The Mermaid's Menagerie

Commander Simpson slid across the wet boards as the hurricane shoved the HMS Stoat leeward. Hands suddenly gripped his left arm, and he turned to help Mr Noble steady himself. The young seaman's face looked as pale as if he'd seen a ghost, or become one. Simpson clapped Noble on the shoulder and shouted over the howling winds: "It will be alright! Help secure the foresail!"

The youth nodded mutely and obeyed.

"Get that bow weatherward!" Captain Harmon bellowed. "For God's sake, turn her!"

A wave swept over the deck with the force of stampeding cattle. Sailors grabbed hold of each other, ropes, any bit of the frigate they could touch. Simpson's body was compelled over the edge of the leeward side. For a brief moment, he accepted his fate. Then he managed to grip the chains of a gun port. He clung for dear life to the side of the Stoat.

"Simpson!" someone shouted.

Lightning cracked, followed immediately by booming thunder.

"I'm here!" Simpson replied.

Rain and relentless waves pounded the Stoat. Simpson prayed to God, then wondered if the ancient tales of Neptune had some basis in a real, angry demon. This was the worst storm he'd ever encountered since joining the Royal Navy in 1803.

Captain Harmon looked over the side of the ship. His eyes locked with Simpson's. Without hesitation, the captain reached down.

Simpson tapped into some previously unknown reserve of strength. He hauled himself up and reached for Harmon's outstretched hand. He stared in horror as the next wave loomed over the captain's shoulders.

Wet chaos reigned. Simpson coughed out a lungful of seawater. He gripped the Stoat with desperate fingers. "Harmon!" Simpson shouted. "Harmon!"

Noble appeared over the side of the ship. He threw a rope down to Simpson. "Grab hold!"

Simpson grasped the rope and immediately fell into the churning ocean.

By an act of God, or perhaps pure luck, Simpson kept his hold on the rope and found it taut. He could see the Stoat finally turning weatherward as Noble reeled him in. Waves tossed him from side to side and rain pelted him from above. He couldn't tell if he was drowning or dreaming.

With another wave, something slammed bodily into Simpson. Captain Harmon! The man was either unconscious, or in a wordless stupor. Simpson tied the end of his rope around Harmon's chest, just under his arms. He prayed again.

Simpson watched Harmon get lifted above the waves. Then, something gripped his ankle and dragged him down.

Simpson thrashed. His lungs burned with the need to breathe. He tried with all his might to push back against the water and return to the surface, but the creature held him tight. He sank.

He couldn't help it. His mouth opened of its own accord. His lungs sputtered out his last bubbles of old breath and…

He breathed.

He gasped.

He could breathe!

After a moment, he realized that the creature had been speaking to him. "...Think your kind is ugly, but I don't know. I think humans are a cute kind of ugly. Like elephant seals. Anyway, looks aren't the only reason to value a pet. My birds are pretty enough, but my mammal collection has some really hideous specimens…"

Simpson looked down and finally observed the mermaid dragging him into the ocean depths. Her dark hair had been braided back and decorated with strands of pearls. Dark gray skin covered both her human-like top and dolphin-like fin. Instead of clothing, she wore stands of colorful kelp and shells.

"...Dog eats fish and loves chasing after crabs," the mermaid continued. "Which reminds me." She stopped swimming and pulled Simpson down until they were face-to-face. He wasn't prepared for the beautiful green hue of her eyes, or for the way she pulled at his lips and examined his teeth.

He jerked his head back.

"Omnivore," she announced. "I thought so." She adjusted her grip on his wrist and continued pulling him down. "My sister Fucus thinks humans are carnivores, from all the fishing you do. But our cousin Brachyura swears up and down she has seen your kind eating plants, too. Well, I have both for you in my grotto, as well as a nice bed of soft sand…"

She continued her description of what Simpson's life would be as her pet. Most notably, she promised to clean his enclosure weekly and never let her sisters eat him.

"Eat me?!" Simpson ejaculated. The phrase has snapped him out of shock.

"Well, yes," the mermaid said. "Human flesh is a delicacy down here. Wouldn't your kind eat mine, if given the chance?"

"My kind doesn't even believe your kind is real," Simpson answered.

"That's purposeful," the mermaid told him. "Because if one of us were at the mercy of one of you, you'd wonder what we taste like."

"We would treat any creature intelligent enough to talk with dignity!" Simpson disagreed.

The mermaid laughed.

"Excuse me?" Simpson demanded.

"I've seen the 'dignity' with which humans treat each other," the mermaid said. "The slave ships from Africa to the Americas. War ships like the one you fell off of, shooting big metal balls at other war ships with different flags. You're all brutal animals, and you're delicious with smelt roe."

Simpson was at a loss.

"You won't be eaten, though," the mermaid assured him. "I take good care of my collection."

Simpson felt himself sinking both literally and emotionally. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Acanthascus," the mermaid answered.

"Acanthascus, my name is Commander Frederick Simpson of the Royal Navy. I have a brother, William, the curate of a lovely little village in Devonshire. I have a sister, Lydia. She just married Captain Conlon of the HMS Antigone. I have friends back on the Stoat and an entire future ahead of me. I can't be your pet."

"You can't not be," Acanthascus said. "Watch."

She let go of his wrist. Horrible pressure closed in around him and water attacked his nostrils.

Acanthascus took Simpson's wrist again. Immediately, the pressure subsided and he could breathe. She resumed pulling him deeper, past schools of fish, closer and closer to a rocky outcropping on the ocean floor.

"Please let me go," Simpson said. "You're clearly an intelligent being. And since you take such good care of your pets, I can tell you have a kind heart. Have some compassion, Acanthascus. Return me to my people. I swear on my honour as an Englishman, I will keep the secret of your existence."

"Stop it," Acanthascus demanded. "Good pets don't try to convince me to set them free. If you keep this up, I will get very cross with you."

She dragged him into her grotto.

The mermaid's menagerie overwhelmed Simpson with color and sound. Acanthascus had bound dozens of animals to separate areas: colorful parrots, chattering monkeys, a black rat, a ferret, and so on. She led Simpson to a spot between an Irish boarhound and a bedraggled-looking raven. She placed a collar of knotted red kelp around his neck, then used a sturdy rope to attach his left ankle to a large boulder.

Acanthascus backed away to admire her handiwork. When she withdrew her touch, Simpson briefly panicked he would drown.

"I can still breathe," he marveled.

"I told you I take care of my pets," the mermaid repeated with annoyance. "I work a spell into the collars to keep you all alive."

Looking around again, Simpson confirmed that every animal present wore a collar like his.

Acanthascus went around the grotto, feeding each pet with fish and/or kelp. She handed Simpson a bowl of both, then announced, "All right, Babies! I'll see you tomorrow!"

Before Simpson could say or do anything else, she was gone.

The mermaid had clearly not expected humans to be any more clever or well-equipped than animals. Simpson drew his knife and easily cut the rope binding him to the boulder. Then he reached for the dog's rope.

The animals in the menagerie started screaming in their own agitated ways. An eerie green light filled the grotto. Simpson whipped around to face the cave entrance, knife in hand.

The monstrous fish dangled an uncanny glowing globe from a protrusion on its head. Two rows of needle-pointed teeth grinned wickedly, the mandible protruding far beyond the upper row. Long spines radiated out from its hulking brick-red body. It considered Simpson with disproportionately small, beady black eyes.

"Well, I'll be," the gigantic anglerfish said. "She did catch a human." It approached for a closer look. Simpson backed away instinctively. The fish paused, considered, and came closer. Again, Simpson backed away, knife in hand.

The anglerfish whipped around and charged the cave entrance. "Acanthascus! Your new pet broke its bonds! Human on the loose!"

Simpson had no idea how much time he had. He cut the dog loose and regretfully left the other animals to fend for themselves. Man and hound swam together out of the cave. Simpson could still see the anglerfish racing away, shouting for Acanthascus.

Simpson led the dog upwards. His mind raced with everything that could go wrong. The mermaid could catch them again. A shark could attack them. They could reach the surface and find themselves so far away from the Stoat, or any ship or land, that they died of exposure.

They swam on anyway.

There was no sense of time in the deep. Had they been escaping for two minutes, or two hours? Shouldn't he be exhausted? It didn't matter; freedom was the only option.

Silver light shimmered overhead. Simpson's head broke the surface of the water. As soon as fresh air filled his lungs, he felt his magical collar dissolve.

"Ahoy! Do I see someone there?"

Simpson scanned his calm, moonlit surroundings. He found Noble and two other seamen in a longboat with the Stoat not far behind them.

"Noble, is that you?"

"Simpson!" Noble exclaimed. "You must be God's favorite. What's this?"

The men hauled Simpson and his new canine friend into the boat and covered both with wool blankets.

"I found him in a mermaid's grotto," Simpson explained.

His companions laughed.

"Remind me not to swallow seawater!" Noble joked. "That hurricane was intense. No doubt, this fellow here got washed off some fishing vessel." He smiled at Simpson. "It's a miracle we found you."

"I'm surprised you looked," Simpson answered.

"Captain Harmon's orders," Noble explained. "He delayed us for a four-hour search. He'll be beyond pleased to see you."

The seamen rowed up to the Stoat. Simpson's eyes watered with gratitude at the sight of the old girl.

Noble patted the hound. "What do we call him?"

"I have no idea," Simpson admitted.

"How about Merman?" Noble suggested, laughing.

Simpson laughed too, mostly to avoid conflict. It was clear that no one would ever believe him.