Nothing for it now, though. The guard at the entrance waved her inside enthusiastically, his eyes dwelling first on her armband and then on her weapon. She had the fleeting thought that there wasn’t much point to a guard who happily let an armed outsider enter the apprentices’ tower, but there was no conviction to the thought. She had no doubt that, as she’d told Andre, the guard had recognized her, and was letting her through on the basis that she was the champion of Tilssted.
The thought made her squirm, but she pushed it aside. She was here to get her shells, nothing more. In and out. She adjusted her existing coverings absent-mindedly. They had been uncomfortably tight for some time, and there was no denying she’d be glad to have a better-fitting pair.
There was no need to ask for directions. As soon as she entered the tower, the sound of chatter and laugher drew her up three floors to a dining hall which covered an entire story. The space was full of apprentices eating lunch and talking at full volume.
Of course, that volume became instant silence when Merletta appeared.
After the first moment of appraisal, hushed whispers spread across the room. Merletta caught sight of Tish, who sent her a small and personal smile before the hubbub broke out. At the lack of reproach on her face, Merletta found herself releasing tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
“Trainee Merletta!”
Merletta turned to see the solidly built mermaid who had offered her new shells swimming toward her.
“Here to collect your shells? They’re ready for you.”
“Yes,” said Merletta, smiling in greeting. “And thank you again.”
“No need to thank me!” the mermaid insisted, speaking too loudly. She turned an outraged face on the rest of the assembled apprentices. “Look at the state of her shells! That’s what the Center provides for our trainee. You can bet the ones from the other cities have much better.”
Tuts sounded from around the room, a few others calling out their disapproval.
“It’s really fine,” said Merletta placatingly. “These have done me well since I started.”
“Sweetheart, those are a disgrace,” said one mermaid sitting near Merletta’s end of the long stone table.
“Thank you,” said Merletta dryly, causing a few chuckles to spread throughout the room.
“You know what I mean,” the apprentice insisted, her voice matter-of-fact. “They’re two sizes too small, and so worn they’re losing their shape.”
“They do pinch a little,” Merletta acknowledged. “But it’s really not important.”
More tutting sounded throughout the space, and the mermaid who’d offered Merletta new shells took on a scolding tone.
“Don’t tell a room full of shellsmith apprentices that shells aren’t important. You’ll offend us. A third of the workers in this room spend most of their time on shell coverings.”
“Sorry,” laughed Merletta. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Come on, then,” said the apprentice bossily. “I’ve got the new ones just here, in my room.”
Merletta followed her into a tiny sleeping room, which barely had floating space once a hammock and a small work surface had been squeezed in there. A pair of scallop shells sat on the work surface, in the same uniform white as the ones worn by all the female trainees, and many of the Center’s employees. They were perfectly matched with each other, and beautifully bound.
“They’re perfect,” Merletta said, awed.
Her benefactor snorted. “They’ll do,” she said prosaically. “I’ll give you some privacy to change them over. Will you be all right to do it on your own?”
Merletta nodded, and the other mermaid left the room, the fronds of seaweed which formed a curtain over her doorway fluttering in her wake. Once Merletta was sure she was alone, she tried to unclip her existing shells. They were very securely fastened, and they didn’t budge. Frowning, she glanced around the space and saw a small sharp tool. With its aid, she managed to get the shells off.
She exhaled a long stream of water, taking a moment to revel in the relief of being free. She hadn’t even realized how tightly the undersized shells were restricting her before, but having them off was incredibly liberating. She glanced shiftily toward the window, making sure she was far enough back from it so as not to be visible to anyone swimming past down below, then rolled her shoulders a bit, letting the water swish around her.
It had been a long time since she’d been uncovered. Heath had told her once—only in response to a direct question, and flushing furiously as he spoke—that humans usually changed their coverings entirely every day. She’d been amazed. Mermen didn’t wear any true coverings, of course, and mermaids only shells or similar. And they didn’t tend to remove them unless they were upgrading—it wasn’t unusual for an adult mermaid to go for years without taking off her shells. Heath claimed it was so humans could wash themselves. Another concept which didn’t really apply to mermaids, living underwater as they did.
Merletta donned the new shells quickly, pleased with how well they fit. The band around her back was also much more comfortable than her previous one—thicker and more solid. She could breathe so freely, and yet she felt delightfully secure.
She swam back out into the main space with an extra swish to her tail, and was immediately greeted by approving murmurs.
“That’s more like it,” said the mermaid who’d told her that her last shells were a disgrace.
“It feels much better,” Merletta acknowledged. She beamed at the apprentice who’d done the shells. “Thank you so much. I’m amazed how well you sized them.”