Child of a Hidden Sea by A.M. Dellamonica Page A

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    â€œKir Sophie?”
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s just—I’ve seen projections of land losses to global warming. In one, the water rose two hundred meters, and I could still make out the continents. Where’s Asia? Where are the Rocky Mountains?”
    â€œI don’t understand ‘Asia,’ I’m sorry.”
    â€œ You don’t understand?” She fumbled out the camera and photographed the map. The battery light blinked at her, dying, dying. Shutting off the camera, she gaped at the map again. “Okay, maybe we’re not in Kansas, Toto.”
    â€œI don’t know Kansas. This is the Northwater.” Dracy stubbed her finger down on the northwest quadrant of the page. “Our position.”
    Sophie took a moment to put her camera away, fumbling the case open, shoving Gale’s courier pouch aside—she’d forgotten to return it.
    Ask for some food, Sofe. Bram’s voice again. Your mood’s swinging like this because you’re being an idiot .
    She didn’t deserve food. She’d drowned those islanders.
    â€œNorthwater. So … north?” She tapped the top of the map. “South, down here? East, west?”
    â€œYes, of course. But that little chart’s no use for day-to-day navigation,” Dracy said gently. “If you want it…”
    â€œIt’s almost all water,” she murmured. The child’s rendering of the map showed chains of islands, hundreds of them, and no real continental masses at all. Even the biggest landmasses were mere lumps at this scale; if this was even somewhat accurate, there wasn’t an island on this world that had even the area of Australia.
    â€œThanks,” she said. And then, just to change the subject: “Where were you taking Lais?”
    â€œIt was a speculative venture, Kir—we’re a salvage ship. He hired us to help recover some stolen goods.”
    â€œTransporting me’s messed that up?”
    â€œIt’s not just you. His goods are sunk, and I loaned my diver to Stele.”
    â€œSunk at what depth?”
    â€œForty, fifty feet down.”
    She paused, toying with the map that made no sense and looking at a shell someone had nailed to the wall of the pilot house. It had the reptilian pattern and texture of tortoise shell, and the shape of a clam.
    What the hell. I can’t go yet, not if— “Forty feet … a person could free-dive that, if she knew what she were doing.”
    â€œWe’re to take you straight to the Fleet,” Dracy said.
    â€œThe dive site’s not even remotely on the way?”
    â€œPerhaps a day or two out of it.” Her eye fell on something in Sophie’s camera bag—the courier pouch. “Could you override our orders, Kir?”
    â€œWhy not? I didn’t mean to screw up your plans.”
    Dracy brightened. “We’ll discuss it with Lais over dinner.”
    â€œDinner?”
    So much for playing it cool: The captain looked as though a flashbulb had gone off in her face. “Oh, Kir Sophie. I should have thought.”
    She went on another rummage through the cupboards, this time coming up with an oilcloth packet that smelled faintly of bacon.
    Sophie’s stomach growled audibly as Dracy handed it over. Inside was a pressed cake that looked like it was made of unidentifiable fish, seeds, and bread—a salted ball of oil, protein and crunchy flour.
    â€œSlowly,” Dracy said. “I’ll have the cook get onto a meal right away. Milk, soup.”
    Sophie nodded, forcing herself to chew. The seeds tasted like sesame; after days with little but broth, the flavors seemed amplified, so intense they all but burned her mouth.
    â€œCome,” Dracy said. “We’ll dine early and the Tiladene can tell you his troubles.”

CHAPTER 5
    The story on Lais—besides his apparently being some kind of bisexual Lothario—was that he worked for a cooperative