“You never told me that.”
“I was forbidden by the United States government to tell anyone,” she says. “We salvaged it secretly.”
“You helped the US government salvage a nuclear submarine?”
“And then they asked me to help them with other things,” says Aunt Magnolia. “They offered me money. You were a child. We had no money and I was raising you alone, on the paycheck of an adjunct. I didn’t know what was ahead for either of us. I said yes.”
“Aunt Magnolia,” Jane says, piecing this out. “Are you telling me that you became some sort of underwater . . . spy?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Oh,” Jane says, flabbergasted. “What does that even mean?”
“There are underwater operatives,” says Aunt Magnolia. “There are people who salvage sensitive military wrecks like that submarine, and people who tap underwater cables. There are exchanges of goods and information that take place at the bottom of the sea. At first, I didn’t understand the extent of it. I got mixed up in things I now wish I hadn’t. Bad things can happen underwater, in the dark, where no one else can see.”
What Aunt Magnolia is describing is somehow more absurd to Jane than the existence of a fantasy world inside a painting where dogs can talk and rocks have feelings. “You never told me,” Jane says. “You never told me.”
“I wanted to stop,” says Aunt Magnolia. “They started to ask me to do things I hated to do. Bombs are disposed of underwater sometimes, did you know that? And eventually there began to be some confusion about my allegiances.”
“I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” Jane says.
“In time, I’ll tell you every detail,” she says. “I’ll confess every lie. It’ll be a great relief to me.”
“Not to me.”
“That’s my greatest regret,” she says. “I only ever wanted you to be safe. Did Mrs. Vanders tell you about the money? It’s yours to access, whenever you want it.”
Jane doesn’t want to hear about money. “Who called me from Antarctica?”
“A colleague,” says Aunt Magnolia. “A diving friend, another operative, who agreed to help me disappear, though I never told him where I was going.”
“You let me believe you were dead,” Jane says. “You were dead.”
“Darling,” Aunt Magnolia starts, reaching for Jane, but Jane is standing, Jane is pushing away from her.
“You were dead,” Jane says, tears running down her face.
“I’m sorry,” Aunt Magnolia says. “I didn’t have a lot of time to plan and maybe I did it badly. But I’m not dead. I came here. I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve looked for you every day.”
“I might never have found you.” Jane’s voice is rising with hysteria. “I wouldn’t have,” she says, pointing to Steen, “if that dog weren’t nuts. I had a gravestone put up for you. Your friend sent me your things, your supposed Antarctica things. I’ve been sleeping with your fucking hat!”
Aunt Magnolia has always been the type to rush to soothe a person who’s upset. It’s instinct for her, she can’t help herself. Jane can see it now in the unfamiliar face and reaching arms of this strange but undeniable Aunt Magnolia.
The water bulges then under the dock at Aunt Magnolia’s feet. The head of a gray creature rises above the surface of the water, vaguely bear-like in appearance, round-faced with a long nose. It’s as big as a beluga whale and has flippers, whiskers, and a blow hole on the top of its head. In amazement, Jane stares into its face.
The animal’s mouth is set in an even line that gives it an aspect of patience and serenity. Its dark eyes are large and deep with pain. Jane knows as well as anyone that creatures who live in the depths of the ocean are sometimes bizarre to the point of challenging credulity; Aunt Magnolia’s work has taught her so. But just as Jane knows by looking at the people of this earth that they’re not from her Earth, she knows that this animal belongs only to this world.
It doesn’t speak, but gazes intently at Aunt Magnolia. Aunt Magnolia lies down on the dock on her stomach, her trousered legs sticking out behind her and her arms and head hanging over the edge. Her coat lies open, purple with flashes of silver and gold, like a nebula. She reaches out and places a hand on the bear-like creature’s forehead. She says nothing, and Jane doesn’t entirely understand what’s happening. But she recognizes that Aunt Magnolia has found a willing recipient for her soothing. With her touch, Aunt Magnolia is soothing this animal, which now has big tears rolling down its face.
Aunt Magnolia and the sea animal stay in that position for several minutes. Jane stands on the dock, tears dripping onto her cloak. Steen is pressing himself hard against her legs and glancing up at her frequently. Like Aunt Magnolia and the sea animal, he is silent.
The sea animal moves its head so that it’s looking into Jane’s eyes. Jane is locked in its gaze, lost in the well of its feeling. This animal has power, she finds herself thinking, though she has no idea what that power is.
The sea animal sinks away. The water closes silently above it.
Aunt Magnolia shifts to a sitting position again, her feet dangling over the edge. She doesn’t look at Jane. Jane interprets her shoulders. Aunt Magnolia is depleted from soothing someone else, and she’s ashamed for having hurt Jane.
Jane can’t quite get herself to sit next to her, but she sits a few feet removed. She dangles her legs again over the water.
“Steen,” Jane says, “that’s my strayhound’s name, Steen. He tells me the sea creatures are sick.”
Aunt Magnolia’s head dips, slowly, in agreement. “They’re called sea bears.”
“Were you talking to it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Were you giving it—some kind of medicine?”
“It was something much more elemental than that,” she says, “and less fantastical. They’re sick because they’re traumatized and grieving. A huge number of their population were killed by Zorsteddan hunters. Their meat came into fashion and for a period of time, they were massacred. The hunters convinced the government that the sea bears were dumb brutes—though how anyone could think such a thing of a creature like the one we just saw—”
Her voice breaks off, rough and choked with disgust. Jane watches her take one even breath.
“It was a long time ago,” Aunt Magnolia says. “Hunting them is illegal now. But they live a very long time, and Zorsteddan scientists believe their memory goes deep and heals slowly. I’m in a program organized by the scientists. I come out here in the morning and I wait. If one of the sea bears visits, and one usually does, I sit with it, and touch it with kindness.”
“What does that mean?” says Jane.
“I think you know what it means, sweetheart,” says Aunt Magnolia. When Jane doesn’t answer, she looks into her hands and says quietly, “Just being with the sea bear. Not trying to impress anything upon it. And just letting the sea bear be too. They have what we would probably call a . . . psychic ability. If I have the intention of simply being beside it, it will know that’s my intention. That they allow our company in this way now—for they haven’t always allowed it—is a sign that they might come to trust humans again. Until they do, and until the pain of their grief subsides, it’s as if the ocean here has a sickness in its soul. I can feel it, Janie.”
It’s hard for Jane to know how to respond. “This is your job here?” she says.
“Yes,” says Aunt Magnolia. “The government pays the scientists.”
“Are you in charge of the operation?”
“Good heavens, no,” she says. “My position is very junior. I’m receiving training, but I’ve only been in Zorsted a short while. There’s a program. Anyone with an affinity for animals can apply. You could apply.”
Jane blinks at this; she can’t answer. “How did you convince them you were from here? Weren’t they suspicio
us?”
“I keep to myself, and I pretend that I don’t want to talk about my past. There’ve been moments when I’ve gotten odd looks, sure, but there’s a high tolerance for oddness here. People seem to expect not to understand everything they see. Anyway, if you met someone who didn’t seem to know your customs, would you assume they came from an alternate reality?”
“I guess not,” says Jane. “Do you miss our technologies? Could you solve the problem faster with scuba gear?”
She flashes Jane a quiet, sideways smile. “Even in the absence of compressed air,” she says, “diving techniques here are pretty sophisticated. They have a sort of diving bell, with air tubes that extend up to the surface. Regardless, even if we had scuba gear, I doubt we’d use it. It does not help the healing of the animals for us humans to push ourselves into their homes.”
It’s a particular kind of confusion to be angry with the person who taught her about gentleness, respect; who taught her how to soothe herself. Jane watches the water dancing beneath her feet, conscious of Steen beside her. Carefully, she leans out until she can see her own reflection. Something about that strange face strikes her. Jane turns to study Aunt Magnolia and realizes that even in this world, she has Aunt Magnolia’s cheekbones and her nose.
“How are your umbrellas,” Aunt Magnolia says, “my darling?”
Jane’s lungs are a jellyfish, moving silently through a great sorrow. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she says. “I don’t know why I should have a strayhound if I’m from the other side. I don’t know why I came to Tu Reviens in the first place.”
Aunt Magnolia takes a minute to answer. “I don’t see why creatures from different worlds shouldn’t fit together,” she says. “Zorsted is full of strayhounds who haven’t found their people. Maybe it’s because those people are in different worlds.”
“Steen said the same thing,” Jane says. “But what do you mean, different worlds? Do you think there are more than two?”
“Well,” Aunt Magnolia says, “I used to think there was only one. Once there were two, I guess I began to feel there may as well be a thousand. You know?”
Jane smells the brackish air and hears the water slap against the posts of the dock.
Aunt Magnolia left Jane alone. Orphaned, with no money Jane knew of. Her plan to reunite with her niece obscure and unspoken, balanced on a pin.
“I need to think,” Jane says.
When I need to think, says Steen, I walk.
“Will you come with me?” Jane asks him.
Of course I will, if you want me.
“Of course I do,” Jane says, touching the place between his ears, then standing. “You’re my strayhound, aren’t you?”
Watching Jane, Aunt Magnolia rises to her own feet anxiously.
“We’re going for a walk,” Jane says carefully.
“All right,” Aunt Magnolia says, swallowing. “I’ll see you again, won’t I, darling? Please?”
“I don’t know,” Jane says. You’re not who I thought you were, Jane doesn’t say. You’re not who you pretended to be.
Aunt Magnolia’s eyes are bright with tears. She holds Jane in a long hug and kisses her forehead. She tells Jane she loves her. “Come back,” she says. Jane holds her tightly before letting her go.
* * *
“Where are we going?” Jane asks Steen.
Where would you like to go?
“Someplace that isn’t challenging,” Jane says, “for either of us.”
Steen walks her back up the staircase, then along a road crowded with small houses. A snaggle of children runs past. Someone is frying something that smells like bacon.
“I’m hungry,” Jane says. “Are you hungry?”
We could go back to your aunt, he says. She’ll have money.
“I’ll survive,” Jane says, “if you will.”
I know where there’s fruit, he says.
“Do strayhounds like fruit?”
This one does.
The street bends sharply to the right but Steen continues straight, into a patch of gnarled trees. He leads her through thick grass and fallen branches. Eventually the land begins to slope downward and they end up in a grove of stocky trees heavy with a rose-colored fruit that looks somewhat like, but decidedly isn’t, apples.
The Zorsteddan word for it comes to her. She speaks it aloud.
Yes, says Steen contentedly. The duchess owns the orchard.
“Are we stealing?”
Not with me here, he says. I live in the duchess’s mansion. She takes care of us. Her food is mine.
“Are you sure you’re still welcome in the duchess’s mansion, now that you’ve found your person?”
You don’t have a residence here, he says significantly, so I’ll still live with the duchess. If you establish a residence here, that will change.
He doesn’t look at her, and Jane carefully doesn’t look at him. She fills her deep trouser pockets with fruit and continues to follow him down the slope, which grows steeper. Stepping out of the orchard, she finds herself on a small, crescent-shaped beach of pale sand. The sun is strong and her Zorsteddan clothing blocks the chill of the wind. Steen trots to an outcropping of rock and shrubbery and settles in beside it. She joins him there; she sits beside him, watching the water rush onto the sand, then pull itself back. The fruit is crisp like an apple, but sweet, like a pear.
“It’s such a strange feeling, being in Zorsted,” Jane says. “I feel like I’ve died and been reincarnated in a different body, a different life, except they forgot to wipe my memory of the life that came before.”
I don’t believe in reincarnation, says Steen.
“Don’t you? If there’s more than one world, why shouldn’t there be more than one life?”
There are many lives in every life, he says.
“You and Aunt Magnolia are both very fond of obscure philosophical pronouncements,” Jane says. “Tell me, is there a market in Zorsted for umbrellas?”
It certainly rains. Though it never rains frogs.
“Another oddity,” Jane says. “Where would umbrellas be sold?”
In the public market, he says. If you sold enough umbrellas, you might be able to open a shop. Might I ask why you’re asking these questions?
“I don’t know,” Jane says. “Maybe because umbrellas are less scary than existential philosophy.”
Steen passes her a prim look. I saw a strayhound once with a curious umbrella hat, he says. I thought it was quite fetching.
Jane tries not to smile. “Would you like me to make you an umbrella hat, Steen?”
That’s entirely up to you, he says with dignity.
“Would I be making it to fit Jasper the basset hound, or Steen the strayhound?”
He hesitates. I guess that’s also up to you.
Yes. I guess that’s one of the big questions of the day, isn’t it? Tu Reviens or Zorsted?
See? he says. I told you you could talk to me without speaking out loud.
Yes, I see.
Do you— He hesitates, and she feels his eagerness. His vulnerability. Do you like it?
She lets out a breath. I can’t say yet, Steen.
He burrows his nose in the sand, as if it’s a way to stop himself from saying what he wants to say.
This inlet is an awful lot like the one you took me to at Tu Reviens, Jane says, after a pause.
I like to come here, he says.
Do you go to the inlet at Tu Reviens because it reminds you of this one?
I found the one at Tu Reviens first, he says. I guess I like this one because it reminds me of that one.
That’s confusing.
Yes, he says. Home is. After all, it’s one’s headquarters, one’s backdrop, one’s framework. One’s history, and also one’s haven.
Are you good at Scrab
ble, Steen? Jane asks, smiling.
Steen sniffs. We have a much superior game here. It’s like Scrabble. You win by putting the highest-value words down. But the words you put down also tell a story, and you have to take care, because that story will play out somehow in your day.
Seriously? The game changes your day? That sounds dangerous!
You’re interpreting it too extremely. No one has ever been seriously hurt.
Oh! Just minor injuries, then!
The story plays out metaphorically, usually in some harmless and amusing manner, he says soothingly. I can see it sounds strange. But I promise you, Janie, this world is no more dangerous than yours.
It’s so different here, she says. Do both Zorsted and Tu Reviens feel like home to you?
Yes. And no. In Tu Reviens, I’m mute, and no one understands me, or anyway, no one did before now. In Zorsted, I’m lonely, or, I was before now. He pauses. Don’t you think it’s the people that make a place feel like home?
This does make sense to Jane. It explains why nowhere has felt like home, ever since she got that phone call—fake phone call—from Antarctica.
On the distant horizon, a tall ship with brilliant white sails comes into view. It’s too far away to guess if it’s coming or going.
If I’m a seeker, Steen, I don’t know what I’m seeking, Jane says.
Steen hesitates again. Well, he says, I’ll keep you company while you figure it out.
The long, difficult morning is tugging at her limbs. Her unfamiliar body is asking for the sleep it missed in the night. Yes, please, Jane says.
She curls on her side in the sand with an arm around Steen, and allows her Zorsteddan self to rest.
* * *
She wakes to a night lit by two enormous yellow moons. Both are bigger than her moon. Together, they cast far more light. The sky is streaked with stars.
Steen is nowhere to be found.
“Steen?”
There’s no answer. She pushes to her feet groggily, turning in circles, then suddenly wakes with a violent shiver, thinking about Zorsteddan hunters, or predators, or stones that decide they don’t like you. “Steen!”
I’m coming, he says, the message faint in her mind. Turning, she sees his dark form trotting toward her, across wet sand that’s bright with reflected moonlight.