I tore my gaze away and straightened in my chair. “I’m sorry. But I could fetch a doctor, if you like. Mally knows one in Peel who’s quite gifted. I can’t begin to imagine how much that hurts.”
“It’s not so bad. I make a balm to dull the aches on the worst days.” Morag looked down, brushing crumbs off the table. “Now, would you like to head out in this storm to buy me a new bucket, or would you rather finish your tale?”
My face flushed, and I stumbled through an explanation of finding Fynn on the beach.
“And is he a local boy?” Morag’s tone suggested she already knew the answer.
I shook my head and speared more berries on my fork, though I wasn’t sure I could keep them down. Now that the pie had cooled, the room’s foul odor was returning, despite my best efforts at cleaning. Or perhaps the stench was coming from me now.
“It’s good of your mam to keep him while he mends.” Morag’s foot bumped the table again. “He ought to be grateful he’s in such fine company. And you ought to be grateful the strangest thing the sea spat out yesterday was a boy in need of a bit of kindness.”
“Beg your pardon?” I sat up straighter. Perhaps Morag knew something about the missing girls.
“You heard me. There are more frightening things in the sea than a boy with no memories. When you didn’t return yesterday, I thought perhaps you’d encountered a sea ape. Or a ceasg. Or a lusca.”
I blinked, wondering whether Morag was having a laugh at my expense. Her eyes gave away nothing, as usual. “What are those?”
Morag seemed to be attempting a smile, but it looked closer to a grimace. “They’re living things, like you or me. A lusca is the biggest octopus in the world.”
“I thought the biggest octopus was the kraken,” I said quietly.
Da had told me the legend of the kraken once, a giant beast that dragged ships into the deep. When I had nightmares about it, he assured me it was pure nonsense, a tale made up by sailors to amuse children, though the ocean seemed vast enough to be hiding such a creature. I hoped whatever was lingering in the waters around Port Coire was something a fisherman could capture or kill.
“No. The kraken is only a story. But there are other creatures in the deep that have never been near land,” Morag insisted, drawing me back to the present with her raspy voice. “Just because men haven’t seen them doesn’t make them any less real.”
I faked a giggle, still unsure whether Morag was joking, or if she truly believed. Perhaps she thought she could scare me off with her stories so she might find an apprentice more willing to search the beach.
“I suppose you’ve seen them, though?” I frowned as I tried to read her expression.
“Maybe,” she said coyly. “Or I’ve read about them.” She pointed to a book resting on a rickety table. Gold letters, too faded to make out, adorned the book’s dark cover. Even in the low light, its frayed pages were distinctly yellowed. “You’re welcome to borrow that, if you think it would help you find what attacked your friend.”
“I see.” My skin prickled. Even with my sisters to protect, I wasn’t ready to face whatever fresh nightmares were nestled in those tatty pages, and wasn’t sure if I could trust the words inside a witch’s book. “I do love reading, but I don’t think that book is quite to my taste. It might frighten my sister.”
“Your sister? The girl who came here with you? The pretty one?”
The words echoed in my mind, chasing away all thoughts of sea monsters. “She’s quite lovely, yes. But I meant—”
“And have you ever looked in a mirror?” Morag leveled her gaze at me, but only for a moment.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Did she mean that if I used a mirror more often, I might be able to fix my unsightly qualities? My sandy freckles. The slight bend in my nose. My small ears. Or did she mean a mirror would show me how lovely I was? Whatever her intention, I was content with my looks—the good parts and the flaws.
“Would you care to tell me what happened to your leg?” I murmured, putting on a polite smile. Morag deserved a reminder of her own imperfections. Lugh would be proud of me for asking, besides. Still, my eyes darted to the door as the silence between us grew. I was asking for trouble, talking back to a witch.
“An accident. Long time ago,” Morag said at last.
“What attacked you?”
“Nothing.” She was as curt and gruff as ever.
“But what—”
“When I was a girl, my foot got caught in a hunter’s trap. I tried to free it instead of waiting for help.”
My irritation vanished. “That must’ve been terrifying.”
When she said nothing more, I helped myself to another slice of pie and considered Morag’s story. If she’d been injured as a child, how had she lived all these years alone? How could she afford to pay me or buy flour and milk? My stomach lurched as I guessed the age of the flour she’d used to make today’s pie. It would have been from the last time Mam purchased supplies for her and hauled them up here, long before I began my apprenticeship.
“It was terrifying,” Morag muttered at last. “But I had a good friend who made sure I would be well provided for.”