My sister and I do as we’re told, bringing the tea to the church. The blacksmith arrives with Ulric, the elder fisherman. Clovis, Bjarni, and Sligo follow, all stinking of fish and brine as they tuck into the tea and cakes. Prefect Cornelius apologizes for being late and Gunther the Brave arrives last. Unapologetic, he sprawls into a pew like he owns the place. Father dismisses us and then takes quorum. Bryndis and I have barely made the door when the men fall into a clamor over their predicament. Bryndis hisses at me to hurry, but I hold back, slipping into a shadow in the transept. I want to hear the council’s decision.

My father is not one of the councilmen, but as parish minister, he is expected to mediate the discussion. Cornelius, as Prefect, holds authority in our little village, but the other men dislike him and openly flout his decrees. His gnarled cane acts as a gavel when he bangs it to restore dignity to the squabbling council.

The first order of business is the whereabouts of Hrolf, one of our more prosperous fishermen. He has apparently vanished from the village and his wife is beside herself with worry. According to Bjarni, no one has seen him since the night of revelry when they tossed the mermaid into the fountain.

“My memory of that night is a little foggy,” admits Ulric.

“You were barking at the stars, if I remember correctly,” Gunther laughs.

Ulric turns red. “Who saw Hrolf last?”

“I did,” Clovis replies. “Later that night, when everyone had gone home. He was at the fountain.”

“What was he doing?”

Clovis shrugs. “Pissing into it.”

The councilmen grow quiet. No one says aloud what they all must be thinking.

Prefect Cornelius grows impatient, tapping his cane to hurry things along. “Hrolf will return on his own or wash up on the beach. Next order of business, please.”

It is the mermaid in the cistern, and what to do with her. The councilmen break into arguments over her fate. Cornelius scolds them all for their chattering and says that if they cannot come to a decision, he will write to the palace court for direction in the matter. The men deride his ruling and resume their squabble.

“We shall wait for a response from the king,” he says, striking his cane against the floor one last time. “The decision will be his.”