Page 32 of The Noble's Merman

“That could work.” Mo’s eyes lit up.

“I’ll go searching, then.” Kent nodded against Mo’s touch. “I don’t know how long it will take, but we’re near Portsmouth. There’s bound to be something.”

His merman smiled, ever so sweetly. “Surely. I’ll keep a lookout, too. I’m fairly good at eavesdropping near the docks.”

“Really, now? I mean, you did admit to yourself spying before…”

Mo laughed. “I just want to help in any way I can.”

“I appreciate it. So, so much, Mo. Because… I…”

He kissed Mo again. Oh, how his heart hammered, and every pleasant emotion fluttered with it in his chest.

“I really do wish to stay with you.”

TWELVE

Mo was elated that Kent agreed to his idea. If Mo couldn’t become human, the only way for them to truly live together freely would be out at sea. He still wanted to try, however, to see if there was a way for him to gain legs. But by the looks of things now, they weren’t making any progress. Kent found nothing in his reading that they didn’t already know, and the mermaid he met, Pazi, had no insight either. Perhaps there was a sailor who knew, who could help them out.

Mo didn’t doubt that sailors would let him onto their ship, if Pazi said they let her on board. He probably could’ve gone aboard the few ships he’d encountered in the past, if only he’d just asked, now that he thought about it.

But there was one other thought—his Song. He still hadn’t once mentioned it to Kent. Thankfully he hadn’t felt its pull for quite some time, but what would happen out at sea? What if the Song came knocking—how would Mo explain his physical reaction to the magic without coming forward with the truth? Would Kent be appalled at how much destruction he could cause? How many lives he’d already taken? Or would he understand since they’d already talked about sirens, how the magic was an inherent ancient part of merfolk, of himself, how it consumed his very core until he unleashed it?—?

No. He could take control of it.

He could prove to Kent, and to himself, that he wasn’t merely a bloodthirsty monster.

The next day, Mo swam back over to the docks. Portsmouth, he remembered Kent called the place. It was a warm summer day, sunlight bouncing back on the short waves almost blindingly. Plenty of people were congregating by the water, yet not nearly as many as the day the large ship docked, which Mo took note of. Many folks probably were out and about to enjoy the sun on private boats, or others were perhaps taking smaller vessels out for close-distance travel. A few larger ships sat in a stationary position tied to the docks, and Mo wondered when they would go out on another seafaring adventure. Perhaps one of these ships Kent could board…?

He swam further into the inlet, peeping only his eyes out above the surface of the water, and he found the same tall ship with the mermaid figurehead from before. He remembered, vaguely, the captain mentioned they’d be setting sail soon. How soon was soon? Would they require Kent’s help? No, he said he’d want a surgeon position. And Mo remembered quite clearly the bickering of the sailors, where he first heard the word ‘surgeon’.

As he continued to explore, he found a couple men standing on another dock to a smaller, personal craft. Mo hid underneath the boards of the dock and eavesdropped on their conversation, his ears above the water, gentle waves lapping at the underside of his chin. If he wanted to get anywhere with helping Kent, he needed to listen closely…

“Harris, shouldn’t you be packing? We’re leaving for Massachusetts in less than a week!”

Harris? Where have I heard that name before?

He wished he could see them, but he continued to hide out of their sight.

“I travel light, mind you. I don’t have many personal possessions of importance other than my fishing rod and my own body. Which, by all means, has not been satisfied the way I’d like this entire stay back. The lasses of the new world are much, much finer than English wenches.”

“Don’t you dare spit like that—the ladies in the colonies are just as English as you are. Besides, your own mother is English, isn’t she?”

“She’s been dead for over two decades. I’m a man of my own right, a man of the sea. I’ll assist the men and help myself to the lasses wherever I see fit, Davies. Why are you even pestering me like you are now?”

Davies. Mo had heard that name before, too.

“Because I’m boatswain of The Sterling Mer and just doing my job to ensure you don’t get yourself into too much trouble. I saw you out here while inspecting the ship.”

That was an interesting name: The Sterling Mer. Mo assumed that meant the name of the ship they came from, especially how it matched with the mermaid figurehead, and he chuckled softly at how funny it was for a boat to be named after merfolk.

“I’m merely enjoying the time I have before I return as surgeon. I won’t be long, Davies, so you can get your head out of your arse and stop worrying because all I’m doing is some leisurely fishing. I wouldn’t dare leave my position and you know it.”

“Yes, I know it far too well.” Mo could only imagine the eyeroll Davies gave.

Wait.

Surgeon.

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