“Are you saying you’re willing to remember now?” she asked, still barely breathing.
“I’m not sure what I’m saying yet,” he said. “You’re a siren. I’m a Fandarsee. When you’re here on land, you suffer. We can’t reasonably be a part of one another’s world, can we? But I can help you now. This once.”
He really meant it. He would take her north to the mountains. It would mean flying even farther away from the sea. More days of legs and grime and chamber pots and hot food that upset her stomach …
But more days of Alan.
And a chance to see Dosia. Even if she failed to rescue her, at least she might establish correspondence. If Alan wouldn’t bring her letters, maybe Swift would.
She met his eyes. He felt suddenly more present than he ever had, as if he was finally allowing himself to acknowledge that she had reentered his life. “All right. If you are truly willing to help me, then I will accept, with great thanks.”
He let his gaze drop. “I should tell you something.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll be honest. It isn’t entirely for selfless reasons that I want to help you. It’s about my mother.”
“Your mother?” She certainly had not expected that.
“My mother wasn’t a Fandarsee. She was … like you. A siren.”
Esmerine was immediately struck silent, and past her initial shock came a funny sort of relief. Alan’s mother—a mermaid? Yet it explained so much—why he ate fish and seaweed, why he was immune to her siren song, maybe even why he had chosen to work at a bookstore run by a mermaid. It even explained why he tried so hard to be the model Fandarsee. But Alan’s father marrying a mermaid? It seemed impossible. “How did that … happen?”
“I know,” Alan said. “You saw my father. I can hardly believe it myself, and he doesn’t like to talk about it. My mother died when I was four, so I never could ask her. I guess he fell in love with her during his own messenger days and stole her belt—or she gave it to him—he makes it sound mutual, but I can’t be sure. She was very homesick in the Floating City … she couldn’t fly and the other Fandarsee snubbed her.”
“So … Dosia being taken by humans … I understand now why you want to help.” Her voice was calm, quite unlike the turbulent emotions inside.
“I often think my mother would have rather been rescued.”
“But then she had you. And yet, you can’t even breathe underwater.” Or was there more he hadn’t told her? “Can you?”
“No. I can’t. I’m Fandarsee through and through …”
But was he? Maybe he had the body of a Fandarsee, but he had come to visit her again and again, and even after their good-bye, he had quit being a messenger to work for another mermaid who must be just a little older than his mother, had she lived.
“The sea does tug at you a little, though, doesn’t it?” she said.
“I guess it does. But I’m sure you know how useless it is to wish for impossible things.” He stood up and cleared his throat a bit. “So, what do you think? Do you want to find Dosia?”
“Yes … but … I have to tell my family. Otherwise they’ll be so worried.”
“We can stop at the islands first, then go to the Floating City and ask my father for help. Hopefully all that will go well, and we’ll proceed to the Diels.”
“All right.”
Alan left, and Esmerine lay in bed, knowing already that the night would be sleepless. For a moment, she imagined Alan as a merman—shedding his superior air and slipping under the water with her, strong arms and a tail replacing his wings and legs. The image was strangely abhorrent to her. Alan belonged in the sky, and he wouldn’t be Alan without a book tucked in his vest.
If only—
She halted the thought. Tomorrow, she would fly with him. There was no need to think any further than that.
Chapter Fourteen
When Ginnia came to help her dress the next morning, she carried a bundle of new clothes in her arms—men’s clothes.
“Mr. Dare suggested that you wear these for flying,” she said.
Esmerine unfolded the pieces—a linen shirt, a storm-gray vest, dark-blue breeches, stockings, and knee-length spats like Alan himself wore. “I can put these on by myself, Ginnia,” Esmerine said. “Thank you.” She could hardly conceal her glee.
Esmerine would not have liked such clothes a week ago, when she was unused to wearing clothes at all—the tight spats and breeches made her more aware than ever of her individual legs—but compared to women’s clothes, they were comfortable and easy to move in.
“Do they fit?” Alan asked when she came out.
“Maybe a little snug, but better than my other clothes.”
“You’re taller than my mother,” he said. “I’ve been giving you her clothes, I hope you don’t mind. My father brought me a trunk of them and told me to bring them to market for some pocket money, but I kept putting it off, and good thing I did.”
“How do they look?” She did a half turn. “It feels so funny to wear boy clothes!”
“That’s what Fandarsee women wear all the time,” he said. “Dresses simply don’t work, the way our clothes fit. So I don’t see them as boy clothes at all. Oh, and you should braid your hair so it stays out of your face.”
They ate a substantial breakfast and packed a bundle of extra clothes along with the winged statue, which Alan thought his father might accept as part of the bargain. Swift came around to say good-bye, as did Belawyn, who didn’t seem as surprised as Esmerine expected. Esmerine still felt guilty for dragging Alan away from the shop, even if it was his idea.
“Don’t worry yourself, my pearl. I managed this shop before Alan came along, and I’ll manage it without him. Besides, thanks to your siren song this week, there’s a little extra to go all around. Anyway, do you think I’ll miss him and his meddling father?” She laughed, but when she told Alan and Esmerine to be careful, Esmerine knew she meant it.
“Don’t do anything foolish, now,” Belawyn said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and you might want to avoid most things I would do as well.”
Swift looked the most upset. “It’s too bad you can’t stay longer. The customers were nicer because of your songs.”
Esmerine smiled, but she knew she couldn’t honestly tell Swift she’d be back, or that the shop would be just fine.
She gave them both a hug, while Alan offered a polite bow. “We ought to get going. Esmerine, are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
He looked out at the nearly empty street. The sun had barely risen, and the hustle and bustle of daytime had not yet begun. “You’ve never been up so high before,” he said. “You might feel scared.”
“I might feel scared, you’re right, but I’ve also dreamed about flying with you forever. I trust you.”
Alan reached down inside the top of his spats and pulled out two leather loops. These were attached to the spats, and hung down about half the length of his calves.
“You can put your feet in these,” he said. “That ought to give you a bit of stability. They are sewn into a lot of Fandarsee messenger spats in case we do need to fly with someone.”
Indeed, she could step into the loops, like the stirrups riders put their feet in on horses. She didn’t point out this connection because she had a feeling Alan wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. This evened them out to a similar height, and she could wrap her arms around his neck without her feet dangling.
She took a firm grip on the collar of his vest again, more nervous than she cared to admit. Besides the flying itself, their bodies were pressed close, more intimate than she had realized. What Lalia Tembel said about the aroma of surface people was mostly true, but she still thought Alan had a nice smell, like books and hearth smoke and wool.
“Ready?” Alan asked.
She was trying not to breathe so hard. No need to be scared, she told herself. “Yes.”
Alan spread his wings. The tips almost touched the buildings on eit
her side of the lane. He started running, bringing her legs along with his, jostling her feet.
“Ouch, ouch!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry!” he said, and she could feel the wind stirring unnaturally, barely touching their hair but sweeping beneath his wings, catching the thin skin—too thin, it seemed to her just now. He leaped, and when his feet left the ground they did not return. His wings flapped; his legs straightened. His body was angled between vertical and horizontal now, and the ground was rapidly growing farther away. Red rooftops spread before them past Alan’s shoulder.
“Oh my, oh my,” she said. She almost wanted to close her eyes, but at the same time she didn’t want to miss a thing.
They dropped. A sick wrongness rushed through her stomach that wouldn’t stop, and her heart started beating so fast that she feared she would die. She screamed and shut her eyes. They were falling!
And suddenly the sensation was gone. When she looked, the ground was still getting farther and farther away.
“Don’t choke me,” he said.
She realized her arms had gone from his vest to his neck. She forced them back into their places, although even now the wind jostled his wings. “Oh my!” she said again. Panic rushed through her like the wind rushing over her.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “The air has currents just like the sea. Sometimes we’ll drop a bit, but that’s normal. Soon we’ll be flying over the water, where the air is good, but until then it might be a little rough. There’s more updraft later in the day when the sun has warmed everything up.”
She felt better when he talked. He sounded calm. She realized this was as natural as walking to him. He flew somewhere every day and had never hurt himself, as far as she knew.
“Have you ever fallen?”
“Never,” he said. “Relax. It’s all right if your knees press into my wings a little bit. I’m leveling us out.”
He dipped forward slightly, so they were now entirely horizontal and gravity held her safely against his back. The city spread below them as a panorama of rooftops and church towers, angling around the bay with the blue water beyond. Her heart was still pounding panic in her ears, but it was a beautiful sight.
“How long does it take to get to the islands?” she asked.
“Not long. Half an hour? Enjoy the view.”
The sun was still low enough that the east sides of buildings were rosy, and the west sides shadowed blue. She was astonished at how lonely the water looked from the sky—it went on forever, and one couldn’t tell at all how powerful the waves were. From here, they appeared as little white ripples. She felt so small, holding on to Alan, held up only by two delicate wings.
But it wasn’t a bad sort of small. It was far more intimate than sitting on an island shore or even laughing on a rooftop. They might have been the only people in the world. They were free of all the trappings of earthly existence, just two bodies, shooting like the beams of the morning sun.
“Hold on tight now,” he said. “We’re turning.”
His right wing lowered, while his left wing lifted. The wind swept them farther, higher, and then they dipped, more sharply than she expected, once again prompting a small shriek from her lips.
“It’s all right,” he said. “There’s a good wind here, we just need to ride it. We’re leveling out again.” He turned his neck briefly to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “How are you doing? Are you scared?”
“It is a little scary!” She laughed breathlessly. “But it helps when you tell me what to expect. You sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“I definitely know what I’m doing. Although I’ve never carried a person like this. But we can make it to the Floating City just fine. Anyway, you’re probably not that comfortable hanging on either.”
“It’s more strange than uncomfortable. Certainly better than walking around. And much faster than swimming. I can’t believe how quickly you can get from Sormesen to the islands!”
“Just wait until we aim for the Diels. We’ll be halfway across the country in no time.”
Chapter Fifteen
As the islands where they once played came into view, the sirens’ rocks grew visible farther out, where the bay opened to the sea.
Alan’s head angled slightly down, giving Esmerine the sensation that she could shoot forward past his shoulders and splash into the sea. Her grip on his vest tightened. They seemed to be traveling faster now, although Alan told her it was an illusion of flying nearer to the ground.
“We’re flying slower, in fact. Keep your grip!”
His wings angled sharply, with their heads aiming for the rocky shore of the island, and he veered to avoid a seagull. She moaned, restraining an urge to scream so no passing mer would hear them. Everything was growing very large very suddenly. It looked like they would shoot right past the shore and crash into the scrubby bushes—no, the trees—no, the big gray rock that they used to use as a stage—
And then suddenly the wind pushed his wings up, his feet hit the surface, jarring her own, and with a few quick steps, they were on the ground and he was pulling his wings in.
Esmerine took a few deep breaths before releasing her grip and stepping down on shaking legs. Alan put a steadying wing around her shoulders.
She panted. “Oh. Oh my goodness.”
“We made it!” he said. “We flew together.”
“Don’t tell me there was any doubt.”
“No, I’ve just never done anything like that before. I knew I wouldn’t kill us, because I could always land if I had to, but … I didn’t have to.”
She turned from him, looking out to the sea. The sirens’ rocks were still visible, very distantly, and she wondered if any of the sirens had seen her. The roar of the sea was in her ears, and her heart seemed to change its beat to move with the waves lapping at the sand, slapping the spot between the rocks that always caught them. A shudder went up her legs, and suddenly the urge to change into her true form was unbearable. She started yanking at the buttons of her spats—so many buttons!
“I’ll stand aside while you undress,” Alan said. He headed for the big gray rock, leaving a trail of prints in the sand. His movements seemed quiet against the wind in her ears. She sat down hard, sliding the pack with the clothes and winged statue off her back, and kept at the buttons. In a moment, she had the spats off. Shoes, stockings, and breeches quickly followed. Her legs were quivering and itching all over; she could hardly keep still. As soon as she had the breeches off, the change came upon her. There was no time even to get to the water. It was hard to believe she had spent a week in legs, and her body couldn’t bear a moment more.
She sighed, giddy with the satisfaction of being a mermaid again. A wave of temptation swept over her, to slip into the sea and stay there, as she was meant to be. The sea had its own siren song. She had never realized, but now it sang inside her and she was under its spell.
She glanced at Alan, sitting about twelve fin lengths behind her on the rock, facing off toward the sirens’ rocks. He had taken off his spats, shoes, and stockings as well, and was barefoot with his fingers clasped across his knees. The wind had mussed his hair.
She quickly unbuttoned her vest, flung her shirt aside, and pulled her hair across her breasts. “Alan!”
He stood and hopped off the rock. “Are you going? Don’t be too long. The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be back.”
“I won’t be long.” She scooped up a handful of sand and rubbed it along her arms, scrubbing off all the human grime.
“Do you think anyone saw us fly in?” he asked.
Was he nervous of the merfolk? As a child, he had never seemed so, but of course things were different now. Yet, by blood, he had as much in common with them as with the Fandarsee. “I don’t know, but I don’t think anyone will bother you. I’ll hurry.”
As if he had heard her thoughts, he said suddenly, “Don’t tell your family about my mother.”
“Why?”
“
I just don’t—I don’t know. I feel out of sorts here. I don’t like to talk about it.”
“All right,” she said, not really understanding, but he had only just told her about his mother; she wouldn’t press him to tell anyone else.
She dragged and flopped herself to the waves, seal fashion, but once in the water, she was instantly fluid and free. Cool liquid carressed her skin, and her body was so light. She had always imagined flying must feel like swimming through the air, but now she knew flying was quite different—it was faster, with the wind skimming one’s face, more perilous and exciting. If only Alan could come underwater with her too.
She stayed near the warm surface, and when she was some distance away, she looked back to see him on the shore, scrubbing his own limbs with sand. That made her smile. He didn’t see her. Then she dove, flinging her tail above the surface before heading for the depths. Home.
Voices came through the small windows of the main room. It was still morning; usually her father was gone by now to fish, but perhaps he was scavenging today instead. She unfastened the door net and went in. The voices abruptly stopped and every face turned.
Her mother rushed to her and threw her arms around her. “Esmerine! Esmerine!”
“Did you find Dosia?” Tormy cried.
“Well, her husband took her to the northern mountains, just as the trader reported. So I didn’t see her. But I’ve heard reports of her.”
“How is she?” Her father motioned for her to gather around the table and share their breakfast, but Esmerine held back. She felt more like a guest than someone who belonged at the breakfast table.
“She’s—well—I still don’t know. I have to go to her. I have to see if she’s all right. I didn’t come to stay.” When her mission was complete, maybe then home would feel like home again. Even without a single book.
“But how on earth can you go to her?” her mother cried. “You said she was in the mountains! Already all your lovely beads and bangles are gone!”
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