Page 101 of The Noble's Merman

It couldn’t be!

Mo nudged Kent’s shoulder, getting him to turn around, and Kent’s jaw dropped in awe.

“Is that really them?” Kent asked in a whisper.

“I believe so.”

The two of them stood from their stools, drinks in hand, and they approached the three quietly. Now closer, Mo recognized the third member clearly, lanky and skinny, with long black hair spilling from his hat?—

“Seth! Allen! Wenta!” called Mo.

All three of them turned in their seats to his voice, and then erupted in excited gasps and endearing smiles. “Mo!” Wenta cheered. “Oh seas, you’re also a?—!”

“Careful what you say, Gwendolyn dear!” Seth touched her shoulder. Mo knew if she wasn’t stopped, she was going to say human. “Ahoy there, fellow friends!”

“Good evening to you all,” said Kent. “You must remember my friend Maurice Richards.”

“Of course,” said Allen, tipping his tricorn hat. “Please, have a seat with us.”

Mo sat in the unoccupied seat next to Wenta and Kent pulled up a chair from another table, them all now sitting in a circle at the rounded table. “So, young miss,” said Mo as convincing as he could, “what are you called now?”

“Gwendolyn Allen,” said Wenta, dressed in a flowy mantua of dark blue fabric, and she had a white fichu wrapped rather high around her neck. “After some great discussion, I’ve learnt that Thomas here really is my long-lost half-brother. We have different mothers, but share the same… eccentric father.”

“That’s amazing! I knew it must be true. I’m so glad you’ve found each other.”

“I don’t believe we ever would’ve if it weren’t for you, Mr Richards,” Wenta giggled.

“Where are you staying now?” asked Kent to the three. “I’m so curious about your story, how you got here.”

“We’re all currently staying with Charles Davies’s brother, actually,” said Allen. “His family owns a shipping company here in Portsmouth, and I’d remembered that he said if I was ever in a pinch, his house was my house. They’ve been providing well for us now in the meantime, but I’ve been looking for a job for my own sustainability, and so has Seth.”

“Preferably one on land,” said Seth, raising his pointer finger. “After what happened, I wish to stay away from the sea and pirates for a very, very long time.”

“Understandable,” Kent chuckled.

“As for how we got here,” continued Seth, “Gwendolyn and Allen swam us to shore, and we landed in Cornwall, as I suppose you probably did as well. But once on the beach, Gwendolyn and I had… a lot to talk about. Then with learning how she was connected to Allen—Thomas—here, it… how should I say this subtly?”

“There might be no way to,” Wenta teased.

“Perhaps not.” Seth chuckled. “But it made me realize just how connected we were. It sparked another sort of… connection in Allen as well. They shared familial bonds, and I gave my own friendly vows to Gwendolyn. It was euphoric! I’ve never seen anything like it, how she… transformed.”

“That is extraordinary! I’m so happy for you,” exclaimed Kent.

“The same sentiment from me.” Mo beamed. “Allen, what of your neck?” He lifted his hand in a vague pointing gesture, curious. “I remember that in the water, you’d…” Fuck, it was so hard to talk about it without actually saying the words aloud.

“Ah, well, something inside of me pulled at that part of my heritage when you sang, Mr Richards. I don’t quite know how to describe it. Then Gwendolyn’s transformation sparked something in me as well. These closed up, and now appear as nothing more than scars.” Allen pulled down his cravat to show the red lines on his neck, matching the ones on Mo’s.

“That’s fascinating.” Mo smiled. “I would love for us to meet again, perhaps at K—Lord Fareham’s residence, if he’d allow, and speak further on this.”

“Wait, I’ve an idea!” Wenta proclaimed, then spoke her next words in mer-tongue: “No eavesdroppers will understand us if we talk like this.”

“Oh seas, no, Gwendolyn!” Mo said back in English, laughing with his words. “If we talk like that, do you realize how silly we’d sound to others? People would think us crazy, clicking and chirping so much.” And such was true, as Kent, Allen, and Seth all gave them funny looks.

“I see what you mean… Ah, but I’ve another idea! Et si nous nous parlions en français, plutôt?”

Mo gasped. “Oui, voilà une idée brillante.” He hadn’t heard spoken French in quite some time, but the merfolk’s communication magic still worked its wonders and he understood perfectly. French was at least a human language, so it wouldn’t sound strange to people’s ears, and it was unlikely that anyone else would understand them when everyone around spoke English.

“Anyway,” Wenta continued speaking in French, “becoming human myself has to be the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—despite it being painful during the first shift.”

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