Page 21 of The Noble's Merman

A woman laughed, and then responded, “Certainly, Captain Brooks. We shall provide whatever you need.”

“Whatever, you say?” another man from the crew asked in a suggestive manner.

“The brothel ain’t too far from here, ya lug,” a different man said. Mo couldn’t see, but it sounded like someone got slapped. He chuckled.

Footsteps followed, and people continued to move off the ship. Mo swam around to get a better look, and now, he could see the men in all their fanciful, elaborate clothing. From listening closer, he could pair the human with long, blond hair and a large black hat with the voice he now knew as Captain Brooks.

“How fair are the lasses in that brothel? You know?” the one lecher asked.

“Why are you asking me? Of course I don’t know,” a man with long, bright orange hair replied. His hat sparkled with sea spray as he walked on by, catching Mo’s eye—and so did that peculiar color of hair—but Mo’s attention was diverted when another man spoke.

“Harris, quit bothering Allen,” said a brown-haired man to the lecher. “He and I get tired of your lewd nonsense. If it weren’t for Captain Brooks, I would’ve kicked you off the ship myself.”

“Men, please,” Brooks stepped in. “Harris is a vital and valuable part of our crew as our surgeon. He means no harm, and is well within his rights to take pleasure where he sees fit, long as no one is harmed.”

“You, Captain, haven’t heard the half of it that I have, though?—”

“Oi, now you need to shut up, Davies!” Harris shot back.

The humans continued to chat with each other, moving off the docks and onto the land—out of earshot, unfortunately for Mo. It was quite interesting to hear what they had to say, their drama and their banter. He wished he could join in on their conversation, even. But he couldn’t bring attention to himself, no. He couldn’t alert and shock the crowd by the existence of merfolk.

He couldn’t truly be a part of their world.

Unless he could become human, himself.

NINE

Over the length of about half a moon, Mo met Kent on the beach, time after wonderful time. Every other day, Mo was always waiting for his beautiful human to return. They read more of the history book (which no information thus far was inaccurate), chatted about how similar or different human life was compared, and Kent brought a piece of food for Mo each time. The most delicious of them all was the most recent present: cake. Mo had never tasted anything so enticingly sweet; he knew he would grow addicted were he to have more of it. He thanked Kent by presenting his own gift: a whelk shell. The smile on Kent’s face never failed to make Mo’s heart soar.

On one of the days, Kent sang for Mo again, delighted to hear his amazing voice. It in turn prompted Kent to ask Mo to sing for him again, too. It was wonderful, connecting with the human in this way, sharing each other’s songs note after note. Kent smiled so sweetly and said, “Are you certain you are not a siren, using magic to make yourself sound so wonderful, luring me in?”

His tone was in a joking manner, but Mo’s chest tightened. He laughed along with Kent, hiding his inner worries. “No, I’m not using any magic to sing.” He could answer truthfully, in this instance.

On other days, Kent joined him in the water again, splashing, playing, having fun. Each time they met, Mo could feel them getting closer to each other, physically—holding hands, gentle touches, even giving hugs before they parted. And not just that, but emotionally closer as well. Kent was opening up about his life, little by little. Kent said he lost his eyesight in his right eye from a simple accident when he was younger, running into a desk. He also told Mo about his drive to help people, how he went to a university called ‘Oxford’ to study medicine, how his mother taught him how to stitch wounds, and how he occasionally volunteered at a place called the ‘barber-surgeon’. Mo realized he’d heard the word ‘surgeon’ before—Captain Brooks mentioned it to his crewman.

Presently, Kent was reading another passage of the history book, sitting on the beach at Mo’s right, his eyepatch taken off his face and laying on the ground. They were on a chapter that made Kent blush adorably at simply the mention of it: Families, Courting, and Reproduction. First he read aloud about younglings, how they are born live from their mother instead of from an egg, and how they are raised by their parents. Typically, it wasn’t really different from how humans were raised. Sure, there were certain things that would always be different, but the principle was the same.

“What about your parents, Mo?” asked Kent curiously. “You’ve never mentioned them. What are they like?”

Mo let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. He could tell Kent. He felt the need to be open with him about this, as close as they were. “My father was never around much. He was one of the lead architects employed by the Portic royal family, leaving my mother to raise me most of the time. And Mother… she was awful. So fucking horrible to me. She hated the fact I was interested in humans.”

“Really?” Kent’s eyes widened. “I remember you said merfolk think of humans as dangerous, but still…”

“It was much worse than simply disliking humans. She punished me for showing interest toward them at all,” he said, pain in his voice. There was more to it than that, but he couldn’t tell Kent. ‘You are a siren. I’ve been supposedly blessed with a siren for a son, but sirens are not meant to enjoy humans. You’re meant to eradicate them!’ “You see these scars all over me?” He touched his face, his biceps, and chest. “It wasn’t from me being reckless or anything. No, she gave them to me. I had scavenged a human painting, but… she found it. Abused me for it. She dug her claws into me, made me bleed…”

Mo raised his hand and extended his claws. Kent gasped, almost terrified, and then Mo realized—he’d never shown his claws to him before. He quickly retracted them, curling his hand back in a fist.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to frighten you?—”

“Oh, Mo, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry that had happened to you.” He grabbed Mo’s hand, pulling it down to rest gently on his thigh. The motion made Mo’s heart flutter. “She’s not around anymore though, is she? Could she still hurt you?”

Mo shook his head, looking down at their shared grasp. “No. This all happened quite a long time ago, back when I was only thirteen years old. Then shortly after… my father found out. And he murdered her.”

“He—what? Oh, God…” Kent put his free hand to his mouth.

“They were arguing, yelling at each other so fiercely. I’d witnessed them arguing before, many a time, but nothing as intensely as that. Next thing I knew, Father extended his claws, and then—struck his hand right into Mother’s chest. I stayed back, hidden from them; Father never noticed I was there. He must’ve thought I was sleeping.”

Kent squeezed Mo’s hand. It helped calm him as he recollected the events. He went on, the orange sun setting to their right.

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