This time, I listened to my turtle instincts. I even spent a whole week in Black Sand Creek, letting my turtle brain direct my body and observing its habits from the back of my mind. As Flicker had pointed out, oracle-shell turtles were indeed primarily aquatic; at least, my body wanted to spend two-thirds of the time in the water, and after what happened last life, I wasn’t inclined to argue with it. After a week, I thought I understood the basics of Being an Oracle-Shell Turtle 101. Off I lumbered in search of Honeysuckle Croft.

Despite its romantic name, the cottage looked much more, uh, rustic in the daytime. It was shaped like a crude box, with a thatched roof, a splintery door, a hole for the lone window, rough walls that wavered between yellowing white and dirt-colored, and a scraggly vegetable patch full of caterpillar-gnawed plants. Oh, and that eponymous tangle of honeysuckle growing up the front wall, wafting fragrance through the air. That was the nicest part – the only nice part, in fact – of Imperial Princess Cassia Quarta’s new home.

Since it was the middle of the day, Master Jek and the sons were nowhere in sight, off plowing their fields or doing whatever peasants did in the winter. As for Mistress Jek, around the corner staggered a disheveled matron, loaded down with an armful of firewood and scolding, “Taila! Stop! Stop RIGHT NOW!”

At her heels stumbled a scrawny, barefoot girl-child with a patched tunic, messy braids, and dirt-streaked cheeks. “Awww, Maaaaaaa!” she bawled.

“Taila! I ain’t cappin’! NOW!”

Reluctantly, the girl opened her cupped hands and released a cockroach, watching with teary eyes as it vanished back into the wall.

“Open the door!” her mother snapped. As Taila shoved it open and the two disappeared into the dark hut, Mistress Jek continued to nag, “No playin’ when you should be helpin’! Yer four years old now. It’s time to act yer age. How’re you gonna get a husband when you grow up if you can’t do NUTHIN’? When I was your age, I could already….” The rest was drowned out by the loud thunks of firewood hitting the floor, but I could guess where that lecture was going.

For a pampered, silk-clad princess to have fallen so far! No wonder Aurelia had begged me to watch over her!

Shaking my head, I clomped past the shack and headed for the pond.

As its name suggested, Caltrop Pond was a small pond whose surface was carpeted with the green rosettes of water caltrop leaves. It was surrounded by rocks that looked perfect for sunbathing. In fact, as I approached, a mortal turtle bobbed to the surface, pushed its way through the leaves, and crawled onto one of the rocks. It slowly rotated its neck to stare at me, decided I wasn’t a threat, and went back to basking.

Not a bad base of operations, I thought. This place was a short walk from Taila’s home, so I could rehydrate as needed while blending in with the local turtle population. Now, how deep was the pond, and would I have to keep Taila from drowning in it?

Lumbering to the edge, I slipped into the water. It was clogged with the caltrops’ stems and feathery underwater leaves, but I wound between them, angling down. Beneath the rosettes, the pond was dark, lit primarily by beams of sunlight that filtered down through the leaves. It wasn’t very deep, but a four-year-old could drown herself anyway. Yes, I’d definitely have to supervise her if she stumbled her way here.

Now, where was the Dragon King of Caltrop Pond? After making a circuit of the bottom, I noticed a path through the caltrop stems. It led to a hole only three feet in diameter – too small to be called a cave – above which hung a wooden board with black words on it. I didn’t have to read it to guess what it said, but I swam over anyway.

Huh.

Well, it certainly said what it should have said, namely, “Water Court of Caltrop Pond,” but the font was – unusual, to say the least. It wasn’t one of those classic scripts that you saw on calligraphy scrolls. No, it was oddly rounded, and portions were distorted to make them bulge and spike out, like an artist’s interpretation of a toddler’s handwriting. The whole sign gave an impression of…edgy playfulness?

I thought back to the miniature dragon I’d seen at the conference, arching his neck to show off his pearl and trying so hard to act dignified. Was this what I’d expect from him?

Maybe?

No, not really. If anything, I’d assumed that he was an even more hangdog version of Yulus, striving and failing to pretend to be something he was not. Maybe he’d made an effort at the conference, but didn’t bother when he was at home.

Drifting closer to the hole, I craned my head to look inside, but the entrance tunnel was dark and deserted. Since no one was stopping me, I glided in. Hey, mortal turtles could get lost, couldn’t they?

If I were picturing a dollhouse version of the Water Court of Black Sand Creek, that was not what I found. True, the tunnel opened up onto a larger room that had a throne – but it was nothing like Yulus’ audience chamber. For starters, this throne was no utilitarian wooden chair. It bristled with dried caltrop nuts, purplish-black, bat-shaped pods. In fact, the entire chairback was shaped like a caltrop nut, with two long points curving out and down. When the little dragon sat in it, he’d look as if he’d sprouted a gigantic pair of wings. Also, the throne didn’t face the entrance as Yulus’ did, but a platform on the opposite side of the room. I had no idea what to make of that, so I kept going.

On the far side of the room, a doorway led to a relatively large kitchen packed to capacity with crab spirits. They were on the small side, like everything else in this pond, and had bright blue carapaces and orange legs. They were also hard at work preparing a feast, which was odd since I couldn’t think of any holidays this time of year. Eh, not my problem.

A second doorway turned into a tunnel with three rooms curtained off by strings of dried caltrop nuts that swayed in the currents and clinked softly against one another. When I peered through the first curtain, I found a bedroom, empty except for one crab that was hiding in the corner while molting. This must be the servants’ wing, then.

However, the floor of the second room was covered with a mass of snoring rice paddy snake spirits, so tangled up that I couldn’t get a good count. Cocking my head to a side, I thought for a moment before I realized that this dragon king divided his servants into shifts by their natures. Not how I’d do it.

Shaking my head, I peered into the last room. This was the biggest, and it was dominated by an oversized caltrop rosette, in the center of which was – the curled-up from of the Dragon King of Caltrop Pond. He, too, was sound asleep, his sides rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Wait. Wait wait wait.

Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe those other snakes weren’t servants. Maybe they were courtiers. Maybe that was why they were snoring away while the crabs worked frantically in the kitchen.

I stared at the sleeping dragon some more. That was the Dragon King of Caltrop Pond, right? Not an overgrown rice paddy snake spirit?

Yes, I could definitely see three-clawed hands and feet tucked up against his coils, plus two stubby horns on his head that were just starting to fork at the tips.

What was wrong with this court? Why would you put the servants’ quarters right next to the monarch’s bedroom? Even Yulus had housed his crabs in a separate grotto!

Also, why was this water court completely asleep in the middle of the day? Didn’t it have work to do? Unless rice paddy snake spirits were nocturnal?

Well, whatever. The governance of this pond was none of my concern. In fact, I was the beneficiary of its bizarre schedule: I’d be active during the day, shuttling back and forth between Caltrop Pond and Honeysuckle Croft, so the more spirits who were asleep during that time, the better. Leaving the water court, I let my turtle brain take over and spent some time eating and generally rehydrating.

Dusk had fallen by the time I returned to Honeysuckle Croft, and I crossed paths with (and then fell behind) Master Jek and the sons, who were trudging home from whatever physical labor occupied their days. Out of the shack’s lone window drifted a shrill voice: Mistress Jek berating Taila again, this time for getting too close to the fire.

“How many times do I have to tell you? That is NOT a toy! That’s dangerous! You see this twig? See? SEE? If you get too close, you’ll catch fire and burn up JUST LIKE THIS TWIG!”

High-pitching wailing filled the air, and then the little girl dashed out the door, tripping through the vegetable patch and leaving crushed green onions and chives in her wake. “Paaaaa! Paaaaaaaaaa!” She crashed into his legs and flung both arms around them.

With a sigh, Master Jek bent down to hoist her up. “Don’t step on the veggies, Taila. We need them fer eatin’. You like veggie pottage, right?”

Was he really asking a four-year-old whether she wanted to eat her vegetables? Even I knew the answer to that.

A piercing, drawn-out “Noooooooooo!” settled that issue.

Mistress Jek appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips. “D’you know what YER DAUGHTER did today?” she demanded. “Taila! Tell yer pa what you did!”

Looking harassed, Master Jek told the sons, “Put stuff away, then come eat.” Exchanging smirks and eye-rolls, they trotted off while their father carried their sister into the house. In a weary voice, he asked, “Okay, Taila, whatcha do today?”

“Nuthin’! Nuthin’!”

“Taila….”

“This afternoon, YER DAUGHTER tried to climb the woodpile and fell off and hit her head. Then she ran off to chase crickets and I had to chase her long enough that the pottage got burnt. Then she near tripped me when I had a pot of boilin’ water. Then she started pullin’ BURNIN’ TWIGS outta the hearth. And now she’s gone and smashed the green onions! Taila! How many times do I have to tell you to STAY OUT OF THE GARDEN!”

At the end of that recital, my head was spinning. In the span of just a few hours, Taila had succeeded in nearly breaking her skull, getting lost, getting scalded by boiling water, and setting herself on fire. And I was supposed to keep her alive long enough for her to move away Black Sand Creek or for me to reach the end of a turtle’s lifespan? A whole palace-ful of wetnurses, nannies, and governesses couldn’t do it. I’d like to see Aurelia try!

Furious, I stamped my feet. I should never have sworn that oath. I knew nothing good ever came from associating with the gods.

Sticking out my neck, I tore off a mouthful of the closest, un-flattened, withered leafy green. I’d planned to spit it out to emphasize my point – but once it was in my mouth, it didn’t taste half-bad. Hmmm. I took another bite. Yes, this definitely tasted better than duckweed. Cocking my head, I studied the plant for a moment. Oh, it was a spoon cabbage, so named because the bottom part of the leaf, where it joined to the base, was shaped like a big soupspoon. I’d had it in the palace, cooked or stewed or fried in intricate dishes. Funny that what had been an aristocratic delicacy was now peasant fare. Shaking my head, I chomped on the half-dead spoon cabbage while monitoring the conversation inside the shack.

None of it was particularly worth listening to. It was tedious and circular and centered around weather predictions, which were pointless unless you personally knew a dragon king, which the Jeks patently did not. Mistress Jek also broached the topic of apprenticing their second son to the local basket weaver. Apparently, it was a reliable trade that involved providing the local community with storage containers, eel traps, earthworm cages for fishermen to tie at their waists, and the like. However, that discussion was punctuated by more wails from Taila to the tune of “Nooooo!” and “I don’t want Second Brother to leeeeeeave!”

Eventually, accompanied by odd rustling noises at ground level, the family went to bed. Once Taila had finally stopped wriggling and everyone’s breathing was deep and even, I emerged from the spoon cabbages and examined the honeysuckle tangle. The branches were long and slender, but I wasn’t heavy and I thought they should support my weight. I did have a shell to protect me if I fell, after all. Plus if I died, I’d consider my oath to Aurelia fulfilled. I put first one, then the other forefoot on the lowest branch and tried to heave myself up.

It dipped, spilling me off.

With a ferocious glare, I picked a different branch and tried again. This one held better. Painfully, I climbed up through the shrub, relying on the dense branches to catch me whenever I lost my balance. They formed a net of sorts, which also meant that I had to be careful not to get stuck. At long, long last, I hauled myself onto the windowsill and got my first look inside Cassia Quarta’s new home.

It was horrific.

The entire place was just one single room, filled with smoke from the open hearth in the center. The whole floor was covered with loose rushes, in which the humans were sleeping – alongside a snorting pig. They didn’t even have beds! What was this, a barn? No wonder Maila had run off to play in the river. Personally, I thought that getting eaten by a demon was much preferable to “living” in these conditions.

All right. New plan. Forget waiting for Taila to grow up and move away from Black Sand Creek. I had to get her out of this hovel as fast as possible, because the sight of it hurt my eyes. I wasn’t going to look at it any longer than I had to.