Page 9 of The Noble's Merman

The table itself didn’t have much on its surface—most of the human goods were hung on a seaweed tarp behind the mer sitting there: jewelry, small utensils, and artwork. What wasn’t on display was kept in a box under the table, or hidden behind the small space between the tarp and the building behind it.

“Good morning, Mo,” the merchant mer, Mahs, clicked in mer-tongue. Mahs was about the same age as Mo—twenty-five years—and Mo knew from his frequent trips to this stall a little bit about them. At least Mahs must’ve made decent coin working here. He had to smirk at that.

“Good morning, Mahs. How are you?”

“Fine… I suppose.” They moved a lock of their long brunette hair from their face. “Better than last time you saw me, at least.”

“That’s good. Well, you know why I’m here.” He chuckled with a trill. “Perhaps one of these things I got here will cheer you up…”

Mo reached inside his carry-bag and pulled out some items of interest: golden rings, bracelets, necklaces, a couple knives, and a few other things he didn’t know the name of, but he figured they were either for styling hair or eating food. Mahs looked at them carefully, scratching their chin, using their best judgment to figure out how much each item was worth. With a click of their tongue, they landed on an answer. They pulled out the equivalent worth of coins from a box under their table to exchange to Mo, who then placed them in his silver-lined coin purse. He always thought the mouth of it somewhat resembled a carp.

Coins themselves were a peculiarity in merfolk culture. They came from the human realm in actuality, yet merfolk still used them as currency. Coins that fell into the sea were small, easy to carry in a purse, and rare enough that they held value. Mo had heard merfolk had always used human coin throughout the generations. Even though merfolk had their own methods of carving metal, perhaps using human coin was simply easier.

They exchanged more small talk, mostly about what else Mo saw from the ship and if Mahs had seen any interesting finds from other customers. It all kept around one central topic: humans. Mahs usually didn’t comment on humans themselves, moreso on their trinkets and not the actual people, but today Mo was more curious than ever about what the mer thought. Especially so when one very particular human wouldn’t leave Mo’s mind.

“I was wondering,” he said, “you get items to sell from merfolk and sirens like me, yes? Have you ever received an item personally from a human?”

“What?” they chirped; their red forearm fins flaring out. “No, never. I’m not like you, I don’t have the Song. It would be too dangerous for me to meet any of them.”

Mo shrugged. “True, true. But—not all humans are dangerous.”

“You think I’d want to take that chance? You’ve heard the story of Yuu, haven’t you? How the humans threw their spears at her for getting too close?”

He’d heard that story many times, and countless more. A mer caught in a fisherman’s net, a mer struck by a harpoon, or even tales of merfolk being enchanted by humans, tricked into being their lovers, only for them to be kidnapped and stolen away from their watery homes. Mo thought the latter story might not have been trickery but the mer going to land willingly and acquiring legs of their own, but alas, he couldn’t argue that when the lot of merfolk society saw the human race as nothing but a menace.

“Yes, I know. It’s a shame what happened to Yuu. But still?—”

“You’re a siren, you can swim up to ships and fight back if they’re hostile. I could never! That’s like if I asked you to swim into a shark’s den, and convinced you to just because their pups are friendly,” they clicked. “Most merfolk aren’t sirens, you know. I think in this city, there’s only you and perhaps one other.”

“Of course, I know, I know. It… it was only a question.” He pressed his lips in a thin line.

It hurt him that Mahs didn’t understand—was unwilling to understand, but their sentiment toward humans was the common perception of humanity as a whole, and Mo had to live with that if he were to be amongst merfolk. Yes, other mer were keen to buy human items and use their coin, but it came from a different notion than Mo’s. They did it because it was exotic, rare, valuable—taking advantage of the ‘monsters’ above the surface when they could.

Much to his luck, another mer floated up to Mahs’s stand, cutting off their conversation. Mo waved at them, and Mahs smiled sweetly, thankfully appearing to not feel any ill will toward Mo for the uncomfortable conversation.

After stopping at a food stall and grabbing some squid tentacles to take home, he swam back to his grotto for the night. It felt somewhat strange to simply return home, when the last two evenings he traveled to the shore and met with Kent. His heart fluttered at the thought of him, as he passed through the outskirts of the city, back into sparsely-populated waters.

While Mo had talked to a few human sailors throughout his years, and even thought some of them were fairly attractive, none of them had held the same exquisite beauty as Kent. His marvelous voice, his lovely face, his sweet and endearing personality. And from that one encounter alone, Mo could tell Kent was just as excited to meet Mo as Mo was to meet him.

Once finally home in his grotto, he rolled the large boulder, covering and blocking the doorway. Sea crystals glowed, scattered around in sconces on the walls, lighting up his modest abode. His grotto consisted only of two rooms: a sitting room and a bedchamber. But he didn’t need more than that, unless his collection of human goods got to be too plentiful, but that was doubtful since he usually sold what he didn’t need.

He also figured he would never need to expand for a growing family. He’d known for some time where his preferences lay, and that cut out the possibility of having younglings. His grotto could easily accommodate two mermen, if Mo ever wished to settle down with another.

But such a thought of other mermen seemed so far away. Now, his mind kept drifting to the human realm.

He was lonely. There was no use denying it. Most days he spent alone: reading bound seaweed books, practicing his singing, or exploring the surrounding waters. But that all became so mundane, so typical—he had to admit a solitary life wasn’t what he truly wanted. What would it be like to share his time with someone special?

Quaint circular windows lined the outer wall of his grotto, with netting overtop them, preventing small fish from swimming in who could fit through otherwise. All around his furnishings reflected his interests: human knick-knacks, human sculptures, and human artwork. His favorites were the art that depicted humans themselves, expertly crafted paintings that mimicked real life itself, fabric preserved with an essence of mer healing magic. Merfolk tapestries weaved from seaweed could reach a similar quality if the weaver was very skilled, but there was a certain uniqueness to the human ones that captivated him so differently.

Mo sat on his cushioned seagrass sofa and dug his fangs into the squid tentacles he’d bought, admiring one of the paintings hung on his wall. It was of a rather violent scene—a human legend perhaps—of a ferocious battle, men being impaled by swords. Oh, how Mo longed to create artwork like this himself, but he didn’t have the skills to weave. He didn’t know how humans mixed their paints or what materials and binders they used.

What he did have, however, was his Song. Blood in the water, red dark fluid gushing from torn wounds and split flesh, was so incredibly alluring. He didn’t know how to describe it, other than it gave him the most otherworldly bliss. More satisfying than even the most potent of sea fungus could ever offer. The magic of his Song gave him a keen eye for the macabre, pushing his urges with an unexplainable force to go out and kill.

But as Mo held onto that thought—killing humans—would Kent be mortified if he learnt the truth of what Mo was capable of? For all Kent knew, Mo was just a regular merman, not a siren, one able to cause mass destruction. Mo felt his heart torn—he adored humans and their culture, yet also felt compelled by his morbid drive. So he’d made a compromise, finding a way to benefit kindly humans by sinking pirate ships whilst also satisfying his impulse.

But would Kent approve of even that? Kent was such a sweet soul, Mo could tell that the moment he laid eyes on him. He didn’t appear to be the type of human who reveled in blood and death. Kent had sung a song of love and peace, after all. Mo couldn’t reveal to Kent what he’d done. What he still wanted to do. No, at least not until he got to know him better, but even still, if he knew, would Kent then reject him?

For now, he’d keep his Song a secret. He only had to wait until tomorrow for the opportunity to know Kent better.

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