The Siren Song

by Anne Ursu

  Would you like to see a room service menu? Would you like a schedule of tonight’s entertainment? Would you like to see tonight’s dinner menu?

  “Uh, no, thank you.” And she quickly closed the book.

  She opened up the shell-door wardrobe, which was empty except for a life jacket and a full-length mirror, and just as she was about to shut it a face appeared in the mirror. Charlotte jumped.

  “What may I get you?” it asked in a smoky and diffuse voice. This, for once, was not an image of Poseidon but a generic face that looked like a plain white mask.

  “What?” Charlotte said, trying to regain her composure. She had an urge to slam the door, but it seemed like it would be rude. She didn’t want to make the mirror face angry.

  “Kark said you need a wardrobe. And”—he looked her up and down—“it seems that you might. What may I get you?”

  “Uh, nothing now, thanks!” Charlotte squeaked, and closed the door as quickly as she could.

  She leaned against the wall, panting. Her face was hot, and anger and fear stirred in her belly. It was no good. She couldn’t wait. She had to stop Poseidon now. She wasn’t just going to sit around and let him greet guests and scheme to feed her parents to a mutant sea monster. She had to do something.

  With blood rushing in her ears, Charlotte dashed back over to the desk and picked up the binder again. The words appeared quickly on the parchment.

  Hello. How may I help you?

  She took a deep breath. “I need a map of the ship.”

  Certainly. Would you like a map of the ship as it was yesterday, as it is today, or as it might be tomorrow?

  “Today,” said Charlotte. “Right now.”

  Thank you.

  Then, before her eyes, the words faded from the page and a profile of the yacht appeared, with the decks delineated. Without thinking, Charlotte placed her finger on the parchment to touch the ship, and as she did so, a plan of a deck appeared to her right. She moved her finger up one deck and the plan shifted.

  Slowly, she traced her finger along the image of the yacht, watching the plans shift, until she found what seemed to be the main decks of the ship. She moved her finger over them, studying the rooms, and she saw quite a bit that looked like the deck plans of her cruise ship. There were several lounges, two restaurants, a laundry, a casino, a spa, a fitness center, but there was one room that was certainly not on the Isis—there, on Deck Six, the throne room.

  Charlotte quickly put the binder down, opened the door to her room, and went off to find Poseidon.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Earth Shaker

  CHARLOTTE DIDN’T REALLY HAVE A PLAN PER SE; Jason had said there was a place to spy in the throne room, and she had simply decided to find it on her own. She’d keep an eye on Poseidon and watch for when he turned his back on the trident. Surely he didn’t take it into the bathroom with him, did he?

  (Do gods go to the bathroom?)

  And then what? Was Charlotte just going to grab the thing and run? Wouldn’t he try to stop her? Wouldn’t someone? Didn’t he have, you know, goons? Sea goons? What she needed was some kind of distraction, but she didn’t know what that could possibly be. Juggling probably wouldn’t cut it. (And she couldn’t juggle to save her life—and saving her life was, of course, the whole point.)

  Deciding to take action hadn’t exactly soothed Charlotte’s agitation, and while she waited for the gold-head-a-vator, she found herself bouncing rapidly on the balls of her feet. She wasn’t exactly calmed when the elevator opened and she discovered it wasn’t empty; standing there, taking up almost the entire space, was a tremendous woman/eel creature with mud-like hair, gray skin covered in boils and what seemed to be leeches, and a long, thick, silver-gray eel tail that curled around the entire elevator floor.

  “Uh,” said Charlotte, “I think I’ll take the next one.”

  The woman’s swampy eyes narrowed. “Why?” she growled.

  Charlotte blinked. “Um, no reason.”

  “Well, come on in, then.”

  “Right,” said Charlotte, sidling into the elevator, desperately trying to avoid stepping on the tail.

  Charlotte and the eel woman rode down two floors, with Charlotte trying to keep her eyes on the elevator panel as opposed to on the wiggling leeches on the woman’s neck, when the elevator stopped again. The door opened to reveal a shark with man legs who grunted a greeting and strode into the elevator, standing to the other side of the eel woman. Four floors later a centaur with the tail of a fish trotted on, squeezing in between Charlotte and the eel woman. He was slightly less successful in the no-stepping-on-the-eel tail initiative, though he did excuse himself. The elevator only made it one floor before it stopped again, this time revealing three gray, shriveled hags who had no eyes in their faces or teeth in their mouths. One of them held up a glass eye and scanned the crowd in the elevator, and then all three waddled on, much to Charlotte’s dismay. Everyone backed up to make room, and Charlotte ended up in a rather unfortunate position behind the centaur. Then the elevator started up again, and the whole crowd stood silently, facing front, watching the panel lights mark the elevator’s descent—silently, that is, until the shark man started to whistle tunelessly.

  When the doors opened on Deck Six, Charlotte found herself slightly relieved—at least until she stepped out of the elevator and remembered her mission. For suddenly she was in the foyer to Poseidon’s throne room.

  The foyer had a bit of a different feel than the rest of the yacht, in that it was not entirely covered in jewels. Compared to the yacht, it was almost tasteful; though it did have a vast blue rug on the floor with a forty-foot depiction of Poseidon’s head. At one end of the foyer stood two imposing golden doors inlaid with pictures of dolphins.

  Two huge marble statues framed the doorway, mirror images of each other, showing a well-muscled, imposing Poseidon with two dolphins at his feet and a trident in his hands. Charlotte wondered grimly if she could just take one of those. Though they did look rather heavy.

  The only furniture in the room was a long bench that lined the walls. The benches had brass mermaids for legs, and the seats themselves were cushions made from a strange, shimmering leather (actually, it was the skin of the Ketos that Perseus had killed, which makes a rather durable upholstery, if you like that kind of thing).

  The walls and ceiling were covered in murals—the ceiling was a skyscape with puffy clouds in a bright blue sky, and on the wall in front of Charlotte was painted a vast seascape, with an ancient town high up on a tall cliff face on one end, looking over the stirring sea. The sea itself was so vivid that it looked as if the waves were actually moving. No—they actually were moving. Before Charlotte’s eyes, the waves rolled toward the cliff and crashed against its face.

  Suddenly, at the other end of the mural, something began to rise up from the ocean and move steadily toward the town, something very large, something like a giant worm the size of several football fields, something with angry-looking eyes, a huge mouth, and tremendous sharp teeth. The Ketos.

  Charlotte looked back toward the town and saw that something had appeared on the cliff face—a person. A woman. A woman was chained to the cliff, and the Ketos was moving toward her.

  Charlotte knew this myth; this was the Andromeda story. Andromeda was a princess, the daughter of Queen Cassiopeia. Queen Cassiopeia was very beautiful but vain, and she proclaimed that she was more beautiful than all the sea goddesses, so Poseidon sent a sea monster—the Ketos—after the town. When the king and queen saw the monster coming, they decided to sacrifice Andromeda to the Ketos in the hopes of appeasing Poseidon, so they chained her to a cliff. But as the monster rose from the sea, the hero Perseus came by on his winged sandals and killed the Ketos, then freed Andromeda, and they lived happily ever after. Though Andromeda did have some issues with her parents.

  And there he was on the mural, handsome Perseus, flying through the air on his winged sandals. He stopped when he saw Andromeda chained to the cliff
and the monster coming out of the sea, then he swooped down toward the Ketos and—

  —and the Ketos ate him.

  Charlotte scowled. Talk about your revisionist history.

  As the mural reset itself into the original seascape, Charlotte heard a loud creaking noise—the doorway to the throne room was opening. Quickly she ducked behind one of the statues. She was staring at its thighs, but if she looked up, she would be staring right at its statue butt. She chose not to look up.

  A woman’s tinkling laughter emerged into the hallway, followed by a booming male voice, and Charlotte carefully peeked out from between the legs of the statue. Right in front of her was a woman with wavy blond hair, a silver cloak, and big black sunglasses. The movie star—Calypso. And the man next to her, well, Charlotte had seen his face many times that day. This man was about ten feet tall, with light blue skin, dark blue curly hair, and a thick wavy beard with wide-set eyes, and he was the image of the statue Charlotte was hiding behind, only this man was—fortunately—clothed. Or, rather, unfortunately clothed; he wore white silk pants and a white silk suit coat and absolutely nothing else—except the three huge gold seahorse necklaces that hung down on his chest, dangling among a thick carpet of dark blue chest hair. On his head was a tremendous gold crown that had starfishes cut out of jewels all around the brim, and in his left hand he carried a solid gold trident.

  Poseidon.

  Charlotte’s heart flipped as several emotions welled up inside her. There was fear, yes—one might even go as far as to say there was horror, for it is one thing to know intellectually that you have to take on the God of the Seas, another thing to see that god in the flesh, see how very god-like he looks, as if he could turn you into a water beetle at a glance, and, in fact, he probably would.

  But along with the fear, there was also anger—one might even say rage—filling Charlotte’s small frame, from her toes to the very tips of her ears. There was Poseidon, the man (okay, the god) who would so callously murder hundreds of people, who had put her own parents in mortal danger—just because he didn’t like people messing with his descendants. Even if his descendants were evil. He was going to imperil people—her parents—for the sake of his own ego, and the thought made Charlotte’s very eyes burn. She wanted to run out, to scream, to kick him and pound on him and tear him apart—but of course she could not. So she merely stood behind the statue and seethed, thinking of all the things she could do to Poseidon when she got the trident.

  “I’m so glad you could make the party, Calypso,” Poseidon was saying. “It’s going to be huge! Everyone will be talking about it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it!” said Calypso brightly.

  “Of course you wouldn’t. Everyone’s going to be there. Everyone who’s anyone, anyway!” With a loud laugh, Poseidon casually placed his hand on the mural-covered wall, and before Charlotte’s eyes the wall opened up to reveal a wide, gleaming staircase topped with a lush red carpet.

  “My designer told me not to make the staircase of solid gold,” Poseidon said as the pair mounted the stairs, “that it was impractical, but I said that nothing is impractical when you’re the Lord of the Seas! Then I threw him in the ocean. The next designer didn’t complain at all. HA!” As he laughed, he pounded his trident on the stair, shaking the whole floor. Even Charlotte’s statue trembled.

  “It certainly is beautiful!” Calypso enthused.

  “Yes, yes, it is. It’s magnificent! The Poseidon is the grandest, most beautiful yacht in all the Universe! Of course it is. It’s named after me!”

  Poseidon and Calypso were disappearing up the staircase, so, mustering all her secret agent skills garnered from years of television and movie watching, Charlotte took a deep breath and ducked out from behind the statue.

  As she crept up the staircase, she was particularly glad she had worn sneakers—as opposed to, say, her clunky boots or slappy flip-flops. If you’re going to prowl around a Greek god’s yacht, sneakers really are the only choice.

  Charlotte stayed a flight behind Poseidon and Calypso, peeking up at them through the railing as the staircase circled around, ever watchful for any stray centaurs or sea hags who might come up from behind her. But no one did—this staircase seemed to be For Poseidon Only.

  “I’m thinking of getting into movies,” Poseidon said, his voice floating down the staircase. “Strictly behind the scenes, of course, but everyone important will know who’s responsible. You don’t see Zeus making movies, do you?”

  “I don’t,” said Calypso.

  “Of course you don’t! Zeus doesn’t have the imagination. That’s what you need to really make a name for yourself, you know…. I’ll have to set up a front company, of course. Poseidon Productions! What do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful. I hope you’ll let me be in your movies.”

  “The best actress in the world? Of course. Only the finest. We’ll get you another Oscar. And one for me, too!”

  “Just one?” Calypso asked flirtatiously.

  The pair reached the landing two flights above the throne room deck, and as Charlotte watched, Poseidon motioned Calypso down the hallway. Deck Eight, Charlotte calculated, remembering her map—on which lay the casino, the fitness center, a souvenir shop, and the Constellation Lounge.

  Charlotte darted up the stairs and into the hallway just as the wall was closing in around Poseidon’s staircase. When she emerged, she found that this hallway was surrounded by a foot-deep tank that demarcated the walls, floor, and ceiling. The tank was filled with bright blue artificial-looking water and a bunch of mechanical sea life made out of jewels and precious metals. It would have been something to stop and consider (as in, consider why) but Charlotte didn’t have time to look at the scenery.

  As she moved down the hallway, she heard light footsteps coming up rapidly behind her, and then someone brushed quickly past her.

  “Signomi,” said the offender in a high, musical voice. Charlotte had no idea what that meant, but she was too busy staring at the woman before her to really consider it. She was not that remarkable, really—she was a delicate-looking woman, only slightly taller than Charlotte, with a bone white face and elfin features. She wore a white button-down shirt, black pants, and a bow tie, but what was so interesting to Charlotte was her hair—long, flowing, and a deep, rich shade of red.

  The elflike woman scurried past and down the hallway, slipping into a side door, while Poseidon and Calypso went through two big glass doors at the end of the hall. With a passing glance toward the disappearing back of the redheaded creature, Charlotte dashed through the long faux-aquarium hallway and into the Constellation Lounge.

  Poseidon and Calypso were standing right in the doorway, so Charlotte ducked behind the nearest potted plant to listen. Poseidon still had his trident firmly in his hand, which he waved around as he talked.

  “As you see,” he declaimed, “I’ve decorated the lounge with replicas of the constellations, but my constellations are made out of illuminated diamonds, and I think they’re much more beautiful than the ones in the sky, don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes!” breathed Calypso. “Much!” Charlotte got the distinct impression that she really liked diamonds. “And…” Her eyes searched around the room. “Your waitstaff. Are they…mortal?”

  “Goodness, no!” Poseidon said. “They were once. They’re from an island whose king failed to make a sacrifice to me after an auspicious year, so I sank the island and enslaved the females. HA! They were such good workers that I made them Immortal. It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

  “You’re telling me!” Calypso enthused.

  Charlotte peeked through the leaves of the plant at the lounge and almost gasped at what she beheld. Milling around the lounge setting the tables were two dozen of the creatures she had seen in the hallway, all in the same black-and-white uniform, with the same dark red hair.

  Now, Charlotte, as you may recall, had always enjoyed being a redhead; in fact, she found it truly preferab
le to any other hair color. It was a state of being one could really embrace. It had made her almost unique, or at least interesting. But these women were from an island where everyone was redheaded, and now Charlotte realized that the only thing better than one redhead was twenty redheads. The island these women had been from must have been a wonderful place. Before Poseidon sank it in an egomaniacal rage, that is.

  “Well,” Poseidon said, “I believe the entertainment should start soon. Would you like to sit here with me and have a drink before dinner?”

  “I’d be honored, my Lord,” gushed Calypso.

  “Dinner’s going to be something really special. I got a shipment of the finest caviar in the world. The whole dinner will be caviar tonight—caviar mousse for the first course, caviar soup, caviar salad, caviar with caviar sauce for the main course, and caviar ice cream for dessert. Only the best on the Poseidon!”

  As Charlotte watched, the two gods began to move through the lounge to a group of plush seats on an elevated platform in the front corner. One of the waitresses immediately rushed toward the pair, and as Poseidon ordered, Charlotte saw him do something absolutely extraordinary: He leaned his trident against the wall.

  Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat, her breath caught, her every nerve stood at attention. The trident was right there, out of his hands, just leaning there minding its own business, completely unaware that it could be snatched.

  Charlotte’s hands clenched as if she were holding the trident already. She could taste her victory. She wanted so badly to get it, to thwart all his plans, to make him pay for what he had done. It was so close.

  But how? She couldn’t just run into the room, grab the thing, and dash out. Poseidon was right there, and he was certainly going to notice. There just wasn’t any way for Charlotte to get close enough without causing suspicion, and she really didn’t want to get zapped or fed to something icky.

  But she had to get it now. Poseidon was going to be here until dinnertime with his trident out of his hands—and who knew when Charlotte was going to get another chance.