I once believed the universe was random. Particles collided, people made their choices, and everything spun further and further out of control.

Now I know better. I’ve seen wheels within wheels, and heard the rumbling of the shadow-eyed machine. Somewhere, even now, water is running uphill. Whatever plan exists, be it natural or divine, we are bound to it like trains following the same track. So Isaac Skinner’s footsteps took him in a spiral, circling closer and closer until he discovered the point where all things converged.

On Saturday afternoon his path led straight through the New Frog Chess Club. Isaac was merely following it, mulling over his conversation with Jesse and what might lie in the basement, when he ran squarely into Felix Marchetti.

They were both hurrying through the low, tight tunnels surrounding the shipyard. At a blind corner they nearly collided. Isaac jumped back.

“Watch yourself,” Felix snapped, and then, “Oh. You.”

“You’re still here?” Isaac asked. There was venom in his voice. He’d not forgotten the tragedy of the Rambler, or the weaver’s hand in it.

“What on Earth do you mean?” Felix flicked an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. His tone was almost bored.

“You nearly killed your whole crew. I figured SEIDR would frown upon that kind of thing. Guess I overestimated them.”

“I never killed anyone. I’m not responsible for what the sharks do. I just steer the goddamn ship.” Felix’s vitriol faded; he frowned, staring at Isaac intently. “How do you even know about that?”

“It’s not exactly a secret. Spelder was right there.”

“Spelder!” Felix laughed and pushed past Isaac. “Let me give you a word of advice,” he called back. “Don’t trust a word out of his lying mouth. There’s a reason they haven’t suspended me yet.”

He started to whistle. Even when he’d disappeared down the tunnel, Isaac could still hear the cheery, warbling tune bouncing off the walls.

He gritted his teeth and turned back toward the shipyard, caught in a lingering sense of unease. Anything that left Felix in such a good mood must be very terrible indeed.

***

To Isaac’s surprise, the chess club was empty.

He lingered on the bridge, staring into the frog’s open mouth. The tables, usually occupied, were bare of pieces and players. There was no sound but the lapping of waves against the shore and the distant clamor of dockworkers.

Perhaps most concerning of all, the whole place was dark. It looked deserted.

But Harley and Jesse and Basil told him to come by on Saturday, in so many words. Surely they couldn’t all be wrong.

After a moment of deliberation, Isaac swallowed and ventured into the shadowy interior of the frog. A dim red glow spilled in from the entrance, but the back of the clubhouse was dark. He turned on his phone’s flashlight and walked slowly forward. The floorboards creaked under his feet.

When he reached the staircase, he stopped to consider his options. The main flight of stairs sloped upward. Beside it, there was a steep row of steps—almost a ladder—that led down into the basement. The sign over it read MEMBERS ONLY.

Isaac sighed and followed Jesse’s advice, descending into the black square in the ground. He’d almost reached the bottom when he was struck by a burst of hair-prickling fear.

He landed on both feet and spun around, swinging his flashlight wildly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something.

A dark figure seemed to hang, suspended on air, just above him.

He bit off a scream. Something long and slithery fell over his shoulder. He looked up to see another shape, a distorted human silhouette—a body.

And then he exhaled and sagged with relief, a stupid grin rising to his face.

They were wetsuits. Around the perimeter of the room, neoprene wetsuits dangled limply from hooks in the ceiling. They’d nearly startled Isaac out of his skin.

As his heart rate slowed, he found the nerve to start exploring. Lingering adrenaline left him jittery, but he quickly realized there was nothing to be afraid of. The whole room was an empty circle, bare of all furniture except a row of metal lockers. The wetsuits swayed a little with the motion of the frog, setting him on edge, but none of them seemed malicious.

The most interesting thing was the floor. In the center of the room, a large chunk of it had been cut away, leaving a circular hole. He could see the flat surface of the lagoon, dark and glimmering, just a few inches below his feet.

At this point, you may find the truth obnoxiously obvious. But Isaac was still thrown off by the ominous shapes of the wetsuits, and still trying to figure out why Jesse had sent him to an empty basement.

He wanted to trust her. As he craned his head over the water, peering into its lightless depths, something clicked.

It all came back to the tour. Jesse had been there too. Now he remembered Lucretia’s dry voice, going over some kind of rule—something important. What had she said?

First, absolutely no swimming or diving. None. Zero tolerance. You could get sucked into an underwater cave and drowned, or worse, fired. Don’t go in the fucking water.

He reached into his wallet and withdrew the New Frog Chess Club card, though he’d already memorized the brief line Harley had written across it: break the first rule.

Of course. They wanted him to go diving.

He didn’t know why, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Now it was only a matter of courage, and Isaac had that in spades.

A quick scan of the room revealed the wetsuits were arranged by size, smallest to largest. He found a medium one that matched his height, stripped to his boxers, and slid into the rubbery suit. It fit snugly.

When he turned off his flashlight, in the sudden and all-consuming dark, the water’s surface glowed faintly red. It was just enough light to see by.

He tossed his belongings into an empty locker. His heart was pounding wildly, but he blamed that on exhilaration. Still, as he stood on the brink of the pool, hesitating, fear began to whisper in his ear.

He’d fallen into the shipyard lagoon, weeks ago, and glanced into its murky depths. There hadn’t been anything worth seeing. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be looking for.

If he was caught in the water, he could lose his job. If he was wrong, he could go plummeting into an underwater maze and drown himself for nothing.

All of these were salient points, and Isaac meant to consider them carefully. But as he wrestled with his many doubts, his feet edged closer to the gap, until at last he gave a quick, cut-off shout and fell straight down.

The cold water closed over his head. He curled in on himself, feeling it creeping up the arms and legs of his suit. He was sinking slowly; with reluctance, he blinked his eyes open and peered into the blur.

Above him, the bulk of the New Frog Chess Club floated, smothering him in shadow. Beyond it, red light flooded into the water. Through the distorted ripples on the surface, he could see the shipyard dock, where crimson lanterns hung from long poles.

Below him, there was only the dark.

He stretched out his stiff arms and legs, wincing at the chill, and started to swim. He was committed now, and there wasn’t much time to waste.

Isaac descended. The walls around him were steep and craggy; the floor was too deep to make out. The further he swam, the more the light faded, until he could only see a ghostly trace of red above him.

He wasn’t keen on diving in total darkness, and his toes were starting to ache from the cold. In fact, he was about to turn around when his eyes caught a glimmer from below.

He clenched his jaw and propelled himself deeper. As he approached the light, it grew brighter and brighter, until at last he saw what he was aiming for: a broad tunnel, carved straight into the wall.

It was shaped like a rough circle, ten feet across. Small yellow lights dotted the ceiling. Reedy plants grew up from cracks in the stone, brushing against his hands and feet as he swam over them. They were unpleasantly slimy.

To Isaac’s relief, it was a short passage. He was starting to get nervous when the tunnel curved abruptly upward, ending in a shimmering, reflective ceiling.

With one final kick, his head breached the surface. He took a deep breath and blinked several times, peering out through the blur.

The cavern he emerged in was small and boxy, with a low ceiling and polished stone walls. Isaac was treading water in one of the corners, where the floor had been carved away to expose the submerged tunnel beneath.

Ahead of him, there were two dozen people sprawled out on a mismatched collection of chairs. He recognized Harley and Jesse immediately. Behind them, Temur Atabay sat at a large desk, stroking his droopy mustache. There were a few other familiar faces scattered here and there, but Isaac couldn’t put names to any of them.

When Isaac emerged from the water, their conversation stuttered to a halt. They all stared at him with bright eyes.

“Looks like we got another one,” Harley said lazily, breaking the silence. “Welcome, Isaac.”

“Thank you,” Isaac huffed, pulling himself onto the shore. He took a moment to catch his breath, kneeling in a puddle of water. His relief finally caught up to him; this whole time, he’d been half-worried there was nothing to find. He was more than glad to be wrong. “Now, where the hell am I?”

“New Frog Chess Club, of course.” Harley grinned. “Give him the spiel, Temur.”

Temur cleared his throat. “Well. As the archivist, I would like to formally welcome you to the member’s lounge of the NFCC.”

“Thanks,” Isaac said. “But I’m guessing that you don’t swim all the way down here just to play chess.”

Jesse rolled her eyes. There were several shifty glances between the others; one of them chuckled. “You are entirely correct,” Temur said. “We keep the chess confined to the clubhouse. Down here, we have a very different goal. Truth-seeking, you might call it.”

“How vague of me.”

Temur gave him a thin smile. “I would say more, but we’re right in the middle of something rather sensitive, and I’d like to close it out. Harley Melo, would you please introduce our new member to the archives and explain our purpose here?”

“I guess.” Harley got up, stretched, and dawdled her way across the room. Something tickled the back of Isaac’s mind, but he was too distracted to pin it down. “Come on, man. We’re losing candlelight.”

Isaac followed her into a hallway, where she pointed to a small door. “You should get rid of the wetsuit before you slip on the floor and crack your head. Dressing room’s in there. Anything hanging on a blue hook is up for grabs.”

Isaac ducked into the room and exchanged his wetsuit for a loose robe and oversized jacket. Either one of them would have been fine on its own, but the combination looked faintly ridiculous. When he emerged, Harley snorted. “Alright. It’s a fit, I suppose. Now you’re ready for the archives.”

“Archives of what?” Isaac asked, falling into step beside her. “I still don’t know the point of any of this. Why all the secrecy?”

“That’s like, three questions in one,” Harley said. “What do you really want to know?”

Isaac frowned. “Everything.”

“Start a little smaller.”

“What is this place?”

“SEIDR. Duh.” Harley approached a tall oak door and shoved it with both hands. It swung open at a snail’s pace, hinges squealing in protest. “I mean, this used to be part of the Reality Weaving Academy. Before the flood. I think the lounge used to be a classroom.”

“But the water didn’t reach it?”

“Oh, no. It was a pretty half-assed flood.” At last, the door opened wide enough for Harley to slip neatly through the gap. “There are a lot of places like this. Little bubbles of air, trapped in the ruins. Whole rooms that stayed dry. But this is probably the biggest one.”

Isaac peered through the doorway. “No kidding.”

Past Harley, the room opened into a circle. A twisted gold chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves, glass display cases, and filing cabinets. It looked like an enormous, disorganized collection, though Isaac couldn’t quite figure out what they were collecting.

“Why?” he asked, gesturing broadly. “What’s the point?”

“Come on. We can browse.”

Isaac examined the displays they passed, but they left him with even more questions. There were old rolls of film, crumbling stone statues, and laminated pamphlets propped up next to each other. The shelves held a few books, but they were wildly outnumbered by small plastic bins with cryptic labels.

“All of this stuff used to belong to SEIDR,” Harley said. “All of it was lost in the flood. We’ve been recovering as much as we can for the past couple decades.”

Isaac stopped in front of a metal disc. Rust had eaten through half of it, but he could see faint traces of an engraving through the red. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

“So that’s what you do? You gather up your buddies and go diving for lost treasure?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Why?”

“SEIDR lies.” Harley gave him a sideways glance. “You’ve noticed, right? There’s a lot of things they make up on the spot, and a lot of other things they keep hidden. Most of what they tell you is bullshit.”

“Well, yeah,” Isaac muttered. “Anyone with half a brain could figure that out.”

“The whole flood thing just made it ten times easier.” She snapped her fingers. “All of their early records, gone. More than twenty years down the drain. And they’re glad. I mean, they won’t say that out loud, but I’m sure it was awfully convenient for them to dump all that history and start over with a clean slate.” Her face was unusually grave. “But we’ve been digging it up. What we found so far is pretty damning. Do you want to guess what percentage of weavers get delirium after ten years on the job?”

Isaac scratched his head. “Ten?” A shot in the dark.

“Seventy-three.”

“What?” He was momentarily speechless. “How—why are you still working for them?”

“Why are you still working for them?”

Harley held Isaac’s gaze until he dropped it. “Alright. I get it.”

“I got my reasons. You got yours. Everybody knows this place is rotten, but they don’t hire the kind of people who are likely to quit.”

“How long have you been a weaver?”

“Six years.” Her voice was suddenly tired. “Look at this.”

Isaac followed her gaze. Harley was staring at a vinyl record in a transparent case. “That’s an interview with Sasha Erdos herself. Just one year after the Institute was founded. She admits they don’t have a cure for delirium, so they’ve been sticking all the mad weavers in the Erdos Asylum and letting them rot.” Her voice was caustic. “She sounds all torn up about it, too. Just another record SEIDR would rather forget about.”

“The Erdos Asylum?”

“It’s a joke of a name. Should have called it the Erdos Prison.” Harley rubbed her eyes. “We can’t figure out where it is, but we know it exists. It’s been a real pain in the ass. Are you alright?”

Isaac had slumped against one of the cases. His eyes were closed. “It’s a lot to think about,” he said, in barely a whisper.

The worst part was that none of it surprised him. It all seemed to fit. But he’d been able to ignore all the implications of SEIDR, and how they worked, until the evidence was right in front of him.

He stood, rubbing his forehead, wondering if he was already guilty by association. Wondering if he could walk away from this and act like it didn’t matter. “Does the Institute know that you’re doing this?”

“No. Are you kidding? They’d fire everybody involved, if they didn’t try to murder us first.” She didn’t sound like she was joking.

“Are you sure? Seems like they have eyes everywhere.”

“Why do you think we hold our meetings in a fucking underwater cave?” Harley rolled her eyes. “We’re careful. We scout people before we bring it up. Most of SEIDR has no idea that we’re anything but a chess club.”

“It didn’t take me too long to find it,” Isaac said.

“You? You barely count. You’re grandfathered in.” At his blank look, Harley said, “Come on. Basil Skinner was one of the original divers.”

“What? Really?”

“Surprised he didn’t tell you. But he was a stickler for the rules, from what I hear. Nobody’s supposed to talk about club business outside the club.” She shrugged. “We figured you weren’t a snitch. I assume we figured right.”

“One can only hope,” Isaac said. She punched his shoulder.

He was about to say something else when his eyes caught a glint of white light from the next display case. His eyes widened.

A large pearl sat on a pillow in the center of the case. It was perfectly round, gleaming with soft pastels, and utterly familiar.

In size, shape, and color, it was identical to the pearl held in the cupped hands of Isaac’s ghost.

“What is that?” His voice came out oddly stretched. “Where did you get it?”

“You have Gray to thank for that one,” Harley said, tapping the plaque just below the glass. “She took it from the old museum.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, and bent to read the words inscribed on brass.

RECOVERED BY LAUREL GRAY:

A DECOY PEARL FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

His legs wobbled beneath him as several separate ideas suddenly clicked together.

Gray’s pearl and the ghost’s pearl were the same.

The ghost had turned into sand before Isaac’s eyes.

Caasi was searching, perhaps even now, through the sands of Mu.

Now Isaac was certain: Caasi wanted the fountain. He didn’t know why, but that could come later. Bit by bit, he was building the truth.

His breath was shallow. His eyes flicked to the left and caught Harley observing him. With exaggerated nonchalance, he leaned back from the display case.

“Did you know Gray well?” he asked, mostly to buy time.

At the startled look on Harley’s face, another piece slid into place. Isaac felt like slapping himself. Of course—H. Melo was one of the names in Gray’s file.

“We were friends,” she said. “She could be a bit of an asshole, but she wasn’t … a bad person. She didn’t deserve a fucking death sentence for doing her job.”

“But she might not be dead.” Isaac bit his lip. “She escaped the asylum.”

“She escaped the frying pan, sure. I wish she could have told us where it was before she hopped into the fire.” Harley looked glum. “But she’s long gone. So it goes and goes and goes.”

Isaac shook his head. “Are you sure? Because she was certainly alive when she took the ship. She didn’t even look sick or anything. Maybe she didn’t—”

“God, Isaac. Wherever she is, we can’t help her and she can’t help us. That’s close enough to dead for me.” Harley turned and walked toward the door. “Come on. Temur’s probably wrapped up the meeting by now.”

Isaac trailed behind her. His mind was whirling with artifacts and secrets, old history and new possibilities.

But somewhere in the back of his head, he was still thinking about Laurel Gray. His first conversation with Jesse bubbled into memory. She’d told him Gray was a diver, before he knew what it meant. He hadn’t been particularly surprised.

He wracked his brain. It was almost like he’d been expecting it. Why?

He stopped in his tracks.

It was written in her file.

***

When the meeting broke up, the New Frog Chess Club members swam back to the surface in ones and twos. Isaac was first among them.

Temur told him that he was free to walk away, but if he wanted to join them, he should come back next Saturday. Isaac thanked him numbly.

After that he went straight back to his room. His brain was humming loud enough to drown out every other sound. It all came down to the same question, but there was so much to consider, so many details and people and consequences all wrapped up together.

Should he tell them?

He ran the shower and stepped under the scalding water. Plumes of steam billowed up from his skin.

The walls were black rock, shining wet, dotted with tiny droplets. When he leaned back, eyes unfocused, they almost looked like a field of stars.

“Calm down,” he whispered to himself. Panicking wouldn’t do him any good.

In theory, the New Frog Chess Club had the right idea. He thought it was smart. The more they learned about SEIDR, the better. Digging through the Institute’s drowned history was a good place to start.

But if the Institute knew they existed, then everything was thrown on its head. They allowed the diving—or they just didn’t care. Or perhaps they were waiting to strike, pretending to be blind until the right moment.

Isaac might have doomed himself as soon as he jumped into the lagoon.

He scrubbed at his hair wildly. If he warned the chess club, perhaps they’d disband and save themselves. Or perhaps they’d keep going, trusting that the Institute had bigger problems to worry about. He couldn’t control their choices, or their consequences. All he could do was tell them.

Or not.

But if he kept it to himself, that was even worse. Isaac examined his fingernails. They were ragged, though he couldn’t remember biting them.

He wished he’d never seen Gray’s file. He wished he didn’t have to make the choice, all by himself, and live with whatever followed. It seemed terribly unfair.

What he really needed was a friend—someone who knew the circumstances but wasn’t involved. Someone who couldn’t be hurt if things went wrong.

And as soon as he thought it, his solution seemed obvious. He’d have to ask Basil.

He leaned against the wall, exhaling a long breath. Yes, asking Basil was the right call. If nothing else, it bought him a little time. He didn’t have to fix everything right now.

With that out of the way, he could focus on Caasi.

The connection between Gray, the pearl, the ghost, and his doppelganger made no sense to Isaac. He couldn’t figure out what tied them together. But if there was even a chance that Caasi was looking for the fountain of youth, then Isaac wanted to beat him to it.

If he could set a trap, maybe catch his doppelganger off-guard, perhaps he could take the cloak.

If he took the cloak, his troubles were over. He wouldn’t need SEIDR anymore. With every passing day, that sounded better and better. There was just one thing he needed to do first.

***

Miriam Oleander was stoking a fire in the caves of the Wizards Guild when Isaac found her.

The sparks billowed up in a cloud and settled onto the stone around her, winking out one by one. She did not look up. “You’re cutting it a little close. It’s almost Sunday.”

Isaac cleared his throat. “You were right.”

“Hmm?”

“I said you were right. I’m calling off the chess match.”

“Well, it’s about time.”

Isaac frowned. This conversation was already off the rails. “What do you mean?”

“Playing me would have been incurably stupid.” She gave him an easy smile. “In fact, I’d say the only winning move is not to play.”

“Then why did you—? Alright. I get it. It’s all a test.” Isaac rubbed his brow. There was an explosive headache building up between his eyes. “You knew I was going to lose.”

“You knew you were going to lose. But you’re bad at backing down, I’ve noticed. It’s caused plenty of trouble for both of us.” Miriam sat down on a flat rush mat, crossing her legs. She looked positively gleeful. “I wanted to see if you’d give up when giving up is the right choice.”

“Well, I guess the answer is yes,” Isaac said shortly. “If that’s all you needed to trust me, then I wish I’d done it sooner. But you were right about Caasi. He’s working with someone else.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because he’s definitely looking for the fountain of youth,” Isaac said. “He doesn’t need it for himself, so there must be someone else involved.”

Miriam sat up straight. In her eyes, the firelight flickered and grew. “You keep surprising me, Isaac, in all the best and worst ways.”

“Will you help me get there first?”

“To Mu?” She grinned. “I suppose. It would require a voyage. A long one, this time. Are you up for it?”

He answered exactly as you’d expect.