But if she decided to stay, the Uncle was sure she had particular uncertainties that plagued her, as did all females, no matter the species, such as occupation, companionship and livelihood. He was determined she should be a lady of leisure, and hoped to acquaint her with the entire repertoire of leisurely pursuits. Then he planned to marry her. For he was a man who had suffered loss, and in turn, was entitled to take whatever was offered, sometimes more, from the women around him. But he had made a deal with God, if God existed at all, and knew that the outcome would prove just that.
The King’s brother was many things, but he was no fool. He convinced himself that the mermaid felt the pangs of unrequited puppy-love for the boy, and in time, she would forget him. He knew there was something between them, something built from sweat and fire and warring bones, and he was determined to chase it. No woman had warmed his bed since the Prince had gone in search of his bride, and he had vowed that no one but the mermaid would do. At nights, sucking down his nightmares with an opium pipe, the drug would induce unblemished visions of their future together, and the Uncle imagined it was God’s way of sending his blessing.
The mermaid sighed and her entire body slumped against the railings as she watched the Prince kiss his bride shyly from where they were seated at the ornate banquet table. Her heart thumped away merrily inside her chest, as if it had never known sadness and desolation. Wretched thing, thought the mermaid, wondering how much time remained. Over the past weeks, possibilities had run through her mind, chances that he might change his mind, that he may look closely at his bride and see she was just as plain as the half-breed mares in the stable. Even now, there was still time for an annulment. But the little mermaid found she was either too exhausted or too complacent to wish for such a thing.
She watched them indistinctly, like shadow puppets moving against a blank canvas, for she was aware that too much detail would hurt. She now knew it had all been in vain. It had never been her, because all this time, the fetid stench of oranges had filled the Prince’s mind and heart. After he had returned with his bride, he had not only forgotten her, but revoked all his prior affections and intimacies, treating her with a callous indifference. It was like she had never existed. She would not forget the cold, disjointed way he had bid her goodbye, dumping the responsibility of creating her a living on his Uncle. The ungrateful boy knew that she had saved her and still he washed his hands of her. Well, he was sure to make a horrible husband and an even worse king. And he was right, the kind of love he was offering her was not enough. It had no value at all.
Defeated, she left the wedding party to their merriment and wandered slowly down the empty halls. Melancholy ghosts reached out for her with their translucent fingers, but she slid right by. The Prince’s traitorous black dog spotted her in the lower floors and gambolled to her side, but the little mermaid fended it off with her foot and hurried onwards. She stopped when she reached the old staircase that led to the sea.
The stone steps were hot to the touch in the midday heat, and she shielded her eyes from the glare that turned all things white. Flying-fish squawked and dove beneath the shining waters, ready for their luncheon, clacking hungry beaks. She could barely make out the grand wedding ship, docked at the end of the pier, waiting to take the couple on their honeymoon tour that very afternoon. She wished she had a rock to throw at it. A rock large enough to sink the vessel. She wished she had a sword to flay the mast in two. There seemed to be an abundance of white sea-foam that coated the ocean, and some lapped onto her feet before disintegrating into nothingness.
Dozing off in the haze of anger and heat, she dreamed of a black sea, thick and murky like tar. Against the blackness, something was pulsating, something darker than the oil surrounding it. Suddenly, it pushed its face against hers, and the mermaid beheld the sad eyes of the sea-witch, and they looked just like her own. The witch was all alone, just another ink blob in a sea of ink.
The little mermaid did not wake until she heard voices calling her name. They were familiar, like they belonged in her dream, but rasping and dry, as if issued from a mouth with no saliva. Hands pulled at her ankles and wrists until she woke with a start, and screamed a long, terrified, silent cry. For there before her were two spectres, each with one eye gouged out, teeth pulled from their bloody gums and gills sawn from their necks. The hands that grasped her ankles had only two fingers left on each, and all their hair was shorn.
“Sister!” one hissed, and the little mermaid recognised her and wept, but no tears came out. Just dry, wracking sobs.
The princesses regarded her blankly, the strange twisting of her face. It no longer bothered them, like it did before. It was no longer so strange, so displaced.
“It is us, youngest sister!” wheezed the eldest princess. “You must come home with us. For the sea-witch told us your mission has failed. You have nothing left here.”
The little mermaid shook her head and pointed to her legs. The second-eldest opened her mouth to reveal black gums. “We have given all but our lives to the sea-witch and exchange for this. It is your way out.” And with her two claw-like fingers, she held out a silver dagger, its handle ornately carved into the head of a serpent. The little mermaid reached for it and caressed it. It felt warm and familiar to her.
“Everyone is dying, sister,” coughed the eldest princess through globs of blood. “All the gypsies are dead. Most of the commoners too, they are perishing with every passing moment. Our father is taken ill. Even the Sirens have been dead these two days. Only the sea-witch seems immune. You must return home at once and help us.”
But the little mermaid gestured wildly and shook her head savagely to indicate she did not know what to do. In response, the sisters did a surprising thing. They grasped her hands and slammed them to their bare, withered breasts. She could feel the pulse of a creature beneath each hand, awake and hammering and hungry. Her stomach flipped inside her. “You have always been different,” said the eldest with her grey, vacant stare, “return home and help us.”
“When no one is watching,” hissed the second sister, “creep onto the wedding ship and conceal yourself there. Wait until midnight, when the moon is high in the sky. Then enter the Prince’s chamber and as he sleeps, plunge the dagger into his beating heart. When his blood splashes onto your feet, you will become one of us again.”
“Make haste!” croaked the eldest, “for the party is about to board the ship! Go now and we will ride with you, and wait below you for your return!”
The little mermaid froze and stared at her sisters imploringly.
“We will go with you,” said the sisters reassuringly. “We will be waiting. You have our word.”
The little mermaid nodded, for she could not argue, and jumped to her feet. But before she ran toward the pier, she took both of her sisters’ faces between her hands and kissed them soundly on the lips. They looked at her with their singular empty eyes, and she scampered away.
Balled up between crates of expensive French wine in the hold of the wedding vessel, the little mermaid was alone with her thoughts. She spent the hours until midnight pondering many things, and listening to a voice inside her asking blatant questions, many of which she had no answer. She grieved for her people and all of her sisters and prayed in vain for her father, likening him to the man in the stained-glass pictures who walked willingly to his death. But her father’s heart was stone-cold, and he had no Immortal Soul to carry him to heaven. So she turned the dagger over and over in her hand, trying to summon the strength to carry out what she was bid, all the while ignoring the voice that sought to reason with her.