The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(14)

A door slides open up the street, spilling light and laughter. A young woman expertly balancing a tea tray above her head disappears into the crowd.

There’s a whistle and crack of sound. I look up. A firework explodes, illuminating the night and scattering a school of minnows.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Mask pulls me back in time to avoid being trampled by a young boy pushing a cart of anemone.

“You watch where you’re going!” Dai shouts back, raising a fist. “She’s a Sea God’s bride, you know.”

“Sure she is,” the boy throws over his shoulder. “And I’m the Sea God!”

This earns a smattering of snickers from those within hearing distance.

The cobblestoned streets are paved in mosaics of sea creatures. We follow a chain of blue and gray dolphins down one street to an avenue of red crabs, and finally to a great central square depicting a large jade turtle.

The square is filled with people. Groups of girls crouch in circles tossing and catching stones. Old men sit at low tables arguing loudly over board games.

They all must be spirits, yet they appear as Miki and Dai do—healthy, alive.

Mask turns from the square, leading us down a cramped side street lined with food carts.

We pass carts stacked high with rice cakes and others with salted fish strung up by their tails. More carts are spread with roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes dipped in sugar. Dai dodges out of the way of an oncoming cart, pressing his back against another packed with dumplings in bamboo steamers. As he steps away, Miki reaches out and grabs a dumpling off the cart.

“Ay, Miki!” Dai yelps. “Leave the thieving to the thieves!”

Reaching into his pocket, he produces a short rope strung with metal coins of tin and copper. He unknots a small tin coin and flicks it to the cart’s owner, who catches it neatly from the air. “We’ll take four, please!”

He accepts the dumplings and presents one to each of us in turn. Curious, I watch Mask out of the corner of my eye to see if she’ll remove her mask to eat, but she hands hers to Miki. The little girl devours the dumpling in an impressive three mouthfuls.

Delicious steam escapes from my own dumpling. I follow Miki’s example and practically inhale it. The combination of the soft, fluffy outside and the salty leek and pork inside is exquisite. After we’ve licked our fingers clean, Miki and I band together to fling beseeching looks at Dai. He sighs loudly, unstringing another coin from his money rope.

I take my time with the second dumpling, savoring each delectable bite.

The food cart alley opens up onto another bustling street, at the end of which lies a grand-looking bridge situated over a smooth-flowing river. Lanterns float lazily on its current in red, green, and white. There are boats moored to the riverbank, while others travel downstream, oared by ferrymen in feathered hats.

The bridge must be a major crossing point. It’s overflowing with people, carts, mules, and even an ox, a garland of flowers strung between its horns. Children around Dai’s age climb on top of the railings, making their way across the thin beams. Mask’s hand shoots out, grabbing Dai’s shoulder before he can join them.

Halfway across the bridge, the rumble of drums beats the air. A procession moves slowly through the packed crowd. Along with everyone else, we’re pushed to the edge to make room.

A group of soldiers passes by, armed with spears. They surround four bearers carrying a large, ornately decorated box. Two bearers on either side lift the box on poles balanced across their broad shoulders.

I’ve heard of carrying-boxes like these, common in the capital, used to transport noblewomen across short distances. The palanquin’s thick walls shield its occupant from prying eyes.

Excited whispers follow the procession. I lean forward, curious to know who sits inside the gilded box.

“Shiki’s bride.”

I turn to see Mask following the movement of the palanquin. She nods, indicating the guards’ black-and-red uniforms. “Those are the colors of his house.”

I tug on her sleeve, and then pat my lips to draw her gaze. “Shiki?”

“A death god.”

My eyes dart to the golden box. The person inside is the bride of a death god. “She must be very beautiful. What is she the goddess of?”

“A goddess, did you say? She’s no more a goddess than you or me. Just a girl. A former Sea God’s bride.”

A Sea God’s bride. I whip my head in the direction of the procession.

A warm, sun-colored hand sweeps the drapes of the box aside, and I catch a glimpse of a round, sweet face before a guard blocks my view.

Hyeri.

A year ago, the Sea God’s bride had been a girl from the next village over. Year after year, the brides arrive from all over with caravans that stretch for miles and miles. Sometimes they come from small towns, sometimes from large cities, some even from the capital itself. But Hyeri arrived in the night, with just a sack of belongings slung over her shoulder, her hair in a simple braid down her back.

She’d stayed with our chief elder and his family for three nights before there was a knock at my family’s door. She needed someone to help prepare her for her wedding ceremony.

It was strange, sitting in a room with a girl I’d never met before, helping her dress in the colors of a bride—bright colors signifying love, happiness, and fertility—when, come morning, she would be drowning, and the dress would do nothing but pull her beneath the waves.