Caspian Tideborne's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

The salvage hunter folded the leather strip and slid it into his coat. "Seen this mark on a living man," he said again. "But a name like that costs more than coins." His name was Silas Blackwater. He had helped Caspian reach the wreck, but he traded in wrecks, not favors. He turned and walked up the rocks toward his dock office, and Caspian pulled himself onto legs and followed. The office leaned on gray, salt-worn boards. Silas pushed the door and it dragged over the uneven floor. Inside, charts covered the walls. He sat and set the strip on the table between them. "I know the man who wears that mark," he said. "I don't hand strangers to old friends. You could be his enemy. You could be worse." "I don't even know my own name," Caspian said. "How could I be his enemy?" Silas smiled without warmth. "Every man says that. I said it once." He tapped the compass on his chest. "Give me a reason to trust you, boy. A real one." Caspian looked at the gold on his arm. The cuff was all he had, and he would not trade it. But he thought of the deep trench, of the ledge where the octopus rested. He remembered a pale gleam half-buried in the sand there. He had swum past it twice. "Wait for me," Caspian said. He dove from the rocks. His legs became tail, dark green flashing gold, and the water took him down into the cold. He found the ledge and dug where the gleam had shown. His fingers closed on something smooth and round. He pulled it free and rose fast. He dripped on the office floor and set it on the table. A pearl, large as an eye, shifting with soft rainbow light. Silas leaned close. His hard face cracked. "I've hunted forty years," he said. "Never pulled one like this." "I'm giving it to you," Caspian said. "Not trading. A man who means harm keeps what's rare. I'm giving it away." Silas turned the pearl in his fingers a long moment. Then he set it down and looked at Caspian straight. "Fair," he said. He drew a breath. "The man who wears your mark is called the Warden. He lives on the far island, past the black rocks. Two days' swim." He paused. "He knew someone lost at sea. Long ago. He never stopped watching the water for him." Caspian's chest went tight. "Does he know my name?" "If anyone does," Silas said, "it's him." Caspian gripped the edge of the table. He had a direction now. A living man who remembered a face swallowed by the sea. He picked up the leather strip, and Silas let him take it. "Two days," Caspian said. "Past the black rocks." "Go careful," Silas said. "The Warden doesn't welcome strangers either." Caspian stepped out into the falling dark and turned toward the water.