Secondly, the Prince understood that being sea-level was the closest he was going to get to being separated from the world, for now. He hated everyone. His advisors were like candy to him, tasting good but eventually rotting the teeth. The women were ridiculous, he hated the way their skirts twirled around them when they danced, making them appear like spinning marshmallows. He hated their simpering voices and the sound of giggling, and he particularly loathed it when they would push each other forward to talk to him, and then insist on discussing inane topics he had no interest in. He found womenfolk a huge waste of time and space, and felt that the council would be much more productive if they were not present. If he ever took up the kingship, he was determined to rid the court of them as soon as possible. At the back of his mind, it lingered that he would one day be required to take a wife himself, but had decided to postpone it until his elderly years, when he was too old to sire children, for a child of his was sure to be a child cursed. For his abject behaviour toward women, he was aware that there were some reports circulating about him, some of which were unpleasant to dwell upon. For example, after a particular occasion where a wealthy and powerful woman had tried unsuccessfully to seduce him, she had hissed a word, just one word, under her breath before she stalked away. The word, which shall not be mentioned here, could only mean a single thing: man-lover. But the Prince did not understand, for he hated everyone, man and woman alike, and the only thing that made men slightly more preferable in his sight was the fact that he belonged to the gender, and understood them more.
Thirdly, the Prince had heard a rumour many years earlier, and these days found that it utterly consumed him. It was said that beyond the land and beyond the ocean lay a strange world, a world caught inside the very core of the earth, a place where time did not exist. There were creatures there, spirits, if you will, that would grant you one wish. He had heard reports that such wishes were varied and extreme: the sultan of Arabia had once been a beggar who had sought the spirits, and a woman who had wanted many children but only wished to bear the pain but one time, birthed quintuplets, a phenomenon unheard of in the day. Limbs had been restored, lives prolonged beyond what seemed respectable, kingdoms torn apart and rebuilt, new stars added to the sky. The spirits had been granting wishes for thousands of years, although nobody had ever met a successful recipient of such wishes, it was all through friends-of-friends, or stories passed along by weary travellers.
All the reports agreed that the journey there was perilous. It was no simple matter to pass all land and water, and nobody knew how to go or where to start. The exact location of the spirits was a mystery, some said they lived in the deepest part of the ocean, others that they moved position with every new moon. There was debate as to the methodology of the whole business: some said you fell into a coma and awoke in the core of earth, others that you drowned and woke up a spirit too, enabling you to communicate with the others. Alternative gossip said that it was all a costly illusion: for to behold these beings you must surely die, and the spirits were the angels of God, and you were doomed to roam the earth a ghost, believing your wishes to have been granted, all a sordid punishment for the unforgivable sin of suicide.
The Prince had taken all of these bits of information and held them to his heart, stroking them with every ounce of affection he gave to his dog. He turned them over and over in his mind, like uncooked pancakes. He dreamed about the beings. In his wildest fantasies they granted him his one wish, and all the world was righted and he felt that burning in his chest, the burning he had not felt in years: happiness. He searched the great literary works of the known world for hints, indications of where they might lie. He read about the lives of extraordinary people in history, wondering if the spirits had influenced the chronology of events. He felt that he should try, and was perfectly content to die trying, for death would be preferable to the stagnant life he led. In truth, he longed for death, although he was too frightened to do the act himself.
When he was required to attend church, he would kneel before the sacrament and pray that God bestow upon him a disease, or to let him die in his sleep. When this did not avail, he would curse God, heaving obscenities toward his son Jesu, in hopes that he would strike him with lightning. As the Prince grew older, he stopped believing in God, and took to carving little straight lines into himself with his dagger, watching in wonder as the blood formed on his skin in tiny crimson droplets, which he sometimes tasted but mainly wiped away. His arms and thighs bore the evidence of these acts performed by candlelight, raised lattice-work of where, after years of self-mutilation, scars had formed over scars, disappointment over disappointment.
Finally, the time came when the Prince was prepared to let go. The plans he had been consciously forming for years were ready to be utilised, beginning with the boat he had docked past the water passages and the staircase that led to the sea, moored to the furthest pier. He took nothing but his courage, and as he ventured along the passages toward the boat, even the moon hid its face in fright. The Prince grasped the oars. He cut the rope.
Six
Drown
The little mermaid was more than disheartened, for weeks had passed without a single, solitary glimpse of the Prince. In fact, she had seen no one and would have believed it all an illusion had it not been for the glorious music that sometimes would float down the tiers of the palace. She had the sensation of being watched, but it was a pleasant and comforting feeling, rather than sinister.
If merfolk were blessed with intuition, her sisters would have asked what was wrong with her, for when she returned to the underwater palace in the early hours, she was utterly spent, and when she emerged from her long, fitful sleeps, she looked a wraith herself. It was partly due to the nightmares. She had had the same dream since she first saw the Prince, of which she was constantly running. All was in darkness, and she was being chased by an albino spectre, whose limbs were skeletal and scaly, its only distinguishing feature being a patch on its back that sprouted thick, wiry hairs.
But the little mermaid’s long vigil was rewarded when one night, as she waited by the Prince’s window, a candle was lit. Gleefully, she peered into the darkness and as the familiar canopied bed and rich furnishings became apparent, a living creature within her chest suddenly leapt forward, threatening to escape her throat. For there was the Prince, and he was more beautiful than she remembered. Her breathing ceased and the creature pounded within her so hard that it hurt. She painfully watched his movements, which were slow and precise, as he gathered meagre belongings and draped himself in a long cloak the colour of night. He blew out the candle and all was darkness.
The princess was disconcerted, for she had waited long and hard for this moment, and the moment had passed too soon. However, she soon became alert to the sound of footsteps, loud against her ears, yet quickly fading away. As silently as she could, she followed them toward the ocean, occasionally lifting her head from the water to gauge direction. And then she saw him, sliding into a small rowboat. The dagger glinted as he cut it free.
Filled with joy, the mermaid swam alongside him, close enough to escort the boat, but deep enough that she remained invisible. Sometimes she grew tired and grasped the hull of the boat, letting it bear her through strong currents. She cautiously avoided the oars as they dipped into the water, but even if she were careless, the Prince was too occupied to notice.