ItsGoodToSingIndex She passes the fur to Martin ... and then heads off towards the rocks over looking the sea. Before she has gone more than five steps, she's shaking her hair free of restraints, and her fingers are unbuttoning the top of her blouse. Even though there is no immediate sign that the merman has broken the waves, as Meriel prepares for her dip, she hears some splashing. In addition, well used to the refractive index of the water, Meriel can see something...someone, lurking just beneath the waves, a few dozen yards from the spot where Meriel disrobes. Waiting. Well, of course, two can play at that game. Meriel seats herself nonchalently on a sunbaked rock, a mere diaphonous slip in pale greens and blues covering her lower half (and concealing the wicked knife strapped to her thigh). Then she starts to sing, in best, most alluring Rebman fashion. She is close enough to the water for the merman to stretch out a hand to her - if he chooses to do so. It takes a slight modulation of Meriel to get the singing just right. Singing underwater is very different than singing in the air. Although, it must be said, Meriel's experience and explorations above the waves have given her some recent real life experience. After a a minute or two of singing, punctuated by the sound of the waves and a soft patter from Martin and Godfrey, there is a splash, much closer. And then a brief rising of a hand beneath the waves, and then the head of the merman. "What is the price." the merman asks Meriel in a strong baritone "of some more of the famous voice of a Rebman siren?" "Perhaps a duet?" he adds. "A duet is certainly a possibility," says Meriel softly, bending forward to that he long fair hair smoothes a caress across his face ... dry hair, a delicious perversion. "And the price is the traditional one ... stories to charm me and intrigue me. For I am a stranger here and will delight in knowledge." She straightens, her eyes fixed on his face, unwavering, even as a smile curves her lips. "A story for a...duet." The merman lingers over the last word, intoning it as if he means far more than a simple shared song. Blue green eyes regard Meriel for a few moments. "Then a story it is. But there are many stories OstromI might tell to charm and intrigue a Rebman siren." Ostrom complains. "Shall you hear a story of the recent past, of the storm that swept over the island. Or perhaps a tale in blood, of the fall of a Prince of Amber? Or something less sanguine, perhaps? A song of romance and love instead?" Meriel pauses to consider. "Tales in blood are exciting and make the heart beat faster and the blood race," she says musingly. "Thus the reward might be a song that would, in turn, excite you. A good starting point. And then, as the blood quickens, a tale of a storm might excite ... passion ... " She smiles. "Love and romance ... they may follow." "You ask for much, Rebman siren." Ostrom replies. "And yet promise much in turn." His eyes flicker past Meriel to where Martin still tinkers with Godfrey in the distance, and then turns his attention fully on Meriel. "Let me begin, then." Ostrom says. He clears his voice, and begins to speak "In the year of the Black Dove, less than ten years past." "In Deiga was seen a certain sailing mast." "The sailing son of Oberon and Rilga came to call "Caine was his name, swarthy and tall." "But little did the Prince sense in kind That another had come to Deiga with murderous mind A redhaired man, of Kashfan face It was he destined to seal Prince's fate." "With weapon not heard since War's last time." The fate of Prince Caine the Redhair did chime." Prince Caine did fall to Redhair's rooftop strike A strange weapon none in Deiga is like." "Down, down, did the Prince Caine fall." "The wound grievous, his face a pall." "Men surrounded him to bear him away But Prince Caine died that very day." "But of Redhair none more have been seen Escaped Deigan and Amber justice it would seem What grudge, what hatred caused Caine's fate? Is the Redhaired assassin's bloodlust slaked?" Ostrom looks up at Meriel hopefully. "You sing well," said Meriel thoughtfully. "And to answer such a song might take some thought ... " Ostrom cocks his head, pleased at the compliment, and looks at Meriel with hopeful eyes. But a smile touches her lips as she starts to sing: "Now sleeps the crimson frondel, now the white; Nor waves the green kelp in the palace ways; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The kingfish wakens: waken thou with me. Now droops the milkwhite stingray like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Sea all open to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me. Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. Now folds the anemone all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the sea: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. "Magnificent." Ostrom replies in a soft voice. raptured. "I've promised you another song before I dare claim such." Ostrom adds in, with clear reluctance in his soft words. His eyes have moved from looking into Meriel's to blatantly staring at a point some inches below her eyes on her body. "And now a song of storm, of passion." Ostrom says. "To bring you to heights, and into the water here." And he sings. "Not many days past as Men reckon time." "Not many tides past as the Merpeople do." "There came a change in the wind and water and dew." "Early Spring is a season of quiet and calm. "Early Spring is a season of slow current and tides." "But that night was a most unseasonable one, betide." "A storm brew out of the North, where no storms ever come." "A thunderhead of black and grey, frightful to some." "Over the island and waters did the storm's lash fall." "Rain for a month fell within the time of a day and night." "Buildings shattered by wind, rain, and thunder bolt's light." "But it was what came next in the sky that gave all fright." "When the sun briefly peaked in the sky, it was no longer a sphere." "Instead the form of a mask, of disposition royal and fierce." "The Mask of the Sun shone and on the island gaze did pierce." "Two hours as men reckon time did the Sun's Mask shine." "Two hours where men and merman knew countenance divine" "Two hours that felt like the very end of space and time" "And then the Mask shattered as if from a blow." "And then the clouds returned and the rains came in force." "Hours later, the skies finally cleared but the damage was sown." "Still, The Mask of the Sun was but a sphere once more." If Meriel's eyes have narrowed at this tale, it is imperceptible, and the same half-dreamy, half-inviting smile is on her lips. "A stirring song," she murmurs at its conclusion, and she holds out her long, slender arms towards him. "And worthy of a Rebman reward." "And one I shall take "Kiss and embrace in full form." "Award gladly taste" His embrace and kiss of Meriel, his body blow the hips still in the primal sea are full of passion, verve and desire. A spray of seawater swirls around the both of them, although the air was still but a moment ago. Some sort of magic? The reluctance to release the kiss and embrace is evident, but Ostrom does not, at this point, push his luck by going too long. When he does release the kiss and embrace, he does leave his hands on Meriel's shoulders as he looks into her eyes, as if considering taking her into the depths of the sea. "Now." he says. "Tell me of why you have truly come, Rebman siren." Meriel smiles full into his eyes. "I came," she says softly, "to win your heart and draw you to my service ... as my guide beneath the waters of these lands ... " She relaxes slightly towards him, but her eyes never leave his, reading their depths. Ostrom's eyes never leave Meriel's as she speaks. Even if Meriel is not overtly and specifically trying to hypnotize the merman, the effect on him cannot be denied. He rolls his neck slightly, his head rotating slightly, but the gaze never meeting Meriel's limpid pools. "You wish a guide, a champion, an advocate to the Six Patriclans?" Ostrom asks. "Not to the courts of men, but to mine own Wettin, to Gotha, to Blois, and the others?" "And what of your strange friends? Do you ask for their passage and protection and fealty, or only for yourself? Or are they already bound to your service, as you seek to ensnare, and I swim toward your nets?" "Where Rebma commands ... what male will fail to follow?" she counters - hoping that Martin, notorious rebel that he was, would fail to be identified. "None, or so it is said." Ostrom says. "But tell me of your Patricians," she adds coaxingly, her fingers coiling into his dark hair. "Who are these noble women?" "Patriclans." Ostrom corrects, but in the mildest of rebukes. Most especially because there is a soft trilling sound to his voice ever since Meriel's fingers began working their way into his locks. "Perhaps it is a word not familiar to Rebma or to any from beyond this shadow. They are the Tribes of the Merpeople. Wettin, Gotha, Blois, Kyburg, Uri and Vaud." "They are headed, my lovely Rebman siren, but not by women, but by men.:" Meriel's fingers tighten ever so slightly on his hair, and her eyes gleam a little. There is a sigh, a soft sound of pleasure at Meriel's gesture. The rotation and rolling of the eyes suggests that at this point, it would be difficult for Ostrom to refuse Meriel anything she might reasonably ask, if only to continue to feel her ministrations. "And what rank and place do you hold amongst these ... Patricians, Ostrom?" "I am of Wettin." Ostrom says, a trilling pride in his voice. "By dint of blood and strength of arms, I have had a harem of as many as three merwomen in my time, though now they have grown old,feeble and are not as...ahhh." he stops a moment "skilled as you, Rebman siren." "I am Ostrom of the Pearl Net." he begins again. "And my word carries much weight to the ears of Dirda, leader of the Wettin Patriclan, the greatest of the Patriclans." Meriel's eyes have darkened a little at the mention of the harem, but it does not stop her fingers' skilful work among his hair. "Then," she says, softly, "perhaps you are the one we seek, the one worthy of conducting us, with all due honour, to the Patricians .... " Her voice trills the 'r' of that last word, just a little. Then she tilts her head and smiles at him, a wonderful smile (such a smile that anyone who knew Meriel well would now be advising Ostrom to swim for deep waters). "Issss..." Ostrom interrupts briefly, but doesn't quite finish the sound, and allows Meriel to pose her question. "Are you worthy of our favour in this, noble Ostrom?" "Yesss. Yes!" The last word comes out in a gasp, as Meriel's fingers on his scalp have found a sensitive spot of some kind. He nearly pulls his head out of her grasp, but not quite. "Yes. I will take you, and your friends, to Dirda's Court. If that is what you wish." "Do...do...." His breathing relaxes "Do your companions know the rite of Blood and Salt, or do they breath water naturally as the Rebmans do?" Meriel considers this thoughtfully. "One of my companions breathes the water," she says at last. "The other has his own ... methods." She can only hope that this describes whatever Godfrey uses for breath. "What is the rite of Blood and Salt?" she asks, curious. Meriel can tell the approach of Martin and Godfrey at this point. Martin has the definite 'mad scientist' look that she's seen before, observing him, whenever he's built one of those strange incomprehensible toys of his. Meriel looks at him sharply, but says nothing, and then returns seemingly her full attention to the merman. The merman does not deign to do more than move his eyes in the direction of Martin and Godfrey, once they cross the plane of his sight. His attention is much more engaged on Meriel's fingers in his hair and scalp, and on her words. "The Rite of Blood and Salt is a minor magic making." Ostrom replies. "It allows those who live in the world above to breath water, for a time. It requires an ampoule of blood from the person to be so enchanted, and a dose of sea salt. Traditionally, by custom of the Clans, the rite is performed in such a way so as to last the three days allowed under the rules of hosting guests." "Your companions are a Rebman and a..." Ostrom looks at Godfrey and then at Martin. Godfrey's gears whirr. To Meriel's sensitive hearing, there is just a slightly different pitch to the sound they make now. "Greetings again, Meriel." Godfrey says. Greetings, Godfrey," says Meriel, without looking up. "Will you need such a rite performed, or can you travel with us regardless?" Martin, knowing her well, may sense in her slight tension a focus not only on what she is doing, but also on any cues that he might wish to give her. "My blood, huh?" Martin doesn't look very happy about it. "Godfrey won't need such a rite. Does the magic also handle the pressures of the deep?" "Yes, yes." Ostrom says. "Forgive me for not giving the full banal details. And those who enter the oceans are usually more worried about breathing than any of the other problems. The rite does also briefly improve one's vision in the water, and acclimation to the cool waters that surround the island. In short, it allows one to visit the Clans in safety, security and surety." "What IS that strange metal man?" Ostrom asks Martin. "I am Godfrey." Godfrey says simply, with a whirr of gears. "Particulars as to my construction and composition should be referred to Prince Martin." “It speaks again!” Ostrom says, surprised, nearly pulling his head away from Meriel’s fingers in his surprise. “I thought it was some trick.” I can breathe water," says Meriel. "The rite will be unnecess ... " And then she looks suddenly startled, as though remembering something. "I can breathe below the waves," she says firmly and then performs a neat dive from the rocks and into the sea. Once there she draws a slightly careful breath, testing that her innate ability is not lost ... Martin, most of his attention on Meriel and a possible rescue, speaks without looking at Ostrom. "Not 'it', but 'he'. Just like you said, a metal man. If you extend that safety guarantee, you won't have to do the magic with him." Fortunately for Meriel, her acquisition of a Pattern Imprint, and despite the change in the pigmentation of her skin in the process, her first, tentative breath does not drown her. It takes a little getting used to again, to breathe pure water, but her Rebman ancestry holds. "It would be a sorry trick on my part." Ostrom continues "to leave out one of your companions from a guarantee of safety. That would be something a scion of Uri or Kyburg would do. Not a child of Wettin." "All three of you shall have a guarantee of good conduct and safety, even if..." Ostrom looks at Godfrey "he is not of flesh and blood." "So be it," Martin says. "You know, Meriel and I are both Rebman..." Meriel surfaces at thi point, and pulls herself easily out onto the rock. She says nothing (for a wonder!) but Martin can see she's breathing easily - air or water - and her eyes have the wickedest of twinkles. "Yes, yes." Ostrom says with a wave of his hand. "I have heard the stories that some Rebmans can swim and breathe in any ocean, and some are said to mimic the creatures of the Sea." Godfrey walks over to regard Meriel. "I do not note any gills or organs that allow you to breathe water, Miss Meriel." Godfrey says to Meriel. "I surmise that your lungs can process water as well as air?" "Yes," says Meriel, "although I tend to see it as the other way round." She twists her hair, squeezing out excess water, then shakes it free. Martin nods. "Well. I shall partake of the Rite. How much blood do you need?" "Bood," says Meriel, pulling a face. She has a distaste - not uncommon among Rebmans for substances that can contaminate water. "Clumsy practitioners need large amounts of blood, since they cannot handle the magics without a large amount of the subject's blood to stabilize the rite." Ostrom responds. "I suspect that would wrinke the sensibility of two scions of fabled Rebma." "For me, however, I am most skilled." He continues. Ostrom gives a grin to Martin, and then shoots a smile in the direction of Meriel before returning his attention to Martin "I only require three drops, freshly shed by a bronze blade. It is fortunate that" he pauses "Godfrey does not need to undergo the rite. I don't think whatever you use for blood would work." "A proposition to test another time, perhaps." Godfrey responds with a whirr. "I'll do it," Martin says. He immediately turns and looks around, spending about a minute as he checks from place to place. "Not that I don't trust you, but I've had bad experiences with people asking for my blood. Well, okay, they didn't really ask. I still have the scar to prove it- ah, here we are." He pulls a short, curved bronze knife out from behind a rock and walks back to the group. "I don't remember that knife being there." Ostrom says. He suddenly looks himself over, as if the shining blade somehow came from him and into Martin's hands. "Just say where and when," he says. Meriel winces, but says nothing, simply glancing at the merman. Her > stance shifts slightly - if he seems to do anything untoward, she wants her own knife within easy reach. Ostrom nods. He swims along the shore towards Meriel, gives her a smile, and raises his hands, full of seawater toward Martin. "Shed the blood into the water here." Ostrom says. "That will suffice to transmute it so that I can anoint you once the spell is complete." Martin gives Meriel a knowing glance, looks back at the merman, and knicks his finger. He holds it over Ostrom's cupped hands until one, two, then three drops fall into the saltwater. Ostrom counts the drops silently as they fall, but the words are readable upon his lips. Then his hand curls into a fist to stanch the wound. He still holds the knife in his other hand. Meriel winces again, as though the blood came from her, but she stays silently, watching intently. Unseen by the others, she bends her thumb inwards into the palm of her hand and slowly strokes the smooth gold band of her ring. "Good" Ostrom says. He begins to speak, in a language that is like a distorted version of Old Rebman--an ancient language, full of unusual syllables and a complex syntax. He looks down at his hands throughout this. A quiet whirr of gears suggests that, without prompting, Godfrey has taken very careful notice of what Ostrom is saying. As he does so, the blood disperses into the water, transforming it into a reddish cup of fluid. As Martin and Meriel watch, the cupped liquid slowly has the image of the face of Martin appear in it, as if in a mirror. His features are slightly different as reflected--reversed from the usual, of course, and there is something more aquatic about the face of the man in the liquid. "The enchantment of the liquid is complete. Bow your head, Martin." Ostrom says, looking up from his cupped hands. "And allow me to by the rite of blood and salt, anoint and allow you to be reborn for three days." Martin gives Meriel another significant look, and bows his head before Ostrom. Meriel gives the faintest of nods to Martin, but as yet makes no move. Ostrom tips his hands over Martin's head. Its a very gradual tip, and the stream of transformed liquid is little more than a drizzle. The liquid is cool, almost cold as it strikes Martin's forehead. His skin absorbs it however, with not even a drop getting into Martin's eyes. After a minute or so, Ostrom withdraws his hands. "The esoteric part of the ritual is done." he says with satisfaction. "All that needs be done is for you to enter into the water." "The spell will last three days from when your head is immersed, Martin." Ostrom adds helpfully. "Although I suspect that if you waited too long, it would lose its potency." "Can't be losing potency," Martin says. "I don't have any Viagra with me, or anything. Let's try it." And he strides purposefully into the water. "Come on in, Godfrey," he says as he walks. "Go for a total immersion and run a diagnostic on yourself." "Yes, Martin." Godfrey follows Martin into the water, taking purposeful steps as he immerses himself. From Martin's point of view, his immersion results in the water feeling less cold than he is used to. Its not that the water feels warm or is warm at all, but the chill that Martin might expect from immersing into the water in early spring in Deiga is simply not there. Meriel holds out her hand to Ostrom. "Come with us," she says imperiously, a lady of Rebma preparing to return to her natural element. "Of course." Ostrom takes Meriel's hand. "A vow and promise to be kept." Once full immersion is obtained, and Martin dares, indeed, as if he was in Rebma, Martin can breathe in this water. Still holding Meriel's hand, Ostrom watches Martin with a satisfied look on his fate, and Godfrey with frank curiosity. "Maintaining functionality. Immersion in sea water is proving to be no hazard to functionality, Martin." Godfrey reports. "The power link also remains actively functional." "Excellent," Martin says. "Now, don't spring a leak in your dinghy and forget to tell me. I doubt it; you're quite solid, and the pressure shouldn't affect you unless we go much deeper than what I really would want to go, anyway." "Affirmative, Martin." Godfrey responds. Meriel releases Ostrom's hand for the moment and takes the time to swim around a little, flipping casually in the water to inspect Godfrey upside down, and then moving with languorous strokes and rippling darting rushes as the mood takes her while Martin and Godfrey become accustomed to the new environment. Godfrey's movements underwater are still the precise, bezel and gear laden ones that he has above water. He watches Meriel's enthusiasm curiously At one point she swims close to Martin to murmur in his ear, "How long since you've done this?" Martin smiles. "Years," he says back. "Not counting the time I was stuck in a box." Ostrom sniffs in disappointment, an exaggerated gesture. And then, when she has her answer, darting away again. Still smiling, Martin kicks his legs and tests out a complex, twisting pattern in the water. The clothes he's wearing don't seem to hamper him, but somehow his shoes and socks have fallen to the sea bottom. There is no doubt, watching him, that he is fully a child of Rebma. "Excellent," he says to Ostrom. "No problems with stress or breathing at all. Other than the time limit, is there anything to watch out for?" "You will want to remain in my company, of course." Ostrom adds. "Not only from the advantages of my own point of view, but you do want to not run into...difficulties, with other mermen. Out of my presence, your rights may not be honored." "Try a somersault," Meriel urges Godfrey, "Watch me - it's really easy ... " Godfrey watches Meriel's easy, sensual and natural somersault. In the watery environment, the tenor of the sound of his gears is distinctly different. "All right, Miss Meriel. Adjusting physical modes of locomotion..." What Godfrey manages, to Meriel's eyes is the most inelegant somersault that she can possibly imagine. But, to Meriel's eyes, it is indeed a somersault. "I think" Godfrey says once the maneuver is complete. "My gyroscopic balance remains intact. There is no lingering sense of vertigo or disorientation." "You have vertigo?" Martin nods to Ostrom and turns his attention to Godfrey. "You have disorientation? Sensory nerves and reflexes, too? I didn't know that." "Why wouldn't he have?" asks Meriel. It is clear from her tone that she has been taking Godfrey to be a strange form of land life she has not previously encountered, rather than a construct. "I confess I do not understand this companion of yours." Ostrom comments. Godfrey turns his head toward Martin. "I think, Martin, my sensory systems are under-developed as compared to more logic based systems. However, the basics appears to be there. I do not believe I have a large range of capacity, as currently configured, to feel sensations. However, the..." he turns his head toward Meriel "somersault did result in a brief period of disorientation. I do not know if this is because of the physical effects on my gyroscopic balance, or if Martin constructed me to have an imitation of such effects for the purposes of verisimilitude." "Versim-what?" Ostrom says. "Verisimilitude," Martin says. "It's a kind of meat sauce you put on spaghetti. Never mind. I'll, er, explain it all later, sometime when you want me to put you to sleep for a few hours." He gives Meriel a significant look. "Right. So, how far will it be to meet the mermen?" Meriel looks at Ostrom expectantly, performing little rippling movements in the water as she awaits his response in a way that is definitely flirtatious. "The Clan's holdings are not far from the seashore upon which the lovely Rebman found me." Ostrom says, giving Meriel a wide eyed look as she moves in the water. "This time of year, the Clans tend to cluster closer to the shore, for that is where the fish run." "A league, no more, to swim." Ostrom says. "One and a half miles, in the units of those who dwell on the islands." he says after another moment. "Not bad at all," Martin says. "Lead on, then. and we'll keep up. No idea about your culture, but I assume that if you're sponsoring us we won't need to be bringing gifts and such?" "Or perhaps," suggests Meriel, "bringing us wll be Ostrom's gift to the tribe, for we bring honour." She shakes her hair back and takes a swift, clean dive into the water. Ostrom looks up at Meriel's emergence and splash back into the depths with the rapture of a devoted church goer during a compelling sermon. It takes an extra moment for him to tear his eyes away, and back toward Martin and Godfrey. The latter is still experimenting with movement underwater. "No gifts will be necessary, although a gift would not be turned down." Ostrom says. "The presence of two nobles of Rebma is honour, as the lady says. And perhaps the wonder of the presence of your companion of brass and other metal will be an additional boon to the Court." With his tail waving like a banner behind him, Ostrom propels himself ahead, into the depths. Martin has a slight smile on his face, watching Ostrom watch Meriel. He turns to Godfrey. "Now comes the acid test... they're gonna go fast, so shout out if you can't keep up. Better if we stay together. Ready?" And with that he kicks off and starts swimming after the others. Meriel is awaiting them under the water. Although Godfrey is slower than Martin (and certainly much slower than Meriel) he is not completely hopeless. Although this does slow down Martin's progress, its not a fatal flaw. With Meriel in front of them, following Ostrom is a relatively easy task. He leads the group outwards and downwards. The promised one and a half miles goes by relatively quickly. Besides the fish of the seas of Cabra, there are reefs. These are not the coral reefs common to Rebma, or to most shadows. Instead, the reefs are made of huge tabular stromatoporoids, reef building sponges. Although not as ornate or pretty as coral reefs, these reefs are larger and more imposing than their coral cousins. In point of fact, it is one of these reefs, in the shape of a letter U, that Ostrom leads Meriel, Martin and Godfrey toward. In and around the reef, are clusters of merpeople, using the reef and the space within it as a campsite. "The Wettin" Ostrom says, stopping and gesturing toward the reef. "These are our grounds during this part of the year. I think, myself, my patriclan has the best campsite of all of the patriclans." "Wow," Martin says. He snaps his fingers a couple of times. "This place would have some awesome acoustics." "You would be right, Prince of Rebma." Ostrom says proudly. "It is said that when the patriclan gathers to sing the ballads, the sound is richer than any of the other clans. Ninety seven years ago, the Uri drove us from our campsite here. The one hundred seven days that they held it are known among the Wettin as the Days Without Song, for none would sing until we reclaimed what was ours." Martin looks keenly interested. "And the Uri? What happened to them?" Meriel, who has been distracted by swimming off to examine the strange coral, and then darting back to join them from time to time, pauses at this and looks interested in the answer. Ostrom clears his throat, a cloud of bubbles erupting as a result. He looks toward Godfrey, Meriel and Martin, bobs his head and then begins to sing. "On the one hundred and eighth day of the Days Without Song" "The Wettin returned to the place taken from them so very long." "They fell upon the Uri like the waves against the stone shore "The power of the Uri from that day was felt there no more." "Half the women of the Uri were kept for many harem's joy." "The remainder and the men released after time as toys." "The children were adopted into Wettin for all time." "Forbidden to know of their parents great dark crime." "There are" Ostrom says, still humming but no longer singing "Seventeen more stanzas, but perhaps you would wish to hear them another day." "Oral history. Yes, please, another day." Martin looks thoughtful after the 'forbidden to know' verse. "It sounds like you've got a tough tribe, there, Ostrom." "The law of the Sea" Ostrom responds. Meriel has stiffened, but the water quivers around her, as though she is just barely suppressing strong feelings. "Harem?" she says. "For *women*?" "My vocabulary banks indicate that the term is generally applied to groups of women engaged in a polyamorous relationship." Godfrey puts in. Ostrom looks at Godfrey oddly and then softens his gaze as he turns to regard Meriel. "Of course, lady." Ostrom says. "Although it is said that some of the smaller, poorer clans, short on women, do not have any harems even for their leaders." Martin actually places a hand on Meriel's shoulder. "It's not Rebma," he says, soothingly. "Despite the similarities." Meriel nods slowly, her hair rippling out in an oddly peaceful gesture. "Lead on, then, Ostrom," she says. "Yes" Ostrom says. Leading the way, Ostrom makes his way in a slow, languid swim, the flukes of his tail making a soft beat in the water. So leading the Prince, Princess and clockwork man, Ostrom brings the group toward one of the bands of merfolk on the outer edge of the coral. Two mermaids huddle in the center of a group guarded by five mermen, armed with long, sharp spears. Three more men come toward Ostrom and the group, similarly armed. "These come under the Rite, Ostrom?" One of the mermen asks, giving Meriel an especially long glance that suggests that scenarios involving him and a compliant Meriel are playing out in his mind. "They do, Marin." Ostrom responds. "These are..." Marin cuts Ostrom with a wave of his spear. "Friends of Ostrom Shoresitter, tell us of yourselves and why you have come to Clan Wettin." Martin glides forward slightly. "Hail, Marin of Clan Wettin. I am Martin, son of Random, King of Amber. I am here with Meriel," he hesitates but a second, deciding it is up to her to give her own lineage, "of Rebma and Amber. We come as travelers, passing through your demenses on a mission of import to my father... and perhaps to your clan as well." Meriel nods a dignified approval at this address and returns Marin's gaze unblinkingly. "The son of King Random is welcome here." Marin replies, turning his gaze from appraising Meriel's body to regarding Martin. "As are any and all who might be accompanying you." He gives a quizzical look at Godfrey. The merman shakes his head slightly and settles his gaze back to Meriel and Martin both. "I do not have the rank to treat with an emissary of the distant but powerful King of Amber, who is said to rule over a double dozen seas, own many Castles, and have the choice of the fairest women who live above the waves." "Ostrom, you bring honor to Wettin by bringing the scion of Amber here." he says to Ostrom, who wordlessly nods. "Welcome guests, it would be my honor to bring you to our Clan elders, with the words that accompany this mission of import. May I conduct you?" He bows at the waist, his tail making a rotary motion in the process. Martin bows in return, leaving off rotary motions of his legs that would be certain to throw his back out. He gives a glance to Meriel, then one back to Godfrey. "We are honored." "Indeed," says Meriel calmly - although anyone sufficiently close to her might feel that the temperature of the water in her immediate vicinity has, in fact, raised a couple of degrees. "I am most interested to learn of the customs of the Wettin." "Dirda, leader of the Wettin, will be most pleased to meet you now." Marin says. With a wave of bubbles, in his wake, Marin flips around and leads Meriel, Martin, Godfrey and Ostrom deeper into the camp. Looks of frank curiosity greet the quartet led by Marin as he swims toward the center of the area defined and bordered by the massive sponge coral reef. In this center, carrying a barnacle encrusted trident of bronze, is a white haired merman surrounded by a court of other mermen, who break like a wave upon the shore as Marin leads the group toward him. Off in the corner of the open area, a group of mermaids, penned by a small wall of coral, peek over the low wall at the travelers from Amber. "Fair lord Dirda." Marin says, executing a bow. "Travelers from the Courts of Amber and Rebma have swum many leagues above and beneath the waves to treat with you." Dirda slams the butt of his trident down. "Let them come and speak! And bring food for our guests. Nothing is too fine for them, under the rules of hospitality!" Mermen in the vicinity start scurrying around, briefly obscuring the view of Dirda. When he is visible again, he gestures with his trident, beckoning Meriel and Martin forward. Martin swims forward, slowly, in this instance letting Meriel advance exactly with him. He doesn't look back, but expects Godfrey will fall into place behind them. He bows when he gets close enough and says, "Hail, Lord Dirda, leader of the Wettin! We are most honored, to be granted an audience with you." "Indeed we are honoured," says Meriel smoothly, letting her hair ripple around her in the currents so that it reveals tantalising glimpses of what lies beneath. "So fine a Court as this will be embraced warmly by the rulers of Rebma." She bestows her warmest smile on Dirda ... and any particularly devastating mermen within the immediate vicinity. "Greetings Lord Dirda" Godfrey intones, with a carefully practiced and articulated speech. The mermen only give Godfrey, as strange as he is, brief scrutiny. Meriel's presence, and Martin's too, are far more intriguing and alluring to the community than even a clockwork man is not that alluring a wonder by comparison. Bronze plates are brought forward, heaped high with cut portions of sea cucumber, watercress, oysters, shrimp, prawns, mussels, crabs and lobsters. Dirda grabs one of the crabs off a plate, and casually breaks a claw off, sucking for the raw flesh of the claw as the plates are brought for Meriel and Martin to sample from. "Find the poet" Dirda commands one of the courtiers. "An epic poem would be a fine way to entertain our guests. He may, by his lazy tail, also wish to be present for this event for future composition." "Please, sit, eat, and speak." Dirda says. Long tabular pieces of coral have been set up as benches for Meriel, Martin, and Godfrey to sit before him. Meriel glides effortlessly into her seat and nods for her plate to be brought closer for her convenience. Her hand pauses over the delicacies ... ... and then she selects a crab claw too. She doesn't suck though ... instead she dart her little tongue into the inmost crevices to tease the meat out slowly and with vast enjoyment. Then she looks across at Dirda as she sets the emptied crab claw down. "I will be fascinated to hear your musician," she says. "And a lazy tail may beat a rhythm to fan the heated blood ... " Martin studiously doesn't notice this. For his part, he starts in on his own food, and eats quite a lot of it; while they eat, he keeps the initial conversational inquiries to, 'we're here on a diplomatic-type visit', but anything more he deflects for a later, and possible more private, venue. For the next half hour, subjects are light and general, and no pressing issues or inquiries are made. Oh, there is some curiosity about the nature of Godfrey (who remains rather literal minded about such requests), some general curiosity as to the nature of the visit, and a *lot* of male attention paid to Mirelle's Rebman daughter. In general, though, things are kept to pleasantries and formalities, and the sampling of foods. The poet that Dirda has promised arrives, and launches into a portion of an epic about the merpeople's fight against creatures called the sahuagin. As near as Martin can tell, they raided in Cabran waters around the time of the Patternfall War, and disappeared sometime into Gerard's Regency. Finally, with a few words, and bombastic gestures, Dirda dismisses the court "to confer with the visitors in privacy". As the merpeople scatter out of earshot, Dirda leans forward. While he is ostensibly speaking to all three, his leer at Meriel is blatant. Meriel allows herself the faintest of smirks in reply - as fugitive as slowly lowered eyelashes. "Now" he says, eating a prawn with meaty, smacking sounds."Tell me, envoys from Amber and Rebma, why you have truly come." Martin leans forward. "Ah, the real reason. Beyond that of diplomatic ties. We want to keep that circumspect, but you have to tell the important people what's going on if you want to get from point A to point B. Important people... like you. Have any of my blood spoken to you of Shadow?" Meriel watches his response closely through those demurely lowered lashes. "We know of shadow here." Dirda replies. The tension between responding to Martin directly, and looking at Meriel causes continual self correcting motions of his head. He does manage decorum, but only just. "The sons of Admiral Gerard, the twins who are not, have come here under the rite of blood and salt." Dirda says. "Although the thinner one seems to have learned some small skill at magic to make the rite unnecessary for him. They have inquired about matters, and taught us of shadow, and what paths lie outward from Deiga." "Is there bad blood between Rebma and the sons of Amber?" Dirda asks, slight alarm in his voice. "I should hope not," Martin says. "Things are... the same as always, really. The twins, they really get around." He smiles faintly and looks away. "Shadow is vulnerable to... disturbances. You must have felt one, like a great earthquake, not too long ago. It is our intention, Lord Dirda, to pass through your waters, on out into Shadow, in order to better see the source of the ripples that are felt as far away as Amber." Meriel gives a smile of confirmation. "And your assistance with our journey," she add, with a vibration in her voice that quivers sea ferns half a roof distant, "would be so very much appreciated." "There are limits to your appreciation, of course." Dirda replies. "I am not so besotted as to imagine that a lovely Rebman princess would consent to join, or even lead my harem." he says, giving a leer to Meriel. "Even if an old man can dream of such a thing." Meriel returns his smile. "Nor would I insult so wise and experiuenced a mer leader by suggesting that he swims in my wash," she says. "No matter how tempting it might prove." The look she gives him is heated enough to strip his scales. Then she lowers her eyes once more. "To answer your question, Prince and Princess of the Sea and..." Dirda gives a glance at Godfrey, shaking his head. "Some nights ago, the very bed of the ocean did shake. It shook for five minutes, as the dwellers of the island count time." "A rift in the sea bottom opened, some miles from here, on the shelf, and has slowly widened in the tides since. I have heard stories of strangers in the Outremer, too, crosses between men and shark who swim and walk in the sea. There are stories some of the smaller clans have skirmished with these strangers." "Oh let's go at once!" says Meriel, excitedly. "It's a long time since I have taken shark's blood." Martin is frowning. "Don't know if it's the same," he mutters. "I wouldn't discount it, though. How hard would it be to talk to someone from these smaller clans on the way?" ' "We will not speak to the Uri." Dirda says with a firm tone. "They are the ancient enemies of the Wettin, and to treat with them would be dangerous for my honored guests. The Blois, on the other hand, have had more tractable relations with my clan, and like the Uri, are said to have met these half sharks in recent days." "I can provide you a guide to the Blois, and from there to the rift." Dirda adds as he regards Meriel, Martin and Godfrey. "Ostrom will do for the job, if he hasn't slipped off and gotten drunk on seaweed summer salt wine." Martin bows. "Truly, the generosity of Lord Dirda and the Wettin is unmatched," he says. "And will no doubt be remembered by generations to come in the kingdom of Amber." "And likewise in Rebma," says Meriel, tossing her head slightly, so that her long hair flows back freely. Then she gives the Lord of the Wettin another dazzling smile. "I can think of a more lasting way that the generosity and words of Rebma would mingle with the Clans" Dirda replies. "If the lady would favor me with more than just a smile and sweet words, the gratitude of the leader of the Wettin would know no bounds." He looks over Martin and Godfrey "I cannot speak for your friend of metal, but I am sure, Prince Martin of Amber, your choice of a companion from my harem might find favor and assuage the idea of a cold bed?" Martin pauses, and it's obvious he's considering the cultural ramifications of the whole thing. Especially the thought of turning them down. Finally, he bows. "The Lord of the Wettin is generous," he says. "Good" Dirda replies. "It shall be done." He smiles at Martin. "In your place, I recommend Mariena or Rialle. You will find them more skilled than any others." "A single night with a Lady of Rebma," says Meriel softly. "You are more than generous ... you are a brave mer, my Lord. For you must know of the legends of the deep and the power of the ladies of the sea. If you do not fear the thought that you might lose your manhood in my arms and never again be able to know the pleasure of a lesser woman in your bed ... then you shall experience delights too sweet and too rich for most mortal mer." "Fear?" Dirda pounds his chest with his fist. "Ho, seductress of Rebma. What you should fear is that our night in my bed will, instead, cause you to pine for the seas of Deiga from this day forth! It is a challenge that I am willing to meet, if you are." "Am I permitted to observe these challenges?" Godfrey says. "I have no data in my memory banks regarding mating customs." Dirda blinks uncertainly, his bravado gone, and looks at Martin and Meriel. Martin tries very hard to relax his face so that the eye twitch he feels building doesn't show. "Godfrey is... very scholarly," he says. "Very scientific, without any other agenda in that direction." He turns. "I think, Godfrey, we should forebear that kind of observation here. We can arrange an education for you later." Dirda starts to show some visible relief on his features at Martin's words... "Really?" says Meriel. "I feel an eagerness to learn should be rewarded." She turns and gives Dirda her most melting smile. "Don't you? I'm sure we can positively ... *engorge* his data banks if we put our minds to it. And ... perhaps ... other things as well." "Would it be more rewarding to observe you, Martin, or Lady Meriel instead?" Godfrey says with a whirr of gears. The Lord of the Wettin gives off a soft growl, eyes focused on Meriel. "I fear not observation of such endeavors." Dirda responds. "I know not what data banks are, but I suspect that he will be..." the eyes are lit up. "filled up with knowledge" "I have no doubt of it," purrs Meriel. "Godfrey, you must be sure to observe this lord closely, for I am sure he will add immensely to your knowledge." She turns her head and bestowed a ravishing smile on Martin but - for once, this doesn't quite reach her eyes. Instead a faint lift of her right eyebrow suggests something quite different. Subject to Martin's approval of this ... ah ... unusual relationship, Meriel is providing herself with a trustworthy bodyguard at a potentially vulnerable moment. Staring straight at Meriel, Martin says, "I'm sure he will. If my kinsman feels so, I am hardly the one to gainsay it. Godfrey, you should observe Lady Meriel." "Then we are agreed" Dirda says with satisfaction. '"Let us all retire to our respective coves, for soon thereafter, will come your journey to the rift. Lord Martin, you will find my harem waiting beyond that coral wall..." he indicates a formation of coral nearby. "And as for the lady of Rebma, your strange companion, yourself and I have an engagement in the softest kelp beds in camp..." He grins widely. Meriel rises and, with considerable demureness, extends her hand to the Leader of the Wettin. Maybe she administers the smallest of scratches to the palm of his hand as she takes it, something to tease his senses into sensitivity. The look she gives Martin is certainly redolent of mischief. "Then let us go," she says. "And Godfrey ... watch and learn." "Yes, Miss Meriel" Godfrey says with a muted whirr of gears. Martin's look back to her contains a smile, but Meriel is no doubt sensitive enough to catch the faint undercurrent of worry as Dirda takes her hand. He watches them depart for quite a distance before turning towards the walls of the harem that was indicated to him. And so without further ado, Martin can head toward the waiting harem of mermaids, while Dirda carries off Meriel, so to speak, in a very un Rebman fashion... Backlinks |
