The Mermaid's Sister by Noble Carrie Anne

Author:Noble, Carrie Anne [Noble, Carrie Anne]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Skyscape
Published: 2015-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Inside the speeding wagon, O’Neill and I sit on woven mats. Soraya reclines on an upholstered couch, snoring most daintily. Apparently she is unbothered by Dr. Phipps’s wild driving, how he relentlessly urges the four horses onward with the crack of his whip and the lash of his tongue.

Following in our dusty wake, Jasper drives the smaller wagon, the one loaded with the doctor’s collection of wonders and rarities. According to Dr. Phipps, the mermaid is lucky to be traveling amongst such priceless treasures. I should remind him that she is not an object to be collected, but a beloved sister and friend. Yet I keep silent—out of wisdom or cowardice, or perhaps a bit of both.

Soraya, O’Neill, and I ride in the company of less exalted items. Labeled cases of medicines are neatly stacked along the walls beside trunks of various sizes. Costumes and musical instruments hang from pegs. One shelf holds a row of men’s shoes and boots, and another displays a collection of ladies’ slippers (some leather, some satin, some spangled with crystals). Boxes and bottles of food crowd a few other shelves. Above my head, a huge burlap bag swings from a hook and rains down grains of rice, one at a time, from a tiny tear in its side.

As rapidly as we cross the countryside, time seems to drag inside the wagon. In my mind, I relive Maren’s transformation, from her simple love of water to the first hint of scales upon her side; from discovering her fused-together legs to beholding her brilliant tail fin; from her fading whispers to the sea-on-sand sound of her most recent laughter; from the Wishing Pool to the washtub, and to whatever vessel she now inhabits.

I miss her. I miss her as I’d miss my sight if I were suddenly blind. I miss her as a tree must miss its wealth of leaves come midwinter. I miss her continually, painfully.

Through the open window, I see the shadow of a large bird hover and swoop. I know that bird—and it is no bird. It is Osbert! He is safe, and he is with us.

“Worrying again, worry-bird?” O’Neill asks, whispering so as not to disturb Soraya’s slumber.

“I’ve just seen Osbert,” I say. “He is following us.”

“You see? No real harm can befall us while the wyvern watches. All is well. Other than my leg, that is.”

I wonder if Soraya has dosed him with something. How could he believe all is well when Maren is hidden from us and possibly shrinking away?

“We cannot afford to be waylaid,” I say. “We do not have time to help put on shows, no matter how beholden we may be to the Phipps family. We must not continue with them unless they agree to take us to the ocean. Maren’s life is in the balance.”

“I will ask the doctor,” O’Neill says. “He does not frighten me with his shouting and lording.”

“Thank you.” A pillow tumbles off Soraya’s couch and rolls within my reach. I take it and stuff it behind my back.

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