“If you wish to succeed in the program, Lorraine, you cannot always avoid danger. The majority of the boundary disputes are taking place in Tilssted, so naturally you will need to spend some time there.”
Merletta’s forehead was creased in confusion by the end of his speech. She opened her mouth to ask what boundary disputes he was talking about, but closed it again, hampered by her own deception. Having just claimed that she’d spent the last month in Tilssted, she would be foolish to admit that she had no idea what was happening in the city.
She would have to ask Sage later. But her heart had grown heavy. If there were disputes involving boundaries, she knew who would lose out. It was always the same—those who most needed the help were least able to assert their rights. Visiting Tish had just become a priority.
And so had something else. Ibsen’s suggestion to Andre—although it had clearly not been sincere—had given her an idea. A horrible, stomach-clenching mix of guilt and anger swept over her every time she thought of the lost guard patrol. She couldn’t just forget about their fate, or about her role in it. She didn’t believe the story of land sickness for a moment, and she was determined to find out what had really happened to them. Not only did she need the answers for her own sake, but their families deserved that much.
She didn’t actually intend to approach the families, of course. But as her eyes rested on Andre, she thought she might have another way of beginning her investigations.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In a surprisingly short time, Merletta found that she had settled into the familiar weekly rhythm of the training program. The first three days were a mix of literacy and history classes, depending on the instructors’ availability, and the topics to be covered by the trainees across the three different years. Soon to be four years, assuming Oliver passed his upcoming test and progressed to fourth year. The last two days of the week were training with Agner and the guards.
Merletta’s memory journey—her mental recreation of the familiar stretch of water between the kelp farms north of Tilssted and the island of Vazula, with facts she’d learned figuratively stored at familiar points along the way—was becoming steadily more crowded with information. She might need to consider including the more familiar parts of the island’s jungle. She was pleased to find that the repetition exercises she’d done on her own on the island during her break had been sufficient to keep the bulk of her first year learning straight in her mind. Of course, it helped that she’d been able to literally walk some of the memory journey while recalling the information stored there.
The main difference to Merletta’s schedule as compared with the year before was that she no longer left the triple kingdoms during every rest day. Before many weeks had passed, she was itching to get back to Vazula, and not just to practice again with her legs. In her month on the island, she’d grown accustomed to the feeling of air on her face, and even before she’d discovered Vazula, she’d always made regular trips to the surface. Now, with a few uninterrupted months in the deep ocean, she felt suffocated by the constant heaviness of the water. She longed for sunlight and warmth, and for the freedom to explore her discoveries away from suspicious eyes.
But those suspicious eyes were the very reason she hadn’t yet ventured back to Vazula. There had been no sign of aggression from anyone, but she still knew she had to tread water carefully. Also, she’d almost forgotten how hard she had to work to keep up when two of her three instructors made very little effort to actually teach her. At least the year before she’d had a classmate in Jacobi, ensuring that the first year material was adequately covered. But now she was the only one studying her year, and the instructors gave her significantly less time than the first years or the third years. She spent many of her rest days in the public records room, or badgering the ever-patient Sage to fill in gaps left by the instructors’ prejudiced teaching. She hadn’t even managed to visit Tish yet.
Agner, of course, worked her at least as hard as the other trainees. She’d never actually calculated it, but it felt like he spent half the training time drilling her, leaving the first years to do exercises with new guard recruits, and the third years to undertake more advanced training with experienced patrols. She was often sore, but she was improving steadily, and thought she would soon have a chance of beating Andre. Oliver, sadly, was still out of her reach.
The debrief of Ibsen’s marketplace assignment in her very first week back didn’t exactly get her excited for her second year of studies. But in one of Wivell’s classes the following week, she received a pleasant surprise. When the instructor swam into the room in his usual unhurried fashion, a familiar pale-haired figure followed him in with a flash of vibrant green scales.
Merletta heard a small noise of surprise from Sage beside her, but she kept her gaze on Emil, sending him a hesitant smile. The former trainee—now a junior record holder—had always been a little aloof, but Merletta had reason to think that he’d been a friend to her in a background kind of way on more than one occasion.
Emil met her look, and though it would be too much to say he smiled, his expression was pleasant enough as he nodded in greeting. She saw his eyes pass to Sage. They lingered there a little longer than they had on Merletta, his expression just as inscrutable.
“I believe you all know Emil, one of our junior record holders,” Wivell said.
Merletta glanced at the other students. Oliver had nodded in greeting, and Lorraine dipped her head respectfully as well. Andre, however, was almost bouncing in his seat with excitement at the presence of the latest Skulssted trainee to achieve record holder status. Merletta hid a smile. Clearly, she and Sage weren’t the only ones Andre admired. His enthusiasm was endearing.
“Emil is here to work with Merletta,” Wivell said, drawing her attention instantly back to him.
“Me?” she said, her eyes flying to Emil’s in surprise. He inclined his head again.
“You are our only second year trainee,” Wivell reminded her unnecessarily. “Although your testing this year will focus on guard training, there are other skills you will be expected to master. One of those is the shorthand used by our scribes and record holders.”
Merletta straightened in her seat, brightening at the prospect of learning a new skill. She knew that space was a precious commodity in light of the perishable nature of underwater records, and it made sense that those who kept the records would have developed some form of shorthand.
“This training is usually undertaken by a junior record holder. Emil is, of course, proficient in the use of shorthand, and he volunteered to assist me.”
Merletta looked at Emil’s calm face with interest. He’d volunteered? That had been kind of him. He must have known she would be the only second year trainee. Her heart lifted. She would much rather study with Emil than with Instructor Wivell. Or with another record holder, like the one who often barked at her when she left anything out of place in the records room, or the one who’d administered her entrance tests with such reluctance.
The rest of the group soon had their different tasks, and Merletta waved to Sage as she drifted out of the room with Oliver, heading for the records room for advanced training in records maintenance. If they passed third year, they would qualify as educators, and would need to have a high level of skill with handling records. Merletta thought Sage looked regretful as she cast a glance over her shoulder. No doubt she would also have enjoyed a lesson with the familiar face of their old fellow trainee.
The two first years moved forward to listen to Wivell’s continued explanation of the work of the scribes, and Emil gestured for Merletta to follow him to a small adjoining room. When they were alone, he pulled several blank writing leaves out of his satchel, along with two sharpened coral writing implements. The leaves were treated by the scribes with a solution that made them last longer than they otherwise would, although still not nearly as long as above-water records.
“The shorthand seems complicated at first,” Emil started calmly, without preamble, “but it’s quite straightforward once you understand it. You’re a quick learner. I imagine you’ll pick it up without difficulty.”
“Thank you,” said Merletta, a little taken aback by his casual praise. “It’s good to see you again,” she added. “I hope you’re enjoying your role as a record holder?”
“It’s illuminating,” said Emil, and he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.
They dove straight into their topic, and Merletta was soon fully focused on her task. It took her by surprise, therefore, when Emil spoke abruptly, half an hour later.
“I’m glad to see you back from your break. When no one had heard from you, I was concerned you might not be coming back.”
Merletta lowered her stick of coral, looking at him warily. Did he mean he was worried she was never coming back, as in, deceased? Or just that she was discontinuing the program? He was a record holder now, a member of the Center’s elite, albeit a junior one. How much did he know? Was he aware that the guards’ story wasn’t entirely accurate? Could he know of her involvement?