I have heard the meer-maids singing, each to each (page 5)
I do not think that they will sing to me.
Emil Hering picked up the piece of Startaler, and looked at it in his hand. Its heavy gold shone like fire. Its value lay not in the expensive material out of which it was cast, but from the promise of the emperor who issued it. Promises of providence and the reverse, retribution if dishonored.
He looked up. His blond mop of hair was falling into his eyes, unruly as always. His face was pale and skinny, and his voice was soft, unsure how his opinion would be taken. An overgrown boy longing for more. For adventure, for life. For riches, for glory. But he was an honest one, to his core.
He handed the gold Startaler back to Wilhelmina Wang, a princess of Chang’an, without a trace of reluctance, and said, “I will pay for your stay out of my private reserve, because I am unable to make change for your Startaler. The deficiency is mine, so you shall not bear the consequence.”
His voice was still soft, as always, but every word was steady and clear, dropping like pebbles into the see-through Baltic Sea. His back was straight as the chalk cliffs of Rügen, and a special light was upon him, that enlivened his cheeks and cast him a glamour every bit as regal as Wilhelmina’s.
Janosch A. Prufrock looked from one to the other, the two young people standing there, the gold Startaler between them, unseen and forgotten, and remarked privately that the boy looked like a young king.
Then the glamour faded, and the light and color from Emil’s cheeks turned full crimson as he waited for Wilhelmina to accept his proposal, not knowing what she would say, wishing he could dive deep into Vineta’s reefs, among his silver darlings, the fish and sea stars and little crabs he loves, where he swam among the seaweeds with freedom.
In a gentle tone, without any of her previous imperiousness, Wilhelmina said, “I would then like to hire your services.”
”What for.”
Though he would have given her anything she asked, his voice did not suggest it.
“Take me out to where the meer-maids sing, each to each.”
The expression on Emil’s face was one of excruciating pain. He bit his lip, and closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see what was before him. But his mind’s eye could not be shut. And he could see the rock, could see the meer-maids, the sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.
He opened his eyes, as if waking up, “And then you drown.”