The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  “Of which I am already aware,” said Imaan, folding her hands, “but I must fight fire with fire.”

  “Wouldn’t an Octavite smuggler be a better option?”

  “The Octavites are already heavily watched by Ibex. I need a smuggler they would not expect,” said Imaan, staring at the teapot.

  “I don’t know. This is big stuff you’re asking for here, it is. I’ll have to be breaking at least half the laws of Aeroth to pull off this.”

  “Surely you can think of something, Marcus,” said Imaan. “Legality has never stopped you before, has it? Especially where there’s money involved.”

  “How much?” asked Marcus.

  “Forty million,” said Imaan.

  Marcus bit his lip.

  “And in one week? The number of connections and deals I’ll have to make, in one week,” said Marcus, frowning. Imaan shrugged.

  “Well, if you do not want the money—”

  “I didn’t say no yet,” said Marcus.

  “It’s a lot of cash for your coffers, isn’t it?”

  “Make it double.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Imaan.

  “If I’m going to put life and limb into the gravest of grave dangers, I will do so for double your asking price,” said Marcus.

  Imaan pursed her lips.

  “I’m willing to offer a one percent increase.”

  “So little?” asked Marcus. “As you said, it’s better to have a Humphrite for security reasons. So let’s make it twenty, or I don’t deal.”

  He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. Imaan gave him a sour look.

  “I see I have wasted my time here. Good day, Mr Schweme,” said Imaan, standing to leave. Marcus held out his arms.

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, woman. Let’s not be drastic. How about two percent? That can’t be a lot, really, when you think of what I’m going to have to go through to acquire this for you, and all the risks involved. And it’s not like I’m in the poorhouse, you know. Schweme’s Tuck Shop is doing quite well as a business; I don’t, well, need to deal, and this is going to involve an awful lot of work and danger.”

  “One and a half,” said Imaan. “Cash on delivery.”

  “And how do I know I am going to receive payment? I don’t want to go through all this and you back out on me. You might report me to the authorities, you might!”

  “Don’t you trust me, Marcus?” asked Imaan.

  Marcus made a face.

  “Well, as a sign of good faith, I can promise not to tell Avinoam or the State that you gave Gertrude counterfeit money with which to buy the papers. That is also a federal offence.”

  “You caught that, huh? You’re very quick, you are,” said Marcus, eyeing her.

  He looked back to the paper.

  “Alright, deal,” said Marcus. “The original offer plus one and a half percent, but I want my money right near after!”

  “Agreed,” said Imaan. Marcus rubbed his neck with his hand, shaking his head.

  “When it’s ready, you must deliver it to this address,” said Imaan, tossing a paper toward him. “Remember, you have one week, no more.” Marcus frowned.

  “And just as a precaution, Ma’am, what can I expect if things don’t work out, and I don’t deliver?”

  “Now Marcus, let’s not ruin such a pleasant conversation with difficult details. I doubt that’s going to happen,” said Imaan.

  Marcus swallowed hard.

  “Good day, Mr Schweme,” said Imaan. She put on her glasses and exited through the curtain.

  “And what about payment for the tobacco?” asked Marcus, calling after her. Imaan chuckled, grabbing a Rosy Herald off the desk as she made for the door.

  C H A P T E R 1 8

  The moving platform around Raphael’s jellyfish tank lowered into a shadowy, warehouse-like room, nearly three times the size of the library. The dust moved grudgingly to the side as it settled into place, illuminated by the glow of the jellyfish. It smelled of old fabric and memories, most probably because of the many crates and boxes stacked there, all marked with white ink. The room felt like the inside of a chest that had not been disturbed in decades. David rubbed his nose. Raphael stood near the stone ledge which had descended with them, staring absently ahead. He pressed another sand dollar.

  “Well, that’s unexpected,” said David.

  Enormous jellyfish jumped off the walls as Raphael switched on the purplish-blue lights, revealing a massive relief carved from fluorescent stone. The patterned floor and the white ink on the boxes glowed, as did Raphael, like he did in the moat.

  “Do all mers do everything over the top, like you?” asked David, craning his neck so he could see the whole of the wall.

  “Pardon?”

  “You have glowing jellyfish in your basement, Raphael,” said David. Raphael turned a sea star on the ledge, and the silver railing disappeared into the floor.

  “I’m not quite sure what you mean, this ‘over the top,’ but all mers have some degree of artistic ability, yes,” said Raphael, wiping his eye. “However, if it is any consolation I can admit the designer of this house was the best of her time.”

  “I can see why,” said David.

  “And this is a ballroom, not a basement,” said Raphael.

  “A ballroom?”

  “Yes, she was fond of dancing also.”

  David stared at the mer with interest. Raphael sighed.

  “My close friend was a very good designer and avid dancer,” said Raphael, stiffly. “Larimar was difficult for her also. She used to sneak here to help me cope with exile, bringing me building materials and abandoned fish she had rescued. We built this house together. It was our refuge from reality.”

  “Does she still come?” asked David.

  “No,” said Raphael, pressing another sand dollar. “She died some time ago.”

  “Oh,” said David, looking to the floor.

  “And since now I have no more need for dancing, it makes a rather handy storage space, does it not?” asked Raphael. He tapped a box as he passed it. “Follow me.”

  Raphael weaved his way through the maze of boxes, chests and broken statues, stopping near a dusty crate at the back of the room. He pried off the lid. It was filled with papers.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Raphael. He pulled a glossy pamphlet from the middle of the pile and handed it to David.

  David stared at him.

  “Well, go on. Read it,” said Raphael.

  David read.

  Welcome to Paradise: Luxury, Land-Based Living

  Transition from water to air seamlessly in an all-new lifestyle complex over six millennia in the making. Featuring never-before-seen wildlife and specially-cultivated vegetation, every stunning detail redefines luxury living for the next generation. Choose from exotic cabanas with private pools and gardens, penthouses, or time-shares in the Grand Hotel. Sample gourmet cuisine showcasing over a hundred new varieties of fruits. State-of-the-art security. Twenty-four-hour concierge services. Spa and Health Club. Personal slaves, entertainment and more. Sponsored by Tansa Property Group, in partnership with the Royal House and the State High Council. Price on application.

  “I don’t understand,” said David, looking up.

  “Do you remember what I called the Nephilim, when I introduced myself as a mer?” asked Raphael.

  “You called them stewards of the Abyss,” said David, thinking.

  “Exactly,” said Raphael. “Our legends say the mers were created with dominion over the waters. We were to watch over the sea and to care for the creatures in it, but as the centuries passed we became power-hungry, negligent. We ignored our duties, choosing instead to play, to exploit and to steal. Without our care, animals began to fight and to eat each other; the mers divided into wealthy and poor; and what was once a sea filled with p
eace and certitude became an empty shadow of crime and corruption. It was no longer safe in Larimar.”

  “So they built this Paradise?” asked David, looking to the pamphlet.

  Raphael nodded.

  “Several millennia ago a group of rising mer families decided they wanted to move away, to start a new place where they would not be bothered with beggars and crime. They started this development project, filling the land that is now Aeroth with vegetation and animals from the sea, and breeding new species for entertainment, atmosphere, service. They built Paradise on this land.”

  “And the humans?”

  “Certain apes were bred for the purpose of servitude.”

  “Servitude? You mean the slaves?” asked David.

  “Yes.”

  “So humans were bred to be slaves.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s how we came from apes?”

  Raphael closed his eyes, nodding.

  “Then the creation account in the Sacred Memories is… a lie,” said David.

  “I did not say that,” said Raphael.

  “But you told me the facts are blatantly wrong. Why did you never tell anyone?”

  “I didn’t think it appropriate, given the circumstances,” said Raphael. “Besides, it’s not as ‘blatantly wrong’ as you describe.”

  “But—”

  “Fact and truth are not the same, boy, and I have neither the time nor inclination to teach you the finer points among them,” said Raphael. “In fact, I am not even allowed to speak of human dealings with you, under strict order of both the Lady and the King. They have forbidden it.”

  “Why?” asked David.

  “Because it has nothing to do with keeping you alive, which at present is my foremost obligation,” said Raphael. “I am telling you about the mers—not you—do you understand? Quiet your mind and start listening.”

  David frowned.

  “So what happened?” asked David. “To the mers, I mean. Why aren’t the mers living in Paradise now?”

  “One of the apes rebelled. He somehow managed to take control of the land and gain allegiance from all the animals. With them on his side, Adam was unstoppable—not even the strongest of mers could go near. Eventually we were forbidden to come to land altogether, and the development project was considered a failure.”

  “How did Adam manage? Did he use the shield?”

  “No one knows. Some of the Nephilim say it was the will of the Silent One; others, simply luck and brute strength. There are different views concerning Adam’s personality, though there is no doubting the shield would have helped. All we mers know is that Adam took the land.”

  “So the mers hired the Leviathan, the assassin sent to murder Adam and to take back Paradise…”

  “I am not allowed to say,” said Raphael.

  “What?” asked David.

  “It has been forbidden.”

  “But it involves a mer.”

  “It involves a purported mer,” said Raphael. “There is no record of a Leviathan in any of the merish or what remains of the human texts.”

  “Are you saying the legend is also a lie?” asked David. He sat down on a nearby box. Raphael shook his head.

  “I am saying that no record of the Leviathan exists in Nephil archives. A few centuries after taking the land, Adam lost his power and the mainland separated from the island, where most of the animals sought refuge. There is no disputing that. Whether Adam lost favour with the animals and Silence because he was poisoned or by his own accord is in the realm of one’s opinion of Adam, and I am not here to offer opinions.”

  “Was this also the reason for the war, then? To take back the land?” asked David.

  “The war had many reasons. I will not speak of it, and it would be wise not to press me further on the subject. I have already told you too much.”

  Raphael suddenly looked very dangerous. David swallowed. He looked to the pamphlet again.

  “A mer named Uriel has the shield,” said Raphael. “He is the king now, but only by marriage. He will have to relinquish the throne within a year when his daughter comes of age.”

  “How old is his daughter?” asked David.

  “Twenty five decades and four years, and Uriel is still very, very protective of her. Avoid her if you can. The King does background checks on everyone that comes within a metre of the Palace. You will say you are from Scuttlebrook, which is the furthest town in the kingdom, in the under-documented Lowveld region. It will take his servants about four months to check the register and find you are not on it. You must get the shield and get out before then, or you will be tortured as a spy. Do you understand?” asked Raphael.

  “Yes,” said David, “though why tell me this, Raphael?”

  “What?”

  “If I must ally myself with the humans, why further my doubt by disproving their texts?”

  “To make it clear to you that in the eyes of the Nephilim you are an animal, an insolent animal who wrongfully took Nephil land. No matter how you act or what you do, the mers will hunt you like an animal. If you value your life, you must accept that the humans have the most favourable picture of you, irrespective of what they believe in the bigger picture. What they think of you is all that matters at present. They saved your life; you vowed yourself to them. They are your only chance at survival.”

  Raphael took the pamphlet from David and dropped it back into the crate.

  “Then why are you helping? If I am nothing more than a pest to be eradicated, why are you showing me all these things?”

  “That is none of your concern,” said Raphael, returning the wooden lid.

  “How can I trust you?”

  “You cannot. Based on what I’ve told you, you should not. You must trust the Lady who trusts me, as you take your orders from her. You are in their debt, remember, not mine.”

  Raphael turned to David.

  “However, the fact that I am exiled from the mers and owe my life to humans is to my credit, I think,” said Raphael.

  David nodded absently, his mind lost in thought.

  “So, why do the humans need this shield?” asked David.

  Raphael glared at him.

  “Oh right. No human things,” said David. “Sorry.”

  Raphael nodded. “It is blatantly obvious that you need the shield if you want to live. In that, you are lucky. If the mers had nothing the humans wanted, you would have been dead long ago.”

  Raphael walked back to the stone ring around the jellyfish tank.

  “Come, I have an errand for you,” said Raphael. “The fresh air will clear your mind of all this nonsense.”

  Raphael turned the sea stars a half turn to the right and pressed the centre sand dollar. The silver railing popped up and the floor began pushing upward. David watched as the magnificent carvings faded back into darkness, his thoughts racing with everything Raphael had told him.

  C H A P T E R 1 9

  “David?” asked Raphael, poking him.

  ““Oh, sorry. What is it?” asked David, shaking his head. He was standing at the top of the golden staircase in the map room with the sparkling mosaic floor, with little memory as to how he got there.

  “There is a plant that grows in the mouth of Lion Mountain; I would like you to fetch some for me,” said Raphael.

  “Lion Mountain?”

  “Yes. The plant could be of use for my eel tonic. Patsy is still quite distressed from the recent visitors’ disturbance; I do not want to leave her in the interim,” said Raphael.

  “What does it look like? Do you have a picture or something?” asked David.

  Raphael took a reed from a porcelain vase near the wall and walked to the centre of the floor. David saw an image of a yawning stone lion in the mosaic, from which a waterfall in blue glass was pouring out. Raphael foll
owed the blue tiles with his reed as they curved into a stream, finding a small green and grey fleck in the bushes. He tapped the fleck with the reed; the grout in between the tiles expanded into large, glass tiles. As David looked again, the mosaic map looked the same but nearer, as though Raphael had zoomed in on a picture. He saw an image of a dilapidated cottage, above which appeared a sign in gold letters, Raphael’s House.

  “We are here,” said Raphael, pointing with the reed. “And the plant grows here.” Raphael dragged the reed along the ground and the tiles shifted, displaying a winding path up the side of the yawning lion. He traced the route, tapping the tiles. They shrunk and grew, zooming in on the lion.

  “You must follow the trail to the centre of Lion’s Mouth, where inside you will find a pool. The plant grows like seaweed at the bottom of the pool. I may need several handfuls. Do you think you can manage?”

  “Trail to Lion’s Mouth, plant at the bottom of the pool… seems manageable enough,” said David, looking over the mosaic map.

  “Excellent,” said Raphael. “It may take you several hours, but you could be back before dinner.” He tapped the ceiling with the reed and immediately a carpeted staircase lowered. Raphael started up the stairs.

  “Do you think it’s possible a mer knew me before I ended up here?” asked David, following Raphael.

  “No, the borders are too heavily guarded, and mers too heavily prejudiced, as I have mentioned.”

  They stood on the mossy, stone ruin of an old cottage. The staircase folded into the floor as soon as they reached the top, and a boulder fell over its entrance. David looked to him.

  “Or perhaps—”

  “Oh for the sake of Silence! I did not show you the pamphlet to breed more questions,” said Raphael, grimacing. “Listen to me, David, carefully. All that matters now is the mark on your neck. That mark has landed you in an extremely precarious situation, and there is only the slightest chance you will live to see it through. At present you are wanted dead both on land and in the sea. If you want to survive, you must not waste your mind on extraneous details. If you do manage you will have ample time for contemplation, trust me, but for now you must accept what you’re told and focus on the task ahead. Am I making myself clear?”