Sleeping With the Fishes

by MaryJanice Davidson

“I do not understand why we do not merely leap in.”

  She rolled her eyes and they crept closer. They were beneath one of the observation decks, a glorified cement dock which, luckily, led straight to the water. With luck, they’d be twenty feet in and way deep and no one would see them.

  “Look, Artur, you might not care if the entire world knows what you are, but I do. I managed to keep my secret from everybody until you got to town. I don’t want anybody else finding out.”

  “You should not feel shame for—”

  She swung around and let him feel the full force of her glare. “It’s not: about being ashamed!”

  “It is.”

  “Like hell! It’s about not wanting to spend the rest of my life as a zoo exhibit! Do you know what the bipeds would do to me?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see Splash, did you?” Of course he hadn’t. Dumb question. Next! “You’ve seen what they do to the planet. You’ve seen the NEA. It’s a nice cage for the fish, but it’s still a cage. I like my freedom.”

  “If you were to come to my home, you would know nothing but freedom.”

  Now, why was that idea as exciting as it was terrifying? Just being able to swim around and do whatever, with her own personal tour guide none other than the High Prince.

  “I like it here,” she said shortly. Which was the truth. Right?

  “You like hiding? You like being a commoner?”

  “I come from a long line of commoners. Strip.”

  “Ah, you see, Little Rika? I am yours to command. “

  She smiled at him (she couldn’t help it; he was kind of funny sometimes), kicked off her shoes, and started to take off her clothes. Above her, out of sight, she could hear the excited murmuring of NEA visitors looking at the outdoor exhibits.

  Artur had been about to spontaneously combust, so she figured he was due for a break. And Thomas wanted more time to number crunch. She could have stayed to help Thomas, in fact had been sorely tempted, but in the end she decided to try the harbor herself. (Not to mention, there was no telling what mischief Artur might make if left alone.) Maybe she could smell or taste something in the water that would help. Artur’s senses were no doubt much better instruments than hers, but she had the scientific background he lacked.

  In fact, what was his background? Did they have colleges under water?

  “What are you grinning about?”

  “I cannot help feeling joy that you have chosen my company over his.”

  “Uh, it’s not about that, Artur. It’s just that the last time I was in the harbor I didn’t notice anything was wrong, so this time—”

  “Yes, yes.” He waved her perfectly logical explanation away. “Whatever your rationale, you will be with me for the rest of the morning, while the biped pushes his papers around and makes numbers.”

  “Careful, pal. I was almost pushing papers and making numbers with him.”

  His smile widened. “My point. You are not.”

  “This isn’t a contest, you know.”

  His smile slipped away and all at once he looked like the predator he was. “Everything is a contest.”

  “Hmmph. I am going to swim now. Try to resist the urge to take a chomp out of my butt.”

  “I shall try, but I make no promises.”

  She grinned; she couldn’t help it. “Okay, that came out wrong.” She dipped a toe into the water, then walked in a couple of feet, enjoying the breeze. She knew she felt chilly to other people, but one of the nice things about being a hybrid was that she didn’t feel much cold. Which made sense, because there were plenty of places in the ocean that were quite cold. It was also the reason Jonas constantly gave her shit when she wore tank tops in November.

  “Wasn’t it great of Jonas to get my boss out of our way?” she said suddenly. “He really helped us out there.”

  “You choose your allies well.”

  “He’s not an ally, he’s my… you know. Jonas.”

  “As I said.”

  “He really took one for the team, taking Dr. Barb out for breakfast. I’ve worked for the woman for six years, and I’ve never seen her eat. It must be like taking your speech teacher out for drinks. Weird.”

  “That is for Jonas to fret about,” Artur pointed out, slipping into the water beside her and easing out of sight. In her mind, he finished the thought: Not you or I.

  “That’s the team spirit,” she muttered, and ducked under the water. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust—Boston harbor wasn’t exactly the clear azure of Cabo San Lucas. She kept a wary eye out for large clumps of seaweed—just the feel of the stuff on her skin made her… well, it made her skin crawl! And when it got in her hair… nightmare.

  Maybe that’s why she considered the sea a living thing, an entity all on its own. Because so much of it was so alive. Just swimming through it, she could feel how alive it was. It wasn’t just the smell or the taste or the texture… or, rather, it was, but it was all of that and more.

  She understood intellectually how the bipeds could use the ocean as a garbage dump, but could never get it emotionally. But then, they used the atmosphere as a garbage dump, too. You just couldn’t count on any of them to—

  She felt something clammy on her tail and shrieked. Uh, mentally. Artur let go of her and swam up beside her.

  What ails you, Little Rika?

  How did you get behind me? Oh, forget it. This. THIS ails me. She clawed at her hair. Yeeesh!

  Our mother, our home? How can you be more comfortable in a sterile inland pool?

  Two words: no seaweed.

  Little Rika, you never cease to amaze. Or amuse. Ah! Nice to have room to breathe again.

  Yeah, it’s swell.

  They swam together close to the bottom, avoiding the thousands of boats and ships that had turned the harbor into a saltwater highway.

  I do not deny I have often wondered what it would be like to dance in the waves with you.

  Was that—? It was! She snatched the clot of seaweed out of her way and threw it as hard as she could which, fifteen feet under water, wasn’t very.

  Ick! Ick!

  I admit, this is different from what I imagined.

  Shut up. How could you “often wonder” anything? You haven’t even been here three days yet.

  My father knew his queen at once.

  Bully for him. That doesn’t have anything to do with me.

  It could.

  She chose to ignore that absurd statement and they swam in silence for a while. She swam ahead in a quick circle, then came back.

  I don’t smell anything so far. I mean, it’s busy, you can tell it’s the harbor and not the middle of the Caspian Sea, it’s not exactly pure, but I’m not getting anything unusual.

  The water here is not as fresh as I would like, but you are correct; neither is it poisoned. It may take us time to find the source. However will we pass the time?

  Don’t get any nutty ideas, Prince Grabby.

  I cannot help it, Little Rika. Seeing you in your true element, your true form, with no interference from arrogant bipeds…

  You’ve got nerve, calling anybody arrogant. She stopped swimming and he nearly banged into her. They bobbed together for a moment and she told him, When I have legs, that’s my true form, too, Artur. Half ‘n half, except not as creamy. Er, that could have sounded sexier.

  He put his arms around her and kissed her gently, nothing at all like the bruising, possessive kiss from earlier. Perhaps because he didn’t feel he had anything to prove in the water? Away from Thomas?

  She let him. What the hell. She deserved a treat after the stressful week she’d had. And kissing Artur, no doubt about it, was a treat. She felt positively tiny in his arms, cradled, protected. She had the feeling that he could handle whatever problem came up: a great white, a sarcastic barracuda.

  Ah, Rika, my Rika.

  Shut up. More kissing.

  He chuckled and obeyed, snuggling her into his embrace. At least he didn’t
point out that, this way at least, they could chat about current events the entire time they were making out and never miss a smooch.

  She realized they were actually bobbing upside down, but was too giddy from the kissing to care much. She felt the vibrations as one of the party yachts sped by above them, doubtless dragging more drunken tourists through the shit and—

  No, she meant dragging them through the shitty harbor—shit! What was wrong with her?

  Artur abruptly stopped kissing her. Do you smell that?

  Smell it, of course I can smell it! She tried to spit. It didn’t work. I can taste it. Oh my God, I’m tasting shit!

  Artur grabbed her arm and flexed his tail, and they rocketed away from that particular spot. Despite his speed, despite his quick action, for a long, awful moment Fred was sure she was going to vomit. She struggled with the urge, thinking she must not, must not, must not barf in front of royalty. Not to mention, she hadn’t barfed since the time she got drunk on Pepsi (a case) and vermouth (four bottles), and that had been over ten years ago. She had no plans to break her non-vomit streak.

  And it was better now. She could still faintly smell it, but suspected it was more imagination than fact. The way you could still smell dog shit once you’ve stepped in it, no matter how often you scrubbed your shoes.

  Artur had gotten them away from the stream, or the bad spot, or whatever you wanted to call it, and he had done it with speedy efficiency… she wouldn’t have been able to swim that fast with a speargun in her ear.

  Thanks, Artur. That was pretty bad for a second.

  I, too, had momentary discomfort.

  Oh, thought Fred. Is that what they call it?

  I can’t ever come swimming here again… I’ll always think I’m smelling shit even if I’m not. We gotta fix this.

  Artur nodded. He didn’t try to touch her, which she figured showed as well as anything how grossed out he was, too. Thus my father’s concern when he heard the news. I, too, feel the morning has been tainted.

  That was shit. I don’t mean toxins. I don’t mean poisons. She was swimming for the shore as quickly as she could, Artur keeping pace with no trouble. I mean shit. Somebody’s gonna pay. And I don’t mean EPA fines, either. I mean pay through the NOSE.

  I quite agree, Little Rika… and it is a pleasant change to see your anger directed at a head other than my own.

  It was shallow enough for her to stand, and she did, her legs as always forming without conscious thought. She shook her wet hair and managed to smile at him as he emerged beside her. “Some romantic swim, huh?”

  He spat. “As I said. Not quite what I had envisioned.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to his lab was thrown open and Fred, the mermaid of his dreams, snarled, “Some tin prick is throwing his shit into the harbor.”

  He turned away from the slides and microscope. Fred was splendidly drippy, her green hair plastered to her head, her T-shirt almost transparent in a couple of interesting places, her feet bare and pink and comely. She carried her shoes in one hand. The pretentious lug from the Black Sea, Artur, was looming behind her like a mugger, carrying his own shoes.

  Where does he get clothing? Thomas wondered.

  “Are you paying attention?” she demanded.

  “Yeah, Fred, I know. It’s why I’m here, remember?”

  Fred stomped toward him. He wasn’t sure weather to back up or try for a kiss. Since her hands were both in fists, he decided to compromise and stay where he was. He could hold his own in a fight, but he imagined Fred could rip him in half without much trouble.

  And that redheaded bum, Artur, would be happy to help.

  “You’re not listening,” she said, jabbing a bony finger at his chest. “Somebody is dumping his shit in the harbor. Literal shit.”

  “Oh, great,” he groaned. “That’s really nice. How lovely. Right: into the harbor. Did you get a noseful?”

  Her lips made an odd twisting motion, like she wanted to spit but was stopping herself. “I got a mouthful, feels like. It still feels like.”

  “All right. Well. I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s actually helpful.”

  “How could you not know, with all your papers, what it was?” Artur demanded.

  Thomas gave the lug a look. “It’s a big ocean, Artur. And shit, for want of a better term, is all natural. It can be mixed up with a few things, I’m sorry to say.” He took a breath and turned back to Fred. “Anyway, thanks for telling me this. I’m sorry you had to get a snotful, but at least it narrows down—”

  “I figured. That’s why we came to tell you.”

  “I was just over at City Hall and got copies of all building permits granted to anyone in a three square mile radius—” He gestured at the new pile of paper. “That, coupled with the fact that none of the Undersea Folk noticed the, uh, shit until recently, and you didn’t notice, and the fact that it’s, you know, shit, makes me think it’s a new building.”

  “Duh.” Fred, his darling, looked annoyed she hadn’t thought of it herself. “It’s a hotel.”

  “Why do you think this?” the big red lug asked.

  “New building by the harbor? That amount of shit? It’s a new hotel. They probably played fast and loose with the city council and now there’s a pipe in the wrong place, dumping the crap of tourists into our harbor.”

  “A hotel like the building in which Thomas and I reside? A place strangers call home for a short period of time?”

  “Yeah. And every room has a bathroom. And all that water—and what it takes away—has to go somewhere. It should go to a treatment plant first. Unless someone cut corners.”

  “Contrary to what they taught us in Finding Nemo, all pipes do not lead to the ocean. Unless you design them that way.”

  Artur looked revolted. “You bipeds never fail to astonish. Do you not realize—”

  Thomas swallowed his annoyance, figuring that if the two of them had to choke down shit earlier, he could hold his temper. “Stop lumping us into one category. I’d no sooner dump my own waste into a body of water than I’d run over a cat. I’m the one who showed up and told Fred the problem. I’m the one who’s done all the research. I’m the one who spent the morning in City Hall. And I’m the one who’s been at work while you two went off for a romantic swim.”

  “Poor you,” Fred sneered. “I guarantee your morning wasn’t as miserable as ours.”

  Artur looked wry. “I had thought it would be romantic, and it was. Until.”

  Thomas almost smiled. He had not been happy, at all, when Fred had taken off with the big red lug, but at least the guy hadn’t gotten very far during his alone time. Bad news: the guy was a prince. Good news: Fred didn’t care. Bad news: the guy was huge and great looking and could show her a world the average person would never know. Good news: Fred didn’t care.

  Besides, Thomas figured, I can show her a thing or two right here on dry land, I bet. And I won’t give her crap for being half-and-half, like some of Artur’s people would.

  Fred was picking through the plans piled on his desk, looking intrigued. Artur watched her, shifting his weight impatiently.

  Ha! Got her. He knew the scientist in her couldn’t stay away from the lab for long. Sure, Artur was a fellow Undersea Folk, but eight years of formal schooling left its mark, no matter if you grew a tail to swim or just put on swimming trunks from Target.

  He watched her open up a plan and read it. Even from the back, she was breathtaking. Long, graceful limbs, and that hair… and those eyes… and that gorgeous, pretty tail. Green in some lights and blue in others, it was like a peacock tail, except a million times sexier.

  He was aware that he had built Fred up in his mind because of what she was and not who she was. His mother had told him so many stories of mermaids by the time he was ten, he was hopelessly besotted with the idea of jumping into the ocean and finding a friend who could follow his family all over the world.

  Whereas his
mother entertained him for hours with her wonderful stories (The Little Mermaid, The Mermaid Wife, The Sea Morgan’s Baby), his father was simply not around much—he went where the Navy sent him. And when you were the new kid and knew you’d be moving in another eight or ten or twelve months, there really wasn’t much point in making friends.

  So he read. And dreamed, And listened to stories. And dreamed…

  Even before he knew Fred’s secret, he was taken with her. She was the first woman scientist he’d ever met who wasn’t, on a subconscious level at least, interested in male feedback. Or even aware the person she was interacting with was male. She was also the first woman—person—who wasn’t paralyzed by conventional mores and standards of behavior. What she thought, she thought, and if people didn’t like it, she didn’t care. Or notice.

  He blessed the impulse that had brought him back to work the night before, figuring he’d fight insomnia with toxin tables. And then he’d seen her, lazily swimming back and forth in Main One, her gorgeous blue green tail shimmering, her long arms making graceful sweeping motions as she fed the fish, her green hair floating around her face in a gorgeous cloud that looked like liquid emeralds.

  He had honestly thought, for a long moment, that his heart was going to stop. It just didn’t seem possible. It was a hallucination brought on by fatigue and bad pizza. He had snapped under the pressure of not getting laid for seven months.

  And then he’d stared some more. She didn’t notice him right away, so he could look his fill. And he finally convinced himself: Fred, the cool, distant woman he’d met earlier, was a mermaid. An honest to God mermaid!

  He couldn’t help it: he’d raced to the top of the stairs and, once there, had to touch her. Had to. And once his hands were on her, his lips soon followed. Because here was the living embodiment of all his childhood fantasies, and he had no plans to let her go.

  Ever.

  And if a certain big red lug got in his way… well. He had a few ideas about how to stop a member of the Undersea Folk. And not just with aikido.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” he said with forced politeness to Artur. “It looks like Fred and I will be here for a while. You know, frittering with paperwork and other things you’re bad at.”