The Twice Lost (50 page)

“Stop stressing, general-girl,” Yuan said sardonically. “Working out a treaty with the humans? That’s so insane it ought to come naturally to you.”

They could see the advance of black-lacquered cars on the road above. “We don’t know enough to know what we’re
doing,
though,” Luce murmured. “That’s why we need Dr. Perle. She seriously knows
everything
about the oceans, like about what will help . . .”

Yuan was grinning rakishly. “It’s funny to hear you going so fangirl.”

Luce bristled a little. “Her book was
amazing.
Dorian got it from the library, and I read it back in Alaska. She’s been doing deep-sea exploration for years, like going way deeper than
we
can! And—”

The limousines were turning into the parking lot, lining up one by one. Their windows sleeked across the pale day like wet black brushes; Luce half expected them to leave strokes of darkness on the air. She realized that she had no idea what the current U.S. president looked like. So many people were stepping formally from those cars; he could be almost anyone.

No: she knew him by the way people stood around him, their posture slightly curved and deferential. She knew him by the assertive way he met her eyes, just visible above the line of rocks. For all his coifed hair and severe tailoring he still looked rough and craggy to her, his face composed of complicated peaks and deep folds under his salt and pepper hair. His expression took on an aggressive archness as he watched Luce. Even from a distance, she realized, she made him uncomfortable.

Then, to Luce’s astonishment, a chauffeur opened yet another gleaming door, and Seb of the Ghosts stepped out looking extremely sheepish but also remarkably well-dressed and groomed. He offered his arm to an older woman who was emerging after him. She had neat, fluffy gray hair to her shoulders and wore a trim gray pantsuit with a bright silk scarf, and her expression was so wise and gracious that Luce immediately wanted to be like her someday.

She just
had
to be Audrey Perle. Luce was watching her so intently that she didn’t notice the president and his delegation approaching until they were ten feet away. “General Lucette Gray Korchak?”

Luce looked up. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Just President of the Humans. Isn’t that what you call me? Even though you girls are living in U.S. territory. International waters don’t kick in until you’re a good few miles out that way.” He gestured toward the horizon. He sounded like he was kidding, or at least trying to make her think he was kidding. The snide, offended undercurrent in his voice was obvious enough.

A Secret Service man rushed over with a chair. President Leopold waved it away and sat down on the rock, leaning toward Luce in a way she didn’t entirely like. There was a slightly misted look to his eyes, as if they were windows hit by a hot breath of enchantment.

Luce considered what he’d said anyway, tilting her head as she thought it over. “Did you even believe mermaids existed? Until a few months ago?”

“Of course not. I’m not about to believe in fairies or unicorns either.”

“Well, if you didn’t believe we existed, then how could you represent us?”

President Leopold nodded at that. “Touché, general. Touché. But if you all get your legs back and start trotting off to school you’ll be citizens again, won’t you, with the same rights and—pay attention now—
responsibilities
as everybody else?”

That made her start a little in spite of herself. “Is it true that we
can
change back now?”

“The Pentagon used to have a tank full of those baby mermaids you all call ‘larvae,’ general. And now they’re telling me we’ve got a bunch of babbling human infants to tend to instead. They still look a little greener and shinier than your average babies, so I hear, but apart from that they’re doing fine. So, yes, indeed you can. We’ll send down some doctors to help you all out with that soon.”

Luce wondered nauseously what the Pentagon had been doing with a collection of larval mermaids, but she couldn’t wonder for long. Leopold was still speaking.

“Now, I’m told you have a couple of—what should we call them?—interspecies advisors who aren’t exactly batting for their own kind today.” He gestured with his head toward Seb and Audrey Perle, who were now standing much closer with two of the suited men flanking them.

“They aren’t
batting
for anyone,” Luce said a little curtly. “Because this isn’t a game, Mr. President. Anyway, if this is about peace, then nobody has to choose sides anymore!”

From the way he stared at her, Luce knew she was halfway enchanting him without even wanting to. A different mermaid might have known how to use that to the Twice Lost Army’s advantage, but his fascination just made her feel fidgety. “Well. You’re just full of the zingers today, aren’t you, general?” he purred.

“May I introduce you to them, Mr. President?” Luce said. Exaggerated politeness seemed like the best way to handle his disconcerting reaction to her. She waved Dr. Perle and Seb over and couldn’t repress a smile at Seb’s bashful, half-stumbling advance. “President Leopold, this is the Twice Lost Ambassador, Seb Grassley. And you must be Audrey Perle?” Luce was suddenly just as shy as Seb. “The great oceanographer?”

“That’s a kind way to put it,” Audrey Perle said, smiling, and held out her hand to shake.

President Leopold turned a slow, shifting look on Seb. “And how did
you
meet our lovely general,
Ambassador
Grassley?”

“She saved me from drowning, Mr. President,” Seb muttered. He couldn’t make himself look up.

“I see.”

Luckily for Luce Audrey Perle wasn’t self-conscious at all. With a few deft words she brought everyone’s attention around to the question of the treaty, and soon negotiations were starting in earnest.

As Luce had expected, the parts about how humans and mermaids would treat one another were easy: nonaggression and full amnesty for the mermaids in exchange for an end to all the Twice Lost Army’s blockades and a promise: not only that the Twice Lost wouldn’t attack human ships, but also that they would send envoys to any mermaid tribes that still
did
hunt ships and persuade them to stop. Basically it amounted to assurances that humans and mermaids would let one another live in peace.

The parts about how humans would treat the oceans, though, were much harder to settle; that was why they needed Audrey Perle. The mermaid lieutenants had trouble hiding their boredom as the discussions dragged on. Various human assistants sat nearby busily drafting different versions of the treaty while Audrey Perle waved her hands with brusque animation, debating what percentage of U.S. waters should be designated Protected Zones safe from fishing boats and discussing carbon-reduction timetables and energy policy and on and on. Luce did her best to be attentive—this was what they’d fought for, after all—but there were times when she had to admit to herself that she had no idea what they were talking about. Now and then President Leopold would snap at Audrey Perle, saying, “Nonstarter. Try getting
that
through this Senate!” or “Our lovely general might have to take that particular matter up with Japan.”

It was some kind of victory for the Twice Lost, Luce supposed, but it wasn’t nearly as clear-cut and glorious as she’d imagined. And were they really going to have to go raise waves around
Japan
next?

Pale dusk was just starting to silver the bay when Luce realized that the humans had finished. Someone was running a printer. “This is a ridiculously informal way to be putting a peace treaty together,” President Leopold observed waspishly. “But this is one of those times when the smart thing to do is to roll with what life deals you.”

Luce’s lieutenants were snapping out of various states of idleness and lethargy now that the treaty was finally in front of them: three sheets of white paper on a clipboard. The pages kicked in the breeze, dense with fine black print. President Leopold was already scratching his signature across the bottom.

Luce looked up at Audrey Perle. “Do you think it’s good?” Even now that she’d led an army, her voice sometimes came out sounding uncomfortably fragile and childlike.

Dr. Perle’s answering gaze was patient and sympathetic. “Truthfully, General Luce? It’s far from perfect. But it’s also better than anything I’d hoped to see in my lifetime.”

Luce wanted to end the war so desperately that she didn’t trust herself. She might be giving in too soon. She might betray everything they’d struggled to achieve out of sheer emotional depletion. “Do you
really
think I should sign it? I mean—” Luce broke off, dismayed not so much by the thought of continuing the struggle herself as by the prospect of asking all the other mermaids to keep going, too.

Dr. Perle watched her, the wisdom in her olive eyes like a steady glow. “This treaty will make a tremendous impact for the better, general. So, yes, I really do think you should sign.”

The papers fluttered in front of Luce. She read them through, still feeling weary and doubtful. Her lieutenants began whispering. Of course, Luce thought, they were impatient to get this all over with. The black letters winked like fish in a moon-colored sea. There was President Leopold’s jagged signature, and there was the line for hers. Seb smiled wryly—or was that a grimace?—as he handed her a pen.

She signed.

Around Luce mermaids started cheering and clapping. Even most of the Secret Service men applauded. “Time to lower the wave, Luce?” Yuan asked giddily. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll pull one singer out every few minutes so the water level has plenty of time to adjust without causing any problems. We’ll do this nice and slow and safe. It will probably take all night, but then
damn
will it be time for a party! Sound good?”

Luce couldn’t even answer. She just nodded.

The cries of celebration were spreading from hill to hill. Mermaids spun high in the air, shrieking and laughing. People had started dancing on the bridge, and Luce saw a few mermaids who had swum to the top of the wave trying to leap far enough into the air to exchange high-fives with the humans leaning against the railings. Cars honked, and soon the uproar spread from the bridge and across the city until the entire bay seemed to reverberate like an immense liquid drum. Everyone was delirious with joy.

Everyone except her. Luce made herself go through the motions, first shaking hands with dozens of excited humans and wishing them all a good evening, then trying to look happy when her friends launched themselves at her in wild hugs that sometimes turned into playful wrestling or sent her tumbling through lilac-gray water.

The Twice Lost had won, more or less. They’d won against incredible odds, and for the first time in history mermaids and humans were reconciled. They were right to be ecstatic.

The problem for Luce was that she couldn’t forget the price they’d paid for their victory. As soon as she thought no one was looking, she slipped away, skimming recklessly out toward the open sea. She hadn’t swum out into the savage waters far beyond the shelter of the bay since the night when the submarines had attacked the Twice Lost—not since she’d seen Bex cut in half by a spurt of machine gun fire. Even now Luce didn’t really know how many mermaids had died that night: dozens of girls were still missing, but there was no way to determine who was dead and who was simply hiding.

At first the song of the Twice Lost still purled around her. It curled and ebbed like a second ocean made of music, a timbre that infused the waves and answered their secret songs. Then she went on, and the music slowly faded out behind her.

And as she swam she kept noticing something that looked like a golden lantern trailing ribbons of light. It kept pace with her the way the moon does, only it followed her through deep sea rather than clear sky. It would vanish for long stretches as if disappearing behind rooftops or trees, then Luce would catch sight of it sailing along beneath her again.

The fifth time she saw it, she understood what it was: the face of a sleeping girl, her long golden hair rippling in her wake like tentacles. The face wasn’t attached to a body, but its expression offered a sense of enveloping peace.

Anais,
Luce realized. She didn’t know if the fact that she was seeing Anais meant her mind was going. And it was astounding to see Anais looking so utterly serene, so sweetly transfigured . . .

The face blinked away again. There was only a hint of golden rivulets, a subtle fluctuation as if the darkness was straining to remember the glow it had held moments before. Maybe the face was behind something, a stingray or a tangle of kelp? Luce didn’t know how far she’d gone beyond the bridge, but her body was rocked by deep swells again, disorienting after the calm enclosed waters of the bay. The pressure thickened as she swam deeper, layers of sea heaping above her back.

The golden girl reappeared, lambent and drowsy and still somehow precisely the same distance away from Luce, although she
had
to be much farther from the surface now. Anais’s face guttered, its deep internal light disturbed by a play of darkness. For an instant Luce thought that Anais’s lips were moving, as if she was murmuring something in her sleep.

Rationally, of course, Luce knew that Anais was dead. Her lifeless body was thousands of miles away from the surging Pacific. Even now scientists might be stroking her flesh with shining blades, opening her cold chest to search for any sign that she’d been anything but human. Whatever she was seeing, Luce reminded herself, it wasn’t
actually
Anais.

She could tell herself that, but she couldn’t persuade her heart that it was true. She couldn’t stifle her longing to know what Anais was saying and to talk with her one last time. Maybe, now that they’d both lost so much, they would finally make sense to each other.

“Anais?” Luce called. Even the dusk light was gone now, crushed by the enormity of the water above. Night saturated the deepening brine, and an immense weight began to squeeze Luce’s ribs from all sides at once. “Anais? Can you wake up? There’s something I need to tell you.”