“I would love to, Miranda,” he replied softly with a respectful bow.
“Wonderful! I shall see you at eight, then.” She clapped her hands in delight, and then, with a swirl of silk and a waft of exotic perfume, she swept past him, and stepped into a gilded carriage.
The carriage, emblazoned with the family crest, had been sitting at the dock, awaiting her arrival before her ship had even dropped its anchor. A coachman and driver, both liveried, and four magnificent white Lipizzaner Stallions patiently waited to carry the duchess up to her castle like a fairy tale princess going to a ball. Despite the more modern transports available, she preferred traveling the old fashioned way.
Frederick Bruun was delightful. He was extremely intelligent and an avid reader of a wide variety of subjects, both fiction and nonfiction. He was quite a fan of Jules Verne, and Miranda was delighted when he presented her with a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.
“He was such a charming man,” she cried. “I’m so happy his book got published!”
“This book was published over sixty years ago. You couldn’t possibly have known him,” Frederick pointed out.
“You forget who I am. There are more possibilities in my life than you can imagine, Frederick.” She laughed.
He nodded ruefully and then gave her back a steady smile, his warm, pale-blue eyes sparkling in amusement and wonder. The fact that he could take all of this in, embrace and accept all that she was without fear or envy, gave him an immortal place in her heart. He was strong like her father had been … strong and handsome in a totally different way. He was also a widower with a young son, which touched her heart, for it made her think of her mother.
Frederick had so many wonderful qualities, and yet two major problems kept them from being truly together. First of all, he feared and hated the sea. It had taken his father, his grandfather, and his wife from him. This was not such an unusual situation for a family in a seafaring country, but none of his family had been sailors or seamen. They had all died on ships that sank in storms.
Secondly, he hated most seafood. He had almost died from a fishbone in his throat as a boy and was a highly allergic to shellfish and seaweed. So he was not the kind of fellow one brought home to mother, when your mother was a mermaid.
Yet everything else about him was perfect. So even though Frederick might not be her true “Prince Charming,” as far as she was concerned, she would, as one said in polite circles, be “keeping company” with him.
Frederick also loved to dance, something many men did not love to do, and he did it so well. Dancing with him was a joyous surrender. Moving across the dance floor safe within his arms was like floating in a gentle whirlpool, spinning effortlessly around. Frederick was a man of many words, but he never reverted to needless prattle. They could sit side by side by the fire for hours without talking, or lie on a blanket under the stars just enjoying the nearness of each other. A soft smile or a comic look said all that was needed—or they could talk philosophy and discuss books for hours upon end.
Most important of all perhaps was how safe Frederick made her feel. Miranda suddenly understood the depth of her mother’s loss, and the emptiness her father’s death had left her with. Frederick was not the warrior king her father had been. His strength was much more subtle. It was in his warm, sensitive, intelligence that had attracted her. He had great wit and was well educated, well traveled, and well read, and his tall, lean, muscled frame belied the scholarly position he occupied as a lawyer.
One day, to her surprise, he admitted he had almost gone professional as a football player. He even tried to teach Miranda how to play soccer, but she decided it was more fun to watch than to endure.
So Frederick Bruun became her first love, something for which Miranda would always be grateful.
Rags to Riches
At the age of thirty-five, Vasili Thermopolis was the richest man in the world. A fact he and he alone knew, since large portions of his wealth were hidden under the names of corporations that existed only on a bank account or at the post office. In twenty-three years he had gone from a street urchin of Mykonos to the wealthiest man on earth.
Not only was he the wealthiest, he was possibly the wisest, because he knew the truth: he knew the ancient powers were real. He had touched them, tapped into them. He knew there was another power out there, older and greater than Medea, one he must somehow help her destroy. That was the first reason she had given him for her need for power.
Today he was dealing with her second need for power. He had spent many years and thousands and thousands of dollars tracing back through time to find the descendants of Medea from her child Medus, son of king Aietes of Athens.
Today Vasili was marrying the last and only female descendant of Medea. She was so unlike her in every way. A young, simple girl of modest merchant parents, educated in Greek Orthodox schools, she was easily enraptured by the attentions of a handsome billionaire.
Medea wanted her descendants to rule the land while she ruled the sea, something she knew would be possible once Queen Helmi and her daughter Miranda were gone. Medea had given Vasili two main tasks—two commands—to accomplish in order
to justify her gifts to him, and to save his life. He was to sire her descendants and kill her enemies. And these were two tasks he was sure he was more than capable of doing.
Melancholy Mermaid
As time went along, Pearl decided there were more and more advantages to being a mermaid. She swam down to twelve hundred feet to continue her journey, unbothered by ships and divers, and to think about things as her army swam protectively high above her.
She could talk to and command any creature in the ocean. Any! She could even link her mind with the minds of the whales and dolphins to find out what was up ahead. It was the easiest thing in the world—even easier than a conference call. All she had to do was think the question and send it in the direction she wanted to know about, and any citizen of the sea out there would respond to her with the information. It was like getting the answers to a test before you had to take it. Even the tiniest shrimp could communicate with her if she wanted it to.
Plankton really didn’t have much to say; their minds just hummed, like coral, although there was some emotional color to the hum of the coral. They actually got excited, or something close to that emotion. Plankton floated along thinking “hungry,” waiting to be gulped down without another thought, which was a good thing, really.
Thousands of fish had warned her that large, strange ships were dropping giant nets into the sea and gathering in front of her path. It was obvious the people in these ships wanted to catch her, but what right did they have to do that? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t broken any law by turning into a mermaid. They had a lot of nerve!
Echo hummed a little louder in her ear and purred reassuringly as she felt Pearl’s emotions flare. This had the desired effect of calming Pearl down.
She had thought her defense plan out all by herself, and it worked like a charm. Her dad still had the military bug and used to take her to paintball battles. She was pretty good with a paintball gun, and she found she was also a pretty good strategist when it came to winning a battle. She had played against a lot of good opponents, and she had whipped their butts!
Why couldn’t they have waved some underwater white flag and asked to speak to her? She would like to talk to them, to get a message to her mother and father. But it seemed like everyone just to want to grab her and stick her in a cage—well more like a fish tank—and study her. It was like watching “Splash” with Daryl Hanna, except that she wasn’t some mermaid taking a break from the sea for a couple of days. She was an American citizen. She had her Social Security card, a bank account, savings bonds, a Girl Scout membership, and everything else a thirteen-year-old could have.
It was very rude the way they were treating her, which really surprised Pearl. All of her dad’s old navy buddies she’d ever met had always been very nice to her and extre
mely polite. Whoever was in charge up there now needed a good lesson in manners. Pearl was starting to think she might have to find a bottle and stick a message in it, when she saw something up ahead that changed her mind.
A Heck of a Fish Tale
Yoshi Naamen was glad that high-tech toys for the rich and infamous were reaching new highs. A company named SeasImage had started up few years earlier and was now making small, high-tech, personal deep-sea submarines at more affordable prices for sporting millionaires and billionaires.
SeasImage’s three-man model of their VictorySubmersible line was called the DeepSee. The company marketing division was finishing up a demo run for Will Andon, a reporter from BestBoats International magazine, who was writing a feature on the DeepSee for their upcoming issue. Yoshi was the pilot of the Undersea Hunter, and Avi Klapner was the technician. He was along to demo the sub’s sea tools—the manipulators, underwater lights, and cameras that could be used to collect and gather information, or maybe some terrific souvenirs, depending upon the interests of who was on board.
Yoshi and Avi had taken Will down to 1500 feet off the coast of Cocos Island in Costa Rica and put her through her paces without a hitch. Yoshi was already counting the minutes before they would rise back up toward the surface.
“I just can’t get over the spectacular view this acrylic cabin gives you,” Will Andon said. He sighed as he snapped off a few more pictures. “This baby will open up a whole new world of support for marine biologists,” he exclaimed. Then they heard the knock on the cabin roof.
They all froze and exchanged glances with one of those “Did you hear what I heard?” or “Am I the only one going crazy?” kinds of looks. The knocking continued and Avi sputtered, “What the …” as he spun around. The men twisted and turned in their seats, then, with a sudden clarity, in unison, their eyes slowly rotated upward.
Three jaws dropped, six eyes bulged, and three throats gasped in tight precision. There above them, resting on top of the clear acrylic dome and witnessing their flawless precision, was Pearl, smiling down at them.
Her hair spun out in all directions, floating on the current. Her glistening tail flared out and fanned gently to keep her stationary on the dome. Her purple Speedo sports top, with the logo spelled out in white letters outlined in black, marked her as the elusive mermaid that had been all over the news. She was waving at them with one hand and continued to tap the roof with the other until their eyes stopped glazing over and they focused to see the words she was pointing to. Evidently this mythical creature had appeared out of the depths of the ocean to scrawl a note on their dome with a grease pen, the favored writing tool of underwater adventurers.
She had written in red, “Hi, my name is Pearl. I’m kind of new at being a mermaid. Could you please call my mom at 555-631-1870 and tell her I’m all right and not to worry? Thanks!” She had even managed to scrawl her message in reverse so the startled men wouldn’t have to read backwards!
Being a true professional, Will instinctively pressed his camera button as she knocked on the dome again and waved at them. The camera whirled and clicked as Pearl continued to point to the message. She kept pointing, nodding, and waiting until they had the sense to nod back, like three grinning idiots. She then gave them one final wave, and swam off.
By the time the admiral finished briefing the president about the disastrous mermaid engagement, Will Andon had sold his pictures of Pearl to Speedo for seven figures. A few hours later they appeared on the cover of the New York Times.
Message From the Bottom
of the Sea
Hal adjusted their heading as he sipped his morning cup of hot green tea, sweetened with a dollop of maple syrup. Given the limited space, it took careful planning to stock the boat for a month or two. A Thorson family favorite was pancakes, and the mix was easy to keep in stock. Since maple syrup was a prerequisite for pancakes, they used it as a natural sweetener instead of honey to save cupboard space.
Hal thought it tasted terrific. He also thought his father was pretty terrific too. Looking over at Lina and Ivan, such loving and dedicated parents, he decided that, for an orphan, his cousin Pearl had hit the jackpot when it came to being adopted.
His cousin? That was strange enough to get used to. For most of his life his only family had been just Dad and him. His grandparents on both sides were dead, and his mom had been an only child. Now, the fact that he actually had a first cousin meant he had a real family. The fact that she was a mermaid was going to take even more getting used to, but it was really cool.
Hal maintained their present heading. They had been on the open sea for several days. So far, the wind, weather, and luck had been with them. They had cast off and sailed about a quarter of a mile when they’d heard the distant sound of sirens and seen lights flashing as unmarked cars turned down the road to the Thorson house. There had been several other boats in the water besides theirs, and it seemed that all the boat on every dock was getting ready to set sail too. With everyone intent on hunting for the mermaid, however, Hal had been able to pilot their boat away from the harbor unobtrusively without being intercepted.
Now, Ivan manned the radio, switching from channel to channel to get the latest news. Evidently, a $10,000,000 reward had been offered by Disney for the safe capture of the mermaid. That accounted for the massive surge of boats that had begun leaving the harbor and moving out into the open ocean. That mad surge had kept the Coast Guard busy and even delayed the naval base from launching its own pursuit.
That was a lot of money for Pearl’s capture! Hal could just picture Disney reissuing all of the Little Mermaid movies with Pearl’s face redrawn over the original, and a whole new line of merchandise with the real Little Mermaid on every piece. Not with his cousin! A sudden burst of indignity and protectiveness welled up inside him. He’d only spent a couple of minutes with her before all the crazy stuff had gone down, but he’d thought she was nice, very bright, and headed toward being hot, even before she’d transformed into a mermaid. Yep! That was still gonna take some getting used to.
“Do you want me to spell you at the wheel for a while?” Ivan asked.
“No thanks.” Hal smiled at him and took another sip of his tea. “I’m doing fine.”
They’d been sailing continuously, switching off at the wheel, and between good winds, the right currents, and a few lucky breaks, they were traveling at record speed.
Lina had been a little frustrated at first. With no real nautical skills, the only thing she could do was help in the galley. However, since Hal and his dad ate like two bachelors, the galley was stocked mostly with peanut butter and jelly, tuna fish, cereal, canned soup, and baked beans. They did stock some rice and pasta, which they cooked in filtered salt water and augmented with the fresh fish they caught. On this trip, though, there hadn’t been any time for fishing, so Lina served what was readily available.
At one point, when Ivan was at the wheel, Hal was looking at some charts when he noticed the drawing Pearl had given his father as a gift. Holger had left it on the boat and it had ended up among the charts. Lina’s work was beautiful, and it gave Hal an idea.
He looked around until he found a clipboard and then filled it up with a stack of paper from the printer and presented it to Lina with a half dozen pencils and a small pencil sharpener. “Your work is really beautiful,” he said, smiling as he held up the drawing Pearl had given his dad. “I think you should have a lot of new inspiration after the past couple of days, and these might come in handy. I realize these aren’t your usual tools, but they might do.”
“Hal! You’re wonderful!” Lina gasped with delight and hugged him. Two minutes later, she was sketching Pearl as a mermaid with all kinds of fish around her. Her drawing was remarkably elaborate in detail.
Once she started, Lina couldn’t stop drawing! She drew Pearl talking to a giant manta ray with two kits perched on her shoulders, then sitting under a large sea fan glancing at her diving watch as an old humpback whale hovered above h
er. She drew her crying, surrounded by thousands of whales, dolphins, tuna, sharks, marlins, squid, jellyfish, shrimp, and every kind of fish she could imagine. She drew pictures of a happy Pearl swimming with dolphins and whales of every kind, a pensive Pearl placing a purple starfish in her hair, an animated Pearl talking to a large sea turtle, and a sleepy Pearl reclining on a manta ray’s couch-like back with her hair pulled up into a giant bun like a crown. She sketched dozens and dozens of pictures with such vivid expressions and details.
Lina fetched Hal a cup of tea and then took up her sketches again. Frantically she threw aside one sketch as soon as it was finished and started to sketch something else. Her cereal was getting soggy from neglect, and her tea was getting cold. Her eyebrows were all scrunched together in concentration. Then her cell phone rang. They had turned Ivan’s phone off and refused to answer it after the press had tracked the number down somehow and flooded him with calls. Hal was only using the satellite phone with a direct link to his dad. Lina’s cell phone was the kind you buy prepaid when you go on vacation and you want an extra phone for a couple of weeks.
There were only three people who knew that number, and two of them were on the boat. They all looked at each other in surprise for a second, and then Lina dropped the clipboard, dove for her handbag, and yanked the phone out to answer it.
“Princess, is that you? Honey, are you all right?”
“Uh ...’ hello ma’am …” A male stranger’s voice came over the phone, and Lina seemed to deflate like a balloon as she sagged down onto the galley bench.
“You must have the wrong number, sir,” she answered softly and was about to disconnect.
All The Mermaids In The Sea Page 19