His mother's second-best map crinkled in his hand as he read the way. Even without his lamp, he could feel the embossed features. And he was soon in total darkness, swimming fast away from town through water so cold it numbed his skin.
The towns all lay in a line, along a ridge near the string of black smokers. To swim far from that ridge was deadly, unless you were equipped for ocean voyaging. The story was that Picotin Vrai, one of Ariste's great-grandfathers (on his mother's side, of course), had swum clear round the earth.
A true story? He had asked Calice. Yes, she said, possibly the world was round. But maybe Picotin Vrai had merely swum in a big circle. The explorer had heard clicks in a strange accent and had crossed a ridge where there were many black smokers. But he had never found a town. Where had the clicks come from?
He brought no proof back, and he was considered a loony, just like his great-granddaughter.
Ariste did not plan to circumnavigate the globe. His grandfather had used complex oxygenating equipment that Calice could not duplicate today.
Ariste swam for the place Calice called Kraken's Nest. She had been fascinated with something she saw there. Ariste was almost sure that was where she had gone.
It was a deep ravine, formed by seismic activity, with cliffs overhanging its bottom. A slow current had widened the deep, cold bottom like a cave. He and Calice had explored the place. Recently, she had begun to call it Kraken's Nest. Following the map, he swam to the place where Calice claimed to have seen the Kraken.
Kraken? What was a kraken? A gigantic squid? A fabulous creature big enough to eat the oxygen factory? That was what a kraken was in legend, but Calice said she had found a real kraken in this place. She had not been close enough to know exactly what it was. She was secretive about it. Be fair, Mom. Haven't I been your faithful assistant? Take me to see it. She had promised. Soon, she said.
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