BECCA QUICKFIN looked longingly at the basket of marsh melons on the farmer’s stall. Her mouth watered as she thought of cutting one open and scooping out its gooey black flesh.
The melons were expensive, though, and Becca had little currensea left—only a handful of copper cowries and silver drupes. Those coins had to last her; she was still a long way from home and it was hard to swim on an empty stomach. She knew that all too well.
“Four water apples, please,” she said with a sigh, pushing her glasses up on her nose. The frames were made of polished razor-clam shells, the lenses of rock crystal. They were heavy and often slipped down.
The farmer picked out some plump blue apples and tumbled them into Becca’s bag. She paid him, then swam off to see if she could find some squid eggs to go with them.
The market was set up in a public hall in the center of a sizeable village, and Becca felt lucky to have happened across it. She’d eaten her last handful of reef olives this morning. It was lunchtime now and her stomach was twisting with hunger.
As she moved through the market, she saw and heard some troubling things. DEATH RIDERS OUT! was scrawled on one wall of the hall, and several of the stalls were empty.
“Where’s Pete today?” one farmer shouted to another, as Becca passed by.
“Nothin’ to sell! Soldiers came and took his crop!”
Dread, as cold as pack ice, gripped Becca. Traho’s reach, it seemed, now extended well into Atlantica. She pushed a strand of auburn hair behind one ear and swam on. She had a plan: ten minutes to shop for food—no more, then a quick swim out of the village to the open water. She felt safer on the back currents. Death riders had tried to capture her and the others back in the Iele’s caves. She doubted they’d given up the hunt.
A few minutes later, Becca spotted a pile of squid eggs. “How much?” she asked the farmer.
“Five drupes per pound. These are first-rate,” he said, proudly hoisting a moplike clump. The egg sacs reminded Becca of fat, fleshy fingers. She loved the way they burst in her mouth when she bit into them. They were more than she could afford, just like the melons, but maybe if she looked hard, she could find a small clump.
“I’ll take two bunches,” a brusque voice said from the far end of the stall. “Wrap them to go.”
Becca recognized that voice. She craned her neck, trying to see past the other shoppers. A mermaid with braided blond hair and the black and white markings of an orca was drumming her fingers on the stall.
Ugh, Becca thought. It’s Astrid.
Becca didn’t want to deal with her. Though Astrid was from the icy waters of the Arctic, she was a hothead—quick-tempered and rude. Selfish, too, judging by her hasty exit from the Iele’s caves. She’d swum out on everyone, leaving them to confront the tough task ahead without her. If Abbadon were freed, it could destroy all the waters of the world. Astrid had a responsibility to help defeat the monster, as they all did. How could she just turn her back on it?
Becca decided to forget about the squid eggs and sneak away before Astrid saw her, but she faced a problem: there was only one way in and out of the market hall and she’d have to swim right by Astrid to get to it.
Maybe if I head in the opposite direction, I can thread my way back to the doorway without her seeing me, she thought.
At that very second, Astrid turned her head, forcing Becca to duck down. When Becca dared, she glanced in Astrid’s direction and was horrified to see that the obnoxious merl was swimming right toward her!
Becca squeezed under the stall’s table, apologizing to the surprised farmer. When she was certain Astrid had passed by, she crawled out, then headed up the aisle Astrid had just swum down.
Becca kept her eyes on the tall doorway, using it to navigate her way through the maze-like market. She had nearly reached it, and was just congratulating herself for having avoided Astrid, when a merman blocked her way. “Farm-fresh crab eggs! Just harvested!” he bellowed, thrusting a clamshell heaped high with tiny orange spheres at her.
“No, thank you,” Becca said.
She darted to the right, but the merman darted with her. She zipped to the left, but he intercepted her again.
“Come on, Red, buy some eggs. They’re on special! Two drupes a pound!”
Becca realized she wasn’t getting past him without purchasing some of his wares. “Half a pound, then,” she said, exasperatedly. “Can you wrap them really fast?”
“Right away!” the merman said. He swam behind his stall and weighed out a half pound of eggs, carefully tapping them out of their container onto his scale, making sure to get the amount just right.
“Here’s your money,” Becca said impatiently, handing him some coins.