This is my entry to the 2022 Summer Lovin' contest. It is a follow-on story to 'The Mermaid in the Boathouse' and is set a century later. It is unnecessary to read that tale first, but a brief introduction might be useful.
Human colonists were landed on Cordelia, an ocean planet with thousands of fairly small tropical islands. Cordelia's original inhabitants were what we would now call 'mermaids'. Essentially abandoned by Earth thereafter, the human colony settled into a stable, basically maritime economy with technology equivalent to that of early-1800s Europe; there was no electricity or steam power, but there were wooden sailing vessels, horse-drawn vehicles and farm implements, etc. Friction and misunderstandings between humans and the Sea People were more or less inevitable and a bitter armed conflict erupted, slowly dying down into an uneasy truce of sorts. A real peace was eventually cemented by a pair of lovers, Neesa and Misha.
Please enjoy.
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I wasn't the first to see it arrive. An excited whistle from one of my cross-cousins had a hundred pairs of eyes turning seaward at the same time.
It had been years since I'd seen a baker boat and I would've slipped into the water and swum out to get closer had my mother not stopped me.
"♩ ♬ " she said.
Wait, Narisa. They will confirm we are willing to buy before they begin to make bread.
I knew that — or should have — but I was still excited, still wished to inspect the thing, smell the bread, see a human up close.
She patted my hand.
"It will be hours before there's even the sniff of the smallest crumb, dear," she assured me. I had to be content with watching from shore as we practised our song.
The thing slowed as it began to turn into the wind near the centre of the lagoon, slowed still more as the human figures on it lowered its sails. A voice called out and an anchor dropped; I could hear the sound of its splash and a low roaring as its hawser paid out. A moment later, the vessel swung, pointed itself into the breeze, wiggled a little and became still.
A long man with shaggy, light-coloured hair and beard was standing at the rear of the boat. He seemed to be in charge, for it was he giving directions. Once the anchor had fallen into the water, he joined the other three, the four of them chatting and laughing as their vessel morphed from a bird soaring over the waves to one bobbing on the swells.
A circle of Sea People soon surrounded it, smiles on their faces. A few, generally the young, waved in their excitement.
The figures on deck waved back as they moved about, rolling the sails, tidying up. Then came the certainty of it being a baker boat; the humans carefully lowered a ramp from one side down into the water. I watched impatiently as some Sea People, grandmothers mainly, crawled up the ramp onto the deck.
In due course, they left. The humans, apparently assured that their trade would be welcome, erected a tall metal tube from the centre of the deck, carefully positioning it to avoid the tangle of rigging. Shortly after, I could see smoke begin to rise from it.
Bread!
The arrival of humans on our planet had brought disharmony, anger and bitter conflict. Yet, with Neesa's Peace, it had also brought many good things.
Bread was high on the list.
Could we of the People live without bread? Yes, certainly. But bread is a treat, a novel and happy food of which we had never dreamed, something we could hardly aspire to produce for ourselves even now.
The arrival of a baker boat meant a festival of sorts, a chance to celebrate the plenty of Mother Waters, to feast and to be happy. Smiling people would ease themselves down the ramp and, loaf or loaves held triumphantly high above the waves, carefully swim ashore to share it with friends and family on a convenient beach.
How such things fill one's memory...
My early years had been carefree, as easy as any could imagine. I had playmates and siblings, loving parents, plenty to eat and no fears whatever. Able to swim almost at birth, we pups played and frolicked in the gentle waves of a small bay reserved for the innocent, several adults always nearby in case of trouble or prowling predators.
As I grew older, my education began -- a thousand times a thousand details about Mother Waters, Her bounty and my people, even more about how to cherish Her, it and them. I learned about tides and currents and about Her heartbeat undercurrents, the deep flows that permit our world to exist. I was introduced to hundreds of kinds of fish, of crustaceans, of squids and octopi, of endless things shelled and unshelled, those which could be eaten, those which would eat us, given chance, and those which needed to be tended with gentle love if the tides were to continue.
I learned of dangers and of duty and of the mercilessness of natural laws. I learned the vocal histories of the Sea People, the ancient languages, the legends and sagas. I learned of the strange otherworldy legged creatures who had come from the sky generations before and some of their language, for the grandmothers felt that we pups should know them before we met them. I learned of stalwart Neesa - relearned, in truth, for Neesa was by now woven into almost every song the People sang. I learned of Misha, the strange lover she had accepted, fought against, with and for. I learned the formal etiquette of the Sea People, the very reef over which our society swims.
In time, I learned — well, I thought I learned — about destiny and about love.
In this, I was a fool.
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I woke early the next day and, my mother being still asleep, slipped into the water and quietly approached the boat offshore.
I do not think the humans saw me, for I had lowered myself into the lagoon water so that only my eyes and forehead were visible.
The boat's body — its 'hull', my father had called it — was kelp green. Two masts rose high above it like limbless trees.
The breeze shifted and, creaking slightly, the boat moved to conform. I dove down to the anchor, saw how it had dug into the soft sand of the lagoon bottom. Above me in the clear water, I could see the shape of the hull. A gentle push with my tail and my head emerged into the air beside it. My eyes widened as I examined what seemed to be a woman of the Sea People at the very front of the vessel.
The life-sized figure seemed to be made of wood, for I could see the grain under the paint. The lady's tail lay against the hull, just above the water; from there she rose up as if staring ahead of the boat, her waist at deck-level and her arms behind her, holding onto the rail.
She was very, very beautiful and I wondered at the thing. How could humans, so awkward in the water, have produced such a marvel?
I was pondering that when there was an immense splash immediately behind me. I whirled, ducked underwater to see the blond man, naked now, his back to me, swimming up to the surface. There was a second splash further back as another human joined him, then another. Even underwater, I could hear their shouts and laughter.
I watched the one closest to me, giggled inwardly at his lack of grace, at those two skinny, finless legs kicking and jerking in an effort to stay afloat. I took a moment to admire the bare form, the broad shoulders and a firm... well, I guess it could be called a 'bum', even though it was separated into two distinct parts. I was startled to catch a glimpse of his sex between his outstretched legs -- so exposed, so undignified, so unprotected.
I hung there, just under the water, examining my first close-up human. He suddenly raised his arms above his head, stopped kicking and sank below the surface. He turned to examine the waters around him; his eyes opened very wide when he saw me.
He grinned and waved.
I turned and fled, staying under the surface until almost ashore.
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Some hours later, I was summoned by my grandmother, one of the eldest in the clan.
She kissed me, stroked my hair as if I was still a child.
"♩ ♬ "
The humans have asked to be permitted to fish for themselves.
I found that confusing. Did they not wish to trade for the fish we had already caught for them?
As usual with my grandmother, she could read my thoughts.
"It is a human thing, child. Bakermen often make such a request."
I waited, knowing she was telling me this for a reason.
"♫ ♬ "
They will be using hooks, child, They have been promised a guide.
I realized that I was to be that guide and listened to her instructions as to where to take them -- a place just outside the lagoon, one with abundant fish, yet away from channels routinely used by the People.
Fish hooks could be nasty.
I arrived at the boat at the appointed hour and found three of the humans already waiting in a smaller craft, one I had seen carried on the deck of the ship. The fourth man, the longer one with pale hair, was on deck, leaning on the rail.
They all waved as I approached.
"♫♪ "  I announced.
The lady has the honour of being guide to the men this morning.
The tall man on the deck smiled but was silent. One of the men in the dinghy knew some proper speech and whistled his thanks. The last two looked rather more blankly at me and said nothing. I led off, making sure to swim slowly enough that they would have no trouble following.
When we had arrived over the right spot, I stopped, waited for them to catch up. I tried to remember some of my hard-learned human speech.
"The men are welcoming to rest here," I started, then realized I had not the right words to finish. I reverted to whistling.
" ♬♩ ".
The men are however requested to remain on this side of the point so long as they have hooks in the water. The People will keep their distance, yes?
"The men thank the lady," the one replied. He had a thick accent, but his meaning was clear and his formality proper.
I nodded, then swam away cautiously as they began tossing their lines into the water. Hooks can be very nasty.
On an whim, I swam by the ship on my return. The man was sitting by the top of the ramp; I felt the tingle of his smile all the way to my fintips.
He had hair on his face and chest -- so very strange, compared to civilized males. The hair on his head was shorter than those of the men I knew, only reaching to his shoulders; that on his face was shorter still, as if he had cut it with a blade. I suddenly found myself wanting to stretch out, touch it.
"♪♩" he said.
The man is blessed by the lady's kind visit.
His accent too was strong, but I could understand him without difficulty. I found it pleasing that he was polite in his speech.
"Will the lady come aboard? There is a batch of buns to celebrate our first visitor."
I could smell them. I realized that I was hungry -- and curious.
My great-grandmother's curiosity would have been tempered by caution, for she had been born during the great conflict, the one ended by Neesa. Her generation had moreover been steeped in traditional formality, with great emphasis given to proper manners and unbendable propriety. My grandmother had perhaps mellowed, but still frowned on informal speech outside of one's own family. Today, among a clutch my own age? No, not so much; among ourselves we had drifted away from the acerb severity of our foremothers.
"'Batch'?" I asked. The word was unknown to me.
"The men make bread in... groups, many loaves together."
I looked at him, intrigued by the thought.
"It is a great mystery to us," I said, trying to frame my thoughts, "a wonder, that humans can bring bread out of the sterile land."
He smiled.
