Dare?”
“Alan.”
“Thank you, Alan.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
She watched him go, but didn’t have the pleasure of watching him take flight; he walked out of sight first. She turned back to explore the bookstore, but her feet still hurt badly from the walk, so she picked up the book Alan had been reading and dragged a chair to the window to wait. Maybe she could read a chapter or two and discuss it with him when he returned. On Morality had chapter titles like “The Nature of Man” and “Consciousness and Dreams.” She started to read a little, but none of it made much sense. If only it did. She had so much catching up to do with books.
It felt strange to sit in a chair. One didn’t really need chairs underwater. Her stays kept her sitting very rigidly, and her stockings itched. She was out of the sun, but out of the breeze too. Could the windows open? It looked like they might, but she wasn’t sure how. Couples strolled by, consulting maps; a group tromped along in funny little black hats with red feathers; children played tag and screamed with laughter she could hear through the glass.
An older man with white hair poufing from a bald spot poked his head in. “Are you open for business, miss?”
“Um—no. Alan will be back at half past.” She motioned to the sign.
“Funny, I was here earlier and it said the same. I’m sure that was a different hour. Who are you, then?”
“I’m just … a friend of his.”
“Miss Belawyn’s not here today either?”
Esmerine assumed Belawyn to be the mysterious mermaid owner. “I guess not.”
“Well, do you mind if I look around?” The man stepped in and headed for the shelf without waiting for permission. “I’ll be no trouble at all. In fact, I’ll be glad enough to look without Mr. Dare hovering over me every moment, suggesting I read Hauzdeen and Ambrona and Volcke, and sniffing when I’d rather have something enjoyable that doesn’t make my head throb.”
“What do you like to read?” It was an irresistible novelty having a conversation about books with a stranger.
He browsed a moment, and took one out. “Now, this author is excellent. He’s working on a complete history of the ancients, and this is the latest volume. Gripping history.” He noticed her eager expression and handed her a different book. “This is the first part. You’d want to start with it.”
She opened it to a plate in the front with a picture titled The Oracle at Sormesen. A wide-eyed woman held out her arm to an alarmed-looking man in some kind of lightweight armor. Other women were clustered behind him, looking equally alarmed. “ If the sorcerer ascends the throne, fire will rain down upon the empire ,” read the text at the bottom.
“My dear, you look as if that book is an old friend you haven’t seen in a decade.”
She shut it and smiled sheepishly. “I just get excited about books.”
“Then you’re in the right place, aren’t you?” He patted the cover of the first book. “I’ll likely purchase this one, but I’ll browse until Alan returns.”
Esmerine returned to her chair. She felt the man watching her careful steps, but he said nothing. She opened the history book and looked at all the pictures first. The merfolk didn’t have pictures. No written word. The only way to share stories was by song and movement and passing tales from one mouth to another. When Esmerine was younger and her grandmother was still alive, she used to love to help her in the kitchen and listen to story after story.
The very first time Alan came, he carried a bucket for gathering seaweed clutched in his toes, and a book tucked into his vest. She had been playing near the islands as he swept down, and she hid behind the rocks and watched him as he filled the bucket a quarter full with seaweed, and then sat on the shore holding the curious red square to his face. At that time she had never even seen a book before. Sometimes they were in the wrecked
“Alan.”
“Thank you, Alan.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
She watched him go, but didn’t have the pleasure of watching him take flight; he walked out of sight first. She turned back to explore the bookstore, but her feet still hurt badly from the walk, so she picked up the book Alan had been reading and dragged a chair to the window to wait. Maybe she could read a chapter or two and discuss it with him when he returned. On Morality had chapter titles like “The Nature of Man” and “Consciousness and Dreams.” She started to read a little, but none of it made much sense. If only it did. She had so much catching up to do with books.
It felt strange to sit in a chair. One didn’t really need chairs underwater. Her stays kept her sitting very rigidly, and her stockings itched. She was out of the sun, but out of the breeze too. Could the windows open? It looked like they might, but she wasn’t sure how. Couples strolled by, consulting maps; a group tromped along in funny little black hats with red feathers; children played tag and screamed with laughter she could hear through the glass.
An older man with white hair poufing from a bald spot poked his head in. “Are you open for business, miss?”
“Um—no. Alan will be back at half past.” She motioned to the sign.
“Funny, I was here earlier and it said the same. I’m sure that was a different hour. Who are you, then?”
“I’m just … a friend of his.”
“Miss Belawyn’s not here today either?”
Esmerine assumed Belawyn to be the mysterious mermaid owner. “I guess not.”
“Well, do you mind if I look around?” The man stepped in and headed for the shelf without waiting for permission. “I’ll be no trouble at all. In fact, I’ll be glad enough to look without Mr. Dare hovering over me every moment, suggesting I read Hauzdeen and Ambrona and Volcke, and sniffing when I’d rather have something enjoyable that doesn’t make my head throb.”
“What do you like to read?” It was an irresistible novelty having a conversation about books with a stranger.
He browsed a moment, and took one out. “Now, this author is excellent. He’s working on a complete history of the ancients, and this is the latest volume. Gripping history.” He noticed her eager expression and handed her a different book. “This is the first part. You’d want to start with it.”
She opened it to a plate in the front with a picture titled The Oracle at Sormesen. A wide-eyed woman held out her arm to an alarmed-looking man in some kind of lightweight armor. Other women were clustered behind him, looking equally alarmed. “ If the sorcerer ascends the throne, fire will rain down upon the empire ,” read the text at the bottom.
“My dear, you look as if that book is an old friend you haven’t seen in a decade.”
She shut it and smiled sheepishly. “I just get excited about books.”
“Then you’re in the right place, aren’t you?” He patted the cover of the first book. “I’ll likely purchase this one, but I’ll browse until Alan returns.”
Esmerine returned to her chair. She felt the man watching her careful steps, but he said nothing. She opened the history book and looked at all the pictures first. The merfolk didn’t have pictures. No written word. The only way to share stories was by song and movement and passing tales from one mouth to another. When Esmerine was younger and her grandmother was still alive, she used to love to help her in the kitchen and listen to story after story.
The very first time Alan came, he carried a bucket for gathering seaweed clutched in his toes, and a book tucked into his vest. She had been playing near the islands as he swept down, and she hid behind the rocks and watched him as he filled the bucket a quarter full with seaweed, and then sat on the shore holding the curious red square to his face. At that time she had never even seen a book before. Sometimes they were in the wrecked
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