The Midnight Market

By Miranda Wright

Sulaphraine, sorceress and lawkeeper of the seafolk, has had the very core of her magic stolen from her — her voice. To get it back, she must follow the thief onto land, but she'll need some help to bring him to justice. Enter Walter Fairfield, guardsman of Gullport. The chance to track down a thief is greatly appealing, but first he'll need to get on the same page as Sula. The unlikely pair will have to navigate clashing cultures and a host of magical obstacles to recover Sula's voice — before it gets used as an ingredient in evil charms.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miranda Wright
• Release date: Dec 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215432532

Miranda Wright

Miranda Wright is a fantasy writer whose hobbies include playing music, reading a lot, and owning a cat. When not writing her own stories, she can usually be found neck deep in someone else's story, enjoying it far too much. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Her head ached. Sula cracked open her eyes. Light filtered in through the surface of the water, bright in the open sea, and pain lanced through her skull. Slamming her eyes shut, Sula felt the back of her head and winced as she found a massive lump. What happened?

A groan grated against her throat as something bumped against her cheek. Sula forced her eyes open, the light painfully bright. The culprit drifted back from her skin in the water, a rumpled braid so pale blonde it was nearly white, and she frowned at it even as the other loose braid waved in her peripherals. Another tentative touch of her head - taking care to avoid the massive turtle’s egg - showed her fingers how her careful knot of hair had fallen apart.

But how? What had happened?

Roshan. It has to be Roshan. But what did he -

Another groan hissed out of her lungs and bubbles escaped her lips - but no sound. Sula froze, chest tight, and reached for her magic.

Nothing.

Or - no, not nothing. But close. Very close. She found only threads, wisps of power deep within herself, edges ragged where it had been torn brutally away from her missing core. For the first time, Sula damned her grandmother, damned the fae blood that tied the bulk of her magic to her voice. Silent curses spewed from her mouth in an explosion of bubbles as her hand went to her throat, as if touch alone would change what had happened.

Her fingers touched skin, then dragged across the beads of her necklace, pulling several of the beads free. The others drifted together automatically as beads of water magic floated silently in the water in front of her, each housing sparks of light that linked to each other like constellations, forming the shapes of sea creatures. A crab that scuttled the confines of its bead. A swimming shark. An octopus, tentacles slow and curling against the glass-like sphere of magic that kept it confined.

She recaptured them and slid the octopus and crab back onto the necklace, waiting for them to anchor in place before she pulled away, rolling the shark between her fingers. Beneath the calm facade of the ocean, danger hummed a soft, dark song, and Sula shivered exactly once before she drew in a deep breath and reached for her meager, frayed power.

Somewhere on the high seas, ships sailed, ships she knew she could board. She just had to find them first.

Wisps were all she had left, but a wisp was all she needed. With a touch of power, carefully tugged from her measly stores, Sula called the constructed shark out of its magic shell. Light burst from the pearl, a thousand starpoints that coalesced into the magical construct as she reattached the empty bead to her necklace. The shark construct floated silently in the water, tail swishing faintly back and forth without disturbing the currents, waiting for orders.

Magic warmed her fingers as Sula reached for the construct, wrapping her hands solidly around its dorsal fin as she pulled herself onto its back. Dorothea does warmer runs this time of year, and I believe Acrinon is beached. Sula’s fingers dug into the solid magic of the shark. Flannel. He should be nearby, unless I’ve got my timing horribly wrong.

Grimly, the sea sorceress nudged the shark onward with a thought. Slowly, it began to move, sliding through the water with the ease of the predator it was modeled after, picking up speed as Sula focused her will on her quarry.

Finding Flannel’s ship turned out to be easier said than done. With her magic so horribly diminished, the magical markings carved into the hull of his ship hardly spoke to her at all, her ability to sense them severely dampened by the loss of her power. He should be here! Sula raged silently, frustrated, as she looped the shark construct in wide figure eights just beneath the surface of the sea, rising above the waves in short intervals to see if perhaps it would be more obvious from above.

Finally, finally, white sails solidified in the distance. Desperately, Sula stretched her senses, and just barely managed to brush up against the tell-tale tingle of the sea-runes that marked the ship as friendly.

Relieved, Sula dove back underwater and urged the construct on. It started so fast her loose braids slammed into her face before the water stole them and pulled them back, but Sula didn’t slow the shark down as it carried her up to the hull of a massive trading ship. The sigil of a reputable trading company had been laid into the woodwork, with sea-runes carved and set into the design around it. Sula pulled the shark up alongside it, running her palm along the runes until she found what she was looking for - the name of the captain burned into the wood, tying him to his boat. Sula’s shoulders slumped faintly with relief. Though soulbinding wasn’t common practice, and certainly not advised, Flannel’s eccentricity had given her the ability to find him, and she couldn’t find it in herself to criticize.

Luckily, these runes were one that took only a touch to activate, the sort any common folk could use. Sula dragged her fingers along the longest of the rune-chains, keeping pace easily with the boat, and shivered as magic tingled to life at her fingertips. The runes glowed a gentle gold, casting her construct in yellow light. Within the hull of the boat, she knew, there would be a musical chime, announcing her presence to the sailor stationed at the portal. And Flannel’s ship would never decline a polite request to come aboard.

Sure enough, the glow of the runes amplified before the trading company sigil spun out into golden threads, forming a neat circle of light that was carefully confined within the runes. A blurry image swam into focus within the light, showcasing the interior of the ship. She reached inside the ship, groping blindly for the calloused palm that easily caught hers, broad fingers clasping firmly around her slender ones.

The shark construct vanished back into its cage and the bead flew back from her fingers to her necklace as Sula thrust her other hand into the portal and allowed it to be similarly caught by the sailor at the other side, who pulled her easily through the side of the ship. The moment her feet hit floorboards, the portal spun itself shut behind her, the glow fading to nothing, leaving behind the wooden planks of the hull.

Miss Sulaphraine! After a moment of surprised staring as he took in her disarray, the sailor grinned weakly at her and ducked his head politely as he let go of her hands. Though she knew she’d seen him before - he recognized her, after all, which meant she must have - nothing familiar in his features stood out to her and she let the annoyance tumble away, unimportant. A pleasure to see you, as always!

Her mouth twisted in a grimace as the sailor beetled his brows at her in concern. Pardon me, he asked carefully as she made her way to the door, hovering near her elbow in case she needed help finding her ship-legs, but did something happen? You’re not looking your best. No offense, he added hastily, as her lips thinned.

She shook her head, hard and sharp. The Captain? she tried to ask, and grimaced as words remained trapped in her throat.

He stared, eyes wide in alarm. Perhaps you should sit down? he finally offered, his own hands awkwardly fluttering by his chest indecisively. The captain should be down in a moment.

Of course he would be. Sula winced; she ought to have remembered that. After all, what was the point of tying yourself to your ship if you didn’t know when people boarded it? Some of her chagrin must have shown on her face, for the sailor smiled awkwardly and motioned to a chair she’d sat in many times before. Do you need - ah, of course not, the sailor mumbled as she reluctantly left the door in favor of the chair, her breath escaping her nose in a long huff as she sat down.

Sometimes, Sula wished there was an equivalent for the sea. While she could, theoretically, lay down or sit on rocky outcroppings, there was always a feeling of buoyancy as the water and salt surrounded her, robbing her of the finality that those on land got when they let gravity pull them into a seat. Her limbs, leadened with exhaustion and tense with anger fueled by the undercurrent of anxiety that knotted in the pit of her stomach, were allowed to collapse, the weight of her body taken up by the chair, which released the pressure from the soles of her feet.

It was oddly relieving. Sula drew in a deep breath, forcing it to be slow and steady, and exhaled in the same way as she set about fixing her braids, eyes unfocused on the decking of the ship as she tried to reach equilibrium.

She didn’t succeed. The door flew open with typical exuberance and her breath caught harshly in her throat as her fingers jerked on a loose braid as Captain Everon E. Flannel burst into the room in a whirl of flamboyance. Sula, my dear, a pleasure to - Flannel began, only to cut himself off as his eyes finally fell on her properly. I take it this isn’t a visit for business or pleasure, he said instead, cataloging her disarray sharply before he crossed the room in three quick strides and held out his dark palm for her to take. Shall we take this to my office?

Water-smoothed skin met hard callouses, betraying the physical rigors of a sea-faring life as Sula gripped his hand and let him haul her back to her feet. Wordlessly Sula dropped his hand and followed him out the door and into the ship, steadfastly ignoring the crew as Flannel led the way to the captain’s quarters.

I thought I sensed something different, he remarked as he ushered her into his sanctum. Heavy red curtains separated living space from work; Sula went straight for the bespelled desk by the porthole and slumped into one of two chairs Flannel kept for business as the man himself neatly took off his feathered captain’s cap with a flourish and hung it on door-peg. The ship barely recognized you; your magic’s been worn to a thread. What happened?

I trusted the wrong man, she didn’t say. I got walloped over the head and woke up with my voice torn from my throat. I’m not worn to a thread; I’ve been robbed of all but a thread!

Sula tried to clear her throat for emphasis and scowled heavily as the sound died before it was vocalized. Fine. If the loss of her magic was going to steal even that from her...

With Flannel’s increasingly concerned attention falling heavily on her shoulders, Sula tapped her throat with more force than strictly necessary, grimaced, and drew a slash across her skin, movement sharp and jerky. Flannel’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead as she ripped her pointed gaze away and plucked the ostentatiously dyed quill from his desk even as her fingers scrabbled for one of the drawers. Wood slid against wood as she retrieved a sheet of thick paper and set it down on the desk.

Flannel’s bright blue ink splotched on the paper. As the merchant took the other seat, his coat flaring dramatically around his ankles, Sula painstakingly scratched out the words she needed to explain the situation.

Or at least, she tried. Despite the ease with which she read, a feat helped by enchantments that allowed certain books to remain intact underwater, there wasn’t any reliable way in which to practice writing. Spellings slipped from her mind and the quill pressed oddly against her fingers as she tried to shape the words she needed to tell the story.

A frustrated noise would have escaped her lips were she capable of it. Instead, Sula gave up on words partway through, switching instead to pictures. This met, as far as she was concerned, with slightly better success. Though lines in ink were nothing compared to the mosaics she was used to putting together, there was still a real familiarity in the way the lines joined together to create an image, comparable to scratching out the baseline of the mosaic in the seabed.

With a grimace and an errant drop of ink, Sula set the quill down and passed the mess to Flannel. He accepted it gingerly, pinching the paper by the corners, and blew on the ink. To dry it, Sula remembered, and winced as a trickle of ink ran down to the edge of the page anyway and dripped onto Flannel’s knee. I need more practice.

To his credit, Flannel said nothing about her clear lack of skill. His brow furrowed as he inspected the paper, taking it all in. So, he said at last, setting it down on his desk. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You went topside for a usual mage meeting and got ambushed - no, he corrected himself as Sula shook her head. Not ambushed. Tricked.

Sula grimaced at his raised eyebrow, but nodded. Tricked, Flannel continued. He hit you with something, it looks like a stick? Or don’t you know?

She shrugged helplessly. All right. How’s your head?

Fine. Sula scowled, and Flannel raised his hands. Easy, my dear, he cautioned. I’m simply worried for your health. Ugh. But the upshot of it is, if I’m reading this right... Flannel tapped the paper thoughtfully with his pointer finger. He knocked you out, stole your voice, and fled. How am I doing so far?

Since that was the message she’d tried to scrape onto the paper with ink and words, Sula nodded, sharply. Flannel’s mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line, and he tapped at his desk in a slow, rhythmic pattern that indicated he was thinking. Silently - ha - Sula leaned back in the chair and looked out the porthole, feeling peculiarly hollow as she watched the waves shift rhymically.

Well, he said at last, and Sula looked back at him. If you ask me, I think Gullport is the most likely place he could have gone. Unless this happened desperately far away? At her negative headshake, Flannel’s lips twitched into a satisfied smile. Then Gullport it will be.

Sula gave him a look that hopefully relayed and if it isn’t? to her old friend. Besides, Flannel continued blithely as he got to his feet and offered her his hand, it’s where we’re headed, and we ought to dock before the hour’s up. I’m sure the Gullport guard will be happy to help you track down this evil rogue. Do you prefer to stay here or come out on deck?

With a shake of her head, Sula mimed a bubble in her hands. Flannel frowned at her for a moment, then said Ah! when it clicked. Very well, then, I’ll leave you to it, he said, and tucked his hand by his heart to bow to her instead. Best of luck with the scry, Sulaphraine. Do let me know if you find out anything useful.

I’ll try, she thought wryly.

Flannel excused himself, taking his hat with him. As the door closed, Sula turned to the desk and set her elbows on it, bracing herself against the gravity of her situation for a long moment as she collected herself. The ship swayed around her, gentle with the stormless sea.

It wasn’t the same as drifting in a current, but the sensation was similar enough to accomplish the same effect. Sula lost herself to it, allowing the gentle rocking motion to sink her into a light trance of the kind that she’d always needed for her magic back when she was just learning how to use it, her teacher’s powerful thrum muted against her senses so that she was nothing but magic and focus and water.

Shame clawed bitterly up her throat before she pushed it forcibly away, settling into the trance again without distraction.

Here, sunk into the calm center of power, Sula breathed. Once. Twice. On the third breath, she reached for the torn threads and began to weave them together. Her hands moved by rote, shaping a bubble out of the soft glow of magic that unraveled from the tattered remnants and obediently sparkled at her fingertips, flickering at her wrists from luminescent spots intended for deep sea hunting.

Sula clamped down on the flickers and pulled the power to her hands directly. It wouldn’t do to waste what little she had left.

With hooded eyes, Sula watched her bubble solidify in her hands, a glowing, fragile orb latticed with thin threads of power. Show me, she urged it, bending all her will towards the scry. Show me my voice.

And, slowly, an image began to form.

In the depths of the bubble, red spilled like an octopus’ ink, filling the entire casting with color before it hardened, painting itself with lacquer and the hard, scalloped lines of a fluted porcelain bottle. Gold rimmed the corked lip, painted in runes so small only a magnifying glass - or a particularly close scry - could have caught them. They wrote of containment and control, and a small, distant part of Sula made a note to be viciously angry when the scry was complete. For now, she had work to do. Knowing what the bottle that imprisoned her voice looked like wouldn’t do her any good without knowing its location.

Sula nudged the scry, mentally pulling back to find out more. As the bottle grew smaller, showing her where it was tied to a belt with straps of leather, the man who wielded it became clearer. Tall, thin, and cringing with patchy scruff on his cheeks - Sula kept her jaw from clenching only by clinging to the calmness of the trance, and continued to drag the image out and away, hoping for a sign of where he was, or at the very least, where he was going.

His sailing needed work, she noted distantly as she watched him struggle with the tiny boat he tried to captain, the sails shrinking to small triangles as she searched the sea ahead of him for a destination.

There. On the edges of the bubble, directly ahead of the boat, lay the colors and bustle of a busy port. Sula redirected her scrying there, vision blurring briefly with exhaustion as she pulled away from the call of her voice in truth and tried to find a landmark in the docks that might tell her where, exactly, he was headed.

All I need is confirmation, she thought wearily, skimming the explosion of civilization for a sign. Gullport, or somewhere else?

She’d never before seen a port up close, but even so, when her eyes caught sight of the flag, silvery and gray, a proud gull soaring across a cloudy sky, Sula let the scry go. The bubble popped soundlessly in her hands, the images vanishing with the weave, and she dropped her head into her hands, temples pounding viciously.

Still, a satisfied smile edged her mouth. Gullport.

Ports were, Sula discovered as the boat pulled into dock, exceptionally busy places. Not even the sights in her scrying bubble could have prepared her for the reality of Gullport’s docks; hundreds of people scurried about, all with purpose, their outfits ranging from the grubby daywear of a small-time fishing operation to the opulent crimson and gold of an ambassadorial party from across the city, looking almost like an illustration in a picture book in their finery. A merchant ship loaded cargo in assembly lines of barrels and boxes, while nimble cabin boys darted across the line, weaving through the hustle and bustle of the docks to accomplish a hundred little tasks set to them by their captains. The dull roar of creaking ships, moving cargo and babbling crowds nearly overwhelmed her for a minute before it faded into white noise that she was able to think through.

At her side, Flannel laughed. You get used to it, he told her kindly. Sula shook her head in mild disbelief; not even the largest of undersea tribes could hold

Reviews for The Midnight Market

[Agnieszka Miernik · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I had opened this book already knowing it was going to be good, but it then proceeded to exceed my expectations in every way. What a great read that was - fun, engaging, imaginative. It reminded me of when I was a young kid, holed up with a fantasy book in some corner or another, utterly engrossed by the story. The main duo of characters is charming, and their interactions feel real and spark with chemistry. Platonic chemistry, because there's no romance to speak of - which is a breath of fresh air, as well. Reimagining The Little Mermaid to be a cop buddy comedy might sound strange at first, but it was a great idea. I read the whole thing in one sitting, because the story would not let me go. Definitely one of my most pleasurable reads in a while.