Walking back to the church, Bryndis lags beside me and keeps her voice down.

“Was it you?” she wants to know. “Did you set it free?”

“What does it matter? It’s gone.”

Her fingernails dig into my elbow so hard it hurts. My sister is unnaturally strong. “Did you do it? Tell me.”

I kick a pebble. “I was too late. It was dead.”

“Dead? What did you do with it?”

“Gave it back to the sea.”

We walk on. “Probably for the best,” she remarks. “I will miss it, though.”

I agree. “We can all go back to our daily drudgery now.”

Bryndis says nothing in reply, but her face sours at the thought.

***

My prediction proves true as the day rolls out without incident or deviation from routine. People avoid the village square because of the smell. A green scum has formed on the surface of the stagnant pool, trapping insects and a few small birds. Prefect Cornelius complains that it needs to be bailed and scrubbed, but when he asks for volunteers, everyone becomes busy with their chores.

It isn’t until the fishermen return at the end of the day that any hint of trouble bubbles up to disturb the quiet of a dull afternoon.

Ulric complains that his nets have been torn up. He holds them up for us to see the gaping hole in the webbing. Sligo, tying his boat off, says the same has happened to him. His skiff is empty of catch. Bjarni, drenched to the bone, returns home in Brom’s boat. Something had rammed his dory, causing it to capsize. He knows not if it was a whale or one of the blind sharks that prowl these waters. Brom, bobbing nearby, had witnessed the whole event and had rowed hard to pull his friend from the sea.

Even Gunther has suffered the same misfortune with a slashed net. Wall-eyed Wilfred shows us the splintered remains of his traps, all seven destroyed by something spiteful in the depths. The crowd on the wharf titters and speculates over what could have happened. Has the luremaid incited the fish to turn on the fishermen? It seems absurd.

I spot Agnet among the faces, rushing along the pier to see if her husband is injured. Her concern for him angers me. I am petty.

Adja Blundsquill is running to and fro along the stone dock, unable to find her husband’s skiff among the others. He had gone out with the rest this morning but has not returned. A chill of concern ripples through the townsfolk. The sun is going down and a lone fisherman out on a dark sea is unlikely to return. Gunther untethers his boat and rows out to find him. Adja is circled by the other women who assure her that her husband will return.