Chapter 20
TWENTY
A nother quarter moon passed and Mo boarded the ship just like before, only now, it was better than ever. Each evening before the sun set, he was carried belowdecks to Kent’s private quarters. Oh, and privacy they shared, indulging in precious intimacy with his one special human. Spending time alone with Kent was a dream come true. The only thing that could make it better was for him to become human himself, which he knew could become a reality very, very soon.
How he wished he could sleep on board with Kent, but his own fears held him back. What would happen to him if he stayed out of the water for too long? There was the tub in Kent’s room, but it was small and uncomfortable, threatening to give him splinters with any wrong movement. He’d rather sleep alongside Kent anyway, but he’d heard countless stories of merfolk drying up on land if they lingered longer than a single day, losing their strength and withering away without saltwater to sustain themselves. He wouldn’t need to worry about such things if he had a human body, himself. ’Twas the disadvantage of coupling with a human as a mer, but Mo was determined. Kent was perfect. No one else could compare to him, no merman, or even another human, could ever replace him. Visiting as much as he could on the ship was the best they could do, at least for the time being until further notice.
What was he missing? What if their connection wasn’t strong enough to enact the shift? Mo had talked with Noon more about it, to which she suggested he lay out his feelings plainly to the human. ‘Tell him you love him,’ she’d said . ‘That is my only advice.’ But he was worried that even that would not be enough for the shift. What difference would it make saying the words aloud if they felt the connection in their hearts? Did Kent feel the same? What if Kent’s affection was not reciprocated with the same intensity as Mo’s own? What if Mo was simply being a dunce, worrying about all this for nothing? Perhaps there was something else required to shift, something even Noon couldn’t place.
Such thoughts kept swimming in his head as he was lifted onto the ship again yet another day. Just like always, he set his carry-bag by the railing, and he spent time on deck with Kent and the crew, chatting about and tossing cards in games he still was trying to grasp the rules to. The wind shifted a bit chilly today, and it surprised Mo how his skin puckered in little bumps as it blew over him. While the sea might be rather cold—especially cold to humans—his own body was made for that. Air, however, was a completely different monster. For once, he actually wished he was wearing clothes like the other men.
It wasn’t only Mo who noticed the difference in temperature. Plenty of the other crewmen who weren’t assigned to any specific duty suggested they go into the forecastle to stray from the wind as rain was to fall, and Mo was glad he didn’t need to bring it up himself. Kent walked with them into the ship as Allen carried Mo, thankful that the wooden walls gave much needed warmth.
Inside was a gathering of merriment, cups floating between men’s hands, claps and conversation filling the space. It was a bit later in the afternoon, scant sunlight filtering through windows yet supported with lanterns scattered about the room like small stars. Mo had known men congregated here in this room, though usually he sat out, staying wherever Kent went. But Kent encouraged him to join in, saying he wanted to take part in the festivities as well. They weren’t celebrating anything in particular. But as sailors, they didn’t need a reason. Another successful day managing the ship was reason enough to celebrate, he was told.
“I haven’t drank since before I came aboard,” said Kent as Mo was lowered into a wooden chair by Allen. The burly redhead let them be as Kent pulled up a chair of his own, sitting next to Mo. “Been even longer since I’ve had the taste of rum.”
“What do you mean? Drank? Rum?” Mo pouted.
“Oh! Yes, you would have no idea. Wait a moment…” Kent put his hand to his chin. “Living in the water, you wouldn’t drink anything aside from that, would you? Wow.”
“Yes, I mean, in the water all there is, is water!” Mo chuckled. “Well, there is another liquid-like substance I’ve had quite recently, provided by a very special person?—”
“Mo, shut your mouth!” Kent laughed as he slapped his palm over Mo’s lips, halting him from speaking. “There are other people here closeby, you know.”
“Mm-mm!”
“Are you going to behave?”
Mo shrugged. He smiled against Kent’s fingers.
“Oi, what are you two talking about?” Davies walked into their space, cup in hand. His long brunet hair was loose today, tumbling over his shoulders and framing his sun-tanned face.
“Nothing important,” Kent said quickly, pulling his hand away from Mo’s face. “How’s the rum?”
“You haven’t had any yet? Why, I shall get you a cup! How about one for Mo, too?”
“Me?” Mo pointed at his chest.
“Yes, you! You’re a part of the crew as any of the rest of us. Have you ever tried rum before?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea what that even is. Ke—Fareham was just about to tell me.” Despite knowing he needed to call him the courtesy title, it still was a struggle to do when he was so used to what he called his ‘Christian name’.
“Then you’re in for a treat!” Davies laughed, taking a swig from his cup.
“Have you ever been inebriated from another substance before?” asked Kent. “Being high, tipped, muddled, tow-row, there’s lots of different ways to describe it. Not sure what you’d be familiar with or call it in mer-tongue…”
Mo smirked. “Well, there is one particular person who gets me high?—”
“Shush! Mo, I’m serious!” Serious, he said, yet he laughed playfully.
“All right, all right.” He laughed too, and so did Davies, still listening in on the conversation. “Yes, there are some particular sea fungi that do effects on merfolk, and I’ve tried them a few times. But really, it wasn’t much.”
“I wonder if those same sea fungi would do works on humans, too,” Kent pondered.
“Perhaps you could find some and bring it aboard.” Davies chuckled. “Here, I’ll grab you both cups.” He walked off, making his way around the other men in the room.
Soon enough he came back, balancing a cup in each hand and his own in the crook of his elbow. “Here, drink up!”
Mo gladly took the cup and peered down into its contents. It was a dark fluid, rippling in his grasp as the boat swayed gently from the crewmen who now started to dance. They all had drunk this substance, and they certainly were having a good time, he could see, singing and clapping to some sort of music he didn’t recognize. But how did one…?
“My goodness, Mo. You’ve no clue how to drink from a cup, do you? I’ve never seen you try,” said Kent after he drank from his own, face pinching adorably.
“As you can imagine, underwater we don’t use cups to hold liquids.” He smiled. “Even though I’ve watched you drink from one, I’d prefer a proper instruction. Can you show me how?”
Kent laughed, taking Mo’s cup in his free hand. “Sure. You just put your lips up like this,” —he demonstrated with his own cup first, tipping it up and swallowing— “Ah, and you let the liquid fall into your mouth. Careful not to spill it, though.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
And so, Kent held Mo’s cup in front of his face, and Mo put his lips on the bottom of it, just like his human said. He tipped it just like before, and soon the liquid rushed down, hitting his tongue and swallowing something absolutely disgusting?—
“Ah! Fucking shit, what the seas is this?” He nearly spit it out, but forced the awful substance down anyway.
Kent and Davies broke out into a laughing fit. Davies moreso, bending at the waist and slapping his knee. “That’s rum, for ya!”
He could feel his face twisting, scrunching into a point. “How can you all drink this?”
“You don’t drink it for the taste,” said Kent. “You just drink it for how it makes you feel.”
“So far, it makes my mouth feel like shit.”
Kent chuckled at that. “Give it time, and drink some more. Then you’ll start to feel it. If merfolk really are that similar to humans, it… dear me, it should work the same. Right? Oh no, what if you’re immune? Or even worse…? I didn’t even think before giving it to you?—”
“Everything will be fine,” said Walker, suddenly appearing in their circle. He raised his cup and took a sip. “Lyla, the mermaid who joined us previously, drank rum on occasion. I would say she got just as drunk as the rest of us, right?”
“Yes, but after only a few drinks, she always went with Brooks into his cabin. You know. ” Davies chortled.
“I know very well.” Walker patted Davies’s back. “So Mo, you will be fine.”
“All right.” He smiled. “Let me have another go, then.”
Kent tipped the cup back on Mo’s lips, feeding him more of the abominable drink. But he wanted to taste it regardless—wanted to feel the same mind-altering effects, wanted the experience, and importantly, wanted to feel included. These men and Kent especially took him in as if he were one of their own. Mo took the cup for himself to finish off the rum, and a pleasant warmth filled his chest. A strange dizziness began swirling in his skull, yet it was nothing short of exhilarating. Drinking rum, being on a ship, and listening to strange music like this was a very human experience. Such a thing was something he’d longed for. Something he wasn’t even sure could be true in his life as a merman—yet here he was. Kent gave him this and so much more, yet never asked for anything in return. But Mo couldn’t have that—he gave Kent back everything he could. He gave him an answer to escape the clutches of his father, gave him an outlet for happiness, gave him unconditional love?—
A rush of something stirred again, making his head spin. Kent laughed as he reached over, caressing Mo’s shoulder. “Are you good?”
“Wonderful, actually,” said Mo with a smile. “What is that music that those men are playing? It sounds beautiful; I’ve never seen those things before.”
Kent glanced over the room and saw the men in question. “That there is a lute and the other one is a gittern. I suppose you’d have different sorts of musical instruments in the water, how would that even work? Magic?” His grin was so sweet, and it tickled Mo’s dizzying mind even more.
“No magic, no… it doesn’t require magic to play them. We have drums and other percussives, lyres and harps, and then a variety of horns you blow into to create sound. Do you have ones like that?”
“Yes, wow, that’s so fascinating to me. I wonder if your horns would even work the same in the air, and vice versa for ours…”
“Do you know how to play anything? Like that over there—the lute?”
Kent shook his head with a shrug. “No, but I do know how to play harpsichord.”
“Harp-si…?”
“It’s… this big box. And you have keys that you press.” He pantomimed the adorable motion of playing with his hands. “When you press the keys, it makes music.”
“That sounds amazing! I wish I could hear you play.”
“If I would’ve known, I would’ve brought one aboard!” Davies chimed in, returning to their post after dancing around for another cup for each of them. “Say, how about after this number you join us in song?”
“Sure, I’d love to!” Kent accepted his refilled cup, throwing back more of the liquid into his mouth.
“Mo, you wouldn’t know any human tunes, would you?”
“No, but I could probably catch on if it’s easy enough to learn.” He accepted his drink as well, wincing as he took another sip.
“Then I’ll ask them to play something easy for you,” said Davies. “All this time, and you haven’t sung for us! That needs to change, especially since merfolk are supposed to have terribly beautiful voices.”
“Sure.” Mo nodded, heat rising to his cheeks. He could sing, of course, just like how he sang for Kent prior. This would not be a problem.
Davies danced across the room to speak with the musicians. Soon enough, the beat changed, strings strumming in a happy rhythm. Kent said he recognized the song and stood up in an excited frenzy, singing along and clapping with the other men. Kent’s excitement was radiant, shining bright like he was the sun himself—the joy spilled over to Mo as he listened in wonder to his human’s beautiful voice amongst the others.
After a few verses of sailing on the ocean and defeating imaginary giant sea serpents, they repeated the tune but no words this time—instead replaced with la la la. Kent took Mo’s hands in his, standing in front of him and swinging them side to side. How he wished he could stand as well, but this was good enough. More than enough, seeing Kent’s gorgeous smiling face. The notes sang straight into his heart, pumping loudly and forcefully, pleasant wrasses fluttering and swimming around in his chest. He needed to sing as well—he had to.
Mo found the tune easily, mimicking the same la la las Kent showed him after another verse. His human moved to his side so Mo could sing to the crowd. There they all were, together, wrapped in the tight confines of a familiar melody. Many listened closely as Mo sang with them, dancing all the same, clapping and drinking more of that disgusting rum. Mo’s head kept swirling because of it, adding to the enjoyment. This really was something else. After this song, he’d have to request more of that inebriating drink.
Davies, Walker, and Allen were all nearby, hollering and cheering as the same notes repeated over and over. The voices became so loud it stirred around that dizzying feeling in his gut, pulsing in his chest and escaping through his fingertips. Over and over and over, the melody kept playing, the voices chanting, and Mo kept singing. He felt elated, euphoric, sublime— powerful . Such a wonderful sensation shook his very core. His throat felt tight as he belted out in song, something special and magical letting itself out and spilling from his lips?—
Kent stilled. Next was Walker and Davies, halting their clapping and dropping their hands to their sides. Mo’s brows furrowed as he noticed, the tightness in his throat tugging tighter like tentacles clutching around his neck. The surrounding claps began to dissipate as well, as the men hung open their mouths, looking around cluelessly as to whom they should answer to…
Mo instantly stopped singing.
Kent fell on top of him, draping his arms over his shoulders like a ragdoll.
I used the Song.
He looked over Kent at the rest of the room, and there—someone was looking at him quite curiously?—
Allen.
The burly man rubbed his chin and stared at Mo, then took a gander around at his crewmates. The musicians never fully stopped playing, only slowed down, at least. They said something he couldn’t hear amongst each other before picking up the pace of their music once again. Almost as if nothing happened. Allen turned his gaze to them, then back to Mo, brows raised on his forehead and eyes open wide.
“What the devil was that…?”
“Ugh… Mo?” Kent stirred on top of him.
He ignored Allen’s reaction to respond to Kent. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so.” Kent lifted himself up, standing while propping a hand on Mo’s shoulder. “Perhaps I had more to drink than I thought.” He lightened his words with a laugh.
“Perhaps, yes.”
Davies and Walker both blinked repeatedly. The quartermaster shook his head, rubbing under his nose with one hand while the other held his cup with a steady grip. “Perhaps we’ve all had a bit too much to drink.”
“I felt something like a wave,” said Davies. “That was nothing! We’re on a ship; large waves happen all the time, especially when it’s raining like now. Look here, see, I feel fine.”
He was completely oblivious. No one had any true idea of what happened.
“I suppose so,” Walker replied to Davies. “I don’t particularly feel nauseous.”
But Mo did.
A disgusting taste filled his mouth—worse than any rum he’d drunk. It slithered up and down his throat and stung like jellyfish stingers, sparking over and over, making it hard to breathe. He held his stomach and bent at the waist, heaving breath after breath after breath, grasping for anything to quell the awful feeling. Tighter and tighter, it clutched. His stomach somersaulted and he threw his other hand in front of his mouth to prevent himself from retching.
“Mo, what’s wrong?” It was Kent, still with his hand attached to him.
He couldn’t answer. How could he explain this? He’d used the Song—and then stopped. He’d stopped after a few notes, something he’d never done before. His tongue felt irrationally dry, desperate for a taste of saltwater. Everyone else appeared to be fine, no one was the wiser as to why they lost control for a brief moment. Aside from Allen. When Mo looked up and caught a glimpse of his sea-green eyes, he knew one thing for certain.
Allen was unaffected by the Song.
He has mer-blood.
But Allen was still just as confused as everyone else as to what really had happened, blinking his worries away and relaxing his face as the music continued to play. Mo could use this to his advantage.
“I’m feeling a bit sick,” he answered truthfully. “I—I must’ve drank too much rum…”
“Did you? I thought I was being cautious with what we were giving you but… I suppose this is your first time.” Kent gave his shoulder a light squeeze.
“How are you? Are you really all right?”
“You know what? Yes, I’m feeling just about fine.” He smiled. “I’m not sure what that was. I suppose alcohol can do odd things, but I think it was just a wave like Davies said.”
Mo couldn’t help but glance at Allen again. His stomach twisted in knots as they made eye contact for a brief moment, but—Allen appeared to have no malice in his gaze, surprisingly. It looked more like… fascination. He turned quickly back to the crowd, and Mo addressed Kent, “That’s… that’s good. I mean, good that you’re fine.”
“What about you, though? If you’re sick, should you have some saltwater? Or… do you need to go back into the sea?”
“No, no I don’t want to leave,” Mo said quickly. “I want to be with you. Oh, may I just stay with you? Please…” His breathing was still heavy, but as more time went on, thankfully, the nausea began to dissipate. The coils around his throat were unraveling, the tentacles losing their grip.
“Yes, of course! What am I thinking?”
“You’re not thinking. That’s the whole point—you’re drunk,” commented Davies.
“Shut your mouth, he doesn’t need to hear that now.” Walker nudged him with his elbow, and it got Mo and everyone nearby to chuckle.
“Then how about we retire to my quarters?” offered Kent. “You can use the tub there.”
“Yes. Yes, that sounds lovely.” Mo nodded.
“Allen!” Walker called. “Would you be so kind as to help our merman friend here? Or, if you’re too drunk, I suppose I can do it.”
“I’m feeling fine,” said Allen. “I’ll help. I’m usually the one to do it anyway.”
Mo wasn’t sure if Allen or Walker would be a better pick, but he truly had no say when he didn’t have legs of his own. Times like this he especially wished he did.
“All right, let’s go,” said Mo.