the siren statue on their ships.”
That might work, Tor thought. If they put the shavings on the compass, it might lead them to the comb that had been stolen from the siren statue. “How do I know it’s genuine?”
The man looked offended. “That’s my work, right there.” He pointed to the siren’s tail, to its very tip, where part of it had been clearly shaved down.
The old man bartered until he was blue in the face, before finally accepting Tor’s offer of the only thing he had in his pocket—a single dobble.
Tor took the small sack and clutched it in his palm, hopeful. They might not have found the comb, but if he was right, this was the next best thing.
Now, all they needed was the compass.
The market had flooded with more and more customers, most happily sipping their large mugs of salted ale, window-shopping and chatting in the sun. A few street vendors fried fish right on the street, along with kelp kabobs and grilled shrimp, coated in an apricot chili glaze.
His mouth was watering by the time he reached the harbor, where he found Vesper surrounded by a small crowd. A woman had her by the wrist.
“Your hair!” she cried out. “Siren silver, it is.” She turned behind her and motioned furiously. “Come, take a look!”
Another woman boldly reached out a hand to touch her head, and Vesper bared her teeth at her. But it only seemed to make the women happier.
“Just as I’d imagined one! Could it be? Have your kind evolved to walk like us?”
A young woman looked around in a panic. “If that’s true, maybe they’re all around us! And we didn’t even know it!”
“How old are you?” a young boy said, clutching his mother’s skirts.
Vesper pulled away from the crowd. “I’m not a siren,” she said sharply. But part of her look frazzled. Unbalanced.
She rushed to the harbor, the crowd at her heels, then threw the ship into the water. It grew from charm to full-blown ship in half a blink, and, before the townspeople could gasp at the sight, she was climbing up its ladder and hiding herself below.
Melda strolled down the dock, Engle at her side. He was holding a caramel bar. Tor wondered how much whining he’d had to do before Melda had caved.
“Where’s Forecastle?” Tor asked.
She shrugged, tying one of her old ribbons around her mermaid book, then to her wrist, perhaps to make it easier to carry while she climbed up the side of the boat. “You did say an hour. I wouldn’t be too gutted if you decided to leave him behind.”
Engle carried the rest of his caramel bar between his teeth as he followed her up the ladder.
Tor didn’t know why he expected timeliness from a pirate. He rolled his eyes and headed straight for the Crusty Barnacle.
The door wasn’t cut correctly for its frame, allowing the sounds of shouting and bad fiddling to seep
