The Girl Locked With Gold

Chapter 2-2

The morning sun hadn’t warmed the Endless Sea, but Maggie welcomed the chill on her sore limbs. Catching the fish came easily. The Siren provided plentiful fish in the Endless Sea for anyone who had the will to catch them.

Fill the net, bring the fish to town, sell the fish, purchase supplies, go to Bertrand’s, come back home.

Maggie sank under the water, letting the gentle waves lift her hair and sway her limbs.

It had seemed like enough. Before she knew slipping out of the Siren’s Realm into other worlds was possible, the routine had seemed like enough. Then having the magic to ask the Siren for her tiny stone house seemed like enough.

Enough is never enough.

Maggie kicked up to the surface, gasping for air.

Fish. That was the first step. Catch the fish, sell the fish…adventure.

Maggie yanked on her boots before her feet had properly dried. Her arms didn’t ache as she pulled the net of fish up the rocks. She had done it too many times before.

“You were right, Mort,” Maggie turned and shouted to the Endless Sea though the whale was nowhere in sight. “You always are, buddy.”

The people on the lanes moved quickly in the mid-morning light, giving Maggie space to haul her net without having to worry about darting around dawdlers.

“Veils for the covering of faces,” a woman shouted, her own face draped with a lilac veil. “Worth every drop of magic for a cloth this fine.”

“No thanks,” Maggie said before the woman took two steps toward her.

“But, my girl―”

Maggie dodged under the woman’s arm, knocking her with the net of fish.

A splatter of seawater soaked the front of the woman’s gown.

“Sorry.” Maggie held one hand up, keeping the other tightly on her net. “I’m so sorry.”

“You vagrant, little fish monger.” The woman dropped her basket of veils, curling her hands into fists.

“Sorry!” Maggie ran down a narrow alley between two rows of tents.

“I will beat you with your fish, you insolent little Derelict!” The shriek followed Maggie as she weaved through a group of towering trolls and out into the market square.

Heart pounding, Maggie ducked into a sweets stall.

“Do not drip fish on my cakes.” The old man who owned the stall wagged a flour-covered finger at her nose.

“No problem.” Maggie smiled broadly. “Just looking for a snack. This one is great.”

Without truly considering, Maggie lifted a purple circular pastry, holding it in her teeth as she offered her hand to the man for payment. As his flour-covered palm met her sea salt-covered skin, a tingle buzzed in her arm. A shock flew through her, leaving a tiny hole where her magic should have been. The unpleasant feeling lasted only a moment before the man let go.

“Thanks,” Maggie murmured through her mouthful of pastry.

The market square was filled with its usual array of shoppers and people watchers. Some moved stall to stall, inspecting the wares though they hardly changed from day to day. Others lounged in the sun, watching the people inspecting the wares that hardly changed from day to day. No one ran into the square looking for the girl who had hit someone with her net of fish, so Maggie headed to the fresh food stalls at the far corner of the square.

The sweet jelly filling of the purple pastry coated Maggie’s throat. The taste was something between blueberry and pear, but not quite either. Or maybe both. Good food had never been an expectation at the Academy.

“Mathilda,” Maggie called into the shadows behind the counter of her tent. “Mathilda, what sort of fruit is in this?”

Maggie held the pastry out as Mathilda appeared from the shadows, her white mobcap bouncing as she ran toward her.

“It’s good, I’m just not sure―”

“Maggie, child, where under the Siren’s sun have you been?” Mathilda threw her arms around Maggie, knocking the rest of the pastry to the ground.

“What?” Maggie said as Mathilda took her face in her hands.

“I thought you were dead!” Mathilda grabbed the net from Maggie, tossing the contents on the back table. “Terrible things sweeping through the Siren’s Realm, and you decide to just not turn up for a while?”

“What terrible things?”

“I ought to kick you out of my stall and never buy from you again.” Mathilda grabbed a knife, lopping the head off a fish.

“Mathilda, what are you talking about?” Maggie leapt aside as Mathilda gutted the fish so enthusiastically, slime spurted from the scales.

“Consistency is important in commerce, and if I can’t count on you―”

“Mathilda!” Maggie grabbed Mathilda’s knife-wielding hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, do you?” Mathilda looked up to the ceiling of her tent. “Have you been hiding under a rock for the five days you’ve been gone?”

“Five days?” Maggie balled her hands into fists, tucking them behind her back to hide their shaking.

Five minutes. Maybe ten. That’s all we were gone.

“Were you hiding on that rock you call home? Lost track of time?” Mathilda turned back to butchering the fish. “Perhaps it would be better if you lost yourself by the Endless Sea for a while longer.”

“Why?”

“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you.” Mathilda kept her eyes to her task as she spoke. “A sickness has come to the Siren’s Realm.”

“A sickness?” Maggie rolled the word around in her mouth, searching for a meaning that made sense. “People can’t get sick in the Siren’s Realm. She keeps all of us healthy.”

“She also keeps the sun shining, but that doesn’t keep her from bringing the storms.”

“What kind of sickness?” Maggie looked out to the shoppers in the square. They were keeping a larger distance between themselves than usual. Diners sat one to a table, not clustered together in groups.

“First heard of it right after the last time I saw you. Man came running into the square, begging for help for his lover who’d taken ill. We all thought he’d gone mad.” Mathilda shrugged. “Body was found in the Siren’s fountain the next day. Black sores on her skin.”

“Someone died? In the Siren’s Realm?”

“Stone cold dead.” Mathilda accented each word with a chop of her knife. “Folks had quite a time trying to figure out what to do with the body. People have started asking the Siren for protection, but there’s no way to know if that’s working until it doesn’t.”

“Have more people gotten sick?” Maggie’s mind raced back to all the things she’d touched.

The veil seller, the baker’s hand…

“Two more have been buried, but there could be others sick, or dead, and no one’s found them.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It is what it is when there’s no one in charge to keep things running save the Siren, and she doesn’t seem too fussed about it. That’s why I thought you were dead. People falling ill, and you just disappearing.” Mathilda wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Maybe it would be better if you had stayed holed up on your own.”

“Is anybody fixing it?” Maggie asked, hating herself for sounding so childish. “I mean, aren’t there any doctors in the Siren’s Realm?”

“None have come forward.” Mathilda wiped her hands before reaching for Maggie. “Do yourself a favor and lie low for a while. I can make do without the fish, and you should have enough magic stored up by now you can ask the Siren to provide for your belly.”

“What about you?” Maggie took Mathilda’s hand. Her skin itched as Mathilda paid her in magic, but the feeling stayed on her hand like a tight-fitting glove.

“I’ll not abandon my shop.” Mathilda shook her head. “I don’t know if my soul could survive it. I nearly languished to nothing when I lived a life of leisure here, and I don’t fancy drooping back into nothing again. I won’t risk it. Work is the best way for me.”

Maggie took hold of Mathilda’s hand again. “Promise you’ll be careful and take care of yourself?”

“As the Siren wills it.” Mathilda smiled, but the wrinkles around her eyes didn’t scrunch up as they should have.

Maggie nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

The weight of the net kept her from tucking her hands behind her back as she walked through the square, carefully avoiding touching anything. A chair pushed out too far into the walkway. A centaur who took up most of the lane.

Heart racing and cheeks flushed, she cut between two tents with their flaps tied tightly shut.

“Don’t panic, Maggie Trent, you are fine.”

Her heart didn’t slow as she weaved deeper into the Textile Town. In a battle, she could defend herself. Even without magic, at least she could see the danger coming toward her and fight for her survival. But with illness…

It could already be on me. It could already be killing me.

“Meat fer sale!” a familiar voice barked in the distance. “Fresh roasted meat fer sale! Don’t let yerself get weak with hunger! Good food’ll keep the body strong.”

“Gabriel!” Maggie shouted from the far end of the street, relief chipping away at her panic.

“I thought you’d still be alive.” Gabriel smiled broadly at her, leaning on the side of his cart. “Some I’d think rotting if I didn’t see ‘em fer a few days when death’s come knockin’. But I knew you’d turn up in time.”

“I didn’t even know anything was happening.” Maggie resisted the urge to throw her arms around Gabriel’s neck. “I stayed in by the sea for a few days. I only came back into town this morning.”

“Probably better if you head back out by the sea.” Gabriel handed Maggie a leg of fowl. “I’m not so worried about you gettin’ sick, but when people start to panic, it’s best to stay out of the way.”

“But for how long?” Maggie took Gabriel’s hand, still speaking even as he drew magic from her for payment. “A few people have gotten sick, but if whatever this is spreads, it could be a long time before it’s over.”

“Perhaps. But stayin’ safe won’t make it move faster or slower. Besides”―Gabriel glanced up and down the empty street―“I think you and I’ll come out of this just fine. None of us want to go screamin’ about it, but all of them who’ve fallen with the blackness, they’ve all had magic. Powerful amounts of it. Maybe they hoarded so much it rotted them from the inside out. But us who come in here with nothing but our boots, none of us has so much as sneezed.”

“Is sneezing a symptom?” Maggie asked, a sudden tingle growing in her nose.

“No one knows. Don’t think anyone’s been found with it who’s still able to speak to tell how it started. But us without magic, we’ll be just fine. Keep our heads down, keep quiet, and we’ll make it to the other side of the Siren’s wrath sure as sunrise.”

“You think the Siren’s killing people because she’s mad?” Maggie looked instinctively to the sky as though an angry face would appear to smite her.

“Read that law of the Siren again, girly. No one could wish this hurt on another. It’s come from the Siren herself.”

“Excuse me,” a man with a pink cloth over his mouth spoke from ten feet away. “I’d like to purchase some meat.”

“Get on with you. And keep tucked in someplace safe.” Gabriel waved Maggie away before speaking to the man. “I’ve got meat fer you, but yer going to have to touch me to pay me.”

Head down, Maggie walked up the lane. A few brave folks still walked through the Textile Town, but the pattern of their movement had a strangeness to it, as though each person were carefully considering who to pass nearest to, checking each face for signs of illness.

That woman looked like she might be ill, or perhaps she’d had too much wine. The young man was hunched over as though fatigue had sapped his will to stand upright.

But I’m hunching, too.

Maggie squared her shoulders, holding her head up high. She wanted to walk home. To curl up in her little stone house and wait for the Siren to end her purge. But if something horrible had found its way into the Siren’s Realm, she couldn’t just sit back and wait for death to pick people off at will.

“Bertrand Wayland,” Maggie whispered to the air. “I want to find Bertrand Wayland.”

Tingles flew through Maggie’s chest as a little void formed. Closing her eyes, she turned slowly on the spot, tipping her face up to the sky. The sun warmed her skin, beaming its brightness through her eyelids.

How can anything be awful when the sun is shining so brightly?

“Has the blackness taken your mind, child?” a woman snapped.

Maggie gritted her teeth, biting back her retort at being called child. “Just looking for someone.”

Maggie headed down a wide street, ducking around a woman with a scrap of fabric tied over her face. Tents large enough to house several people sat safely behind long strips of grass. Voices carried through the canvas, but the path was empty.

In the square ahead, groups of people crept past, staring at something Maggie couldn’t see, as though unable to look away. Maggie jogged forward, letting her net flop at her side. The Siren’s fountain came into view, though Maggie had no idea how the warren of paths had led her there.

The fountain sparkled in the sunlight, but the clusters of people all held back, watching one man who stood on the ledge of the fountain, staring down into the sweet waters. The man turned his face to the side.

Maggie yelped at the awful profile. A long black beak had taken the place of his face, and black gloves covered his hands.

“Bertrand Wayland, what the hell are you doing?”