"Anything we bring up, if we know whose it is, it goes back to them. The rest we sell and split. I'll take you out in the boat."
That was what Bodge said early in the afternoon as he pushed the ferry off from the pier.
The passengers for the next crossing would have to wait a little. Nobody complained. They'd all come along to watch, once they heard that a Rank Eight who couldn't swim was going to walk across the bottom of the lake.
"The lake crocodiles stay in the deep water out in the middle. They don't come near the pier. ...Usually."
"Usually?"
"After a lake storm, they turn up anywhere. Today should be fine, more or less."
The boat stopped about fifty paces out from the end of the pier.
Here, the lines on the surface curled into an eddy and sank.
Luca hugged an even bigger rock than before. There was a rope around his waist, and Celes and Bodge held the other end. Over his shoulder he slung a net bag he'd borrowed from Bodge.
"Once I count past a hundred and fifty, I'm pulling you up."
"Yes."
He breathed in. Slowly, all the way down to the bottom of his belly.
Then Luca sank over the side of the boat.
* * *
It was deep.
Nothing like under the pier. The blue light overhead drew farther and farther away. Deep inside his ears, something squeezed and ached.
His feet touched bottom.
He was standing in a huge hollow, shaped like a mortar bowl.
And the bottom of the hollow was buried in dropped things.
Swords. Spearheads. Helmets. Gauntlets. Water flasks. Boots. Purses. Rings. Knives. Fishing rods. Some rusted, some sunk in mud, some still shining. Thirty years of dropped things lay at the bottom of the hollow, piled one on top of another.
...A mountain of treasure.
To a scavenger, that was exactly what it was. A real mountain of treasure.
Luca started putting things into the net bag, whatever caught his eye first. He was careful not to grip anything too hard, and he kept his mind on his breathing.
He dove three times.
All three times, the bag came up full.
* * *
"...You really did walk along the bottom of the lake."
Celes sounded half exasperated as she looked over the heap of dropped things spread out across the boat.
Bodge was picking them up one at a time, grunting under his breath.
"This purse belonged to a merchant who dropped it five years back. This helmet... can't say I remember. Hey, what's this?"
Bodge plucked out something that looked like a mud-caked bag.
It was a float: a pig's bladder blown up and tied off at the neck. A name had been burned into it with a brand.
"Well, if it isn't Hannes's float."
"Someone you know?"
"Hannes the Miser. Couldn't stand paying the fare, so the fool used to swim across the lake with nothing but a float. He's retired now. Runs a drinking hole up top."
Luca took the float.
◆ ◆ ◆
—Fare's five copper coins. Swimming's free.
Hug the float to the chest and kick. The legs work like a frog's: bend, open, close. After closing, don't kick again right away. Stretch the body out straight and glide.
The ones who thrash at the water are the ones who sink. Swimming isn't about strength. It's about the timing of the glide.
For air, turn the head to the side and take a short breath.
Somewhere around the middle of the lake, something moves under the water. A lake crocodile.
Let go of the float. Hang on to it, and there's no swimming fast.
Kick. Glide. Kick. Glide.
His hand touches the rocks of the shore, and behind him, a huge mouth snaps shut on nothing but water.
...Made it. And the float? Well. Still cheaper than five copper coins.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [Swimming].
"...It was a swimming technique."
The moment Luca said it, Celes's head came up.
"I'll try it."
This time he didn't take a rock.
Luca slipped quietly into the water over the side of the boat.
Bend the legs, open, close.
After closing, don't kick right away. Stretch out straight, and glide.
His body slid smoothly forward.
He didn't sink. He kicked again. Glided. When he needed air, he turned his head to the side and took a short breath.
Luca swam all the way around the ferry.
Celes stared at him. Luca looked back at her.
"I swam."
"...You couldn't swim, right? Up until a minute ago?"
"Yes. Up until a minute ago."
Bodge was holding his belly, laughing. Applause broke out among the spectators on the pier.
* * *
Back in the boat, Luca picked a sword out of the heap of dropped things.
A one-handed sword. Near the guard, three big tooth marks were gouged deep into the metal.
"Lake crocodile teeth, those," Bodge said.
Luca closed his hand around the sword.
◆ ◆ ◆
—The boat is rocking.
The middle of the lake. A lake crocodile has heaved itself over the side and onto the deck. The passengers scream and crowd to the other side. The boat lurches and tilts.
His feet slip. On a rocking deck, his usual lunge won't work.
No. That's wrong.
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Don't fight the rocking. The rocking goes out, and comes back. Just as it comes back, for one instant, the deck holds still.
...Now.
Right foot, half a step, deep. In the instant the deck holds still, drop the hips and drive.
The sword runs the lake crocodile through the throat.
The crocodile rolls off the side and back into the lake. The wet grip slides through his hand.
Ah—but by the time he thinks it, the sword has vanished into the water along with the crocodile.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo stacked: [Lunge].
Luca opened his eyes.
For a while he couldn't move. He just sat there, holding the sword.
"Luca? What's wrong?"
"...The voice was different."
"The voice?"
"Normally it says 'inherited.' This time it said 'stacked.'"
Celes tilted her head.
Luca looked down at his right foot.
Theo's lunge. The very first technique he'd ever inherited, before he'd even made Rank Ten.
It felt as though the lunge of the swordsman he'd just seen had settled right on top of it, a perfect fit. As though someone else's lunge had been laid over the same shape, one more layer, and it had grown just a little thicker.
"I'll try it. Bodge, could you rock the boat for me?"
"Sure thing."
Bodge set one foot on the side of the boat and stamped down hard.
The ferry tipped sharply. Celes let out a little shriek.
Luca watched the rocking.
Out, and back. That one instant as it comes back.
Right foot, half a step, deep. Drop the hips, and drive.
The point of the sword he'd only just picked up shot straight forward. His feet didn't slip at all.
"...You just did the same lunge on a rocking boat that you'd do on solid ground."
"Yes. The old me would probably have fallen over."
Bodge whistled.
"Thirty years I've run this ferry, and I've never seen anybody lunge that clean on a rocking boat."
* * *
"Hey, Luca. So how does that count?"
Celes asked on the ride back.
"Twenty-seven."
"Even though it's the same lunge?"
"Theo's lunge and that swordsman's lunge belong to different people."
"...That's such a you way of counting."
Celes laughed, then turned a little more serious.
"But if they stack, that means the more of the same technique you pick up, the stronger it gets, right?"
"Probably, yes."
Just then, Luca's stomach let out a long, rolling growl, like a cart going over cobblestones.
That made three recalls today. A pole with thirty years in it, a float, and a sword.
Back at the pier, Bodge grilled him another mountain of fish.
Luca ate eight without a word.
"Come to think of it, there was a woman who ran on water."
They were sitting in front of the fire when Bodge said it, out of nowhere.
"Liene the Waterbird. Rank Two. Never bothered with boats, that one. She'd run across this lake. There were other fools besides Hannes who swam it, but she's the only one, before or since, who ever ran it."
"She ran on top of the water?"
"Yeah. ...Twelve years ago, she came back from the Falls on the eighteenth floor barefoot. White as a sheet, not a word to anyone, and the next day she retired. Went home to some port town, the story goes."
Bodge tossed a stick into the fire.
"They say she heard some kind of voice at the Falls. Just a rumor, mind."
Luca went still, a grilled fish in his hand.
Deep inside his jacket, the two coins wrapped in cloth seemed to grow just a little warmer.
* * *
"Two silver coins for the lot."
That was old Trude's offer the next morning at the ferry landing. She was one of the peddlers who kept a stall there.
Laid out on the pier were the things they'd hauled up the day before that had no known owner. A rusty knife. A few rings. A clasp. A necklace with a red stone.
"Two..."
"Rusty, muddy junk, that's what this is. Be grateful you're getting two."
Old Trude was a small woman with sharp eyes.
Beside Luca, Bodge was making a sour face. Luca honestly couldn't tell whether the price was high or low.
At the edge of the pile lay a lens set in a brass rim.
He'd picked it up from the bottom of the hollow yesterday. Luca closed his hand around it.
◆ ◆ ◆
—Hold it up to the light.
Through the loupe, look into the honey crystal the customer is holding out. Tiny bubbles inside. The cloudiness gathered in one spot.
Set it on the palm and feel the weight. ...Light.
"Sir. This is melted candy with some color in it."
"Wha—!"
A fake lies with its looks. But weight, and what's inside, and the habits of the hands that made it, those don't lie. The real thing is heavy, even when it says nothing.
The customer flies into a rage and kicks the stall. The stall shakes, and the loupe rolls off the edge of the pier.
He reaches for it, but it's already in the water.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [Appraisal].
Luca looked again at the dropped things laid out on the pier.
They looked different now.
"Trude, this ring isn't silver. It's copper with a thin layer of silver over it. When you hold it, it's too light for silver."
Old Trude said nothing.
"This clasp is real silver, though. And this rusty knife..."
Luca rubbed at the rust on the knife with his finger.
Underneath, the steel showed through, with a fine pattern rising in it like ripples. At the base of the blade was a tiny stamp of a hammer.
"This steel has been folded and forged over and over. I think it's from a smith who stamps his work. And the red stone in the necklace is glass."
For a while, old Trude was silent.
Then her eyes fell on the loupe in Luca's hand, and she caught her breath.
"...That loupe. Where'd you get it?"
"Yesterday. Out past the pier, on the bottom of the lake."
"It's my husband's. Nine years ago he came home with his tail between his legs. Said he'd gotten into it with a customer and dropped it."
Old Trude took the loupe and ran her finger around the brass rim.
Then she let out a long breath.
"You've got the same eye my husband had. ...Eight silver coins. And from now on, you buy your jerky from me cheap. For good."
"Thank you very much!"
Bodge's shoulders were shaking with laughter.
* * *
While they waited for the next crossing, Luca picked one more thing out of the pile: an old fishing rod.
A bamboo rod, with a snapped line wound around it. The grip had gone black and glossy from the oil of someone's hands.
◆ ◆ ◆
—The pier, before dawn. A bobber rocks on the water.
Wait. Just wait. Half of fishing is waiting.
The bobber dips, just barely. Not yet. It's only nibbling.
The bobber slides smoothly under. The line runs. Not yet. Let it run.
...It stops.
Now.
Raise the rod. Heavy. Unbelievably heavy. This one's the lord of the lake.
Give it line. Reel in. Give it line again. Ten years he's been chasing this fish. Don't rush.
The rod is yanked down hard. His braced feet slip on the wet boards.
Before he knows it, the rod has torn out of his hands and is racing off into the lake along with the lord.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [Fishing].
"...Bodge. About ten years ago, was there an old man who lost his whole rod to the lord of the lake?"
"There was. Old fellow, mad about fishing. Took to his bed for three days after."
Bodge narrowed his eyes.
"The lord's the biggest lake trout in this lake. I've been after it ten years myself, and it's never once taken my hook."
"I'll try it."
He got some spare line from Bodge and bought bait from old Trude.
Then he sat down at the end of the pier and let the line drop.
Wait. Just wait.
Luca's stomach growled.
"...You're fine just sitting there waiting?"
"I'm fine. Waiting is part of a scavenger's job too."
The bobber dipped, just barely. Luca didn't move.
The bobber slid smoothly under. The line ran out toward open water. Not yet.
It stopped.
He raised the rod.
Heavy. The rod bent like a bow.
"Luca, it's going to snap!"
"It's all right."
Give it line. Reel in. Give it line again.
His braced feet started to slip on the wet boards. [Stand Firm]. He dropped his hips. No slipping.
How long did that go on?
The surface of the water burst open. A huge silver body leaped clear of the lake.
"...It's the lord," Bodge muttered, stunned.
The lake trout they hauled up onto the pier was nearly as long as Luca was tall.
For a while, Bodge just stared down at it, his mouth hanging open.
"Ten years. Ten years I've been after that thing, and you..."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't you apologize!"
* * *
They never made it to the twelfth floor that day.
The lord was so big that just carrying it home took them until sundown.
"Are you really taking it here?"
"Yes. I think the Full Belly will make it taste the best."
When Luca and Celes, the two of them together, lowered the lake trout to the ground at the Full Belly's back door, Miro's mother, Martha, dropped her ladle.
"What in the world is this?!"
"The lord of the lake. Please use it for the restaurant."
"Use it, he says...!"
Children came flying out of the back of the restaurant.
A boy of about twelve, a girl of about ten, and a pair of small twins with the same face. Miro's brothers and sisters.
"Whoa, it's huge!"
"Did you catch this?!"
"Yes. I picked up a fishing rod at the bottom of the lake."
That night, the Full Belly was in an uproar.
Martha grilled the lake trout, stewed it and fried it, and served it to every customer in the place. Tonight it's on the lord of the lake, she told them.
Luca ate ten plates. The twins fell asleep on his lap.
That was when the back door opened and Miro came in, a big sack of cargo over his shoulder.
"...Why are you here?"
He was on his way back from hauling at the market, by the look of it. Dripping with sweat, Miro looked from the twins on Luca's lap, to Luca, to what was left on the big platters in the kitchen, and scowled.
"Miro! Luca caught the lord of the lake!"
"Didn't ask, Tobi."
Miro set down the sack and started to turn away.
Luca spoke to his back.
"Mr. Miro. Where on the thirteenth floor did you lose your shield?"
Miro stopped.
"...I didn't lose it. I threw it away. That's what you heard, isn't it?"
"I heard that. But—"
"Having fun, scavenger? Picking through what other people threw away?"
Miro said it without turning around.
Then he walked out the back door. It slammed shut behind him.
* * *
"I'm sorry about him. He's gotten like that."
After closing time, Martha poured tea for Luca and Celes and sat down with them.
"Three years ago, my husband fell sick and took to his bed. And Miro up and says, 'I'll become a delver and earn the money.' He was only fourteen. You can't even become a delver until you're fifteen and you've got your Gift."
"I think my husband knew he wouldn't last until Miro turned fifteen. He took every coin we'd put by from the restaurant over years and years, and he bought that shield ahead of time. I told him to save it for his medicine, but would he listen? And the pot on the front of it, he carved that himself, sitting up in bed, a little more every night. The same picture as on our sign."
Martha glanced toward the sign out front.
"He passed that winter. The next year, Miro turned fifteen and got his Gift, and he went straight to the Guild with that shield on his back. To feed the little ones. ...That boy isn't the sort to throw away his shield and run. But he won't say a word. Says even if he did, nobody would believe him."
Martha's big hands were wrapped tight around her teacup.
* * *
That night, up in the attic, Luca picked up the blue stone.
He held it up to the light and looked at it with the eye of [Appraisal].
Heavy. Much heavier than it ought to be for its size.
Deep inside the stone, something seemed to be slowly circling. It was probably worth far more than anything he'd seen that day.
But what it actually was, he couldn't tell.
Luca wrapped the stone in a cloth and put it away again at the bottom of his box.
Martha's story about the picture on the shield was still in his ears.