Once the ship was safely anchored, the eager sailors watched the five wishpearl divers make their preparations. Sol barked orders to his comrades. “We go down two at a time. I dive first with Elgin, second will be Rom and Pell. After they come up, I’ll be rested enough to go down with Buna.” He flexed his arms back to display his broad pectorals marked with a chain of tattooed circles.
The divers opened a clay pot of grease, which they smeared over their skin. The grease would keep them warm as they went deep into the intricate coves and crannies of the reef. The grease also made them slide through the water, according to Rom, who smeared an extra layer across his chest.
Although the five divers had similar lines of circular tattoos, some sported more circles than others. Nicci learned that the tattoos were a tally of how many chests of wishpearls each diver had collected. Sol had been down so many times, he had started a second line on the right side of his chest. They each wore a braided belt from which dangled long, curved hooks to hang iron weights on, as well as a mesh sack for harvesting shells while they were underwater.
As the first divers, Sol and Elgin each tied one end of a long hemp rope to the belt around his waist and secured the other end to the foremast. Then they climbed up onto the rail, poised on callused bare feet. They fastened iron weights to the hooks on their belts, which would drag them down to the bottom so they wouldn’t waste time or breath stroking down to their destination. Once deep among the reefs, they could easily unhook and discard the weights before swimming back up.
As the two divers stood balanced in the sunlight, they inhaled, exhaled, then sucked in another great breath, expanding their chests and filling their lungs. With unspoken synchronization, the pair dove over the side and vanished with barely a ripple. The rope reeled out as they sank.
Captain Eli scratched the line of beard on his jaw. He seemed very calm and satisfied. “We might stay here at anchor a day or two. Depends on how long it takes to fill up our cargo chest.”
“A chest holds a lot of wishpearls,” Nathan observed.
“Yes, it does.” The captain took off his cap and wiped his hair, then settled it back in place.
After some minutes had passed, Bannon looked over the side, watching for the two divers to return. He glanced at Rom and Pell, who were fixing belts to their waists, attaching iron weights to the hooks, and securing their mesh sacks as they prepared to make their own dive as soon as the first pair surfaced.
Bannon asked the two men, “Do you think I could be a wishpearl diver someday?”
Rom looked at him as if he were an insect. “No.”
The young man’s expression fell, but he continued to peer over the side. “Here they come!”
The divers burst to the surface. Gasping, they shook their heads, flinging water from their long, clumpy hair. It had been nearly ten minutes, and Nicci was amazed the men were able to stay underwater for that long. Their lung capacity was as great as their arrogance.
Each man grabbed one of the dangling ropes and scampered up the hull boards. After they swung themselves over the rail to stand dripping on the deck, Sol and Elgin emptied their sacks, spilling out dozens of lumpy gray shells, which were eerily shaped like hands folded in prayer.
“Sweet Sea Mother, that’s lovely,” said Captain Eli as the crew rushed forward. “Absolutely lovely.”
The Wavewalker’s crew set to work with stubby flat knives to split open the wet shells, tear out the rubbery flesh, and pluck out icy-silver pearls.
Next, Rom and Pell dove overboard while their comrades rested. Sol spread his lips in a grin for Nicci. “If you offer me a proper reward, I’ll give you your very own wishpearl.”
Nicci simply said, “I already have one. Bannon gave it to me.” Sol responded only with an annoyed grunt.
By the time Rom and Pell swam back to the surface with an equally successful harvest, the next two divers were ready. For hours, the bare-chested men went down and came up again, over and over, as the crew shucked the shells and removed the pearls.
Curious, Nathan picked up one of the split-open shells discarded on the deck. “Remarkable. They look like human hands cradling the pearls.”
“Hands folded to make a wish,” Bannon said.
To Nicci, the crudely formed fingers appeared to be holding tight to the treasure hidden inside.
“These reefs are lush with shells,” said Buna after his third dive. “There’s enough treasure for a hundred trips.”
“And we’ll keep coming back,” Captain Eli promised.
Because the Wavewalker’s crew took some of their pay in wishpearls, they pressed the divers to descend over and over again. Nicci was just glad to see the arrogant layabouts actually working.
But at the end of the day, with the sun setting in a blaze of orange and golden fire, the five divers were weary. Although Sol, Elgin, and Rom did not seem inclined to do extra work, Pell and Buna agreed to make one last dive. The two tied ropes around their waists, attached iron weights to the hooks, and jumped overboard.
The sailors sat around on deck, chatting, shucking wishpearl shells, and piling the discards against the side wall. Pell and Buna stayed down for a long period—longer than any other previous dive that day. Nathan paced the deck, wearing an increasingly concerned look. The captain also looked worried.
Finally, Sol frowned, went to the rail, and leaned over to peer into the darkening water. “Pull on the ropes—haul them back up.” He clasped one of the wet hemp cables and strained, while an eager Bannon took the other rope tied to the second diver.
Bannon’s rope went taut in his hands, then suddenly yanked downward, tightening, burning through his fingers. He cried out and let go as the cable smacked against the Wavewalker’s hull. Something dragged it down from below.
“No swimmer could possibly pull that hard!” Sol said, straining against the rope.
The second rope creaked as an unseen force deep below dragged back. Rom and Elgin rushed to help haul on the ropes to bring their comrades back up. The strange grip tugged back with such strength that the whole ship began to tilt.
They all strained together, shouting, heaving. “Pull them up!” Sol yelled again.
Suddenly, both ropes snapped and hung loose in the water, like drifting seaweed. Working hand over hand, the men furiously pulled the ropes until the frayed end of the first one came free. “Why would they cut their own ropes?” Elgin demanded.
Bannon stared at the torn, stubby end. “That’s frayed, not cut.”
Nicci immediately understood the significance. “Something tore the rope apart.”
As the would-be rescuers hauled up the second loose rope, Rom climbed on the rail, ready to dive overboard to rescue his comrades, but before he could jump, the end of the second rope came dripping out of the water, still tied to the woven belt that had been ripped free from the wishpearl diver. Tangled in the belt were flaccid, wet loops of torn intestine and three connected vertebrae, as if an attacker had simply ripped the belt entirely through the diver’s spine and abdomen.
The sailors howled in fear, backing away.
“But how—?” Rom staggered backward, falling onto the deck. “We didn’t see anything down there.”
“Something killed Pell and Buna,” Sol said. “What could have caused this? What attacked them?”
Elgin glared over at Nicci. “Maybe Death’s Mistress summoned a monster.”
The three surviving divers stared at the sorceress in horror and fear, which quickly turned to obvious hatred.
Bannon whispered to Nicci in amazement, “Did you really do that? Just like you killed the thieves in the alley?”
She quietly chided him for his foolish statement, but after having seen the potential violence in the wishpearl divers, she was glad that they feared her.
CHAPTER 12
The crew stared from the dissipating bloom of blood in the water to the shreds of flopping intestines that dangled from the loop of woven belt. Captain Eli shouted for the sailors t
o set the sails and weigh anchor as clouds gathered in the dusk. Although the Wavewalker was in warm latitudes, far to the south of Tanimura, the wind seemed to carry a chill of death.
Nimble sailors scrambled out on the yardarms to untie the ropes, while others pulled on the halyards and stretched the canvas. The ship moved away from the reefs, slinking like a whipped dog, while the navigator pushed hard on the rudder and the lookouts guided the course to keep from scraping the dangerous rocks.
The captain called in a hoarse voice, “We’ve already lost two men today. I do not wish to lose more.”
Catching the wind, the ship retreated from the angry line of reefs and reached open water again. As full night fell, clouds obscured the stars, which mattered little since the captain could not navigate by the unfamiliar night sky anyway. He simply wanted to put distance between their ship and the reefs.
Although the crew was superstitious about deadly sea monsters, Nicci simply assumed that some shark or other aquatic predator had attacked Pell and Buna in the reefs. Nevertheless, she remained alert for danger. An ominous mood surrounded the crew like a cold and suffocating mist. After several hours, the blame the three surly wishpearl divers cast on Nicci took hold like an infection among the jittery sailors, and they all looked at her with fear. She did nothing to dispel their concerns. At least they left her alone.
The Wavewalker sailed for three more days, and the weather worsened, like an overripe fruit slowly spoiling. Troubled, the captain emerged from his chart room to stare at the clotted gray skies and the uneasy froth-capped waves. He spoke to Nicci as if she were his confidante. “With a full chest of wishpearls harvested, this voyage has been very profitable, despite the cost in blood. Every captain knows he might lose a crewman or two, though I doubt those divers will ever sail with me again.”
Nicci gave the man a pragmatic look. “You’ll find others. Where are they trained? One of the coastal cities? An island?”