The attack from the Rasulka seemed to have awoken Arrluk to the truth of Desmond's words. When they had taken a full two-hour watch and determined that nothing unusual seemed to be heading their way for the remainder of the night, the Prince declared that, come next morning, he would make due on Desmond's other demand and start teaching him what he could about Tethyian magic. Arrluk went to bed shortly after this, and Desmond soon followed, leaving Jino and Duat on the deck and the shark still soaring along beside them outside, much to Ethan's displeasure.

He climbed into the sea foam bed, excitement still brimming within him at Arrluk's earlier words. But then the events of hours before were recalled to his mind and the excitement died instantly, leaving him lying in the darkness, pondering. . . .

So Mrs. Hathaway was an evil sea creature, with plans to use his gifts for her own twisted agenda. . . . But what were these goals? Who was she working with? Did she perhaps know that their crew were out, hoping to find the mythical Ophiotaurus in hopes of preventing a colossal disaster, and was seeking the same thing, but for entirely different reasons?

He lay in bed, the shimmering light of the luminous coral walls dancing over his figure, now feeling distinctly aggravated, his ears full of the groaning of the ship as it veered this way and that, and the shrill blast of the trumpet, which had been replaced at the helm after Ethan's attack on Mrs. Hathaway — but then, making him jump in shock, a new sound joined those issuing from the ship. . . . A low, mournful bellow, like a wounded animal. The call of the Ophiotaurus. . . .

What purpose it would serve for the future, he did not know. But Desmond couldn't help but feel sorry for it. Pain and loneliness alike emanated from every note of its distinctive wail, and he found himself thinking how miserable an existence it must lead, having to drift through the dark, treacherous waters alone, desperate for company but having to steer clear of all life for fear of its own safety, and of others. He sympathized with the poor creature, simply trying to make its way through life, yet constantly sought for sinister purposes by beings bent on destruction. It was like an aquatic version of himself.

So far the sea hag had attacked him twice, and both times he was utterly helpless. Both times he had had to be saved by Arrluk, who remained calm in the face of such immense danger.

He envied the Prince's ability to keep a level head in such matters; his readiness to take charge. Tomorrow, he would be learning how to defend himself. The rest he had to figure out for himself.

It's no use brooding on it, he told himself firmly. Nothing's going to come out of it if you fall asleep during the session. Might as well get a few hours.

Gradually, he drifted off, and for the first time since he'd been underwater, he dreamt.

He was standing in a space devoid of water, which now felt strange, given that he'd spent several days in flooded rooms. He drew a deep breath, slightly startled by the sudden replacement of cool fluid for dry air, and felt his chest expand as oxygen filled his lungs. His onyx-brown eyes raked the ground, taking in the huge, light grey tiles that lined the floor, all engraved with a number of strange patterns. Then he looked around.

A vast room spread out around him, with a ceiling so high it was lost to view. As he gazed around, wondering where he was, a strange hissing noise met his ears. He turned on the spot, frowning, and began to walk.

He had no idea where he was going, but his legs seemed to be doing the job well enough, steering him through the long corridors, illuminated by oddly shaped lanterns hung at intervals of five feet along the walls. Whatever strange force was leading him through this building brought him towards the most peculiar door he had ever seen in all his time beneath the sea.

He knew it was a door, solely because he managed to make out a lock. It was a gigantic, monstrous face, similar to a dragon's, yet with slight differences that looked like deliberate mishandlings. The vast, orb-like eyes were closed, but the mouth hung wide, exposing a series of holes arranged in a crescent-shaped pattern. . . .

He moved closer. There was something behind the door. He knew, not by his peculiar ability to detect life flickering along through water, but because he could feel a dark, heavy presence looming behind the wall, like an almost tangible force.

He reached out towards the wall, his fingers inches away from the stone, and —

"Dez!"

A voice shouted out and he jerked awake. His eyes snapped open and he looked up to see Ethan standing at the doorway, his usually neat, light brown hair rather disheveled. "Breakfast," he said, holding up a platter of what looked like large, soggy dumplings. Unlike the food that had been served in Arrluk's father's court, this meal was not enclosed by a water-repelling air bubble.

"What is that?" he said as he rose from the bed, stretching and groaning, peering more closely at the items, which resembled oversized maggots.

"Squid eggs," Ethan said brightly. "You'd never believe it, but this stuff's actually fantastic! Those water demons really know how to cook. It's a shame they keep grinning at us like they want to eat us, though." He looked a little wistful, but his expression immediately brightened as he proffered the tray. "Egg?"

Not wanting to say what he really thought about the eggs, Desmond made to decline on the basis of not being hungry, but his stomach immediately betrayed him.

"Holy," Ethan muttered, though he was grinning. "You could give those lions a run for their money."

"Shut up," Desmond snapped, and he took one of the eggs in spite of himself. He had to admit, it really wasn't anything like it looked. Entranced by the taste, he found himself swiping one more from the platter.

"I know right," Ethan said, and Desmond surmised that his feelings towards the dish must have shown on his face. "Anyway" — he beckoned him out of the room and the pair began to walk along the corridor, Desmond lifting the platter from Ethan's fingers as they moved — "Arrluk's looking for you. Wants you on the deck ASAP."

"Yeah, fine. Where are we now, anyway?" Desmond asked, his words slightly muffled by the large amount of food currently rolling between his teeth.

"Just left a town called Clarydia. They stopped for some tankers of sea slugs."

"Sea slugs? For what?"

"I don't know. When I asked Arrluk looked at me all grim like, and said, 'You'll see.' So obviously, something terrible is going to happen," he said matter-of-factly. "But that's your problem." He snatched the platter of eggs from his hands and shoved Desmond up the stairs to the deck with a wicked smile. "Have fun."

Arrluk was waiting on the port side, his arms folded behind his back as he stared out at the sea. Desmond approached him slowly, trying to swallow the eggs he was chewing as fast as he could. "You wanted to see me?" he said, when he'd finally managed it.

Arrluk turned around, unsmiling. "Yes, I did. . . . Well, you know why. Today, we're going to see how adept you prove at Tethyian magic, if you can manage it at all."

"What are the barrels for?" Desmond asked casually, nodding towards the large tanks reposing beside him.

At that, another dark look trailed across Arrluk's face, confirming Ethan's predictions that this would not be good. "In time," he sighed. "Unfortunately, we won't be getting into the practicals of magic just yet," Arrluk continued, and Desmond felt a rush of disappointment, though it was not unexpected; he had felt something like this was coming. "For now, we'll be looking at theory." He pointed at a small desk behind him, which held several large stone slabs and a thick mat of seaweed, which had been tied and knotted in intricate patterns all along the surface.

Desmond moved closer to examine them. "What are these?"

"Spells," Arrluk said, drifting over. "As I told you when we first arrived in Tethyia, we had to make due with the materials at our disposal. Having no access to paper or pens, we use sharpened bones to carve text into the surface of the stone, and on the seaweed we tie knots.

"In order to see if you can perform magic, you first need to understand the language. Try this one." He handed Desmond a tablet.

He squinted down at it for several long moments, but all he could make out were the long, crude strokes gouged into the stone. "Nope, nothing. Are you sure this was carved right?"

Arrluk snatched the tablet out of Desmond's hands. "It was carved by the best calligraphers in Tethyia," he said, with a trace of heat. "Of course they were done right. Perhaps the problems are with your literary skills?"

"Are you saying I can't read?"

"If you have to ask, then I doubt we'll get much further debating the matter," Arrluk said calmly. "Try this one."

Desmond, glaring at him, grabbed the seaweed mat out of his hands and ran his fingers across the Braille-like knots protruding from the surface. They were rough and uncomfortable beneath his fingers, but still, he gleaned no form of understanding from the contact. "Still nothing," he said irritably. "Maybe the problem is your 'calligraphers.'"

Arrluk chose to ignore this jibe. He took the mat back and examined it, along with the tablets, clearly baffled. "I don't understand. I can read it fine. If you can speak our native language you should be able to read this." He paused, frowning a little, then adopted a brisk tone. "Very well. We'll get back to reading later. For now, how about Phonics?"

He spent a round thirty minutes, by Desmond's count, verbally trying to teach Desmond the new language. It sounded even more horrible than their native tongue, but Desmond tried it nonetheless, though to no avail. Try as he might, he could not understand a word Arrluk was saying, and when they had finally progressed to attempting to cast the spells, despite Arrluk's earlier assertion that they would not try it yet, nothing happened.

"I don't understand," Arrluk said again. He looked both bemused and aggravated, surveying Desmond through his huge white-less eyes with his arms folded. "Kayla, come here for a moment, please," he said unexpectedly.

Kayla, who had climbed up to the deck with Ethan to amuse herself with the scene of Desmond's failings, hesitated. Then, glancing at both Ethan and Desmond in turn, both of whom shrugged, she stood up and walked very slowly to the Prince. She stopped a good three feet away.

"The cuttlefish should grant you the same abilities as Desmond," Arrluk said. "So I want you to listen to what I say next and then tell me whether you can understand me." She made no response, but Arrluk seemed not to notice. Grasping one of the tablets, he read off some text. It sounded as though he was trying to hack up one of his lungs, and Kayla seemed to think the same, because she winced at every sound he made. When he had finished, he looked up at her expectantly.

"Something about flowers?" she said. "I don't know, I wasn't really list —"

"But that doesn't make any sense," Arrluk continued, disregarding her interruption. "How could it be that you can understand what I said, but not . . . not . . ." His great dark eyes came to rest on Desmond, unfocused. "Unless . . ."

"Unless, what?" Desmond said, slightly unnerved by the way Arrluk was staring at him.

The Prince opened his mouth to respond but before he could get the words out there came a colossal crash from the front of the ship.

"Oh, not again!" Desmond cried, thinking of Mrs. Hathaway and feeling exasperated.

"It's — not — her," Jino shouted from the steering wheel, as though he had read Desmond's mind. They all hurried towards him, looking out at what was happening around them. Pillars of ice were erupting out of the water, much like the way Arrluk had created a hand to attack Mrs. Hathaway. They were colliding with the ship, frost running all over the vessel, stopping them dead in their tracks. Then it stopped.

"What's going on?" Kayla said.

"A welcoming committee," said Arrluk, who sounded strangely annoyed now, rather than worried. Before Desmond could ask what he meant, movement caught his eye at the front of the ship, and he looked up to see another sea-dweller rising slowly before the mast. His skin was a lighter shade than any of the Tethyians aboard the ship, with wild knots of black hair, and a brutal-looking face. He was dressed in horribly dirty rags, and had a large, butter-yellow fish tail. His hands were clutching a long piece of crudely carved wood topped with a shard of obsidian, and he was leering in at them.

"Well, well, well . . . What do we have here?"

Behind him, Desmond could make out a city in the distance, but the water here was so dark that it was only just barely. With a swift glance between him and the city, Desmond understood at last what was going on.

"Travellers," Arrluk announced in a bored voice, "welcome to the city of Baikuana."