Page 47 of The Noble's Merman

“I don’t see why not! Here, let me tell the other lads.”

SEVENTEEN

Next thing Mo knew, he was being swept up by a large fishing net, hoisted up onto the ship. He tried not to move too much, lest he get one of his fins or the carry-bag around his shoulder caught in the webbing. Soon enough, men on both sides of a wooden contraption lowered Mo onto the deck, and Kent was there waiting for him, front and center. Oh, if he didn’t want to sweep him up into his arms right this moment and forget everyone else here. But he figured he needed to make a good first impression, and embarrassing Kent didn’t seem like the right thing to do. What a shame. But he’d manage.

Mo crawled off the net and the other men gathered it, placing it back near the contraption it was attached to. “Ahoy! Good afternoon everyone,” said Mo, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you all. I’ve never been aboard a ship before.”

“Shall we get a chair for you or something?” asked Davies. “I feel rather strange with us all standing, and you sitting on the floor here.”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

Mo watched as Davies scurried off, grabbing a chair from a nearby table of some sort. Kent stood idly by, bouncing on his feet, looking directly at Mo. He had an incredible grin on his face, yet said nothing. But Mo understood. This was a big moment, not just for Kent but also himself. His heart pumped rapidly, blood coursing through his veins. Kent was so sweet and sincere, and if he was feeling the same emotions as Mo, he knew the excitement left him speechless.

The chair was brought over, plopped down on the wooden flooring. “Allen! Could you help him up, please?” Davies called out.

“Aye,” Allen responded. The tall, muscular man had long hair bright like a glowing sunset, a color Mo had never seen before on a human—only merfolk. Did he used to be a merman himself? Mo thought to ask, but had his thoughts halted as Allen put one arm under his tail and the other behind his back, carrying him up and setting him into the chair.

“There you go. My name is Thomas Allen,” he said with a smile, though not meeting his eyes. Strange. Mo was intrigued, and he remembered then—he saw Allen and his astounding orange hair the very first time he’d witnessed the crew of The Sterling Mer almost a moon ago. His mer survival instincts told him that Allen was not a threat and he had a friendly disposition, so his looks were more curious than anything else. Perhaps Mo would have more of a chance to converse with this man later.

“My name is Mo,” he addressed to Allen, and then to everyone else. He adjusted himself in the chair, getting comfortable on the hard surface. “Thank you for having me. And thank you for taking Kent on this journey. Should I call you Kent, or by your other name?”

Kent chuckled, stepping closer to Mo, lingering at his right side. “Perhaps you should call me Fareham, since that’s what everyone here knows me as. Don’t wish to cause confusion,” he said warmly, putting his hand on Mo’s shoulder. If only he could have more of that touch elsewhere. Later, hopefully.

“I understand. All right, Fareham.” The name sounded strange on his lips, but he figured he could get used to it for the sailors’ sake.

“Let us all introduce ourselves.” The man Mo remembered as the captain came into the group, and men parted ways to let him through to the middle. “I am Nathaniel Brooks, Captain of this ship. If there’s any trouble, you can report to me. Though if I’m not around, talk to Walker right here.”

Soon enough, all the surrounding men greeted him, and Mo heard too many names to remember all at once. But he knew he’d learn them all eventually, given time.

“Mo is a very blessed guest, and will assist in navigating,” continued Brooks.

“Yes, absolutely.” Mo nodded.

“You’ll need to report anything odd you find on the route to Allen, who is our sailing master. Does that sound all right?”

Mo eyed the burly man again, who gave him a timid smile back. “That’s perfectly all right,” replied Mo.

“Do you need a tub of water or something, if you’re to be on board?” a man whose name Mo couldn’t remember asked.

“That might be beneficial, yes. But you don’t have to prepare one right away,” he chuckled.

“All right men, all right.” Brooks waved a hand in the air, shushing the chatter. “You’ll each have your chance to talk with the merman on your own time. Right now, let’s get back to work.”

Slowly, the captain and crew trickled out and went back to their duties, leaving only Kent and a couple others near him. Allen walked away as well, but not before giving Mo a deliberate stare from head to tailfin. Curious. He brushed the thought aside for now, and turned his attention to Davies, who said to him:

“So, how did you and Fareham meet? I’m so curious how someone who’s not a sailor happened upon a merman.”

“Ah, well,” —he turned to look at Kent, whose cheeks flushed red— “I met him on the beach. It was a rather chance encounter, but soon enough, we saw each other and became friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Davies gave them both a sly, devilish smirk.

“Oh, um, well—” Kent stuttered.

“Don’t tease him like that,” said Walker, playfully swatting Davies’s arm.

“Fine, Fine.” Davies rubbed the spot Walker hit. “But anyway, look, if you two happen to be more than simply friends, please don’t worry.” His expression softened. “There are a few other men here on board that share the same proclivities, and also spend their time together. If you know what I mean. So it’s of no issue to us.”

“You… you mean it?” Kent beamed.

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