She was losing hope in Baltazaar. She only had two more conchs to go, and still had no idea where Merrow had hid the talismans.
She’d begun listening to the conchs as soon as the death riders left the Ostrokon. She’d worked through the remainder of that night, and the following day—stopping only once to nap for a few hours. That day was now ending and her second night in the bunker was beginning.
Meanwhile, Niccolo and the others, who’d slept all day, were beginning to stir. They’d tunneled under the palace and had placed a large pile of explosives under the Jani?ari’s old barracks—which now housed some of Traho’s troops. They planned to detonate the explosives in a few days’ time and blow the barracks to bits.
Serafina picked up another conch, cracked and yellowed with age. Only the one listening to a conch could hear the sounds within it, and Sera was glad of that. Knowledge of the talismans was dangerous, and she didn’t want to put Fossegrim and the others at any additional risk.
As she pressed the shell to her ear, Baltazaar’s now all-too-familiar voice started speaking.
Last night, when she’d listened to the first conch, it had been amazing to hear the faint words of a long-dead merman coming to her across the millennia. She’d struggled a little at first to understand him since he spoke an old form of Mermish, but the more she listened, the more familiar his ancient words became. He told of how Merrow went on a progress to find new waters for the mer. The regina and her ministers had investigated everything, he explained: kelp forests, plankton-rich shallows, abyssal plains, seamounts, and crevasses, and hazards, too.
She was very brave, Baltazaar said, and examined all dangers with no regard for her personal safety, noting size, location, and description of each, so that she might warn her people away from them.
Coco was right—Baltazaar was boring. He went on and on, exhaustively listing every tent, bowl, cup, spear, pen, spoon, and saddle taken on the expedition. Every water apple, flatworm, and eel berry eaten. Every boulder, reef, and cave they saw. One hour in, Serafina wanted to bang the conch on the table. Two hours in, she wanted to bang her head on the table.
She had persevered, however, writing down on a piece of kelp parchment every hazard Baltazaar mentioned. The Deathlands of Qin, where underwater vents spewed sulfur and smoke; freshwater lakes so hot they boiled anything that fell into them; the lands of the Kobold goblins; and the caves of the N?kki—murderous shapeshifters in the northern Atlantic.
Now Niccolo and his fellow resistance fighters waved good-bye to Fossegrim and Sera as they headed out on their night’s duties. Fossegrim gave them stern warnings to be careful. Sera waved back, then continued adding to her list of hazards, noting down the EisGeists of the Arctic Ocean, the Grindylows of the English Channel, the Gates of Hell in the Congo River. Three hours later, she picked up the last of Baltazaar’s conchs. She’d written down over a hundred dangerous places.
This is totally hopeless, she thought, looking at the list. We couldn’t search all these places if we had a thousand years. I’ve wasted so much time. She wondered what Traho had learned from the conchs he’d taken. He might be holding one of the talismans in his hands right now.
Sighing, she looked at the very last shell. On the acquisition and maintenance of hippokamps was written on it. With special regard to expenditures on provender and medicaments.
No way, Serafina thought. I can’t do it. I can’t waste any more time on this. She was about to put the conch back into the basket, but something made her stop. I’ve started this; I should finish it, she thought. Her mother had always insisted on that, whether it meant practicing a songspell until it was perfect, reworking a thesis until it was polished, or brushing Clio herself after a long ride, instead of handing her off to a groom.
Sera held the conch to her ear, expecting to hear Baltazaar drone on about the high price of sea straw. Instead, his voice was brisk and aggrieved.