The Mermaid's Child (FY8) by Jo Baker

Author:Jo Baker [Baker, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780804172646
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2015-03-16T22:00:00+00:00

Dark came slowly, creeping up on the ship like a child playing tin-can-lurky. I descended the stairs carrying a platter of cheese, sausage, greyish bread and a handful of soft pickles. On the edge of the platter I had balanced a jug and two cups. In the galley I’d found a strange contraption of pipes and vessels that bubbled and hissed, heated by a little flame. A jug stood underneath, filling slowly as water dripped from the mouth of a canister. I’d lifted the jug, sniffed it, then held it to my lips and drank. Clean, unbrackish water, about a pint of it, but not nearly enough to still my thirst. I found a cask of beer that had been broached and drew off about a quart, then gulped it down without thinking twice. The beer went straight to my head, giving everything a pleasant fuzz. I decided then that I would take supper down to the old man. We’d eat together, we’d have a few cups of beer, we’d get to know each other, and then I’d ask him what the hell was going on.

Platter in hand, I came to the bottom of the stairs, knocked the door open with a foot, and stepped over the threshold.

The old man was sitting at the table. He had been reading. Hearing me come in, he looked up, frowned, closed over the book and pushed back his chair.

“No food or drink,” he hissed, stalking over towards me. His voice rose as he came nearer the door. “Rule number two. No food or drink.” He took the platter from my hands, swept past me and out through the door. “No respect these days,” I heard him mutter, “No respect for the rules.”

I followed him into the stairwell: he was flying up the stairs, his skirts flapping. I climbed after him, back onto the deck. He was heading forward, to the galley. I was surprised to find he could move so fast. When I came to the galley door, he’d placed the platter on the table, crossed over to the water-purifier and was peering into the empty jug. He glanced up at me. I looked straight back.

He sat down at the table and began to eat. I pulled back a bench and sat down opposite him. He looked up at me through his eyebrows, continued chewing. I reached out and took a piece of bread, peeled off the crust, and was just formulating my first question, when he spoke.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

What am I doing here? I wanted to say. What are you doing here, and where is here, and what the hell is going on? But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I’d forgotten. Somehow it had slipped my mind that I could no longer talk. I hadn’t needed to, for so long. The last words I’d said were “I loved you,” and it seemed that it was someone else who had spoken them.

“I suppose you take me for a fool?”

I looked up.

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