She realized they were actually bobbing upside down, but was too giddy from the kissing to care much. She felt the vibrations as one of the party yachts sped by above them, doubtless dragging more drunken tourists through the shit and—

No, she meant dragging them through the shitty harbor—shit! What was wrong with her?

Artur abruptly stopped kissing her. Do you smell that?

Smell it, of course I can smell it! She tried to spit. It didn’t work. I can taste it. Oh my God, I’m tasting shit!

Artur grabbed her arm and flexed his tail, and they rocketed away from that particular spot. Despite his speed, despite his quick action, for a long, awful moment Fred was sure she was going to vomit. She struggled with the urge, thinking she must not, must not, must not barf in front of royalty. Not to mention, she hadn’t barfed since the time she got drunk on Pepsi (a case) and vermouth (four bottles), and that had been over ten years ago. She had no plans to break her non-vomit streak.

And it was better now. She could still faintly smell it, but suspected it was more imagination than fact. The way you could still smell dog shit once you’ve stepped in it, no matter how often you scrubbed your shoes.

Artur had gotten them away from the stream, or the bad spot, or whatever you wanted to call it, and he had done it with speedy efficiency… she wouldn’t have been able to swim that fast with a speargun in her ear.

Thanks, Artur. That was pretty bad for a second.

I, too, had momentary discomfort.

Oh, thought Fred. Is that what they call it?

I can’t ever come swimming here again… I’ll always think I’m smelling shit even if I’m not. We gotta fix this.

Artur nodded. He didn’t try to touch her, which she figured showed as well as anything how grossed out he was, too. Thus my father’s concern when he heard the news. I, too, feel the morning has been tainted.

That was shit. I don’t mean toxins. I don’t mean poisons. She was swimming for the shore as quickly as she could, Artur keeping pace with no trouble. I mean shit. Somebody’s gonna pay. And I don’t mean EPA fines, either. I mean pay through the NOSE.

I quite agree, Little Rika… and it is a pleasant change to see your anger directed at a head other than my own.

It was shallow enough for her to stand, and she did, her legs as always forming without conscious thought. She shook her wet hair and managed to smile at him as he emerged beside her. “Some romantic swim, huh?”

He spat. “As I said. Not quite what I had envisioned.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to his lab was thrown open and Fred, the mermaid of his dreams, snarled, “Some tin prick is throwing his shit into the harbor.”