The Thief King

26 | Fishy Punches

Joey was so very quiet next to her. Hannah doubted she had ever seen her friend as quiet and still as he now sat. His book lay open on his desk, unread. He had barely said a word to her since they arrived at Porter's cathedral. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her jaw propped on her palm as she pretended to read. She felt no desire to learn Lethilian history. Who cared if the city on the hill was once a village? And who cared if once a year the torrential rains washed away the settlers so that the ocean swallowed them up like a giant sea monster out for death? Why was it important anyway?

She dropped her arm and turned to Joey so that she could see him properly. "Jo?" she whispered. "Joey?"

He twitched and jerked to face her. His eyes focused on hers, but that was it, no ready smile, no questioning brow. Hannah felt the shallow stab at the absence of her friend's character. He was a husk waiting for his soul to return.

Hannah dragged in a long, deep breath. "I know asking if you are okay is pointless"—after her mother died, she remembered the questions, not directed at her but her brother. He had hated it—"but I got to say something, you know?" Joey didn't say anything, Hannah didn't expect him to. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Joey's eyes dropped to his hands and he returned his gaze to his book. Absentmindedly, he paged through the tomb, his narrow finger causing the old pages to scratch and whoosh.

"Joey, talk to me, please."

It was a moment before Joey's voice came, cracked and hollow. "I can't go home. I can't...tell them."

Angry at the tears that were demanding to be felt, Hannah swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked her eyes clear. "Do you want me to?"

"No," he shook his shaggy hair and accidentally ripped the corner of his book. His fingers fiddled at the tattered edge, trying to smooth and rectify the scar he had left. "I should. I must. I just feel so empty, you know?"

She did, but not as acutely as he probably did. "Wanna tell her tonight?"

Joey considered the suggestion before shaking his head no. "I'll ruin the market celebrations, forever. It will never be the same."

It would forever be ruined. Sera was proof of that. This time of year was when she grew quiet and distant. Hannah knew it was because Sera's mother had died on her birthday which was two days after the market, but the period had been tough on Sera as a child. She had tried to save her mother. Tried, and failed.

"We can–"

"Hannah Seaward," Porter's voice cut through hers. "Return to your book and hold that tongue, or would you have me think you have the answers to my questions?"

Questions? He meant pointless enquiries that held no merit and no lesson. How did their ancestors learn to tame the torrential rains and avoid the floods? Is it not obvious that the canals were not built for their magnificently, horrid aromas? "I'm still looking, Sir."

Porter narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Then nose in your book, young lady."

Hannah pulled a face and leaned over the massive account before her. The words were written in clear print but it was their meanings that was beyond her. Did Porter really expect her to be able to understand men that spoke in riddles and thought it smart to use words longer than some sentences? Who use words like accouterments and adoxography? And what did it mean?

Hannah paged through the monstrous book, smelling and feeling the age between the pages. Thick, dark parchment with faded letters which should have impressed her, and true enough, some of the sketches and drawings were fascinating. There had been a landscape of what must have been the land before Lethilian had been built. It had looked like a swamp even though all the drawing comprised of was varying strokes of black ink.