I spend the bulk of another day foraging but have nothing to show for it. With our coins all spent, I pry gems from the chalice to trade, but no one will barter with me. As the family of the village parson, we had once held some prominence in town, but all that is gone. We have been reduced to paupers. Life is difficult under normal circumstances here, and beggars do not survive long in our precious little hamlet on the sea.

The atmosphere in town is strung tauter than a tourniquet. Neighbor accuses neighbor of stealing eggs or sacks of meal. Friend turns on friend over who or what is truly to blame for the sea monster terrorizing the harbor. There are strange sights, too. Gnud, the miller’s son, and Hafdan, the soft-headed son of the blacksmith, are both clad in their sister’s frocks and bonnets. I thought they were playing some strange game, but when I see another boy in a dress, I learn the truth. Fearing for their son’s lives, mother’s have taken to dressing their boys as girls to hide them from the mermaid.

Boys dressed in frocks. Men hiding at home while the women go about. Our little world has turned upside-down.

I pass by Gunther’s cottage and rap on the door. It opens a few inches, Agnet’s face half-shadowed in the gap. She looks even more trampled than before. Her husband’s moans leak through the gap in the door.

“Agnet, are you all right?”

The color in her eyes has faded to a sickly shade. Whatever spark that once animated them is now snuffed out. “What do you want?”

“I was worried about you.”

“You can’t just come knocking,” she says. “Someone will see.”

“Does that matter anymore?” I gesture to the village behind me. “The whole place has gone mad.”

The bellowing voice inside the cottage rises to a fevered pitch, desperate and terrified. It sounds nothing like Gunther the Brave. He howls for someone named Solda to help him, to save him. Agnet flinches at every rise in his pitch.

“Who is Solda?”

“Isolde,” she says. “His first wife.”

I never liked the woman. She was unpleasant and never spoke a kind word to anyone. Something crashes inside the cottage, like a dish hurled against a wall. Gunther’s tone alters, along with his words. He screams Agnet’s name this time. She has no choice but to go to him. I grasp at straws, holding on by my fingernails.

“Tell me what to do. How do I help you?”

Her eyes remain on the ground, refusing to meet mine. “There is nothing you can do, Kaspar. Go home.”