CHAPTER 16
“So,” Aldo asks, “are you ready for tonight?”
I nod. In the days since I last spoke with Maire, I’ve focused completely on preparing for this evening. For the spectacle. The celebration. When I talk to True, that’s what I call it because that makes me feel stronger, more like Oceana. I’m as ready as I’m going to be. I’ve practiced in the lanes and worked with True on the fish and eels. I’ve made an insignia from the print I took in the bar of soap, and it’s cruder than I would have liked, but I did the best I could.
Aldo looks at the pile of turquoise fabric in my arms. “Is that your costume?”
“Yes,” I say. I used some of the coin to buy the cloth and had a seamstress sew it to my cut-down wetsuit. It’s more like streamers than a robe, but the fabric is supposed to hold together in water, and the effect when I swim is that I’m part of the water and also separate, something different to watch. I think of the costume as my Oceana robes, because this was the color she always wore at the pulpit. And the color she wore when we sent her body through the floodgates.
Aldo unlocks the stall where I plan to store my costume. I’ve come here before work to leave some of my things for the event tonight. True should be along any minute with the fish and eels in their buckets. I think Aldo will do his best to keep things secure, but I can’t risk anyone tampering with the locks, and the single fish that will bring me the key. They’ll stay safe in my room until it’s time for the swim.
“We should have a big crowd,” Aldo says. “The bettors are in a frenzy. They’re wondering what you’ll do after this.”
“Who knows,” I say.
Posters hang in the deepmarket, advertising the event tonight. People have started to recognize me as I walk through the stalls. Notoriety will bring me more money, but it also makes it more necessary for me to leave. Attention is a dangerous thing.
But it’s all coming together. This evening I’ll be back to swim. And then, with the money I earn, I’ll be able to buy the air from Ennio and take it with me when I leave the deepmarket.
If this goes as planned, then I’ll have everything I need to leave Atlantia very soon.
All I’ll need after tonight is for someone to die.
True walks toward us, pushing the cart. He nods to Aldo and hands everything off to him except for a bucket with the fish and the key and the locks, which he hands to me, and another bucket, which he keeps for himself.
The entire time his mouth is set in that firm line I’ve seen once before.
“Are you ready, then?” Aldo asks, when we’ve finished.
“Yes,” I say. “We’ll see you tonight.”
We start back up into the deepmarket. I’m not sure what True is thinking. Neither of us says anything, and then True takes my arm and pulls me into an empty stall with him.
“This is for you,” he says, holding out the bucket. Not smiling.
“Did you think of something new?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “It’s not for tonight. It’s five hundred coin. Now you don’t have to swim.”
I draw in my breath. Is he serious? I kneel down and pull back the cover on the bucket slightly. True wasn’t joking.
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“All of the publicity from your swims has made people interested in buying the fish,” he says. “I can’t keep up with the demand. But I’ve been saving it for you. It means you can buy the ring back. Right now. And you won’t have to swim tonight.”
With this much money, and what Bay left me and what I’ve earned in the lanes so far, I have enough to buy the air tank. True’s right. As far as the money is concerned, I don’t have to swim tonight.
But I still need the practice. I need the added pressure of performance, the time in the water.
And True doesn’t even know that it’s not the ring I’m trying to buy.
“You should use this money to buy a stall in the deep-market,” I say. “Or more supplies.”
“I want you to have it,” True says. “Please.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “We had everything planned.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if too many eels shock you? Or the locks don’t work right, and I can’t get into the lane in time?”
“It is going to work,” I say.
Light flickers through the slats, and I wish it were the light of the Above.
I wish I could tell True the full truth, that I have to leave. And I wish I could tell him this in my real voice. But I remember the expression on Justus’s face in the temple on the day Bay left. I can’t tell True. I don’t want to change how he sees me.
“You don’t know that,” he says.
“I do,” I say.
“So you’re going to swim anyway?” he asks. “Even though you have enough money?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Rio,” he says. I see anger and anguish on his face, all the happiness and laughter gone. There is something he wants to say and he’s fighting against saying it. Whatever it is, he knows it will change something, perhaps ruin everything.
“Tell me,” I say. I whisper it. Because if I speak now, I’ll reveal myself.
He shakes his head. He kneels down and I kneel down next to him and he runs his fingers over the money in the bucket. I trust his hands. And his heart. I want him to touch me. He is dangerous to me.
He knows too much. No one can know me this well, because then they will leave me. That’s what happened with my mother. That’s what happened with Bay.
“I have to do it,” I say. I make myself sound the way I always do, flat and false.
It hurts both of us.
I knew it would.
“I can’t be a part of this,” he says. “I can’t announce you tonight. But you can keep everything. The locks and the keys. The fish. The coin.”
“Thank you,” I say again. “Will you be watching in the stands?” I want to see him one more time. It is the most I have wanted anything besides finding my sister and going Above. It is hard to say the words.
“I can’t be a part of this,” he says again.
“You are a part of this,” I say.
“I know,” he says. And then he leaves, walking fast, because he has nothing left to carry. He’s given it all to me.
Standing in the dappled light of the stall, I fight back the tears. Crying is dangerous. Crying reveals too much. I have everything I need. I have the fish and the locks and the costume and the key. I have the insignia. And I have money.
I will spend it all now. I have the coin True gave me and the other money, too, worn in the bag with my air mask on my back. I will buy the air I need and hide it in my room at the temple. Then I’ll be ready to go at any time, as soon as someone dies.
I know it’s wrong, but I hope it happens quickly.
There is no longer any reason for me to stay.
When I tell Ennio what Maire said, and when I say the name Asha to him, he turns pale. Without speaking he takes the money and gives me an air tank, heavy and made of ancient-looking metal. He rolls it up neatly in a cloth so that it appears to be a bulky but uninteresting, unspecific bundle.
“It works exactly like the air masks for the drills,” he says. “You’re familiar with those. Attach the mask and breathe the same way. But this one will last longer. And it’s pressurized for an ascent.”
“How do you know that?” I ask. “If no one’s ever made it to the surface?”
“I found an old cache of air,” he says. “From when they were building Atlantia. Sometimes they had to work out in the water. Sometimes they had to go up.”
This sounds far from safe. And it’s going to be hard to speak while I’m wearing the mask attached to the air tank. How will I let the words out without letting the water in?
Am I trying to do something impossible? Am I crazy?
I’ve never known if what they say is true, if I’m broken and strange, or if I just belong somewhere else and, if I can get there, I will finally feel right.
That’s what I’ve hoped for all my life.
“Go,” Ennio says. “And don’t come back.” He says that in a nice way, like he means for me to escape instead of die, and so I leave without another word. On my way out of the deepmarket, the bundle heavy on my back, I walk past my mother’s ring. People have gathered around it.
In spite of everything, she can still draw a crowd.
Hopefully, tonight, so will I.
I hide the air tank in my room with the fish and the locks and the last of the money. I’ll win more tonight, but I plan to give all of that to True to pay him back. Then he can buy more supplies and a stall in the deepmarket. Perhaps someday, without me asking for help with other things, he will find a way to make the mechanical bats stay aloft. I wish I could see that.
I glance over at Bay’s and Maire’s shells, but I resist the temptation to try to listen to one or to ask questions of the other. I’ve decided to trust myself and True, and I don’t want any doubt to creep in.
As I ride the gondola down to work, the sounds of Atlantia breathing press in on me, becoming louder and louder. No one else seems to notice.
And when I come into the workplace, the breathing becomes screaming.
I resist the urge to press my hands against the sides of my head to block out the sound. Again, no one else seems to notice it. I look around the room and see Bien watching me. Does she hear it?
Why is Atlantia screaming? Or is it the sirens? Has Maire driven me mad? She said she was trying to help me. Was she trying to break me instead?
And then everyone else looks up, and some of them reach to cover their ears. But it’s not the screaming they’ve noticed—it’s a new sound. The shrill whistle signifying a breach drill sounds down the halls and into our workroom.
Everyone reaches for their air masks, and I reach for mine, but it isn’t there.
In the excitement of everything—True giving me the money, buying the air tank, preparing for tonight—I forgot to bring it with me. I took it off at home and left it with my other things.
I’ve neglected to bring my mask before—we all have—but never during a drill. This will result in a reprimand, certainly, and perhaps more. I swear under my breath. I don’t want anything to mess up tonight.
Bien pulls on her mask and so do the other workers. I hear them breathing as they start their oxygen. A girl near me shudders as she gets ready to seal the mask shut. “I hate this,” she mutters to her friend.
And then she notices me. “No mask?” she asks.
“I forgot it,” I say, and her eyes widen.
“Uh-oh,” she says. “You could have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the drill.”
I know. My timing is terrible. At least the sound of the whistle drowns out the screaming in the walls for now.
I seem to be the only one in the ocean room who didn’t remember to bring a mask today. I suppose the water outside the portal is a constant reminder of how close we are to being unable to breathe.
Emergency procedure apparently dictates that the workers should file into the sky room, because that’s what everyone does. I’m glad. I look for Elinor, walk toward her.
Josiah rushes into the room, mask already in place, and surveys us. His eyes stop on me.
“I need a spare mask,” I say.
He nods. There are always a few on hand in every building, even though we’re supposed to carry our own. He leaves the room to find one for me.
It’s strange not to have mine on, but mostly I’m glad. I don’t have to pretend to breathe the air. And it’s funny to hear the other workers talking to one another through the masks in monotone, depersonalized voices. I’ve always wondered if this is what I sound like to everyone else.
After a few more minutes, the door flies open and Josiah comes back inside. “I haven’t found one yet,” he says. “The closet was empty.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “It’s my own fault.”
Josiah stares at me for a second and his eyes are wide with fear and concern. Why is he so worried about this?
I realize the answer a moment before the whistle stops and a siren’s voice—not Maire’s—comes over the loudspeaker.
“This,” the siren says, her voice pleasant and urgent, “is not a drill. Please follow instructions exactly. If you haven’t done so already, go to your designated gathering location and then remain where you are, with your mask on, breathing regularly and normally. The situation will be remedied as soon as possible.”
And now everyone in the room stares at me.
“Perhaps she could share one. . . .” Elinor begins, making a move to take off her mask.
“No,” Josiah says. “That compromises the survival of both. It’s against the rules.”
His voice sounds flat, but his eyes look sorry.
Everyone is still watching.
What do they think I’ll do? Run? Cry? Scream? The first option doesn’t make any sense, because I don’t know where Atlantia is leaking. For all I know, I could run right into the breach. And crying and screaming are going to use up what air I do have. If it’s a breach in the air system, the oxygen in the room will be gone soon enough.
My heart pounds so hard that I swear I can feel it in my palms as well as in my chest. It strikes me that I’m providing a good diversion for the others—the smaller drama of Will Rio die? is, for now, overshadowing the larger issue of Are we all going to die?
Should I risk everything and command them to let me leave? Then I can go hunt for a mask.
But the voices in the walls of Atlantia start up again, and this time they are screaming at me. Telling me to stay. Stay.
Who are they? The sirens? Maire heard them speak to her from the walls of the city. Am I hearing them, too? But that can’t be right. Maire said they were gone.
Elinor moves to put her hand on my arm, but I’m crawling inside and outside with all these voices and I edge away.
It’s growing dark in our workroom, though it isn’t the dimming time, and that feels ominous. Why lower the lights? Has the breach affected the power in some way?
I have no memory of this ever happening before.
And what about True? Where is he? Is he safe?
It’s cold.
I do not want to die like this—drowned or suffocated in the Below without ever having seen the Above. For a moment I’m tempted to ask doors to open and mines to move, to get out right now.
But I’ll die for certain that way. Wait a little longer, I tell myself. If the water starts coming in, you can do that. You can die out in the ocean instead of trapped in here. And if you survive, then don’t wait any longer to leave. Get the air tank. Get out. Don’t wait until there’s a body you can trade places with in the morgue. Go to the floodgates and go up.
Eventually the sirens’ screams die down. People are no longer talking, and I feel weak. Most of us shiver.
There isn’t much air left in the room.
We all wait to see if the water will come rushing in or the air out or both.
Just when you think you don’t have anything else to lose.
You die.
I don’t cry at all while we watch the minutes pass on the clock and I breathe in and hope it won’t be for the last time.
I don’t cry when some of the people start looking at me less and some more. I can tell they think I’m going to die soon, that the air is almost gone. Some would rather not see it happen. Some want to watch. They want to see what it’s like.
We hope to observe, not inhabit, the moment of our own deaths.
My mother wrote that. Nevio didn’t intend for me to read those words, but I remember every one of them.
I don’t cry when the siren comes over the loudspeaker to tell us all that the breach has been sealed off, that we are not in danger anymore, that we can take off our masks now. I feel the air rushing back into the room, and I draw it into my lungs.
I don’t cry when the siren tells us that we will soon be able to return to our homes, to be patient for a little longer.
When my mother died, there were times when I wept like Bay did, like I would never stop. But of course I stopped eventually. You have to stop crying if you plan to survive.
“Where was the breach?” someone asks.
“We don’t know yet,” Josiah says.
“How bad was it?”
“We don’t know that, either,” Josiah says. “They’ll tell us when they can.”
“You were so brave,” someone says to me. Now everyone smiles at me, seems pleased with how well I handled myself.
“It turned out all right,” I say.
“You didn’t know that would be the case,” Elinor says. “We should have shared with you. Even though it’s against the rules.” She looks ashen, shocked at herself. “But we didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I would have done the same.” I wouldn’t have shared my air with any of these people. Not even with Elinor. Bay and my mother and True—they are the people I’d risk my life to save. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“I never knew I was so coldhearted,” Elinor says.
“Rio’s not surprised,” Bien says. “She knows what people are capable of.”
Right then the siren speaks from the walls. “We regret to say that the breach was in the deepmarket,” she says. “We have had to seal it off to preserve the safety of the rest of the city.”
What does that mean? I want to ask, but I know and I am so cold.
“They sealed it off,” a man says, sounding stunned. “That means there will be no survivors.”
The people of the deepmarket, gone. Aldo. The bettors. Cara and the man who worked with her.
I will never swim in the deepmarket again.
And True.
Did he go back there today? To sell the fish in his cart?
Maire is safe, locked away in the holding cells up closer to the surface.
But True.
Elinor sinks to her knees. Bien has forgotten me. There is a look of terror in her eyes.
Everyone whispers and cries out their questions. What kind of a breach was it? Too much water or not enough air? Did they drown or suffocate? Which would have been worse?
“The gondolas are not working,” the siren says, “but you may walk back to your homes. None of the neighborhoods were destroyed. We will give you more information as soon as we can.”
And then there is singing over the speaker. Siren singing. They are comforting us, telling us to wait and see, to go home, go home, go home. But these voices are tame, not like the ones screaming from the walls. These sirens are telling us what the Council wants us to hear.
I hurry for the door, but once I’m outside I stop in my tracks.
It’s foggy.
And we don’t have weather here.
Elinor catches up with me. She draws in her breath at the sight.
“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” I whisper.
“Once,” she says. “When your mother died. It’s one of the reasons some people think she might be a god.”
“I didn’t go out that night,” I say. I was inside, with Bay, promising her over and over again that I wouldn’t leave. “I didn’t see anything like this.”
Elinor and I both start to run. We pass the wishing pool and then we are caught up in masses of people, all hurrying, and I can’t see Elinor anymore.
My feet carry me in the direction of the temple, because that is where I first saw True, and no one stops me because I am also going home. Home through the fog, the siren voices singing overhead, loosed at last.
I pray silently, and it’s not to Efram or any of the tiger gods, or any of the gods at all. It’s not their faces I picture; it’s hers. My mother’s.
I hear other people around me saying her name. They are remembering that other night when the fog came. They are remembering her.
I’ve joined my blasphemy with those in the deep-market who worshipped her. Did they pray to my mother when the water came in or the air went out? Did she help them? Can she help me? I’m going to the temple, and I need a miracle.
Please let True be there.
Please let True be there.
Please let True be.