He had to tear himself away. Just being near Mira while she slept was a pleasure he could have indulged in for hours. He found himself captivated by her in all moods: her infectious and charming delight at the cabin and island, her cooler moods when he could tell she was thinking about her past, and now, her relaxed and wholehearted embrace of the sleep she clearly needed.
He wanted to stay to protect her, but there was nothing to harm her on the island—at least no danger that he knew of, and he had explored the entire island thoroughly. While she was sleeping would be a good time to test his theory of orca sea-floor salvage.
He was fairly confident that he could bring up anything that could be saved of her sunken belongings. Now that he knew for certain that she had been on a sinking boat—as opposed to swept off the deck of a passing freighter or similar—and that it hadn't gone down very far from the island, he just needed to find it.
He wasn't sure how he was going to explain it to Mira, but he could deal with that when the time came. He went down to his favorite diving place.
It was a very different experience diving into the water on a clear, warm day. The sun was pleasant on his bare body, the cool water a brisk shock. He stayed human-shaped until he was underwater, sinking into the murky greenish depths.
Then he let his orca burst out of him. The water grew pleasantly warm around him, and the subterranean world developed a thousand layers of complicated structure.
As well as using its eyes, his whale also used sonar, sending out a series of clicks and deftly reading the echoes that came back. To his finely honed sense of echolocation, the island was a clearly defined shape, the sea bottom equally clear.
Dane dived and cruised along the sea floor. It was a mix of pebbles, sand, and shells. The shells that he used to decorate his home were dredged up from these depths, since the island itself, on the whole, was too rocky and steep to collect such treasures along its shores. And this way he could pick the exact shells he wanted, never worrying about depriving another beachcomber of their beauty. No one would ever see this hidden glory like Dane could see it.
Did Mira like shells? His orca was now thinking of bringing her some.
We can bring her something much nicer if we can find her boat.
The sea floor had more treasures to offer than mere shells. This part of the coast had been sailed by fishing fleets, traders, smugglers, hunters, and adventurers for a very long time. As Dane's great killer whale body swept across the underwater landscape, he passed the spars of long-sunken ships, old cannonballs, stone tools, crates smashed and scattered with their contents long vanished, anchors, fishhooks, barnacle-encrusted tools, harpoon heads, and many other relics of seafarers past.
But what he wanted was a newer shipwreck, and he canvassed the bottom for some little while, surfacing only to breathe, until he found it.
The fishing boat had settled on its side. Dane swept past it several times, examining it from all angles until he was sure that it was new enough to be what he wanted. The one thing he couldn't do in the gloom of the depths was read the letters printed on the hull. It was much too dark. He had to rely mainly on echolocation to find his way around; his actual, physical eyes were all but useless.
This had to be Mira's boat, however, unless another boat had sunk in a very similar location. There was no growth of barnacles on the boat, no wearing away of its softer materials by the restless movement of the water and sand. Even the small fishes and crabs and other creatures of the depths were only just beginning to investigate the wreck.
Dane bumped at the hull with his blunt nose. A problem was beginning to occur to him, namely that orcas—for all their many stellar qualities, he reassured his orca—lacked hands. He couldn't open doors or unfasten latches. He thought of shifting to do it, but he was too deep to do so safely.
Maybe later, he would take that risk if he had to.
For now, he perused the sea bottom around the wreck. Like most similar wrecks that he had explored, it had scattered a number of items as it sank and struck bottom. The currents had carried much of this material away, like the nightgown Mira had found snagged on his island. But there were still things scattered around. Dane nosed a broken-open and useless cooler, a plastic barrel, a tangle of netting. At last he found something that looked like it might be valuable enough that she would appreciate having it back, a small case with an embroidered cover that looked like the sort of hand luggage women carried on airplanes. Dane nipped it up carefully with his front teeth.
By now he was running extremely low on air. Orcas could hold their breath for a long while compared to humans, but their top limit was still only about fifteen minutes or so.
Dane rocketed up to the surface, gulped a few quick breaths, and began swimming back toward the island. He made careful note of the boat's direction from the island and marked the local undersea landmarks so he could easily find the wreck again.
He nudged the case up onto the rocks with his nose, then shifted and splashed up after it. Shivering slightly in the chilly sea breeze, he was finally able to pick up the case with his human hands. It was bigger than it had seemed to him as a whale, but still not terribly large, just large enough to contain some cosmetics and overnight things. He found a brass tag on it that said MIRABEL RIVERS, so it was definitely hers.
Mirabel. His orca thought it sounded like an ocean song.
Dane carried the case back to the cabin. It sloshed and dribbled, leaving a wet trail. Anything in it would likely be ruined if it sat around wet, so he sat on the porch and opened it carefully. Already planning not to look in, he reached inside.
Plastic crinkled under his hand.Oh, Mira, you smart woman,he thought in pleased delight. Whatever was inside was wrapped thoroughly in a heavy, clear plastic bag. He didn't do more than glance, though his glance made him think that he was right about the contents of the bag—it was small folded items of clothing, little cases that might contain cosmetics or vitamins, that sort of thing. She had clearly prepared for the possibility that it might be swept overboard or otherwise get soaked, even if a trip to the bottom of the sea probably hadn't been part of her preparations.
She would be happy to have these things, he thought. The contents of the case would surely make her more comfortable on the island.
He very much wanted her to be comfortable and happy.
But how happy could she possibly be here? Dane asked himself as he got dressed. This was no place to make a proper home. He didn't even know if shelikedislands, although if she had a boat, she must be at least somewhat fond of the sea.
The door opened, and Mira's sleepy voice said, "Oh, there you are!"
She came out onto the porch, yawning. Dane hastily finished zipping his jeans and ignored his orca's eager suggestion to go play in the waves, naked.
"Was your nap okay?" he asked.
"Oh yes, your bed is very comfortable. Sorry, I didn't mean to go down like that." She looked around at the afternoon sunshine slanting through the trees. "It's so quiet here, at least when there's not a storm blowing." Her quick, roving gaze found its way to the rough-hewn boards at the edge of the porch, and abruptly her eyes widened. "Is that mine? Where did it come from?"
