Poul Anderson - The Merman's Children

“Ease off,” Tauno muttered. He regarded the skipper with no more love but somewhat more coolness. Not tall, Ranild was thick of chest and arm. Black hair, never washed and scanty on top, framed a coarse broken-nosed pale-eyed countenance; snag teeth showed through a beard that spilled halfway down the tub belly. He was dressed like his crew, save that he bore a short sword as well as a knife and floppy boots rather than shoes or bare feet.

“What’s the matter?” Tauno asked. “You, Ranild, may like to wear clothes till they rot off you. Why should we?”

“Herr Ranild, merman!” The shipmaster clapped hand on hilt. “My folk were Junkers when yours dwelt among the flatfish—I’m noble yet, the Fiend thunder me! It’s my vessel, I laid out the costs of this faring, you’ll by God’s bones do what I tell you or swing from the yardarm!”

Eyjan’s dagger whipped out, to gleam near his gullet. “Unless we hang you by those louse-nest whiskers,” she said.

The sailors reached for knives and belaying pins. Ingeborg pushed between Eyjan and Ranild. “What are we doing?” she cried. “At each other’s throats already? You’ll not get the gold without the merfolk, Herr Ranild, nor they get it without your help. Hold back, in Jesu name!”

They withdrew a little on either side, still glowering. Ingeborg went on quietly: “I think I know what’s wrong. Herr Ranild, these children of the clean sea have been rubbed raw by days in a town where hogs root in the streets, by nights in a room full of stink and bedbugs. Nevertheless, you, Tauno, Eyjan, Kennin, should’ve listened to a rede well meant if not so well spoken.”

“What is that?” Tauno asked.

Ingeborg flushed; her eyes dropped and her fingers wrestled. She said quieter yet: “Remember the agreement. Herr Ranild wanted you, Eyjan, to go below for him and his men. You would not. I said I. . . would do that, and thus we came to terms. Now you are very fair, Eyjan, fairer than any mortal girl can be. It’s not right for you to tlaunt your loveliness before those who may only stare. Our voyage is into deadly danger. We can’t afford strife.”

The haltling bit her lip. “I had not thought of that,” she admitted. Flaring: “But rather than wear those barn-rug rags when we’ve no need of disguise, I’ll kill the crew and we four will man this ship ourselves.”

Ranild opened his mouth. Tauno forestalled him: “That’s empty talk, sister mine. See here, we can stand the horrible thiqgs till we pass Als. There we’ll dive down to where Liri was, fetch garments fit to use—and cleanse the filth of these off us on the way.”

Thus peace was made. Men kept leering at Eyjan, for the rainbow-hued tunic of three-ply fishskin that she donned after going underwater showed cleft of breasts and hardly reached past her hips. But they had Ingeborg to take below.

The human clothes had been from that woman, who walked alone through rover-haunted woods to Hadsund, got Ranild interested, and met the siblings on the shore of Mariager Fjord to guide them to him. Once the bargain was handselled, he had to persuade his men to go along. Gaunt, surly, ash-pale Oluv Ovesen, the second in command, had not hesitated; greed ruled his life. Torben and Lave said they had faced edged steel erenow and looked at the end to face nooses; therefore, why not a kraken? Palle, Tyge, and Sivard had let themselves be talked over. But the last deckhand quit, which was why young Niels Jonsen was taken on.

No one asked Ranild what had become of his former crewman. Secrecy was important, lest priest forbid or noble thrust into the undertaking. Aslak was simply never seen again.

That first day Herning passed the broad beaches and thunderous surf of the Skaw, and from the Skagerrak entered the North Sea. She must round Scotland, then work southwest to a locality well beyond Ireland. In spite of being a good sailer, she would need Godsend winds to make it in less than two weeks—which in truth was how long the time became.

Since she was traveling in ballast, there was ample room below decks, and that was where the men slept. The haltlings disdained such a gloomy, dirty, rat-scuttering, roach-crawling cave, and took their rest above. They used no bags or blankets, only straw ticks. Often they would spring overboard, frolic about the ship, maybe vanish beneath the waves for an hour or two.

Ingeborg told Tauno once that she would have liked to stay topside with them; however, Ranild had ordered her to spend the nights in the hold, ready for whoever might want her. Tauno shook his head. “Humans are a nasty lot,” he remarked.

“Your small sister has become human,” she answered. “And have you forgotten your mother, Father Knud, your friends in Als?”

“N-n-no. Nor you, Ingeborg. After we’re back home—but of course I’ll be leaving Denmark.”

“Yes.” She glanced away. “We have another good fellow aboard. The boy Niels.”

He was the sole crewman who did not use her, and yet who was always cheerful and polite toward her. (Tauno and Kennin likewise stayed clear of that pallet in the hold; those who now shared her were not honest yeomen and fishers, and for themselves they had billows to tumble in, seal and dolphin to play with, flowing green depths to enter.) Mostly Niels followed Eyjan about with his eyes and, shyly when off watch, himself.

The rest of the crew had no more to do with the halflings than they must. They took the fresh fish brought aboard, but would not speak with the bringers while it was eaten. To Ingeborg they grumbled words like, “Damned heathen... uppity. . . talking beasts... worse than Jews. . . we’d be forgiven many sins if we cut their throats, wouldn’t we?. . well, before I put my knife in that bare-legged wench, I’ve something else... .” Ranild kept his own counsel. He too stayed aloof from the three after his few tries at friendliness were rebuffed. Tauno had sought to respond; but the skipper’s talk bored when it did not disgust him, and he had never learned to dissemble.

He did like Niels. They seldom had converse, though, for Tauno was close-mouthed save when chanting a poem. Moreover, in age Niels was nearer to Kennin, and those two found a deal of memories and jokes to swap. Among other jobs, hours a day were spent in weaving the extra cable into a great net. Niels and Kennin would sit together at this work, paying no heed to the sullen men around, and laugh and chatter: “—I swear that was one time an oyster showed surprise!”

“Hm, I mind me of years back when I was a sprat. We kept a few cows, and I was leading one of ’em to a kinsman’s bull. By the road was a gristmill with a waterwheel, and from afar I saw it begin work. A cow has dimmer eyes than a human; this lovesick creature knew only that something big stood in the offing and bellowed. Away she went, me galloping after and yelling till the halter was yanked from my hand. But I soon caught her, oh yes. When she found it was no bull, she stopped, she looked like a blown-up bladder that’s been blade-pricked; she merely stood till I took the halter, and afterward she shambled along meek as if she’d been poleaxed.”

“Ho, ho, let me tell you about when we boys dressed a walrus in my father’s robe of state—”

Eyjan would frequently join in the merriment. She did not follow ladylike ways, even in the slight degree that most mermaids did. She haggled her red locks off at the shoulders, wore no ring or necklace or golden gown save at festivals, would rather hunt or challenge the surf around a skerry than sit tame at home. On the whole, she scorned landfolk (in spite of which, she had prowled the woods with cries of delight for blossoms, birdsong, deer, squirrel, autumn’s fiery leaves and the snow and icicles that glittered after). But of some she was fond, Niels among them. Also, she did not lie with her brothers—a Christian law which Agnete had gotten well into her older children ere leaving them—and the mermen were gone to an unknown place and the lads of Als were far behind.