Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Fish Out of Water (8 page)
Twenty-four
Fred led the two women into the main dining area. “Guys? Guys! Jonas, put that catalogue away before I make you eat it. Thomas, the grill can wait for ten seconds. Sam, we’re out of beer so stop looking.”
“But you should take another look at the tux so when you try on—”
“But the temp on the grill is just right, I need to put the burgers—”
“How can you possibly be out of beer?”
“
Guys.
Most of you already know Tennian. This is her friend Wennd. She thinks surface dwellers are dangerous sociopaths and I admit, I couldn’t think of much to say in our defense.”
“I didn’t say that exactly,” Wennd almost whispered. Even her voice was beautiful, tinkly and sweet. Fred was ready to smack her. It was positively sickening when one person got every single fabulous attribute available. Probably a tomcat in the sack, too. “It’s quite nice to meet you all.”
Jonas and Thomas managed to close their mouths long enough to shake her forearm, the traditional greeting for Undersea Folk. Moon gently bullied her into having a seat at the table, and Sam offered her a large glass of water . . . the beverage of choice for most Undersea Folk, who got terribly thirsty after being out of the water for any length of time.
Out of all the men, he was the only one not staring at the beauty. This surprised Fred not at all. Sam had never, ever looked at another woman since he’d hooked up with Moon. It was touching, yet creepy.
“So where are you from, Wennd, dear?” Moon asked.
“I live in the
“Oh! That’s . . . er . . .”
“Third largest ocean in the world, Mom,” Fred said. “North border,
“West border,” Thomas piped up, not to be outflanked, “Africa, bordered on the east by Indochina, the Sunda—”
“—Islands and
that
?”
“Wow,” Jonas said. “It’s the
“But I already know those things,” Wennd practically whispered. Fred felt like giving her a megaphone.
“She was enlightening
me
, dear.” Moon laughed. “Geography was never my strong point.”
“So what brings you here?” Jonas asked.
Wennd looked around cautiously, then replied, “As you all seem to have the ear of the king or the prince, I will guess it is all right to confide. I was one of the citizens the king asked to come here.”
“Right!” Thomas snapped his fingers. “To preserve the illusion that your headquarters are here, not the
“Yes, Dr. Pearson, that is correct.”
“How’d you know my—”
“Tennian described all of you.”
“No doubt,” Fred muttered. A thought struck her: “The illusion is working great. You know, other than Artur and King Mekkam, I don’t think I’ve met anyone who lives in the
“Well, who’s fault is that, Miss I Haven’t Made Up My Mind?” Jonas said. “You marry Artur and you’ll probably be there in forty-eight hours.”
“Doubtful,” Fred said. “I can’t swim as fast as he can.”
“Yeah, but
you
have frequent flyer miles.”
Fred snickered.
Good one.
“You will join us for dinner,” Moon said, pretending it was a question. Wennd must have had a mom much like Moon, because she didn’t even try to demur.
“Hello,” Dr. Barb said. She’d been gaping at the violet-haired mermaid during the entire discussion. “I’m Dr. Barbara Robinson. I run the New England Aquarium. May I ask a personal question about your species?”
“Yes.”
“Does your coloring run in your family? Or is it natural to, say, a country of Undersea Folk?”
Wennd’s big eyes widened. “Do you mean, does my mother have purple hair, or does everyone who lives in the
“Yes, it’s a matter of—”
But Dr. Barb had to quit, because Wennd had burst into a loud, honking laugh. It was such a contrast to her shy demeanor and whispery voice, half the room flinched. She sounded like a Canadian goose chasing away a predator.
“So . . . no?” Sam asked.
Wennd was actually clutching her stomach and honking away.
“Wennd,” Tennian said reproachfully. “Please don’t laugh at my friends.”
“Why not?” Fred asked. “I do it all the time.”
“I beg your pardon,” Wennd gasped. “I am so sorry. Truly. I just—does everyone in the American state of
“Point,” Jonas admitted. “Or assuming that if your mom is a redhead, everyone she’s related to would be, too.” Pause. Blond Jonas added, “
My
mom’s a redhead.”
Thomas was spinning the spatula in his grip like it was a six-shooter. “Hamburger or hot dog?”
“Just more water, if you please.” When Moon opened her mouth to bully Wennd into eating, the mermaid added, “Tennian and I ran into a bull shark on the way here. I’m really not hungry at all.”
“You two took on a
bull
? By yourselves?” Thomas looked horrified and Fred couldn’t blame the ignorant sap. He still didn’t comprehend how strong, fast, and predatory full-blooded Undersea Folk were. “Tell me it was a baby. Or an immature female. Or—”
“It was a male, about—what? Six feet? Two hundred pounds?”
Moon’s and Sam’s eyes were big with admiration; Jonas yawned. He’d seen Fred fight off a school of barracuda with no trouble at all when they were freshmen in high school (Moon had treated them to spring break in the
“But Jesus! They’re so aggressive! Not to mention unpredictable. You do know that because they can tolerate shallows, and fresh water, that they’re probably more dangerous to humans than great whites?”
“Thomas,” Tennian said gently, “we’re not human.”
A short, embarrassed silence. Fred hid a smile and thought,
More Homo sapiens arrogance. Or is it chauvinism?
“You are kind to be so concerned for our welfare,” Wennd said, giving him a dazzling smile in which there were about a hundred razor-sharp teeth. At least, that’s what it looked like. “We were perfectly fine. Not so much as a scratch on either of us.”
“
That’s
the stuff you should be telling
Time
and
Us Weekly
,” Jonas said. “ ‘Gorgeous mermaids eat giant shark and live to tell the tale.’ Get it? Tale?”
“They’re too busy asking me about my freak hair,” Fred said irritably. “And do you really want PETA and Greenpeace weighing in? They’ll decide Undersea Folk are abusing natural resources and exploiting sharks and smoking kelp or what have you.”
“You were right,” Wennd said to Tennian. “She
is
wise.”
This time, everyone was laughing—except for Fred, who glared.
“I just know a few things about fanatical surface dwellers,” Fred said defensively. “That’s all.”
“So how did you arrive? Migrate? Whatever,” Thomas asked. “It’s not like the
Wennd gradually lost her nervousness and, as she talked with Thomas and even followed him outside to observe the grilling process, chatted amiably about her migratory habits, among other things.
Fred watched them getting along like super swell pals, wishing she didn’t care and remembering wishing never helped anyone.
I’ve got to put him out of my head, is all. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t keep chasing other mermaids. And if I really loved him, I wouldn’t tolerate it. Or, at least I’d
tell
him I loved him.
But, oh, that felt like such a lie.
One thing was certain. If she married Artur, she could focus on an entirely new life. A fresh start . . . and she’d see to it that Moon could visit whenever she wanted. Shit,
she
would visit
Moon
whenever Moon wanted. Marrying the prince of the Undersea Folk didn’t mean she had to turn her back on her life. It was just time for something new. That was all.
And why did that feel like another lie?
Twenty-five
Fred dove off the dock, automatically shifted to her tail, and went in search of lunch.
This was always accomplished quite easily. Although she was allergic to fish and shellfish, the ocean teemed with probably five times the plant life that dry land had. And she liked how quite a bit of it tasted. More than once she thought she should have gone into botany, because it would have been nice to know more about different underwater plants . . .
Time to mull that over later. She wanted to eat, and then she wanted to find Artur and tell him yes.
She found an underwater meadow and pulled up some stalks and leaves. They tasted mildly salty, almost bland (as opposed to some types of seaweed that fairly burst with flavor), and she ate until she felt about as svelte as a manatee.
Artur, she had been told, was in yet another meeting with his father, King Mekkam. Having thousands of their subjects “come out,” so to speak, must require a lot of jawing back and forth between the king and his heir. But she knew he would head to her house when he finished and hoped to intercept him underwater, where they’d have a bit of privacy.
And behold! As though the thought had conjured him like a genie out of a bottle, here he came, swimming steadily toward her, his expression fixed in a worried frown.
Hi, Artur.
He kept swimming. He was less than fifteen yards away. What on earth could he be thinking about? Not that she thought she was a raving beauty or a phenomenal intellect, but he
had
made it clear he wanted her for his wife and wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer.
In fact, she was used to fending him off, not seeking him out. Could this week get any more fucked up?
Artur! Hey!
He blinked, saw her, and smiled.
Ho, Little Rika. It pleases me to see you waiting for me.
Eh, don’t flatter yourself, I was hungry and my house is full of uninvited guests. Also, I walked in on Jonas and Dr. Barb doing it on my living-room carpet this morning. What a way to wake up! I had to Clorox my eyes.
Your life is difficult, Little Rika.
The words were right, but she could feel he was only half listening.
She turned as he passed her and they swam in silence, side by side, for a few seconds. Then:
I wanted to let you know I’ve decided.
Hmmmm?
Oh, this was not happening. She’d been fretting and wondering and agonizing, practically, and now she was going to give him what she assumed was going to be the best news of his life (and yes, she was aware of how conceited that was) and he was barely paying attention.
What had her father said?
O irony, how she makes slaves of us all.
Well, that was pretty damned close to the truth, wasn’t it? That’ll teach her to assume a man’s just hanging around waiting for her to deign to marry him.
Artur, don’t take this the wrong way, but will you snap the hell out of it? I’m trying to have a conversation!
He slowed and circled her, tail flexing powerfully, muscled arms behind his back.
I beg your leave, my Rika. My father and I have a problem . . . we think.
Well, lay it on me. Maybe I can help.
He smiled at her.
For one who professes anger and irritation much of the time, you do a fine job hiding your generous nature.
Flattery will get you, et cetera.
She reached out and snatched at the base of his tail and managed to hang on—just. God, he was strong! She shook it, trying to get his full attention.
What’s wrong?
He instantly spun away and started heading back out to open sea; she managed to hang on—barely—to his back fins. She felt like a water-skier being hauled behind a speedboat with a jet engine.
My good father has noticed the disappearance of several of our people.
Really? You mean, they were supposed to be here pretending this was HQ, and they never showed? Or—
Yes. That, and my father has simply lost contact with some of our people.
Fred mulled that one over, still hanging on to Artur’s tail for dear life. Fish flashed by so quickly she couldn’t identify the phylum, never mind the specific class.
She had discovered last year that Mekkam, as king, was the most powerful telepath of his people (in fact, the greatest telepaths were all members of the royal family . . . and her father had tried his coup in part because he was extraordinarily gifted in that area as well).
Mekkam could be in contact with any one of his subjects at any time. He could project his thoughts to
all
his subjects at any time. And, like all purebred Undersea Folk, his telepathy was just as powerful on land as it was beneath waves.
So it made sense that, if Undersea Folk were disappearing, he would be the first to notice.
Thus, all the frequent and secret meetings,
she mused.
Indeed,
Artur thought soberly.
Does he think they’re dead?
she worried.
We cannot be sure, which is why this matter is so troubling. Usually, when one of us dies, my father can feel their death throes. He has felt none. Only—only—a blank silence where once there was a vibrant mind.
Jesus.
She mulled that one over, troubled.
That’s fairly sobering.
Indeed.
So what’s the plan?
We do not know.
That sucks. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe your dad’s, uh . . .
She coughed, sending up a stream of bubbles. . . .
getting old.
Our telepathy gets stronger as we age. Not weaker.
That ruled out her theory of Undersea Folk Alzheimer’s.
And her mind seized upon the fact he had so casually dropped: they get stronger? Stronger as they age? What other species on the planet got
more
powerful as they aged? She had to stifle the urge to kidnap Mekkam and do experiments on him.
Then a nasty thought hit her.
You don’t think my father’s up to his old tricks, do you?
Silence.
Well. Do you?
Twenty-six
It seemed a long, long time before his answer came, and when it did, it was full of reluctance.
It has been suggested.
Oh, that was subtle. Since Artur and Mekkam were the only ones in these super secret meetings, one of them had “suggested” it. Tricky, tricky, Artur.
Well. I guess I can’t blame you. But he’s only been here for a couple of days. How long have people been disappearing?
For half a year.
There you go. My dad’s been too busy skulking in banishment to be disappearing unsuspecting Undersea Folk. Doncha think? Plus, he’s been on land for most of the last thirty years. Hardly in a position to be am-bushing unsuspecting mermaids.
There is another theory.
Now Artur’s reluctance was coming through so heavily, she could practically feel it crawling across her brain.
Perhaps . . . perhaps soldiers of the planet’s land countries have been . . . doing things. Secret things.
Okay. That’s not altogether implausible,
she admitted. Hell, she’d warned them, hadn’t she? Her mother’s species, in their own way, were even more bloodthirsty than Undersea Folk. At least the UF only killed to feed themselves or defend themselves. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for Homo sapiens.
I am relieved my theory has given no offense.
Tough to be offended by the truth . . . at least, this time. Frankly, it’s pretty plausible that, I dunno, some secret government agency has been stealing Undersea Folk and doing experiments on them. How can we check it out?
I was hoping your friend Thomas might be of assistance.
How could he—
She trailed off. Because of his money? No. Artur had tons of it. Because of his education? No. Fred was technically Artur’s subject (though she’d eat a pound of sushi before bowing or referring to him as “my prince” or any of that other nonsense . . . she was an American, dammit!), and her background was as extensive as Thomas’s . . . He didn’t have to seek out a surface dweller. Then what—
It hit her.
His dad.
Yes.
Thomas had been a navy brat. His father was some high-up mucky-muck in the U.S. Navy.
Do you think he would assist us?
Let’s ask him.
Artur abruptly stopped swimming, but Fred’s forward momentum shot her past his tail and into his arms.
I was mightily pleased to see you waiting for me.
And I was mightily pleased to have a fraction of your attention.
Only my father’s displeasure and the welfare of my people could blot you from my mind for the merest instant!
Daddy’s boy.
Laughter. Laughter in her head. And with his arms around her, with that rollicking laughter echoing through her brain, she said before she could chicken out,
I’ve been thinking about it. I’ll do it.
Do what?
he teased.
Insult my mighty intelligence? Throw Jonas into the pool yet again? Be disrespectful to your people’s newsmakers?
Reporters,
she corrected automatically.
More laughter in her head.
Oh, no, you don’t, Little Rika! I have watched much television. When there is no news, your “reporters” make the news.
Can we debate the merits of modern journalism any other time but now? And no, numb fins, none of the above. What I meant was, I’ll marry you. I’ll be your wife.
Oh, Rika!
He hugged her so hard that, if she’d had to breathe, she would have been in serious trouble.
Truly, you have made me the happiest man in the seas! Now, without doubt, you are she-who-will-be-my-wife.
She snuggled into his embrace, hoping he wasn’t cracking her ribs.
You know, for a bunch of telepaths, you’ve got a remarkably bloated language. Try fiancée. Fee-on-say.
It matters not,
he said, and kissed her four miles out in the Gulf, forty feet below the waves, her green hair fanning out like an undeserved halo. Their hair was entwined, their arms were around each other, they were hungrily exploring each other’s mouths, and Fred could feel the kiss all the way to the bottom of her tail.
There, she thought. That’s settled.
Okay. Back to business.