The Mermaid's Sister(51)

Such a simple thing might be our salvation.

It is a thought to mull over.

“Do you really believe that will help Papa?” Jasper says, pinching his nostrils. “It smells like a possum carcass rolled in fish guts.”

Soraya stirs the sputtering concoction with a long-handled wooden spoon. “Of course. It is an ancient remedy my mother taught me. If it smelled good, it would not be so powerful.”

Inside her jar, Maren is blessedly unbothered by the smell. I watch her for a moment, floating like a small angel in a cloudless sky. Not that I have ever heard of an angel with a fish’s tail.

Poor Maren. She is shrinking again, bit by bit, and she is increasingly listless. While Soraya has been caring for her husband, she has neglected to add the mysterious preservatives to our mermaid’s jar.

O’Neill, too, is watching Maren. The expression on his face cannot be named. There is no word for the emotion between pity and love, or for the one between longing and sorrow. Just as words cannot describe what I feel right now, something between envy and shame, and between compassion and disappointment.

“We move on tomorrow,” Jasper announces. “We have lingered here long enough. We sell nothing camped in the wilderness. And I am bored.” He accuses me, with a hard glance, of being the reason for his boredom. His jealousy of O’Neill’s impetuous kiss still festers, obviously.

“Very well,” Soraya says. “You are the man of the family until the doctor recovers his strength.” She scoops a spoonful of liquid from the pot and holds it beneath her nose. “Hmm. It needs more amber dust, and another hour of cooking.”

I stand, unable to bear the stench any longer and eager to be alone with my thoughts of sleeping draughts. It is a relief to have something to think of besides O’Neill’s brazen kiss. “I am going for a walk,” I declare, expecting Soraya to object.

“Night will fall soon,” she says calmly. “Do not wander far. I have heard wild things growling and creeping nearby these last few nights.”

O’Neill stands and brushes the dirt from the seat of his trousers. “I will go with you,” he says.

“No!” I say. “I need to be alone, to think.”

Jasper grunts. “I smell a lovers’ quarrel. Which, by the by, smells far better than Mama’s medicine. It is regrettable that you did not choose your lover more carefully, Clara. Of course, it is not too late to change your mind.”

“Oh, be quiet!” I shout. I flounce away toward the woods.

“Wait!” O’Neill calls, following me.

“Leave me alone,” I say. I walk faster, ducking under branches and stepping over fallen tree trunks, stumbling often in the growing darkness.

“Look, I said I was sorry,” he says, close to catching up with me.

“Sometimes sorry doesn’t mend things, O’Neill. You had no right!” I pull aside a branch so I can pass, and then let it go. It hits his chest with a loud crack.

“Clara,” he says breathlessly. “Please stop. We must talk. You must listen.”

From high in the trees comes a shriek. Seconds later, a wyvern descends, knocks O’Neill to the ground, and sits on him.

Osbert is my hero, again.

“Get off!” O’Neill shouts as Osbert licks his face. “Down, you big lout! Down, Osbert!”

If I were in a better mood, I would laugh at O’Neill’s ineffectual struggling.

Finally, Osbert hops off O’Neill’s body. He sits on his haunches and smiles, drool dripping from his pointy chin.

“Good boy, Osbert,” I say. I rub the spot between his triangular ears and he whacks his tail against the forest floor. “At least I can still trust Osbert to behave as he should.”

“It is good that he stays nearby,” O’Neill says, “although he can be quite a pest.” He pulls himself to his feet using a sapling for leverage. He brushes pine needles and slobber from his cheek. “We may well need a wyvern’s aid very soon.” He picks a beetle off my shoulder and I wince at his touch. “Clara, you must forgive me for Maren’s sake. Or at least pretend to forgive me long enough for us to plan our escape.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “For Maren’s sake.”

“Good.”

“I do have an idea,” I say. “If I can get into Soraya’s herb cupboard, I think I can concoct a sleeping draught for Jasper and Soraya. I helped Auntie make a few doses not so long ago. But if I mix it wrong—”

“I have every confidence in you. Do not consider failing, Clara. Not now.”

His compliment and the earnestness in his voice warm my whole body. I wish I could become immune to him. Quickly, I ask, “Will we take horses?”

“Yes. The two fastest. They have pledged their loyalty to me.”

A rumbling growl comes from the treetops. I remember Dr. Phipps’s dream monster and begin to panic, but Osbert continues happily smacking his tail up and down. If we were in danger, he would certainly alert us.

“We should go back,” O’Neill says. “Or Jasper will come looking for us.”

Yes, I think, and you might be forced to kiss me again, which would only further confound my heart and send Jasper into a jealous rage. I turn my attention to my wyvern. “I will see you again soon, Osbert,” I say. I kiss his cool reptilian jowl. It is the only kiss I will be doling out today. I hope. I think of Jasper and I shudder.