The Gracekeepers (15 page)

But the city was large and the lungs were small. They had to leave now, or stay forever. Ainsel turned away from the sunken city and straightened his body in the water, kicking his feet to bring them back to the surface.

He pushed aside his lung and gasped at the air. After the stale heat of his own breath, the harbor smells were overwhelming: soil, saltwater, the skin of strangers.

Without a word, North removed her lung and used the canvas-ropes to pull herself back on to her coracle. Water sluiced off her body as she climbed. Ainsel threw the lungs up to her, one by one, then followed. He watched North as he climbed: she was leaning over the edge, wringing the water from her dark hair; she was peeping into the belly of her coracle; she was rearranging the ropes so that they didn't dangle in the sea.

North waited until he'd climbed the ropes. “It's from before,
isn't it? It's where people used to live when there was still land. That's where you want to be, isn't it?” she said.

“My great-great-great-great grandfather lived there.”

“And you want something real. Something ancient. Like your ancestors had.”

Ainsel nodded. Perhaps North understood after all.

“But it's gone,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “The sea took it.”

“We will take it back,” he whispered. “We will make the new land our home. There will be Stirlings on the island again.”

“Home…” said North. Or was it just the suck of the sea against ships? Her eyes drifted away from Ainsel and she dropped down into her coracle.

He shook water from his limbs and closed North's canvas. He tied the knots tight.

A
fter the usual routine of performing and eating, Ainsel slipped away with a vague mumble about grooming his horses. The other circus folk bored and frustrated him: their small words, their small dreams. They would never be the lords of anything. They would never know real love.

His coracle was the second largest, after the mess boat; it was easily three times the size of North's, but that was as it should be. His horses could not be bundled into a tiny bunk like North's beast. Ainsel needed space to prepare for his performance, to allow himself enough sleep, to sit quietly and contemplate his future. He slid into his coracle, leaving the canvas open to freshen the air.

“Hello, beauties,” he crooned to Lady and Lord as he ran his
hands along their necks. They snorted in reply, their breath hot and damp on his palms. Lady was a pure white mare, with a birthmark on her cheek the shape and color of a ripe plum; Lord was a beautiful silver-gray, his muzzle velvety black as if he'd been sniffing at charcoal.

Both their manes were braided with green and silver ribbons from that evening's show. Ainsel noticed that some of Lady's were coming unfastened. Rather than try to tidy the braiding, it would be better to do it all over again. Lady's mane could do with a rinse anyway. He pulled down his horse-brushes, filled a tin basin from the filter, and got to work.

On the boats there was never quite enough space, just as there was never enough food or water or privacy. A dampling's life was one of lack. Ainsel deserved better. And he would have better—he and Avalon, together.

His heart was Avalon's, from now until eternity. How strange that to be with her he had to marry someone else. What would it be like to have North for his wife, however briefly? His memory strolled through moments with North: the pair of them, six years old, prying abalone off salt-crusted rocks; sharing a pomegranate on a lazy, dozing morning; helter-skeltering across an eastern island, screaming half in terror and half in glee with a landlocker's dog snapping at their heels; aged ten, playing doctor; fourteen, practicing kisses. In another life, perhaps he could have loved her. But not in this one.

“Ainsel,” whispered Avalon into his ear.

He jumped and tipped over the bucket. Water crept across the deck of the coracle, making Lady and Lord skitter their hooves and flick their ears.

Ainsel soothed the horses, turning his back to Avalon so that she wouldn't see his elation. His heart throbbed in his ears. He'd
been alone with her only a handful of times, and it made his head spin. “My love. How I have wished for you to visit me again.”

Avalon dug through the box of sea sponges, spreading a fistful across the deck to soak up the water he'd spilled. “I won't be long. I don't want Jarrow to notice I've gone.”

“I knew you would come back to me.” Ainsel's hands had stopped shaking. He turned to Avalon. Her night-black eyes, her throat as smooth as pearls: she was so beautiful he could barely look at her.

“I haven't come back,” she said. “I will never come back to you. Not in that way. I just need to speak to you.”

Ainsel traced her lips with his finger but she could not summon a smile.

“Enough, Ainsel. I told you, that won't happen again. Jarrow mustn't know.”

“Are you worrying, my love? There is no need, I promise! Trust me, and I will give you all you want.”

In the light of the seal-fat lamp, Avalon's skin gleamed as white as a shell. Her black hair was still braided in ribbons from the performance; with a slow smile, Ainsel reached over to unfasten it. It came free, teasing Ainsel with the scent of jasmine. Avalon snatched her ribbons back, her nails scratching Ainsel's fingers. “Stop it! I only came to speak to you—to tell you—Ainsel, you have to refuse the house. It's mine. It should be for me and for Jarrow.”

“Forget him. The house is rightfully yours, my queen. Yours and mine.”

“Ainsel, don't be ridiculous. Give up the house. You can have the circus, all of it. You can be the ringmaster.”

“I don't want to be the ringmaster. I want to be with you. Listen to me, my love. All I have to do is marry North, and my
father will sign the house over to me. Then you can leave him and we can be together. It's so simple.”

“What about North?” asked Avalon.

“What about her?”

“You'll be married, Ainsel. Do you imagine that she'll quietly consent to live in the house with you and your father's wife? Do you think she'll go without a fight? Listen to what you're saying. This plan is nonsense.”

“When it all comes out, when everyone knows that you and I are in love, North is bound to leave. She can run the circus with my father. Or she can buy her way into another circus. Or she can take that mangy bear and jump in the sea. It really doesn't matter. Since when did you care about North?”

“I don't care about her. There's no point arguing about this because you can't marry North anyway. She's pregnant.”

Ainsel couldn't hold in his laugh. “The little north child! What secrets we all hold. It's a wonder we don't burst open with them all. Whose child is it?”

“I don't know. Whitby's? Bero's? Some dampling she picked up? She probably doesn't even know.” Avalon pressed her hands to her belly, breathing deep. “Look, Ainsel. This is what matters. I can't leave with you. I don't
want
to leave with you. And you can't have that house. You have to tell your father that you don't want it. That you want to stay here and be the ringmaster.”

Her words stung, but Ainsel knew she didn't mean them. She loved him. She must, or why would she have crept into his coracle all those nights? Why would she have slid on top of him in the dark of his bunk, whispering sweet words in his ear, the length of her hair forming a curtain between them and the world? If she didn't love him, why would she carry his child?

“But I do want it,” he said. “And that's not all I want.”

He pulled his shirt off over his head, one-handed. Avalon looked away.

“Please, Ainsel. Tell your father you don't want to live on land.”

“Oh, my love. There are lots of things I could tell my father.”

He stepped closer to Avalon, so close that her bump pressed against him. Lady and Lord tapped their hooves on the deck of the coracle, and he took Avalon's hands, holding them tight so she couldn't pull away. Lady and Lord tapped again, and he pulled Avalon closer, slipping his arms around her—and no, that couldn't be right, horses did not tap that way, and they could not reach to scratch at the canvas, and he had not fastened the canvas so how could they—

“Ainsel?” called North into the coracle.

“Wait, North! I'm—just wait!”

His breath felt too heavy. Avalon stood in the center of the coracle, her hair wild, her eyes wide. “She mustn't see me here,” she whispered in a panic. “She'll tell him.”

“Tell him what? We'll say we're just training the horses.”

“Think, Ainsel! He knows that we always train the horses on deck, so why should we suddenly be skulking about down here? Don't give her a reason to gossip. She'll spread lies. She'll do it on purpose.”

“Here,” hissed Ainsel. He slid back the tin panel over the tack box and pushed her inside. The box was not tall and she'd have to crouch. “Sorry,” he whispered, and replaced the panel.

“Come in.” He was pleased that his voice sounded steady—but then he realized he was only half clothed. He scrambled around the damp deck for his shirt. “Ah—I was just changing. And I know you saw it all when we were kids, but we should save something for our wedding night.”

North climbed into the coracle, and the gods of land and sea must have been looking out for Ainsel, because he even managed to grin at her. She smiled back, but it wavered.

“I have to talk to you, Ainsel. It's about the other night. Our dive.”

“I'm listening,” he said.

North hesitated, frowning at the deck of the coracle. Ainsel followed her gaze: sponges, pooled water, an upturned bucket.

“Right. I spilled the water. While I was getting changed.” He bent over to collect up the sponges, dropping them into the bucket. Although it was impossible, he felt a sudden stab of worry that North would see Avalon's fingerprints on the sponges. To him, the scent and touch and sight of Avalon permeated the entire boat.

“Were you grooming them?” North nodded at Lady's damp mane. “I'll help you.”

Ainsel forced his face into a smile and handed North a brush. Perhaps he could have explained why Avalon was in his coracle: to check the horses, to discuss their act. But he would not be able to explain why Avalon was hiding in the tack box. No matter how much North trusted him, he knew she trusted his father more—and if she saw Avalon here then she'd tell him, she'd run right out there and tell him in front of the whole crew. Jarrow would find out about his son and wife eventually. But not yet. Not before Ainsel had what he wanted.

His heart thudded in his throat. He hoped that North could not see the vibrations above his collarbone. With a dry cloth he patted at Lady's mane.

North ran the brush down Lord's withers, snowing dust on to the deck. “I've been thinking a lot about that place,” she said. “The flooded city.”

“Yes. The landlockers know about it, but they won't go down there. And the damplings don't care.”

“I've been thinking for a while now, ever since we were at the graceyard to rest Whitby—I was talking to the gracekeeper there—why are our choices land or sea?”

Ainsel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Because that's what the world is, North.”

“But couldn't there be a compromise?” North blew into Lord's ears so that he flicked them back and forth.

“A boat is a compromise.” Ainsel kept his arms close to his body so that his hands wouldn't shake. It took everything in him not to glance over at the tack box.

“No, I don't mean that. I mean a way that people could live in that city under the sea. Don't you think that could be possible?”

“Like the weird baby born to that landlocker? It was a sea monster with legs!” Ainsel pushed out a laugh. “It sounds like Bero has been filling your brain with silly stories. That woman buried her baby alive, just as it should be.”

“Ainsel, I'm serious.” She looked up at him, her fingers lost in Lord's silver mane. “Couldn't there be something? A baby born that could live in the sea or on the land. Would it be so bad? Wouldn't it be—don't you think that's the way forward for us all? A new world. A new start.”

Ainsel untangled North's fingers from the horse's mane, letting the ribbons fall to the damp deck. He led her over to the bunk and sat her down.

“Oh, North.” He patted her knee in a soothing manner. “I see what this is about. You're scared about the wedding, aren't you?”

“No, Ainsel. I—I thought maybe you were trying to tell me something. With the dive. I thought you were showing me that the world has changed before, and that it could change again.”

Ainsel sighed. Of course he'd been telling her something. And, of course, she hadn't understood. He'd been showing her that he was a lord of the land, and she'd seen some nonsense about sea monsters.

“What happens now?” said North. Her voice wavered as if she was trying to breathe underwater. “What happens when you speak to Jarrow, and we don't get married?”

This was not the time for weakness. Avalon could hear every word and Ainsel had to be strong. He had to show her that he had a plan. He could convince North, and Jarrow, and everyone. “But we are getting married,” he said.

“Don't talk nonsense. When are you going to tell him?”

“I'm not, North. We'll get married, and we'll get our house, and we'll live happily ever after. That's the only ending.”

North gave an irritated snort. She paced the deck, tapping her fingers along Ainsel's possessions as if making sure they were real. Loose paint flaked off an orange float strapped to the wall.

“Ainsel, I don't understand you. Neither of us wanted this. Why have you suddenly changed your mind?” She paused at the tack box and Ainsel turned to stone. Colored lights crept across his vision and he remembered to breathe.