The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  “What’s that?” asked David, pointing to the mountain. It seemed to have doors at its base and a sign next to the doors, but David couldn’t make out the words. Dominic squinted.

  “Oh, that? That’s the Zodic. It’s built inside Mount Leah, an extinct volcano,” said Dominic. “Nice, huh?”

  David nodded.

  “Thank you for flying me. It was a pleasure meeting you,” said David, extending a hand.

  “Same here,” said Dominic. “What time do you board?”

  “Looks like 4:27,” said David as he pulled out the boat ticket.

  Dominic’s eyes widened as he noticed the dagger in his bag.

  “What’s this?” asked Dominic.

  “Oh, uh, it’s just…”

  “A poisoned dagger… interesting. I can tell by the etchings on the blade… Good handle… looks like Hiram’s work,” said Dominic, turning the blade over in his hand. He grinned. “This is highly illegal, you know.”

  David shifted, not knowing where to look. Dominic chuckled.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t give you away. Just don’t point this thing at me, or I’ll take you out,” said Dominic. He pushed the dagger into its sheath and returned it to David’s bag, noticing a glint of gold in the sack at the back of the pouch.

  “You know, you don’t board for another two hours still. Why don’t you come into the casino? It’s much safer there,” said Dominic.

  “Oh, thank you, but I’d rather not,” said David.

  “Aw, come on, the Zodic’s the most popular place in Aeroth; it’ll be a nice way to end your stay,” said Dominic, his eyes moving from David to his bag. “Besides, there are a lot of rough thieves in these parts. You won’t stand a chance if they see a glint of that gold, even with your protection.”

  “I’m fine, really,” said David, returning the boat ticket to the pouch in his canvas sack. Dominic snatched his bag of gold.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” asked David.

  “Come on,” said Dominic, nodding toward the Zodic. “It’s for your own good.”

  “Dominic, I’d like my bag back,” called David, but Dominic ignored him, heading instead for the shining, glass doors at the base of Mount Leah.

  “Dominic,” called David as he passed through the doors and into the rotunda. An Ibex guard with an onyx-handled blade stopped him at the entrance.

  “Your bag, Sir,” said the guard.

  “Pardon?” asked David.

  “We have to scan your bag,” said the guard.

  David noticed the metal tunnel and archway though which the other visitors were entering. He looked from Dominic back to the door, thinking of the security guard finding the dagger and poison in his sack, but knowing he needed the gold, which was now on the other side of the metal detector.

  “Don’t worry, Jim, he’s with me,” said Dominic. The guard frowned but nodded, allowing David to enter past a rope near the side, away from security. David sighed.

  “This way,” said Dominic, grinning. He led David across the open rotunda to an arched entryway on the opposite side, marking the start of the main gambling hall. Peddlers with wooden carts flanked the entrance, selling lattes and carnival masks. A crippled man with a gold earring hobbled up to them, forcing a sequinned eye mask into their path.

  “Hide from one and seduce another with this golden gem,” said the peddler, “the most preferred by the call girls of the house!”

  “No, thank you,” said David, ducking around him.

  “You’re a real fan of saying ‘no’, aren’t you?” said Dominic.

  David shrugged.

  “You are holding my gold,” said David.

  “For that I would’ve made an exception,” said Dominic. He put on a silver and black eye mask and entered the gambling hall, which was abuzz with the fantastic hopes and lively movements of the crowd. People in carnival masks played the slot machines which were nestled among vines and fountains of wine, while small statues of smiling fauns and satyrs peeked out through the foliage, full of mischief. Men in starchy, wine-coloured vests moved among the crowd, offering drinks and savouries to the gamblers on silver platters. Girls in papery dresses hung from the branches of a huge, grape-like chandelier above, tossing flowers that vanished as they fell.

  “There’s a seductively electric feeling knowing that thousands upon thousands could be at your fingertips in one instant, with one press, pull, hand, carefully placed chip, isn’t it?” asked Dominic. He swiped a glass of red wine from a passing server and downed it before returning it to another server. He focused on a man in an orange leaf mask and swore.

  “What is it?” asked David.

  “That’s a photographer from the Rosy Herald,” said Dominic, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

  Dominic led David to the other end of the hall and into another room, which looked like a moonlit park criss-crossed with ambling grape vines and cobblestone lanes. Bronze sculptures of women and men frolicked among the shrubs and ivy, illuminated by the moon and glass goblets of glowing, purple wine they held in their hands. Most were engaged in playful, erotic activities they most certainly would regret in the morning.

  David frowned.

  “I thought we were leaving,” said David.

  “We’re moving to one of the private salons,” said Dominic, shaking his head. “Wait here. I have to exchange your bouillon.”

  “That really won’t be—”

  But Dominic had already disappeared down Wanderer’s Way, with the gold in hand. David shook his head, taking a seat on a wrought iron park bench. Across from him stood an extraordinary, bronze fountain, clearly the centrepiece of the room. Unlike the other frolicking figures, the bronze fountain commanded an air of seriousness like a work of great art. At its centre a bare-breasted woman was riding a lion, her arms outstretched and commanding. The lion had his mouth open as though he was roaring; he was standing with his body slightly arched back, as though ready to pounce. Underneath each of his front paws was a nude figure sprawled backward as though fainting; each held a flower which dipped into the surrounding pool. Under his left paw was a man holding a fig leaf. Under his right paw a mera lay backward, holding a bouquet of lotus flowers tied with pearls. David stared at it, entranced.

  “It looks like the Riesling Room just opened for the day on Park Lane,” said Dominic, coming up behind him. David’s eyes remained transfixed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Oh, this? This is the Triumph of Reason fountain. Gabe had it made as a tribute to human victories.” Dominic pointed to the figures. “The man on the left is Adam. The lion standing on him represents humans’ victory over legends, and the mera on the right is for the victory in the war.”

  “And the woman in the centre?” asked David.

  “Reason, presumably,” said Dominic.

  David shook his head. “This is… really something,” said David.

  “Come on, there’s no time for titties now,” said Dominic. “The Reisling Room is this way.”

  They turned down a lane. Dominic pulled a metallic card from his pocket and slid it under a nearby sculpture of grapes, unlocking the almond doors of a wine cellar. A casino attendant greeted them at the entrance, welcoming them into a cosy, cave-like room lined with wooden casks. At the far end of the room, twenty-seven golden bowls hung in a tier pattern, each with a bunch of white or red grapes dangling from under the bowl. The bowls gurgled with low fountains of rose wine. Dominic took off his mask.

  “Have you played Dio Vino before?” asked Dominic.

  “No, I haven’t,” said David.

  “You’ll pick it up soon enough,” said Dominic.

  A man in a rose-coloured vest sat in front of the golden bowls, counting out chips on a long, felt table.

  “That’s the sommelier,” said Dominic, nodding toward the man. “He ov
ersees the game.”

  Dominic took a seat near the felt table and handed the sommelier a wad of David’s bills. The sommelier pressed the bills into a slot in the felt table and counted out several stacks of emerald chips, each one worth a thousand. A scruffy-looking man smiled at him. He smelled of stale alcohol.

  “New friend, Dominic?” asked the man, nodding to David. “Was he also in the X-Lounge?”

  “I’m sure you already know the answer to that, Mo,” said Dominic.

  “Just checking your honesty,” said Mo. “I hope the gentleman knows what he’s in for. People who gamble with you are never quite the same.”

  “Mo’s a senior member of Ibex,” he whispered to David, winking.

  “And… place your bets, please,” said the sommelier.

  He pressed a button in front of him. The small, bubbling fountains flattened into pools with a thin stream of rose wine rising from one of the bowls. It began arcing back and forth among the bowls, bouncing from one to another like a jumping fountain.

  “Six on Zinfandel, three on Shiraz,” said Mo, pushing short stacks of topaz chips onto the corresponding squares.

  The sommelier repeated his bet and straightened the stacks, while the rose wine danced behind him.

  “He’s betting on the different grape varieties hanging under the bowls,” said Dominic, pointing. “You can bet according to ripening, variety, colour or the placement of its name on the table. Which one would you choose?”

  “Aren’t they the same?” asked David, looking at the hanging bunches of grapes. Dominic shook his head.

  “No, different grapes make different wines,” said Dominic. “In this game there are thirteen red varieties and thirteen white, plus Zinfandel. Zinfandel is exempted from the category bets as it can be red or white.”

  “I can’t see the difference,” said David.

  “Start with the beginner’s bets then,” said Dominic. “Red or white?”

  The stream of wine jumped faster and faster and began changing colour from red to white as it moved.

  “I don’t know,” said David, shrugging

  “Come on man, it’s almost a fifty-fifty chance. The odds are good,” said Dominic.

  David shook his head.

  “Oh, you are impossibly boring. Let me,” said Dominic, grabbing the stack of chips in front of David. A voluptuous woman wearing a long skirt and stiletto boots took a seat next to Mo. She set her handbag on the floor and nodded to the men, though no one seemed to notice her except David.

  “Three on Bukettraube, two on Chardonnay, five on Merlot,” said Dominic, pushing the emerald chips onto the squares.

  “And a cluster on Chenin Blanc,” said Mo, following him. The sommelier placed a gold chip atop Mo’s stack, indicating no more bets on the Chenin Blanc grape. He turned to the woman who had just entered.

  “And how about you, Ma’am?” asked the sommelier. The woman shook her head.

  “Oh come on, Petra, what are you here for then? We already have one too many pricks at this table,” said Dominic.

  Petra sighed.

  “Ten on Muscat d’Alexandrie, to appease the Prince,” said Petra.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Dominic.

  “And… last call for bets,” said the sommelier, as he straightened Mo’s and Petra’s chips.

  “Add a cluster on Zinfandel,” said Dominic. The sommelier placed another gold chip on Zinfandel.

  “No more bets, please,” said the sommelier.

  The jumping rose wine started to slow and darken, bouncing between two bowls near the bottom left. The dancing stream slowed and lightened, hovering on a bowl in the centre. Mo held his breath.

  “Come on, come on, let the money flow,” said Mo, tapping a chip. The stream jumped up and down in the same bowl even slower; at the final moment it jumped to a bowl on the far side, which erupted with a column of red wine. Mo slammed the table.

  “Pinotage takes the win,” said the sommelier.

  Dominic shook his head.

  “This is rotten, this,” said Dominic. “You’re cheating us.”

  “Dominic, I really think I should go now,” said David.

  “Just hang on, okay? I’ll get it back,” said Dominic. “I want clusters on Cinsaut and Shiraz, plus four on Sauvignon Blanc.”

  David sighed and rubbed his neck, watching as the sommelier placed gold chips on three of the grapes. No one but Dominic seemed interested in the game. They were staring at David, particularly at David’s neck, just below his right ear.

  The bandage, thought David. Adrenaline shot through his body as he touched his neck, feeling the wrinkled bandage dangling off his skin.

  “Excuse me a moment,” said David, flipping up his collar. He backed out of the cellar and ran through the midnight park, turning down a side road toward the bathroom.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” said David, looking at his neck in the mirror in the men’s room. The concealing bandage was dangling half off, leaving the rose in plain sight. He turned on the water and ran his wet fingers over the bandage, trying to stick it back on. All his extra bandages were in his bag, sitting next to Dominic. David looked in the mirror and jumped. Someone was watching him.

  C H A P T E R 3 3

  The woman from the Riesling Room stood at the end of the men’s bathroom with her arms folded across her chest.

  “You have been very unwise, Mr Habib, revealing a tattoo in public,” said the woman, looking at her nails. “Has no one told you tattoos are forbidden in this land? It is feared they are too merish.”

  She approached him and flicked the rest of the bandage off with her finger.

  “Of course this is not a tattoo, but it is indeed too merish.”

  David looked to the door.

  “Do not worry,” said the woman. “The gentlemen saw only the rose; they will not suspect more than ignorant brazenness. But if they find you, and they are now searching for you, they will also uncover the lotus, and then you will be killed. Do you want to die today, Mr Habib?”

  “Not particularly,” said David.

  “I thought not,” said the woman. “Come with me.”

  She walked to the last stall of the men’s bathroom and pulled a crystal card from her purse, running the face of the card over the ceramic tiles. A tile near the wall lightened to glass with a red fingerprint glowing behind it. She pressed her finger into the centre of the tile, and a door opened in the wall, revealing a long tunnel. David stared at her.

  “Who are you?” asked David.

  “Petra Jakobson,” said the woman. “I was an architect.”

  “And now?” asked David.

  “Now I am the widow of Yusuf Jakobson and owner of Jakobson Limited, makers of designer menswear,” said Petra. She nodded to the open tunnel. “Come, we do not have much time.”

  Petra led David through the darkened passage, her stilettos clicking purposefully on the hard, stone floor, which seemed to be gradually sloping downward. After several minutes they reached the end of the tunnel. Petra opened another invisible door at its end.

  “In here,” said Petra, ushering him into a room.

  The walls were completely covered in cedar closets, with a three-panelled mirror at its centre. Mannequins stood at attention in one corner, while spools of fabric were piled atop a square cutting table in the other. The entrance David had come through sealed invisibly behind him, directly across from a single service door, which David presumed was the normal entrance. Petra set down her purse and locked the service door.

  “Where are we?” asked David.

  “In the fitting room,” said Petra. “Jakobson makes all the uniforms for the Zodic on-site, in here.”

  “Interesting,” said David, looking around. “Why do you call me Habib?”

  “It means ‘beloved’ in my native tongue, as
I believe David also means in yours,” said Petra as she dug through her handbag. She looked up. “You see, I am not from Aeroth, and neither are you. That is why the Lady sent me to follow you.”

  Petra pulled out a twisted bottle of perfume and sprayed her neck, infusing the room with the smell of violets. David’s eyes widened.

  “It was you in the bushes I saw,” said David.

  Petra nodded.

  “What do you know about me?” asked David. “Do you know where I come from?”

  “Yes,” said Petra. She turned to her purse again and pulled out a shiny compact decorated with rings of enamel flowers. Petra set it aside and began pulling the pins from her bun. “I know from where you come, though you would not believe me if I told you.”

  “Am I from Larimar?” asked David.

  “No,” said Petra, shaking out her hair.

  “From where, then?” asked David.

  “You will remember soon enough. For now, we must keep you alive.”

  She opened the compact and dug her finger into the skin-coloured cream, stopping as she reached for David’s neck.

  “It is not unlike the sema-tawi hieroglyph, no?” asked Petra, smiling.

  David stared at her. Petra dabbed the cream over the mark.

  “The hieroglyph marking the union of two kingdoms…” said Petra. She leaned in toward his ears. “The Upper… and the Lower.”

  Petra slid her hand past his belt and dropped the closed compact into his brief. David stepped back.