Джон Адамс - The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2019

“Be certain,” he said, “because the beast this heart came from was a pathetic creature. I cannot see how it is the male of the species at all.”

But the wizard—who had suffered during the years of the king’s disfavor and was now eager to prove his worth—immediately shook his head. “This is the right one,” he said. “I’m certain.” So with some trepidation, Paramenter devoured the heart.

At once he felt the effect. As proper marriages would take an unbearable amount of time, he summoned the twelve prettiest maidens from the nearby countryside to the palace. Over the next few weeks he worked hard to secure his legacy, and was pleased to eventually learn that all twelve of his makeshift brides were pregnant. At this Paramenter waited, tense, but there was no fading of interest within himself this time; it seemed the male’s heart truly had done the trick. He rewarded the wizard handsomely, then set the palace physicians to work finding some way to ensure his women survived childbirth this time. He wanted no more unsavory rumors to dog his reign.

Then came a night some weeks later when he awakened craving something other than a woman’s flesh. Restless and uncertain, teased by a phantom instinct, Paramenter rose and wandered through the darkened, quiet palace. Presently he found himself in the bower of his daughters. To his surprise, they were all awake, sitting in six highbacked chairs like thrones. Paramenter’s son sat at Eldest Daughter’s feet as usual, smiling sweetly as she stroked his deep red hair. Beside each of his daughters stood their own children, now five years old—girls all, again.

“Welcome, Father,” said his eldest. “You understand what must be done now?”

For some inexplicable reason, Paramenter’s mouth went dry.

“Too many, too fast,” said Third Daughter. She sighed and shook her head. “We had hoped to grow our numbers slowly, subtly, but here you are spoiling all our careful plans.”

He stared at his daughters, whose eyes were so cold now, so empty of their usual adoration. “You . . .” he whispered. It was the only word he could manage; unease had numbed his tongue.

“This was not our choice, remember,” said Fifth Daughter, lifting a hand to examine her small, flat, perfectly manicured nails. There was a look of distaste on her features, perhaps at their shape. “But even I must admit its effectiveness. The vanity of men is a powerful weapon, so easy to aim and unleash.”

Eldest Daughter stroked her little brother’s hair and sighed. “There will be sons now too, somewhere among the twelve new ones you have made. You chose a poor specimen to sire them, but that can’t be helped; men have hunted down the best male dragons for generations. Nothing left but cowards and fools. When a species diminishes to that degree, it must change, or rightly vanish into legend. Don’t you agree, Father?”

The children, Paramenter noticed then. His granddaughters. Each had taken after her mother to an uncanny degree, and each now watched him with shining, avid eyes. Seeing that Paramenter had noticed them, they smiled as one.

Eldest Daughter rose from her throne and came to him, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. “You have done well by us, Father,” she said, with genuine fondness in her voice. “So we shall honor you in the old ways, as you have honored us.”

With that, she beckoned the children forward. They all came—even Paramenter’s son, not a dragon by blood but raised in their ways. They surrounded Paramenter, tense and trembling, but their mothers had trained them well. They did not attack until Eldest Daughter removed her hand from Paramenter’s cheek and stepped away. And then, like the good, obedient children they were, they left no mess for the servants to find.

It’s sad, isn’t it? So many of our leaders are weak, and choose to take power from others rather than build strength in themselves. And then, having laid claim to what they have not earned, they wonder why everything around them spirals into chaos. But until the dragons someday return to take back their power and invoke vengeance on us all . . . well, I’d say we have time for a few more tales.

Unless you’re tired? You do look peaked. Here, let me turn back your bedcovers. And here; shall I give you a goodnight backrub? That does not fall within my usual duties, but for you I shall make the sacrifice. Ah, forgive me; my hand slipped. Do you like that? Does it feel good? I told you; my purpose here is to entertain.

So many dead to speak for. And in every palace I visit, so many tales to tell.

Let me under the covers, my sweet, and I’ll tell them to you all night long.

The following is a compilation of articles, logs, recordings, and correspondence of the Conservation Action Plan for Merrows (CAP-Merrow) and their previous efforts to conserve the eastern black merrow (Nereida niger). The research conducted will be used at the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology for the development and implementation of conservation measures to protect the southern gray merrow (Nereida glaucus), now classified as Critically Endangered.

JARED E. OLIVER

Oceanic Preservation Society, 336 Bon Air Center, Greenbrae, CA 94904

MARLA S. ROWLAND

Institute of Marine Biology, University of Hawaii, Kailua, Hawaii 96734

ABSTRACT: There is a high risk that drive hunting, the traditional method of hunting by driving merrows to caves, will lead to extinction of the eastern black merrow ( Nereida niger ), a black-tailed merrow endemic to South Korea’s Jeju Island. In 2005 the Conservation Action Plan for Merrows (CAP-Merrow) banned the capture and sale of female merrows (mermaids) and immature merrows (merlings). Although efforts to implement the plan slowed the merrow’s decline, the goal of eliminating merrow hunting by 2010 was not reached. Unless a ban is enforced on hunting, gill-netting, and trawling in certain areas with relatively high densities of merrows, it will be too late to save the species, which already numbers fewer than 200 animals.

KEY WORDS: Nereida niger • Drive Hunt • Bycatch • South Korea

It was three months before the annual drive hunt when we received a call about a merman in distress. An American couple saw our staked sign, written in all-caps English and, beneath it, spiky Korean. By the time we reached Saekdal Beach, the sun peeked over the horizon like a cracked eyelid. Rocks glistened, clenched like obsidian fists. The wife greeted us, but the husband wanted to keep filming with his iPhone. “This is Jeju, Day Two,” he said to the camera. “Sarah and I went on a walk and ho boy, you won’t believe what we found—”

The merman lay in the sand with his hands crossed over his chest, like a teenage girl prepared to die of a broken heart. His name was Alto, catalog number A14. He was one of Astra’s mates. He had a silken, hollowed torso and his tail, while long, was a silvered blue, a classic beta male color. Milky tears leaked from his eyes. His lips, tugged upward from the natural curve of his mouth, were crusted yellow.

“He seems so peaceful,” the wife whispered.

Alto’s tail rose, then fell restlessly. Once the sun hit its peak, he’d overheat within hours. His skin, rubber-smooth, had begun to flake. We filled our buckets with seawater. We soaked T-shirts. The husband proffered his own, which had the logo of a roaring tiger, but we told him, “We got this.” A seagull hopped past us, holding a cherry-red Coca- Cola cap in its beak.