What Treasures We Find

Rae is stuffing his knapsack with the contents of passing pockets when he hears a raised voice loudly decrying the price of a vendor’s wares. The loud man’s dress is fine and it’s clear he need not haggle to afford the luxury he desires. It strikes something bitter in Rae who finds himself approaching. A stern-faced merchant eyes Rae warily, no doubt watching for sticky fingers, but she is not the one who should beware his wandering hands. It’s easy to duck in close and visit the pocket at the man’s belly. Quick as he came, he dances away, fading into the bustling pier to inspect his prize.

It’s better than he hoped.

Most boys in his position might wish for something rich, but in Rae’s hand is a slim black notebook. He’s thrilled to find more than half the pages empty. Paper is a luxury he can’t afford, and paper this fine is as precious as gold to a boy who loves to draw.

The first several pages are filled with neatly inked cursive but it’s contents are dull speculation on the whereabouts of lost ships. The blank pages are far more enticing.

He trades a satin bow for a stick of charcoal and indulges in a peaceful afternoon sketching passing strangers. When he grows hungry he trades a copper bangle for an eel pie and sneaks into a vacant stable to rest.

He wakes to the moon high in the sky and makes his way back to the pier where moored boats bob invitingly. As he swims towards them he hears rowdy voices over the waves. A cheer rises from the men aboard an approaching fishing vessel and curiosity grips him. He circles to the stern where the aftdeck is deserted and pulls himself aboard.

The deck is dark and slick, stained with the blood of countless fish. He hears a rattle and spins, crouched with a dagger in hand, eyes darting between crates and barrels to land on a cooler whose lid trembles. Creeping closer, Rae reaches out. Swiftly, he lifts the lid and is assaulted by the stench of dead fish. His eyes water as he peers into the dark contents to see dozens of shark fins. A large, lacy fin rises from the mess and flaps weakly, still twitching with life. Rae swallows back bile and is about to close the wretched thing when he sees what looks like a human hand no larger than his own.

There’s a person in there.

Even as his stomach lurches he reaches out, grasping the slippery hand and plunging his other arm into the filth to wrap around a torso. A tangled head of hair rises from the swill. He hauls the body free, spilling the cooler’s contents. He doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching from across the ship, so focused on the body in his arms. From the shape of the chest it’s a boy like himself. The large fin from earlier flops and twitches over them, attached to a massive tail that weighs him down. The boy is buried beneath it, lower half hidden in the mess. He can’t quite tell but he feels there’s something wrong with the boy. He reaches over to shove at the giant tail that must be crushing the boy’s legs. It doesn’t budge, the scales seeming to vanish into the boy’s skin.

“Oy!”

Rae’s blood runs cold.

Here are the kind of men who would drown boys like him in the gore of dead fish. He tightens his hold on the boy and kicks at the slippery deck to escape the approaching men. He feels the rasp of rope against his neck and doesn’t think, ducks underneath the rope line and kicks himself overboard, sinking beneath the surf.

The moonlight silhouettes the men crowding the taffrail, their shouts muted underwater. A muffled shot slices through the surface near Rae’s face. There’s nowhere to go. To swim down is to drown, to surface is certain death. He should feel regret but can only fixate on the task of holding the other boy. The muscles under his palms tense and suddenly water rushes past him. His eyes squeeze shut as he’s pulled at an impossible speed. They must be sinking, the crew must have thrown something to plunge them into the depths.

***

He wakes up gasping, sure he’d drowned. When he glances around he finds himself alone on a sheltered cove. There’s no sign of the other boy and his heart sinks. Beside him he finds his knapsack, its contents laid out in neat rows. He scans his treasures, skipping over a silver watch to snatch his little black notebook. It’s dry, pages warped and bloated but intact. The ink script of its previous owner is blurred but no less legible, though his own contributions are washed into soft, blotchy smudges.

Gazing out to sea his eyes catch on something amidst the rocks. It rises, dark hair falling over a pale forehead, two eyes emerging from the waves.

Rae stares back dumbfounded then scrambles forward. It’s the boy! He dips beneath the tide as soon as Rae moves towards him and Rae falters, searching the waves until the boy pops up further away.

Rae waves and smiles crookedly.

“Thank you,” he rasps.

The boy’s head quirks and vanishes before reappearing closer.

“My name’s Rae…”

They stare at each other.

Rae closes his eyes and tilts his head back, wondering if perhaps he’s in a dream.

Water splashes his cheek and he glares at the boy, much closer than before. He flicks back in retaliation only to receive a fountain of water squirted from the boy’s mouth.

Rae laughs, kicking his feet out to send a large splash towards the boy who ducks underwater. There’s a moment of calm, and then a massive fin breaches the water’s surface, glittering as it sends a huge splash towards him.

Rae gapes wide-eyed and open-mouthed, catching the wave full in the face.

He sputters, blinking away the salty sting as the boy rises framed in sunlight, eyes crinkled gleefully as he laughs, a breathy, lilting sound interspersed with glottal clicks, pointed teeth exposed behind his lips.

Rae is in awe. There’s no questioning the sight before him. The boy is a merman, a siren. Elation bubbles up in Rae’s chest, bursting forth to join in dazed laughter.

When their laughter subsides Rae asks the boy’s name.

Tilting his head, the boy replies in clicks and sighs, musical and incomprehensible.

Rae shakes his head in wonder and taps his chest, “Rae,” then gestures towards the boy in inquiry.

The boy straightens and taps his own chest, releasing a whistle between his teeth with a harmonic hum punctuated by a click.

Rae blinks and tries in vain to replicate the sound, producing more of a gurgling whine.

The boy laughs riotously and Rae crosses his arms.

“Well I’d like to see you try!” Rae retorts, tapping his chest again and repeating, “Rae!”

The boy fixes him with a look and says “Rhae,” nearly perfectly.

Rae makes a face and the boy giggles. He attempts to pronounce the boy’s name again to no avail and finally gives up.

“Can I just call you something else, like Rhys.”

The boy blinks down at him and attempts the pronunciation with a breathy sibilance that comes out like a muffled sneeze.

Rae laughs, “Fine, how about Arin?”

“Ae-Rhyn,” the boy tries haltingly.

“Yes!”

“Yessh.”

Rae beams and the merman, Arin, beams back.

Rae spends the afternoon sketching Arin’s figure. Arin watches, sometimes close enough to drip onto the page, other times diving away to scavenge, returning with offerings of raw shellfish that Rae consumes dubiously.

Hours pass and Rae realizes he’ll need supplies. He communicates that he’ll be back soon and hurries towards town to pawn his stolen goods.

He buys a blanket and food to share, then takes a break to sketch in his notebook, unaware when a shadow looms over him.

“So you fancy yourself an artist,” comes an angry voice, the one from yesterday.

Rae startles, blanching at the man who’s stolen notebook he held. The man snatches the book from his hands and smacks him across the cheek with it.

“Be thankful I don’t have you strung up like the thief you are!” the man fumes, storming off.

Shaken, Rae collects his purchases, hurrying back to the cove as the sun sets.

He’s relieved to find Arin sucking meat from the claw of an unlucky crab. He settles into his blanket and reveals his goods to share. Rae lies wrapped up above the water line while Arin lies a foot away in a tide pool, their heads close as they whisper in their own language before fading into dreams.

***

A distressed cry wakes Rae in the night. He jumps up to see a single-masted dinghy rocking alarmingly close. He splashes into the water after Arins voice to find him tangled in a net held by the man from earlier. When he notices Rae the man calls out.

“I should thank you, boy, for leading me to such a find!”

Rae fumes, sawing at the net with his dagger.

“All these years recording sunken treasure in my book, only for some street urchin to reveal an even greater prize! Your drawings don’t do it justice, imagine, a single scale from this creature’s tail must be worth the emeralds they so resemble!”

“Don’t touch him!” Rae shouts.

The man leans over and Rae sees his chance, tugging sharply at the net. The man stumbles and Arin, catching on, whips his tail, sending the man tumbling into the sea.

Arin bursts free and surges towards the man hissing, teeth snapping. The man shrieks in fear while Rae pulls himself onto the boat and makes quick work tacking the sail. “Thanks for the ship!” Rae calls.

“You little- !”

Arin sends a large splash towards the man as he turns, following Rae.

They travel a fair way before Rae raises the sails. Arin swims alongside the ship, his smile soothing Rae’s nerves. Rae has nothing but the clothes on his back, but Arin is safe and they’re together and he can’t think of anything more important.

They sail leisurely, diving together to gather food. Arin demonstrates a deft hand catching fish and Rae gracefully declines offers to bite into the still flopping creatures. He knows he’ll have to return to land for more supplies, but he feels no urgency to leave his new companion for even a moment.

Rae wakes with a splash to the face, grumbling as he sits up, hiding a smile.

Arin tugs at his sleeve and Rae dutifully removes his shirt, handing it to his friend. Arin barks out a laugh and slaps it away, tugging on Rae’s hand.

“Okay, okay,” Rae grins, jumping overboard, always excited to see what Arin has to show him.

A dark form rises from the deep. As they swim closer, Rae realizes it’s the mast of a shipwreck.

As they approach Arin darts from view. On the crumpled deck of the ship Arin has collected a pile of things, tarnished silverware crusted with barnacles and gold coins ruddy with algae. It’s treasure. Arin reappears, grinning, a jeweled tiara becoming one with his tangled locks. Rae chuckles, a bubble of air escaping his lips. He picks a golden band from the loot and slides onto Arins finger, winking before kicking back up for air. He breaches the surface with a laugh, Arin following right after to jump on his back.

There’s thousands, ten, easily twenty thousand dollars worth of treasure beneath them. It’s enough to buy a proper ship, enough to build a house on a quiet island and connect it to the sea, to fill it with canvas and paints. The treasure splashing behind him, arms flung over his shoulders, is priceless, but beneath them there’s enough to keep them safe, to be free.