Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised that the Black Swan had more than one underwater hideout—or a Psionipath on their team. But it was hard to process how truly huge their organization was turning out to be.
“Am I the only one who doesn’t see a prison?” Keefe asked, pacing the length of the bubble.
Mr. Forkle stomped his feet. “The prison is beneath us.”
He removed a parcel from his cloak pocket, releasing a plume of stink as he unwrapped a blob of solidified black slime.
“What’s that?” Sophie asked, plugging her nose to block the sour-cheese smell.
“Congealed selkie skin,” Mr. Forkle said. “I’ve just signaled the dwarves below to take out the slice I sent them. A tredgeon will soon find the smell irresistible and create our tunnel.”
Sophie had no idea what a tredgeon was, but she had a feeling it was better not to ask. Instead she said, “Does that mean the dwarves are working with us again?”
“A handful of them, yes. And they are incredibly generous to do so considering Yegor passed away yesterday.”
Sophie’s heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water. “He was the dwarf injured on Everest, wasn’t he?”
Mr. Forkle nodded.
The fury made Sophie shake—or she thought that was the reason, until she realized the ground was shaking as well. Seconds later she noticed a giant bump racing toward them, but when she flinched back, Mr. Forkle told her, “Remain still. And make no sound.”
He tossed the selkie skin to the center of their small space, just as a huge iridescent claw popped out of the sand. A second claw followed, along with way too many squirming legs and antennae and some sort of giant glowing opalescent shell.
The tredgeon gobbled up the selkie skin and burrowed back into the sand, leaving a gaping tunnel.
“Our path awaits,” Mr. Forkle said.
“Isn’t that thing still down there?” Sophie whispered.
“Probably. But it’s perfectly harmless.”
“It didn’t look harmless.” In fact, Sophie was pretty sure those claws would feature prominently in her nightmares.
Still, she followed Mr. Forkle into the tunnel. Every shift of the sand made her jump, anticipating a tredgeon attack.
“Easy, Foster,” Keefe told her, offering her his hand.
She took it. “You’re shaking. . . .”
“Uh, yeah. Giant claws could come popping out of the sand any second!”
“Honestly, have you two never seen a sand crab before?” Mr. Forkle asked.
“Teeny tiny ones I caught in the waves when my parents took me to the beach,” Sophie said. “Is that what those things look like when they’re bigger?”
She scratched her arms, feeling like the time she’d seen a butterfly under a microscope and deeply regretted ever letting them land on her fingers.
“Actually, tredgeons are much prettier,” Mr. Forkle promised. “The dwarves esteem tredgeon carapace above any gem. King Enki’s crown is carved from a single piece.”
“That’s . . . super gross,” Keefe said.
Mr. Forkle ignored him and they moved in silence, until the tunnel brightened with flickering blue light.
“Is everyone ready?” Mr. Forkle asked.
Keefe flipped up his hood. “Bring it on.”
Their plan was simple: pretend to break into the chamber, and hope Gethen believed he was being rescued. Mr. Forkle had already alerted the guards so they’d know to play along.
“There it is,” Mr. Forkle whispered as a round door came into view. It looked like a giant abalone shell with swirling blotches of blue, green, and silver.
Keefe moved to the lead.
“Remember, if at any point you need to abort, cry swan song and our guards will get us out,” Mr. Forkle told him.
“I can handle it,” Keefe promised.
Sophie hoped that was true. The warning Mr. Forkle had given Keefe a few days earlier kept echoing through her head.
One should never rely on their enemies to give them hope.
“Here goes nothing,” Keefe whispered, then shouted “NOW!” and rammed his shoulder against the abalone shell, slamming the door open.
The next few minutes were filled with more screams and bangs and crashes than a summer blockbuster movie. The dwarven guards made an excellent show of resisting before collapsing to the ground with defeated groans. Keefe shouted orders in his mother’s voice and threw open another abalone door, revealing a thick net of dried kelp.
Sophie backed away as Mr. Forkle shattered his balefire crystal against the crackly leaves. Blue sparks showered the kindling, filling the cavern with thick, salty smoke. The fire burned hot and fast, and then it was gone. As the smoke cleared, Sophie got her first glimpse of Gethen hunched against the wall, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. His black Neverseen cloak was gone, revealing a wrinkled shirt and military-style vest. Yet he still bore the Neverseen symbol on a wide black band tied around his bicep.
“Gethen, wake up!” Keefe-as-Lady-Gisela shouted. “Time to go—someone untie him.”