There were corpses and wounded people moaning in the corners of the streets and squares, and the green creatures that had come out of the mist were leaning over them gently, whispering and running their hands into their wounds. She must be dreaming because of the fog. Everything becomes so blurry in its greenish puffs.
It never stopped raining either. Sometimes it alternated with hail, hitting the roofs like a scattering of white pearls. One hard hailstone bounced under her feet. Desdemona stooped, picked it up, and marveled. It was a real pearl! It lay in the palm of her hand like a white tear.
If all hail is made of pearls, then it would be time for children to climb the sidewalk and collect them, but there were no uninjured people around. Who could run away, who could not walk moaned on the sidewalk. Desdemona had to step over the remains of bodies on the road. The cannon volleys dismembered the bodies. Here at her feet was someone’s hand with a precious ring. It could be removed, but it seemed to move and become covered with green scales.
The fog made her eyes water. From the corners came groans, short screams and labored sighs, as if someone was being strangled there.
“It’s chaos out there,” said muffled voices outside the windows of the locked tavern. “The sea is about to overflow. The creatures of the deep are already here.”
“That’s to be expected. If one of them sits on the throne, the others will come to the city and behave like masters. How long has it been since we’ve heard of the Morgens?”
“Since they were given a princess they wanted to sacrifice.”
“Now, we have to find the girl they want, and then they’ll go back to the depths and not come out for the next hundred years.”
Desdemona pressed her ear against the binding of the window. It was still so fogged up that nothing could be seen through it, inside or out. The muffled voices were alarming. What were they talking about? It was some nonsense, but there was some truth in it. Even Candida knew the story of the heiress to the throne. She was forced to marry a sea king. And the stepmother was very sorry that she did not find such a groom. He might be a monster, but he was a king! Desdemona thought otherwise. To be given to a monster, even with good intentions, is the worst thing that can be thought of.
“Princess Lilophea willingly sacrificed herself and saved us from the watermen for over a hundred years. Conclusion: sacrifice must be voluntary. Where to find such a girl, who will be very beautiful and so stupid or selfless that she herself will go into the abyss?”
“It’s a pity that Aquilania doesn’t have another princess. The old king had a niece, but it seems she died without leaving offspring.”
There were several voices talking. They were all nasally, deaf, and obviously drunk. Desdemona could hardly distinguish one from the other.
“This trick won’t work now,” someone intervened next. There was the clatter of a mug placed on a wooden table. “The king himself has come from the sea to rule over us. One girl to go back to the abyss with him will not be enough for him. Even all the maidens of Aquilania won’t be enough for him. Mark my word, he’ll rule us for a while, he’ll get bored, and he’ll flood the whole kingdom.”
“And how can he be the son of the very Lilophea, if so many years have already passed?” asked someone sensible.
“Maybe he is a grandson, not a son. He could even be a great-grandson by counting the years.”
“It is because you are a stranger, did not live near the sea and did not know that all the maidens who survived in the abyss, gain immortality,” said a creaky old voice.
Now that’s interesting! Desdemona wanted to intervene in the conversation. She jerked the handle of the door. Locked on the latch! No one inside had thought to let her in, even after knocking.
“It’s the Morgens fooling around!” Someone spit over their shoulder inside the pub. “They want to kill us, but they can’t get in here. I drew symbols of protection at the door. An old fortune-teller taught me. Aren’t I clever?”
“What if there’s someone in there seeking refuge?”
“All the survivors have already gone home. They’re the only ones roaming the city.”
Who are they? Desdemona listened, but couldn’t figure it out. Who are the Morgens? The word was repeated many times and was clearly associated with creatures that crawled out of the sea. But who but crayfish and crabs could crawl ashore?
There were shouts behind her. Desdemona looked back and could not believe her eyes. The tentacles of fog were really choking people. They clung to the throats of the runners like green twine with claws and webbing, squeezed, and people fell, gasping for breath. Finished with the passersby, they reached for her.
“Unlock it!” Desdemona banged on the door. “I’m a lady here for the coronation from Adar. I have nowhere to go. My home is far away.”
“Don’t believe it,” someone inside said in a monotone. “They can even pretend to be your loved ones if they want to. Morgens are masters of sorcery. If it hadn’t been for my signs under the threshold, that lady would have leaked a torrent of frothy water under the door and drowned us all.”
They are mad! Desdemona kicked the door with her foot in frustration. No one reacted. But the sounds of the same monotonous conversation resumed.
“The rain doesn’t stop for too long. The streets are already turning into channels of sewage. If it lasts more than a day, we’ll be in trouble.”
“We were told that a king from the sea was coming who would turn the country into a sea hell. We didn’t believe it.”
“He’s going to flood the whole place.”
“He’d better find himself another Princess Lilophea like his father did and go away with all his watery hordes.”
“And then who would be king of Aquilania?”
“There will be some. The late king’s distant kin (seventh water on the vine, but still kin) rule Sultanite.”
“But none of them can keep us safe from the creatures of the sea. They will come with the surf if the next king fails to make a treaty with them for the coming century.”
“I heard there was a treaty, but it’s no longer valid because of the passage of time.”
Desdemona was no longer interested in eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. Green tentacles of mist clung to her hair, pulling the curly strands. Something wrapped around her neck like a necklace, squeezed it, and began to choke her. Her eyes rolled back, and her breath was cut off. Desdemona felt weakness in her knees, but the pearl became warm in her hand.
Suddenly the fog let go. Out of the blue! The tentacles darted farther down the street. Why did the creeping fog remind her of monstrous claws? A necklace of bruises remained on her neck.
Knowing that the beer hall patrons would not let her into their unpretentious hiding place, Desdemona wandered forward. The carriage with her stepmother had long since left. She would not make it home on her own. It would take either a swift horse or a rook to reach Adar by water canal. It was only before the water that Desdemona began to feel as much fear as before the fog. From the large puddles in the road voices called out. They called her by name or title. Once it even seemed that her late mother’s