The Merman and the Moon Forgotten - By Kevin McGill Page 0,1
and Duchess of the Eynclaene coast.”
The woman he called Nia pushed her head out and offered a smile.
“Duke and Duchess?” Yeri’s mouth widened, and then he quickly bowed. “I am Yeri Willrow, senior stagecoach driver for Fungman, Zedock and Josiah Stagecoach Company. And at your utmost service.”
Even with the fog’s white plumes rolling past, Yeri could see that Lir was strong, with commanding features and bluish grey eyes. He wore gentlemen’s leather gloves and a red silk frock. Oddly enough, though his hair was deep silver, he had the features of a young man. Yet, Nia was the one who captured the gaze of the stagecoach driver. She had a quiet, slender frame and the kind of crystal eyes that would liquefy the heart of any man.
Yeri had no doubt they were a Duke and Duchess, for both were garnished with the type of jewelry more valuable than the whole of Nuus village. Yeri felt his own stark contrast between driver and passenger, for he was orphan-thin except for a gourd-shaped midsection, a nose like an elbow and lips that couldn’t fully close. More so, his wilting hat and tattered knee-breeches didn’t speak of a man who would come into his fortune anytime soon.
“Is—Is it painful?” said Yeri. “Not being near water and all?”
“I have not lost my humling nature,” Lir laughed.
“Please understand, sir.” Yeri took off his hat. “I have never set my eyes upon a mermaid, aside from a few schoolbooks.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Lir, “which explains your lack of anatomical observation.”
“Sir?” Yeri wrinkled his brow.
“I am no maid. I am a merman. But anyway, we are called Merrow.”
“Merrow,” Yeri mouthed the word. His eyes darted to the second coach. “The passengers—in there. They’re Merrows, too?”
“Yes,” said Lir, glancing back at the stagecoach. “My brother and sister-in-law. We were taking a well needed rest after months of patrolling the coast of Eynclaene. Now, afraid I’ll still need that moment of silence.”
Lir raised his ear to the fog. Slowly, he sidestepped to the coach, opened the door and retrieved what Yeri could only describe as a small harpoon attached to a handheld catapult.
Yeri turned his own ear to the night sky. “Can’t hear them coming before the devils are upon you. Quiet as anything and fast as death, you know.”
Lir held his hand up, signaling silence. “I am able to hear a sea urchin sneeze forty knots out to sea if I wish . . . Still, you are correct. They’re fast.”
“Pardon me?” said Yeri.
Lir’s automaton legs spun him around. “To the horses, now!”
Yeri, bug-eyed, grabbed the back rail. He pulled himself up, buttocks last. With a bit of squirming, he found himself up right.
“Lift me up.” Lir held a hand out.
Yeri hooked his foot to the railing and reached over. With a grunt, Yeri heaved the merman onto the passenger seat. The automaton legs slipped off Lir and clattered to the ground.
“Get going, you lame muck snipes!” Yeri cracked the whip like a runaway windmill. The horses kicked dirt and leapt into a gallop. As a rule, Yeri didn’t curse at his horses, but now was not the time for rules.
Something shook the rear of the second stagecoach. Yeri turned to see claws shoved into wood, slowing the coaches down. The merman raised his harpoon and whispered something. The harpoon blazed with fire just as it sprung from the catapult.
“Raiiggh!” The creature lit into a ball of flames and tumbled into the mist.
He retrieved the harpoon by a thin cord. Several more cries came from everywhere, from nowhere.
“There are more?” said Yeri.
“Do you have anything useful?” Lir’s voice competed with the grinding wheels. “A charm or maybe jynn’us?”
“No charms, sir, and no useful weapons . . .” Yeri’s voice trailed off.
“Jynn’us? Do you have jynn’us?!”
“Well, I—I can make toys come to life,” Yeri offered, “which would explain Mum’s ban on any and all toys since the age of eight. Lonely years, as you can imagine. I do wonder if things would’ve turned out different for me and Agatha if Mum afforded me but a few toys . . .”
“Thank you, Yeri.” Lir pounded the roof.
Nia tried her best to lean out the window.
“The door prize,” Lir said.
“It was for Mother,” Nia contended.
“We are two breaths from death, dear,” Lir shouted. “Might we save our domestic disputes for some other life-threatening circumstance?”
Nia disappeared and then leaned out, holding a tin box with an ‘L’ painted on top. “Here. Do be careful!”
“There you go, Yeri.” Lir shoved the box into Yeri’s