After all, she could return home and forget that she ever knew humanity or tasted loss. She would be clever and conniving, like the Personal Maid had described, and return to the sea-witch. She would outplay her at her own game and demand an antidote for the foul disease. Perhaps she could be persuaded to give up her hair or an arm in payment. What good were they to her now? Perhaps she could save the merfolk, all of them.
And in the dark hold of the honeymoon ship, the little mermaid discovered that she, like any other mortal creature, was terrified of dying. A deep survival instinct ignited within her and she desperately wished to spare her own life, no matter the cost.
Logically, she planned the deed in her mind. Removing herself from crates, she crept around the hold, examining the stairs and the planks of the ceiling. She built a careful tower of boxes, and fumbled her way to the top, where she pressed her ear against the ceiling and listened. After a great deal of time and discomfort, the little mermaid discovered where the bridal chamber lay and the whereabouts of the royal servant’s compartments.
From above her, a beloved voice drifted through the cracks.
“Pay them no mind, my dear,” said the Prince, in a tone so gentle that the mermaid was uncertain of its owner, for just a moment. “They are a fickle people but they will come around. You are my Queen now, and their Queen also.”
The ordinary girl replied, but her accent was so thick and unfamiliar that the little mermaid could not fathom her words.
“I think,” said the Prince in that strange tone, “that you are beautiful. And anyone who cannot see that is surely blind.”
Despite herself, the little mermaid half-smiled. She had not realised the Prince was capable of uttering such endearments. Suddenly feeling ashamed of eavesdropping on newlyweds alone in their bedchamber and discouraged by the pain in her neck, she quietly began to dismount the boxes. But instantly, she froze still. For there was a sigh of desire and a rustling of silk, the groaning of a feather mattress. She listened unashamed to the rattle of bed springs, the hammering of the master board against the wall. There were human whispers too, and restrained, hidden moans. The little mermaid gripped the boxes to ensure her balance. Splinters invaded her fingertips, unnoticed. The place between her legs felt strange but she was fascinated and listened until the final, guttural whimper and the collapse of two bodies onto the protesting bed.
Like a puppy who has taken too much dinner, the little mermaid retreated to her hole between the champagne crates and buried her face in her knees.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise and light filled the darkness. The trap door had been flung open and someone from the deck was descending the wooden stairs into the hold. The little mermaid pressed herself flat against the crates and edged her cloak closer around her body. She was too frightened to turn her head to see who this intruder was, but the sound of his voice told her everything.
“You haven’t seen a girl, or anyone for that matter, come down here?” demanded the Uncle, waving a lantern to illuminate the dark corners of the space.
The sailor, clutching his hat in his hands, replied sheepishly, “No, your lordship. We’ve been on deck all afternoon and never saw a soul come down this way. Nasty place for a girl, if you ask me. Spiders and rats and God-knows-what-else down here.”
The Uncle said nothing and ventured into the maze of crates. “Has…has someone gone missing, your lordship?” inquired the sailor bashfully, trotting after him.
“Stay here,” he commanded, and disappeared amongst the crates. Slowly he walked down the dusty floorboards, following a pair of fresh footprints embedded in the thick dust that coated the floor. They stopped before a nest of crates. The Uncle kneeled silently upon the ground and reached a hand into the black hole, grasping the little mermaid’s forearm. He swung the lantern over to behold her horrified face and opened his mouth in reprimand.
But the girl’s expression froze him in his tracks. Her eyes were beseeching him and she was breathing heavily, frightened that he should give her away. The Uncle had little idea of what she meant by skulking about in the dark, but realised she was not coming back. Suddenly, God retreated back to his cloud and did not bother him again, and as far as the Uncle was concerned, his son remained nailed to his cross. And so, despite his better judgment and the wisdom of his years, he closed his mouth and released the mermaid’s arm. The last he saw of her were the whites of her eyes.
The moon rose in the sky and the servants fell quiet. The footsteps up and down the deck ceased and there came the sound of several doors closing for the night. The vessel halted and the great anchor was lowered, allowing the captain to retire to his quarters. The mermaid lay on the floor for one hour and waited, making sure every soul on board was asleep.
Slowly and cautiously, she alighted the wooden stairs that led her to the deck. She pushed open the trapdoor and winced as the hinges gave a squeal of protest. Frozen, she waited for someone to become alerted and rush to capture her, but there was nothing but silence. After a long moment, she hoisted herself out of the trapdoor and lightly stepped onto the deck. Grasping the dagger in her hand, she looked up at the moon that soaked her with its pale milk. It was almost time.
She crept slowly to the entrance of the ship’s largest chamber. She placed a hand tentatively on the doorknob, fearing it locked. But as she turned it slowly, the catch easily slid out of its groove, and pushed open silently. A strange medley of smells greeted her, sweat and other bodily emissions, perfume and flowers. Scented wax from candles. Sexual heat from underpants.
Tiptoeing to the enormous canopied bed, the little mermaid held the dagger poised as she peered through the gauze curtains that had been drawn over the couple, rustling gently in the breeze. She parted the sheer material as quickly as she could and looked down upon the outline of the sleeping Prince, his head turned toward her.
This is justice, she told herself fiercely. I gave up my life for him. Now it is his turn. Justice.
She sucked in her breath and summoned all of her courage, and as she was about to plunge the weapon downwards, the moon suddenly moved and flooded the chamber with its light.
As she beheld the Prince, engulfed in the warm arms of sleep, she was struck anew by his unmarred beauty. But his beauty seemed enhanced by an expression she had never seen before. It was one that conveyed the deepest peace and utter contentment. It was what he had failed to conjure from his own blood, cutting his flesh with the self-same dagger. It was contentment that she could never have given him, because that occupation always belonged to another.
Instantly, the little mermaid realised she wasn’t angry anymore. She wasn’t disappointed and she wasn’t sad. She envisioned the future King on the throne, ruling his people with a kind and firm hand, his neat and tidy Queen by his side, and she smiled. She imagined their children, little princes and princesses, running about the halls she had become so familiar with, playing with the ghosts. She felt a sense of wonder at her imaginings, and a warm gratefulness filled her that she could have tasted his life, and even held a small place in his heart.
The Prince shifted in his sleep and whispered something. For one wild moment, the mermaid imagined it was her own name. But it was the name of his bride, the girl he lay beside, and once again he was still in his sleep. The parallels that she had nurtured and relied upon, constructed from ignorance and daydreams, cracked and fell to the floor.