Magda stops in to check on us, bringing news. Osk and Brom are unharmed, although badly shaken by what they have endured. Gunther the Brave lives, but just barely. Both of his legs were sheared off by the creature’s teeth, along with his left arm. Magda had spoken to the midwife after she had bandaged his wounds. Gunther is strong, Hagar said, and will most likely survive, but alas, what manner of life will he have now? I ask about Agnet, which earns a nasty glare from my sister. I ignore it. Magda informs me that Gunther’s wife has gone silent. She helped wrap the wounds, fetching water when the midwife asked, but the girl was mute as a stone.

“The poor thing,” Magda concludes with a slow shake of her head. “Heartbroken into silence.”

“Now married to a stump,” I reply. My neighbor and my sister both wince at my poor taste.

“I am sorry to hear about Sligo.” Magda pats my sister’s knee in condolence. “He was an adequate fellow.”

“Thank you,” Bryndis replies. With Sligo dead, she is free, but I cannot tell if this makes her happy. Her face is stony all the time now. “It is tragic.”

“Although, perhaps not the best match for you,” says our neighbor. Since Mother’s disappearance, Magda has been especially kind to us all. She thinks quite highly of Bryndis. “How is young Calder? Has he been by to offer his sympathies?”

Bryndis’ voice is as flat as her eyes. “I saw him in the square yesterday. He acted like he didn’t know me.”

“Silly boy,” Magda replies. “He’ll come round.”

The wind picks up, whistling down the chimney and pushing the door open. Magda says she doesn’t like the sound of it and fears something bad is blowing in off the sea.

“Bad omens,” I say, securing the door. “How could it get any worse?”

Perhaps this question provoked the fates, for not a minute later comes a hubbub of disturbance. Some fool is yammering down the laneway and another is crying out near the pier. I open the door, craning an ear to catch what the fuss is about.

Something, shriek the voices, is crawling out of the sea.

We run to the docks, expecting to see the mermaid herself flopping and wriggling on dry land, but she is not the cause of the ruckus. Something dark and glistening is creeping up over the edge of the wharf and slithering in a great mass toward us.