“Pig. And Artur and his dad know all about this. The taping you’re doing for the Discovery Channel, I mean.”
Thomas coughed. “No. They don’t. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for now, Fred. If it comes to it, of course I’ll let them in on my project, but for now there’s no point in saying anything.”
“Knock yourself out, Mermaid Geek. Just keep me out of it.”
Thomas slowly shook his head. “Not this time, Fred. This time, like it or not, you’re in it. In fact, you’re practically the guest of honor.”
“Sure,” she snapped. “That explains why none of the purebloods want to be around me except Artur, and he’s got brain damage.”
Thomas flushed, but didn’t look away.
“So what’s going on?” she demanded. “Why are they keeping their distance?”
“Well.” Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m not sure it’s for me to say.”
“You’d better say.”
“It’s kind of private Undersea Folk business.”
“But you know it? Forget it, Thomas. Cough up, or cough up blood.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not up to taking a punch, so just relax. Here, have a seat.”
She let him steer her to one of the narrow bar stools in the galley. “Okay. So what’s going on?”
“Well, I can’t just blurt it out.”
“You’d better!”
“I’m just saying, there’s background, there’s stuff to cover. Okay. So, it’s like this. See, your fath—”
There was a click, and the intercom system came to life. “Ho inside, Thomas!” Artur’s booming voice. “My father and I require entrance!”
“Hit the red button and come on in,” Thomas called. He shrugged apologetically at Fred. “I guess we’ll talk about that later. But now you get to meet the king.”
“Oh, goody.”
Fourteen
Artur and an older, craggier version of Artur stepped out of the air lock and into the URV. “Ah, Thomas,” Older, Craggier Artur boomed, not noticing (or not caring) that he and Artur were dripping water all over the galley. “Do you have more movie-shows of the great warrior Al Swearengen for me to view?”
“Sure, King Mekkam. Season two is all set to go.”
Al Swearengen? Now why did that sound so—
“And this must be Fredrika, the spirited beauty who has my good son twisted so far around he can see the back of his own tail.” The king pulled Fred into a rib-shattering hug and she groaned. He pushed her back, beaming. Clearly his father had no more clue about personal space than Artur did. Very grabby, the Undersea Folk. “It is a great delight to meet you at last, Fredrika. And how is your lady mother?”
“Mom’s fine,” she gasped. Awfully worried about blood relatives, these guys. Artur always asked about her mom, though he’d only met her the one time. And the king, she was certain, had never met Moon. “I’m fine.” This was a rather large lie. “We’re all fine. Nice to meet you, too. Thanks for inviting me to your Pelagic.”
“Oh, no. Indeed, no.” King Mekkam frowned, and Fred realized that Thomas had described him perfectly. He really did look like an older, grayer version of Artur. They were even the same height.
They were also naked, but Fred was trying not to let that bother her. After all, they couldn’t teleport to the URV, now could they? No. They had to swim, and the best way for a merman to swim was not layered down with Lands’ End apparel.
And she had to face facts. Despite the efforts of her hippie mother, Fred was uncomfortable because of the repressed sexual mores of a society that had been heavily influenced by the Victorian Age. Her father’s people, of course, had no idea who Queen Victoria even was, much less why they should be embarrassed to walk around with their dicks swinging—
“No, it is I who must thank you,” the king was saying. “It was kind of you to join us on such short notice. I am not unaware that you had to disrupt your life and your plans to come to our meeting. And for your friend to come as well! You do my people such an honor as they have never been done before. And that is excellent,” he added, almost muttered.
“Yeah, King Mekkam, that’s great, listen—maybe you can explain how—”
“Deadwood, season two,” Thomas announced, waving the box at the king, who nearly swooned like a girl with a crush.
“Excellent! Oh, that is excellent, Thomas, thank you! Do you know of this movie-show?” the king demanded, snatching the season two DVD set out of Thomas’s hand.
“Uh…yeah, I heard about it. Mostly the uproar when HBO decided to cancel—”
Mekkam steamrolled right over her. “The hero is a treacherous, aging warrior named Al Swearengen. He is as perfidious a biped as I have ever seen, and he is the king of Deadwood. He has many enemies and triumphs with a combination of violence and deception.” The king said this with total admiration.
“You’ve got him watching Deadwood?” Fred hissed, twisting Thomas’s ear until he yelped. “That’s the part of human culture you decided to expose him to?”
“It wasn’t my fault! I had it on when I was giving these guys the tour.”
“Now, unless you motherfuckers are going to join me,” King Mekkam continued, “I insist you sons of bastards all be quiet so I may view more of King Al.”
Fred groaned.
“Uh, King Mekkam, about the swearing,” Thomas said, clearing his throat and rubbing his ear. “I’m not quite sure you’ve got the hang of it just yet, and—”
“In our culture, it is polite to speak to others in their dialect,” the king said firmly. “So all you motherfuckers shut the fuck up. Now, Thomas. Where is your son of a bitching DVD machine?”
“Oh man, oh man, oh man.”
“You’re going to hell for this one,” Fred told him. “If nothing else.”
“And do you have any motherfucking potato chips?”
Fifteen
The next day, Fred found out why her father’s people were going out of their way to avoid her, no thanks to Thomas, Jonas, or Artur. Naturally.
On the whole, she would have preferred to remain in ignorance. Not that the Terrible Trio had any right to keep it from her. But she sort of understood their reasoning. Sort of.
She had gotten up early, had oatmeal with milk and cane sugar, then gone for an early morning swim. The sun had just started peeking over the horizon and no one else was stirring. Fred was not normally an early riser, but the night before she hadn’t slept for shit.
Stress, she decided. Nerves. Because God knew she’d been exhausted after all the traveling and should have slept like a dead thing. Still, she figured she clocked in maybe two, three hours, max. Depending on when the Pelagic started, hopefully she could sneak in a nap.
Anyway, come sunrise she’d been wide awake. Some kind person had laid out oatmeal, cold cereals, bacon, a variety of juices, and ice-cold milk. She’d bolted a quick breakfast alone, and then headed out.
She swam past the URV into deeper water, curious to see what other varieties of marine life were out and about at this ungodly hour, and had stroked a manta ray. (They were so silky she was always amazed…They were like giant mushrooms with eyes.) That was when she saw him.
He was lean, as most of her father’s people seemed to be, almost too thin. She could count his ribs, even twenty feet away as she was. Due to the glorious clarity of the water she could see him perfectly, even through schools of darting fish.
His hair was the same startling blue as Tennian’s; his eyes the same shade of dark blue—almost black. His long, broad tail was a thousand shades of green, the colors so vivid they were almost hypnotic, rather like a peacock’s tail.
Her tail, in contrast, was shorter and narrower. And it had as much blue as green in it. Full-blooded Undersea Folk were superior swimmers, of course, and stronger than she was. That had been difficult to get used to. Before meeting Artur, she had prided herself on being one of the fastest things in the ocean.
Ha! Not anymore. Not hardly
.
I’m staring, she thought, embarrassed. Too late to cover it now. Better say something.
Morning, she thought at him.
Without a word, he turned around and began swimming away.
Hey. HEY! I’m talking to you! Thinking at you, anyway. She darted after him with a flex of her tail. What, did I get the super secret mermaid handshake wrong?
I do not wish to be seen with traitor’s kin, he replied, not even turning around. In fact, he was rapidly putting distance between them.
Traitor’s what? Hey! Get your fishy ass back here!
Please forgive my brother, a new voice thought. He frets about his reputation so.
Startled, she whipped around to see Tennian swimming up on her blind side. You!
Me, she agreed. Good morning.
Morning. He didn’t even like me! Don’t misunderstand; I’m used to it. She folded her fist under her chin, thinking. But he didn’t even know me. Usually people have to be around me for at least half an hour before they decide I’m a jerk.
Sometimes, Tennian added without cracking a smile, much less than half an hour.
You’re way more talkative underwater, anybody ever tell you?
No. Tennian was now swimming in slow, lazy circles around Fred. I am not comfortable with outlander styles of speech. It hurts my throat, though courtesy dictates we try. But I do not have to vocalize now.
Uh-huh, great, good, fine, and while we’re chatting here, what the hell was your brother bitching about? And is he your twin or something? He looks just like you, although he could use a protein shake.
We were born of the same mother at the same time, yes.
Fred was beginning to have a sinking idea what Tennian’s stiff-ass brother had been complaining about. God knew nobody ever talked about her father.
Her mother never talked about him, of course, because they’d only been together the one night. Fred had known by the time she was five that her mother didn’t know a damned thing about her dad…not even that he’d been a merman. Moon Bimm only put two and two together when she was bathing the newborn Fred at home…and her green-haired baby had popped a tail, right there in the baby tub.
But the other Undersea Folk Fred had met? They hadn’t talked about him, either. Which was weird, if you thought about it. None of them thought she might want to know about her birth dad? Or if they did, felt they couldn’t discuss him? But why?
It could only be because he’d done something fairly horrid. And what had stiff-ass said? Or thought?
I do not wish to be seen with traitor’s kin. Yeah. That was it.
Fred sighed internally, then braced herself. All right. Hit me.
She could feel Tennian’s surprise, and hastily added, Tell me what he did. Better yet, tell me about the last time a Pelagic was held. You and Kertal got a little squirrelly in my apartment when I was asking questions about it, so cough up.
She sensed Tennian trying to decipher Fred’s slang, and realized one advantage telepathy had over verbal communication was that even if you didn’t understand the other person’s exact words, you at least got their meaning.
Tennian blew out a breath, making a stream of bubbles that startled a wrasse into darting away, and seemed to be thinking hard about how to begin.
Finally: Your father, Kortrim, felt that good King Mekkam’s family had been in power quite long enough. Six generations…and seven, once Mekkam is no more and Artur is king. And Kortrim was able to talk many of the young ones into assisting him, ones bored with our hidden life and hungry for more power.
Palace coup, eh? Fucking great.
Sixteen
Fred was still trying to grasp the idea that her father, whom she’d never much thought about, had been a traitor. Someone who had tried to overthrow Mekkam and his whole family. Someone who likely would have killed Mekkam, Artur, and the rest of the royals.
The thought made her heart want to stop, but she forced herself to follow it to its logical conclusion.
Yes, of course her dad would have executed Artur and the others. He would have had to. Rule number one after a hostile takeover: get rid of the old guard.
I cannot believe, she thought, and hoped the thought was private, that I’m descended from a murderous betraying asshole. The asshole part? Not such a surprise. The betraying murdering part? Ugh. She tried to imagine the circumstances which would lead her to try to get Dr. Barb fired behind her back (or even to her face)…and hit a blank wall.
She and Tennian were floating rather than swimming, letting the current take them back to shore. Fred impatiently batted a grouper aside. So in your tactful way, you’re telling me that Dear Old Dad tried to overthrow the monarchy.
Yes.
What was his beef with Artur’s dad?
She could sense Tennian’s hesitation and added, Well, fer Crissakes, don’t stop now!
Your sire felt that the accident of birth enjoyed by the king’s line was no reason to keep a crown.
Huh?
His mind-touch.
Whose? Fred was utterly mystified. Mekkam’s? Or Artur’s?
Both. All.
Mind-touch? All right, this is clearly a cultural thing, so Fred would decipher that later. Never mind. Obviously Dear Old Dad failed, otherwise he’d be King Dear Old Dad and I’d be Princess Fred. Now that was a laugh!
And may be still.
What?
Yes. He failed. In fact, many of those he thought he had brought to his side were only pretending so they could report his duplicity to the king.
So the betrayer got betrayed. Okay, that’s interesting. I guess. Actually, there’s a kind of elegant irony to it. So, what? They killed him?
Oh, no! Fred felt real shock behind Tennian’s horrified thought. We never. We NEVER. We are not like surface dwellers, to take life so lightly!
All right, all right, calm down. Fred decided it wasn’t a good time to remind the younger woman that she was half–surface dweller. So if they didn’t kill him, and if he isn’t here, then where…?
Banishment. The thought was as flat as a sugar cookie, but not nearly as sweet. It is our most severe punishment.
I bet.
The ocean is vast. And I do not have to tell you how dangerous it can be. It is…a difficult place to face alone. It is one thing to go off by yourself for a day or two, but for the rest of your life? And our kind are much, much longer lived than your mother’s.
Fred was feeling pretty horrified herself, and tried to keep it from Tennian. No sense in scaring the girl into clamming up again.
She tried to imagine living in the sea her whole life, only to be cast out by everyone she had ever known. Water covered three-fourths of the planet; it would be beyond awful to face all that alone.
Not for a year or two. Not for a decade or two. But for decade after decade after decade, leading into centuries, until…How long was the life span for an Undersea Folk, anyway?
Not to mention…
That’s a good way to get killed, isn’t it? Without the group to protect you, to look after you…I mean, he must have died. Artur was sure of it, or he wouldn’t have told my mom he was prob’ly dead.
We think…but we do not know. No one ever saw him again, and no one speaks of him. It was assumed, once King Mekkam discovered your existence, that your sire perhaps came ashore that very night and lay with your lady mother. It was the last documented sighting of him, at any rate.
Fred made a mental note to never, ever tell this to her mother. Moon Bimm still had the hippie’s romanticized view of life, and The Night Fred Was Conceived was one of her more cherished stories.
The mysterious stranger showing up on the beach. Moon, tipsy on cheap wine, and lonely. The drunken fuck (or, as Moon called it, “the tender, life-making lovemaking”). Followed by five months of morning sickness and, eventually, a mer-baby.
No, she’d never tell Moon that the only reason her dad had come ashore was because his people had thrown his ass out.
She als
o made a mental note to find out how, exactly, Mekkam had learned of her existence. Because Artur had alluded to that last fall, hadn’t he? He’d told her, while they were in her mother’s kitchen at the Cape Cod house, that his father had sent him to seek her out.
I’m getting it now! That’s why no one spoke of it to me. Why everybody keeps dancing around my questions. Do they blame me for what my dad did? They must. But that doesn’t make any sense…Anybody who knows I’m his kid also knows I never met the guy. So are they really that dumb?
She’d been deliberately provocative (she didn’t know any other way to be), but Tennian didn’t rise to the bait.
Not…dumb, Fredrika. But family is all, to the Undersea Folk. Responsible for everything, the author of everything. We believe personality traits are passed down as easily as hair color and tail length. Some of us…
Reluctance now, extreme reluctance, and Tennian looked away from Fred, snatched a damselfish from the middle of its school, and disposed of it in four chomps. All this with the absent air of someone biting their fingernails. Fred struggled mightily not to barf. The blood didn’t bother her; the casual carnivorousness did, not to mention the sight of Tennian’s needle-sharp teeth. Some of us believe that if your sire could act in such a treacherous way, so might you. But for the prince…
What about Artur?
He is most fond of you. Surely, she added, waving away the blood and scales, this is nothing new.
Oh, he’s babbled something along those lines. I wasn’t paying much attention.
You may wish to. Fred could sense Tennian’s dry amusement. He has made no secret of the fact that he wishes to make you his princess. And but for that…
Are you telling me if Artur wasn’t sweet on me, nobody’d want me around?
I cannot tell you what might be, or might have been, Tennian said tactfully. Only what is. Or was, if I have that knowledge.
Fred floated for a few seconds, thinking. Then: So your twin gave me the cold shoulder, but not you? How come? Not that I’m complaining. But nobody’s come ashore since I got here. Except for Artur and the king and you, nobody’s talked to me. I’m apparently the guest of honor, but nobody’s even tried to look me up. So why are you being so friendly? Relatively speaking.
Swimming Without a Net Page 6
