“Shhh! Here it comes.”
All three Syrena stiffen, almost invisible against the current. In the distance, a shadow emerges, slow and stealthy, like a wary shark. A giant, wary shark. It glides through the water, looking every bit the predator it is. When it’s just overhead, Nalia and Freya shoot up expertly, leaving Grom behind in the wake of their swirling muck. He watches as Nalia’s clear form latches on to the metal hull with her squid tentacle. Dangling by one arm, she materializes just long enough to grin down at him.
Stupidly, he grins back. And he’s thankful he’s still in Blended form. Otherwise, she might think he’s flirting with her. Am I flirting with her? In the next second, he springs up and attaches his own tentacle to the hull, his half grunt full of disbelief and thrill.
Up close, the ship doesn’t look as smooth. Where the metal is chipped in places, rust rings have settled in, and even a few barnacles have taken up residence in sporadic clumps along the length of it. But Grom suspects the humans aren’t so concerned about the beauty of it as they are about the deadliness of it. And deadly it is.
He keeps an eye on Nalia, who is now sneaking her way to the top of the vessel. He copies her movements as she sticks and unsticks her tentacle, careful not to make noise. Which is why his heart almost stops when Nalia starts pounding on the metal with a rock.
“What are you doing?” he says, feeling foolish for bothering to whisper.
She snickers and knocks again in an unmistakable rhythm. She materializes briefly, and presses her ear against the hull, motioning for Grom to do the same. “She really is insane,” he mutters as he does as he’s told. Inside the vessel, he hears a squall of human commotion. Each time Nalia knocks, the humans chatter in an alarmed tone, in a language Grom doesn’t understand. Then they knock back.
Nalia makes her way down to Grom at the middle of the death ship while Freya maneuvers to a long ladder on the side. He watches as the Tracker wraps her fin into the rungs to give her arms a rest.
“They always knock back,” Nalia says, proud. “Not just this one, but all of them.” Grom smiles at the excitement in her voice. “What does it mean?”
“Not sure. My knocking doesn’t mean a thing, but I think theirs means something to them.”
Grom looks around. “We’re heading into deeper water. How long do we plan on risking our lives? I’m getting hungry.”
Nalia laughs, a genuine, tickled sound, and Grom realizes it could be his new favorite sound in all the ocean. Get a hold of yourself, idiot. This is your game. Play it.
“Sometimes we can drive them crazy enough to surface,” she says. “Then Freya likes to make faces in their little hole at the top. That really drives them mad.”
“Triton’s trident! How have you not been caught?”
Nalia materializes. “Who says we haven’t?”
“You’ve been caught by the humans? Does your father know?”
“Oh yes, of course he does. Because I tell him of all the illegal things I do.” She rolls her eyes. “No, we’ve never really been caught. Freya came close though. Sometimes she misplaces her intelligence.”
Freya materializes long enough to stick her tongue out at them. Nalia laughs, removing all doubt that it’s his new favorite sound.
Then a loud, foreign pitch startles him, one that seems to promise impending doom. He accidentally releases his tentacle and, in a shaved second, he’s falling behind the vessel. “What’s that sound?” he shouts to Nalia, trying to keep up, not caring if the humans on board can hear him.
“It means there’s another ship somewhere around here. An enemy one.” Her face is full of dread.
Grom’s gut wrenches. “Let go! Don’t be stupid. Please!”
“I can’t! Freya’s stuck on the ladder.”
Indeed, Freya wriggles within the confines of the ladder, as if it’s a living thing keeping her trapped. Nalia is right. Freya really does misplace her intelligence. It would be a simple thing to free herself, if she would just calm down long enough to think it through. But he can see the panic settle in, the calm leave her eyes. She’s working on survival instinct alone.
Then Grom sees it. In the distance, a huge shadow moves toward them. No, toward the human death ship. With speed, with confidence, with purpose, as if the two vessels were connected by a rope and their coming together were as natural as high tide.