Twenty-Four

 

Erik splashed himself with cold water until the ewer was empty, before he dressed and headed to the highest part of the house, the passage that looked out over White Harbour to the sea. The waves were as turbulent as his own thoughts today. Though he hated to admit it, he had the answer his father sought: Beacon Isle paid tribute to no one, for it had no lord or monarch aside from its Master, who was a rich man indeed. The contents of his father's treasury were nothing to the port duties Master Nicholas collected in a single year.

Beacon Isle would be a rich prize to anyone who could conquer it, but the very nature of the island made it near impregnable. Master Nicholas had a neat navy of merchant ships that could turn to war as easily as they did to trade. Erik's father would never win the island by force.

And so he lingered here, pursuing his real quest – twin quests, truly. His pursuit of the mythical creatures who had saved him, and the girl who commanded them. A girl who drove him to insanity, so that he kissed her and professed his love in the most awkward way.

No wonder she'd left, undoubtedly disgusted that he would do such a thing.

He must have imagined her hands on him.

Even just the thought of it heated his blood to boiling again. Erik cursed and headed back to his chamber for more water. No, he'd go to the sea for a swim. Immersing his whole body in cold water would be a much better idea.

He reached the stairs, then stopped when he heard voices. Male voices this time.

"Did you see her again last night?"

"I see her most every night. She swims into the shallows in that cove just past the breakwater, lays herself down on the sand, and sleeps."

"Why haven't you taken her for your own if she's so pretty, then?"

"Oh, she's pretty enough, but she's a mermaid, man. What use is a woman who has a tail where her legs should be? Waste of a pair of tits if she has no legs to dive between."

"I heard of a brave man who tamed a mermaid once. They say she was the sweetest lay who ever lived, and she was his, because he tamed her. See, the trick is to stop her going back to the ocean – she's powerless on land. What he did was cut off her tail, I heard. Not like you would with a fish. No, she's got legs beneath those fins, and if you want to get between them, you have to cut her legs free. Do that, and she'll be your slave for life."

"A man took a sword to a mermaid and lived to tell the tale?"

"On my honour, though I heard it was just a knife. And the man was no ordinary man, but the Master of Beacon Isle himself."

"The Master? Master Nicholas?"

"Maybe. Might explain that daughter of his. Proud and beautiful as the day is long, not like normal girls. Wouldn't surprise me if she was half mermaid."

The other man laughed. "But which half? Now we know why the Master hasn't married her off yet."

"Maybe. Hey, when does she come ashore? Maybe I should try my luck, if mermaids are such sweet wives."

"Just after sunset."

At sunset he could see a mermaid? Without hesitation, Erik took the stairs three at a time, but he saw no sign of the men who had spoken. Only a pair of ravens perched on the window ledge, which flew off as he approached. Never mind, he told himself. If he could see a real mermaid with his own eyes, he could show the creature to Margareta. Then she might trust him with her secrets, or at least stop thinking he was a fool.

He felt for his knife, closing his fingers reassuringly around the hilt. A mermaid was a wild creature at best, and all the stories agreed on one thing: she would kill him without hesitation if she felt threatened. The knife was for his protection.