Coral Waverly's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Coral swam north for an hour before the water changed. The reef fell away. The sand turned gray with silt from the harbor town somewhere ahead. Fishing lines drifted down like pale weeds. Chabastion Tidecaller paddled beside her, six legs churning, the beads still bunched in one claw. "Slow down," he said. "You are swimming like the name is going to expire." "It might," Coral said, and kicked harder. The net took her before she saw it. One moment she was moving. The next, a wall of knotted rope dragged sideways across her tail and cinched tight. She spun. The net twisted with her and pulled worse. A float bobbed somewhere above, tugging the whole thing toward the surface. "Hold still." Chabastion caught up, dropped his beads, and grabbed a rope with both claws. "Hold still, hold still." "It is cutting." Coral felt the mesh bite the thin skin at the edge of her fin. If she thrashed, the fin would tear. She had seen it happen to an older cousin. He had never swum straight again. "Do not pull," Chabastion said. His antennae shook. "Please. I can cut it." "With what?" He looked at his claws. Then he looked back the way they had come. "The wreck. The cup in the wreck had a broken edge. I saw it this morning." "There is no time." The float above her jerked. Somewhere a line was being hauled in. Chabastion climbed onto her back and set one claw against a single strand where it crossed her scales. He squeezed. The rope frayed. He moved to the next strand. His claw was slow, but it was sharp enough. The float jerked again. Coral rose a foot. Then another. She kept her tail still and let him work. One strand. Two. Four. The net loosened around her fin but held her waist. "Keep going," she said. "I am." A shadow crossed above. A hull. Voices carried through the water, blunt and quick. The net rose faster. Chabastion clung to her shoulder and cut. She saw the underside of a small boat, the dip of an oar, a pair of boots braced on the rail. The last strand snapped at her waist. Her tail came free. But the net around her arms did not. It pulled her up through the last of the water and into open air. She hit the bottom of the boat on her side. The sailor above her froze with the net rope still in his hands. His face was the face from the beach three days ago. He knew hers too. She watched him recognize her. He looked once at the shore, once at the water, and threw a tarp over her. "Stay down," he whispered. Then he began to row. Beneath the boat, Chabastion clung to the rudder and held on.