“No, but it has a very long nose!”

“A nose?” Barclay repeated, confused.

Beside him, Ulick gasped. “That’s no nose. That’s a Daggerfish.”

Something shiny burst from the water, and a massive blade struck the starboard side and came out the port. Everyone—even Ulick—fell. Barclay tumbled painfully down the steps of the quarterdeck. Shazi stabbed a sword into the floor to keep from plunging overboard. And above, Cecily grabbed ahold of a rope and swung through the air like bait dangling on a fishing line. The shadow of a gigantic Beast writhed in the milky water. It had pierced the Bewlah clean through.

The wood of the ship groaned; then the deck began to collapse. Whole planks of wood caved inward and toppled into the waves below, and the Bewlah folded like a massive jaw snapping closed.

No, Barclay thought frantically. The Isle of Roane wasn’t even a mile ahead. They were so close. They could still make it.

But then the Bewlah spun. It had been sucked into a nearby whirlpool, and it circled around and around, sinking deeper with each rotation. The last thing Barclay saw was white swirling in all directions, and then it swallowed them whole.

TWENTY-TWO

Barclay retched salt water onto the sand. His chest hurt from how much Sea he’d breathed in, and his arms trembled just from holding himself upright.

What had happened after the Bewlah sank was a blur. Barclay remembered the weeping tide—patches of his skin now stung red and blistered where it had eaten him. He remembered the Daggerfish and Hooksharks, fleeing as a great, low groan echoed from deep within the ocean. And he remembered the pain of his Mark burning, urging Barclay to do whatever it took to swim to shore.

“Barclay!” shouted a voice.

Barclay didn’t look up right away—he was still too busy hacking up seawater. When he finished, he rolled onto his back and stared up at Viola, who’d staggered over to him. Like Barclay, she was drenched and shaky.

“Are you all right?” she rasped.

“Barely. Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

Wincing, she bunched up what remained of her tattered sleeve. The skin of her arm burned an angry scarlet and was swollen and speckled with blood. Gingerly she smeared away the mess, and Barclay realized the weeping tide had hurt her on her Beast Mark. The golden tattoo was so inflamed that Barclay could barely make out Mitzi’s shape.

“I can’t summon Mitzi,” she choked. “And I can’t use my Lore, either.”

“Is Mitzi all right?” he asked, alarmed.

“I think so—I can sense her. But…” She wrung out her hands, clearly trying not to panic. “It can’t be good.”

Barclay sat up and looked out to Sea, scanning the water for any sign of his other friends or the Bewlah. The whirlpools churned with a steady roar.

“Where is everyone else?” he asked.