representative in tomorrow’s contest. I’m delighted to meet you, land warrior, and I apologise for our dramatic encounter earlier. It is our custom. I’m sure your people also have customs which surprise visitors to your world.”
“You apologise?” Yann was surprised to get what he wanted. So surprised, Helen suspected he would demand something else.
“Of course. I regret it if we frightened you, centaur.”
Helen almost laughed, as Yann spluttered, “You didn’t frighten me!”
The boy shrugged his wide shoulders. “We did catch you at a disadvantage. Even so, you all rhymed wonderfully.”
Helen put her hand on Yann’s flank, while Catesby whispered in his ear, both signalling the same thing: calm down, shake his hand, make peace. But Yann took another aggressive stride forward. Tangaroa didn’t retreat, he just kept his hand out.
So Helen stepped in front of Yann, and took the hand. It felt a bit greasy, but she shook it firmly. “We accept your apology, even though you didn’t apologise in rhyme.”
Tangaroa grinned. “Would you like to join us?” He waved towards the stone table and stools.
Yann said stiffly, “I can’t join you until your attack on my person and honour has been avenged.”
“If you resent us challenging you in our sport of rhyming, on our element of water,” said Tangaroa, “why don’t you challenge us to a land sport?”
Yann took a step back, and looked at the blue loons. As if he was measuring them, Helen thought, to see how far he could kick them.
Yann said, “We can’t race on this island, as the only decent stretch of grass is on the slope visible from land. And I didn’t bring my bow for an archery competition.” He glanced at the piles of ropes and chains at the back of the cave. “What about tug-of-war on the eastern beach?”
Tangaroa frowned. “You’re challenging us to ten individual tugs-of-war? We’ll be late for the feast.”
“No,” said Yann. “Just one tug-of-war. Me against all of you at once.”
The blue loons laughed. Suddenly there was a babble of technical discussion about lengths of rope, who should referee (Catesby volunteered), and how Yann would get to the beach (Tangaroa offered to row him), then they rushed out of the cave, leaving Helen on her own by the blue loons’ table.
Not completely on her own. Lavender was still on her shoulder, muttering, “Boys, and their games.”
“Better than fighting,” said Helen, stretching her stiff arms. “And they weren’t all boys.”
“Could we go and sit with the mermaids?” whispered Lavender.
“If you want,” Helen replied. “I’d just as happily lie down, though, I’m quite tired.”
“I’d love to. I’ve never met a mermaid before.”
Helen walked down to the mermaids, who were smiling and waving, almost cooing encouragement.
Helen had experienced the forest faeries’ glamour, so she wasn’t entirely convinced by the mermaids’ perfect beauty. They were wearing so much jewellery and make-up, it was hard to focus on their faces. When she stared, almost rudely, their faces seemed long and pointy with narrow noses and sharp chins.
They kept smiling, and chorusing: “DO join us. DO let us make you welcome until the selkies can say thank you properly.”
Helen found herself on a long stone bench, with one mermaid massaging her aching shoulders, another pressing a warm mug into her hands, and another offering a tray of tiny pink snacks.
The mermaid with the bright red hair was perched in front of Helen, her silver tail coiled around a rock stool. “DO tell us about that nasty sea-through. That must have been SO exciting. Or were you scared, or were you confused, or was it all a BLUR? DO tell …”
Helen told a shortened version of the tale they’d told the selkie elders, and finished by asking, “Why do you think it attacked Roxburgh, rather than anyone else?”
“Oooh,” said the fire-haired mermaid, “it could have been ANY ONE of us. You saved us
“You apologise?” Yann was surprised to get what he wanted. So surprised, Helen suspected he would demand something else.
“Of course. I regret it if we frightened you, centaur.”
Helen almost laughed, as Yann spluttered, “You didn’t frighten me!”
The boy shrugged his wide shoulders. “We did catch you at a disadvantage. Even so, you all rhymed wonderfully.”
Helen put her hand on Yann’s flank, while Catesby whispered in his ear, both signalling the same thing: calm down, shake his hand, make peace. But Yann took another aggressive stride forward. Tangaroa didn’t retreat, he just kept his hand out.
So Helen stepped in front of Yann, and took the hand. It felt a bit greasy, but she shook it firmly. “We accept your apology, even though you didn’t apologise in rhyme.”
Tangaroa grinned. “Would you like to join us?” He waved towards the stone table and stools.
Yann said stiffly, “I can’t join you until your attack on my person and honour has been avenged.”
“If you resent us challenging you in our sport of rhyming, on our element of water,” said Tangaroa, “why don’t you challenge us to a land sport?”
Yann took a step back, and looked at the blue loons. As if he was measuring them, Helen thought, to see how far he could kick them.
Yann said, “We can’t race on this island, as the only decent stretch of grass is on the slope visible from land. And I didn’t bring my bow for an archery competition.” He glanced at the piles of ropes and chains at the back of the cave. “What about tug-of-war on the eastern beach?”
Tangaroa frowned. “You’re challenging us to ten individual tugs-of-war? We’ll be late for the feast.”
“No,” said Yann. “Just one tug-of-war. Me against all of you at once.”
The blue loons laughed. Suddenly there was a babble of technical discussion about lengths of rope, who should referee (Catesby volunteered), and how Yann would get to the beach (Tangaroa offered to row him), then they rushed out of the cave, leaving Helen on her own by the blue loons’ table.
Not completely on her own. Lavender was still on her shoulder, muttering, “Boys, and their games.”
“Better than fighting,” said Helen, stretching her stiff arms. “And they weren’t all boys.”
“Could we go and sit with the mermaids?” whispered Lavender.
“If you want,” Helen replied. “I’d just as happily lie down, though, I’m quite tired.”
“I’d love to. I’ve never met a mermaid before.”
Helen walked down to the mermaids, who were smiling and waving, almost cooing encouragement.
Helen had experienced the forest faeries’ glamour, so she wasn’t entirely convinced by the mermaids’ perfect beauty. They were wearing so much jewellery and make-up, it was hard to focus on their faces. When she stared, almost rudely, their faces seemed long and pointy with narrow noses and sharp chins.
They kept smiling, and chorusing: “DO join us. DO let us make you welcome until the selkies can say thank you properly.”
Helen found herself on a long stone bench, with one mermaid massaging her aching shoulders, another pressing a warm mug into her hands, and another offering a tray of tiny pink snacks.
The mermaid with the bright red hair was perched in front of Helen, her silver tail coiled around a rock stool. “DO tell us about that nasty sea-through. That must have been SO exciting. Or were you scared, or were you confused, or was it all a BLUR? DO tell …”
Helen told a shortened version of the tale they’d told the selkie elders, and finished by asking, “Why do you think it attacked Roxburgh, rather than anyone else?”
“Oooh,” said the fire-haired mermaid, “it could have been ANY ONE of us. You saved us
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