The Saltport ATM

3. Madame, the Biggest Mer-Fan

When you mess up, own up to it. It's a part of life, a part of being human.

I certainly messed up, or at a minimum, underestimated the amount of change society can undergo in the last several years. When the poor cell service on the yacht finally decided to kick in and load the search results for "turning a merman into a human," the very first website to pop up was for a business called "Fin-ding Your Sea Legs."

Only ten minutes away, according to Google maps and location finder, there's a woman who claims she can turn a mer-person into a human in just fourteen and a half hours, twelve if you pay for express. Apparently, most mer-people have two legs underneath their scales, they're just fused together.

A special gene is responsible for transforming Merfolk between their water and land forms, but it typically lies dormant in a merperson's DNA. However, a woman right here in Saltport, Madame Sourbelle, claims to have found a way to unlock it, enabling merfolk to transfer between forms. I don't fully understand the procedure explained on her website, but I'm pretty sure she used more fancy jargon than she needed to. The point is that so far, my deal with Two is a go.

Just to check my chances, I also research the odds of a mer-person being born without legs. Legless merfolk makeup only seven percent of the population, and I desperately hope Two isn't among them.

"You're in luck," I tell Two. "It appears that there is a woman nearby who can turn you into a human."

"Excellent," Two chuckles. "Left-scar, direct the boat toward the shop."

Left-scar leans over my shoulder. Heat tinges my cheeks as I toggle between tabs to show him the address. I suddenly feel embarrassed for the outlandish searches I've looked up. Imagine what the government would think if they saw my search history. I'd probably end up on some merfolk-fanatic watchlist.

The door slams behind Left-scar, leaving me with about fifteen minutes to figure out how we're going to get Two from the tank to the shop.

"You wouldn't happen to have a portable fish bowl lying around here?" I ask.

Two frowns, crossing his arms. "What do you mean 'fish bowl?' Do I look like a fish to you?"

Yes.

"I happen to be a mammal," Two says with the dignity of a two-year-old. I suppose his name is fitting in that way.

"Do you happen to have a portable mammal bowl? Maybe one on wheels, or that can drive itself on land?"

"And now you're calling me heavy," Two pouts. "This hulking frame happens to be all muscle, you know."

While working with clients, I typically try to avoid conflict at all costs, especially in the first meeting. So far, I've failed miserably. These waters must be tread carefully.

"Yes... you're just too fit for us to, uh, handle?" Two frowns, and I quickly move on. "I'm just trying to figure out the most efficient way to get you on land. To save time, of course, so you can meet Taylor."

"I see your point." Two rubs his chin thoughtfully. I exhale a silent breath of relief. Two stares at Right-scar for a long time. "Can you get the miniature aquarium?" His henchman nods and leaves.

I stand in awkward silence, rocking on my heels. Only swishing water fills the air. Two seems content to swim about his glass pool, beating his tail against the water on occasion. A few droplets even land on me.

Finally the door reopens, and Right-scar pushes a human-sized rectangle into the room. Water sloshes over the sides, landing on my bare toes. I jump back to hopefully protect my shoes from damage.