11
Little Mermaids
Isabella took one look at the Little Mermaid, gasped, and burst into tears.
“Honey, what is it?” cried Ben, putting his arm round her. “Don’t cry like that, for God’s sake!”
“She’s—all—cold!” she sobbed.
“Uh—Jeez. Overdoing it,” he muttered. “Isabella, you’ve been overdoing the sightseeing, ’specially in this cold weather. I told you not to go out all day yesterday with Karen and her kids on top of that late night, didn’t I? Now, just calm down”—she was gulping and sniffing—“and we’ll get right on back to the hotel and you can have a good long rest, okay?”
“I’ll have to see Father!” she gulped.
Uh—was she homesick? Well, not surprising, really: she was very young, after all, and they’d been in Europe for a while, now, and seeing Anders and Karen Madsen’s cosy family home and spending time with her and the kids had no doubt made her miss her own people... “Yeah, okay, honey, we’ll call him,” he said soothingly. “Now come on, let’s go, quick! It’s freezing, shouldn’t have brought you out here, just to see a goddamn statue. –Seen it a million times on TV, anyroad,” he muttered sourly, leading her back to the hire car.
He got her settled in bed with the electric blanket on and a warm drink inside of her. “Now, you call your father or your mom, the phone’s right there, okay? I can’t skip this meeting—”
“No, that’s okay, Ben,” she said, trying to smile.
“Okay, then.” He kissed her cheek and went over to the door, but hesitated. “You talk as long as you want, honey—call Dan and Margot as well if you want—but then just make sure you settle down and catch some sleep, okay?”
“Okay, Ben,” she said in a small voice.
“See ya!” he said brightly, getting himself out of there. Hell, he felt bad; but after all, she was an adult, and he’d made sure she was warmed up— And besides, once she’d spoken to her parents she was bound to feel better!
Oberon sighed. “I knew this would hap—”
“Why haven’t you DONE something, Father? She’s trapped in that stone thing, she’s all cold and miserable!”
“Who was it? A bad wizard?” asked Robin.
“Shut up, Robin,” sighed his father.
“Well, why haven't you done something?” he asked, unmoved.
“In the first place, I can’t be everywhere and do everything at once.”
Eh? Robin rolled his eyes madly at his sister, but had to swallow when she didn’t smile.
“And in the second place, it was none of my business.”
Eh? Robin’s jaw dropped.
“And in the third place,” said Oberon, looking down the nose, “possibly I was waiting for someone else to do something.”
And possibly not! Robin snorted.
“I—I can’t, Father,” said Isabella in a trembling voice. “It’s a very strong spell.”
“And in the fourth place, should anyone need a fourth reason,” he added acidly, “very possibly she deserved her fate—had that dawned?”
“No!” she shouted.
“Um, not unless she was a very wicked mortal,” Robin allowed cautiously.
“She wasn’t a mortal at all, she’s a poor little mermaid, are you blind?” shouted his sister.
“Possibly not,” drawled Oberon. “At least, only about as blind as you are: it’s not stone.”
“It’s hard and cold, though!” retorted his daughter swiftly.
“Yes, well, you’ve got the choice, Isabella. Do something about it, or don’t.” He shrugged.
“I can’t, I’m not strong enough!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears again.
“Added to which, she’s wasted a lot of strength, not to say fairy dust, on those peculiar mortals she’s been meeting over there,” noted Robin. “—Bronze?” he asked dubiously.
Oberon shrugged. “Yes. So?”
“Um, nothing. I suppose some mortals believe it’s got magical properties...”
“Irrelevant, Robin, it was a wizard who imprisoned her, not a mortal.”
Robin reddened, and glared.
“I’m going to talk to Merlin,” decided Isabella grimly.
Oberon shrugged. “Talk all you like.”
Robin eyed him sideways. “I’ll come, too, Isabella.”
“Good. Take my hand.”
He took her hand, and they vanished.
Oberon shrugged again.
“Murrr-maids,” purred Grimalkin. “They always give you lots of fi-ish-ssh. Purr-rrrr-rrr!”
“Shut up,” ordered Robin nastily. “This is serious!”
“Purr-rrrr-rrr... Fish is serious... purr-rrrr-rrr…”
“All stomach,” he decided sourly, pointedly turning away from the cat. “What do you think, Merlin?”
The old wizard held up a hand. “Hush! I’m thinking...”
Ulp. Robin avoided his sister’s eye.
Merlin thought. Isabella watched him hopefully. Robin tried to emulate her. Grimalkin, purring, settled in for a nice wash...
“This needs fresh air,” decided the wizard at last.
They followed him out of the cave, though without much hope.
In the fresh air, Merlin thought. Finally he said: “Bronze, you say?”
“Um, yes!” gulped Robin.
“I think so,” agreed Isabella in a tiny voice.
“Hmm...” Merlin thought. Finally he said: “There is an undoing spell for bronze; I’m surprised your revered father didn’t mention it.”
“I’m not,” muttered Robin sourly.
“Me, neither,” agreed Isabella. “He’s being so obstinate, Merlin!”
“He’s good at that. –What? Oh. Yes, well, my dear, he wants you to come home... I could try.”
“Go on, then,” agreed Robin, though without much hope.
“Yes, please,” agreed Isabella.
“Er, I mean I could try to remember it. I can’t work it.”
“Why not?” gasped Isabella.
“Gaga, told you so,” muttered Robin.
The old wizard looked lofty—so that you almost saw a resemblance to Oberon, help! “For the spell to work it has to be said by one who truly cares about freeing the maiden. Um, she was a maiden, was she?”
“Well, a mermaid maiden,” said Isabella on a dubious note.
“Oh, that’s all right! Mermaids count!”
Robin had a sort of idea that he’d read somewhere in the Book that they didn’t. He said nothing.
Carefully Merlin recited the Undoing Spell for Bronze:
“Now unwind, each copp’ry strand,
Fall to earth like grains of sand;
Mortal alloy, cease to grip,
Release your tinny metal hold.
Th’imprison’d one that now you nip,
Must return unto the fold;
So with aid of blackbird’s wing,
Now I shall undo your sting:
Prisoner, be free!
Come forth to me!”
Then there was a short silence. Isabella and Robin were looking at each other doubtfully. Finally Robin ventured: “A blackbird’s wing? That doesn’t sound very likely. Are you sure, Merlin?”
“Of course!” he said huffily.
All right, he was sure. Isabella and Robin looked at each other doubtfully.
“Well, at any rate a feather off it,” he conceded. “But it has to be given voluntarily, mind!”
Isabella and Robin looked at each other doubtfully.
“That is right,” said Grimalkin from behind them.
They jumped, and gasped.
“I dare say if you ask the Four and Twenty Blackbirds, Isabella, one of them will give you a feather,” the cat added kindly. “Not him, though,” she added, less kindly.
“I only chased them once!” cried Robin indignantly. “And I was very young at the time!”
The cat looked smug. “Nevertheless. –It rrr-rrr-rankles,” she added unnecessarily.
“Um, I’ll go, then,” said Isabella.
“I’ll come with you, dear-rrr Isabella,” said Grimalkin kindly.
“Look,” cried Robin: “she wants fish, she thinks once the mermaid’s out of the statue she’ll give you fish!”
“They usually do,” admitted Merlin.
“Usually?” cried Isabella. “You mean it’s happened before?”
“Um, well, mermaids are notorious for getting themselves into tight places—teasing the wrong wizard or troll, or—um, not in this precise way, no, Princess,” he amended quickly. “But they’re always having to be rescued, and then they offer you fish. Well, if you’re a mortal I think they offer pearls or some such,” he said vaguely.
They all looked blank, in fact Grimalkin noted: “Never heard of them. I always thought mmm-mortals liked fish. Purrr-rrr-rrr!”
“Um, yes, I think lots do,” admitted Isabella. “Though I don’t know that they’d want— But when I went to the market with Karen, she did say that one can always find a use for fish!”
“Purrr-rrr you are-rrr-rrr,” agreed Grimalkin. “Shall we go?’
“Yes,” agreed Isabella, taking her paw. “And if she does offer me fish, Grimalkin, dear, you can have it all!”
And forthwith they vanished.
“I hope she didn’t imagine that was a hit at me. Or you,” added Robin as an afterthought.
“Mm? I don’t much care for fish. It tastes fishy. I could tell you a story about a mermaid who got herself into trouble,” he said hopefully.
Oh, why not? Resignedly Robin sat down on a convenient soft clump of grass. “Go on, then, Merlin,” he said kindly.
Brightening, the old wizard plunged into it. “Once upon a time there was a pretty little mermaid who had five sisters...”
The Four and Twenty Blackbirds weren’t doing much, as usual. Sitting in their trees, or singing a few notes, or kindly letting some very small fairies and pixies feed them. Worms and cake crumbs, mainly.
Blackie Blackbird was usually their spokesbird. He looked at Isabella dubiously. “A wing feather, Princess?”
“There wouldn’t be any pie involved, would there?” asked Blandy Blackbird nervously.
“No, of course not, Blandy, dear!” she cried.
“Um, no,” admitted Grimalkin with a tinge of regret. “Fish, we think.”
“Oh, fish is all right!” he chirped happily, hopping back to his perch on a handy mushroom.
“Yes, fish is all right,” agreed Blackie in relief. “But, um, well, a feather’s a serious business, Princess.”
Blossom, a fat mother blackbird, came hopping up. She cocked her head to one side. “Perhaps you’d better tell us the whole story, Princess Isabella, dear!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Tell us the whole story!” they all chirped.
Isabella wasn’t much good at telling stories. She bit her lip.
“I’ll help, Prrr-rrrincess, dear,” purred Grimalkin.
“Thank you, Grimalkin. I think you’ll have to,” she admitted. “Um, well, shall we all sit down?”
Most of them already were, but nobody pointed this out, and once a few assorted beetles, lizards, frogs, elves and pixies had rushed up and competed for the best places, they began.
The Story of the Little Mermaid Who Fell Foul of the Bad Wizard
Once upon a time there was a pretty little mermaid who had five sisters who were all much older and cleverer than her, and left home and roamed the Seven Seas and found treasures and had fun teasing mortals, and sang and sang, sitting on their rocks—beautiful songs, almost as beautiful as the songs of the blackbirds! The Little Mermaid was sad because she was too young to leave home and go out into the Seven Seas. But her mother and her grandmother told her to be patient, her time would come. Only it didn’t feel like it! So one day, when Grandmother Mermaid was out visiting a friendly octopus and Mother Mermaid was out gathering the best edible seaweed, which grew quite a way off, the Little Mermaid swam away from her home grotto with its nice safe walls and its decoration of pretty shells and seaweeds, and headed for the Seven Seas!
Luckily the seas were full of fish, so she didn’t starve. Though it was hard work catching them, almost as hard as catching mortal mice.
After quite a while she saw she was near the shore. There was a lovely rock, just right for sitting on. She pulled herself up onto it and began to sing. A friendly blackbird fluttered down and joined in. What a beautiful sound it was! It was so beautiful that a handsome young mortal man ran onto the beach to hear it.
“What is that?” said the Little Mermaid to the blackbird.
“Why, that’s a mortal, Little Mermaid!” he chirped.
So that was a mortal! How pretty! But how quaint: he had two legs like a bird!
“I wouldn’t have anything to do with him!” the blackbird whistled warningly.
But the Little Mermaid ignored him and waved to the mortal man. He waved back and ran into the shallows, and splashed up to her rock. Now, beloved blackbirds and beloved fairies, beetles, lizards, frogs, elves and pixies, any sensible mermaid would have noticed that the water was getting very shallow and realised that the tide was going out and she was going to be stranded on her rock! But the Little Mermaid was so entranced by his beauty that she never even thought about it: she was as inexperienced as a kitten faced with its first ball of wool.
“How lovely you are, Little Mermaid!” said the handsome mortal man, holding out his arms to her. “Come and live with me in my world!”
The blackbird gave an alarmed whistle, but the Little Mermaid ignored him. She leaned forward and let the mortal man put his arms round her and lift her up—and straight away he turned into a wicked, gnarled, ugly old wizard!
“Put me down!” she screamed.
“Never! You’re mine now, Little Mermaid!”
“I won’t go with you!” she screamed. “I’ll swim away!”
“Look again, Little Mermaid, the tide’s gone out,” he sneered.
She looked, and gasped. So it had! In terror, twisting and struggling in his arms, the Little Mermaid turned upon the horrid wizard, and bit his ear!
This would have worked with any mortal man, for her teeth, used to eating fish, were almost as sharp as a cat’s. But this was a wicked wizard, not a mortal. Immediately he magicked up a cold bronze statue and locked her up in it!
And to this day, beloved blackbirds, and beloved fairies, beetles, lizards, frogs, elves and pixies all, that Little Mermaid sits cold and lonely on her rock, imprisoned within the cold bronze statue. It’s a lesson for all kittens, isn’t it? Always listen to your mother and grandmother: they know when you’re old enough to leave home. And for nestlings, of course.
“And for nestlings, of course!” they all chirped. “Ttt, ttt, ttt! Foolish Little Mermaid!”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” sighed Blossom. “It does remind me of a silly little chick I once had... They won’t be told, silly young things.”
“Mmm-ee-yes, and then they get all tangled up in the wool, and can’t get free,” agreed Grimalkin.
“Exactly, Grimalkin!” she chirped. “You’d better give Princess Isabella a feather, Blackie: we can’t leave the silly Little Chick shut up in a cold place like that. I’m sure she’s learned her lesson by now!”
“The silly Little Chick’s learned her lesson by now! Chirp, chirp, chirp!” they all agreed.
“Yes, um, silly Little Mermaid,” said Isabella weakly. “Yes, it’s been mortal ages she’s been shut up in it. She can hear the sea all the time but she can’t move, it’s terrible.”
“Then you’d better have a feather,” said Blackie briskly. And pluck! He plucked a beautiful one from his left wing.
“Good,” approved Grimalkin. “The left wing’s mee-uch more mee-agical than the rrr-right.”
“Yes. Thank you so much, Blackie,” said Isabella. “It’s very, very good of you. And—and if there’s anything I can do for you—”
“More cake crumbs!” they all chirped—except for Blossom: she looked down her beak disapprovingly at them.
So Isabella gave them all some cake crumbs, with a jam for those who fancied it instead, and a saucer of cream for Grimalkin, thanked them all again, and went off to rescue the Little Mermaid.
Robin had waited, but neither of them came back. He reconnoitred cautiously and found the last of the cake crumbs being finished off. And the jam. Not the cream, Grimalkin was already having a wash.
“Um, what happened?” he asked.
“Princess Isabella’s gone to rescue the Silly Little Chick!” the blackbirds chirped. “Chirp, chirp, chirp!”
“What?”
Grimalkin inspected a paw carefully. “Silly Little Murrr-maid.”
“Right. So why didn’t you go with her, in the hopes of fish?” he asked nastily.
“Not all-ee-owed,” meowed the cat on a sour note.
“Says who?” replied Robin in amazement.
There was a nasty silence.
“Um, your revered father, Prince Robin,” croaked Blackie at last.
Robin said a very rude word and vanished precipitately.
There was another nasty silence.
Finally Blandy opened his beak. “Does this remind you of that time His Majesty and Prince Ferdinand had the tussle over—”
“Don’t!” whistled Blossom.
More silence.
“’Tisn’t our business, really,” croaked Blackie.
Blossom sighed. “No. Well, I dare say it’ll all come out in the wash.”
They brightened, and one of the younger ones began to sing. Soon all the young ones joined in:
“Sing a song of Sixpence,
A pocket full of Rye.
Four and Twenty Blackbirds,
All nice and Spry.
When the Cake crumbs scattered,
The birds began to sing:
‘Wasn’t that a dainty dish,
To set before the King?’
The mortal Mayde had done the wash,
For the King had made it sunny;
The Queen was in her flowr’y Bower,
Eating bread and Honey.”
“Bad Puck was in the garden,
A-spoiling of the clothes,
When Downe came a Blackbird
And Pecked off his nose!
King Oberon was pleased,
And said it served him Righte,
But the Queen soone sent a Jenny Wren,
Who put it Back again!”
“Very good, that’s the right version!” approved Blossom. “Now, everyone tuck their heads under their wings and have a little rest.”
She waited. Soon all the younger ones were asleep.
“Well?” she said to Blackie.
His feathers drooped. “Um, Blossom, I don’t think I’ll be able to do much. Not if, um, He disapproves,” he croaked.
“Go anyway!” she whistled crossly
Wincing, he went.
Robin caught up with Isabella as she stood looking at the Little Mermaid’s bronze prison.
“Isabella, you’ll never do it!” he panted.
“Put some mortal clothes on, you look ridiculous,” replied his sister.
“What? Oh, all right!” He waved a careless hand.
He still looked ridiculous: he was now in a heavy dark overcoat, he must have picked up a picture of that from her, it was just like the businessmen wore here, but with it he had on bright red boots and a blue peaked cap rather like the yellow one Ben had given Edison Elf. Isabella didn’t bother to point out how silly he looked.
“I’m going to do it,” she warned. “Are you going to join in?”
Robin was seen to blench. “Um, I don’t think I can,” he muttered.
She didn’t think so, either. “No. All right, then, just try to concentrate.”
“Mm,” he agreed glumly.
Isabella took a deep breath and held up the feather.
“Hang on!” gasped Robin, as Blackie fluttered down beside him. “Um, Blackie, dear, you might get into trouble for this,” he warned.
Blackie panted, his beak opening and closing. “No!” he finally whistled. “—I’ll get into more trouble with Blossom if I don’t help!”
“Oh, right,” Robin acknowledged. “Okay, now, we just need to concentrate like anything.”
“Not think the spell?”
“Um... Well, I don’t think so,” he said cautiously.
“No, just concentrate, Blackie, dear,” agreed Isabella. “Try to make a picture in your mind of the Little Mermaid being free, that’d be best.”
“Ri-ight! That’d be be-est!” he whistled in relief.
“Yes, good: I will, too,” Robin agreed in equal relief. “Um, shall we shut our eyes, Isabella, or can we watch you?”
“You can watch me, that’s okay.”
Robin fixed his eyes fearfully on her. Blackie, his head cocked to one side, watched fixedly too.
Raising the feather again, Isabella began:
“Now unwind, each copp’ry strand,
Fall to earth like grains of sand—”
The watchers stared in horror as she broke off, painting and gasping, her chest heaving. Robin found his fingernails were digging painfully into the palms of his bare hands. He tried to send a Blackie a message of: Concentrate! But he wasn’t too sure the blackbird was picking anything up.
Isabella lowered the feather. She panted. She took several very deep breaths. Then she raised the feather and began again:
“Now unwind, each copp’ry strand,
Fall to earth like grains of sand;
Mortal alloy, cease to grip,
Release your tinny metal hold.
Th’imprison’d one that now you nip,
Must return unto the f—fuh—”
Her voice faded out, and her cheeks paled. Then she fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
“Help! Help!” chirped Blackie wildly.
“Blackie, don’t chirp! Just concentrate!” cried Robin. “And don’t touch her!” he added quickly.
Poor Blackie stood back in dismay, staring at his Princess on her knees.
After what seemed a very long time to the two watchers, Isabella staggered to her feet. The ground was covered in slush and the feather she’d been clutching was looking very bedraggled. Robin could feel Blackie wondering if he ought to give her another one.
“No,” said Isabella faintly. “This feather’s all right, Blackie, dear. It’s me. I’m not fighting him hard enough.”
“Who, him?” croaked Robin in spite of himself.
“The bad wizard.”
“Oh!” they both said in considerable relief. Not His Majesty—no.
Isabella smiled wanly at them. “Mm. Shall we have a little rest?”
They had a little rest.
Then they tried again. This time Blackie offered Robin the tip of his wing to hold while they concentrated. Robin held it gratefully, he was long past considering anything like pride.
The sweat rolled down Isabella’s forehead but she held the feather up and spoke the spell steadily:
“Now unwind, each copp’ry strand,
Fall to earth like grains of sand;
Mortal alloy, cease to grip,
Release your tinny metal hold.
Th’imprison’d one that now you nip,
Must return unto the fold;
So with aid of blackbird’s wing,
Now I shall undo your sting:
Prisoner, be free!
Come forth—”
“No!” cried Robin in anguish as she staggered and fell. He and Blackie rushed over to her.
“Is she—Is she—” faltered the blackbird.
“Fairies can’t,” Robin reminded him.
“But that was a very bad wizard!” he whistled.
“Mm. Um, she’s passed out.”
“Will she sleep for a hundred mortal years?” the blackbird asked fearfully.
Ugh! Who was it, exactly, who specialized in that nasty one?
“Mortlock!” whistled a cross new voice, and Blossom, followed closely by the rest of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds, fluttered down to join them. “And he’s responsible for this! If I ever set eyes on him again, I’ll show him who can peck off a nose!”
“Um, yes. Ooh, help: was it him who threatened to—”
“Yes: P,I,E,” said the mother blackbird grimly. “Never mind that, Robin, dear. We’ve got to warm the Princess Isabella up!’
Was that what you did when a fairy had keeled over from exhaustion trying to undo a bad wizard’s spell? Well, if she said so. Robin watched dubiously as they all clustered on and round Isabella, fluffing up the feathers on their tummies.
“I see, like you would if she was an egg,” he recognised.
“Yes, or warming the nestlings!” chirped Blessing Blackbird.
“Hush, Blessing!” Blossom reproved her. “Just think ‘Warm, warm, nestle, nestle!’”
Obediently the blackbirds all thought “Warm, warm, nestle, nestle!” Robin thought it, too—well, he couldn’t think what else to do.
Then they began to sing:
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of thorn nor thistle;
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of other stuff;
Cosy warm midst down and fluff,
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle.”
It was The Song of the Nestlings. Robin hadn’t heard it for ages! He joined in—the second verse was same as the first:
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of thorn nor thistle;
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of other stuff;
Cosy warm midst down and fluff,
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle.”
Isabella was still out of it.
“Third verse, same as the first!” chirped Blackie encouragingly.
Okay, why not? Robin joined in again:
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of thorn nor thistle;
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle,
Take no heed of other stuff;
Cosy warm midst down and fluff,
Warm, warm, nestle, nestle.”
Still nothing, Robin was starting to feel really desperate, but he could feel the blackbirds weren’t. They all went on singing—happily, it seemed to Robin. He gulped back tears but did his best to join in, and just think “Warm, warm, nestle, nestle”, and not worry about anything.
It wasn’t until they’d sung fifteen verses of the song—all the same, of course—that she came to.
“Better, deary?” chirped Blossom.
Isabella smiled dazedly. “Mm; I feel ever so warm!”
“Good. Now, Princess, dear, we’ll all help you. That horrid cold spell is one of that nasty Mortlock’s. The creature hates warm, you see.”
“And nestle, nestle!” piped the very young Blackmore Blackbird.
Instead of squashing him Blossom returned comfortably: “That’s quite right, Blackmore, dear: nestle, nestle and all warm is what horrible old wizards like him just can’t abide! Now, Princess Isabella, if you’re ready?”
Was she ready? Not really. But it seemed to be now or never, didn’t it? Isabella stood up unsteadily. Immediately they all clustered round her again, perching on her shoulders and head and nestling up close to her legs.
“You too, Prince Robin!” chirped Blossom. “Nestle up!”
Obediently Robin cuddled up.
“Now, everybody, it’s ‘Warm, warm, nestle, nestle’ while Princess Isabella says the undoing spell!”
So everyone burst out singing “Warm, warm, nestle, nestle—” while Isabella recited the Undoing Spell for Bronze.
She began to sweat again and her chest heaved painfully. Her ribs seemed to be creaking with the effort to even breathe, let alone get the words out. The skies darkened as she spoke and the wind began to howl furiously around the Little Mermaid’s rock.
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle—”
“Now unwind, each copp’ry strand,
Fall to earth like grains of sand;
Mortal alloy, cease to grip,
Release your tinny metal hold.”
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle—”
The grey-green sea was lashed to a frenzy. The wind howled, the clouds swirled in masses of dark grey, flashes of lightning seemed to rend the sky asunder, and BOOM! the thunder rolled.
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle—”
“Th’imprison’d one that now you nip,
Must return unto the fold;
So with aid of blackbird’s wing,
Now I shall undo your sting:”
Tears of pain trickled down Isabella’s cheeks. Furious gusts of snow hurled themselves against the clutch of warm birds. The whirling dark clouds were like a huge, evil grey cloak, threatening to engulf them all, and the howling was almost drowning the song:
“Warm, warm, nestle, nestle—”
“Prisoner, be free!
“Come forth to me!”
There came a rending CRACK! Then the sound of a furious snarl, whirled away in a huge gust of wind.
And suddenly the Little Mermaid dived out of her bronze cage, and splash! Into the sea! They saw a graceful arm raised, and heard a silvery laugh. “Thank you! Thank you—ooo...”
They stared, but there was nothing: she was gone to her watery home.
Ben opened the door to their hotel room, and gasped. A good-looking young man was putting Isabella on the bed!
“Who the Hell—”
The guy straightened and turned. Oh. Ben sagged. Her brother—right?
“Robin?” he croaked. “What in Hell’s up? I thought she was taking a rest today?”
“No, she’s been out to the Little Mermaid,” replied Robin on a sour note.
—What was the guy wearing on his feet? Ben thrust a hand through his hair. “What?”
“The Little Mermaid. It’s a statue. Bronze.”
“Yeah, right; I told her not to—” He hurried over to the bed. “Isabella? Honey?”
“I’m all right,” she whispered weakly.
“You’re manifestly not! Jesus, I’m getting a doctor to you right away!”
“She just needs rest and lots of milk and honey,” said Robin.
“Milk and honey ain’t a cure, son!” snapped Ben in the very accents of his Grampa Anderson—Jeez, didn’t realise he was doing it until he’d done it, kind of thing. Oddly enough he had no impulse to take the words back, though. How old was the kid? Nineteen—twenty, maybe? Couldn’t be more. “What in Hell you doing here, anyroad?”
“Um, I just came because, um, I thought Isabella might need me.”
“Yeah. Pity you didn’t stop her going out sightseeing in this weather, while you were thinking she might need you,” returned Ben acidly, picking up the phone. Luckily they spoke excellent English at the hotel. They said the doctor would be there right away.
“We’ll just wait,” said Ben, sitting down on the edge of the bed and giving Robin a good glare. He took Isabella’s hand. “Why weren’t you resting, like we agreed?”
“This was more important,” she said faintly.
“Nothing’s more important than your health, Isabella!”
“I’m not sick. Just... tired.”
“Exhausted, more like. –What you been doing?” he said angrily to the brother.
Robin floundered. If he told the mortal the truth he wouldn’t believe him and he’d think he was deliberately teasing him. But he couldn’t not tell the truth. “We just—uh—I mean, um... I did some singing,” he muttered.
“Singing?” cried Ben.
“Like the blackbirds,” said Isabella faintly.
“Ssh, don’t try to talk. –Okay, Robin, you’re into singing—don’t tell me if it was a goddamn Danish glee club or that rap crap, I don’t wanna know! But did you have to drag her with you?”
“I couldn’t stop her,” replied Robin simply.
No, well, this was probably true. “So where were you, if you could just turn up like this, if it’s not asking too much?”
It was, actually. “Um... Nearby, I suppose you might say,” he bleated.
“Not... far,” whispered Isabella.
Ben gave up on that one. “Yeah, okay. I think we oughta call your parents again, Isabella.”
“Um, actually they’ll be here soon,” realised Robin uncomfortably.
“Yes,” she whispered, squeezing Ben’s hand.
Oh, good. That’d mean he, Ben Anderson, would be cast as the villain and no mistake! He couldn’t see young Robin taking the blame for anything.
Robin was just inspecting the room fridge and wondering if there was any way to heat milk and Ben was glaring at him again, or maybe still, when the doctor arrived.
She was okay, phew! Of course he’d run some tests, but he thought she was just overtired and if Mr Anderson—he pronounced that funny but you couldn’t have put your finger on exactly what was different about it—would excuse him, young women often did find a first relationship extremely tiring physically: if one thought about it—the guy actually said “one”—that was what honeymoons had been designed for, wasn’t it? To get used to it whilst not having to concentrate on other things.
“Things like letting her brother drag her out to Danish glee clubs and viewing goddamn Little Mermaids in the permafrost!” retorted Ben smartly, glaring at Robin yet again.
The unfortunate doctor looked bewildered, as well he might. “I’m sorry: Danish glee clubs?”
“They sing. –The guy sings,” he explained sourly.
“Oh! Of course! I do beg your pardon, Mr Anderson.” He muttered something in Danish. “Glee clubs: I see,” he said. He smiled at Isabella. “Now, Miss Prince, as I say, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Just take it easy for the next few days, okay?”
“With warm milk and honey?” put in Robin.
To Ben’s annoyance the doctor replied: “Warm milk and honey would be excellent.”
And that seemed to be that.
... Not. Then the parents arrived.
She was steaming mad: not with Ben, and certainly not with Isabella, and not even with Robin—with him. He was also steaming mad, just generally. With everybody. Well, with her most of all. Apparently he’d done something to get up her nose—the way she put it, he’d made her sleep whilst Isabella was getting herself into trouble—okay, slight exaggeration, there, but maybe she’d been snoozing when Isabella called them and the guy hadn’t bothered to wake her up; he looked more than capable of it. Whether he was simply mad with her in return, not clear, but Ben didn’t think so. Musta done something else, earlier on. She looked the type, that was for sure. A lot younger than he’d assumed, very beautiful; blonde, not dark like Isabella—Robin took after her. The father was very dark, like the older brother, Daniello. Maybe Italian blood? That’d explain Dan’s name, too. Ben had this weird feeling that he’d met them both before but it musta just been the family likeness.
They argued non-stop over anything you cared to name—he looked stupid in that black coat with the fur collar, for one. In return her entire outfit was ludicrous and shrieked “extravagance,” calculated to put people’s backs up. Uh—well, it was probably chinchilla. A silvery fur, very fluffy, with a hint of blue to it. Huge furry hat, Russian-style, to match. Cute blue-grey knee-high boots and what looked like a Gucci purse to go with them—Tracy owned a couple of those, they cost The Earth and a half. Plus and the huge diamonds flashing in the neat little ears that were just like Isabella’s. Not to mention what she had on her hands under the matching grey-blue gloves. But, well, it was winter in northern Europe, and the family clearly wasn’t short of a few bucks. But the guy was too steamed to cut her any slack. Added to which she then went and said she might just do some shopping while they were here!
Then he wanted to take Isabella home right away, and that was wrong, too. In fact she shrieked at him: “Are you nuts?” At which, get this, the guy insouciantly produced a packet of same from his coat pocket and ate some! Yo, boy. So she threw Isabella’s milk glass at him—luckily empty by this time.
Then—after more shrieking—she vanished into the bathroom. So he went over to the door and hollered: “If you’re not back in this room in fifteen mortal minutes, Queenie, I’ll break this door down!”
Crash! Something shattered against said door. And she shrieked something about age.
“Father, you didn’t tell her she was showing her age, did you?” gasped Robin in sheer horror.
Ben was with him on that one, yes, sirree. Sheer horror—yep.
Gee, the guy just scowled and told him to shut up. Ouch!
They more or less took it from there. Queenie ordered Robin to get them a room. So King—Ben never did get if it was just a nickname because the family’s name was Prince, but never mind, it was what he seemed to be called—King vetoed that, they didn’t need a room. Yes, they did! –With a look that woulda stopped any lesser guy in his tracks. So he shouted: “A suite! Get us a suite, Robin!” Which Ben was almost very nearly positive he’d never meant at all. She thought so, too: she shouted: “Balderdash! You didn’t mean that at all!” He ignored her, but whether that made it better or worse, who knew?
So eventually they went off to the suite, she was going on at him about luggage but he was ignoring her again. Oops, no, he wasn’t: as Robin closed the door after them his voice could be heard booming: “Shut UP about luggage! If I hear one more word on the subject it’ll be you inside a cold leather trunk for ALL ETERNITY! Louis Vuitton or NOT!”
Yo, boy.
“Um, sorry,” said Robin awkwardly.
“Yeah, well. Families, huh?” replied Ben heavily.
He smiled sheepishly. “Mm.”
“Not to mention, pardon my French, middle-aged marriages.”
He winced, but conceded: “Yeah.”
“Well, uh, let’s have a drink, Robin, and then maybe you better book a room, too.”
“Couldn’t I stay here?” the boy said wistfully.
Isabella had her eyes shut but at this she opened them and looked wistfully at Ben, too.
Oh, who cared? Couldn’t get worse, could it? “Yeah, take the couch,” he sighed, going over to the refrigerator. “You old enough to drink?”
“Yes, but I don’t much like alcohol.”
One mercy. He gave him a Coke and made a Scotch, rocks, for himself. And a “fizzy water” for Isabella. And gave the toast: “Here’s to it. Perdition to all nagging spouses.”
Smiling feebly, Oberon’s and Titania’s offspring agreed: “Perdition to all nagging spouses.”
The kid snored. Ben roused groggily in the middle of the night. Oh, God.
“Is Robin snoring?” she whispered
He jumped. “Uh—yeah. Sounds like a stationary engine. Steam-driven, y’know?’
She sat up and said quite loudly:
“Put a peg upon your nose,
If you’re snoring in a doze,
Then your snores will stop all right
And you’ll sleep all through the night!”
And gee, the kid turned over on his side and the snores stopped!
“Thanks. That worked,” he muttered dazedly.
“Mm. Go to sleep. We’ll visit the mermaids,” said Isabella drowsily.
Mm-hm. Smiling, Ben settled down...
The beach was sparkling white, the water a clear turquoise, shading out to deep blue further out. A greater contrast to the cold, grey, half-frozen waters of the North Sea could hardly be imagined, but there the Little Mermaid was, sitting on a rock, combing her hair— Oops, no! It was all in glorious Technicolor: she wasn’t a statue at all, she was a real mermaid, with golden hair and, ulp, not wearing all that much, he hoped to God he wasn’t basing this picture on Isabella’s mom! Well, same golden hair, but, uh...
She saw them and waved. “Hullo, Princess Isabella! Thank you so-oo-oo much!”
Isabella laughed, waved back, and ran into the plashing wavelets. Oops, she wasn’t wearing much either! Well, couldn’t be bad! Ben glanced warily down at himself but he was in respectable bathing trunks, thank God. Well, granted it was only a dream, but it was precisely in dreams that you made a complete fool of yourself, wasn’t it?
“Come on, Ben!” cried Isabella, perching on the rock.
The water wasn’t deep, didn’t even come past his armpits. Ben splashed over to them.
“This is the Little Mermaid!” beamed Isabella. “Her real name’s Mirabelle Mermaid!”
“Hey, Mirabelle, great to meet to you,” he said nicely.
“Hullo, mortal man!” she cooed, giving him a languishing look. Oops, Ben felt himself reacting to it: Jesus, right in front of Isabella?
“Don’t worry, Ben, they have that effect on mortal men. –Just stop it, Mirabelle!” said Isabella gaily. “You know what happened last time!”
Suddenly a fat blackbird flew down and perched on Isabella’s shoulder. “Yes,” it chirped. “Mortal men are never good for mermaids!”
Mirabelle didn’t seem to mind this: she just laughed a tinkling laugh—ouch, very like Isabella’s mom’s laugh, not that they’d heard much of that yesterday, but she’d been laughing with some guy in the bar when Ben and Robin went down for dinner, yep, uh-huh.
“I must give you some fish as a thank you!” the mermaid smiled. Suddenly she dived into the water.
Ben peered, but she was so fast he couldn’t even see what direction she’d gone in. “Fish?” he said feebly to Isabella.
“They usually give you fish as a thank-you.”
“Ye-uh. Thank-you for what?”
“For getting her out of that horrid cold bronze statue, of course!” she said sunnily.
Right. Uh-huh. Okay, nuts was the word. Never mind, this sun sure felt good after all that time in freezing cold Europe, even if it was only a dream! Ben stretched out, and sighed happily...
Gee, now they were surrounded by mermaids! All with bare breasts, well, it sure wasn’t bad! They had loads of fish, what the Hell would they do with all this fish? But Isabella just kinda waved and called: “Grimalkin! Hither!” And suddenly that fat dark grey cat, loads more than life-size, was on the beach; it had been in another dream, hadn’t it? Oh, and there was Robin, too. He was in a state of nature except for a kind of frill over the genitals, but you could see he had ’em, okay. At least the dream was so far sparing them the sight of his dad, ditto. He swam out and collected some of the fish. The cat got right down to it on the beach, boy did that creature have teeth!
“The fish is lovely, it’s very thoughtful of you, but there’s far too much of it,” said Isabella, smiling kindly at the mermaids. “Why don’t you eat some?”
So they ate fish, too. Gee, they all had real sharp teeth as well! Not large, but real sharp.
Then they wanted him and Isabella to come down to their home in the sea! No way!
“It’s all right, Ben, you’re with me, no harm can come to you.”
Ben was about to object, dream or not, but suddenly he was under the sea and not drowning, but swimming.
Gee, it was real wonderful, must be the Caribbean or some such, the water wasn’t cold at all, and so clear! Very pretty, with wavy seaweeds. Loads of fish, some of them seemed to be quite friendly with the mermaids, well, they were playing with them—and here came a dolphin! They all played with it for quite a time, only the dolphin seeming to need any breaths of air. And finally they all dived down and down, to a pretty little, uh, cave?
“Grotto!” they all cried, laughing— Underwater? They were laughing and speaking underwater? Okay, anything could happen in a dream. Mirabelle’s mother lived in this grotto—she was definitely very like Isabella’s mom, Ben tried not to stare too hard. And he was introduced properly to all of her five older sisters. All just as pretty as her and the mother, though not all blonde: Miranda, Maybelle, Merri, Milly-Mandy, and Melodie. The mother was getting lunch and in spite of the fish they’d all eaten they were all ready for it. Phew! Not fish—Ben didn’t mind raw fish in a Japanese meal but he wasn’t up for gnawing at a whole fish—but seafood: oysters, scallops—they were lovely, sweetish, y’know?—and salmon roe. Donated by a friendly passing salmon. With a little edible seaweed as a salad. Real tasty.
After the meal Ben just lay back sated, while the mermaids combed his hair and sang to him and—oops!
“They can’t resist mortal men.” Casually Isabella smacked Melodie’s hand. “They’re just the same with your Uncle Chas.”
“Uh—honey, good old Uncle Chas died years back.”
“He’s only dead to the mortal world, silly! The mermaids rescued him, and now he lives in their world!”
“I’ll fetch him!” cried Merri. And she was off, her sleek body slicing through the water like the fastest of silvery fish.
“We’ll wait!” said Melodie with a loud giggle. “Couldn’t I just kiss him, Isabella?”
“Uh—no,” croaked Ben feebly.
“It’s natural to them, Ben, darling, you mustn’t mind,” said Isabella with her serene smile. “We could all play with you, if you like!”
Uh... Ben gave in. After all, she was his girlfriend, and you weren’t responsible for your weirdo dreams, and—ooh!
They were in the middle of it when good old Uncle Chas turned up. He looked just the same, only a tad fitter—be all that swimming—except for the little frilly modesty skirt like Robin’s. He, by the way, had vanished into a convenient clump of tall seaweed with a very young mermaid cousin, Ben would have sworn she wasn’t a day over fifteen, but her aunty hadn’t objected.
Uncle Chas was real pleased to see him, and they had a bit more salmon roe and drinks from this handy bottle that Uncle Chas—hadn’t changed, see?—just happened to have picked up off of a shipwreck. Real Jamaican pale rum. Smooth as silk. Boy, did it go down good. Then the mermaids got going on the both of them—Isabella joining in with a will.
“Oh, boy!” he gasped when he could speak.
“Mmm,” agreed Isabella sleepily. “Good.”
Oh shit: right here in the room with her brother on the couch?
“Mm. Don’t worry, he’s fast asleep,” whispered Isabella.
Just as well!
“Wasn’t it good?” she murmured.
Ben swallowed. “Super-good,” he croaked.
“That’s all that matters, then,” she said drowsily, snuggling up. “And it was lovely to see your Uncle Chas, wasn’t it?”
Uh—yeah. Something like that.
Next day the parents dragged her off home. Ben had been expecting it but he’d hoped she’d put up more resistance. They were almost out the door when he realised—
“Hang on! I haven’t got your number, Isabella!”
The goddamned parents gave him identical blank looks, would you believe? But good old Robin said quickly: “She hasn’t got the phone on at home, but you can always call her at Dan and Margot’s.”
And with that they were gone. In the blink of an eye, it seemed. He went dazedly over to the door, but nope—gone. Felt like she’d vanished into thin air. They musta just caught the elevator.
He went slowly back into the room and sat down on the bed. Well, shit!
Next chapter:
https://isabelladowntoearth-anovel.blogspot.com/2022/11/determinedly-blonde.html
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