Caspian Tideborne's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Caspian found the wreck at the bottom of a cold trench. Its hull lay half-buried in sand. Broken planks jutted from the sides, and rust bled from old iron plates. A crooked mast still stood, wrapped in rope gone soft with age. He swam a slow circle around it. Through a round porthole, gold flashed. He pressed his face to the glass and saw a trident inside, its handle carved with shells and waves. The same waves curved on his arm cuff. His heart pounded. The answers were in there. But every hatch was sealed, swollen shut by years underwater. He pushed and pried until his fingers ached. Nothing gave. He surfaced and swam to the coast for help. On a rocky shore he found a man dragging salvage from the tide. Gray beard, blue coat, a brass compass swinging at his chest. The man hunted wrecks for a living. Caspian had heard the fishermen speak of him, half in fear. "There's a wreck below," Caspian said. "Sealed tight. I need it open." The man barely looked up. "Everyone needs something open. Costs." He named a price Caspian could not pay. Then his eyes caught the gold on Caspian's arm. Something shifted in his face. "Or that cuff." Caspian's hand closed over it. "No. This isn't for trade." The man studied him, then reached into his salvage and pulled out a heavy iron crowbar, streaked with rust. "Then you'll do the work. I don't dive anymore." He held it out. "Bar goes under the hatch lip. Pry from the corner, not the middle. And boy—if that ship is what I think it is, I want first look at what's inside." Caspian took the crowbar and dove. He wedged the flat end under the main hatch and threw his weight against it. Wood groaned but held. He remembered the man's words and moved to the corner. He set the bar and pushed again. A crack split the seal. Silt clouded up. He worked the bar along the edge, prying inch by inch, until the hatch tore free and drifted down. The way in was open. Caspian swam inside. He reached the trident and lifted it. Symbols ran along its handle—the same carved marks as the cuff. He turned it in the dark water, sure now that both had come from one place, one maker. This was his. But the crowbar had done more than open the hatch. Behind the trident, the pried wood had loosened a whole section of hull. The wreck shuddered. Beams cracked overhead. Sand poured in as the ship began to fold in on itself. Caspian clutched the trident and kicked for the opening. The hull sagged behind him, sealing the deeper rooms he had not yet searched. He shot out into open water, trident in hand, the wreck collapsing at his tail. He had his prize. But he could not carry it far, and the man on the shore was waiting to claim it.