Cracks in the Shell

Chapter 16

She ignored him, however, and continued layering seaweed onto the towers. Then, using a seashell, she carved a balcony into its side.

Carlos set down his shovel. “Those decorations aren’t going to last if the wall fails.” 

Violet cast him a sour look, one that always packed on the guilt. She must’ve learned it from her mother.

“The castle’s going to drown?” she asked with hurt in her voice. 

Carlos shaded his vision and took note of the high water mark left by driftwood. It was well beyond the sandcastle, far up the beach. 

“No, sweetie…your castle’s going to survive.” He dug in deep and packed more wet sand against the wall.  The waves crashed louder behind them now. Carlos smiled and straightened his daughter’s hair. Her wig had gone askew.  

Something crunched beneath his feet. 

Carlos lifted a sandal. The pale circle of a sand dollar lay pressed inside his footprint. He reached down and picked it up.

“That’s a good omen,” Moro said, taking it from him. “They call this the ghost shell.” He pointed to its design. “See the flower? That’s the lily that grows in the gardens.” He ran his finger across the shape. “This hole near the center is our city, Ginen.”

“What are these other holes?” Carlos asked, pointing to four others that were spaced outside the flower design.

“Those were the other cities,” Moro said. A wistfulness in his voice told Carlos not to enquire further. “Before the sands shifted, before the baka.” Pressing into the sand dollar with his thumbs, he broke it in half. Then he gently shook the pieces over his outstretched palm. Five broken fragments fell into his hand. They looked like birds. “These are five lwa who will save us, when our world splits apart.” Moro smiled for the first time and let the birds slip thru his fingers into the sand. A rush of water swept in and consumed them. “The tide is rising,” he said. “We should angle towards the dunes.” But Carlos grabbed his shoulder. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Moro turned back around. “You want to know what kind of a father would leave his daughter alone?”

Carlos swallowed hard, caught off guard by the comment. For a moment, he thought Moro’s question was directed at him. But the guilty expression on the man’s face told him otherwise. “No, I’m not here to judge you. I want to know about the key.”

“To my house?”

“Yes, they found one on your daughter. Was that the only one?”

“No, I’ve got one as well.” He removed it from his pocket. “But I had it with me the whole time I was away.” He gave it to Carlos, who inspected it closely for signs of wax. The handle was clean, however, ending in a beautiful flowering design. 

“Was it ever out of your possession, even for a little while?”

Moro’s eyes narrowed. He saw where Carlos was going with this. “Yes, a week ago. When I had it copied for Sasha.” 

“You had it copied?” Carlos scratched his chin. “Who did that for you?”

Moro grit his teeth. “The city guard.” His hand curled around the hilt of his sword, but he did not withdraw it. 

“Why them?” Carlos asked.

“They handle all the lock work in the city.” 

Someone could have easily made a third key and used it to enter the house that night. Carlos had a feeling this was a dead end, literally. With Hungar’s death, he had no access to the city guard. And they weren’t likely to implicate one of their own. 

“You think there were others besides the lamplighter?” Moro asked, “…responsible?”

“Yes, I do. And I think one of them might be traveling with us.”

Moro nodded as if he’d suspected this as well. “Many think the baka can read the future…can predict our actions. But that’s a lie. They’re being fed information.” He lowered his voice. “On our last expedition, we changed direction mid-route, but still they beat us to the harvest.”

“The fact they didn’t attack you is also suspicious,” Carlos said. “It points to a spy in your midst, someone they didn’t want to kill.”

“Anyway I can help, you let me know.” Moro’s eyes welled with tears. 

“I will.” Carlos asked a few more questions, but they didn’t provide anything of use. By the rise in Moro’s voice, he could tell the man was becoming upset, so he decided to end the interview. Moro was clearly wrestling with his emotions: a dangerous cocktail of guilt, anger, and sadness. The stone face he’d exhibited the other night was not apathy, but merely his public mask. Behind this was devastation, utter despair. Carlos understood only too well. 

As the group marched into softer sand, he drifted towards the back of the line, lost again in his thoughts. Soon he’d fallen away from the others with nothing behind him but a long trail of footprints. Carlos stared down at these tracks as he walked. Then he stopped. 

I’ve seen that before.

He was looking at a familiar print in the sand, a radiating sun pattern. Instantly, he knew where he recognized it from - the gardens. This was the same print he’d observed down the locked archive corridor. More disturbingly, he’d also seen it near the cart tracks by the waterfall, which meant it likely belonged to the traitor. 

Or maybe it’s just the same pattern on a different sandal, Carlos told himself. That was certainly possible. But he wasn’t buying it. One of the rings had a chip missing. He’d seen that wear pattern before; it was too much of a coincidence. This was the exact same sandal. 

Riyal’s fears had proven correct. Someone inside the expedition party was conspiring with the baka and leaking information on their whereabouts. 

Should I stop the march and ask to see everyone’s sandals? No, he needed to be more discreet. He’d wait until they made camp. Playing his cards close to his chest seemed like the best strategy for now - at least until he’d gathered more evidence. He still had to figure out how the spy was leaking information, and if there were more than one traitor in their midst.