The Baron von Ernest and the Enormous Mermaid

We left the perfectly normal ducks to their perfectly normal life. 

“Are we going back to your castle now?” I asked. 

“No, we’re going to the seaside.” 

“The sea?” I said. “I’ve never been to the coast.” I’d heard tales, of course, and I knew where the fish on my plate came from, but my home village was over fifty miles from the coastline so I always assume I would never visit. 

“What is there by the sea?” I said. 

“Wait and see,” said the Baron. “It will be worth it, one of the eleven wonders of the modern world.” 

I tried to remember Miss Sharpie’s lesson on the eleven wonders of the world. There was the incredibly polluted river, in London, the really tall, rickety tower in Paris, the impressive-looking machine which doesn’t actually do anything useful in Belgium.  It couldn’t be any of these.  

We travelled for another two days, leaving chaos in our wake, as the arrival of the baron and his entourage was treated as if God himself had chosen to visit, with feast laid on for us. As we neared the sea the nature of these feasts changed, with seemingly every offering containing oysters, muscles, and fish of every description, from tuna to monkfish. 

Eventually we approached the sea. Although I had never experienced the coast before, I could smell the difference in the air, and before long a new streak of blue appeared between the land and the sky. 

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Is this the eleventh wonder of the world?” 

“Not the ocean,” explained the baron, “the sea has always been taken for granted. The eleventh wonder lies within the sea.” 

I was left to ponder what this wonder might be.  Halibut, were halibut one of the wonders of the world.  Or perhaps a sanddab or megrim. I wished I’d paid more attention in the lesson. 

Our route meandered and the sea disappeared from our view, the route taking us through villages where the baron paused to be adored, before trotting on to the next village to be adored once more. I would give nothing to swap my life for that of the baron, I would hate the eternal intrusion of being so constantly adorable. 

Finally, we came back into view of the sea, and what a sight greeted us, a dozen giant fishes tails protruding high into the air and performing a dance, for the group of tourists watching. 

“What are these magical fish?” I asked the baron, “Some form of dolphin?” However, he didn’t need to respond, as even as I spoke the dozen marine creatures did a 180 degree flip, and revealed themselves to be human on the topside. 

“Mermaids!” I said in wonderment, for I had previously considered mermaids mythical constructions along with the slipless eel and the mythical abbafish, believed to be able to create beautiful melodies, albeith with a slight swedish lilt. 

“Not just any mermaids,” the baron said. “The Synchronised Mermaids of Moersberg. They perform these displays every evening for tourists and sailors.” 

“Of course, the eight wonder of the world. 

We watched in wonderment for over an hour, as the twelve perfectly-coordinated water-dancers performed a series of spectacular feats.  When the display finally finished the audience cheered and applauded like crazy.  At this point the leading and biggest of the mermaids swam towards us.  Like the Ursine bear, she collected contributions in a hat, in this case a bathing cap. 

Once the last tourist had donated and departed the Baron’s trumpeted approached the mermaids to sound the baron’s arrival, and Freidrich advance to bark out his announcement: “The Baron von Ernest.” 

“The Baron von Ernest,” said the mermaid. “Welcome. But you are just a boy. What brings you here?” 

“I am the baron of these lands, you clearly receive monies, yet you pay no taxes.” 

“You cannot tax us,” said the mermaid, “For we are not of you kind, nor of your world. We live in the sea.” 

“The sea is part of my realm,” said the Baron. “I tax the fishermen, the merchant ships.” 

“But these people return to the land, we live entirely at sea. You have nothing to offer us.” 

“On the contrary,” said the Baron. “I am head of the church.” 

“So what of it, will you pray for us if we give you money?” 

“I’ve something better to offer you. I have the authority and power to legalise marriage between mermaids and humans. I will raise revenue from the marriage licences.” 

“Marriage?” said the enormous mermaid. “But we are fish-women, we cannot breed with humankind.” 

“But you can love them.” 

In response to this the mermaid regarded the baron strangely. 

“You know don’t you?”said the mermaid. 

At this point, Friedrich left the baron’s side and ran and embraced the mermaid. 

“Oh Ethel, will you marry me?” 

“I will Friedrich,” said the mermaid. “I will my love.” 

We left the interspecies lovers alone. 

“Will you really raise much tax from selling marriage licences for mermaids,” I asked the baron. 

“Marriage licence fees go to the church,” he explained. “I see none of it.” 

“But you are head of the church.” 

“A mere figurehead. I neither meddle in church affairs nor take any of its money.” 

“So why come all this way if you won’t raise tax?” 

“You know why,” he said. 

“I will miss Friedrich,” I said.  

“So would I, but hopefully that can be avoided. I will have a pool built in my castle grounds.” 

And so it came to pass that Ethel the enormous mermaid moved into the baron’s castle and lived a happy and busy life, performing for the baronial great and good of our lands. 

But that was the future. After the excitement of the mermaids it was time to begin the long, arduous journey home. Our adventure was finally over.