Chapter II

Hudson's real name was Una. She lived alone in a sea cave at the far edge of the Inner Queendom - it wasn't easy to find. The nearest village was miles away, and the coral formations in which Hudson apparently made her home were warren-like. Sherlock had to stop and consult the map Mycroft had given him several times. He was close to giving up and turning back when a voice called down to him from among a thick patch of seaweed.

"Are you lost, young man?"

An old woman, long grey hair billowing in the current.

"No." Sherlock looked at her closely. "I don't think so. Are you Una?"

The woman drifted closer, eyes narrowed.

"Some people call me that."

"Others call you Hudson."

The old woman blinked, and smiled.

"You must be Mycroft's little brother."

It was Sherlock's turn to look surprised. "He told you I was coming?"

"No. But you have quite the family resemblance."

"I don't look like Mycroft."

"It's the expression. You look like you'd like to tear the world apart to find out what it is made of." Una tilted her head at him and gave him a smile. "You'd better come in."

Sherlock followed her into the mouth of the cave. It was surprisingly vast, and lit by luminescent jellyfish hung on a string. Sherlock looked around, taking it all in: the sleeping hammock, the cooking surface, a shelf full of scrolls. An old anchor rusted in the corner. Decoration, presumably.

Hudson swam to the corner of the cave, moving a slab of rock to one side. Sherlock felt a breath of heat emanating from it.

"It's a shaft – goes down towards the earth's middle." Hudson explained, at Sherlock's confused look. "Humans usually eat their food warm and it became rather a habit with me. Here you are, dear."

She pulled something up out of the pit and brings it over to Sherlock. It was a flattened cake of some sort, made of seaweed. Sherlock took a bite. Heat flooded Sherlock's mouth like an embrace, the cake soft and sweet.

"It's good." Sherlock said, in surprise.

Hudson smiled proudly. "My own recipe."

"Does all Human food taste like this?"

"Not quite like this," she said. "Humans never use enough salt. So," She sat down in front of him, smiling brightly. "What is it you want to know?"

Sherlock wiped his mouth, and considered. "I want to know everything."

Hudson laughed, her long nailed fingers touching lightly at her chest. "Oh, you are like your brother, aren't you? Well, everything might take a while."

Sherlock frowned at her, unimpressed by her levity. "Tell me what happened." He leaned forward intently. "Start from the beginning and omit as few details as possible."

Una raised her eyebrows a little but she was still smiling.

"Oh, well then. Let's see. It happened when I was a girl – not much older than you are now really. We lived nearer the land in those days – it was before the Humans started pumping all that nonsense into the oceans, and people weren't so funny about the idea of approaching them. My friends and I would play a game… we'd swim up to the coast and see if we could spy a Human. We discovered a little inlet where the water was deep enough for us to hide, and, well," Una's dark eyes shone with mischief.

"Some of the Human boys from the nearby village used to swim there. We never went near them, of course – just looked. There was one in particular, he was so beautiful. So brown skinned and strong and smooth looking – the way he moved through the water, with those legs of his ..." Una cleared her throat, seemingly remembering that she was talking to an eleven year old. Sherlock smiled encouragingly.

"I found out that he liked to swim in the evenings too, by himself. So I went back alone, to watch him. I wanted to have something of him to myself, without the other girls chattering in my ear. I suppose I wasn't as careful as I should have been. I got distracted. I was drifting through the water, waiting for him, when I found myself caught. It was one of those awful fishing nets that had been strung out under the water. I struggled as hard as I could but I couldn't get free."

A faint frown line appeared between Una's eyebrows.

"After a while the Humans came – a group of men. You should have seen their faces when they found me! So surprised! If I hadn't been so afraid by then I think it would have been amusing. They didn't seem to know what to do with me at first, and some of them seemed rather afraid of me. I tried holding out my hands to them and begging to be set free but they didn't understand. In the end they hauled me out of the water and carried me back to one of their houses. I stayed there for a couple of days, in a trough that they used to give their animals water."

"Eventually they loaded me into a cart and took me to the next town, where there was some kind of market. They sold me to a man in a bright red coat, a circus owner but the name of Billy Hudson. I believe quite a large sum of money changed hands. I became part of a travelling entertainment troupe. It was very strange at first – being carted around from place to place and having Humans stare at me. But I made friends. The son of the circus owner – a nice boy, by the name of Eric – he taught me to speak their language, even to read a little. And then there was a woman with a beard, and a pair of twins who's been born joined together at one shoulder, a man who had never grown to be any larger than a child. None of them thought it was too strange that I had a tail."

"I was in that circus for nearly seventy years. The first owner died and Eric inherited me. He was close to retirement that wrong sort of people began to take an interest in us. A scholarly gentleman with ink all over his fingers asked Eric if he could buy me – of course, Eric said no. But as we went away, he overheard the gentleman saying I ought to be dissected and examined in the interests of science. I spoke to Eric for a long time that night and we agreed that it was quite time I went home, to my own people. Eric took me down to the shore and lifted me into the water. And then – I swam away." For a moment Una looked away, expression soft, regretful.

Sherlock leant forward, rapt. He had a thousand questions, far too many to be contained in one single visit, he suspected, so he stuck to the one that was most important.

"You can speak Human?"

"I can speak English." Una said. "It's one Human language."

"Can you teach me?"

Una looked at him, consideringly. "Well. If you like. You'll have to come up to my cave for lessons - I'm too old to go gadding around the Queendom."

"How soon can we begin?"

Una laughed. "Well. Tomorrow's my gardening day, and the day after that my sister's coming to visit. How about three days from now?"

"Agreed."

"You'd better get going." Una said gently. "You only have a couple of hours before it gets dark. Your mother won't be happy if you get lost."

Sherlock didn't point out that his mother probably wouldn't notice.

"I'll see you in three days, then?" he said anxiously.

"I'll look forward to it. It'll nice to have a young face around the place." Una ruffled his hair. "Careful about how you go, won't you?"

"Of course."

Sherlock found himself oddly reluctant to leave the warmth of the cave, and perhaps it showed in his face, because Una's expression softened.

"Here." She wrapped one of her cakes up in a sheet of fresh seaweed and handed it to Sherlock. "Come back soon."

She dropped a light kiss on the top of Sherlock's forehead.

As Sherlock swam away, he held the warm cakes against his chest, trying not to shiver in the chill of the darkening water.

Irene the Adler arrived a week later. Suprisingly for someone whose fame was spoken on throughout the Seven Queendoms, Irene travelled with very little in the way of an entourage and almost no luggage. Sherlock watched from where he'd hidden himself in a cupboard in the corner of the Throne Room as Mycroft ushered Irene and her assistant into the Palace. She didn't look like anything extraordinary – a slim woman with dark hair and a heart shaped face. The only thing that stood out about her was her mouth: it had been painted a piercing shade of blood red, standing out starkly against her pale skin.

"You will, of course, be given the very best rooms we have to offer." Mycroft said.

"Naturally." Irene said coolly. "And the terms we have agreed on…."

"Will remain unchanged, of course. I'd like to say the cost of my brother's education won't blow too much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but I'm afraid I'd be lying." Mycroft had that wry half-amused tone he always used when talking about Sherlock, as if he was speaking about a particularly troublesome pet. It made Sherlock scowl.

"He must be a talented boy."

"We believe so."

"Not too good at hiding, however." Irene turned abruptly and her bright blue eyes seemed to be staring directly into Sherlock's.

It wasn't possible. He'd hidden himself completely. She had to be bluffing. Sherlock resolved to sit tight and let them move on.

Mycroft followed Irene's gaze. "Is someone there?"

Sherlock remained silent.

Irene tossed her hair over one shoulder, and opened her mouth. The sound that came out seemed to make the whole room reverberate and Sherlock's heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. The melody that she sang was unfamiliar, strangely haunting, and it made the room around Sherlock seem to blur. There was too much music in the air, it had a strange density, blocking out thought, reason, everything – it was delightful. Before he knew it Sherlock was on his feet, reaching out his arms with eyes closed, as if he could absorb more of the music by laying open his bare arms to it.

Abruptly the sound faded leaving Sherlock standing in the middle of the Throne Room, Irene and Mycroft both staring down at him. Irene's red mouth was stretched wide in triumph, showing teeth.

"Well, well. I've never seen Sherlock so obedient." Mycroft looked at the Siren, eyebrows raised. "That is a potent Song."

"It's difficult to Sing well enough to bewitch a Mermaid. Only the most powerful songs will do it." She hadn't taken her eyes off Sherlock all the time he was talking to Mycroft. "This is my pupil?"

"He is."

"What do they call you, child?"

He wouldn't answer her. He wouldn't. His mouth seemed to open of its own accord.

"Prince Sherlock of Holmes. And I'm not a child." Sherlock tried to sound defiant but somehow it came out breathless.

"Hmm. Very well, your Highness. I will see you at 8 o clock tomorrow morning, in my suite. I take it I have a suite?"

"Well, yes..." Mycroft began.

"Don't be late." Irene cut across him, turning away sharply with a dismissive flick of her tail she left, a bemused looking Mycroft following in her wake.

"Sing for me." Irene demanded as soon as Sherlock entered her room the next morning. Mycroft had certainly gone all out to impress the Ithillyian Siren. The room was beautifully decorated with ornately carved corals, luminous and brightly coloured fish kept in cages dangling from the ceiling. A bowl full of anenomes stood on the central table, scarlet heads dancing in the faint current.

"What do you want me to sing?" Sherlock asked. Irene waved her hand negligently. She was lying in her hammock, her posture not unlike one of the old Sea Empresses receiving tribute. She certainly wasn't like any teacher Sherlock had ever had.

Sherlock straightened his back and began to sing. He chose the Anyagian's Lament, a tragic ballad concerning a doomed love affair between two rival Princesses. Last time he'd performed it, at one of Mummy's banquets, he'd had half the room in tears.

Irene stopped him after two phrases.

"Uninteresting. Is that the best you can do?"

Sherlock stared at her. She smiled a little.

"Oh dear. You do have a lot to learn, don't you? Being a Siren isn't just about being able to carry a tune, my lovely. Any fool can do that. You need to observe. Feel out the edges of the world around you, find out your audience's thoughts, their hopes, interests, insecurities. Only then will you be able to change them. Watch me."

Irene Adler threw back her head and began to sing. It was the Anyagian's Lament again, only this time the words seems to cut somehow, pulling at something deep inside of Sherlock and leaving him aching and raw. Sherlock bit his lip hard to prevent the tears rising to his eyes, because he never cried, he never did, but suddenly all he could think about was how very alone he was. There was no one in the world like him, except Mycroft, and he didn't even care really. The world was too large, too empty, too horrible, he didn't think he could bear it. And then, just as the feeling became more than Sherlock could stand, the song changed, a subtle warmth interjected into Irene's Adler's beautifully distinct syllables. Sherlock found himself moving forward in spite himself. She was so beautiful, his teacher. He wanted to be near her, to touch her. He wanted to kneel at her feet…

Abruptly the song was cut short. Irene Adler was looking down at him, eyebrows raised sarcastically but there was a gleam of what might have been sympathy in her eyes.

"You see?" she asked.

"Yes." Sherlock's voice sounded oddly scratchy to his own ears. His knees ached. "Yes, I see."

"Very well. Stand up and try again."

Time passed swiftly from then on. Lessons with Irene were taxing in a way nothing in Sherlock's life had been before. But he was learning. Within a month he'd already been able to attain a degree of control over some of the stupider breeds of fish. He felt a rush of power as he watched a school of anchovy swim in a criss-crossed, dizzyingly intricate pattern, their every movement dictated by Sherlock's will.

Sherlock still managed to find the time to go and visit Una at least three times a week. His English lessons were progressing apace, and he was finding out more and more about Human culture and behaviour. It didn't leave a lot of time for schoolwork, but Sherlock was unconcerned by that. School was largely pointless anyway.

One day, when Sherlock was about a year into his training with Irene, Lestrade appeared unexpectedly in Irene's suite where Sherlock was attempting to Sing to a crab (it kept scuttling away from him).

"What have you found?" Sherlock asked him.

Since Sherlock had become too busy to visit the Warehouse, Lestrade had got into the habit of bringing some of the more mysterious finds to Sherlock, since his employees had all the imagination of a seal that had been dead for three weeks. He'd never come to Sherlock while he was studying before, though.

Lestrade cleared his throat, glanced at Irene Adler, blushed, and then glanced away. Unlike the women of Holmes, Irene and her assistant Kate left their chests bare, their long flowing hair their only cover. Sherlock couldn't help smirking at Lestrade's obvious confusion.

"Did you want to speak to my pupil?" Irene asked him in clear ringing tones.

"Er – actually I was hoping youcould help us." Lestrade looked at Irene.

Irene cocked her head in interest. "Oh?"

"A Human ship has strayed out of its usual path, and the way its heading it will disrupt the seal migration."

Sherlock looked up interestedly. Seal herding was one of the more lucrative industries in Holmes, it was no wonder Lestrade was upset by this development.

"And you want me to persuade them to redirect their vessel?"

"If you would."

"Of course." Irene drew herself up. "Sherlock, get ready."

"You, er- you aren't planning to bring the Prince…"

"Of course I am. He has never witnessed Human Singing. It will be very beneficial for him."

"It's too dangerous. He's only a child. If one of the Humans were to get hold of him….."

Irene laughed lightly. "Sentinel Lestrade, do you doubt my abilities?"

"Not at all, but-"

"Believe me, while I am Singing the Humans will be incapable of doing anything other than what I wish them to do. And that includes bothering our little Prince."

Lestrade opened his mouth to objects, and Irene made a humming noise in her throat. Lestrade's eyes glazed over slightly and he nodded. "All right then."

Sherlock made himself ready, head buzzing with excitement. He was going to see a real Human ship. Perhaps, if he was lucky, a real live Human.

Lestrade and his crew took up position a few miles ahead of the ships current trajectory, intent on intercepting it. Sherlock enjoyed the feeling of holding his head above the surface of the water, noting the openness of the sky above, the feeling of cool wind buffeting his hair. Lestrade's team were tense with anticipation, spears at the ready - should Irene's Singing fail, they were ready to try to sink the ship by hand. Irene on the other hand looked perfectly relaxed, and even took the time to comb her fingers through her long hair as she waited (Donovan shot her an irritated glance.)

Eventually they saw the ship, a dark point looming on the horizon. Donovan sucked in her breath through her teeth and readjusted her grip on her spear. Lestrade shifted in the water, as if trying to block Sherlock from its view.

"Ready?" Irene asked.

Lestrade shot Irene a dubious glance. "If you think you can manage it from this distance."

Irene only smiled, pushed her hair back from her shoulders and began to Sing.

As the first clear sweet notes hit the air a shudder ran though the team of Guards. Sherlock watched as Lestrade's shoulders subtly relaxed, as Donovan's eyes lost their wary look and drifted shut. As for Sherlock, the same addictive sensation of lightness overtook him, making his blood seem to sing. He found himself wanting to laugh, but choked the sensation down. He didn't want to make a fool of himself with Lestrade's team looking on.

"Can we move a bit closer?" he asked Irene.

"There's no need." said Lestrade. "They seem to be turning around already." He huffed a half disbelieving laugh. "You stopped them short at half a League's distance. Incredible."

"If I get a little closer," Irene said persuasively. "I can plant the idea in the captain's head that these are dangerous waters. Prevent them attempting to come here again."

Irene's eyes met Sherlock's and gleamed conspiratorially. Sherlock tried and failed to control his grin.

"All -allright." Lestrade said dazedly, the song clearly still having an effect.

Irene began to swim towards the ship and Sherlock followed her. As they drew closer, Sherlock drew in his breath with excitement, eyes scanning the ship, trying to calculate the details of its construction, the speed at which it moved, to quantify the lives hidden inside that vast metal belly.

Once they were close enough for Sherlock to make out every bump and seam on the boats exterior Irene stopped short, one soft hand curling around Sherlock's wrist.

"This is close enough."

Sherlock wanted to shake her off and move closer, to see more of the ship and the people inside it. But he is caught by the song, limbs suddenly heavy and unwilling to move away from her. Beautiful teacher, lovely, lovely Irene.

"You don't need to be able to see them." Irene said. "Reach out with your mind. Feel the echoes left by the song, the spaces that are left by it. Then you will know everything about them."

Sherlock tried to do as she said, closing his eyes and listening. He tried to track the way the sound rippled through the air, the places where it moved freely, the places where it was absorbed or reflected by objects in the way. The sound became harder when it made contact with the metal sides of the boat, bore the imprint of nails, the impression of seams soldered together. More distantly he could feel something else - a softer collision of sound, coloured by thought, emotion, desire - a living being communicating with the song, feeding on it and breathing it back, subtly distorted. Sherlock concentrated hard, trying to picture the man Irene was bewitching but the effort was too much, and the picture slipped away from him leaving him gasping and confused. He opened his eyes and saw Irene watching him. The look in her eyes surprised him. It seemed oddly haunted, as if she was afraid of what she saw. Abruptly, she closed her mouth and the song stopped.

"They won't be back." she said.

"You shouldn't have taken him so close." Lestrade had appeared behind them, frowning. The song's spell had clearly been broken, for now, at least.

"He was perfectly safe. I had them under complete control."

"Even so." Lestrade was watching Sherlock with a troubled expression.

"I was fine." Sherlock snapped. He wasn't sure why exactly but he had started shivering, the tight sensation his chest growing oddly painful.

"Don't you people ever go closer?" he said aloud. "You have the opportunity to learn so much more about Humankind. Don't tell me you spend all your time lurking at the edges like this."

"We avoid direct contact when we can. Sometimes, yes, we have to go closer, if a ship had to be moved or even sunk, but that's only in extreme circumstances. This isn't a game, Your Highness."

"But you could l-learn so much more about them if you did! It's – it's p-pure cowardice." Sherlock's looked defiantly at Lestrade, ignoring the way the increasingly violent shivers were chattering the teeth in his head.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "If you say so, Sire." He looked at Irene, a very cold expression in his eyes. "That boy needs to be taken back home, wouldn't you say? He looks ill."

Irene looked at him quizzically. Sherlock tried to hold himself still under her gaze but the shaking seems to have got worse. "Hmmm. Reaction to prolonged Singing. The musically gifted are often more sensitive to it. I wouldn't worry, I've done it to my friends plenty of times. He'll be all right soon enough."

"I should hope so. Here, Sire." Lestrade pulled an amulet from somewhere and put it around Sherlock's neck, casting a heating spell. A flood of warmth seemed to envelop Sherlock.

"Good for shock."

"I'm f-fine I don't n-need anything."

"Course not." Lestrade smiled at him. "But I think some my team want to see the picture. Prince Sherlock being Charmed."

Sherlock scowled. He hated magic.

"I told you, he's fine." Irene sounded bored. "Come along, Prince, I'll take you home."

Sherlock was still a little queasy when he got into his hammock that night, so he wrapped his blanket tight around himself, picturing the ship he'd seen again and trying to commit every detail to memory. It didn't yield much. There had to be a way to get closer, he thought, a way to really see the Humans. Though, now that he thought about it, any information gained from the vantage point of the Sea was going to be limited. If only he could find himself some way to observe them in their natural habitat. Of course, he'd never be allowed to visit the Shoreline. But maybe, if he was very clever….

Sherlock drifted off to sleep, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.