The Case of the Fickle Mermaid

by P. J. Brackston

“For pity’s sake, did you hear them call him Hoffman?”

  “That I might . . .” The old man, seeing Gretel’s darkening expression, had the good sense to stop tormenting her. “Aye. Hoffman. That was the name. They were here together but twice, and neither time for an evening of drinking.”

  “The connection was business, then.”

  “They stayed only a short while. They left when it was proper dark. Took a boat out of the harbor.”

  “To where?”

  “That I cannot tell you.”

  “Cannot or will not? I have nothing more to trade, grandfather.”

  He shook his head. “They did not let slip the name of their destination.”

  For a moment Gretel sat in thoughtful silence. She did not feel she was getting much for the pawning of her lorgnettes, but still it was helpful to have her suspicions regarding Hoffman’s smuggling enterprise confirmed. Knowing that he was engaged in such an activity explained many things. His wish to be rid of her, lest she discover what he was about and expose him. His need to be rid of Frenchie, given that the bottle he clutched in the grip of death had once contained brandy. Clearly the chef had known of the smuggling. Gretel recalled the superior brandy he had shared with her in his kitchen. Perhaps he had discovered what Hoffman was doing and had demanded a cut of both profits and brandy. Perhaps there had been a disagreement over terms, or the cook had threatened to expose him, and perhaps that had led to his murder. Such speculation was all very well and good, but Gretel was not fond of any theory that must begin with “perhaps.” It had a taste of doubt about it that soured the overall flavor of the postulation. Furthermore, what she had learned did nothing to support her original theory that Hoffman could be working in league with Thorsten Sommer to ruin Captain Ziegler’s nascent cruise business.

  “Tell me one more thing,” she asked the old man. “What say you on the matter of mermaids?”

  Had Gretel voiced such an inquiry anywhere in her hometown of Gesternstadt, or while visiting, perchance, the sophisticated city of Nuremberg, she would no doubt have been laughed at, long and loud. Here, however, on the little island of Hallig Hoog, cut off from the mainland and indeed the world by the wild seas that surrounded it, existing as it did in its own strange isolation, with its own strange ways and customs, her question was greeted only with mild surprise.

  “Mermaids? Ah, ’tis a fair while since I have thought of those winsome creatures. Or at least, it was a fair while, up until a week last Tuesday.”

  “Oh, how so?”

  “The evening was fine, the sea mist had rolled back to let the sun through, so I took my ease upon a bench on the harbor for an hour or so, watching the boats coming and going. So pleasant was the day, and so soothing the rhythm of the tide, time passed without my noticing, and I slipped into a soft and dreamless sleep.”

  Gretel felt that if he made his answer any more long-winded she might nod off herself, but she resisted saying as much.

  “I slept long and deep. ’Twas gone midnight when I was awoken, and the sound that stirred me from my slumbers I shall never forget.”

  Gretel waited, fighting the urge to drum her fingers on the table. The expectant pause was filled with Hans’s gleeful cry of “Full Flummery Flush again! Huzzah!” and still she waited. At last the smoker judged he had built sufficient dramatic tension into his tale.

  “The sound of mermaid song!” he declared. “As sweet and clear as any sound on God’s earth, and anywhere else besides. Not since I was a boy in short trousers had I heard that magical singing.”

  “And recently you have heard it more than once?”

  “Most Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and twice last Thursday. Beginning to tire of it a little, to tell you the truth. All a bit samey, after the first half dozen times. Could do with a little more variety, if you ask me.”

  “It does not frighten you? Some sailors find it intolerable and cannot be pressed or persuaded to remain aboard ship if they think a mermaid is near.”

  “Ah, sailors.” The old man sucked on his pipe. “They have their little ways,” he added, as if this made everything clear.

  “So islanders tend not to think that mermaids might cause, ooh, let’s say madness, or shipwreck, or unexplained disappearances?”

  He laughed dryly. “Such nonsense! But that’s sailors for you, believe all manner of silliness they do. No.” He leaned forward, earnest once more. “If you’re looking for the cause of mysterious deaths and such like in these parts, that’ll be Ekkenekkepen, of course.”

  “Ekkenekke . . . ?”

  “. . . —pen. Aye. Nasty, wicked thing. God of the sea hereabouts, and an evil one at that. Known to swallow up sailors whole. Small boats sometimes, too. Aye, you’d best stay well clear of him.”

  “Is that so?” Gretel fought the urge to say something cutting. The last thing she needed was fairy stories concerning local mythological creatures. She had quite enough to deal with as it was, what with the sprite and the mermaid.

  “It is.” The old man nodded vigorously. “Ooh, yes, many’s the time things strange and peculiar have turned out to be all the doing of Ekkenekkepen.”

  “Thank you so very much for the advice,” said Gretel, who was starting to feel as if the lunatics might have taken over the asylum while she wasn’t looking.

  FIFTEEN

  Fortunately, Hans’s card playing outpaced the old man’s storytelling by a swift country mile. Even more fortunately, Hans succeeded in emptying the pockets of all the other card players present and filling his own. This enabled him to buy back both Gretel’s lorgnettes and his own lighter, even if it was at a wince-inducing inflationary rate. There was even sufficient money left to pay for a messenger gull. Gretel wrote an urgent note to Captain Ziegler giving their whereabouts and whatabouts and imploring him to send the tender to fetch them at his earliest convenience. Or, preferably, earlier than that. She stipulated clearly that he was not, under any argument, to send Hoffman. Scarcely had their bird flapped out of the low window at the back of the inn than Cat’s Tongue and Pustule returned. They were not best pleased to discover their castaways had communicated with the Arabella, and hid their ire poorly. Mold, who had only woken when his fellows entered through the door he was guarding, was roundly shouted at by Cat’s Tongue, and soundly beaten by Pustule for dereliction of duty.

  There had been a difficult moment when Cat’s Tongue had insisted that he would be happy to take Gretel and Hans and even the mer-hund back to the Arabella themselves. They had invited them to return to their little boat then and there, urging haste, so as to make the most of a favorable tide, and to save Captain Ziegler the trouble of sending his launch out on a wasted journey. Their insistence would have been hard to resist, given that it would most likely have soon progressed from cajoling words to arms being twisted behind backs and persons being frog-marched out of the inn, along the quay, and to, Gretel was certain, a sticky end. As luck would have it, Hans’s lengthy gaming had allowed him to form something of a bond with his fellow cardsharps. So much so that they had even forgiven him for taking from each and every one of them their last shiny penny. Indeed, they seemed rather in awe of him. Hans later explained this was in part due to their never having encountered a card player of his particular complexity and guile. Gretel interpreted this as Hallig Hoog being so remote, they only ever played among themselves and were utterly thrown by the arrival of a stranger and his strange ways. Their affection for Hans was indisputably increased by his determination to buy everyone in the inn ale with his winnings. And as there were plenty of winnings, he was able to purchase plenty of ale. The resultant merriment was the perfect defense against Cat’s Tongue’s attempts to take them from the inn. Each new round of drinks was celebrated by yet another sea shanty or island song, each one increasingly ribald and risqué. If at any point Pustule tried to lay hands on Hans as a prelude to removing him, he was met with howls of displeasure from the by-now-inebriated islanders, who had claimed Hans as one of their own and
would not be parted from him.

  By the time Captain Ziegler himself arrived to collect his errant passengers, only Gretel, Hans, and Cat’s Tongue remained conscious. The rest had succumbed either to fatigue, drink, or a combination of both. The furious smuggler could only stand by and watch as they left. Knowing Hoffman as she did, Gretel did not envy the man the quartermaster’s response to his failure to do away with those who now presented a serious threat to their enterprise.

  On arriving back on board the Arabella, Gretel’s dearest wish was a bath and bed, but the captain would hear of no delay. He insisted she accompany him to his quarters immediately. Once there, he resumed his customary dramatic delivery in order to berate her for taking the lifeboat—which was in a shocking state, according to him—and rant anew about the perilous condition of his business and her own lack of results. She waited for him to calm down, sufficiently familiar with the man’s character by now to know there was no point in saying a word until his rage had subsided. At last he sat in his chair, plucking his tricorn from his head and hurling it across the room before fixing her with a challenging stare.

  “Firstly, captain, I wish to apologize for any damage done to your lifeboat.” She experienced a vivid and most unwelcome flash of memory regarding the storm that had near swamped and sunk them, and knew that in truth the captain was lucky to have got the thing back at all. “Secondly, I thank you for your prompt response to my message, and for personally attending to my collection from Hallig Hoog. I am pleased to be able to tell you that, testing, arduous, and indeed dangerous as these past few days have been, the risks and discomforts—most of which have been suffered by myself, I might add—were well worth the suffering. I have gleaned valuable information on two counts.”

  “You have? God’s teeth, woman, have you the name of the fellow who would see my business scuppered? Let’s have it!” he cried, aflamed anew at the thought of knowing the identity of his persecutor.

  “I ask for your patience,” said Gretel, holding up a steadying hand. “In my work, just as there is an order to discovering things, so there is an order to revealing them. That way confusion is minimized, and we are able to clearly see what is what.” Captain Ziegler looked less than convinced. She pressed on. “First, my suspicions regarding your quartermaster were accurate.”

  “He murdered Frenchie?”

  “It seems reasonable to suppose that he did, yes.”

  “The black-hearted scoundrel! And he is about ruining me?”

  “That is less certain. It may be a result of his actions, but almost an inadvertent one, for I cannot yet discern a motive.”

  “Well, is he in cahoots with Sommer or is he not?”

  “We must conclude not.”

  “We must? Damn his eyes. I’d be happier rid of that slippery Norseman.”

  “I am aware you resent his existence, but is that not, in truth, because he has what it is you crave more than anything in this world?”

  “His ships, d’you mean? They are fine enough, but I’d rather have my Arabella.”

  “Your loyalty to your vessel does you credit. No, I was referring to his position. When first ever we spoke of him, you revealed your jealousy of his standing in society—‘supping with royalty’ was the phrase you used, if memory serves. He is a man respected in these parts, a businessman who is well thought of by everyone, be they crew, paying passengers, dignitaries, royal cruise-goers, or family members. Even the islanders themselves speak well of him, and they, as I have discovered, are resistant to just about everyone until given a reason to like them.”

  Captain Ziegler looked uncharacteristically subdued. His expression suggested Gretel had hit the nail square on the head and driven it home painfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but she saved him the trouble.

  “Before you attempt to explain yourself, I feel it only fair that I confess to knowing of your past.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How much of it?”

  “All of it.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes, indeed, ah.”

  He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose it had to come out. Though damn it all, how far around the world does a man have to sail to outrun his history?”

  “The more colorful a past, the faster and farther it travels.”

  “There’s truth in that.”

  “Tell me, for I am curious, what was it made you turn from the life of a privateer to that of the master of a cruise ship? From what I have learned, you were a successful buccaneer. Famous. Wealthy. What made you yearn for such a quiet life?”

  “In my youth I was unmatchable, fraulein. There was none could sail a ship, plot a course, mount an attack, swash or buckle better than I. And yes, I took bounty aplenty. I took lives, too, I’m not proud of that, but it was part of my role. My crew respected me. There were those romantically inclined who enjoyed hearing tales of my exploits.” He allowed himself a little smile at this. “But I will not see thirty again. The passing of the years—and such years!—takes its toll. On body and on soul. I was weary, fraulein. Weary of the fight. Of the ruffians whose company I kept. Of the terror on the faces of anyone I met beyond my crew. Weary of being the only man on board could read. Or write. Or talk of anything other than murder and gold and plunder.”

  “In short, my dear captain, you grew up.”

  “Let us say a man’s needs alter as he alters. I wished for a different life. I knew I could never have it where I was known. I had obtained my pardon, right enough, but if I was to enter society, to move among good folk in the calm waters of peace rather than the turmoil of a life of piracy, I must needs change myself, and change how others saw me. To do that I had to find a new home.”

  “The name was a good place to start, too. I can’t imagine too many gilt-edged invitations being penned to the Snaggle-Toothed Pirate.”

  “You have it right. So I quit the Caribbean seas and came north, here to this place of pale beauty.”

  “You liked it?”

  He shrugged. “I liked what it could give me. A fresh start. The chance to live calmly. Peaceably. Though ’tis bitter cold three-quarters of the year and has shown me more shades of gray than I ever knew existed.”

  Gretel nodded. “You are not alone in that experience. But the people, if a little distant at first, they are kind and good, are they not? Your jealousy of Sommer is not born of dislike, in fact, but of admiration and envy. You would be him, were such a thing possible.”

  “Ha! If ever I stood a slender chance of becoming such, it has vanished along with the crewmembers who have disappeared, both mine and his.”

  “Your reputation may yet be saved.”

  “You believe so? I fear not,” he said, plucking the stopper from the nearest decanter and pouring two generous measures into crystal tumblers.

  “Let the matter of your good name rest with me. In the meantime, we have more urgent concerns.”

  “We have?”

  “If we are to save further men from either fleeing or being done in, yes. Our endeavors must be directed in two places. First, the mermaid.”

  “She is real?”

  “As you or I.”

  “You’ve found her, then!”

  “Found, met, conversed with, and persuaded of a possible course of action that will, I believe, suit your needs as well as they suit hers.”

  “Excellent! At last, fraulein, I begin to see a return on my investment. Here’s to you!” He saluted her with his glass.

  “Yes, my payment is a matter to which I must return shortly. Now, what say you to a short trip to the waters of your youth?”

  “Return to the Caribbee? Why would I do such a thing?”

  “The mermaid is desirous of a warmer home. I have taken it upon myself to give her an assurance, on your behalf, that she will be conveyed to such a place. For a price, of course.”

  “She has money?”

  “Thanks to whoever it is who pays her to ruin you, she has.”

  “Ha! I like th
e roundness of that. There is justice! To use the scoundrel’s own coin to stop him. I like that very well! But who is the man?”

  “Alas, I do not have his name, not yet. I have my theories, naturally . . .”

  “Theories be damned! I must know who is set upon ruining me!”

  “And you will, I promise you that. But first things first, and that is to get the mermaid’s cooperation.”

  “If I agree to ferry her south, she’ll spill the beans?”

  “It will be part of agreed terms, I guarantee. Be under no illusion, you will have difficulty keeping a crew once they know what cargo it is you carry.”

  “You leave my crew to me. Those who have run back to their mothers at a few notes of singing are well gone. I will face the rest with the proposal. So long as I have sufficient for the voyage, at least, I can be certain more will be willing to join me once it is known I have rid them of the mermaid they so fear. Then I may ply my trade and add to my ship’s company and passengers alike with confidence.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Tell the fishy maid I will do as she wants, but ’twill be at no small inconvenience and disruption: I will have that gold from her before we sail, and plenty of it.”

  “You may tell her yourself. In fact, you must, for she will not strike the deal until she has word of it from your own lips. I promised her you would go to her, knowing as I do that you are not troubled by the creatures.”

  “Tobias Ziegler fears nothing the sea can offer him. That’s true enough.”

  “Excellent. Next we must turn our minds to the matter of the smuggled brandy your quartermaster has been busying himself with.”

  “What?” roared the captain. “Am I never to break free of skulduggery and nefarious enterprises? How is a man to establish himself as fine and trustworthy if all about him are revealed to be not only murderous cutthroats but devious opportunists to boot?”

  “Calm yourself, dear captain. Fortune has favored our cause inasmuch as the isle that the smuggler chose to stow their contraband is the same island on which the mermaid has her current home. Whether he is also her secret benefactor I cannot yet be certain, but I intend on finding out. You and I will return there, seal the deal with the young creature, and so assure you of trouble-free future cruises. We can, at the same time, seek out any further stashes of brandy, claim them, and quite possibly have sight of the mob who either deliver or collect them. Our rescuers took some away with them, but I suspect there will be more. While it is probable Hoffman and his gang will find an alternative location for future transactions, I doubt they will be able to change their plans in a matter of hours, particularly if the brandy is being brought any distance and in secret.”