A bedlam of shouting and rollicking, but they have her. Trapped in the great nets, the men haul the creature up into the hut and drag her back up the passageway. She twists and hisses at her captors, too weak to slash through the netting. Step over stone step, they break out into song. Clovis is left behind, frantically searching the water for his family heirloom. The man is in tears, believing he has cursed his future generations.
He isn’t alone. What have I done? Telling father was a mistake. Had I truly expected him to be sympathetic to the creature’s plight? I have the head of a scarecrow, filled with nothing but moldy straw.
By the time the troop hauls their catch to the square, the whole village has come to see what all the singing is about. The fountain in the village square is not very big, but it is deep. They roll the creature into it and withdraw their nets. The fountain water is brackish and smells of sulfur. A line of villagers forms quickly from the square to the shore, buckets passing hand-to-hand to fill the cistern with seawater. The water level rises to a depth sufficient enough to allow the creature movement, but shallow enough to prevent her from climbing out. Every soul crowds around the stone lip to wonder and squeal in delight at the strange thing they have captured. The mermaid sinks to the bottom and gazes back at the leering faces above.
Debate erupts throughout the onlookers over what to do with the fabled thing. Some demand they set it free, claiming that keeping a mermaid captive will bring nothing but disaster. Others argue the opposite, insisting that the creature will bring good fortune to our destitute settlement. People will come from all over to gaze at our prize, they argue. The harbor will crowd with vessels from every kingdom and the curious will flood their streets, eager to pay for the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see an actual mermaid. Gunther is eager to fry it up to see what mermaid tastes like. A few of the fishermen lust after it, openly speculating how one would mount such a creature. It’s all fish below the waist, says one. It’s still just a woman, shrugs his companion.
Jugs of liquor are brought out and passed around. Someone saws at a fiddle and the night rolls on with merriment as people dance around the fountain. Gunther the Brave is exalted for his cunning, even though his part in the capture was no more than any man’s. People love their heroes, I suppose. They try to lift Gunther onto their shoulders, but the harpoonsman is too heavy, and they all tumble to the cobblestones in a heap.