She realized with horror that it was a terragogg who was staring at her. Terrified, she twisted and tried to swim away from him, but she couldn’t, because she was inside some sort of shallow tank. Crazed with fear, she started to thrash against it.
“Listen! Please listen to me!” the man pleaded, in Mermish now. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Becca, her heart pounding, swam to the back of the tank. She grabbed the edge and tried to pull herself over it, but her hands slipped. She gave the side another frantic whack with her tail, but it was pointless. The tank was strong and she was weak.
“You’ve got to stop doing that. You’ll rip your stitches out. You’ve already torn some bandages off,” said the man.
Becca turned to face the man. As she did, her hand went to her temple. The pain in her head was blinding now.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice ragged.
“Redo the bandages you wrecked, give you some moon jelly soup, and get you to the Karg. Unless you manage to kill yourself first.”
Becca blinked. “Who are you?” she asked.
The man smiled. “Marco Contorini, the duca di Venezia.”
“YOU’RE NOT THE DUCA,” Becca said, eyeing the terragogg warily. “Duca Armando was killed by Rafe Mfeme and his men.”
Marco nodded. “Yes, he was,” he said, sadness filling his beautiful eyes. “I’m his son. I’ve inherited his title and the duties that come with it.”
“You’re his son?” Becca asked. “So you’re…” The words wouldn’t come. It was so hard to think, to remember.
“Head of the Praedatori and the Wave Warriors,” Marco finished. He smiled. “At least, I’m trying to be. What I really am is a student at the University of Milan. Double major—marine biology and filmmaking. I had to leave my studies when my father was killed, and take over his operations.”
“In Venice…the palazzo…” Becca said. She’d never been there, but knew about it from Sera’s stories.
“No, the palazzo’s too dangerous for me now. I’ve had to lock it up and leave it. Rafe Mfeme’s men are after me. With the help of the Wave Warriors, I’ve managed to stay ahead of them.”
A female terragogg entered the room just then, carrying two mugs.
“Becca, you’re awake!” she said, grinning. She put the mugs down.
“This is my sister, Elisabetta,” Marco said. “She’s a student, too. Environmental law.”
“How do you know my name? Where am I? How did I get here?” Becca asked, still wary. Her knowledge of terragoggs was limited to the awful way they treated the seas and their creatures.
“All in good time. First, you need to eat,” Elisabetta said. “You were badly banged up and you lost a good deal of blood. You need to build up your strength. Can you manage some moon jelly soup?”
Becca realized that she was, in fact, very hungry. “I suppose I could try…” she replied, still leery of the two humans.
“Good, I’ll get it for you. Marco will answer your questions.”
“Do you mind if I answer them while I fix that bandage?” Marco asked, nodding at Becca’s right arm.
“I—I guess not,” Becca said.
She followed his gaze to her arm and gasped. The bandage was mostly off. Under it was a deep gash, neatly stitched, that ran from her elbow to her wrist. She looked the rest of her body over and saw more bruises and scrapes, and another terrible wound across her right hip.
“You put your arm up just before you crashed into a very large rock. Your head still hit, but not as hard as it would have if you hadn’t cushioned your impact,” Marco said.
Becca’s hand instinctively went to her scalp. Her fingers touched a bandage.
“More stitches, I’m afraid,” Marco said. “It’s a miracle you didn’t fracture your skull. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Do you have a mirror?” Becca asked.
Marco winced. “If you really want one.”
“I do,” Becca said. I think, she added silently.
Marco found a hand mirror and gave it to her. As he gathered bandages, a scissors, and waterproof tape, Becca grimaced at her reflection. The right side of her face was covered with scrapes and her right eye was blackened. The bandage on her head was angled like a cockeyed hat.
She handed the mirror back. The marks on her were not pretty, but they would heal and fade. Something else was bothering her a lot more than her cuts.
“How did you find me?” she asked, still suspicious.
“We were looking for you.”
“But who—”
“Mahdi. The Praedatori are scattered now, but he managed to get word to one of them—Nero—and Nero got word to me,” Marco explained, taking the old bandage off Becca’s arm.
Becca felt much better knowing that these goggs were connected to Mahdi.
“I traveled to Cape Horn right away and asked the head of the Warriors in America to get to the Mississippi,” Marco continued, wrapping a fresh bandage around Becca’s arm. “She’s been looking for Ava for the past two days.”