“This makeup is waterproof. What else would Venetian lady use?” Filomena asked.
She outlined Serafina’s eyes heavily with a black kohl stick, then gave her a beauty mark. Next she painted her lips a deep crimson. Lastly, she put her own gold hoop earrings in Serafina’s ears.
She stood back, appraised her work, and frowned. “The clothes, no good. Can you not make song on them, too?”
Serafina looked at her black tunic. She transformed it to a long black dress. A flowery tunic. A red gown.
Filomena shook her head at each transformation. “No, make it like this,” she said. She undid the top buttons of her blouse. Underneath it, she was wearing a pretty bustier.
“All right,” Serafina said skeptically. She sang a new songspell and the next minute, the top of her tunic had become a bustier and the bottom a short, floaty skirt.
“Si! Much better!” Filomena said. “Only the top, make bigger.”
Serafina sang again. The bustier expanded and nearly slipped off her.
Filomena shook her head impatiently. “No, cara, no. La tua sfaldamento!” She placed her hands at the sides of her enormous bosom and hiked it up. “Capito?” she said.
“Make them bigger? They’re already up under my chin in this thing as it is!”
“Si! Maggiore! Bigger!” Filomena said.
Serafina tightened the bustier, then looked down at her cleavage. “It looks like I have two sea mounts stuck on the front of me. With an abyss between them,” she said. She peered at her reflection in the pool water. “All I can see is my chest!”
“Buono! This is what soldati will see, too,” Filomena said. “Not the face.” She stood. “Now, you no swim like this, all elbows,” she said, mimicking Serafina’s brisk stroke. “Lagoona swim like this.” She held her head high, smiled invitingly, and led with her chest. “When in Rome, do as Romans. When in Lagoon, do as Lagoona. Swing the hips! Flutter the fins!”
“I’ll try,” Serafina said uncertainly, wondering how she’d ever get her hips to sway like Filomena’s. “Thank you,” she added, putting the currensea the duca had left for her into her pocket. “For everything.”
Filomena waved her words away. “Take this,” she said, handing Serafina her makeup. “No thank me now. You thank when you get to other side.”
“If I get to the other side,” Serafina said.
Then she dove into the pool, and disappeared under the water.
“HEY, MERLIE, OVER HERE!” the death rider called to Serafina. He and some fellow soldiers were floating outside a bar on the Corrente Largo, the Lagoon’s main thoroughfare, goggling at her.
Sera’s heart was slamming, but her face showed no fear. She flipped her tail at them and swam on, chest out, head high, black tresses swirling behind her like ribbonworms in a riptide.
My gods, what if they’d recognized me? she thought.
Traho’s soldiers were everywhere. Serafina knew she had to get out of the Lagoon, and fast. She thanked Neria that it was nighttime. The darkness, her makeup, and her clothing made her look totally different from the naive young princess staring out from the wanted posters all over the place. The soldiers had been drinking; that helped, too. Sera saw bottles of posidonia, a sweet wine made from fermented seaweed; and brack, a frothy ale brewed from sour sea apples.
There were more whistles and catfishcalls as she swam down the current. She ignored them haughtily. Shops were open. Through their windows, she saw shopmerls briskly wrapping purchases. Cafés and restaurants were busy too. Their signs—made of tiny bioluminescents—flashed brightly. Trouncers—large jellyfish with long, dangling tentacles—floated above entrances to nightclubs, zapping anyone who tried to sneak in without paying.
None of the Lagoon’s residents had been taken away, it seemed, and Serafina soon realized why—the Lagoon had become one big barracks for many of Traho’s troops, and the Lagoonas were needed to cater to them. The sight of the invaders carrying on in Miromaran waters as if they owned them put her into a seething rage.
Stay cool. You don’t have much farther to go, she told herself.
She passed another café. Two more bars. She saw a fancy wine shop up ahead in the bottom of a large yellow coral. Ten yards past it was a fork in the current. She wanted the stream on the left, which led south. Once she was off the busy Corrente Largo, she’d be able to swim away fast.
Slow and steady, Serafina, she cautioned herself. One fin in front of the other. Don’t give the game away. You’re almost there.
Just as she passed the last nightclub on the current, a soldier—milling around with his friends outside it—reached out and grabbed her wrist. Startled, Serafina tried to pull free but couldn’t.