Coquina's Arc

Chapter 6 of 7

Coquina swam to the arch and pressed her hands to the door. It was thick wood, banded with iron, locked tight. She had nothing to break it. Beyond it lay the fisherman and the pearl. Boots scraped somewhere behind the flowers. The guards were sweeping closer. She had minutes, maybe less. "Push all you want," Pearl said, hovering near the lock. "It won't move. I already tried the keyhole. Too small even for me." Cove ran his palm along the door frame. "Solid. We can't force it." He looked at the water. "And we can't stay." Coquina's gills burned under the drying mud. She scanned the garden pool. The dolphin circled below, shells and pearls bright along its back. It chirped and nudged the wall beside the door, then again, harder. Coquina watched the stone there. A seam ran through it, thin and dark, where water seeped from the pool. "There," she said. "The wall's cracked, not the door." She pushed the fisherman from her mind and pressed both hands to the wet stone. It shifted. Just barely. "Cove. Help me." He set his shoulder beside hers. The dolphin rammed the seam from below. Pearl darted to the top edge and pulled with all her tiny strength. "On three," Coquina said. "One. Two. Three." They shoved together. Stone ground against stone. Water poured through the widening gap. A slab tilted inward and crashed down into a dim room. Dust and pool water rushed after it. Coquina hauled herself through the broken wall. She landed on a wet floor. Shelves lined the room, crowded with reef things stolen over years—coral, shells, and one small stand at the center. On it sat the pearl. It glowed soft and white, the same light she had felt go silent in her reef. But the room was empty. No fisherman. A door on the far side stood open. Beyond it, a hall stretched toward pastel windows and rows of shimmering tails on display. She heard the old man's voice, close, giving orders. Then a woman answered him—calm, sharp, used to being obeyed. Pearl flew in and gasped. "He heard the wall. He ran." Coquina grabbed the pearl and held it to her chest. Its warmth spread through her hands. She had it. After the river, the net, the guards, she finally had it. Then boots pounded in the hall. The fisherman shouted for the guards to seal the shop. Through the far door, Coquina saw the woman step into view. A mermaid with flower-crowned hair moved among the hanging tails, her face turning toward the noise. She ran this place. And the fisherman was standing at her side, pointing back at Coquina. "We have to go," Cove said. Coquina looked at the broken wall behind her, then the open door ahead. The pearl was in her hands. But the only way out led straight through the fisherman and the woman who protected him.