Chapter 10 #2
Marin sighs and gestures for us to walk beside him.
I notice that the sandy path has changed, and we’re now on a narrower path made of shiny cobbles.
It winds ahead of us through watery corridors.
As we can no longer travel side by side, Sigurd walks in front of me.
He looks back and says, “Stay close. Even one step from the path will have terrible consequences.”
I swallow hard and watch where I’m walking. My feet hit the solid path but make no sound. It’s rather eerie.
Marin carries on speaking. “Melusine’s family have the king’s ear, and they talk of nothing else.”
“Their daughter is missing,” Sigurd says gently.
Marin grimaces. “They talk of retribution when they do not know the crime. That is dangerous. The king is getting old, and he knows it. His back hurts, and their words take root in his pain.” He looks at Sigurd.
“You know the mood of the old court. It has long been a balancing act to keep humans safe.”
Sigurd pats his shoulder. “It is an act that you do well, my friend.”
“You know the king well?” I ask. We’re in a long corridor filled with statues of Mer folk and strange monsters with fantastical shapes. Their marble shines with a cold gleam.
Marin looks back at me. “I should do. I am his son.”
I stop dead, stunned. “Oh my god, really?”
His eyes twinkle. “I would not make it up, Cary. To do so would be to invite instant death.”
“I’m s-so sorry, Your Majesty.” I direct a killing glance at Sigurd. You could have told me, I mouth.
Marin waves a careless hand. “To my friends, I am just Marin, and so I shall be with you.”
“But I won’t be here much longer.”
He and Sigurd exchange a lightning-fast glance, and Marin turns back to me. “Does friendship only survive on proximity, then?”
“Well, no.”
“Then I am your friend.”
The corridor branches out, and I hear a low, rumbling noise in the distance. It’s people talking, I realise with a sense of shock. Until now, it has been entirely quiet.
Marin grimaces. “Behold the court.” We turn the corner and come out in front of golden doors that are easily twelve feet high and carved with images of strange fish and symbols.
Guards bar the way, carrying sharp-tipped spears that look quite lethal, but they part before Marin, bowing their heads low.
“My prince,” one breathes. He looks the eldest of the three—a stocky merman whose long, dark hair is touched with grey. “And Sigurd. It is well to see you, dragon.”
Sigurd grins and pats his back, sending the older merman back a few inches. “You look hale and hearty, Calder.”
Marin pats Calder’s shoulder affectionately. “What news?”
Calder clicks his tongue at the guards, and they move away. He turns back to Marin. “Not good, my prince. Your father has argued with the queen and is in sour humour.”
Marin grimaces. “Perfect timing as usual. And is Melusine’s family in there?”
“Yes, sire. They have been talking for a while.”
“I’ll expect to hear news of a tidal wave engulfing Padstow by noon, then,” Marin says glumly. He sighs and turns to Sigurd. “Ready?” he asks.
Sigurd nods and gestures for me to stand at his side. I look down, and the path has changed. It’s wider and embedded with jewels that sparkle blindingly. I put out my hand, and Sigurd squeezes it.
The huge golden doors swing slowly open, and we step inside.
We find ourselves in a chamber with a roof so high I can’t see it.
Stone walls line the expansive room, filled with portraits of fierce-looking merpeople, all wearing golden crowns set with jewels and carved with octopus tentacles.
I spy Marin, the crown on his head almost smothered by his mass of black hair.
The artist has perfectly caught his mischievous expression.
Torches light the room, their flames fierce and bold, but they gleam with a sickly green light that makes eerie shadows.
The chamber is full of merpeople talking amongst themselves, their tails full of scales of different colours, and a quartet plays, the music scratchy and yet eerily hypnotic.
The noise level is very loud, but it falls to a startled hush as we step forward.
We pace down the path with Marin at our side, and I can feel the court’s gazes on me and hear the murmur of startled comments.
Trying to ignore the stares, I scan my surroundings. There are mullioned windows on the walls, and through them I can see a coral reef. The orange colour is psychedelic in the light, and I gasp in pleasure as I see a shoal of fish dart in and out of the coral.
Sigurd squeezes my hand in warning, and I look ahead of us.
At the end of the room are two huge thrones made of gold.
On the biggest one, a man lounges. He has thick, long, grey hair and a long, bushy beard that reaches his navel.
His tail is bedazzled in diamonds, and he’s wearing the same crown as in the portraits. The jewels on it throw dazzling fire.
Two Mer are positioned next to the king.
The man is thin with long, grey hair and a pinched expression.
The woman is very beautiful with long, golden hair touched by silver.
Her face has a patrician haughtiness, and her lips are drawn tight.
The man is whispering into the king’s ear, his hands moving as he talks, but the woman stares at us, her gaze never deviating as we draw near.
The king stirs as we stop a few feet away from him. He snaps his fingers, and the man moves away, temper flaring briefly in his eyes.
“My son,” the king says in a booming voice. “You arrive with guests and one of them is human.” His mouth twitches. “Unless you have brought me some supper.”
Sigurd’s hand tightens on mine, and I repress the instant urge to flee. The court titters and whispers until the king shouts, “Quiet!”
The silence is the loudest quiet I’ve ever heard. It almost pulsates with interest.
“It is good to see you, father,” Marin says quietly. He turns to us. “Behold, King Llyr, the Magnificent. King of the Ocean.”
Sigurd and I bow. His is much more graceful than mine, but I should surely be cut some slack. I only started bowing a couple of days ago.
“And who have we here?” the king says, gesturing me to come closer. I step forward nervously. His eyes are a deep navy, the colour of shadows in the sea. His mouth is drawn tight. I remember Marin saying he had a bad back and feel a flare of sympathy.
“C-Cary, Your Majesty,” I stammer.
His eyes sharpen. “I have heard that name lately.”
I gulp. “You have?”
He nods and snaps his fingers. A merman instantly swims forward. He leans close and talks into the king’s ear. The king nods and gestures him away. “Yes, I thought I had heard of you. Your fame spreads wide.”
“Does it?” I say, astonished. “I can’t say I’ve ever done anything notable unless you count the time I crashed a car in a field and a sheep slept in it. He just wouldn’t leave,” I finish forlornly.
I stop talking, aghast. Sigurd’s mouth twitches, so I relax a little. The king’s booming laughter makes me jump, and I turn back to him.
“Slept with a sheep, eh? Well, I have had stranger bedfellows.”
I grin at him, and he puts out his hand, laying it on my shoulder. His skin is icy, and I repress a shiver. “Well, you are welcome here, little one. You are a rarity.” He raises his voice. “The rumours are true. Well met, dragon.”
A sigh ripples around the court. “What?” I look around in consternation. I can feel their stares on me. Sigurd smiles reassuringly at me.
“Thank you, sire,” Sigurd says.
King Llyr nods at Sigurd. “Dragon, you are always welcome in my kingdom.”
Sigurd inclines his head. “Sire, you honour me.”
The king grimaces. “No doubt I do. More than I should for someone who arbitrates for the rights of humans so fiercely. One would almost imagine you had turned human, the amount of time you have spent with them.”
Sigurd just smiles and gestures for me to rejoin him.
I step back, feeling relief the moment I gain some distance from the king.
There’s a palpable air of menace about him.
I know now where the myths come from. He seems like a ruler who would cheerfully drown a city if the whim took him and think nothing of the lives lost.
“Humans are good company, Your Majesty,” Sigurd says calmly, with no sign of concern about him. “Why, I remember you and the queen spending many a night in Mousehole Harbour listening to the fiddle player.”
“Aye, he was talented, was he not?”
The court nods and simpers sycophantically, and the king’s eyes warm at the distant memory. The woman nearby stirs, and they exchange a long look, and when the king turns back to us, his eyes are hard once more.
“But he is long in his grave, dragon. The current situation is a little more serious than sweet music on the night air.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sigurd says. “We have come about Melusine.”
A ripple of sound moves through the court. “Silence!” the king roars. He turns back to Sigurd. “Have a care, dragon. That is Mer business.”
“Yes, sire,” Sigurd says. There’s no nervousness about him at all, and I edge closer to his big, warm body. “But I come here to offer my help.”
The king studies him. “And why would I need that?”
“Because I can begin enquiries on land and speed up the process.”
“The process?” snaps the thin merman. He gestures between the woman and himself. “A sailor has our daughter’s comb.”
Ah, these are Melusine’s parents, then. Her mother watches the events, her face devoid of emotion.
“Delmar. Be at peace, friend,” the king says gently, no sign of his earlier irritation.
Delmar’s mouth twists. “What more is there to know, sire? We just need The Lady’s blessing. If she were to be unleashed…”
I wonder who the lady is and then realise that I might not really want to know the identity of someone who needs to be unleashed.