Princess snorted beside me. At least, it would have been a snort if she weren’t so delicate. And beautiful. And a princess.
We stood silently on the sandy floor, and for the first time since fleeing here, I took in Carragheen’s home. It was a low-roofed structure which looked as though it had been a storehouse for food in another life. It was decked out like a beautiful, mysterious reef, with seating made from enormous shells and the tangled fingers of mammoth pieces of driftwood. Huge, electronic, wave-screens cycled through pictures of all the species of the ocean, while hidden technology created an ever-renewing roof of bubbles, like a mesmerizing sky.
Every now and then one of the bubbles made it down, to settle on my nose or hair before exploding softly. The size and speed of the bubbles seemed to vary with the music. Large bubbles overlapped and popped slowly, like child’s playthings in time with the dark background mix. It was leesatra music – a kind of harp that messes with the vibrations of the water to make deep groans and sighs that sound like the love songs of sea mammals. Whale song meets the blues. I knew I needed to get on and ask Carragheen about Dirtwater, and Blondie, now that the immediate danger of the blood in the Eye seemed to have passed.
But I was just too curious. “What is this place? Is this really where you live?” It seemed so grand for someone’s house, even in Aegira, where these things matter.
“Yes, I do. But it’s also where people come to prepare for The Pool.”
Uh oh. Sounded kinda kinky. Knew he was too good to be true. Okay, so what was it? Swinging? Weirder? Darker? I tried to be cool. “Ah, yes, you mentioned that, back at the wedding. What is it?”
He looked right into me.
Oh, Ran help me, don’t look at me like that. I don’t know you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Don’t look at me like we’re accomplices.
Lecanora snorted again and looked put out. She planted words deep into my brain. Rania, listen. Carragheen is Kraken’s shame. He is… intemperate. Some even say… Even telepathing she lowered her voice. …warm-blooded. He should have been a priest. It was expected. But he became a farmer. A farmer! A Gadulan boy whose perfect voice had shaken the very foundations of Aegira. The son of the High Priest. And that is just the beginning-
“Princess.” Carragheen said, slow and endlessly patient. “What are you afraid of?”
A third snort, this time accompanied by words. “It is a place to rouse people,” she hissed. “To make them stirred up, and afraid.”
“No.” His tone was sharp. “It’s neither of those things. It is simply a place to feel.”
Double uh oh. This does not sound good. This guy obviously fancies himself as some kind of sexually liberating Larry Flynt. “Okay.” Enough of the speculating and bickering. “How about some hard facts? What is the goddam Pool?”
Carragheen drew himself up, his face an inscrutable mask, and I had no idea what he was going to say. What could this Pool be, to get Lecanora so hot under the collar?
But just as he was about to explain, a rowdy press of bodies entered. I didn’t need my cop sense to tell me that what we had on our hands was a melee. I could smell the fear and anger coming from the group, comprised of twenty men and women, of several species. Aegirans, several of the higher fish species, a giant, menacing squid, and even a Treppalow.
The latter seemed to have been elected head of the lynch mob.
My fingers itched for my Glock.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Carragheen’s drawl was relaxed, but he moved slowly, deliberately, so that he was standing between the mob and the sleeping Leigon child.
“You need to stop what you are doing here. It is angering the Gods. This place is the reason for what happened, back there in The Eye. It is your fault.”
The Treppalow spoke slowly, as if each word was an effort. The creatures are known more for their brawn than their brains, and they only recently mastered speech. But this one was at least nine feet long and spelt trouble, from his block-like head to the end of his black tail.
Oh man. Triple uh oh. Worse than swinging, obviously.
Carragheen’s response was dry. “I didn’t think Treppalows believed in God. Unless you count the God of War.”