chart, one of Skallaâs minions steals it while weâre adrift. Every summer I must begin anew, from scratch.â
âI donât understand why the curse works like this,â Trudy said, annoyed at her own lack of understanding. âIf Skalla hates you so much, why not just drown you outright? Why keep you coming back here every summer?â
âAh, because she needs us, you see. We donât know what for, but she has a plan for us, so the very same spell that condemns us also keeps us alive. The currents bring us to this beach that, in old days, was Skallaâs hideaway, her refuge and stronghold. We wash ashore here every summer, and the witch keeps us enslaved to the tourists, humiliated.â
âBut not after midnight,â I pointed out. âHere, right now, youâre not all zombified.â
Fin steepled his fingers. âWe are a strong people. Even as our hands squirt mustard on hot dogs, we fight. Years ago, with the help of our few land-dwelling allies, we almost won a victory. As the kingâs sorcerer, I used my own small magic, and we gained this modicum of freedomâa place of our own to dwell in thelongest hours of night, where we can plan, and calculate. Even if it is all for nothing in the end.â
These land-dwelling allies Fin mentionedâhe was talking about the Keepers. Like my uncle.
âSo when is Last Day?â Trudy asked.
Fin smoothed out the butcher paper. âThere is an unusually strong high tide due soon, the strongest of the century. It coincides with the full moon, an arctic storm, the approach of an undiscovered comet, the venting of an underwater volcano, the braiding of geomagical force lines.⦠It is very complicated. But I believe I know when.â
âAnd âwhenâ is ⦠?â
âThree weeks from today.â
Trudy and I exchanged wide-eyed stares.
âThree weeks?â I shouted. âWeâve only got three weeks before weâre all floating garbage?â
âOh, it is even worse than that,â Fin said. âSomething even larger is happening this year. More than merely Flotsam being drawn to the drowning. I have been unable to put my finger on it, but I believe there is a disaster coming. I do not know its nature, nor its magnitude, but who is to say it wonât be of a proportion even greater than the storms that befell the last Atlantis?â He paused. âAre you sure you wouldnât care for some soup?â
Another Flotsam entered the kitchen. I thought Iâdseen him selling churros on the boardwalk. âThe king has returned,â he announced. âHe demands the witch and prisoners be brought before him.â
âTheyâre not prisoners,â Fin said. âThey are guests and allies.â
âPerhaps you would like to tell the king that,â the newcomer said.
Fin thought about it. âYou had better go up to have your audience,â he said to us in a conspiratorial whisper. âIt wonât be so bad. If he puts you in the dungeon, I will bring you soup. If he does worse ⦠well, letâs hold that thought in reserve for now.â
The Atlanteans took Trudy and me up to a huge room on the second floor. I figured it had once been a dining hall. Fin followed us, carrying Trudyâs backpack. A chair of driftwood, adorned with pearls and spiky frills of coral, loomed at one end of the room. Leaning against a seat back made from a giant clamshell, the man sitting in the chair watched without expression as Trudy and I were brought before him. He wore a T-shirt with a faded crown on it and a tan raincoat thrown over his shoulders like a cape. With one hand, he stroked a long, braided beard fastened with a gold hoopâa napkin ring. His other hand gripped a trident spear. Back on the boardwalk, heâd told me that I was smelling the scent of thesea, and that I should buy popcorn. In this setting, he seemed very different.
âI am
Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris