Page 82 of The Noble's Merman

All sorts of shouts came from above, and he could make out none of them. Not even Kent’s voice—is he all right? Soon enough, Wenta appeared at his side, pointing to the wooden hull.

“There!” she clicked. “There are no windows along that edge; you can make it up that way.”

Mo nodded and did not hesitate; he swam up to the ship and dug his claws into its side. He felt the magic throughout his whole body, pulsing in his arms, down through his fingertips. Arm by arm he climbed, kicking his tail for balance, holding steady with his claws. He didn’t even notice if any chips of wood cut him, creating slivers in his skin. All that mattered was getting onto the deck.

“Please! Stop!”

There was no mistaking that voice.

“Kent!” he shouted back, hanging onto the side of the ship.

In no time at all, he crawled onto the main deck, and the bright morning sun was muffled behind scattered clouds and the huge white sails bundled around the mast. Before him was a barrage of pirates, crowding around and blocking his view. Where was Kent? He knew he heard him shout; that couldn’t have been anyone else.

But there was no sneaking around—the pirates closest by saw him instantly.

“You there! What are you doing?”

“It’s the noble’s merman!”

“Grab him!”

Mo’s heart raced in a panic. Fuck! If only I had legs! He crawled around a crate as fast as he could and kicked it with his tail, sending it flying toward his pursuers and slowing them down. Around the edge of the ship he went, tugging himself across the wooden floor by his arms. Now at his new angle, peering around the backs of other pirates, he could finally see who drew him here?—

“Mo! Oh, my God, it’s you!”

“Kent!”

The sight made his blood run cold, his skin pucker tight, his gut clenching in a knot. Kent was standing, terror in his eyes, with three men groping their hands all over him—one of the men he recognized as the vile Captain Young.

“You!” said the captain, turning his head and making eye contact with Mo. “Brothers! Catch him!”

Mo could hardly breathe. He’d never faced against this many humans without using the power of his Song. Though he couldn’t use his Song, no, not when Kent didn’t know, not when it could spell disaster for his very beloved. I have to protect Kent! But coming from every angle was a pirate charging right for him, cutlasses in hand, ruthless and unrelenting. Mo tried swiping his claws at one man to his right, but his left arm was quickly seized by another pirate, managing to only tear through the first pirate’s coat. A third pirate then grabbed his right arm. A fourth stomped his boot on his tailfin with incredible force, sending sparks of lightning pain up his spine and throughout his entire body. He shouted a curse in mer-tongue, unable to hold back the agony.

No matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t shrug off the pirates’ grips on his arms. Their large, muscular frames had him tight, giving him no quarter.

“We’ve got him, Captain,” said the one to Mo’s left.

“Excellent,” Young said with menacing glee, and then—that crooked smile only grew wider. “Actually, I’ve a wonderful idea. Why don’t we put on a show for this dear merman? You’ve arrived at the perfect time. I know you’re going to love to see what we’re to do with Fareham right here.” The sarcasm in his voice made Mo’s blood boil.

“Take your filthy hands off of him!” Mo yelled.

“Not a chance!” retorted Young. And then—he put his large hand around Kent’s jaw—Kent’s face twisted with disgust and fear?—

—and Young covered Kent’s lips with his own.

“Fucking whoreson! Get the fuck away from him!”

Mo struggled against his captors’ grasp, only to no avail.

After much too long a time of unwanted contact, Young—finally—pulled his face away from Kent, yet not taking away his hands.

“You monster,” Kent growled at the captain.

“You’re mistaken,” replied Young, never losing his grin. “I’m very much a human. The monster you’re looking for is that fish-man over there.”

He leered at Mo, sending more chills up his spine.

“Brothers, tie the merman to the mast!” shouted Young with a devilish tinge of joy. “His frame is rather thin, and he doesn’t even have legs, besides. I don’t think he’ll be of any trouble—and, he’ll have a perfect seat in the audience to watch our performance.”

---