The Case of the Fickle Mermaid (18 page)

“We need to build a beacon. When night falls we will light it. The weather looks set fair again: our signal will be seen by any vessels in the area, and they will come to our aid.”

Hans brightened fractionally.

“Well, I suppose that might work . . .”

“It is our best hope. Now, there don't appear to be too many trees, so I suggest you work your way down the beach, see what driftwood is to be had.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“We set off in search of a mermaid, and if there is one on this island I intend to find it. Come along,” she called to the mer-hund, “time to set to work.” But the animal merely gave her a baleful look and slunk into the dunes, from where he could be heard vomiting copiously.

Hans shook his head sadly. “Well, who'd have thought it, sick as a dog. Ha! I say, that's quite funny, don't you think? Sick as a—”

“Would you like me to remind me how much you paid for that creature?” Gretel asked sternly. “No. Thought not.”

“I'll fetch wood,” Hans said meekly, turning to plod over the sand. “Just don't get lost,” he called over his shoulder as he went. “Don't want to have to come searching for you.”

“Don't worry about me,” she replied with more confidence than she felt, taking off her shoes and leaving them in the boat, as they served no purpose now other than to collect sand as
she walked. Secretly, she feared there would be no mermaid, and that no one would see their fire. She shook such dismal thoughts from her head and replaced them firmly with brighter ones. They would be missed. They would be searched for. They would be found and rescued. She was certain of it.

The going was easy while she followed the broad beach. Her dress having been soaked through by the squall, and the weather being warm again, she still wore only her petticoats and chemise. She removed her headdress, tying the shawl around her waist, and unpinned her tangled, salty hair. It refused to hang free and wild about her shoulders in an attractive manner. Instead it merely descended about her ears in matted clumps. She thought fleetingly of Everard and promised herself she would pay him whatever he asked upon her return to the ship to render her fit for society once more.

After an hour or so, she met a narrow stream that ran from the interior down to the sea, and was able to refresh herself with a good drink. At this point, the shoreline changed dramatically, becoming a thing of rocks and cliffs, so that she was forced to climb up to a high path above. The altered terrain was hard on her bare feet but would have been impossibly slippery in her shoes. The elevated viewpoint at least enabled her to scan the sea for ships. She did not allow herself to dwell unduly on the vastness and emptiness of the ocean, but instead reasoned such uninterrupted seascape must surely mean their beacon would be visible at a very great distance. Surely farther than they could have traveled in their little boat. Particularly if anyone with a half-decent telescope was looking for them. She liked to think several such people existed, and succeeded in listing Captain Ziegler (if only to retrieve his lifeboat), Dr. Becker (with his ever-present binoculars), and of course Ferdinand (just because the thought of his searching made her feel a smidge less flimsy).

Her route took her to a rocky promontory that looked encouragingly like mermaid territory and indeed resembled the shadowy shape of the rocks on which the first singing mermaid of the cruise had been sighted. She offered up a silent prayer and an on-account thank you to anyone who might have influence over such things that just this once luck might go in her favor. It was entirely possible that the lifeboat had borne its landlubbing occupants in a southerly direction, so that their journey had converged with the course of the
Arabella
some days earlier. Gretel looked about her. There were rocks, with tenacious grasses and flowers clinging to crevices, and then there were more rocks, nearer the cliff edge, before a now dizzying drop to the sea below. The path ahead twisted around a high upward reach of gray stone, so that to proceed she had to walk horribly close to the edge, but she had no choice other than to continue. Flattening herself against the rock face as best her shapely physique would permit, she crept on. Looking down was definitely a bad idea, but there was nothing out at sea on which to fix her gaze. In the end she found turning her head in the direction she was going and squinting into the sunshine the pick of her options. In this way she was able to round the point and step onto the mercifully wider stretch of path on the other side. To her delight, the first thing she saw was the entrance to a cave, the arch of which was prettily decorated with seashells and white pebbles. Seaweed in a variety of subtle shades and hues was draped around the opening, and sprightly shrubs and flowers had been trained along the path that led to it. Gretel had never seen a mermaid's home before, but this could surely be nothing else. Cautiously, she ventured in. The interior was dark as night after the brightness of the day outside, and her eyes struggled to function.

“Hello?” she called, her voice echoing eerily in the cavernous space. “Hello, anyone home?”

There was no reply. She took a few more tentative steps. As her eyesight adjusted, the half-light within revealed the full beauty of the magical dwelling. While the outer rock was dark, sea-weathered, and rugged, the interior was altogether different. The cave appeared to have been formed inside a layer of pale blue crystal, so that even in the low light provided by the entrance and several high holes, all the walls glittered and twinkled. The effect was bewitching. Ledges had been fashioned here and there at various heights, some thatched with seaweed and reeds, others lined with moss, providing comfortable places to sit or lie. Shells of oysters, razor clams, mussels, and other exotic sea life were arranged in careful displays. This was clearly the home of someone who appreciated beautiful things.

Gretel saw that the far side of the cave contained a pool, and the manner in which the level of it undulated suggested it was affected by the tide. She decided this must be a point of ingress and egress, leading to the sea itself.

“Hello?” she called once more. “Is there anyone here?” All the answer she received was the echo of her own voice. Her initial euphoria at finding what could only be a mermaid's home quickly evaporated when she accepted that the place was empty. How long did such creatures spend out at sea? When might she return? It could be many hours. Days, even. Gretel knew she could not expect Hans to endure famine upon the island for a second longer than was absolutely necessary. They must light their bonfire, and would likely be rescued the same night. Her only hope was, on being collected, to ascertain exactly where they were, and arrange to be brought back to the island by an experienced sailor. Surely there would be plenty in the region willing to undertake the task so long as they were paid sufficiently. And so long as they were not superstitious about mermaids.

With a sinking heart, Gretel picked her way back across the shiny floor of the cave, and was just about to leave when she heard the sound of splashing behind her. Turning, she saw that the water in the pool was disturbed. She hurried back, clambering as close to the edge of it as she dared. There were bubbles, almost as if the water was boiling. This activity was accompanied by a curious smell that put Gretel in mind of lilies. With a sudden whooshing, the surface erupted into a great fountain, causing her to stagger backward and ultimately fall heavily onto her rear. Out of the water emerged the most exquisite being she had ever set eyes on. The mermaid—for mermaid it most certainly was—had fine features, a broad brow, and green eyes that were wide-set. Her hair was long, rippling waves of dark gold, gleaming even though heavy with water. Her sodden locks clung to her slender body, affording her a little modesty. Her upper half was indisputably human and female and gorgeous. From the waist down she was pure fish, albeit one whose scales glistened prettily, iridescent green and blue, and her tail was sinuous and graceful as she moved out of the water. She did so in one surprisingly fluid movement, an upward lift propelled by her powerful tail, so that she came effortlessly to sit decoratively on one of the moss-filled ledges.

“A visitor! How simply lovely,” the mermaid exclaimed, her voice mellifluous, each word carrying with it a sweet smile.

“Forgive me for entering your home uninvited,” said Gretel.

“You are so very welcome. I seldom receive callers.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Gretel told her, and meant it. The creature before her had a mesmerizing quality, so that any who looked upon her could only desire to go on doing so. It seemed to Gretel that if anyone knew of the mermaid's existence and the location of her grotto, they would become frequent visitors.

“Sadly, many people are afraid of me,” the mermaid said. “Imagine that. Afraid of little old me.” She tilted her head, peering up through long lashes, her expression one of innocent bewilderment.

“There are superstitions regarding . . . your kind.”

“Such a shame. It would be so much better if people made up their own minds about things, instead of doing what is expected of them. Don't you think so, Frau . . . ?

“Fraulein Gretel, of Gesternstadt. Do you have a name?”

The mermaid smiled broadly at this. “We have many names, my sisters and me, but all of them make us out to be dangerous in some way. Really”—she shook her head, causing her flowing hair to move in a very attractive way, and tiny specks of crystal to fall from it, catching the beams of sunlight that fell from the glassless windows high above—“such silly nonsense. How could
I
be dangerous?” she asked, giving a tiny, tinkling laugh.

Gretel knew a thing or two about what was dangerous and what was not, and quickly decided that, however appealing she might appear—or indeed precisely because she was so bewitchingly glorious—the mermaid had the potential to be extremely dangerous. She had seen for herself what such allure could do to a man. Seen what strong, apparently moral men of integrity could be reduced to doing for the sake of such loveliness. And if that loveliness was possessed by one with, perhaps, a grievance, or too few scruples, or too much time on their hands . . . the outcome was often disastrous.

“But of course, I do have a name,” the mermaid went on. “The thing is, I'm not allowed to tell it to you.”

“Oh?”

“No, I can only give my name to someone who pledges me their heart. So you see, it wouldn't really be appropriate.”

“Quite, quite, no, I understand. Good thing my brother is not with me. He would undoubtedly have pledged you his heart, lungs, liver, even his stomach, in a trice.”

The mermaid laughed again. “You are funny! I like people who can make me laugh.”

“You say you receive few visitors . . . fraulein . . . but I would hazard a guess that there is one regular caller of late. One who is not in the least bit afraid of you. One who sought you out, in fact.”

“Well! Fancy you knowing that. Have you been spying on me?”

“I have not. But I confess I have been looking for you.”

“Oh, really? It is quite unusual, a
woman
wanting to find me.”

“I have my reasons, and they are specific, material, and important.”

The mermaid picked up a carved clamshell and began languorously combing her hair with it. “How very mysterious,” she purred. “I think I quite like the sound of being important.”

“Tell me, your recent guest, did he approach you with a special request regarding your rather marvelous singing?” Gretel asked, attempting a little flattery, but aware it was not her forte.

The mermaid continued to appear relaxed and unconcerned by Gretel's line of questioning, and yet there was a minute alteration in her expression. Her eyes seemed to harden just the tiniest bit.

“It is a harmless enough request,” she said. “We are quite famous for the beauty of our song; that is no secret.”

“Indeed. Nor is it a secret that many find that same singing unbearably sad. Some are driven to run from it, others to throw themselves into the sea as if irresistibly drawn to it.”

“Poor things!” The mermaid's eyes now filled with salty tears. “I have no wish to cause anyone pain, Fraulein Gretel. Surely you believe me?”

“I have no reason to suppose that you deliberately set out to frighten men out of their wits. I do, however, suspect that you would not be persuaded to sing against your own will or inclination. Forgive me, fraulein, but you do not strike me as a person given to doing anything not of your own desire.”

The mermaid smiled sweetly again, the tears vanished. “But I love to sing! Why ever would I not want to? It brings me joy to sit on the rocks overlooking the sea and send my music out across the dark, dark water.”

“Let me put it this way: even if we accept that it is not your intention to cause trouble or dismay, the person who came here to ask you to sing knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that many sailors cannot abide the sound of a mermaid's voice; that they fear it portends death or shipwreck or madness. Some will refuse to sail on a ship once they have heard your music while aboard it. I come from the
Arabella
, which is suffering from a depleted crew, several members of which have either left or disappeared as, we believe, a result of what they have heard.” Gretel knew herself to be stating facts rather baldly, and that some of these facts were speculation at best. This mattered less, she decided, than prodding the mermaid's conscience, if she had one, into revealing what needed to be revealed. “What was it that your visitor promised you in return for this service?”

“
Service!
” The mermaid bridled. “I am not some washerwoman or laborer!” Her eyes flashed dark and deadly. “I am not some lowly peasant to be hired by the day!” As her temper slipped, so did her mask of sweetness, revealing a frightening glimpse of the true nature of the creature beneath.