The Lonely Merman Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Lonely Merman

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About the Author

  Landlocked Heart Book One:

  The Lonely Merman

  Kay Berrisford

  It's Friday afternoon, and the last thing Ben wants to be doing is trudging through a wet forest in search of a public hazard. But duty calls, and turns out more exciting than Ben imagined when he encounters a magical ruin, an enchanted pool, and Lyle—a merman who's cursed to be landlocked many miles from the sea.

  Lyle is flamboyant and exciting—he's got tentacles, for goodness sake!—and Ben falls hard. But Lyle's been hurt before and finds trust difficult, refusing even to reveal how to break the curse that imprisons him. Ben's just an ordinary guy, and can't help wondering if he can ever be the hero Lyle needs.

  The Lonely Merman

  Landlocked Heart 1

  By Kay Berrisford

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Constance Blye

  Cover designed by Jasmine Ang

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition July 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Kay Berrisford

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684310395

  Print ISBN 9781684310753

  With thanks to the wonderful team

  at Less Than Three Press.

  Chapter One

  The path into Shanty Wood was muddy. Each step Ben took presented the danger of slipping on a discarded crisp packet or being tripped by the meandering root of some godforsaken tree.

  He was unsure what variety of trees populated this place. Few had leaves this early in the year, and their trunks were black with damp rather than any nice shade of woody brown. Several had been daubed with neon spray, and others brutally stabbed with the initials of lovebirds—the only sort of bird that'd left much evidence of existence that day, apart from the odd crow. Beyond the faint rustle of the breeze, the wood was quiet.

  Ben drew the zipper on his jacket up to his chin and checked his GPS position on his tablet. He frowned. Spending Friday afternoon in search of a public danger that might not exist was one of the "joys" of working for the County Environmental Office. The possible hazard he sought—some shack that a posh dog-walker called Mrs Buxton had phoned in that morning to report as unsafe—wasn't marked on his digital map. Neither was the deep body of water that Mrs Buxton had complained about at length. "You people should get out of your warm offices and do your job," she'd repeated, at least four times.

  If just to shut her up and get to his second cup of coffee, Ben had promised Mrs Buxton he'd treat her complaint as urgent and get to it today. After some extensive searching in the archives, he'd found the word "folly" marked on a yellowing chart of the area, and figured that could be what he was after. According to the grid references, he ought to be almost there. Although he'd have to travel off this footpath to get to the exact spot he searched for.

  After stuffing his tablet back into the heavy knapsack he'd lugged from the carpark, he veered due east, stomping through the ferns and bracken. The mud clogged thick on his boots, making each footfall heavier. A glance at his tablet confirmed both that he'd lost his GPS signal and that it was already a quarter past four. Ben peeped up through the treetops to the steely sky and prayed he'd be out of Shanty Wood—and preferably safe in his favourite pub—before it got dark in an hour or so.

  "Where is this bloomin' place…? Oh!"

  Ben stopped in his tracks and stared. He'd been obsessing way too hard about where he was treading, forever glancing down, or he ought to have seen the structure before him some distance off. It still seemed odd he'd missed it.

  This was no mere shack. Rather, it looked like some giant or god had chopped a single round tower off a medieval castle and dumped it in the middle of the forest. It stood higher than an average house, topped with mini battlements and—good heavens!—leering gargoyles. Yes, there were winged dragons, poised beneath the crenulations with their jaws wide and their wings unfurled, as if ready to pounce and feast upon some unsuspecting prey.

  On realizing he held his breath, Ben let out a long, shuddering sigh. If today had been a brighter day, or if he'd been on a hike with his family, stumbling upon somewhere like this might've been exciting. Fascinating, even. But he was alone, and his heart beat way faster than it ought.

  This place was creepier than a bathtub full of spiders. He'd get his inspection over with and get out of there.

  Ben dumped down his heavy luggage, retrieved his tablet, and started to snap images and make notes. On first glance, the red sandstone tower seemed safe enough. When he touched the walls, they stained his fingers with reddish dust, yet they weren't as crumbly and weatherworn as he would have expected of an ancient place. A scan of the surrounding area showed no signs of the rest of a great castle. There weren't even many nettles, a species that loved to grow over old ruins. He guessed the tower had always stood alone and hadn't been here much more than a century or so.

  Indeed, the tower didn't seem to have any real purpose. The base was about six-feet across and no good for comfortable habitation. The only entrance was a door-less dark portal that appeared to have been smashed through the solid wall, rather than designed as an entrance. A quick peep inside confirmed the tower had no floors, no staircase, and no roof. He got out a flashlight and checked inside for falling debris. The beam disturbed a pigeon, which cooed and flapped from its perch. Ben jumped back out to avoid a shower of grubby feathers.

  Structurally, the tower looked okay so far. He hoped this wasn't going to prove a futile exercise. Ben sighed and trudged around the parameter of the tower before drawing to a halt in front of the carcass of a dragon, its scaly back buckled, its wings shattered, and its neck snapped.

  "Ah," said Ben. He held up his tablet, framed the fallen stone gargoyle on the screen, and took a picture. Maybe this hadn't been a wasted trip after all.

  As he crouched down beside the remains of the gargoyle, melancholy overcame him, as if he'd stumbled across some broken woodland creature, a badger or a deer. Although much of the detail had been destroyed when the dragon crashed into the earth, Ben could make out the diamond shape of its eye, the curl of its lip above a single remaining fang.

  He put one hand to his knee and rose, shaking himself slightly. No point being sentimental. If one dragon had fallen, the rest could easily follow suit, and the tower needed cordoning off. He returned to his knapsack and pulled out one of the metal poles that stuck out of the top.

  Ben had lugged eight poles with him, which ought to have been enough. By skewering each into the earth roughly three yards apart, he created a circle around the tower, far enough to keep any passer-by safe from tumbling dragons—seven of which remained in situ—or other less interesting debris. Then, after another brief rummage in his pack, he found a roll of broad yellow and black hazard tape.

  He'd just stretched the tape between the first and second poles when
he heard a rustling from near the tower. The pigeon, probably, although last time it'd stirred, the bird's flapping had been noisier and…

  "May I enquire what you are doing?"

  Shock jack-knifed through Ben's body. He spiralled toward the voice. "Dear Lord!"

  "Hmm, I like it. Nobody has ever called me a lord before." A man stood beside the tower, peering from beneath the hood of a long black cloak, which dusted nearly to the ground. From the bottom of the cloak poked a pair of old-fashioned lace-up walking boots.

  He looked like somebody dressed as a vampire who'd forgotten the fangs. Or, more likely, he rocked the goth look. He didn't sport any black eyeliner, though Ben figured that wasn't compulsory. Creepy towers were no doubt the kind of place goths liked to hang out. And heavens, this goth was good-looking, in an off-kilter sort of way, with his diamond-shaped face and large, curious eyes. While there was plenty odd about him, he didn't seem threatening, not least because he hunched his tall frame forward slightly. Or maybe it was the clownish-looking rambler's footwear.

  "Do you have anything else to say?" prompted goth guy, his accent as clipped as an actor in a 1930s movie, yet with a tinge of a west-country brogue. "Or are you intending to stare me into submission?"

  "Give me a chance. You scared me half to death." Ben pulled his work ID from his pocket and offered it. Goth guy reached forward and took it, revealing a bare arm. He scrutinized it closely.

  "I'm from the County Environmental Office," explained Ben.

  "A remarkable likeness, Benjamin Miles." Goth guy ran long fingers crowned with clean, well-scrubbed nails, over the ID. He handed it back to Ben with a flicker of his dark lashes.

  "Er, thanks. Please call me Ben." A remarkable likeness? Ben tucked his ID away safely. Of course it was. It was a photograph. Okay, he'd entered severe weirdo territory here, albeit sexy weirdo. Ben liked the goth look, although he didn't have a notion if being one was currently in fashion or not. He'd never fitted into any tribe or group, at school or college, or in the ten years of work that'd passed since.

  And, heaven help him, those slender lips were gorgeous, the merest hint of red contrasting with pale skin. Goth guy ran his tongue over them while regarding Ben placidly, setting them glistening, so eminently kissable and… Ben quashed that line of thought. It'd been way too long since he'd been on a date. Over eighteen months, to be precise.

  "Forgive me," goth guy said, "but you're not like the usual folk that come here. You're alone, for a start. You've not even got a doggie."

  "You're alone too," pointed out Ben. "You speak as if you spend a lot of time around here?"

  "I do, and it's monotonously dull most of the time. Apart from some of the less discreet activities I have to avert my eyes from occasionally."

  Ah, yes. Only three miles out of town, Shanty Wood was not only popular with dog walkers and families, but infamous as a "lover's lane". Ben could well imagine this tower thrilled any visiting lovers who chanced upon it. If they didn't mind being shitted upon by pigeons.

  "Why do you hang out here then?"

  "I'm rather… attached to this place, you might say, but enough about me. We still haven't established why you are here. I'm assuming this is business rather than pleasure? Or maybe it's my lucky day?" He winked, and then laughed. "Please forgive me. I'm jesting with you."

  Ben forgave him, relieved. This guy might be fanciable, but to be seriously propositioned by somebody he'd only just met would be creepier than that bathtub full of spiders. Besides, he was indeed on business. He couldn't rise to any sort of banter, even in "jest".

  "I'm well aware of the reports of inappropriate behaviour in this wood," said Ben. "However, that's not what I'm here to deal with. A member of the public has complained that this tower is falling down, and they were right. You're going to have to step out of the area because I'm cordoning the whole place off. You could be in danger right now, in fact."

  "That's utter nonsense." Goth guy flashed a dashingly wolfish smile, replete with unspoken threats. He straightened, looming a good inch taller than Ben. "You're wasting your time. If I were you, I'd be on my way."

  Ben squared his shoulders, quashing all notions of fancying goth guy. "I'm sorry, sir. But you need to leave. If you obstruct me, I'll have to call in an enforcement team." The planning enforcement guys would never come out on a Friday afternoon to secure as remote a danger as this. Goth guy wasn't to know that, though.

  "And what, pray, is suddenly so dangerous?"

  "Fallen debris," said Ben, pointing to the shattered gargoyle. Goth guy cringed. "Could've killed somebody. Plus, there's deep water around here somewhere that requires dealing with." Ignoring goth guy's incredulous gape, Ben continued with his job of drawing the tape between the poles. "If you're fond of this place, you can still look at it. You just won't be able to get close to the tower until something is done."

  "It's just one poor little dragon. And how do you know it's the gargoyle's fault? Somebody could have vandalized it."

  "We have no evidence of that, unless you saw something? Do you know anything about this incident?"

  Goth guy shook his head, too quickly for Ben's liking. "No. I know nothing about it."

  "Fine. But this is the way it is. A member of the public reported a hazard, and so I have to act. Now please, go home."

  Goth guy stood his ground, but he rounded his shoulders again and wrapped his arms around his middle. As Ben continued creating his ring-fenced area, he sensed goth guy's stare piercing into him. Only the sound of the gummed tape tearing free from the roll broke the tense quiet. Finally, just as Ben began to wonder if he'd have to leave goth guy standing rigid within the danger zone—after all, Ben had warned of the risks and thus done his duty—goth guy spoke again.

  "I can show you the pool you're looking for. It's not dangerous, any more than this place is. You'll understand when you see it."

  Ben didn't stop taping. He peeped in goth guy's direction. Despite his gut instincts telling him this man wasn't dangerous, he'd best be wary. He didn't fancy being stabbed or plunged into some freezing sinkhole to perish. That said, if goth guy was on the level and showed him the pool, it would mean no more time wasted in trudging and searching. Ben could make his assessment and be on his way. Moreover, accepting the offer would at least entice goth guy away from the tower—or, even better, away from the area completely—so Ben could complete the job in peace.

  "Alright," he said. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that, Mr… Uh, what is your name, sir?"

  "Lyle," said goth guy. "Please call me Lyle."

  "Okay, Lyle." Ben found himself favoured with Lyle's broad smile again: a warmer, less carnivorous version, which Ben tried not to consider gorgeous. "I just need to finish off here, so if you'd please step outside my cordoned off area, I would be really grateful."

  Wordlessly, Lyle complied, dipping gracefully under the duct tape. As Ben continued taping, Lyle edged after him, hovering in an unsettling fashion. Ben remained very conscious of Lyle's attention, and felt his cheeks flush when he bent down to dig one of the metal poles deeper into the earth.

  Was Lyle checking out his arse in his tight-fitting work trousers?

  Uneasiness overwhelmed his faint glow of excitement. Besides, Ben could hardly inspect Lyle similarly. He could tell Lyle was tall and slim, but Lyle kept the specific details of his physique well under wraps beneath that shapeless cloak.

  Ben finished the barrier then pulled a couple of laminated signs from his rucksack. They stated "DANGER! KEEP OUT!" in bold, black capitals. He hooked one onto the tape.

  "Is that all you're going to do?" Lyle smirked, mischievous with only a streak of menace. "It's not exactly going to stop a determined visitor, is it?"

  "The tape and notices act as a warning. If anybody is stupid enough to cross the boundary, that's their look out."

  "What about young children? Or people who can't read your signage?"

  Ben hated those questions; he heard them a lot. "That's why we need to take
action to get rid of the hazard as soon as we can." Ben's frigid words wiped the playful expression from Lyle's face. Ben fought a pang, feeling like he'd just kicked down some kid's sandcastle. Yet he wasn't being mean. He was carrying out his job and keeping people safe. "Now, this pool, please. Is it far?"

  "Not at all." Lyle gestured toward a crop of tall evergreen trees, just beyond the edge of the tape. "It's there. Come see."

  Lyle headed toward the trees, and his hunch became greatly exaggerated as he ducked beneath the branches of the evergreens, at one point nearly folding to his hands and knees. Ben followed, concentrating on not tripping over roots. At least the ground here grew less muddy, spread instead with a carpet of pine-needles. They let off a gentle scent that reminded Ben of his Mum's favourite potpourris.

  Nothing could have prepared Ben for the assault that struck his senses when they emerged on the far side of the trees.

  Before him, an oval pool glistened in defiance of the dull light, as if some unworldly radiance shone from within it. The farthest side was fringed with weeping willow branches. On the nearside, at his feet, a gentle bank sloped toward its depths, scattered with the first spring flowers, delicate white snowdrops. From one low-hanging branch opposite, a bright blue kingfisher fluttered then dived into the water, setting circles rippling out in its aftermath.

  Lyle, standing to Ben's left, offered a surprisingly shy half smile. "Is it not wonderful?" he whispered.

  "It is," replied Ben, soft and reverent, as if he'd entered some kind of temple. "It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

  Chapter Two

  "It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

  The words escaped Ben on instinct, his tongue reacting to a joyous leap in his heart. The sentiment seemed absurd before he'd even finished speaking. Despite his job, he'd rarely been a great fan of the out-of-doors, picturesque though this pool was. Maybe that pang in his chest came from triggered memories of the last time he'd had a great time in woodlands nearby, at scout camp. That'd been nearly twenty years ago, before all the other kids got caught up in being cool and left Ben behind, being… well, Ben.