The Sea King.

“Hello, Tristan.” His is a deep baritone, a conch shell with an

endless hollow. And my mind goes completely and totally blank, like

staring at a test that I know the answers to but stayed up too late

studying for and forgot.

So all I can say is, “Uhh. Hi.”

And that’s all I’ve got.

My grandfather.

The Sea King.

White hair curls around his shoulders. He has a short beard, like

General Grant and George Clooney, and I wonder if that is how I’ll

look when I’m his age. If I ever get to be a couple of thousand years

old.

“You brought us something?” His turquoise eyes, framed by a strong

brow and bushy gray eyebrows, look to Layla and then back at me.

“Uhh-” I bow awkwardly before taking a step forward. “No, no.

She’s a friend.”

Kurt stands and walks over us. “It is my fault, sire. She-”

“No, it’s my fault-” Layla says.

“Lord Tristan, I take responsibility-” Kurt tries again.

“I say they blame it on the urchin brothers,” Marty chimes in.

To the right of my grandfather, a little green boy with webbed

feet and a raw redness around his gills, like acne for merkids, blows

on the golden conch strapped around his chest.

“Now,” the king says. “You, girl, state your name and purpose.”

Layla stands with her hands shaking at her sides, like the time

her dad caught us drinking his imported Ecuadorian beer in their

basement. My heart skips with the fear that she might not say

anything. Or the completely wrong thing.

“My name is Layla Santos. I am-”

“She’s my friend,” I say. Kurt presses his hand on my chest,

because I’m standing. He pushes me back down to sit and shakes his

head. With his face all serious and the sun hitting right in his eyes,

I can almost picture what he’ll look like when he gets older. Kind of

like my grandfather. He whispers to me, “Let her speak.”

“Am-Tristan’s best friend.”

The court breaks into cafeteria-style jeering and cackling, only

broken up by another honk from the little green boy.

“And how did you get on my ship?”

“I didn’t mean to. Tristan and I were fighting at school, and he

was all vague and I can’t tell you . I thought he was in trouble. So

when the-they-the urchin men?-were pulling up the ladder to set sail,

I just jumped on and hid below the deck. It was busy, too many people

moving around. No one noticed me.”

“You thought my grandson was in danger, so you stowed away on a

ship despite your own safety?”

She nods. I’m ready for him to laugh, to tell her she’s a tiny

human and squish her between his giant fingers.

He bends forward and down to her so that he can get a closer look

at her face. Something passes over his turquoise eyes-amusement. I

recognize the way he goes from serious to smiles in seconds like my

mom does. “You are a most brave girl.”

Layla smiles at him, and the effect is the same that she has on

anyone: it warms him. I can see it in his face. It looks like it’s

going to be all right, but someone in the crowd yells, “Intruder!”

And that’s followed by “Land-dweller!”

“Skin-sack!”

“Trespasser!”

“Punish her!”

I turn around, but the taunts come from everywhere at once, so I

can’t point out the source. I shut my eyes against a sudden ache that

goes away as quickly as it came. I can recognize the hunger in their

gem-colored eyes. It’s the same hunger as the silver mermaid in my

dreams-empty, expecting.

The king taps his lips with a finger, thinking. “My dear, do you

know where you are?”

She hooks her thumbs on the loops of her shorts. “Apparently, an

island with mer-maids?”

“Merfolk, if you wish,” he says shortly. “What you are seeing is

not something we allow humans to walk away from. Not alive, anyway. It

is how things have always been.”

“What about him?” I point at Marty.

“He is not exactly-human-as she is,” my grandfather says.

Not human? He looks human enough. Marty shrugs, standing there

with his cardboard box.

“I would offer you a chance to stay and live with us, as you don’t

seem much of a threat. However, I do not think that is an option for

you.”

She shakes her head slowly, panicked eyes searching my face. I’d

like to try to explain to Mr. Santos- Sorry, sir, but I had to leave

Layla on a mystical island with my other half of the family because

she just doesn’t listen. Please don’t take out that machete you have

from your time in the Ecuadorian army.

“Very well.” He nods, and I get ready for him to trace his finger

across his neck and a guard to take her away. Instead he says, “You

will have to make an offering. As you were all late, you will be the

last ones to offer your tithes.”

I breathe a little easier. We sit to the right of the throne on a

row of boulders and watch as one by one, everyone who was on the ship

with us steps up to my grandfather’s throne, bows, and presents a gift

on a giant shell held on either side by boys who look like miniature

versions of the gladiator guards, tattoos and all. The offerings are

anything from jewelry trinkets to crayons to Pillow Pets to hammers to

what look like pieces of bicycles.

I lean closer to Kurt, “What happens to all that stuff?”

“It gets distributed among everyone.”

The turtle boy reaches up to the shell and drops in a toy,

probably his favorite one by the pout on his face and the way he pulls

away when his mom tries to put her arm around him.

It’s our turn.

Marty, the human-looking non-human, hands the cardboard box to the

king directly.

“Representing the Thorne Hill Betwixt Alliance, I, Marty McKay,

present your Sea Lordiness with a gift.”

One of the guards moves as though to take the box, but the

curiosity on my grandfather’s face radiates. He holds up his palm, and

the guard returns to his post.

“May I?” Marty pulls off the red-and-white MTA tape and reaches

inside the box. He pulls out a long, rectangular glass box. Inside is

a cluster of neon flowers that glow in whites and pinks and purples,

their stems twisting on themselves, alive.

“Orchids. They grow in salt water, best in the shade,” Marty says.

The king’s laughter is booming, wondrous. “This is most

acceptable.” A girl, a slightly bluer version of Thalia, walks up and

carries the flowers away. Marty bows and steps to the side, which

leaves just me and Layla.

I do as my mother said and unzip the backpack. I empty out the

front pocket onto the shell tray. It’s all computer parts and

mismatched pieces of earrings and bracelets that my mom keeps in one

of her treasure trunks. I unzip the small front pocket and pull out a

captain’s eyepiece. It’s made of a bronzed heavy metal. I pull it to

its full length and hand it to my grandfather.

He holds it to his eye on the wrong end, and I hold back a laugh,

because I don’t want to be the one to tell the old man that he’s

holding the glass by the wrong end. But he corrects it himself and

jumps a bit when he holds it right at my face. He laughs, a rumble

like thunder, and claps his thigh. “Tell my daughter she still knows

me well.”

Sure. Good. Glad you like it. I wonder what kind of grandfather he

would have been if he were in my life. Would he have broken the

fifty-year rule and come to see me sooner? Would he have dressed up

for Christmas and been a wet Santa with treasures from the bottom of

the sea? Would he have taught me whatever mermen teach each other? I

absently run my hand along my smooth chin. He wouldn’t have to teach