Child of a Hidden Sea Read Online Free Page B

outside. She heard the whispers of mothers, comforting their children, the whimper of a storm-scared dog, air popping in lantern wicks. Out in the insufficiently sheltered bay, a ship’s sail was tearing.
    And now a light, squeaky rub—Bastien was polishing the shell with fluid from the black bowl. The liquid he’d mixed was a waxy yellow substance, and the carved letters glowed copper as he filled them. The surface of the shell buffed up to a deep walnut glow.
    So much sound.
    Sophie touched Gale’s pouch again and the reptile-leather lips over the zip pulled back, like muscles flexing, no wires, and the thought she’d been holding back broke through: It’s magic, has to be magic, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Sofe.
    She pushed the pouch away, clutching her camera case and Gale’s cell phone, hugging them to her chest, as if they could help.
    Bastien finished rubbing in the last drop of lambent beeswaxy ink. The text on the conch shell glowed. The cacophony cranked up another notch. Sophie heard shouts and the bustle of sailors, far out at sea, the fishing fleet trying to get their ships in, fighting to save the crew of one rattletrap boat that had already gone under. “Grab this, grab this!”
    It hurt. She closed her eyes, breath hitching in a sob.
    Then the cries—all the noise but for the storm outside and the crackle of the fire in Bastien’s clay stove—faded.
    â€œKir Sophie? Do you understand me now?”
    Her eyes flew open. “You bastard! You do speak English!”
    Magic. She clapped her hand over her mouth. What had come out of it, in an enraged yelp, was this: “Zin dayza Anglay!”
    â€œNo, no, it’s you,” Bastien said unnecessarily. “I’ve taught you Fleetspeak.”

CHAPTER 3
    She understood him. It wasn’t English, or Spanish: Bastien was speaking the same language he’d been using all night, and now Sophie understood every word.
    She leapt to her feet, quivering, torn between outrage— this snaggle-toothed stranger has rewired my brain! —and excitement— that is so cool —when he spoke again. “Zophie, Sophie, yes? I apologize for inscribing you, but we must talk.”
    â€œYes, of course. Right. You’re right. Wait—inscribing?”
    Before Bastien could say more, there was a quick tap at the door. A bent, rain-drenched woman let herself in.
    â€œThis is Dega,” he said. “Our herbalist.”
    â€œHi,” Sophie said. At first glance, Dega seemed ancient, but as she shed her cloak, Sophie decided she might be no older than forty. Maybe she’d been prematurely aged by hardship. Sanded down.
    â€œYou guys have magic powerful enough to teach me a language,” she said, “But it must have serious limits, or you wouldn’t be living on pickled moths.”
    â€œStele Island is no wealthy nation,” the woman agreed.
    â€œWe keep our place in the Fleet,” Bastien added with an asthmatic wheeze. He sank down by the stove, shivering, and Dega handed him the hunting knife that had been in Gale’s chest. He examined it with an expression of deep concern.
    â€œYou’re the doctor, Dega?” Sophie said. “Can you tell me how my aunt is doing?”
    â€œThe Verdanii is your kinswoman?”
    What’s a Verdanii? “She’s my mother’s sister.” Sophie waved the magic satchel. “The name on her Amex is Gale Feliachild.”
    Dega scowled. “That is a government courier pouch.”
    â€œIt’s Gale’s. Can’t you tell me if she’s okay?” Maybe I just think I understand them. Maybe I’m standing here jabbering.
    Dega said: “You hold the Feliachild pouch?”
    â€œYou can see I am,” Sophie said.
    â€œIt opens for her,” Bastien put in.
    â€œWill she live?” Sophie demanded.
    The woman’s expression softened. “It’s not certain yet, I’m