William wept as she realized it was never her. It would never have been her. She'd tried so hard for so many months to be the kind of girl he could love. She'd smiled her brightest, sat up her straightest, walked her daintiest, followed him through towns and forests and dinners and parties and moonlit balconies. She'd nodded when he told her of things she knew nothing about, smiled sympathetically when he told her of his many annoyances, cried when he told her of matters close to his heart, and touched his hand when he told her his deepest sorrows and fears, all hoping he would eventually see her as a wife.
'But he didn't,' she thought as sobs racked her body, 'He never saw me as a wife. He only ever saw me as a child to replace the daughter that his wife died giving birth to all those years ago.'
She was beginning to wish she'd never laid eyes on the count; wished she'd never fallen in love with him; wished she'd never come on land to chase him…
Let's not be hasty, William thought.
Even at her most miserable, when she felt her insides were made of the black and burning peat marches beneath the sea, she could not bring herself to truly regret coming onto land. She'd had many miserable experiences here on land, but she had some good times too. She got to walk, she got to run, and she got to stay all day in the sun. Thanks to her new feet she got to feel hot, dry sand beneath her toes; got to walk through many pretty gardens smelling sweet roses; got to explore sweetly scented woods; got to ride horses through emerald fields and the Lake District. She got to meet the Old Grey, and hold his head in her arms and blow air on his nose, and have horse-riding lessons with Captain Bernadotte.
Even in her deepest despair, where grief shrouded her view of the world, William could not bring herself to feel sad about meeting Captain Bernadotte. He had always been so kind and gentle; so cheerful and easy-going. It was hard not to feel happy around him, and it hurt her how happy she was in hindsight, to have known him and to have spent time with him. If her soul lived on when she was gone, she thought she would miss him the most.
Even in her deepest despair, William could not bring herself to truly wish she was dead. There were things she liked. There were still so many things she loved that she wanted to see, and that she had wanted to see again. While far from perfect, she remembered that beautiful castle by the sea, with the soft white sand by the cove, the cool ocean breeze, the expansive emerald fields, and the sweet-smelling woods in the distance. If she could survive the Count's wedding, it would be enough for her to return to that castle by the sea, and just go out to the stables with Captain Bernadotte and the Wild Geese, and ride horses and just… be…
And she wept because she knew she could never have these things. Linda—cruel, sadistic, spiteful Linda—would never let her return to sea when she knew that dangling her death over her head would bring more misery than the prospect of slavery ever could.
William wondered how she could have ever been dumb enough as to enter a deal with someone who clearly enjoyed tormenting any living thing in her power. There had to have been another way to have become human, and William wished she had been patient and smart enough to find another way. And now it was all too late.
William thought of these things as the wedding preparations buzzed around her.
There was some debate as to where to marry. The Count wanted to marry his fiancé forthwith and take his lovely bride home in his castle by the sea, while the Van Helsings wanted them to have a Catholic wedding in a cathedral. Not just any cathedral, but the Basilica of St. Nicholas in Amsterdam, since that was where her family had married for generations (all but her father, who had married her mother in India). This meant they would need to board a ship to Amsterdam.
After a week it was decided, and soon they had a superb ship made ready for the voyage.
It was decided that the Count and Dr. Van Helsing would travel in a swift passenger ship to Amsterdam to arrange the wedding, while Lady Richard, Sir King, William, Captain Bernadotte, his men and the wedding party all traveled on a ship that the Count owned, and which would be splendidly decorated for a wedding retinue.
"It pains me to part from you, even for a moment," the Count told his lovely bride-to-be.
"It's for the best," she answered, "It's bad luck for the bride and bridegroom to see each other for the wedding."
"Be that as it may…"
"Hush, she shall see each other soon enough," she smiled.
He kissed her hand, but looked deeply into her eyes and would not move. "I was nearly killed in a shipwreck this time last year. The thought of losing you, when I am not there to protect you…"
"You won't," she said, not too unkindly. "The weather has been calm and there are no signs of storms. Amsterdam is not far. We shall be there soon enough."
He was only mildly reassured, but it was enough for him to smile and press his forehead against hers. "Just think, to be married in a cathedral in the harbor, with its front steps leading out to the ocean…" his smile was one of pure love. "The ocean, where you and I first saw each other."
William gagged.
By then, William was walking again—although it was only a little for short ways, which she was happy with. She'd stolen a few rolls of bandages while she was still recovering, so she could wrap her feet under her shoes and skirts, so in case she walked too much and bled again she would not leave a trail. In that time, she also learned to hide her pain with each step. She thought of ballerinas, who walked on the tips of their toes so they looked like they were gliding, yet never showed their pain. If they could retain their graceful ballerina movements and their smile while they glided across stage on the tips of their toes, William felt she could do the same as she walked on knives.
Her heart sank as they boarded the ship that would lead to her doom. It was a beautiful, grand, richly furnished three-masted vessel; more splendid than even the one in which she had first saw the Count. They had many highborn ladies and gentlemen to accompany, so that they could witness the Count and his soon-to-be countess's wedding.
"I trust you aren't afraid of the sea, my silent child" the count purred into her ear, as they went on board the magnificent vessel that was to carry them to the land of the neighboring country.
William started, for she did not know he was there, nor that he took such notice of her. 'Now you notice me,' she thought, and saw her miserable reflection from the murky waters. She was much thinner, paler, and full of pallor than she'd remembered.
She then started when her master's two huge black hounds ran past her onto the ship, panting and barking happily.
Lady Richard was waiting for them on the ship. "Must you bring your hunting hounds?" she asked as they ascended the ramp.
"But of course, my lady," the Count answered smoothly, "They are as much a part of my family as this one here." He placed his hands on William' shoulders.
William' felt both touched and hurt more deeply by the gesture.
Lady Richard nodded curtly, and walked further into the ship.
And so William slumped miserably into the ship, ready to await her death.
But when they left the set sail into the open sea, she felt… elated, somehow. Far from the smog and crowd of London and into the bright, clear, vast seas, she felt refreshed and rejuvenated. She could feel the sun shine directly on her and not through the soot of factories, nor the parapets of tall buildings. She could feel the sweet salty sea air fill her lungs and heal her tired, sick body like the healing waters of Bath. She could feel the breeze kiss her face and tease her hair, and she couldn't remember the last time she felt wind.
She had been indoors in London for so long, over so many months, that she'd become accustomed to the dry, stale air from inside the apartments of Carfax estate. While the Carfax grounds had been much greener, wider, and brighter than the London flat, they were not as good as the castle by the sea. There was nothing as fabulous, as soul-healing as the sea breeze.
William had always assumed that because she was no longer a mermaid, she no longer needed
the sea to keep her alive. That may have been true in the strictest sense, as she no longer needed water to breathe nor soak her fish's tail, she realized that she needed it to refresh her soul. She had been a suffocating house plant in London, shriveling up from want of water and sun. Now that she was out in the sea, where she could deeply inhale the salty sea air, feel the wind blowing in her face, and admire the sparkling blue waters all around them. She could enjoy the sound of splashing as the beautiful sea lapped up the keel of the ship, she felt as if her shriveled little soul was soaking up all the sun and water she needed.
She sighed with elation, happier than she could ever remember being, even before Carfax.
"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, ma cher," Captain Bernadotte said, and she turned to look at him.
He stood near her, with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. He was back in his coarse sea officer clothes. He must have seemed like quite the seafaring gentleman, while she looked to be the innocent ingénue in her white muslin gown.
She blushed, pleased and embarrassed by the attention, and bowed her head graciously.
He smiled, a closed-lipped smile that was a little sad and resigned, and carried on.
Captain Bernadotte was to direct this ship, along with all the sailors who had been the crew of the Wild Geese ship.
At first there had been some debate as to whether it would be best to let some washed up old former sailors, who had worked on the Count's ground as grooms and laborers for a year, man a ship. But most of them had proudly stated that they'd been running ships since infancy, and could do so in their sleep. Captain Bernadotte vouched for them. There were other crewmates William had not seen on the estate, whom she had not known about, and she later learned that they were other Wild Geese who had taken on other jobs sailing other ships while they waited till their captain, Pip Bernadotte, could "get back into the swing of things," as it were. Some of the men who had been on land like William all these months were a little rusty with knot-tying, but they quickly got back into it.
They were just as happy to be back in the sea as William was.
They'd all been gritty, grizzly, rusty, hang-dog fellows who had scared William when she had been a wee little mermaid watching humans from afar in the water, but now that she walked among them she was happy to be around them. They loved the ship and they loved the sea as much as William did, and it was hard for her not to be enchanted by their energy.
As other humans on board struggled to find their "sea legs," as the sailors put it, William strolled in sync with the swaying ship. She was a mermaid, born and bred; the swaying tide was as much a part of her as the beats of her own heart.
She beamed as she watching the sailors climb up the masts to man the ropes and the sails above her head, and laughed a silent laugh as she saw the sea gulls screech and fly around them, and heard the playful screes of dolphins below them.
I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue
And it's 'hey' to the starboard, heave ho!
Look out, lad, a mermaid be waiting for you
In mysterious fathoms below
William smiled but furrowed her brows, for the pleasant melody sounded vaguely familiar to her. Once, in another life, long, long ago…
The nostalgia brought a smile to her face and a sway to her hips. She found herself swaying in rhythm to the song as the sailors sang. When they saw her, they laughed and encouraged her to dance more openly with them on deck.
William pushed off the bulwarks and made her way to the center of the deck, where she swayed and sashayed to the sailor's song. They laughed as they finished their old verse and the started the whole thing again, just for her.
I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue
And it's 'hey' to the starboard, heave ho!
William spun around so her long skirt fanned out around her and she reached out her hand to an imaginary dance partner, "heave ho!"
Look out, lad, a mermaid be waiting for you
In mysterious fathoms below
William noticed that the men snickered and winked and made an imaginary elbow nudge toward Captain Bernadotte, who sneered good-naturedly to let them know he wasn't affected by their mockery, and went up to the bow of the ship. William thought it passing odd, but she wasn't exactly in a position to ask.
Captain Bernadotte grinned from the starboard bow.
"Isn't this great?" he said, "The salty sea air! The wind blowing in your face…" He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled a lungful of tobacco smoke. "Perfect day to be at sea, eh, Mademoiselle?"
Lady Richard King was currently getting sick off the starboard bow. She had not yet found her "sea legs," it seemed. When she pulled her head up, it was 'green around the gills,' and just as clammy. "No, Mr. Bernadotte," she hiccupped, "Delightful." She then got sick overboard.
Part of William still resented this woman for stealing her life, so she found a little sadistic pleasure in her discomfort.
"A fine strong wind and a following sea," a stout old sailor exclaimed as he tied a rope, "King Triton must be in a friendly type mood!"
William stopped dead in her tracks. She must have looked like she got slapped. 'King Triton?' her lips moved on their own. How did they know about her Sea King?
The sailor saw expression and laughed. "Why, ruler of the merpeople, lass. Thought every good sea girl knew about him!"
Just then the count's two hunting dogs, who had been brought on the voyage so they two could rejoice in the festivities, ran up to her, barking happily. William then leaned down to pet them, partly as an excuse not to give anything away with her face.
As she did, she heard the sailors above deck continue in the same cheerful melody as before:
I'll sing you a song of the king of the sea,
And it's 'hey' to the starboard, heave ho!
Several sailors splashed a bucket of sea water onto the deck and started swabbing it.
The ruler of all of the oceans is he,
In mysterious fathoms below.
William smiled and shook her head, for she knew better than any of them of the bottom of the sea.
Just then, Richard descended from the bow, straightening her cravat. "Hmph, merpeople," she sniffed, haughty and stuffy. "William, pay no attention to this nautical nonsense."
"But it ain't nonsense, it's the truth!" the stout old sailor exclaimed. "There's a whole world of merpeople under the sea!"
Lady Richard rolled her eyes. Just then, other sailors began to crowd around her.
"King Triton's their ruler!" one said, holding up a mop in front of his face like a beard.
"He's got seven fair daughters," a big, burly fellow winked suggestively,
William chuckled and shook her head again, for she knew it to be six. It was a common enough mistake, even under the sea.
Just then, a cackling old man's voice creaked, "And a witch of a sister named Linda Mills."
William' heart stopped, and her face drained of blood. All at once she remembered her dread and her sorrow, and her feet ached where she stood.
No one noticed, though, because all eyes turned to the old and respected sailor who'd spoken up. He was currently helping to pull fish out of a net and place them in a barrel, to be taken down to the galley to be cooked for the guests' luncheon. He was a very old, and tiny, and decrepit looking man with a white beard and a missing eye.
Lady Richard frowned. "Linda Mills," she scoffed.
Captain Bernadotte also frowned, and he took a deep drag of his cigarette. "Never heard that one before."
"Well, of course ye haven't, laddie. Ye haven't been sailing these seas as long as me."
Captain Berandotte snorted, but smirked. "If you say so, old coot."
"Ah! Half the sea is his brothers and sisters, captain. You know how Poseidon likes to get around," one of the men winked.
That was true, William thought. Poseidon got around so much he made his brother Zeus seem faithful by comparison. That's why his wife, Amphi
rite, currently lived with her son and granddaughters instead of her husband these last several centuries.
Richard scoffed again. "You learned gentlemen can't tell me you believe in… some witch named Sorin."
"Linda Mills, lassie," the old Scottish sailor said, "Evil and ugly, and hungry for power. King Triton, he banished her off into exile. And there she lives now, just biding her time."
He then began to sing, a very low and husky tune.
Fathoms below in the ocean,
Lives Linda, Witch of the Sea
He then danced between Lady Richard, who stood up straight with her arms folded in disbelief, Captain Bernadotte, who stood smirking as he smoked his cigarette, and even William Hanna, who looked so pale and horror-struck it was a wonder she didn't faint.
She plots and she schemes and she wickedly dreams
Of the day when she'll return once more!
The rest of the sailors then joined into the chorus:
Return to rule the ocean floor!
The deck-swabbers then danced toward the trio as they swabbed, cheerfully singing:
She plots to be queen of the bottomless blue,
And it's 'hey' to the starboard, heave ho!
So Triton, beware there's a plan all a brew
In mysterious fathoms below!
"Gentlemen!" Lady Richard exclaimed, stopping them in their tracks. "I cannot believe that reasonable… modern gentlemen such as yourselves, in this age of science and enlightenment, can still believe in this old-fashioned… superstitious nonsense!"
The old Scottish sailor took grave offense to this and pointed a fish at her face. "Well, it ain't nonsense, it's the truth!"
Richard instantly turned green when she stared straight into the fish's cold, dead eyes.
The old man exclaimed passionately, "I'm telling you, down in the depths of the ocean they live below!"
His hand loosened on the fish, which flopped in her face, turning it a bright new shade of green. She turned back around to be sick of the starboard bow, as the fish flopped off too…
Down in mysterious fathoms below!
They all bellowed, and then they all laughed a good hardy laugh and slapped their knees.
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