Page 7 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

In the present, my stomach sinks. It has been a long time since I’ve thought of the day the city was founded. It’s been a long time since I thought of my late wife, Yvette, the last sacrifice. Atlantis was everything she ever wanted, until the day she died, and beyond.

I put the shell back down, guilt stirring in my gut at the unwilling thought.

I play the video of Yen again, and the past slips back to where it belongs.

“Cancel my afternoon meetings,” I call out to my secretary.

“Yes, my lord!” she calls back.

3

YEN

“Champagne?” the stewardess asks. She’s as neat as a retro pin, with a pale blue minidress, black-winged eyeliner and chunky platform heels. Her name badge says Nerissa. But it’s her flesh-colored antennae that catch my attention.

I nod uncertainly. Maybe champagne will help.

I’ve been on board for thirty minutes, and have been given safety instructions, written materials that now sit in my lap, and shown how to use my seatbelt. But my brain is only processing two pieces of information right now, on repeat: Nerissa has antennae. And I’m in a submarine.

My gaze flicks from the wiggling appendages on Nerissa’s head to the water frothing against the cabin windows.

When I was five, I almost drowned. Dark waters closed over my head, and the press of water in my lungs made breathing a desperate impossibility. It’s hard not to think of that now.

Nerissa presses a button under the window beside me, and to my relief, the cabin shutters lower. “Not much to see out there now.” She smiles and hands me the glass of champagne.

I take it gratefully, downing a large gulp.

Warmth hits my belly and my pulse slows, letting me take in more of my surroundings. The submarine interior reminds me of a luxurious airplane — more like a VIP jet than a commercial airline. There are only ten spacious and reclining seats I can see, with a foldable table attached to each one. My backpack is stashed under mine.

There are curtained-off areas to the front and the back, and next to the curtain in front of me is a line of clocks. The top one reads noon, and the sign underneath it says New York. The bottom one reads Atlantis.

My attention flicks back to the stewardess’ antennae, then down to the line of red star marks that run along the back of her arms and hands. They’re too consistent a pattern to be birthmarks.

When Sofie told me about the Zodiac Association, she mentioned things like magic and gods. I had thought she was speaking metaphorically.

But Nerissa’s antennae are not a metaphor. And Atlantis apparently really is at the bottom of the ocean.

“Sorry,” I blurt, face heating when I realize Nerissa has caught me looking. “I’m being so rude.”

She laughs lightly, and her antennae quiver with amusement. “Don’t be sorry, it’s strange to me you don’t have them.” Her accent sounds British, with an edge of something European I can’t place. “It must make it easier to hide your feelings without them,” she says, with a rueful twist of her mouth. “They sometimes give us away.”

“I would hate that,” I say honestly. I drink more champagne, unsure of how much is polite to ask, but she watches me expectantly.

“I’m here to answer all questions you may have,” she says.

“Okay…Are there many underground species?”

“Only a few sentient species. Merpeople, Atlantans, Oceanians and Arctans. We all have cities, but Atlantis is the only one that humans can visit, because of the air bubble. It truly is a wonder. My markings and coloring mark me as Atlantan. But our species predates the city.” She speaks with the practised air of a tour guide.

“Atlantis, of course,” I murmur, as if any of this makes sense. “Completely… underwater.” I drink more champagne. Enough to drain the glass.

“How about I get you another?” She takes my empty glass and bustles away through the fabric curtain, beside the row of clocks. It’s 1pm in Atlantis.

My stomach fizzes with nerves, champagne and sheer excitement. It’s a foreign feeling, and I don’t quite trust it. I rarely get the chance to travel, let alone travel to a mythical underwater city, but I’m here for a reason.

I put the brochures on my lap onto the side table and reach under my chair and check my phone. No bars. I dimly remember Nerissa saying there would be no reception on the journey or in Atlantis itself. My stomach stirs again, less pleasantly. It would be good to speak to Aya over the next few days. She would love this adventure and encourage me to enjoy it.

I switch the phone off to save the battery, stashing it away again, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hooded sweatshirt.