by A. L. Knorr
But she didn’t laugh.
She gave no indication that my behavior was out of the ordinary. This scared me as much as the expression on her face when I’d finally found her.
Instead of returning to my own bed, I crawled in with her.
As the moonlight shifted the shadows of her room, I watched her as she slept. Eventually, I drifted into my own restless dream, one where I was still watching her face.
In the dream, her expression appeared peaceful enough, but a damp circle spread slowly from under her head, darkening the fabric and seeping across her pillow in all directions like a blood from a slowly leaking wound.
The next morning, a sharp buzz from the intercom in my suite came as I was zipping up my hoodie and jamming my toes into my sneakers. I went to answer it.
“Mr. Trusilo is here, Miss Novak.”
“Be right down,” I replied. “And call me Targa. Is Antoni…”
“He’s already in the foyer, Miss Novak...Targa.”
“Great, thanks.” Blowing a stray lock of my bangs away from my face, I threw open the door and padded down the carpeted hallway to the grand staircase.
When Mom and I had woken up, I was dismayed to find that she was complaining of a slight headache. Given that she never complained about anything, I suspected that the ‘slight headache’ was actually closer to ‘apocalyptic migraine.’ She begged me not to turn on any lights or open the drapes. I fetched her some ibuprofen from the first aid kit in the bathroom––though I knew she would never take it––placed a fresh glass of water on her nightstand, and told her to go back to sleep. I put a hand-scribbled ‘do not disturb’ sign on her door before closing it quietly and retreating to my own room to get dressed for the day. I would ask Adalbert to take her some breakfast later.
But as I closed the door, I heard her murmur something unintelligible. I opened the door again.
“What?”
She mumbled something again. Still I did not understand her. I walked back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t hear you.”
Without opening her eyes she said, “Amiralyon.”
For a moment, I had no idea what she was talking about, but a second later it clicked. “You heard your name,” I whispered, the hairs on my arm standing up.
She didn’t respond and I realized she’d been talking in her sleep.
Amiralyon.
Every siren had two names, the one given to her by her parents, and the one the ocean eventually christened her with, which swallowed up the human name. I had heard mine whispered to my soul by the ocean after coming back from Poland at summer’s end––Atargatis. Mom had complained that she’d never heard hers, which was strange for a full-grown mermaid. Now, finally, she had, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Had she heard her siren name because the ocean was calling her to it? Or did the timing have nothing to do with her salt-cycle?
Taking the wide steps down two at a time, I couldn’t resist patting the shiny head of the mermaid sculpture on the landing. The gesture might have suggested to anyone observing that I was in a sprightly mood, but in reality, I said a prayer under my breath on behalf of my mother that she’d be feeling better by the time I was done dealing with the museum.
Turning the corner and continuing down revealed Abraham Trusilo, the museum curator, and Antoni, standing in the foyer and in conversation.
Abraham stood with his hands behind his back and round specs perched on the end of his nose. He was nodding and leaning forward on the balls of his toes and listening attentively to something Antoni was saying.
Both men’s eyes caught upon me as I hit the main floor.
“Morning, Abraham,” I nodded, then smiled at Antoni and reached up, intending to give him a kiss on the cheek. I stopped at the look of consternation which crossed his handsome face, and the nearly imperceptible shaking of his head.
“Good morning, Miss Novak,” said Abraham. “It is remarkable, the resemblance between you and your mother. If it were not for your difference in height, I might simply mix you up.” He chuckled. “Is she also to join us? I was hoping…”
“I’m sorry, but she’s not feeling well,” I replied. “She won’t be with us today.”
Abraham frowned and pushed his glasses delicately up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” Antoni peered down at me. “Can we have something sent to her room? Does she need anything?”
“I’ve taken care of her already, but thank you.” I took Abraham by the crook of his elbow. “I’ll show you to the artifacts. They’ve been lovingly packaged and are ready to load.”
“Okay.” His brow furrowed, even as his cheek dimpled. “Uh, thank your mother for me, then. My team is in the van; let me get them.”
“Antoni can tell them how to get around to the back, and we can meet them there.” I crossed the foyer toward the rear corner where a small, ornate door led to a narrow hallway, which in turn would take us to a private stairway.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight through the window of the front door of a familiar shock of blond hair and an even more familiar blur of blue jacket. Even warped by the glass, I would know that particular shade of azure anywhere, but I could not believe what its presence might mean.
“One moment, sorry,” I murmured to Abraham and Antoni, waiting as Adalbert welcomed in the entrepreneur who had started Bluejacket Underwater and Recovery. I blinked in astonishment as Simon Nichols stepped across the threshold, doffing his blue baseball cap. He muttered a ‘thank you’ to the man who had let him in and seemed about to make an inquiry when his eyes fell on me. His expression brightened, but also seemed a touch sheepish.
“Simon!”
“Simon,” Antoni said quietly under his breath, so only I and Abraham could hear. “As in Mira’s old boss.”
Abraham peered at Simon with a fresh curiosity. “How interesting.”
Simon held the brim of his cap in front of his stomach now, his fingers bending it nearly in half. He was nervous. He approached, chin tucked down, almost like a puppy who knew he’d been bad. “Hello, Targa. How are you? How has the move been? I know this is a bit of a surprise.”
“A bit? What are you doing here?” My voice had taken on a cast of the old siren brassiness, and I smiled in apology. “I’m sorry, I’m just very surprised to see you. What brings you to Gdansk, and our doorstep?”
“Hello again, Mr. Baranek.” Simon extended to Antoni.
Antoni grasped it and the men shook heartily. “Nice to see you again.”
I introduced Simon and Abraham to one another, both of whom had heard of each other through their proximity around the salvage of The Sybellen, but had never met.
Simon turned to me. “I’m here for an industry conference.” His bushy blond eyebrows stitched together with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach your mother to arrange a time to come and see her, but her Canadian phone number no longer works and she hasn’t been replying to my emails. Please, tell me she’s all right?”
“Actually, she’s not well, apparently.” Antoni answered for me.
I agreed. “I’m sorry, Simon. It’s not a good time for her to take visitors.”
Simon looked alarmed. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s nothing serious, I hope?”
It rarely gets more serious, I thought, for a siren. “No,” I answered aloud. “She’ll be fine. May I pass a message to her for you?”
“Uh…” Simon looked utterly nonplussed.
An arrow of understanding struck my mind, and I suddenly knew what Simon wanted. My eyes narrowed suspiciously and he seemed to wilt under my gaze like a daisy on a frosty morning.
Antoni glanced back and forth between us with curiosity, trying to read the unspoken exchange which had just passed between Simon and me.
Outside, there was a short toot from the horn of the a navy van with the museum crest emblazoned on the side. The driver peered out through the window.
; “I’ll give them directions.” Antoni went to inform the museum staff how to access the rear of the manor.
“We’re sort of in the middle of something,” I said to Simon, not doing a lot to prevent an icy film from coating my words. “The museum has come to gather some artifacts for an exhibit in the new year. We’ll be busy with this for most of the day.”
“Could I offer my help?” Simon perked up, his gaze swinging to Abraham. “After all, I already know the artifacts and how they must be handled. I ran the salvage operation.” He said this as though he was terrified history would forget his place in this story.
“And a splendid job you did, too. We’ll be discussing it as one of the best examples of this kind of work ever in the history of salvage for many years to come. You sir, must have a good luck charm stashed in some secret place.”
Abraham beckoned Simon to join us and before I could protest, we were on our way to the rear of the manor through the narrow passageways. Simon and Abraham struck up a lively conversation about the unique quality of Baltic finds, while I shot daggers with my eyes through Simon’s back. It was surreal, seeing my mom’s old employer here, unexpected, unannounced, and in my view, a little unwelcome if all he was after was attempting to draw my mom back into his employ. It wasn’t going to work, and if I wasn’t so annoyed with him, I’d feel sorry for him.
But as we made our way into the depths of the Novak manor, I began to understand how I might be able to take advantage of the situation. My expression softened toward Simon, and pity crept into my heart. Perhaps his unexpected arrival here was just what I needed.
We met Antoni at the loading bay in the rear and swung the doors wide, locking them into place. The Novak manor’s ground floor was a big concrete box used mainly for storage. There was a cold cellar full of preserves and root vegetables, dusty old bicycles, and a door leading to the garage where the vehicles and a small vehicle repair shop were housed. The nicest part of the basement was a large workshop with wooden shelving, drawers, worktables, and woodworking tools no one used anymore. One part of the large workshop had been converted into the storage area for The Sybellen’s artifacts. Abraham’s team moved into the storage space and pored over the carefully boxed and labeled items from The Sybellen.
While Abraham was directing his team on which items to load first, and Antoni stepped in to help, Simon sidled up beside me.
“So, how’s life been for you guys? Are you missing Saltford?” He jammed his hands into his jean pockets and swayed forward onto his toes. It was painfully obvious to me that he wasn’t here because he was concerned about how Mom and I were settling in.
“Guile doesn’t suit you, Simon,” I replied, softly. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here?”
We stepped back to make room for the museum team as they passed from the loading van to the storage room and back again.
Simon looked crestfallen. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
He seemed taken aback, but his consternation didn’t last long and he considered me in silence for a moment. “What else should I expect from Mira’s daughter? You’re as blunt as she is.”
I gave him a close-mouthed smile and crossed my arms. “Some might say I’m even more blunt.” This was true, but it hadn’t been before I’d had my salt-birth; becoming a siren had a similar impact on my personality as it had for my mother––we could be candid bordering on tactless.
Simon blew out a breath and seemed to surrender himself to the cause. “I was never much good at being sly, anyway.” He looked me in the eye. “Truthfully, things haven’t gone well at Bluejackets since your mother left.”
“Oh?” I’m sure my face failed to register surprise.
He shook his head. “I had three jobs lined up already, before she gave her notice. The first two jobs both came in behind schedule and over-budget, and the third one backed out when they saw how things were going.” He chewed his lip and shifted his weight back again, leaning against the beam behind him. “Your mother is the greatest salvage diver I have ever known, but there is something even more to her than just skill. She’s like a…” he colored.
“What?” I pressed.
“A good luck charm,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed. “I never believed in that kind of nonsense before meeting her, but…” He shrugged.
Antoni passed by carrying one of the larger boxes stamped with the Novak emblem and labeled with its ID number and particulars of the wreck. He glanced at me with concern as he walked by, cocking an eyebrow. I knew what he was asking. Was everything okay?
I gave him the subtlest nod.
“You don’t think your mother would be interested in becoming a partner with me, would she? I mean, I was kind of looking forward to making her an offer in person, something special. But from the look on your face when you saw me, I have a feeling she might not be so keen.”
I tried to look thoughtful.
Simon responded to my silence with a hopeful expression. “I’d give her the most flexible position anyone could ask for. Bluejackets would fly her out for the important jobs, taking care of every cost, she’d join the team for the duration, and then return to Gdansk to be with you for a long break in between.” Simon’s words flowed faster now as he described what I’m sure he thought was an ideal scenario for Mira. He’d do his absolute best to schedule the bigger jobs with a long break in between, and he’d bid on more European jobs so that she wouldn’t have to travel so far. They’d buy or lease an apartment in Saltford for her, for times when she needed to do prep work with the team, or consult, or come to team meetings…
I listened as though I was actually considering his offer, but inside I knew that Mom would never entertain it, even if she didn’t already own her own salvage company and wasn’t wrestling the call of the ocean. The very idea of flying all over the place to work, of donning all that gear, of spending more time with the team she’d never gelled with…it was preposterous.
Preposterous and fortuitous.
“I’ll talk to her for you,” I finally said, once Simon appeared to have exhausted his pitch.
“Would you?” The look on his face sent a dagger of guilt into my heart, but I forged onward. Mom needed this.
“Sure. I can’t make any promises…”
Antoni passed by again, and I knew he was catching bits of our conversation, though he feigned as much disinterest as the museum employees. He shot me a look and winked without smiling, which had the strange effect of both compounding my guilt and making me feel grateful that he was here.
“I understand that,” Simon was saying, palms out in a gracious gesture. “I’m just so happy you’ll mention it.”
“How long are you in town for?”
“Uh…” Simon’s expression froze in a locked expression of fear for a moment before it passed. “How long should I be here for?” He blushed again.
“There is no industry event, is there, Simon?”
“No, there is,” he stuttered. “It’s just not my industry.” He laughed but it was awkward, and stilted. He cleared his throat. “Is there no chance I can see her later today, or tomorrow?”
I shook my head, expression stony. “I can call you once I’ve spoken to her.”
“If that’s the best we can do, I’ll take it.”
Simon moved to help Antoni and the museum team finish loading the van and then dismissed himself, making sure I had his number before he left.
We said goodbye to Abraham and the team, and Antoni pulled me into his arms after we closed the rear door.
“What was that all about?” He kissed me softly and his enticing natural scent settled over me, making my head spin.
“Simon wants to offer Mom a partnership, one with quite a few perks and the flexibility to be here in between contracts.” It had been a struggle to get all the words out without sighing with pleasure at Antoni’s close proximity. I stepped back and slid the bolt on the back door home.
“Really? Do you think s
he’d go for that? She’s got a salvage team here which she can run if she wants to.” Antoni followed me up the stairs.
“It’s not quite the same, and I’m not sure Simon knows about that. She has been missing her team,” I lied smoothly. “It hasn’t been all that easy, adjusting to life in Gdansk. It’s so different from what she’s used to.”
As we crested the stairway and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, Antoni peered down at me skeptically. “I’d believe the last half of that sooner than I’d believe the first half. Don’t forget I spent some time with The Bluejackets during the salvage, and I didn’t see a lot of love between Mira and her colleagues.” He raised his brows and shrugged a shoulder. “Just being honest.”
“Do you see much love between Mira and anyone, except for me?” I shot back my own cocked eyebrow. “You might think you know my mother, but you don’t.”
“Touché,” he acquiesced, his expression turning thoughtful, like maybe I was right and he’d misjudged the situation.
Feeling bolstered, I carried on. “She worked with those guys for almost seven years, she was the Rockstar of the Deep, don’t forget. The North American industry press called her that. Here, she’s nobody.”
“She’s not nobody,” Antoni protested with vehemence. “She’s a Novak, she’s an owner of the famous ship The Sybellen, and president of one of the better European salvage diving operations this side of the Atlantic.”
“You’re just as bad as Martinius was. We’re not Novaks. We’re MacAuleys, and she doesn’t know any of the Novak team,” I protested. “She has history and camaraderie with The Bluejackets.” I twined my fingers through his and his hand enveloped my own with its heat.
“She does know them,” he disagreed. “What about that fellow she seemed to take a shine to last summer, as much as she can take a shine to anyone who isn’t you,” he added as an afterthought.