To Catch a Mermaid (19 page)
The basket shook, as did Boom’s and Winger’s hands. Boom felt like the Cowardly Lion, approaching the Great Wizard of Oz. He wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and run.
He and Winger placed the basket on the long table. “Show them,” Halvor said. Boom hesitated, turning to look at the furrowed faces, at the beards and ruddy cheeks, at the bushy eyebrows and tousled manes of hair. Except for the fuzzy slippers and the crocheted scarves, this was how the Vikings themselves must have looked. What would these men do when they saw the merbaby? Was he dooming her to a horrible end? His trembling hands rested on the blanket.
“It will be okay, Boom,” Halvor whispered in his ear. “Show them.”
“Show us, show us,” the men chanted.
This was like showing a bunny to a pack of hungry wolves. Well, a ferocious, nasty little mutant bunny.
Boom pulled off the blanket. The merbaby sprang up on her tail and bared her teeth — a formidable striking position that, even though he’d seen it many times, still scared the pants off Boom. A roar rose in the throats of the Viking descendants, and they reached under the benches and grabbed spears and axes and pointed them at the baby.
“No!” Boom cried, stepping in front of the table. “You can’t hurt it. Mertyle made me promise that no one would hurt it.”
“It’s a sworn enemy,” a man cried, waving a drumstick and a spear.
“It’s just a baby,” Boom argued. The men quieted a bit. “It’s just a baby and Mertyle loves it.”
It is well known that the blood of a direct Viking descendant carries the traditions of the ancient world. A Viking descendant understands the importance of pickling fish so that there will be food in times of famine. A Viking -descendant knows which trees will make the best ships. A -Viking descendant understands the unforgiving nature of storms at sea, the thirst for revenge, and the desire for exploration.
But what most outsiders do not realize is that the blood of a direct Viking descendant carries the passions of the ancient world as well, and the passion that Viking descendants best understand is love. Lives were so short-lived in those dark days, and heartache so common, that the Vikings wrote the most beautiful love poems to ever come from the human heart. And that poetry coursed like a raging river through the blood of the men who stood in the great cedar hall.
“Love,” they repeated, lowering their weapons. The creased faces softened, the fire in their eyes dampened. “Love,” they whispered to each other.
Halvor tapped the staff on the floor. “Mertyle’s very sick. The doctor’s never seen her illness because it’s not of the human world. It’s the merfolk’s curse, as clear as day. We’ve got to get this baby back to its mother so the curse will be lifted.”
Boom reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper from the print shop. “I think this is a map,” he said, holding it out. “A map of the merfolk.”
The fishing boat captain stepped forward. It took Boom a moment to recognize him, since he wore a horned helmet and a badger-skin cape. The captain eyed the baby, who was still in striking position. “That be the reject fish?” he asked. Boom nodded. “Then I am responsible for this situation. I must help you the best I can.” He slid a pair of reading glasses up his nose and took the map from Boom’s hand. “Sure, it be a map. There’s the horizon.” He pointed to the line in the center of the drawing. “The night sky above and the ocean below.”
Just as Boom thought. “It’s an island, isn’t it?” he asked excitedly.
“Very good, lad. It be an island and I know which one it be. Whale Fin Island.”
Boom had thought that the shape looked like a witch’s hat, but a whale fin seemed a good description as well.
Halvor scratched his beard. “Where in Thor’s name is Whale Fin Island?”
The captain took off his glasses. “Whale Fin Island be about a day’s sail from Fairweather and not far from Pelican Beak Island, where I caught the wee creature. It be a lonely little island. No one lives there but the seals and gulls.”
“We must leave immediately,” Halvor urged. “You must take us there.”
To Boom’s surprise, the captain shook his head. “Me boat’s too old to take the storm,” he said. “Even with a strong boat, I wouldn’t recommend setting sail in such a wind. The wind will blow you right off course. Wait until it passes.”
“But we can’t wait,” Boom cried. They had to understand. “Mertyle might die. She might not see the year’s end — might not even see tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll have to get yourself a boat,” the captain said. “I’d be happy to skipper it, but I don’t know anyone willing to risk their boat in such a storm.”
Boom searched the faces until his gaze rested on Mr. Jorgenson. “Can we use your boat?” he asked. The retired police chief raised his eyebrows.
“My boat? My Viking ship?”
“Yes,” Boom said. “What ship could better save a little girl’s life than a Viking ship? Unless . . .”
“Unless what?” Mr. Jorgenson asked suspiciously.
“Unless you don’t think your ship can take a storm.” Boom folded his arms. Would he take the bait?
Silence filled the hall as everyone waited for Mr. Jorgenson to respond. As he stepped forward, cedar shavings fell from his pant legs. “A Viking ship can take any storm. You’ve got yourself a boat.”
Fame and Fortune
N
othing could be accomplished in the dark of night. After much discussion it was decided that the captain, whose name was Igor, and Mr. Jorgenson, who had carved the ship, and a fellow named Burt, who had won the Viking tree-tossing contest, would accompany Halvor, Boom, Winger, Mertyle, and the merbaby on the journey. That was as many people as the boat could safely carry. Captain Igor went off to fetch his charts while Mr. Jorgenson went to hook up his boat trailer to his truck. Burt went to tell his wife that he’d be gone at sea for a few days. The rest of the Viking membership filed out of the cedar hall, each aglow with a new sense of wonder and pride in their heritage.
“If the merfolk are real, does this mean those stories about the two-headed serpents are real?” fuzzy-slipper man asked on his way out.
“Guess so,” another man answered.
“Come, boys. Let’s go home and prepare,” Halvor said.
It was already morning, though it was hard to tell through the heavy clouds that encircled Fairweather Island. The storm let loose, churning up the sea, overturning garbage cans, and filling the gutters with rain. Back at the Brooms’, the nervous crew prepared for their journey.
“Dress for bad weather,” Halvor advised, donning a wool cap and a heavy peacoat. Mertyle, weakened and dizzy, needed help with her layers. Boom tugged and buttoned as his sister complained that she was too hot. With her white, fuzzy face sandwiched between a black knit hat and a black turtleneck sweater, she looked like an Oreo. No one bothered to layer the baby. After all, she swam in icy ocean water, so a drop in the temperature wouldn’t bother her. She lay in the laundry basket, snoring like a dog with a head cold.
Winger called his mom again. She’d find out if he missed school, so he had to tell her a partial truth. She basically freaked out. “A Viking ship?” Everyone could hear her voice screeching through the receiver. “A Viking ship? You’ll drown! You go to school, young man, so you can win that certificate.” Winger always had perfect attendance, which always earned him a certificate for a month’s supply of ice cream sundaes at the Fairweather Dairy Emporium and a notice in the
Fairweather News,
which Mrs. Wingingham liked to show her friends. “You go to school.”
He hung up the phone. “I’m sorry. I can’t go,” he said to Boom. “But you know I’d do anything for Mertyle.” His cheeks turned red the way they always did when he said Mertyle’s name.
“I know,” Boom told him. “When you get to school, tell Principal Prunewallop that Mertyle and I have the swine flu. That way she won’t make me do detention in her office.”
“Okay,” Winger agreed.
“Button up, everyone,” Halvor said. “It’s cold outside.”
“I don’t want to go,” Mertyle whimpered. “I can’t leave.”
“You have to go,” Winger told her. “You have to get better, Mertyle.” He gave her a hug. With a lingering look, and after spitting out a stray fuzzy, he left for school.
Mr. Broom, who had spent the night in the entryway closet, came out for a moment to eat some rye toast, but the sound of the wind raging down the chimney sent him fleeing back to his safe cave. So caught up in his own world, he didn’t notice that his daughter’s appearance had changed dramatically, nor did he notice that everyone was dressed for a sea journey.
It would have taken Boom too much time to explain the situation to his father anyway. “We’ll just have to leave him a note,” he decided. “I’ll write that we’ll be back in a few days.” Boom couldn’t bring himself to tell his father that Mertyle might die. He was afraid the truth would send his father to a place that was deeper and darker than the closet.
Boom zipped up his jacket just as Winger rushed back inside, waving a newspaper. “Big trouble,” he cried, his glasses fogging. “Big, big, big trouble!” He pressed the paper into Boom’s face. Boom stepped back so he could actually see the front page.
, the headline read. Beneath the headline was a black-and-white photo of Boom holding the baby as he crouched behind the garbage cans in the Mumps’ yard.
“Big trouble,” Winger repeated, raindrops dripping from his nose.
Boom took a deep breath and read aloud as the others gathered.
A security camera snapped this photo on the property of Mr. Theodore Mump of 1 Prosperity Street. The photo shows a boy, identified as Boom Broom of 0 Prosperity Street, holding what seems to be an actual merbaby.
“It’s true,” Mr. Mump’s son, Hurley, told this reporter. “I held it and it’s green and it’s real. And it belongs to me. I found it. Boom stole it.”
“Boom Broom is a thief and he was trespassing,” Mr. Mump said.
If Hurley Mump found a merbaby, it can only be described as the discovery of the twenty-first century. The Broom household could not be contacted for a response, but this reporter is determined to get to the truth of this amazing story. More to follow in tomorrow’s edition.
“A thief?” Boom cried. How dare those Mumps call him a thief!
The phone rang. “Hello?” Halvor said. He listened and then shook his head angrily. “We have no comment.” He hung up the phone but a moment later it rang again. He unplugged the cord with a curse. “May the wrath of Thor be upon those Mumps,” he bellowed.
The wrath of Thor would be good, if Thor’s wrath meant that the Mumps would be squeezed and popped like the bloodsucking fleas that they were. Boom crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor, kicking it down the hall. He had wanted to be famous for his discovery, but not like this. He had dreamt of riches, but not with so much at stake. Fame and fortune meant nothing to him now. They were empty jars with no dandelions, if Mertyle didn’t make it.
“We can’t let Hurley call Boom a thief!” Winger exclaimed.
“We don’t have any more time to think about the Mumps,” Halvor told his visibly upset crew. “We’ll need a bit of food for the journey.” He tucked some marmalade and bread into a duffel bag, along with a few cans of salmon and a can opener. He poured an ample supply of cat food and water into Fluffy’s bowls.
Boom ran upstairs and fed the remaining goldfish, then ran back downstairs. “Let’s go.”
“Outside,” Mertyle mumbled, chewing on her fingernails. Aside from her eyeballs, Mertyle’s fingernails appeared to be the only other part of her not covered with fuzz. “Will you leave a note for Mom, too? Just in case?”
Boom nodded and pretended to scribble a few more lines on the note he had written for his father. Whatever it took to get Mertyle to leave the house.
Halvor swung the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Okay, everyone, let’s go find the merfolk, for sure.”
Boom covered the baby with the blanket and picked up the laundry basket. Halvor opened the front door, and Boom stepped outside to the explosive sound of camera shutters. A dozen microphones were shoved in his face.
“What can you tell us about the merbaby?”
“We’ll pay you two thousand dollars for an exclusive interview.”
“Don’t listen to him. We’ll pay you three thousand.”
Boom couldn’t breathe with so many faces staring down at him. They crowded on the sagging porch, pushing one another to get their microphones closer to Boom. Photographers held cameras above their heads and madly snapped. Flashbulbs popped and sizzled. Reporters threw so many questions Boom’s way, he felt like a wall and the questions were the red rubber balls hitting him square on, one right after the other. He froze with a grimace.
“Boom, where are you going with that laundry basket?”
“Boom, where are you hiding the baby?”
“Do you intend to harm the creature?”
“Did you steal it from Hurley Mump?”
Halvor pulled Boom back into the house and closed the door. “We’re surrounded by sharks,” he snarled, dropping the duffel bag and grabbing his axe. “We’ll have to hack our way out of here, for sure.”
“No,” Boom said, fearful that Halvor might be serious.