The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Little Merman       The Little
Merman

 

by Jane Mailander

  
 On its surface the ocean is featureless, a bland blue mirror for a placid
sky or a raging palette of angry grays and blacks to match the
thunderheads that stir up mighty storms. Clumps of stray weeds bob on the
surface here and there like floating oases, and an occasional seabird
rests before continuing its never-ending fishing. That is all.

Below that surface, however, is a world of wonders beyond the most amazing
sights on land -- jungles of tall kelp in which lurk beasts more
bloodthirsty and terrifying than tigers or hyenas, vast plains of teeming
life to shame the mighty Serengeti, and roving giants that dwarf
elephants. Here, too, are living things in all colors of the rainbow, and
creatures that live in places so dark they have no color at all, and flora
and fauna quicker to change color than the chameleon.

Just as the world above water is ruled by the humans, so is the world
below water ruled by the mer. As quick and sly as their evolutionary
cousins the dolphins, capable of wisdom and intelli- gence, merkind has
adapted to its world just as mankind has adapted from its original
ape-like forms in prehistoric times.

And until a certain incident happened, a long time ago, no human and no
mer had ever met face to face...

******

Until his tenth year, Ray was as carefree as was any mer-calf that still
lived in his mother's pod. He spent his days playing with his uncles and
siblings, swarm-feeding on schools of silvertails, racing dolphins and
taunting the sharks just for the fun of a dangerous chase.

Ray's mother, Sei, loved all her calves with the indiscriminate love of
the matriarch of any large pod. But Ray began to puzzle, and then to worry
her. Ten cycles was the time of late adolescence, deep into the time when
a mer began the journey into adulthood more fraught with peril than any
calves' game of shark- chase. Four of Ray's older siblings had already
left the pod to find a whale and spend a cycle of seasons exchanging
songs. Whales' memories were linked from pod to pod, held in the cells
from generation to generation; "To speak to one whale is to speak to all
the sea that ever was," the mer said. Mer emerged at the year's end
learned adults; they then scattered to far parts of the vast sea to find
other mer, mate with them, and produce their own calves in those other
pods.

Yet Ray showed no signs of leaving his mother's pod. A good scolding or
even a blow from Sei's immense tail would shock the wild-tempered boy from
his calf mindset, the matriarch thought.

But when she approached her son on the beginning day of his tenth cycle
and found him curled at the ocean floor, yet again pushing his empty
shells around on the smooth sand in imitation of the humans' wooden
*ships*, those mysterious wooden shells upon which they travelled and
hunted, throwing oval shadows through the undersea world.

Sei felt anger fill her. An adolescent who still played with shells and
dreamed of the fierce humans above the surface was a danger to the pod.
"Son of mine, your attention," Sei ordered, her voice the imperious squeal
used only by the matriarch.

Ray knew that tone well; it meant scolding and discipline. Sullenly he
lifted his head and met her large dark eyes with his own sea-green ones,
darting to her side with a few strokes of his dappled kelp-red flukes.

Sei flipped her orca-black tail once, and the eddying water and swirling
sand swept Ray's shell-ships aside, half-burying them in the backwash.
"The time is long past for calves' games and calves' stories for you," she
boomed. "It is now your time for whale songs and whale stories. Why do you
deny yourself the learning that is your right as an adolescent?"

"I don't know!" Ray growled, displaying the temper that had given him the
name he shared with the stinging devilfish. He darted once around Sei,
twice, three times in the space of a breath, and faced her again, head
lowered in an aggressive butting stance. "I don't know and I want to be
left alone!"

Sei had seen too many children through this murky time to be impressed by
this show of rebellion. "A *calf* taunts the matriarch," she said, her
bubbling tone mild reproof, "knowing she cannot give chase. A *calf* butts
and flees. An *adult* listens and thinks before speaking or acting."

Sullenly, Ray stayed where he was, but he lifted his head in the stance of
attention.

"You are not a calf any more, Ray. It is time when you must leave us for
the whale-road. It is frightening and painful to change, but the only
alternative is death." Sei's words were solemn squeals. Her use of his
name rather than "son" or "child," addressing him merely as a fellow
member of her pod and not as her calf, was deliberate. She could not allow
Ray to remain in the pod any more.

Mating-time was upon the adults. Sei was coming into estrus, as she did
every other cycle, and her mood was spreading among the adult males of the
pod. Soon, leaving a proud and responsible girl in charge of the other
children as "mating-time matriarch," Sei would lead the bulls in a wild
chase through the ocean. They would eventually surround her, and pounce
and couple and share her in a frenzy which would last for days. The adults
eventually returned to the children's pod gaunt and exhausted from mating
and lack of sleep and food during the wild time, and the excited children
would crowd around their weary, pleased mother to sing the welcoming-song
against her belly to their newly-conceived sibling.

It was dangerous for mer to stay in their parents' pods into maturity --
mating frenzy spared no adult and made no distinction among family
members. The matriarch would mate with her own adult sons, fathers with
their adult daughters, brothers with sisters; the resulting offspring were
horrors left to the sharks. Too many warning stories told of pods
shattered from such destructive behavior.

Ray hovered where he was, his stomach turning wildly in fear of the
unknown and in anger and rebellion. He knew his mother had not used the
word "death" lightly or in exaggeration. To preserve the strength of the
whole pod, Sei would not hesitate to drive out a sulky adolescent -- and,
if that failed, she would have no recourse but to butt him in the sides
hard enough to crush his lungs and kill him, rather than risk calving by
her own son.

"Ships are put away with childhood, Ray. Put them away. Go find a whale
and become an adult. Find your own pod. Swim with your friends and take
turns catching and mating the matriarch." Her voice lowered to a gentle,
kindly bubbling. "Then remember the stories you loved so, and tell your
own calves about the humans, as Mako told you."

Ray listened as his mother's words put his childhood in the past tense. He
looked at the overturned, half-buried shells embedded in the swirling
sands. His mind was in turmoil. He knew she was right. But he didn't want
to find a whale. He didn't know what he wanted. He'd caught the current of
excitement and anticipation among his uncles -- one of whom was his actual
sire. He'd known of the danger. Yet he felt nothing at the sight of his
mother -- no desire to chase and catch her, as any adolescent or adult
bull would who sensed her estrus.

Ray had played chase-games with his younger brothers, Limpet and Wrasse;
they'd romped and butted each other's sides and teased enraged sharks away
from each other. As all calves did, they'd played at mating, each taking
turns being matriarch for a wild version of tag through the water. But
recently Ray had felt a strange yearning in his belly when he curved over
Limpet or felt Wrasse's flukes playfully thumping his genital slit. That
same yearning had ambushed him when he looked at the long swell of Mako's
bull-hump, or saw the powerful grace waving through old Coral's big
shark-bitten flukes...

Was that the excitement his uncles felt, or something different? Did bulls
respond to bulls first, and then cows? None of the other calves knew, and
Ray had been too moody to question the adults. But now he had to leave
them all; now it was too late.

At a warning squeal from Sei, he turned away, sullenly flipped his flukes
and darted away from his mother, heading straight out into the murky green
that matched his eyes. Dark heavy shapes flitted and swirled over and
behind him -- his siblings and uncles, booming and chuckling and bubbling
their farewells to him. But the adults were all too excited about Sei's
upcoming mating time to take overlong about it -- not even Mako, his
favorite uncle, who had poured his stories into Ray's delighted ears from
the very first, had time for more than a quick "Luck and speed, and stay
far below!"

Angry at the seemingly callous rejection, Ray darted away from them all,
and soon he was alone knifing through the water, snatching startled
silvertails and squid as he tore through their schools. He knew he would
never see any of them again.

He knew he was following no whale-road as yet, was only darting through
the water that started to echo his mood, roiling and rocking, becoming
murky with sand and weed. When he was far enough away, he would think of
what he would do next.

Humans had always been so much more than calf-stories to him! Mer-shaped
from the waist up but with two jointed crab-legs from the waist down
instead of a mer's smooth dappled flanks and flukes, who breathed air like
the dolphins and could live above water like the birds, as fierce and
deadly as the great sharks, predators that threw their teeth at their prey
to catch them -- young Ray had never tired of Mako's stories about those
marvellous monsters. Mako had once seen a drowned human, and the details
he remembered had made the stories seem so *real* -- as if there was a
whole way of life up on the barren lands, as if humans lived in another
civilized world above, among the primitive beasts that dwelt in the
life-choking air.

As the water roiled and heaved sullenly, a wild, disreputable thought
filled Ray. Why *not* go to the surface the next time a ship came by? Why
not go and see a living human for himself?

That was a deadly thought, an adolescent thought. Only a whale or two, and
an occasional silly fish had ever escaped from living humans. Those who
got too near the ships died from the long teeth flung at the humans' prey;
few escaped the teeth, or the giant sea-spider webs the air-breathing
sharks used to catch their food. It was a rare whale who did not carry the
bite-marks of humans down its back along with shark-bites on fins and
flukes. In addition to all that, there was the simple fact that mer could
breathe air no more than humans could breathe water.

Ray grinned. Calves were forbidden to go to the surface -- but Sei had
just told him he wasn't a calf any more. He was one of the fastest of
Sei's pod; surely he could elude the humans if they scented him.

It was dangerous. That made it all the more exciting.

And if he wasn't smart enough to stay alive...well, then he wouldn't
deserve to live, would he, to mate and make stupid calves?

He swam through the sullen rocking water, keeping his eyes open for
falling shadows. Finally, when he was dangerously near the shore, he saw
the trademark oval shadow of a ship -- a big one, bigger than most of the
ones mer usually saw. Dark shadows fell across the water, cut by swirling
water turning cold with an approaching storm above. Ray grinned as he
darted straight up in the midst of the shadow, buffeted side to side by
the agitated sea. He liked storms; they were such fun to swim through. As
he reached the surface he breathed deep before broaching the surface --
and breaking the most important rule the mer lived by.

The sky almost made him gasp and expel all the water in his lungs at once.
It was *big* -- so much bigger than the round disc of sky that showed from
below. It stretched beyond a place where Ray could see below, and farther
than that. So far, and so clear! It was puffed like disturbed clouds of
sand, full of flat colors and heavy with rain.

But the ship stunned his mind into numb silence. Easily the size of a blue
whale, it had great white billowing fins that caught the chilling
air-eddies that heaved and whirled harder and faster than even a stormy
sea. Long strands of webbing hung all over it, and a long sharp horn
jutted from the front. It was a deadly-looking thing.

And there were *humans* on it! They did move like crabs, and were all
colors like so many different fish! There was too much to see, too much
for him to understand.

His lungs ached for water, his skin grew cold in the air, till a great
wave slapped him in the face, forcing him to breathe and take down the
good warm water. Then another wave, harder, knocking him all the way under
and tossing him up again. He plunged deep, laughing exuberantly -- a storm
was even more fun on the surface than below!

He flew straight out of the water as if breaching, and saw that the ship
was doing the same thing! It was bobbing down deep, rising high up, on the
fierce waves. White flashes cracked across the sky; the sky-clouds were
now black and boomed like angry whales. Rain fell fast and cold;
air-swirls whipped the warmth from Ray's skin. He never noticed it; he was
rapt, watching the humans, diving only long enough to pump water through
his lungs. He listened as the ship groaned and squealed, singing in an
unknown language as it dove up and down in the waves. The ships' fins
whistled and puffed out fatly in the air-eddies.

The humans were making funny seal-barking noises and moving faster around
the ship; scuttling along the big fins, hanging on to the webs. They
looked as if they were having such fun on that great wooden ship; Ray
almost wished he could join them. Storms drowned humans, but they kept
coming out in their ships to hunt despite the danger. The merman laughed
out loud, merry in a way he had not been in a time. Humans were just like
Ray and his siblings, taunting sharks for the fun of the danger of being
eaten.

There was one human all of them seemed to be connected to. That human
stood near the ship's horn, and seemed to be directing the rest of the
human-pod's activities as they ran and climbed the air on the webs. This
human had a deep blue hide and its voice was a loud boom; it must be their
matriarch. Was she directing a hunt, or chiding them for their fear? Had
she seen Ray, and was she ordering the other humans to throw their teeth
at him?

No; no, it was the violent storm that worried them, not catching prey. Ray
stared in delight as the humans pulled the fat white fins down into the
belly of the ship, leaving only great bare wooden dorsal spines; it
immediately slowed down. Why, the ship was like a great toy animal they
played with, a toy so much bigger than any of them, and they all worked
together to make it move like an animal! They were trying to make it go
toward the long arcing curve of the harbor between the jagged cliffs,
perhaps to make it go ashore there. Ray stayed out of the water to watch,
not wanting to miss seeing that.

The rocking waves and wild air pulled the ship around, listing it hard to
one side. The matriarch boomed and roared, clinging to a round coral-like
growth jutting from the ship; Ray did not know what she was doing, for mer
did not use wheels. But the ship righted itself and moved gracefully as it
could through the pitching waves, moving in rhythm with the waves and the
air.

Ray watched all this, light-headed from oxygen deprivation; only the
occasional slap of fresh water against his face reminded him to breathe.
Such control of such a whale-sized thing, residing in that little
matriarch! For little the human was; surely no longer than Ray from head
to flukes. Sei would have considered her a girl, able enough for
"mating-time matriarch" duties but surely not grown enough for mating. But
all the other humans in her pod were that same size, or smaller. She was
surely their leader. What fierce courage. What ability to control and
command the bulls...

Ray stared at the blue-skinned human matriarch, twirling the wheel and
booming in human speech as the ship pulled through, diving and ducking
through the waves to make its way through the storm. A twinge of the
yearning ache echoed within him again, strong, real --

A loud crashing, splintering noise startled the merman into submerging
into the peaceful warmth of the water. Violent waves of water slapped Ray
in counterpart to the storm's agitation, turning him over in the water. He
darted toward the sound that had come from the ship, moving automatically
in, out and through the shoals of jagged rock that bordered the cliffs.
Bits of wood and other heavy stuff brushed and caught at Ray just before
the shattered hull of the ship loomed before him.

The storm had done what storms often did with humans and ships. The ship
had become a wreck, another sunken destroyed piece of wood. And with
wrecks came...

For just a moment, Ray felt excitement at the thought of seeing actual
drowned humans. Until he remembered that he'd already had the treat of
seeing them alive, especially their cool-headed matriarch who'd ordered
her pod with such authority.

Ray breached the surface to noise and screams. The humans on the tilting
ship were scattering, the way yellowtails did when mer dove through their
school. But there was the matriarch moving among them, booming and roaring
her presence to calm and control her panicked pod, as small and brave as a
fierce dolphin.

Finally Ray saw that they were lowering smaller ships into the rocking
water, ships no more complicated than Ray's shells, full of humans from
the big ship. Once in the water, the ships full of humans set out for the
beach, waving two stiff fins to propel themselves to shore. More boats
left, full of humans.

And as the last ship lowered and set out for the shore, Ray darted from
boat to boat, looking for the matriarch -- but she was nowhere to be
found. A speedy return to the whale-sized ship told the tale. One little
ship had been splintered beyond use, the one the matriarch would have
used. And like a moray herding her brood into a cave and blocking the
entrance with her body, the human matriarch had sent her pod to safety and
remained behind to face death herself.

She was clinging to the round coral-growth as fierce air rocked the ship
on the reefs and buffeted her this way and that. Waves battered the
shattered hull, driving it further onto the rocks. The great spines that
bore the white billowing fins screeched and cracked.

So small, so fiercely brave. Humans killed and ate from the sea as
wantonly as did the stupid sharks, but they had the souls of mer. Ray
wished, impossibly, that he could have gotten to know the human matriarch.
Ah, if only --

The wooden fin-spine cracked and screamed, driving down upon the ship and
smashing it in two upon the rocks. Ray had to dive down deep, side-swiping
the reefs, to avoid the blow from the great chunk of wood. He started
toward the surface, making his way through the debris of the ship. He
bumped against something soft and cold.

And a flash of light from outside lit up blue eyes not an arm's length
away from Ray's eyes.

Ray started, stared, taking in what was before him; the human, tangled in
the ship's webs, still clinging fast to the round wooden growth, sinking
through the water. Air escaped its nostrils and mouth in great silver
bubbles.

But it had stared at Ray. It was alive.

It was a human. An enemy, not to be approached, ever.

She had saved her pod. Let her die as she had planned.

A human had seen him. The human would have to drown now...

With a fierce swipe of his flukes, Ray darted to the human's side. His
arms wound around the creature's waist, just at the place where the
swelling of the back and flukes should begin, and he heaved upward,
flipping his tail with all his stubborn and savage strength.

The human would not dislodge from the growth -- the webbing bound it
tightly to the round piece of wood. Ray set his sharp mer's teeth to the
cord, squeaking in anger as he broke a tooth on the wood in his haste to
chew the human free before it breathed water and died.

Kelp was harder to chew through than this human-web, weakened by water. As
the human came loose, Ray propelled both of them to the surface, and held
the human's face above water. But it would not breathe.

As Ray had not breathed until the wave had...

Ray slapped the human's face hard with the flat of his hand. It jerked,
gasped, then coughed and expelled water from its mouth. It breathed, and
went limp against Ray.

To the shore...

Holding the exhausted matriarch firmly just above the place where the
awkward crab-legs branched off from the middle, Ray stayed just below
water to breathe and avoid being seen, and swam the two of them toward the
shore, faster and more easily than any of the clumsy little ships were
capable of doing.

Shores were deadly places for sea-folk like the mer and whales. Their own
weight crushed their lungs in the thin miserly air that would not buoy
them as the water would. But Ray was a mer; he was not afraid of dying.

He flopped through the scouring sand, the matriarch-human now draped over
his back and adding to the cruel weight. He gasped one last rich intake of
water to his lungs, and flopped up the shore, releasing the human and
rolling it onto its back so that its face would stay above the water. More
light flashed in the sky, accompanied by sky-rumbling. Curious, Ray
stroked one hand against the wet blue skin of the human, and felt it shift
beneath his hand like sloughing scales.

And the eyes of the human opened again, looking right at Ray's face. Not
flat stupid shark's eyes, not sly dolphin's eyes. Soul-deep mer's eyes,
eyes as blue as its skin, gazed out from that human's beautiful face.

Ray stared back, unmoving, as if truly caught in a human web.

The human's mouth stretched to show a fine row of blunt flat teeth. Ray
made the same gesture to show that he did not intend to bite the human
either, feeling elation swell within him -- humans knew what a smile
meant! The human matriarch stared, eyes round; Ray's thin pointed rows of
serrated mer's teeth were very different from flat human teeth. There was
so much to learn about each other...

White lights flashed in Ray's head as tons of stone crushed him against
the harsh sand. No. It was only oxygen deprivation and the cruel weight of
air on his back. He had to get back to the water.

Ray pushed at the heavy ground with his arms, flopping away from the
blinking, staring human who was still too tired to move or lift her head.
He heaved and rolled and twisted back into the shallows for a few grateful
breaths before mustering strength enough to push back into the deeper
water. Finally he managed to get far enough away, under cover of the heavy
rain and chilling air, and waited until he saw humans from one of the
first little ships find their matriarch and lift her away to safety.

Ray spiralled all the way down to the bottom of the reef and curled up in
a pocket of stone to doze. His mind was in a greater state of distress and
turmoil than his body.

******

"Captain! Captain Phillip, thank God you're alive!" the bosun exclaimed,
supporting the groggy man by one arm; the first mate did the same service
on the other side. "Ah, God, when the mast came down I thought you'd been
sent below for sure. 'Twas a fool's thing to do, swimming these rocks on
such a night, but you've done it!"

The captain stared out at the frothing sea, heedless of the rain pelting
down on him. "I'd lashed myself to the wheel," he murmured. "A boy saved
me. A beautiful boy rose from the sea riding a dolphin..."

The mate exchanged a worried look with the bosun and rested a hand on the
captain's forehead. "Just a trick of the water and the night, Captain
Phillip. There's dolphins everywhere, sure enough, friendly as monkeys;
heard stories of 'em pushing sailors to safety meself. That's all it was.
Now let's go find a tavern; we all need a good meal and a hot toddy after
what we've been through."

Captain Phillip nodded absently. And as his men supported him away from
the beach and toward the bright lights of the harbor, his clenched right
fist tightened even more; the broken tooth he was clutching dug into his
hand.

******

Ray swam around the area for many days, risking trips to the surface to
look for the blue-skinned human. But it wasn't enough; not as the days
passed and the ships moved in and out of harbor and Ray did not see him.

Ray began to suffer from a strange illness that had overtaken him. He no
longer thought to eat. He did not sleep very much.

He had to find that human again. He *had* to.

There was an answer, and only one. It frightened him.

But he caught a big sea-turtle, and made his way to Cowrie's grotto
bearing his present.

The Sea Witch was not to be approached lightly with any request for his
powerful magic. Old Cowrie had lived till he was as wizened as the mouth
of the shell for which he was named; had only grown stronger with age, not
weaker. The Sea Witch was the last of a proto-mer race; a race that
remembered when sharks were the new creatures in the sea.

Cowrie could speak to any creature above or below the water, and was
notorious for his temper at receiving an improper request. He knew
everything that went on below, and many things that transpired above. But
Cowrie was no whale to teach mer; vast and solitary, he shunned all
company save his own.

But Ray was nothing if not stubborn. He would not let his fear tell him
his business.

He went to the grotto where Cowrie lived, keeping a firm grip on the shell
as the turtle flapped and snapped its beak. "I have a turtle for you," he
called into the great echoing reefs of rock, as carelessly as possible. It
was how one requested help of Cowrie; those who demanded the old one's
appearance would be left waiting for a full year. He waited, switching his
tail impatiently, busying himself by keeping a hold on the flapping
turtle.

Long minutes later a great dark shadow loomed over Ray as the immense
proto-mer emerged from his cave. Long-tailed, ancient of form and big as
an orca, the Sea Witch twirled his four spade- fins to turn a piercing
blue gaze upon the little merman. "Well, young Ray," Cowrie hissed in the
strange lake-dialect of his birthplace. "Out with it!"

Ray was not surprised that the Sea Witch knew his name. And for all his
temper and fierceness, he was cowed into fear by the simple presence of
the old one. "I -- I have a sickness, Cowrie, that requires your aid," he
stammered. He already knew that he would have to begin with the beginning.
"I have...I have been to the surface."

He waited for roaring wrath to fall on his head for this deadly breach.
But Cowrie said nothing; his face did not change.

"I saw living humans on a ship. They have not seen me."

Still nothing.

Now the harder part of it. "Their ship was destroyed in a wreck. I... I
saved their matriarch from drowning. I pulled her to shore." The breaking
of the most important law of the mer.

Cowrie kept his piercing blue eyes on Ray. "You saved the life of the
*captain* of their ship." The strange word snapped out of his mouth.

Ray remembered that some of the humans had made that noise when they spoke
to the matriarch. Cowrie knew the names of *humans* as well as mer?
"*Captain*? That is her name?"

"That is the human male who controls the ship."

It was as if Ray had been butted in the gills. "Male? A *male*, leading a
pod?" he said feebly.

"Humans are not mer," Cowrie snapped. "Only the males go out on ships to
hunt the seas. One male is chosen as hunt leader. He is called the
*captain*."

Ray sank down into the sand, his flukes flapping, mind blank with shock.
He'd responded to the human as any adult male should respond to a
matriarch -- and now this... It was Wrasse's and Limpet's games all over
again. It was his strangeness again.

"Continue," was the only word Cowrie spoke, after a chilling silence.
"What happened after you saved the human, laddie?"

They'd looked each other in the eye. They'd smiled...

"Cowrie, I..." Now the worst of it rose up, and Ray made the words come
out in a rush. "I am not like other bulls! At play- mating, I felt hunger
when my brothers mounted me or I them. I felt nothing when I saw my mother
Sei. Now, now it is worse! I saw this human, this air-breather, I saved
her, his life because she, he was so brave and I could not bear to think
of him drowned and eaten by sharks, and now --" Ray made himself look at
Cowrie's face. "Now, I feel mating-hunger for a human male!"

Cowrie's face was turned in. Ray was seized with terror. Was the Sea Witch
contemplating the proper way to destroy such a dangerous mer?

"You wish to mate with the human male?" No inflection.

"I...I don't know!" Ray swam in tight circles. "I, I want to be close to
him, part of him, making new life with him..." How foolish and insane that
sounded! "But, but I also want to bump against him and go shark-teasing
with him, as if he was my brother or my uncle. I want to ask questions
about humans, and I want to tell him all about my life! I want him to like
me. I want to see what he sees, know what he knows, and it has nothing to
do with mating-hunger -- Cowrie, do you see how sick I am? Can you help
me?"

Cowrie did not move, save for a slight movement of his great spade-shaped
fins to keep himself immobile. He did not speak for a long time. When he
finally did, it was to say one word. "*Love*."

Ray stared at the old proto-mer. "Is that another human word? Is *love*
the name of the sickness I have? Can it be cured?"

The old proto-mer stared at the young merman; Ray could not read the
language of that piercing gaze. "You already know that it would have been
better to let the human drown. Would they hesitate to kill you if they
found you helpless on the beach?"

*He* would have hesitated, Ray thought fiercely, remembering the look in
the human's eyes. But aloud he said only, "Cowrie, what can I do? I want
to see more of the human! I want to be where he is and see how he lives!"

"My advice, young Ray..." And with a whirl, the turtle was snatched from
Ray's hands. It flapped and struggled once, before Cowrie snapped off its
head and began chewing as the blood cloud- ed around him. "...is for you
to go find a whale and complete your education. Forget you ever saw the
humans; put it down to fever dreams or a poison fish you ate. Live as a
mer lives. Be happy." He continued the perusal of his favorite delicacy,
still chewing absently.

Ray gave a long squeak of anger.

Cowrie looked up. "What, lad, still here?" he snapped in an exasperated
growl. With a flicker of his great spade-fins, he was looming over Ray,
eclipsing him in size and age. If knowledge were proportioned the same
way, Ray knew Cowrie's would eclipse his own in just the same fashion. One
gnarled hand rested on the back of Ray's neck and ran down the smooth
back. Ray trembled as the hand passed lightly to the hollow place in his
back and over his slight swell of a bull-hump, over the small firm dorsal
fin and down to the broad red flukes. "You are young," Cowrie said
sternly. "Your back and flukes are as smooth as they were the day you
kicked your way out of your mother's belly." Cowrie turned away slightly,
enough for Ray to see the long white scars of human teeth mottling down
the immense black hump of the Sea Witch's back. "In the same way, your
mind and heart are smooth. What you ask for will scar you -- perhaps be
your death wound."

"I'm not a calf!" Ray growled. "I'm not afraid of a few scars! Or of
death!"

Cowrie nodded, looking at the youth. "It is a great responsibility to
cause experience and pain," he murmured, speaking to himself. "Knowledge
brings bitterness and learning you never wished to have. But your eyes are
as open as your years and life permit. I see great pain ahead for you; but
they will be *your* scars, and *your* knowledge." Aloud he said, "You are
already meant to be different, young Ray. You are not bound by estrus to a
matriarch but by desire to your fellow males. It is not a sickness, only a
difference of your birth, as if you had been born with three flukes
instead of two. It is very rare in mer, but I have seen it before.
Dolphins, now..."

Ray bubbled indignantly at the comparison. Dolphins cheerfully mated with
anything and everything of either sex, and even stimulated their genitals
against stationary objects; they would mate with sharks if the sharks
would hold still for it. It was a wonder that they ever found enough time
for the mundanities of food, sleep and raising young.

"Perhaps feeling *love* for a human is not so strange for you."

"But can you help me?" Ray asked. "Will you help me?"

He was transfixed by the open blue eyes. "Ray," Cowrie said, "I cannot
cure you of your *love* for this air-breather. To truly do that, you must
go above and find him. You must *become* a human. I can do this."

Ray gasped. He'd heard how powerful Cowrie's magic was -- all the more
powerful for his rare use of it. But to make him a human...

"But think about it, Ray," Cowrie cautioned sternly. You will have two
*legs* instead of your flukes, and will have to move upright through heavy
air, slowly and awkwardly, instead of speeding through water. All your
weight, uncushioned by the water, will fall on your *feet*, and every
*step* will be agony. Their language you must learn on your own; they will
not understand mer-speech.

"The water will be your enemy from now on. If you breathe it with your
lungs, you will drown and die like a human.

"You must find your human by yourself, not knowing their language, not
knowing his name. If you find him, you must make him understand how you
feel. He may feel the same about you, or he may not. If he does, you may
be able to come to an understanding with him. If he does not, you will be
left alone in the waterless world above.

"And, finally, I cannot reverse this magic. If he does not *love* you, you
will be alone, among enemies, for the rest of your life.

"It is a bigger risk than you ever took teasing sharks as a calf. It is
your choice, Ray. Go away. Think about your decision. Then come back and
tell me."

It was daunting, all that Cowrie had said.

But what else was there for Ray? A solitary life, like Cowrie's? Life in a
new pod where he would yearn for his fellow mermen throughout the year
while they felt nothing, never joining in the estrus-caused chase of the
matriarch? An occasional mating with a willing dolphin? A simple, safe
lifetime of learning and whale-singing?

Ah, but to live among the *humans*, to learn more about them than any mer
ever had before...To find his fierce brave bull- matriarch!

And the human would know him. They had seen each other.

"I have decided!"

Cowrie gave a soft grunt that might have been regret, or respect. He
turned to go back into his grotto. "Then follow me. I will do as you
wish."

Ray had never been in the Sea Witch's dwelling before. Living coral formed
the walls, and vividly-colored poison fish of all kinds glared sullenly
from their niches in its surface, amid swaying fronds of the sea-plant
whose slime stuns everything that bites into it. He was careful not to
touch anything, including the coral, as he drifted after Cowrie. A human
skull grinned down at Ray from its hanging place on a jut of coral.

Cowrie was taking bits of various fish and plants and grinding them
between two stones. Ray recognized the pufferfish and the stun-kelp, and
the glow of a deep-water fish, and little else after that. The last thing
Cowrie added was a bit of bone -- a tooth from the human skull ground to
coarse powder.

Now Cowrie turned, and between two long fingers he held a soft mushy ball
about the size of a spineless urchin. "This is it, laddie. Eat it as it
is, or stuff it into the mantle of a squid and swallow it whole if you
want to make it easier. It is bitter and has the taste of death, because
to change is bitter, and a kind of death. Go to the shore as far up as you
can, at high tide, and swallow the ball. The pain will cause you to faint.
When you waken, you will be a human."

Ray took the ball between his finger and thumb and looked at it. It looked
just like the mush found in a fish's belly at feeding time.

The gnarled hand on his round shoulder made him look up into the ancient
blue eyes. "Whether you fare well or ill, Ray," the Sea Witch said
solemnly, "learn all you can about humans. That will help you to survive
in the world above."

Ray nodded.

******

He found the same place where he had pulled the *captain* to safety. The
moon shone down, fat and full, bathing the beach in silver. The human's
lights glowed from the land.

It was easier for Ray to flop up onto the shore now, without the human's
weight dragging him; yet the weight of the air still crushed him.

Ray's lungs ached for water, and he pressed a hand to the gill- slits
between his ribs for a moment. Soon it would be over.

Without looking behind him to the ocean that had been his home since
calfhood, Ray popped the medicine ball into his mouth and swallowed it.

******

The watchman hurried down the cliff-path toward the beach, his torch
making his shadow sway back and forth from the moon shadow. The screaming
had come from the beach, like someone being murdered. He shifted his grip
on his cudgel and looked up and down the shore from the path down from the
watch-house. At the sight of a prone figure outlined in the fierce
moonlight, his heart jumped. Murder, it was...

But the curly-haired man was alive. He was naked, wringing wet and
insensible, but his heart was beating, and his chest rose and fell with
every breath he took; there was not a mark upon his body. Had he swum from
some wreck? But there had been no wreck since the *Roberta* was lost on
the rocks a week before, and Captain Phillip had reported no losses from
his crew. Could someone have thrown the lad into the sea from the cliffs,
to try to drown him?

"God preserve us," the watchman whispered. Then he ran back to the path up
the cliff to get help.

******

Ray was aware of heat and light and noise. And he wasn't choking. His
lungs automatically expanded -- and air whooshed in at his mouth! He
squeaked in surprise -- and a croaking, gagging noise came out instead.
His eyes opened, and the bright hot light made him close them tight again.
He shifted, and felt a surge of panic as something long and binding
tightened around him, like a tangle of kelp or a human-web -- human-web,
he was out of the water, they had caught him!

He kicked his way free of the long thick binders, and hit a hard surface
all along his side. The pain stunned him, and he expelled a long squeal.

Hands were on his shoulders and arms. And on his *legs*. He was hoisted,
and he gasped for breath at how heavy he was out in the air. Loud booming
noises came out all around him.

He looked around at three human faces. Hair bristled from their chins and
cheeks like sea-grass; their eyes were as many colors as mer's eyes. They
all had different-colored baggy hides. Their mouths opened and closed like
fish; the loud, harsh booming sounds came out.

They'd caught him. In that moment, he panicked, thrashing, trying to get
away before he was hauled up by their sea-webs into their ship --

He fell into softness and warmth; softness and warmth covered him. His
gullet burned and hurt. He gasped, squeaked. Something hard and cold
touched his lips; liquid sloshed toward him. It tasted bitter and sour --
but nothing as horrible tasting as the magic he had eaten. He opened his
mouth and sucked the fluid in, swallowing.

The faces crowded around his, blocking out the light, features hidden in
shadows. What was wrong with his eyes? He blinked, moved his tail, and it
moved in two different ways. He remembered his *legs*. And he was
breathing in the air. They thought he was a human like them. He had to let
them know who he was trying to find...

The one word he knew in human-speech...

"Kkkhh-- Kkk--" he croaked; the faces moved closer. "*Captain*."
Exhausted, he closed his eyes.

The men looked at each other as the strange young man fell asleep again.
"Captain?" one of them said. "Captain who? Don't remember seein' this one,
not at 'is age."

"What if he was on the *Roberta*?" another man asked. "Captain Phillip
he's asking for?"

"Don't be daft -- *Roberta*'s in pieces at the bottom," the first watchman
said stoutly, the one who had found the young man. "Anyone left behind 'ud
be washed ashore drownded, not alive. Captain Phillip didn't record no
losses, and his word's good enough for me. None of the men looked like
they was hidin' anything."

"Captain Phillip *is* in town. Staying at the Albatross," the apprentice
said. "Suppose I go fetch 'im and see if 'e knows 'im." After a
deliberation, the first watchman nodded. The boy was off like a shot.

The strange man turned and twisted in his sleep, making odd, high-pitched
squealing noises.

******

Captain Phillip had had worse weeks, but offhand he couldn't remember
when.

Everything had started with the wreck of the *Roberta* and his
near-drowning. He'd barely had time to recuperate when he'd had to go
appease a furious merchant over the loss of his ship and cargo. When he'd
asked for the payment for himself and his crew, *that* had been like
jumping into a barrel full of tomcats; Gregory Hoffleigh was of that breed
of businessmen who believe in no pay for no results -- acts of God like
shipwrecks didn't factor into the equation. Only Phillip's own iron
stubbornness and vitriolic streak had made the man grudgingly and with bad
grace mete out half of what had been promised. The crew were grateful;
some of them, who'd worked for Hoffleigh before, were surprised they'd
gotten what they had. They'd taken their money and scattered to their
families, other boats, other work.

But a captain with no ship to command is a useless thing indeed. Phillip
had had to live in idleness, a week of which now chafed at him. And now,
when he was at last trying to enjoy the quiet of an undisturbed night, he
was roused by the watchman to come view a man saved from drowning.

"Strangest thing, Captain Phillip," the boy said. "Just lyin' there naked
as the day he was born, like the sea had carried him up. Watch heard 'im
screaming and found 'im."

"Probably sleepwalking and the idiot fell over the cliff," Phillip
grumbled, tucking his watch into his waistcoat pocket; a broken serrated
tooth, like a shark's or dolphin's, dangled from the chain. He trudged
beside the lad to the lookout post. He was led into the back room where
the watchmen slept, to see the man who'd been found washed up on the
beach.

"Been sleeping, mostly, since we brought 'im in," the watchman told
Phillip, pulling back the quilt to show him the sleeper. "But 'e did say
'captain' just before 'e went back under. That's why we come to fetch you.
D'ye know him, then?"

He stared, blinking. He couldn't be sure, not nearly sure. He'd almost
convinced himself that the boy on the dolphin was a trick of the water and
his drowning mind.

His second thought was that a boy from the harbor town had dived in to
save him, but in his perambulations around the town, looking, he'd seen no
man who matched what his mind had seen. (He'd seen other men that had made
him look in admiration, but always in complete subterfuge; Captain Phillip
was adroit at hiding his unnatural desire for his fellow men, having done
so for nearly all his life.)

But there was the curly hair he remembered from his drowning- dream. He
resisted the urge to lift the man's lip with his thumb to examine the
teeth -- that incredible image that had imprinted on his mind when his
rescuer had grinned at him with those unnatural teeth.

Could this be the man who'd actually saved his life?

"Well? Do ye then?"

He blinked. He took a breath. "Yes. Yes, I think I do know him." He turned
to the watchman. "Let me know when he awakens, and I will come here at
once. Tell him I am coming."

Captain Phillip returned to the his room at the Albatross and undressed
for bed. But weeks of idleness made him toss and turn with restlessness
for a long time before sleep came -- or so he told himself.

The next morning he was up early, ate early and was up to the watch-house
without being summoned. The sleepy-eyed apprentice met him at the door and
let him in, guiding him to the back and casting one wistful eye at his
half-finished breakfast by the fire.

The stranger was sitting up on the cot, looking around and around the room
in wide-eyed silence.

"'Ere then, sir, is this the 'captain' you wanted to see?" the apprentice
asked.

The man jumped at the voice, whipped to look at the new arrivals. His eyes
widened when he saw Captain Phillip. His mouth worked. "C-- Capp--
Captain," he said in a strange accent and an oddly high voice -- nearly a
squeal.

Curly hair, those strong round shoulders, that face shape -- surely this
was the man who'd saved him that horrible night--

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I am Captain Phillip."

"Captain," the bare-chested stranger choked out again. And a smile of
recognition broke over the man's face like a sunrise. It was as if an
arrow smote Andrew Phillip in the heart. *Oh, it *is* my dolphin boy, my
savior* --

--Until he saw the curly-haired man's grinning teeth.

They were blunt, flat, ordinary teeth, as any man would have. One front
tooth was slightly chipped, true; but these were not the filed-sharp
shark's-teeth that had torn away the ropes that would have been his
shroud.

He would have been able to dismiss the teeth completely as a vision, did
he not carry the evidence on his watch-chain. The teeth in that
unforgettable grin... There were tribes in Africa where men had their
teeth filed to sharp points; the man might have had his teeth treated so
on a trip along the Ivory Coast, the way other men got tattoos or pierced
ears.

No, this was not his dolphin boy, not the sharp-toothed man who'd saved
him. A cruel likeness, so close, so close --

The pang of disappointment was sharp and strong, and he closed his eyes
for a minute. When he opened them, he saw worry in the green eyes. It
wasn't the man's fault, whoever he was.

"What's your name?" he asked gently.

Incomprehension on the man's face.

"Your name." He pointed at him. He tried another way. "Parlez- vous
francais? Quelle es votre nombre?"

Nothing, though the man's eyes did not leave his face, and there was a
rapt look of attention on his face.

Phillip tried Portugese as well, and Spanish, Dutch and German; his
trading profession had carried him to many ports and opened his ear to
many tongues. No reaction to any of the languages.

In exasperation, he pointed to himself. "Andrew. Andrew. My name is
Andrew." He pointed at the man. "What is your name?"

Comprehension dawned. The mouth worked again, and a high, cracked keening
sound came out just as the watchman walked into the room. It echoed in the
tiny room and reverberated with a hidden power.

"Gawd bless us!" the watchman gasped, crossing himself. "What Godforsaken
heathen language is that?"

What indeed? And why did Captain Phillip feel a thread of recognition at
the sound?

"Not deaf-mute," Phillip muttered, staring at the confused and stricken
man. "You say he was found naked at the shore?"

"Aye, not so much as a ring or stocking on 'im."

"And no one in town's seen him before either."

"No one's raised hue and cry about a murder or kidnapping, no one looking
for a lost brother or husband. It's as if he just sprung full-blown from
the sea, sir, like Venus. Seems a bit soft in the head, sir, if you know
what I mean."

Phillip looked again to the sea-foundling who had not yet taken his eyes
from him. Something in him tugged at half-buried memory. If it weren't for
those teeth...

"No one's claimed him. Sir, do you know him? We've only just the few beds
for the men, and 'ardly provisions for us and Prentice," the watchman
said. "Not as I'd cast any fellow man in need of help into the streets,
you understand, but we've families of our own to tend to, don't we?"

Captain Phillip nodded at the watchman's words, looking thoughtfully at
the other man the entire time. What was there for him to do in town until
he got another sailing job? Perhaps he could solve the mystery of this
strange man. "He does look familiar," he said to the watchman. "Perhaps on
one of my voyages..." The relief on the watchman's face was palpable. "Let
me go fetch some clothes for him and I'll be back." He smiled at the
curly-haired man and held out his hand. "I will be back soon."

The man smiled tentatively, and gripped Phillip's hand hard. But when the
captain turned to leave he uttered garbled squeals and bubbling noises,
belling through the room; and Phillip had to turn around and, through sign
language, make the obviously- panicked man understand that he would return
shortly. The stranger lay back down, still staring around him with wide,
hardly-blinking eyes.

Phillip left the watchhouse and headed back to the Albatross; some of the
duds in his locker might fit the man. He flexed his hand and looked at it
wryly. *So much like my dolphin-boy. Are you the reality of my dreaming
memory?*

******

The man sat naked on the edge of the cot, and simply stared at the
clothing laid out for him before looking up with a puzzled expression.
Incredulous, Phillip had to show him every article of clothing, and wound
up dressing him as if he were a child, the man expressing amazement all
the while. After an initial struggle with having the cloth drawn over his
legs -- he made the strangest hooting noise when he parted his legs, and
he stared at his own genitals with an indecent amount of attention;
Captain Phillip fought to keep from blushing at his own less-than-pure
thoughts -- the man sat clothed, Phillip's shirt and pants bagging
somewhat on the slighter frame.

Phillip helped him to his feet -- and caught his elbow when he lurched
sideways, uttering a sharp cry of surprise or fear. He was heavier than he
looked, and he was more awkward on his feet than a newborn foal. Under the
eye of the watchman, Phillip led the stumbling awkward man out of the
building, wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into for the
sake of a likeness to a dream-vision.

It was a gray overcast day, but the fog had lifted, leaving cold white
sky. The stranger looked at everything with wonder in his eyes. The houses
of the small town overlooked by the watch- house, the gulls crying
overhead, even the very grass and dirt -- which held his rapt attention
every time he lost his balance and fell, which was lamentably often.
Finally, in exasperation, Phillip pulled up a tuft of green and held it to
the man's face. "Grass," he said. "Grass!"

"Grass," the man said. He bent down to pull up some of his own,
overbalanced and fell. He lay on the ground where he'd fallen, a tuft
between thumb and finger, beaming at Phillip. "Grass!" he shouted.

Phillip shook his head. *Bloody hell -- I've given myself a full- grown
babe to raise!* The stranger must be a child-man, one of those
unfortunates who never lose the mind of a child or who return to a
childlike state when hurt in some fashion, such as a severe blow to the
head. The proper place for such a man was the insane asylum...and yet, as
he helped the man to his unsteady feet and brushed him off again, and once
again saw the look in the man's eyes that he had seen in the watch-house,
he could not bring himself to keep thinking such a thing.

By the time they reached the Albatross, the man had added ten new words to
his vocabulary and had fallen at least five times -- with
gradually-growing intervals between falling. Just as well Phillip had
given the man some of his work-clothes -- he was quite sure that nothing
would remove the grass stains and dirt smudges they'd acquired. As they
entered the small inn and the grubby man looked around again with the
delight of new things that seemed to live in his eyes, he wondered what
would happen to this child-man when it was time for him to return to the
sea... *We'll sail through that storm when the time comes.*

Just then the man's stomach rumbled loudly, and he grinned -- and Phillip
was struck by the feral quality of this grin, less like the delighted
smile of a child and more like the hunting grin of a shark.

*Well, children *are* little savages when they're hungry...*

Andrew Phillip ordered chowder and ale for both of them -- and found a
whole new set of problems when he tried to get the man to sit on the
bench. He kept overbalancing and falling backwards, his legs slamming
against the underside of the long wooden table; the look on his face
making Andrew hard-pressed to control his laughter. Some of the other
patrons openly stared at the man, which helped him control himself. But
after a few times the stranger mastered the knack of sitting forward
enough to let his weight ground him firmly on the bench. The captain shook
his head as the innkeeper came, bearing the tray with their food: *You can
hardly speak, you walk less assuredly than a babe-- someone has surely
kept you chained up in a room somewhere as a madman*. And though he should
be frightened at the thought of hosting such a creature, Andrew could only
feel pity for him. If he was a madman, he seemed a harmless enough madman.

Fortunately, the man's awkwardness in simple matters was enough of a
warning to Andrew that he firmly restrained the man before he could plunge
his face into the steaming bowl of chowder, and picked up the spoon. The
ineffective -- and messy -- lesson reminded Captain Phillip of some
trading encounters with several island tribes far to the south, and the
natives' reaction to silverware. Taking a hint from that memory, Andrew
instructed the man to wait until steam stopped rising from the bowl, then
showed him how to lift the bowl up to his mouth and to sup from the rim,
as the islanders were wont to do. Once started, though, the man sucked his
bowl empty in a few noisy seconds and set it down, looking as if he was
wearing nearly as much of the chowder as he had eaten, and looked around
for more. Phillip covered his eyes with one hand for a moment, hearing the
shocked whispers and mutterings about the lunatic sharing his table; but a
pang of remorse hit him when he raised his eyes on a stricken look from
his charge, who wiped at the splatters on his cheek and began licking his
fingers clean. "No, no," Andrew said, oddly touched, "like this." He
wetted his own linen napkin in a cup of water and applied it to the man's
face and hands. "And from now on," he said gently, smiling at the man,
"you don't eat chowder until you can handle a spoon." *Someone has kept
you like an animal*, he thought, imagining this man on his hands and
knees, eating out of a bowl like a dog, and was stunned at the depth of
rage he felt for those unknown keepers.

Andrew was almost afraid to show him how to hold the ale tankard, but the
man had learned even in that little time; he drank slowly and carefully,
wincing at the bitterness of the brew, spilling only a little bit down the
corners of his mouth. This time he wiped his own face with his own napkin.
Andrew smiled, relieved. *Well, you learn fast. This might not be as
painful as I thought*. He turned to his own chowder, now stone-cold, and
drank his own ale slowly.

The look of pain on the man's face was not all remorse; he winced and
rubbed his backside and legs as if they ached, and he blinked sleepily.
Well, if he'd been chained up, not using his legs, of course they would
ache after that little bit of walking, and he would be tired in no time.
Andrew shook his head at this strange man, who now was very much a grubby,
tired child, and was ready for bed again.

He helped the man away from the bench and once again caught him as he
lurched, this posture aided by exhaustion and ale. "Up the stairs, my
lad," he said -- and had to show the man how to climb stairs! They had to
pause after every step, and the man was gasping for breath before they'd
gotten halfway up. By the time they reached Phillip's room, the man was a
heavy weight in the captain's arms. Phillip reversed his dressing
procedure only down to the underlinen. He felt a twinge in his bladder,
and had a sudden, horrifying thought. "Here, lad, don't sleep yet!" he
said urgently, tugging the man upright again. All things new... "Now watch
me," he said firmly. "Watch me!" That was a phrase the man had learned
during the meal, and the stranger kept his eyes open and on Andrew. With
only a little embarrassment, Andrew pulled the chamber pot from beneath
the bed and freed his penis from his clothing. The stranger watched
intently as he urinated, looking at how he held himself, watched the fluid
arc into the ceramic bowl, and winced, biting his lip. "Come on, lad,
stand up." Andrew finished quickly and showed the stranger how to free
himself. The man only sighed as he began to relieve himself as well,
perfectly copying everything Andrew had done, and -- greatly to the
captain's relief -- not missing his target. He recovered himself, and
Captain Phillip poured water for him to wash his hands. The stranger
stared into the little puddle of water in the basin for a moment, dabbling
his fingers in it; then he pulled out his hands and went back to the bed.
With a quick look at Andrew, he reached down and carefully pushed the
chamber pot back under the bed. "Good," Phillip said warmly, patting his
shoulder, and was rewarded with the smile of an angel.

An angel riding a dolphin.

"Sleep," the captain said, to cover his confusion, and left the man in his
own bed while he went back out to ask more questions.

******

Ray's head was whirling with everything inside it, providing a small
distraction from his aching lower half; the weight on his legs had been as
if his tail had been caught between two boulders.

He treasured his new small wealth of human words, rolling them over in his
mind.

The whole concept of wrapping the skin in other skins was very intriguing;
he was pleased that he'd solved the mystery of all those different-colored
skins that humans had. It wasn't for camouflage, the way some fish glued
bits and pieces of rock and shell to its skin; perhaps it was to display
mating-colors, or to keep the skin from drying out too much in the air...

Andrew was the very human he'd saved, and he *knew* Ray, had recognized
him -- but why was he so sad-looking? Why did he look at Ray as if he
remembered, and other times as if he didn't?

He was so *tired* --

His new, human weight pushed him into the deep scratchy bed and sealed his
eyes.

******

By midday Captain Phillip was no closer to learning the man's identity and
background than he had been for a week. No one in the market had a
relative missing or feared dead; no one knew a man with curly rust-red
hair who had trouble speaking and standing. *No one who'll admit it*, he
thought grimly. It was easy to believe that his keepers had simply tired
of their charge and had tried to drown him.

He returned to his room at the inn to check on his charge. He found the
man awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, diligently pulling his
trousers on wrong way 'round. He looked up and beamed. "Andrew!"

Captain Phillip smiled at the man. He learned fast, for having such
childlike ways. "Yes, that's right. Good," he responded, and the man lit
up; he knew "good." He walked over to the bed and showed the man how to
switch the pants around so that they fit him better. "Are you hungry?"

At that word, the man smiled his feral smile; he knew that word too.
"Hungry." His face changed to apprehension. "Chowder?"

Phillip laughed. "No. No chowder," he said, and the man smiled back,
repeated "No chowder," and made a face.

Oh, he *couldn't* be a simpleton! It was more as if he were a blank slate,
completely blank, and had to be taught everything but breathing. How could
his keepers have left him in ignorance and helplessness for so long when
he learned so quickly?

Going downstairs was another problem. The man clutched the rail, looking
down the stairs with terror, and would not budge from the top for all
Andrew's cajoling and demonstrations of where and how to set his feet.
Finally, the only way he would get down was to sit on the stairs and slide
down on his buttocks, his face set; if it pained him he made no sound. He
looked around as men pointed and whispered, laughing rudely.

"Leave him be, he's harmless," Andrew said calmly, but inside he was
angry; he got bread and cheese and ale for both of them and joined his
strange companion. The man held a piece of bread in both hands and looked
at Andrew. *They didn't even give you solid food?* Again quashing his
anger, Andrew said only "Watch me," and proceeded with his own food. He
was not prepared for the look of intentness and awe on the man's face, his
eyes following the movements of his cheeks and jaws as he chewed. When he
had swallowed, Andrew said, "See? These flat teeth?" pointing to his own.

"Teeth," the man said, pointing to his own.

"That's right, good." Andrew held the man's mouth open and reached one
finger inside to lightly touch one of his molars. *How I wish they were
all sharp...* "Grind your food here, back and forth." He showed the motion
of his own teeth against empty air. "Chew."

The man moved his teeth the same way, then took a little bite of bread and
wrestled it over to the flat teeth. It was a mechanical chopping motion he
made, and he swallowed in distress as some bigger pieces got stuck in his
throat; a little ale shifted them, and he swallowed in more comfort. The
cheese was more comfortable, not as scratchy, and he concentrated more on
that than on the bread. By the end of the meal he had developed a natural
rolling chewing motion and was looking very proud of himself. And he was
no longer drooling, which was a considerable relief.

"Come," Andrew said when lunch was done. "Outside."

Andrew took the man to the market. Perhaps he would shame someone into
confessing, or someone would recognize the man.

Andrew was starting to keep a running commentary on everything; he would
point to any object, no matter how prosaic, say its word, and the man
would repeat it. More of the world opened up for the man.

Another disaster was averted when Andrew saw the man start to bear down,
grimacing. "No!" he snapped, startling the man. He took him firmly by one
elbow and led him to a privy-station. By this time the man had figured out
enough basics to handle the delicate details by himself, and Andrew was
greatly relieved. When he came out, he washed his hands at a pump and
wiped them on his shirt.

At one point, disaster nearly struck. They passed a fish-seller, and the
man stared at all the wares laid out in barrels, before lunging forward,
mouth open. Before Andrew could yank him back, the man had seized a bloody
raw herring from the barrel in his mouth and had gulped it down. A
shopping woman screamed and her children shouted in laughter; the
fish-wife lived up to her breed's reputation, screeching about damaged
wares, lost wages, boy's pranks. "No!" he snapped at the man, mind gone
blank with disbelief at what he'd seen. "No!" Of course he didn't know
about money -- and god, what life would have produced a man who ate raw
fish like a porpoise...?

Perhaps the life of a man who rode a dolphin. A man with a porpoise's
sharp teeth. Porpoises bit and swallowed their food; they had no teeth for
chewing.

But that dolphin-man was a dream, nothing more... A man who'd been treated
no better than an animal since childhood might eat raw fish that way,
also.

Andrew silenced the screeching fishmonger with a penny for the lost
herring. He turned to admonish his companion and add a lesson on taking
things without paying for them first, and found him gesturing wildly at
someone else's display of fish. "Andrew, Andrew!" while a woman held her
children away in fear.

All right. He wanted fish, he'd buy him some more bloody fish, and teach
him to *cook* it first...

The man was pointing to the prize catch of the man's lot; a great black
manta ray, its limp fins draped over a table. He pointed at the
approaching Captain Phillip. "Andrew!" He pointed at the devilfish and
then at himself. He squealed in excitement.

Oh, no. He wasn't buying that whole ray for his new friend, no matter
how...

The man pointed to the fish with his inquiring look.

Andrew sighed. "Ray," he said, pointing to the fish. "Ray --"

"Ray." The man beamed. He pointed at the captain. "Andrew." He pointed --
at himself. "Ray!"

"Ray." It was Andrew's turn to stare at the man, his mouth open. "Ray?
Your name is Ray?"

A smile of delight. Then a furrowed brow. The man pointed and carefully
said, "Your name is -- Andrew. My name is Ray!"

Andrew laughed out loud -- and the man did too, heedless of the stares
they were getting in the market.

By the evening, when they were back at the inn, Ray was making and
repeating other small sentences, soaking in everything like a sponge, and
his vocabulary had increased by leaps and bounds. His nap had done wonders
for his energy level, and he was rattling off things he saw around the
room, perfectly. Andrew responded with praise or the occasional
correction, feeling a strange enchantment at seeing the world unfold
before Ray; because it was all new to Ray, it was new again to him, too.

Andrew had bought a few more herrings in the market, which the landlord
had fried for their supper; he was instructing Ray in the use of the fork
when an alcohol-rough voice called from behind them.

"Eh, good evening, Captain Phillip, and 'ow's yer trained seal?" The other
men roared with laughter, which only became louder at the puzzled look in
Ray's face.

Andrew covered his anger in ice, and replied coolly, "My friend's name is
Ray. He has come from a place that is very different from ours, and
everything is new to him."

"Yeah, like not pissin' his pants to show how much he likes you." More
loud laughter. "Or does he lick your arse?"

The sudden look of comprehension on Ray's face -- he knew they were
speaking about him -- made something knot inside Andrew. "Is that what you
make your children do?" he said coldly. "Or do you just beat them to sleep
every night after drinking your wages?"

He heard the chair slide back and a hoarse hiss. "Oh, that was a smart
thing you said, Cap'n Phillip. You want to settle that with me?"

Ray was looking back and forth from Andrew to the man just behind Andrew.
He looked as if he were trying to figure something out; maybe learn some
new words.

"I want you to leave us alone," Andrew said without turning around. "Keep
eating, Ray." He dug into his own herring and chewed automatically.

"A coward," the man spat. His cronies, all the worse for the ale, grumbled
in agreement. "A stinking, crawling coward. Is that why you can't get any
more ship work, *Captain* Phillip? Eh? Just how *did* the *Roberta* get
wrecked, anyway?"

Andrew closed his eyes and drew in one icy breath, releasing it through
his nostrils. When he opened his eyes, cold with fury and purpose...he was
stunned to see the identical expression in the green eyes across the
table. But the green eyes were hot, hot with fighting fury. And they were
not the eyes of an innocent child. Ray glared over Andrew's shoulder at
the man who'd insulted both of them.

And suddenly a look of understanding dawned over the curly-haired man. He
looked from Andrew to the man and back. His hot rage disappeared; and in
its place was a sly smile. He clearly said the word, "Shark."

An incredulous laugh exploded out of Andrew. And he saw that he and Ray
had identical grins.

Drunk was hissing, "You little bastard. When I'm done with your master,
I'll teach *you* a lesson."

Andrew said, "Ray. Stay here." He grinned. "Watch me."

Five minutes later Andrew was back at his seat, rubbing his stomach and
wincing, and sniffing gingerly through a bloody nose. The man who'd
interrupted their supper was being dragged out the door by his stunned and
silent cronies.

Ray made a fist of his own. "The thumb goes outside, like this," Andrew
said, and showed him. "Fist."

"Fist," Ray obediantly repeated, looking at his fisted hand. He opened it.
"Hand." He made a fist and punched the air with an evil grin. "*Shark*."
He slapped the table in imitation of the sound made when the man had hit
the floor.

They both laughed, Andrew a little painfully over his punched gut. "Very
good. Finish your supper, Ray." Andrew sipped at his ale to soothe his
belly as Ray picked up the fork with a grimace and set back to work on his
cooked herrings. No one else disturbed their meal.

******

Again, Ray had to be helped up the stairs, panting in weariness. He
stripped down to his undergarments and lay down in the bed with a sigh of
exhaustion. Andrew undressed in similar fashion, put out the oil lamp and
got into the bed next to Ray; it was a narrow fit, but their close bodies
also made the bed very warm and inviting.

What a day he'd had, Andrew thought. Never thought anything would be more
exhausting than handling a ship in heavy seas...

And he found that he was looking forward to what the new day would bring
to Ray, what he would learn, what he would say next.

*Shark...*

He chuckled sleepily and put an arm around the more slender body that
seemed to exude heat. "Good night, Ray."

"Good night, Andrew."

And with a vague twitch of yearning easily overcome by exhaustion, Andrew
closed his eyes and let sleep come.

******

Ray's progress was a visible thing; by his fifth day with Andrew no one
would have seen anything out of place in his deportment, clothing, or
dining habits. He spoke in a stilted fashion, and with a strange accent
that made his voice either very low or very high, but his words were
understandable. He walked with more assurance and strength, even though he
continued to require a nap in the middle of the day and still tired
easily. He was still awkward with his silverware, but he spilled no more
than an adult would. There were no more scenes like the one with the
herring at the market. But he still kept saying "No chowder" at mealtimes,
until it was a little joke between the two of them.

Ray's chief difficulty was his feet, even though Andrew's first expense
for Ray had been a good pair of comfortable boots that fit him properly.
They were very tender and blistered easily, and Ray was often in pain as
he walked, limping or hobbling even though he tried to cover up his
discomfort. Andrew reminded himself that Ray's feet had had no calluses on
them when he'd first seen him.

As Ray learned more and more, his childlike demeanor dropped away. Andrew
saw not a child-man, but a man of his own years, though Ray could not tell
him how old he was; he could only count up to 10, using his fingers, and
that was how old he kept saying he was.

And Ray's background was still a blank wall to Andrew. He asked where Ray
had been before they found him on the beach; what he remembered; who had
cared for him; who his parents were. When Ray could no longer plead
ignorance of Andrew's language, he would simply say "No," his head
lowered, his eyes angry. Andrew was frustrated by his inability to learn
any more of Ray's background -- not even his surname -- but he was also
oddly pleased by Ray's stubbornness. It felt like a natural part of the
man's personality.

If Ray's complete innocence of the world around him had caught Andrew's
attention and then charmed him, the person who was emerging from that
blank slate intrigued the captain. Hot- tempered, stubborn, prideful of
his accomplishments, Ray could also be solicitous of Andrew, needful. He
did not like to be separated from him for long, and seemed to enjoy
Andrew's company. Often he knew just what to say that would make Andrew
laugh when he was worried, which became more and more often as he wondered
when he would next get work. The half-sum Hoffleigh had paid Andrew after
the wreck of the *Roberta* would soon be gone, and he didn't know what to
do about Ray.

They no longer shared the small bed in Andrew's room; Andrew slept on the
floor. As Ray's stamina and Andrew's ability to deal with Ray increased,
they were not so tired at day's end. And Andrew did not want to tempt
himself with such a tempting bed-mate. There were times when Ray gave
himself to the bed with the sinuous grace of a lazy lion, stretching and
eyeing Andrew with such a shameless invitation that Andrew did not trust
himself to lie against that wiry body without becoming aroused. He knew it
was his own unnatural desire for his fellow men that made him see the look
in Ray's eyes as lust. Andrew's lack of self-delusion did not keep him
from lying awake in aching sorrow long after Ray had fallen asleep, though
he told himself it was because of the hard floor upon which he slept.

Ray was still not accepted by many people, who remembered the simpleton
who'd stumbled into the Albatross on Captain Phillip's arm. Mostly their
distrust was kept to whispers and sidelong looks; but an incident on the
fourth day since Andrew had taken Ray from the watch-house brought it to a
head.

At the market, Andrew lost track of Ray. He retraced his steps, his worry
turning into active fear, until he found Ray in the main square of the
town. Ray was blindfolded and trying to catch some boys, laughing as
loudly as they were as they ducked and dodged around their new playmate.
Andrew watched for a while, charmed at how enthusiastically his friend
took to the game, and laughed as Ray managed to grab one boy, who let out
a little shriek at the shock of being caught.

But the boy's mother ran over at the sound, saw who was playing with the
children and screamed, "The madman has my son!" She ran in, wrenched the
boy away from Ray and slapped the still- blindfolded man across the face.

Ray pulled the blindfold off and rubbed his cheek, staring in disbelief as
other mothers came running in, shouting in anger and herding the
protesting boys away, all of them promising a good whipping at home for
playing with a dangerous lunatic. The confusion in Ray's eyes as the boys
were dragged away, some bawling as the promised beatings began already,
was like a lance in Andrew's heart. "Keep that madman away from decent
folk!" one harridan screeched at Andrew before turning to backhand her
howling son again and again.

"Andrew, I not hurt them, I *not*!" Ray said hotly, eyes flaring with
anger. "Them play game, I play!"

"I know, Ray. I know you didn't hurt them." Andrew glared after the
retreating women. His cold rage swelled as he turned to find others in the
market square eyeing Ray with suspicion, muttering to each other about
what the crazy man had done to those poor boys to make them cry in pain.
His fists clenched at his sides. Mobs had killed innocents with less
provocation; the first one of them who laid a hand on Ray... "They are
stupid people. They are afraid of everything."

"Stupid people," Ray repeated with heat. "*Sharks*." This last in a tone
of utter contempt.

Andrew turned to look at Ray -- and saw the exact same expression of
disdain for the townsfolk on his face. At that moment, he felt a closer
kinship to this acquaintance of four days than to the community with which
he had done business for so long. And one thing, at least, was sure in
Andrew's mind; whatever work he got next, there was no way in Heaven or
earth that he would leave Ray behind to the tender mercies of these
people.

******

The very next day Andrew was informed that Gregory Hoffleigh wished to
speak with him concerning a job. Andrew did not like working for such a
harsh taskmaster, but he needed the work, and idleness weighed more
heavily than Hoffleigh's hand. As Ray trudged up the inn's stairs for his
midday sleep, Andrew went out to see the merchant.

"The cargo is already aboard the *Marie Suzanne*," Hoffleigh said, his
bespectacled blue eyes peering through his laced fingers at the man
standing before his desk in his office. "The bills of lading are here for
your perusal. The crew is being collected. I want results this time,
Phillip, not an empty hold and a wrecked ship."

"Yes, sir." Andrew bent to inspect the bills. All seemed to be in order.
Hoffleigh was a harsh man for whom to work, but his paperwork was always
immaculate and impeccable.

"This time I will not pay half-wages, or indeed any kind of wages, for no
results. I have been forced to insure my goods this time."

"Yes, sir." Andrew kept his opinions to himself, knowing what crew
Hoffleigh had; desperate men who needed to feed their families, who would
accept the work. As he did.

"Be prepared to leave at first light."

First light...

"Good," Andrew murmured as if to himself. "This will be an excellent
training run for my new cabin boy."

Hoffleigh elevated his bushy gray eyebrows. "Cabin boy?" A strange cold
look came into his eyes. "Ah, yes, that imbecile who's been shadowing you
all week. Charity is a virtue, Captain Phillip -- but it will not be
practiced on a ship of mine. Return him to the lunatic asylum where he
belongs, and report for duty."

"He is not an imbecile, sir," Phillip returned coolly, while his gut
churned with fear. "He learns rapidly, and would easily be able to
undertake the duties of cabin boy for this trip."

"Madmen cannot be predicted. Look at the way he attacked those boys in the
market and started hitting them."

Calm, Phillip told himself, stay calm. "Sir, he did not hit those boys. He
was learning a game --"

"I am not interested in your excuses for his behavior, Captain." Hoffleigh
spent an interminably long time eyeing Andrew from his usual position. His
eyes narrowed. "Would you accept full responsibility for his actions at
sea?"

"Yes, sir." Relief began to trickle into Andrew's stomach.

"And accept all consequences of his actions?"

"Yes, sir."

A small thin smile almost formed on Hoffleigh's lips. He exhaled in what
sounded like a small laugh. "You are determined, Captain. Perhaps your
confidence is justified."

Andrew did not let his relief show as he drove home the single blow that
would assure Ray's chances. "Since this trip will be a teaching one for
Ray, he would of course not be expecting any payment for his duties
aboard."

"No pay?" Hoffleigh was silent for another long moment. "He had better
work as if he was earning twice your pay, Captain."

"He will." Andrew knew he had won.

Andrew left Hoffleigh's office, his papers under his arm, jubilant. Work
at last, even if it was for the skinflint -- and best of all, he would be
able to keep an eye on Ray! He headed for the inn. If Ray was still
sleeping, he'd wake him; they were moving their things down to the dock
right away. It was time Ray started to learn the finest trade known to
man.

******

Ray's excitement at seeing the ship made Andrew smile. "I go on ship! I go
on ship!"

"Yes, Ray. We're both going on the ship."

Together, they moved into the hold, to match the numbers on the lading
lists with the boxes of cargo. Ray proved to be quick at catching
identical numbers and marking them off.

That night they both slept on board the ship. Andrew thought wryly that
one advantage to sailing again was that he had his bed back. He shook his
head at himself. It wasn't Ray's fault that he was the most desirable
creature a man who loved men could ever want, with a lean whipcord body
and that quicksilver mind and those beguiling eyes...

His eyes went to the broken serrated animal tooth dangling from his watch
chain. He laughed a little at his drowning fancy. How much better was a
man of flesh and blood, than a dream creature from a faery world. The
familiar melancholy pain filled him as he realized that he would never
have either of them. He lay back and closed his eyes.

******

Ray took to sailing like a duck to water. Or, rather, like an albatross to
water, considering the way he fell and flailed his way through the first
day at sea before he learned to balance himself. He was the object of a
great deal of laughter from the other crew members on that account; but as
Ray got his sea legs -- and never showed any signs of seasickness -- they
stopped most of the ridicule. But there were sidelong looks at Ray here,
too, and the muttering that Andrew had come to hate in the week he'd spent
with Ray in town.

The work was hard and long, and Ray had to be taught everything aboard
ship as he'd learned everything new in town. He was already used to
obeying Andrew; now Andrew had to teach him to say "Yes, sir," when he was
told to fetch a dipper of water or wait at table; Andrew didn't want the
crew muttering even more about the pampered cabin boy being "kept" by the
captain.

Andrew's thousand-and-one duties as captain -- and Ray's interminable
chores -- meant that they could not be together as much as they had been
in town; conversely, the living space aboard was smaller and closer, and
they were comforted by the sight of each other.

When Ray asked him what "dummy" meant -- the favoured term for the
curly-haired man by Mr. Menker, the first mate -- Andrew wisely banked his
anger and said that it was a nickname for the cabin boy on some ships. If
he had told Ray the truth, Ray would have lost his temper, the first mate
would have suffered, and Andrew would have been forced to punish Ray as a
discipline measure.

In the few times when Ray was free of work, he was to be found as far in
the prow as possible, staring out over the ocean, watching the dolphins
and the gulls, the wind fluffing his wild red hair; Menker continued to
call Ray "dummy," but the rest of the crew quickly named him "Figurehead."
At times Andrew would look at the slender solitary figure clinging to the
rigging and feel an ache inside him. Other times he would look to the prow
to see Ray looking at him across the ship, smiling, and the expression
would hollow his bones.

Ray did not tell Andrew about his nighttime explorations around the ship
when he was too tired to go to sleep right away, peering and prying into
everything that was not part of his regular duties, trying to figure out
everything about ships. His curiosity would not have been surprising to
Andrew.

But on the fourth night at sea, well away from sight of land, Ray woke
from a disturbing dream, hearing a scraping, thumping noise that had
little to do with the creaks and sighs made by the vessel. He eased
himself from his hammock and through the dozing crewmembers, and went out.

An overcast sky made everything very dark -- but Ray could see several
shapes dragging a big box across the deck before hoisting it and tipping
it overboard with a mighty splash.

He heard Mr. Menker talking to someone else. He caught the word "dummy"
and laughter from the others. Ah, he'd been spotted and the first mate was
calling him.

Ray stepped out, polite. "Yes, sir? You want my help?"

The men -- there were three of them -- whirled to stare at him.

Then Menker shouted, "Thief!"

"Thief! Madman! Stop him!" they all shouted.

All three of them rushed Ray. Menker's fist slammed into the side of his
head and the other two knocked him to the deck.

******

"Captain! Captain Phillip! Your madman's tossed the cargo overboard!"

Andrew bolted out of his cabin to shouts and roars of rage. The entire
crew had been roused from sleep and lanterns swayed and bobbed, throwing
swinging shadows and light over the assembly. He looked over them all,
over the rumbles of rage and angry shouts, and saw murder in their eyes.

Ray was being held upright between Mr. Menker and Shepson, the second
mate. His wrists were bound before him, and his legs were tied at the
ankles. A black eye was blossoming over his right cheek. And if the men
were angry, it was nothing compared to the anger in Ray's face. "Andrew,
they drop box!" he shouted.

"Captain Phillip," Menker said coldly, "I was performing my rounds for the
evening and came upon the cabin boy dragging a box up the hatch. Before I
could stop him, he sent it over. Look!"

There were the furrow marks on the deck from heavy crates being dragged.
The men murmured, ugly.

"Look below, Captain Phillip," Menker continued. "All the crates are gone,
lost overboard, because of this idiot's mad whim. The cargo is lost. And
you know what Hoffleigh will do -- and what he will not do."

"Andrew, I *not*, I *not*! I see they drop box!" Ray shouted, heaving at
his bonds, squirming, his temper so lost that he forgot to call Andrew
"Captain."

The men grumbled sullenly, loudly.

The cargo, senselessly thrown overboard. No wages at all, for any of them.
No wonder they were ready to commit murder.

Andrew stared at them; the raging, righteously angry Ray and the cold
narrow look in Menker's face. Could Ray lie at all? "Why would Ray want to
do such a thing?" he asked sternly. "More to the point, Menker, why would
*you*? What scheme do you have with Hoffleigh?" The insurance, it had to
be... And how convenient to pin the blame for the senseless act on the
"dummy."

Menker turned to the men. "You see, men? It's as I told you. He is so
besotted with his *creature*," the word purred out silkenly, hatefully
suggestive, "that he has no recourse but to blame *me* for this animal's
insanity, and to impugn the honor of a man who has done business in our
town for years. You know what will happen when we return to port. No pay
for any of us. Your families will go without. Your children will cry from
hunger -- because Captain Phillip turned his creature loose on us."

Sullen thundercloud murmuring. Andrew felt sick inside. Nothing he could
say now would regain his authority as captain of the ship. Nothing.

Menker turned to face Captain Phillip again, displaying only the righteous
anger that any of the crew would rightfully feel. "Captain, you were
warned against bringing your *pet* aboard ship. You also swore you would
take full responsibility for his actions. Well? Is your word better than
your judgement? And will you accept the responsibility for our lost
wages?" He took one step toward Captain Phillip.

Hungry men, desperate men; oh, Menker had them in the palm of his hand.
What could Andrew do against them that would not turn into a double
lynching?

"Captain Phillip, you are confined to quarters until we reach port,"
Menker said briskly, taking on the authority he had so smoothly usurped.
"There's no point in going on now. Mr. Shepson, prepare to turn and head
back home." Menker turned to someone else as if to hand off his side of
Ray. "Get this animal into the hold and lock it."

Ray wrenched at his arms. "Andrew!" he squealed.

"Go with them, Ray," Andrew said coldly. *Go with them, or they will kill
both of us right here, right now.*

The look of betrayal and hurt on Ray's face made Andrew feel even sicker
than the raw ugliness of the hatred filling the ship directed at both of
them. But what could he do? Ray told the truth, he'd seen them toss the
cargo, Andrew was sure of it. All right, then. He turned to return to his
cabin under the watchful glare of a pistol-carrying man. Cool, they had to
stay cool. A cooling-off period for everyone, while he regrouped and
figured out how to get the truth from Ray, and how to make it plausible in
court --

A high squeal. "No! No, Andrew, not go! Not *go*!"

Andrew whirled around in time to see Ray yank free of his captors and
hop-stagger against the rail. His eyes were like chunks of flaming
St.-Elmo's-Fire, his teeth gleaming as Menker reached for him again --

"Ray, no, don't!" Andrew shouted. He lunged forward.

It was too late. He saw Ray sink his teeth into Menker's arm, and watched
as Menker shouted in pain and rage and swung out with his arm across Ray's
face.

In slow motion Andrew watched as Ray toppled backwards over the railing.
The blackness outside the ship swallowed the sound and the sight.

Andrew didn't know he was screaming until Menker smashed him across the
face to shut him up.

"Lock him in his cabin," Menker snapped to the two men holding Andrew
between them. "He will answer for the missing cargo, not us."

Andrew pulled as the two men holding him dragged him to his cabin. "Ray's
overboard," he said numbly. They had to stop and pick him up. They had to.
Sharks everywhere, Ray was bound hand and foot, he couldn't even walk when
Andrew'd first met him --

"Where 'e belongs," one guard said grimly. "Not stopping to pick up that
bastard. 'E's done enough already."

"Better pray they put it all on you," the other guard added. "They dock
our pay again, we'll come looking for you."

And the door of the captain's cabin clunked shut. Andrew was standing
alone in the middle of the room, as he had when he'd been wakened less
than half an hour ago.

******

*If you breathe it, you will drown and die like a human.*

The cold black water pressed against him, squeezing his lungs cruelly,
blocking his human sight. But his hearing was the same; he heard the
multitudinous swaying strokes of shark tails, the subliminal noise of the
stupid creatures as they surrounded their easy prey, closed in on him to
tear and feed.

But where there are sharks, there are --

Ray squealed out into the water with the last oxygen in his human lungs,
not knowing if he could be heard under water any more, not knowing if
there was any nearby to hear --

"SIBLINGS!"

******

Andrew sat on the edge of his bed. He heard the guards muttering outside
his cabin door. He stared at the opposite wall, unmoving, uncaring.

A set-up. And a perfect scapegoat. Hoffleigh would get the insurance money
on the cargo, and Andrew would receive the blame. He had promised to take
full responsibility for Ray's actions. His word against Menker's,
Shepson's, who else was involved? And what was the worth of the word of a
man so besotted with lust he'd bring a dangerous, unstable man on board a
working vessel?

Menker would get a captaincy for his prompt discovery of this laggardness
in Andrew. Perhaps he would even get a share of the insurance.

He had brought Ray to sea to keep him safe from those stupid townspeople.

He remembered the look of disdain in fearless green eyes. *Stupid people.
Sharks --*

He buried his face in his hands and wept.

******

Mer-calves whirled and darted around Ray, squealing at seeing a human
speaking their tongue; at least the ones not busy teasing and drawing off
the sharks, squealing in laughter and fun. "Ray, you've got legs! You're a
human!" Anemone said. "What happened to your skin? You did see Cowrie!
Mako thought you might! They're all off mating --"

Ray gestured upward with his bound hands as the water squeezed his ribs.

"Oh, humans, air!"

Briskly, Ray's younger sister called Wrasse and Limpet over. "He needs air
to breathe!" the mating-time-matriarch squealed imperiously. "Take him and
go up fast." Anemone had absolute power at this time; she could ignore
restrictions that ruled calves in regular times.

Ray's brothers darted upward, Ray squeezed between their bodies as if they
were play-mating once again.

The water crushed at him, squeezing his life. Black spots whirled before
him, the overwhelming need to open his mouth and breathe --

They broke the surface, and Ray gasped, coughing out water. Again, and
again. Oxygen flooded his blood like ale. And he had once thought air thin
and life-choking.

"Did humans throw their teeth at you?" Wrasse asked.

"What's Cowrie like? How big is he?"

"Can humans talk like us?"

Ray submerged and boomed, "Cowrie is big as a whale. Humans have their own
language. One human put a web around my hands. Free them!"

Limpet's razor-sharp mer-teeth snapped Ray's wrist-bonds in seconds. "Your
tail -- no, your legs!"

Tail? Ray kicked his still-bound-together legs, and felt a surge of power
carry him, nearly as strongly as his mer-tail had once done. "Leave my
legs the way they are."

"But I want to see your legs, Ray," Wrasse growled, breaching to take a
disappointingly dark and murky look at the forbidden surface.

"They're stronger the way they are."

And Ray's legs and feet, properly buoyed by ocean, no longer hurt with
every movement. He kicked some more, his arms at their old stance for
steering and guiding, and managed to bring himself to the surface for more
air.

"I fell off the ship," he said. His blood boiled, thinking of the first
mate --

And his heart nearly killed him with pain as he remembered Andrew angrily
telling him to go with the first mate, believing him instead of Ray.

He'd thought they understood each other. He'd made Andrew see how he
desired him, and Andrew wouldn't touch him. They had been as close as
siblings. But what he had felt was not true. Andrew did not feel the same
as Ray did...

He moaned into the water.

"Ray, are you injured?" Limpet asked, whirling around his brother. "Did a
shark take a bite out of you?"

He was remembering Cowrie's words when he'd given Ray the magic to make
him a human to find his captain: "I see great pain ahead for you." He had
thought the pain of the magic would be the worst thing he could ever feel.

So Andrew thought he'd thrown the crates into the sea.

Angrily he breached for air, and submerged to talk to his siblings. "I
have to follow the ship," he said.

"We saw the ship," Wrasse said. "Now it's going back the way it came."

Back to the town. Good. "I'm going to follow that ship," Ray said.
"Wrasse, go get Anemone, and ask her to bring all the calves to the
surface. I want you to help me do something." Something that would prove
to Andrew that he hadn't done what they said he did.

As Wrasse darted away, Ray kicked his legs strongly, and broke the surface
to take another breath of air. "I'm hungry."

"There's some yellowtails around here --"

"Couldn't catch them now." Ray grinned at Limpet.

"You really did turn into a human," Limpet said, awed at seeing the
strange teeth in his brother's mouth. "What are they like?"

"Like sharks." He remembered the look he had shared with Andrew after the
women had hit him and dragged their children away from him. They had
understood each other. But Andrew had believed the first mate, had sent
him away... "All of them."

"You're all alone up there."

More pain, worse pain, as if a shark had bitten out his heart and was
eating it before his eyes. "Yes. Now I am all alone." He remembered the
look of respect Cowrie had given him when he'd taken the risk of becoming
a human. "It was my decision." He bubbled a painful little laugh. "I shall
have to live alone and learn all I can, like Cowrie. Perhaps I will become
a Land Witch, and humans will come to me with fish and turtles, asking for
magic." And perhaps, in time, his heart would stop hurting so badly.

But first he would find Andrew and show him, before going away from him.

Just then Anemone, Wrasse and the other calves came darting up to Ray and
Limpet; the excited calves broke the surface only to re- submerge,
grumbling at how boring the upper world was. One calf held a yellowtail in
her teeth; Ray neatly yanked it away and bolted it hungrily, ignoring her
squeal.

Anemone ignored the childish pranks as a matriarch should. "What do you
want us to do, Ray?" she asked her older brother.

******

It took the *Marie Suzanne* five days to return to the town's port,
against the winds. She had been in dock for two hours when two members of
the town watch, armed with pistols, entered the captain's cabin to bind
and lead away their unresisting prisoner. The pistols were for their
prisoner's protection; they were followed by the jeers and yells and
spittle of the crewmen who trailed them to the watch-house.

Andrew was deposited in one of the two cells in the watch-house; the men
clustered around outside, and the apprentice eyed him as he bustled about
doing his work, but apart from the two guards the room was empty.

From Andrew's vantage he could see the cot where he had first seen the
sleeping curly-haired stranger, not three weeks ago. Ray had been found on
the beach, where someone had tried unsuccessfully to drown him.

And now Andrew had drowned him.

He should shave, comb his hair, straighten his clothing at least; he would
not help himself if he came to his trial looking like a wild man. He had
promised to take full responsibility for Ray's actions. All he had was the
"madman's" panicked word that the first mate had tossed the cargo. Fines,
reparations, prison, scandal; he'd be lucky if he could get a job
rag-picking or rat-catching once he was out of gaol. He had lost the sea,
as surely as the sea had taken Ray away from him.

Such sweetness in his life, tasted so briefly; it had become a future of
bitterness and pain. The sharks had won.

Heavy steps sounded as a portly man walked into the room. Andrew looked up
with no surprise, to see glittering eyes behind spectacles on the other
side of the prison bars. And there was Menker as well, with the proper
angry look of the bearer of bad tidings. A somber man in a black robe
stood behind Gregory Hoffleigh and Menker; the arbitrator. "My entire
cargo," Hoffleigh said flatly. "Lost."

"The only good that came out of this was the lunatic threw himself
overboard and won't be able to do any more damage," Menker added coldly.

"There's always the insurance money, of course," Andrew said heavily.

"It's as well I did insure the cargo. My fears were justified, weren't
they?" Hoffleigh said silkenly. "As my trust in you was not. When I am
done with you, Captain Phillip, the only way you'll be allowed on board a
sea-going vessel again is as ballast."

Menker smiled.

"Andrew Bartholomew Phillip," intoned the arbitrator, "you are hereby
charged with willful and criminal neglect, and by your actions you have
caused the destruction of a shipment of goods worth --"

A squeal pealed out from the shore below, over the low voices of the men
outside. A squeal like whale-singing; like a gull crying; like many other
sea noises.

But Andrew knew what -- who -- made that sound. He could not believe, he
should not believe. But his heart moved inside him for the first time in
many days, lifted; grew wings and flew through the bars of his prison.

The men fell silent. Menker turned ashen.

The watchman ran outside, out to the path.

After a pause of annoyance at the sound, the arbitrator cleared his
throat. "A shipment of goods --"

"Andrew!" squealed the voice from down at the shore. The word was
unmistakeable. "Andrew!"

The sick look on the florid face of Hoffleigh -- face turning white,
turning grey -- filled Andrew's blood like ale.

Andrew straightened, felt fire fill his heart and mind and eyes. His
guards shrank back a little. "Let me out," he said coolly. "Ray is down at
the beach."

The watchman ran in again. "God in Heaven, it's a miracle!" he gasped.
"It's a miracle! For God's sake, man, let him out of there!"

The watchmen, the arbitrator, Hoffleigh, Menker, the crew, ran down the
path to the two objects at the shore.

******

Ray stood at the water's edge, water dripping from his curls, still
wearing the clothes he had been wearing that night. But it was the box
beside Ray -- a big wooden box, dripping, marked with numbers -- that made
Hoffleigh sink to his knees, pasty-faced with shock, that made Menker bolt
and run, till a guard seized him and dragged him back. The men gasped,
murmured, whimpered at this sight; many of them crossed themselves and
knelt.

A ghost, surely. A haunt risen from the sea to torment Andrew. But the
full afternoon sun shone down on this apparition, and his slender body
felt real when Andrew ran forward to throw his arms around it. The strong
arms around his back were not the arms of a wraith. "I thought you were
dead, Ray," he whispered. "I thought--" he choked, and buried his face in
Ray's neck, squeezing him tightly. "Oh, love," he whispered.

Ray went still; trembled. "Love," he said.

There were others present. Andrew made himself pull away from his
green-eyed apparition. "But, but how--? Your hands and feet were bound!
You couldn't *walk* when I met you!"

He was met with an evil grin, one he thought he would never see again.
"Swim good," was all Ray said. Then his eyes were hot, glaring at the
shaking, wide-eyed Menker. "I *not* lie, Andrew. I see he drop box." The
watchmen, still gaping in astonishment at the twin miracles, glowered at
the squirming first mate and tightened their grips on his shoulders. As
for Hoffleigh...

"Ray, *how*--?" Andrew gasped, now staring at the box. It was a cargo box
from the *Marie Suzanne*, still sealed.

"We find on bottom. Heavy!"

"Mother of God..." Shepson murmured, eyes wide, hand covering his mouth.
"There were sharks everywhere..." Then his hand fell away and he
straightened, his eyes meeting those of the "madman," and a kind of peace
seemed to settle on the second mate. "Open it up, there's nothing but
rocks inside."

"Shut up!" Menker screamed in hysteria, all his suave assurance gone. He
yanked at the guard who gripped his arm, till another closed in to take
the other arm.

"Shut up you fool!" roared Hoffleigh.

"Rocks?" Ray said.

*Rocks?*

The crewmen murmured. They moved forward, prying at the boards. One of the
watch had a heavy decorative sword, and they used it as a crowbar to pry
up the top of the crate. And there, packed in straw, were stones instead
of the valuable ceramic bowls listed on the manifest.

Rocks. Ray would have been drowned and Andrew disgraced for the sake of a
worthless cargo.

Now -- *now* -- Andrew began to feel fire in his blood.

"Hoffleigh did it," Shepson continued, almost droning, as if he were in
the confessional booth. "He set it up. Insurance. Just supposed to make it
look like a broken hatch did it, but then the dummy came aboard--"

Hoffleigh tore free of his guards and charged toward Ray, hands
outstretched for his neck, shrieking, insane with rage. Before Andrew or
any of them could react, there was a sound of impact, and a high squeal of
pain.

And Hoffleigh was sprawled on the ground, blood etching one cheek from his
broken spectacles. Ray was shaking his bloody hand and wincing. He looked
up at Andrew. "Fist," he said with satisfaction and shook his cut hand
again.

Andrew smiled, then laughed and couldn't stop laughing.

******

Menker, Hoffleigh, Shepson and Drake -- the third man that night -- were
carted away by the guards, followed by the enraged mob of cheated crew
members. None of them would look either Ray or Andrew in the eye.

"Sharks," Ray snarled, and kicked a stone. He winced and looked at his
hand again.

"Here, let me see that," Andrew said, taking the hand in his and
inspecting the bruised and cut knuckles. "Don't hit people wearing
glasses, Ray. You might get broken glass in your cuts." He looked up, and
their eyes met. "Ray," he whispered, "God himself brought you back to me."

Ray looked confused. "Not God. Brother."

Andrew blinked. "You have a *brother*?"

Ray nodded eagerly. They were now alone on the shore. "I tell secret, you
not tell." Ray walked over to the water, knelt and stuck his head in. A
deep squealing noise thrummed outward. Ray pulled his head out and shook
it vigorously, droplets flying everywhere.

Then, not far off the shore, a man's head broke the surface and looked at
both of them. It was a young man, almost of age, with a shock of thick
black hair plastered wetly down his sides. The head went down, the water
rippled, and the young man's head broke the surface much closer to them.
He grinned.

Andrew sat down on the sand in shock as he saw what the teeth looked like.
Numbly, he took in the other details as the young man hoisted himself onto
a hummock of sand; the long slits between the ribs like a shark's gills,
the speckled black back that tapered into a black lower body and flukes
like those of a small pilot whale.

Ray squealed, and the merman grinned and flipped back into the water,
darting away, flukes working strongly, until he was gone from sight.
"Brother," he said firmly. "We find box."

Andrew stared at Ray. He looked down at the beach where the water lapped
gently at his feet as the sun began to set. "The wreck, that night," he
murmured. "I'd tied myself to the wheel." He looked up at Ray. "That was
you," he said wonderingly. "The boy who was riding -- no. The boy who was
half dolphin." He pulled out his watch and stared at the dangling tooth.
"You chewed my ropes. Broke a tooth." Ray grinned, and Andrew stared at
his chipped human tooth. "But you're a man like me!"

"I man now," Ray agreed. "I make me man."

Andrew gazed in awe. "You were like that once? You became a man and left
the sea? Why?"

Ray looked at Andrew, eyes warm and green. "I love at you."

Andrew stared, hands grasping Ray's. He brought them to his lips and
kissed them, and looked at Ray again. "You love me?" A tight cold blossom
was unfurling inside Andrew, stretching its bright yellow petals out to
eagerly take in the rays of the setting sun. His dream-rescuer; his lovely
stranger...

Ray smiled. "I stay you. You love me?"

Andrew smiled till he thought his cheeks would ache for days. "Yes, Ray. I
love you. Here."

And Ray was pulled forward, and Andrew's mouth covered his in warmth and
moist softness, caressing, causing the yearning inside him to be stroked
to a ruddy glow.

Ray pressed back with his own mouth, and pulled away to meet the blue eyes
he had first seen underwater; these eyes now full of a strong pulse of
heat.

"Kiss," Andrew said, smiling. "Kiss, Ray."

Ray smiled back. "Kiss," he repeated.

-- THE END --

*Originally published in *Other Times and Places 4*, OTP Press, 1993,
edited by Nina Boal*.

   Archive Home