“The fishers tended toward an older, brinier tavern at the end of the pier. There the floorboards were warped from their wet boots, and the only adornment among the scarred tables and benches was a jar in which something scaly green, pale as pearl, with tangled strands of dark moss or hair dimly floated. A mermaid, the tavernkeeper called it. Late at night, her face grew almost visible to those who stayed that long. Then, they would swear, she sometimes turned her head and smiled. Sel prefer...red a quieter tavern with no drowned, pickled mermaids in it. She went to a place at the bottom of the harbor, where she could watch the waves scroll across the endless sea before they heaved into the harbor mouth, bringing the boats back with them. In that tavern, the stone sills were littered with odd pebbles and shells. Old fishing nets hung along the windows for curtains. In the distance, on the opposite cliff, she could see the strange stumps of the stone wood, that could take on the dark, silken sheen of mother-of-pearl when the last light touched them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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