wasn’t, hadn’t, couldn’t. Grace was in his smooth boots, and sunlight ran along behind him. His collar gleamed like a halo; he made me think of
trumpets, and horses, and the flash of high gates. If I couldn’t have him, I’d have nothing.
Which was all too likely. He was gone back to the city, and no one I knew had ever been to the city. They said bad things happened there. But nothing bad could happen to a man like that; the
city would be a garden at his feet. Women would bloom at the sight of him. Even if I went there, what could I say, what could I do? What would draw his lips down to my salty skin?
So I went to the witch, as desperate girls do. Everyone knew where she lived, in a cave on the headland. I had never been there before; I had never needed anything they said she could give. The
fishermen told all sorts of stories about her: that her cave was lined with the bones of drowned sailors, with skeleton legs for a door, skeleton hands for bolts, and a full mouth of teeth for a
lock. They said that she fed sea snails from her own mouth, and was an octopus below the waist. One of them claimed to have seen her once, taking a bath in a little pool with her tentacles spilling
over the rocks. They claimed she could turn men to limp fish with a single glance of her watery eye. Anyone who climbed as high as the mouth of her cave would freeze there on the rock until the
witch hobbled down and magicked him into a gull to wheel and scream for eternity.
They said so many things about her, they couldn’t all be true. Girls in trouble were not put off by stories.
Still, my breath laboured in my chest as I climbed along the headland. My hands shook a little when I stopped outside the cave. She was there before I realized it: she had been standing in the
shadows. She was everything I half expected: a stoop, a stick, a wart on her nose, a whisker on her chin. Her white hair had a trace of red like old blood on sheep’s wool. Her nails curled
like roots. Her eyes were oysters in their shells, and her voice had the crackle of old nets.
And yet she surprised me. Is he worth it? she asked.
Worth what? The climb?
What climb? she said dismissively. I meant the price.
He’s worth any price, I said, steadying my breath.
Glad to hear it.
I studied her suspiciously. How did you know about him? I asked.
There’s always a him, she pointed out. A girl comes here for three reasons. To catch him, to quicken his blood, or to bring on her own.
He’s not a fish, to be caught, I said angrily.
So that’s it. The witch yawned, baring a few black teeth. Tell me now, what would you do for him?
I stopped to think. If he was drowning, I said slowly, I suppose I’d jump in the sea to save him. I’d forget father and mother and sisters for his sake. I’d . . . I’d
weave nettles with my bare hands.
Not particularly useful in this case. She sighed. No point my telling you he’s not worth it, I suppose.
You’ve never seen him!
I don’t need to, little girl. I’ve seen enough men in my time. Whoever he is, he’s not worth what you’ll pay.
But –
But I can see by your face that you’re sick for him. If he was ugly as Lucifer you’d still see the sun shining out of his breeches and the stars in the leavings on his plate. No
matter how greedy he may be you’ll think everything belongs to him by right. No matter how stupid he is you’ll think he converses like an angel. Am I right?
I have to have him, I told her coldly.
Good, good, she said, a girl who knows what she wants. Tell me now, how big a job will this be? Does the man like you, at least?
I flushed a little. I think so.
She peered closer. I’ve got a ring on my finger that tells me if it hears a lie.
I haven’t spoken to him yet, I said in a rush.
The witch made a short bark I could only think was a laugh that was out of practice. I stared at her fingers, bare of rings.
This must be love indeed, she said, if you know nothing about him. This must
trumpets, and horses, and the flash of high gates. If I couldn’t have him, I’d have nothing.
Which was all too likely. He was gone back to the city, and no one I knew had ever been to the city. They said bad things happened there. But nothing bad could happen to a man like that; the
city would be a garden at his feet. Women would bloom at the sight of him. Even if I went there, what could I say, what could I do? What would draw his lips down to my salty skin?
So I went to the witch, as desperate girls do. Everyone knew where she lived, in a cave on the headland. I had never been there before; I had never needed anything they said she could give. The
fishermen told all sorts of stories about her: that her cave was lined with the bones of drowned sailors, with skeleton legs for a door, skeleton hands for bolts, and a full mouth of teeth for a
lock. They said that she fed sea snails from her own mouth, and was an octopus below the waist. One of them claimed to have seen her once, taking a bath in a little pool with her tentacles spilling
over the rocks. They claimed she could turn men to limp fish with a single glance of her watery eye. Anyone who climbed as high as the mouth of her cave would freeze there on the rock until the
witch hobbled down and magicked him into a gull to wheel and scream for eternity.
They said so many things about her, they couldn’t all be true. Girls in trouble were not put off by stories.
Still, my breath laboured in my chest as I climbed along the headland. My hands shook a little when I stopped outside the cave. She was there before I realized it: she had been standing in the
shadows. She was everything I half expected: a stoop, a stick, a wart on her nose, a whisker on her chin. Her white hair had a trace of red like old blood on sheep’s wool. Her nails curled
like roots. Her eyes were oysters in their shells, and her voice had the crackle of old nets.
And yet she surprised me. Is he worth it? she asked.
Worth what? The climb?
What climb? she said dismissively. I meant the price.
He’s worth any price, I said, steadying my breath.
Glad to hear it.
I studied her suspiciously. How did you know about him? I asked.
There’s always a him, she pointed out. A girl comes here for three reasons. To catch him, to quicken his blood, or to bring on her own.
He’s not a fish, to be caught, I said angrily.
So that’s it. The witch yawned, baring a few black teeth. Tell me now, what would you do for him?
I stopped to think. If he was drowning, I said slowly, I suppose I’d jump in the sea to save him. I’d forget father and mother and sisters for his sake. I’d . . . I’d
weave nettles with my bare hands.
Not particularly useful in this case. She sighed. No point my telling you he’s not worth it, I suppose.
You’ve never seen him!
I don’t need to, little girl. I’ve seen enough men in my time. Whoever he is, he’s not worth what you’ll pay.
But –
But I can see by your face that you’re sick for him. If he was ugly as Lucifer you’d still see the sun shining out of his breeches and the stars in the leavings on his plate. No
matter how greedy he may be you’ll think everything belongs to him by right. No matter how stupid he is you’ll think he converses like an angel. Am I right?
I have to have him, I told her coldly.
Good, good, she said, a girl who knows what she wants. Tell me now, how big a job will this be? Does the man like you, at least?
I flushed a little. I think so.
She peered closer. I’ve got a ring on my finger that tells me if it hears a lie.
I haven’t spoken to him yet, I said in a rush.
The witch made a short bark I could only think was a laugh that was out of practice. I stared at her fingers, bare of rings.
This must be love indeed, she said, if you know nothing about him. This must
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