The Complete Ingo Chronicles: Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept. Helen Dunmore

that Faro doesn’t, for once.

      “Fish don’t keep their memories in their heads like you do.”

      “Where do they keep them?”

      “In the shoal. Obviously the shoal keeps changing as the sunfish get born and die, but the memory stays in the shoal and every sunfish can access it.”

      Then I catch up with something else that Faro’s just said.

      “Did you say that Conor was talking to the sunfish? It wasn’t just Elvira talking to them? You mean that Conor’s learned their language?”

      “I wouldn’t say he’s exactly speaking it yet. Elvira’s trying to teach him.”

      “Faro, how many times has my brother been here? With… with Elvira?”

      “Oh, I don’t know,” says Faro carelessly. ‘A few. You do ask a lot of questions, Sapphire. Conor’s just the same. It must be a human thing. Come on, let’s find another current to surf.”

      And we do. Current after current after current. Riding and rising and skimming and swooping and falling and starting again. Little playful currents that whisk you in circles. Powerful ones that pull you for miles. And far, far out, way beyond where we are, there are the Great Currents. Faro says he’ll take me there one day. But not yet. I need a lot more practice before I can surf the Great Currents. They are too strong and wild for me yet.

      “Has Conor surfed them?”

      “No.”

      The strange thing is that I’m no longer anxious about Conor. I’ve nearly forgotten that the whole reason I’m here is that I had to find him and bring him home. I haven’t quite forgotten; it’s there somewhere in the back of my mind, like the daytime world when you’re in the middle of a dream. But it doesn’t seem to matter all that much. Conor’s fine. He’s safe with Elvira, talking to the sunfish. All that really matters is the rush of the currents, the tingle of flying water – again, again, again. I don’t want it ever to stop.

      But just as we slide off a tricky little current that Faro says goes too near the Great Currents for safety, I look up. Between me and the skin of the surface a huge shape hangs. A shape that I’ve known all my life, although this is the first time I’ve ever seen one.

      Wide jaw, gaping. Body as long as a helicopter. Fins, tail—“Faro!” I whisper, afraid it might pick up the vibration of my voice through the water. “Faro, there’s a shark!”

      Faro flips on his back, stares up. The shark hangs above us. Its jaws are spread wide, waiting for something. Or someone.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      “I know,” says Faro. He lies on his back, sculling with his hands, watching the shark. “She’s been here a lot this season. This is a good feeding ground for her.”

      I’m still shivering with shock. How can he be so relaxed? “But Faro, it’s a shark.”

      “You don’t need to be scared of her. She’s a little-feeder.”

      As if she’s heard him, the shark slowly turns her great head. She’s seen us.

      “She can smell us,” says Faro. He’s watching the shark carefully, but he still doesn’t seem worried.

      “What do you mean, Faro? What’s a little-feeder?”

      “Watch her.”

      I watch as the shark points her head forward again, jaw wide, and advances very slowly, swinging her whole body from side to side in the way an elephant swings its trunk. With her mouth open like that, she looks as if she’s hoovering the sea.

      “She’s feeding,” says Faro. “Everything goes into her mouth. Her throat acts as a sieve. Most of the stuff she eats is so small you can’t see it.”

      “You mean, like plankton?”

      “Plankton. Whatever. You Air People have a word for everything, don’t you? Especially for things you don’t know much about. It takes a long time to get to know a shark. Keep still, Sapphire! Sharks don’t like being disturbed. And don’t stare too hard. She can sense when she’s being watched. Lucky for you she’s not a seal-feeder.”

      “But Faro, sharks that eat seals don’t come here. There aren’t any dangerous sharks in Cornish waters.”

      But as I say it, a shiver of memory runs over my skin. There was something about sharks on TV a while ago. A fisherman thought he’d seen a Great White, two miles off Newquay. He claimed that he’d found a half-eaten seal in his net. No other creature but a shark could have torn into a seal like that, he said, and the camera showed how the seal’s belly had been ripped away. I’d wished that Dad was there, so I could ask him whether it really could have been a Great White. Dad would have known.

      I had forgotten about the Great White shark off Newquay.

      Until now.

      “When you say ‘seal-feeder’,” I ask Faro, “does that mean the same as a Great White?”

      “How should I know all your Air names? Seal-feeders eat seals. Sometimes they’ll hear you and sometimes they won’t, so it’s best to keep away from them.”

      “Do they ever hurt you?”

      “I told you. You can’t predict what a seal-feeder’s going to do. They do what they want, so you have to keep out of their way. Sometimes they can’t hear that we’re Mer. They want to hear that we’re seals, because they’re hungry or because they feel that way. And they’re very fast, not like her up there.”

      The shark above us swings her head again. The gape of her mouth shines wide. Even though Faro says she’s a little-feeder, she’s still a shark—

      “She heard us,” says Faro sharply. “She doesn’t like us talking about her. Let’s go.”

      Faro jackknifes into a dive. When we’re a long way from the shark, we slow down and I ask him, “Why do we have to be so careful? You said she wouldn’t hurt us. You said she only eats little sea creatures like plankton.”

      “I don’t know how you humans ever get anything done, you ask so many questions.” Faro does two perfect somersaults, head over tail, head over tail. “She’s got cousins all over the place,” he says casually, flicking back his hair. “You don’t want to offend a shark, Sapphire, not even a little-feeder like her. Sharks may not be very clever, but they’ve got long, long memories, and they stick together. They’re terrible for holding a grudge. You’ve got to remember that sharks are fish. I told you, fish share their memories. They never forget a place where they can find food, and they never forget an insult.”

      “I thought she looked very intelligent,” I say loudly, and Faro laughs.

      “If we meet any more sharks, I’ll let you do the talking,” he says sarcastically.

      “Well, at least I noticed the shark.” I feel triumphant. I may have ‘slow human reactions’, but I saw the shark first. “You didn’t see her until I pointed her out, even though she was right above us.”

      “Oh, didn’t I?” asks Faro. He rolls lazily in the water. “Of course, we Mer aren’t very observant, compared to Air people like you. You even put air on your backs and come down and peer around.”

      “Do you mean divers?”

      Faro shrugs. “Air people dressed in black, with air on their backs. It’s bad to bring Air into Ingo. They shouldn’t do it.”

      “Ingo?” My heart thuds. I have the strangest feeling, as if I know that word better than I know anything else in the world. But it’s hazy, distant. There’s a part of my mind I can’t reach while I’m underwater.