Chapter Text
In the rays of light under the shifting surface of the water, a strange shape drifted. It came into view as the hull of a ship passed it, eerily fast and silent. Guillermo, stilling his hands at his work in his garden, squinted at it in the distance.
It was motionless, or as motionless as anything in the water could be said to be. Guillermo thought, at first, that he was looking at a dead stingray, because of the flaps that fanned out to the sides of the shape, but then he made out legs, and arms, and realized that what he was looking at was a human in a coat. Once this was established, the strangeness of the shape faded. A lump to the side resolved itself in his mind as a head, wispy hair caught in the currents.
Guillermo had never seen a human so still under water. They normally thrashed about and sent every creature within hearing distance into the nearest crevice or anemone, whether they were trying to or not. Guillermo trained his ear, and heard nothing.
And in the water, he smelled blood.
He left his garden alone, and swam upwards, ignoring every warning his mother had given him about humans. He could practically hear her now, furiously cussing him out, but still he swam.
The human was tilting, head under heels, ever so slowly, and though he was not breathing Guillermo could hear a faint heartbeat, transmitted through the water more surely than air would have done. He sped up, propelling himself quicker and quicker—the heartbeat had faded, did he have enough time? He didn’t know, really, how hardy humans were—
And he caught the human around the waist, dragging them up and up towards the late afternoon sunlight.
“I got you!” he told the human, just before they broke the surface. “Don’t worry.”
Not that he even knew if the human could hear him. But he had to try. They broke the surface in a burst, cold air sharp in Guillermo’s lungs, bright golden light blinding Guillermo just briefly, and Guillermo knew enough about humans to know that the head had to be up above the water if this had any hope of working. There was no sign of motion from the man—Guillermo thought it was a man—but Guillermo tried anyway, heaving him up and over Guillermo’s shoulder. The island wasn’t far away, and there was a nice, quiet little cove where Guillermo often went to human-watch, or to trade undersea trinkets with anyone who was interested in the mermaid of the bay, with a little cave and too many jagged rocks for boats to navigate safely, which made it private, but if you could get onto the shore from there, it wasn’t too far to the nearest fishing town, he was pretty sure—not that he’d ever been able to personally verify that. If the man would only wake up when they got there, he’d be able to get help.
Guillermo had trouble when they got to the shoreline, dragging himself as far up on the sand as he could, and the man alongside him. Even so, it was barely enough to lay the man out flat on his back on the beach, the waves receding just far enough to no longer touch his feet, but not much further.
“C’mon,” said Guillermo. “I didn’t give myself a hell of a sandburn just for you to die on me!”
He turned the man on his side, and smacked his back, an instinctual motion. The man made an awful retching noise, and spewed out a stomachful of seawater. Or a lungful? Guillermo couldn’t be sure, but he did it again. The man groaned, more water coming up, and he curled up on his side, fingers digging into the sand. He didn’t… look well. There was a bruise forming around his eye, and on his bearded jaw, and Guillermo was fairly certain that nothing he’d done along the way from the ocean to the shore had been the cause of the slowly-scabbing over disaster that was the man’s knuckles.
“There you go,” said Guillermo, as kindly as he could. “That’s the stuff.”
It was a few more awful human lung noises, and some convulsive contortions in the sand, before the man swallowed, and said, “Am I… where am I?”
“The shore of Staten,” said Guillermo. “I found you in the water. You were drowning. Your ship left you.”
“Oh,” said the man. “You should have left me there.”
“It can’t be that bad!” said Guillermo. “I’m sure you’ll find your ship. They’re probably looking for you!”
The man pounded a fist into the sand. Somehow, Guillermo did not think this was another twitch of the man letting water leave his lungs.
“I can assure you, they are not. I have been cruelly used,” growled the man, under his breath. The more he spoke, the more Guillermo realized that he had a distant accent, his speech lightly twisting words in directions that Guillermo was unfamiliar with. And yet, he had a lovely, rich voice—
—too bad, Guillermo realized, looking over the man now that he’d had a moment to breathe, that the man was almost certainly a pirate, the sword at his side, ragged clothes, and the gold rings in his ears a dead giveaway.
“They mutinied against me,” the man continued, “they stole my loot, my crew, my ship! I will see them hanged for it, the scoundrels—no, drawn and quartered. I will tear them to pieces myself! I will… ”
He sank down, exhaling, and Guillermo was worried that he’d just gone and died after all that trouble, when he made a soft noise that even Guillermo recognized as a sob. Guillermo reached out, and patted his shoulder. The man did not, as Guillermo half-expected, flinch away, but leaned into the touch.
“You have been very kind to me,” said the man. “I have lost everything, but I am still a renowned warrior. A strong sailor. A fearsome ally, and a worse opponent. And you, in your kindness to me, could have known none of that.”
“It was no problem,” said Guillermo.
“I will do anything you wish,” said the man.
“Really?” said Guillermo. “Um, there is one thing.”
The man rolled over, and sat up. There was sand on his cheek, and his hair had begun to clump around his face. His shirt was half-open, and Guillermo watched his chest, covered in soft, downy human hair, rise and fall. His feet, one of which had lost its boot, dangled out in the rising tide and Guillermo watched, fascinated, as he easily drew them up and out of the water, toes (human toes! Guillermo wanted to touch them, though he knew that was not really polite) curling in the sand. I did that, thought Guillermo. I helped him live.
This is it, thought Guillermo, hope swelling in his chest.
“Name it,” said the pirate. “Whatever you wish. I will find it. I will go to the ends of the earth if I have to. Wealth, knowledge, magic, anything you desire, little merman. It is yours.”
Guillermo had not spoken this (the secret dream of his heart) aloud since he was very small, but the words poured out of him, as convulsive as the man’s first breaths after nearly drowning, as right as sunlight pouring down through waves.
“Can you make me human?” said Guillermo, feeling his voice choke up.
“Uhhh,” said the man, and he actually grimaced. “Really?”