The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  “Do as he tells you,” said Kajal.

  “Right. I need you to spin a strand of wood, uh, maybe about so long to start,” said David, holding out his arms. “No particular shape or kind.”

  Florin nodded and waved his hand, forcing a strand of filament out from his wrist. David struck a piece of flint and held it underneath. The filament caught fire and disintegrated, ending with a small burst like a sparkler. Florin dropped his wrist.

  “Ow,” said Florin, shaking his hand. Kajal bent down and sifted the powder at his feet, the remnants of the burned filament.

  “Ash,” said Kajal.

  Glen smirked.

  “The wood is burning too quickly. It needs to smoulder,” said David, thinking.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. He pointed to a cello. “May I?”

  The mera cellist hugged the cello to her chest, looking at David with a scared, protective look, as though he had just asked to fry her pet squid. She looked from David to Kajal to David again.

  “Give it to him,” said Kajal.

  The mera winced and handed him her cello.

  “Forgive me,” whispered David. He pulled a small, diamond-tipped knife from his belt and cut the strings. The whole orchestra gasped.

  “Have you lost your mind?” asked Glen.

  “The filament needs friction, and a bit of emotion, I think,” said David.

  “But—”

  “Leave him. It’s not important,” said Kajal.

  The cellist looked ready to cry.

  “Florin, I need you to split the wood filament into four strands and run them up the cello where the strings should be. Can you do that?”

  Florin nodded.

  “Awesome,” said David. “Now, what to try?” He tapped the bow to his chin. “I’ve got it. Ready?”

  “Yeah,” said Florin, crouching down.

  “Go.”

  Florin pushed his wrist toward the base of the cello, willing the filament up its front as though he were spinning it new strings. David rubbed his bow across the strands in four quick bursts, as though he were rubbing sticks together for a fire. He paused and rubbed again; the filament floated upward as the cello began to sing.

  C H A P T E R 6 6

  The whole orchestra listened in awe as David tore through the music with a feeling they had scarcely heard before. Even Glen stared with a profound mix of reverence and disbelief. The conductor motioned for the players to pick up their instruments; they began to play harmony to David’s music. As they filled out the sound, the filament stretched upward from the top of the cello’s strings, twisting and billowing in rhythm as though it were dancing to the music, forming more complex shapes than were ever possible with iron. If David had bothered to look up, he would’ve stopped playing in amazement, but he was blind to everything around him, lost in the agitated yet commanding melody. David nodded to Florin as he began the final stanzas; as he struck the last note Florin snapped the filament from his wrist. The massive orb that had formed crackled and hardened, turning black. David snapped a small piece from the orb and examined it. He wrote on the ground.

  Carbon Filter Prototype One. By David Michelson and the Royal Symphony Orchestra.

  He smiled.

  “This is charcoal,” said David, dropping the piece in Kajal’s hand.

  “Extraordinary,” said Glen.

  “I’m sorry about your strings,” said David, handing the cello back to the mera.

  “Sir, it’s fine,” she squeaked. “It was an honour.”

  “Right then, let’s connect it to the system and see what happens,” said Kajal.

  The whole trombone section and part of the clarinets set down their instruments and scurried to help haul the giant filter through the doors and into place. Despite its size, the filter was significantly lighter than the iron one; it almost floated into position like a giant balloon, settling on top of the rust remnants of the days’ previous work, which was now a pile of reddish dust on the floor. Soon the filter hummed to life, and the water rushed through its crevices, hanging onto its strands like freshly-fallen snow on a maple tree.

  Glen checked the stats.

  “Efficiency, about the same; oxidation rate irrelevant. Will need to be changed slightly less often, but not by much,” said Glen, checking the readings on the computer. “In other words, it’s basically the same.”

  David’s shoulders sank.

  “And malleability of the filament?” asked Kajal.

  “Exponentially higher,” said Glen.

  “That means… David, you’ve done it. You’ve just given us a major breakthrough in the famine research,” said Kajal, her eyes bright.

  “I thought Glen said it’s the same,” said David.

  “Yes. You created a filter of similar size and proficiency with a fraction of the effort, using a substance that’s more malleable in its filament form,” said Kajal. “Glen, can you imagine the kind of surface area we can get with this? The more surface area the water touches, the more efficient the filter becomes. David, this find isn’t just big. This is huge. Where did you learn about this charcoal?”

  “Oh, well I—”

  Uriel came through the door.

  “Is everything alright, Kajal?” asked Uriel. “You were supposed to meet your cousin an hour ago to finalise the floral arrangements.”

  “Oh, right. Um… flowers. Right, flowers,” said Kajal, looking around.

  “What is going on, child?” asked Uriel.

  Kajal beamed.

  “We’ve got it. We’ve got a solution that will clean the water enough to return crop yields to a sustainable level.”

  “Serious?” asked Uriel.

  “Yes, David discovered it,” said Kajal, smiling.

  “Really? Let me see,” said Uriel. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned toward the diagram on the computer, revealing the band on his wrist.

  David tensed.

  “I think I’ll just be going now,” said David. He slipped out the back way without notice. Kajal and Glen were too busy showing Uriel the new data. He made it all the way to the service entrance before a guard stopped him.

  “Is something the matter?” asked David.

  The guard pointed behind him.

  “Kajal,” said David.

  “Where are you running to? You just left without even greeting,” said Kajal.

  “Oh, uh, I figured it was probably best if I left,” said David, looking away.

  “Hmm… my father seems to have that effect on you,” said Kajal. “In any event, I was wondering if you would accompany me to Zahara’s viewing ball on Saturday, if you don’t mind.”

  “Me? Accompany you? To the viewing ball?” asked David.

  “Yes, that is what I said,” said Kajal.

  “And your father?”

  “Will manage,” said Kajal. “After all, you are ‘moneyed’ now, as you’ve most certainly won the contest. Twenty million veneros now belongs to you, and knighthood most likely is also in order.”

  David stared at her.

  “Have you nothing to say?” asked Kajal. “You just saved the whole kingdom. We, including my father, are all in your debt. You are now fabulously wealthy, and have been asked to escort the princess to the ball. Have you nothing to say?”

  David looked at her as though not really hearing. He shook his head.

  “Yeah, no. This is all coming as a bit of a shock. Mer from Scuttlebrook and all that.”

  “Well, what do you say to being my date?” asked Kajal.

  “Your date?”

  David frowned.

  “I am the princess after all, you can’t really say no to me,” said Kajal.

  “Okay, then,” said David.

  “Just okay?”

  “Yes,” said David.

>   “David, if you don’t want to go, just say so. I don’t want to force you,” said Kajal.

  “No, it’s fine,” said David, collecting himself. “It would be an honour.”

  He offered a short bow. Kajal smiled.

  “Excellent. Are you busy now? It’s probably best you get to some dancing lessons straight away. We don’t have much time until the ball, and you will have to have at least one dance with me, for tradition.”

  “Okay, I guess I have time now,” said David. “Lead the way.”

  C H A P T E R 6 7

  Nellie floated across the porch to her house with a duffel bag slung across her shoulder and Albert sleeping on her lap. She rang the doorbell, stopping to pet one of John’s bullfrogs as she waited. John opened the door. He had a look of surprise mixed with disappointment.

  “Nellie, where’s your key?” asked John.

  “At the bottom of my swim bag. I didn’t feel like digging it…”

  Natalie paused.

  “What happened here?” she asked.

  The entire upstairs living room was crowded with baskets, hampers and chests wrapped in paper and crispy cellophane. As she pushed her way through the narrow path she saw homemade jams and jellies, artisan breads, cheeses, speciality fruit, coffee and tea, at least four different kinds of smoked fish, and even a jar of Larimar’s most famous dulce de leche, which John had tucked inside the base of the grandfather clock.

  “Gift baskets, gift baskets, and more gift baskets,” said John, waving his arms. “Every mer in Larimar wants to give their congratulations to the newest millionaire in town.”

  “Did you win the lottery?” asked Natalie.

  “No, silly, David had a major breakthrough with the famine research; he won the reward for plotting against the royal house. The bell’s been ringing off the hook with deliveries.”

  “That’s awesome,” said Natalie.

  “Yep, apparently he invented some new substance called charcoal; it’s supposed to be much better at making filters,” said John as he tiptoed through the sea of food. “They’re still running preliminary tests, but they reckon it might just curb the famine completely.”

  “Serious?” asked Natalie.

  “Like a moulting mollusc,” said John. He picked a piece of candied ginger from a wicker basket hanging from the ceiling. “Though why not speak to him yourself? He’s in his room.”

  Natalie floated down the stairs toward David’s room, where David was waving his arms and counting aloud to himself in some sort of awkward dance. Natalie smiled.

  “Hey you,” said Natalie.

  “Oh, hey,” said David, dropping his arms.

  “I hear you single-handedly solved the riddle of a riddle and saved the whole of Larimar,” said Natalie.

  “Something like that,” said David.

  “That’s really great, David. I’m so proud of you,” said Natalie.

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Oh, uh, practising,” said David.

  Before Natalie could ask another question, John raced down the stairs.

  “David, you son of a mer, why didn’t you tell us you and Princess Karina were a thing now?” asked John.

  “What?” asked Natalie.

  “Come see, come see,” said John. He clicked on the television and a mera reporter floated upward.

  I’m standing outside the entrance to Sunny Seas Estate, where David Michelson is said to be staying with one of the residents…

  “Hey, that’s our sign,” said John. “It looks bigger on TV.”

  The Palace has confirmed Michelson will escort Princess Karina to the royal viewing ball on Saturday, but has declined to comment on the nature of Michelson’s relationship with Princess Karina. However, mers who have worked closely with both Michelson and the Princess on the Plotting Against the Royal House Water Filtration Project have suggested a spark has been growing between the couple since…

  “I can’t believe it,” said John, shaking his head. “You’re taking Princess Karina to the biggest celebration of the century and you didn’t even tell us. That’s just downright sneaky.”

  “I guess that’s what the practising is for, then? Perfecting your moves?” asked Natalie.

  A ringing sound echoed from upstairs.

  “Oh, there’s the bell again,” said John, running back up the stairs. “This house hasn’t seen so much excitement in almost thirty decades, he-he. I won’t have to grocery shop for a whole month.”

  Natalie clicked off the television, staring ahead with a strange look on her face. David watched her.

  “What’s wrong?” asked David.

  “So, you’re taking Princess Karina to the ball,” said Natalie, looking at her fins.

  David’s eyes darted around, unsure where to look.

  “Yes,” said David. He dared a quick glance at Natalie. Her frown deepened.

  “She asked me to go with her,” said David. “Is something the matter?”

  “I just wonder if it’s a good idea, that’s all,” said Natalie.

  David stared at her.

  “I mean, you just had a major breakthrough with the famine. If you did just thwart Rahul’s plans, don’t you think it’s better to lay low?” asked Natalie.

  “What, you think Rahul will try something at the ball?” asked David. “I doubt it. There’ll be too many people around and too much security.”

  “What makes you so sure?” asked Natalie.

  “Natalie, I can’t afford to be paranoid,” said David.

  “And you can’t be stupid either. What about the humans? You still have to secure them,” said Natalie.

  “The war has been prevented now. Uriel won’t go to war unless absolutely necessary, and the famine has been stopped,” said David.

  “And for how long? Rahul is still out there,” said Natalie.

  “It’ll be fine,” said David.

  “You’re not listening,” said Natalie.

  “Aw, you’re just afraid a monkey like me can’t dance, and I’ll embarrass myself,” said David, smiling.

  “Don’t say that,” said Natalie, wincing at the words. “You just saved the whole of Larimar for Silence’s sake. You are far from a senseless primate.”

  “It is what it is, Natalie,” said David, shrugging. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “I’m fine. I just… I’m going to go work on more research. I still have a lot to figure out. Good luck with your dance practice.”

  “Natalie?” asked David.

  But she had already closed the door to her room, leaving David staring after her, confused.

  C H A P T E R 6 8

  David sat near Uriel on a wooden stool, still sweaty from dancing with Silver. A servant had interrupted their practice with a summons to the cheese cave; David watched as the King pulled a hard wheel off a hidden shelf near the presses, wondering why a demonstration in dairy had suddenly become so urgent. A sharp, tangy smell filled the room as Uriel held the wheel in front of him, admiring the round.

  “It’s quite something, cheese. Ordinary milk, when placed with the right conditions and additives, transforms in the silence of time into something extraordinary—a true work of art,” said Uriel. He dipped the wheel into a pot of melted, green wax and lifted it out again, holding it with a pair of tongs as he waited for the wax to harden.

  “My family has been making cheese for twelve generations. We know precisely what conditions are needed to make the most sophisticated delicacies—what must be kept out, and what is allowed in. One wrong influence can determine the difference between art and excrement,” said Uriel. He stopped and stared at David with a look that demanded a response.

  “Oh, uh, that’s very interesting,” said David.

  “Mhm,” said Uriel. “Selectiveness
is very important. It’s a philosophy my family has carried into every aspect of its existence. It is why, I believe, the Silent One has allowed us to age from simple dairy farmers into the rulers of Larimar. We have been wise in our selections.”

  He set the green round on the table and took a block of white wax in his hand. He shaved it into thick strips, which he then began to cut and shape into petals, like a lotus on a lily pad of cheese.

  “Kajal, on the other hand, is blinded by ideals and compassion; she is too inexperienced to appreciate the merits of selectiveness and therefore must be looked after.”

  He attached the flower to the rind with melted wax, while David watched, confused. Uriel continued.

  “You are too young in money and influence to be of any use to Kajal, and despite whatever signals she may send you, you are not palatable to the position merited by her companionship. You’ve had a success, it is true, but one accomplishment cannot prevail over decades of your family’s evident failure. Kings are not made in one generation; I will not have her spoiled by someone who thinks so.”

  “Pardon?” asked David.

  “You have your money, a date with my daughter and a few minutes of fame. All this is ample repayment for your service, but it goes no further,” said Uriel, piping in the flower’s yellow centre with a bag full of soft wax. “You and Kajal will never be, do you understand?”

  David choked back a laugh.

  “Do not get cocky with me, boy. A sense of entitlement is never becoming on someone who is still becoming.”

  “No, I understand you perfectly, Your Majesty,” said David, offering a slight bow. “I can assure you Kajal and I are merely acquaintances, nothing more.”

  “Good, then we are in agreement,” said Uriel. “You may go.”

  David danced his way up to the happy, lantern-covered bungalow that was the Lotkin residence, sliding across the porch. John’s frogs did not expect him to duck; as they jumped to meet him they landed plastered flat on the window instead of David. They croaked and ribbitted as they peeled themselves off the glass, but David didn’t hear them; he was already down the stairs looking for Natalie. She was sitting on the couch reading Wildlife Weekly, while Stew was scurrying about the room in and out of crevices. He was looking for Albert, who had squeezed himself into a narrow test tube on Natalie’s counter in a particularly intense game of hide-and-seek. Though Albert was the size of a basketball, he could stuff himself into any space big enough for his eyes, causing considerable exasperation for Stew. He crawled up onto Natalie’s knee as if to ask for help; she pointed behind her toward the lab. Stew nodded and scurried off.