Mermaids in Miami
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 4: Sold at the Market
The trawler docks in the fishing harbour early the next morning, its hull scraping against the pier with a groan. The fishermen move quickly, tossing ropes to waiting hands on shore. The harbour is already busy, with gulls screeching overhead. Fishmongers shout greetings, crates of fish thudding onto wooden planks. But nothing draws attention like the netted shapes lying motionless on the deck.
Naida and Nerissa are barely conscious, their skin dulled from hours out of the water. The old fisherman continues to splash them with seawater, muttering under his breath as if warding off a curse.
“Keep ‘em alive,” the captain barks. “We’re taking them to the market.”
The crew hesitates. Even the ones who argued earlier look uneasy.
“Captain,” one says quietly, “this ain’t right.”
“Right doesn’t pay the bills,” the captain snaps. “Move.”
The mermaids are hoisted onto a rolling cart ... still bound, still dripping ... and wheeled down the gangplank. Naida stirs weakly, her fingers brushing Nerissa’s. Nerissa squeezes back, though her grip is faint.
‘Stay with me,’ Naida whispers in her mind.
‘I’m here,’ Nerissa answers, though her thoughts feel slow and heavy.
The fish market erupts the moment the cart appears.
Vendors freeze mid‑shout. Buyers drop their bags. A child screams. Someone crosses themselves. Someone else faints outright.
“Mermaids!”
“Impossible!”
“Holy Mother...”
The captain puffs out his chest, basking in the chaos. “Caught ‘em this morning. Finest catch you’ll ever see.”
A crowd swarms around the cart, pushing, gawking, whispering. Naida flinches at the noise. Nerissa curls inward, overwhelmed.
A woman in a white apron steps forward, horrified. “You can’t sell them! They’re not fish!”
“They’re valuable,” the captain insists. “Collectors, aquariums, research labs; someone will pay.”