The Psamathist's Cove by StarSpray

The Psamathist's Cove

“Roverandom said how sorry he was, and he told the little boy how he had fallen out of his pocket; and all about Psathamos, and Mew, and many of the adventures he had had since he was lost. That is how the little boy and his brothers got to know all about the odd fellow in the sand, and learned a lot of other useful things they might otherwise have missed.” - Roverandom

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It was late in the afternoon; the shadows were lengthening over Psamathos’ cove as the sun set away westward, and out over the sea the first stars were appearing. Before long the moon would be rising, casting its silvery path over the water for any who could or cared to follow it. Psamathos stirred in his sandy bed, wondering idly if any mer-folk would come to visit. He could already hear a few sea-fairies singing with their tiny voices nearby.

He also, he realized rather suddenly, heard other voices—not sea-fairies or sea-goblins, nor even one of the crabs or sea birds that often frequented Psamathos’ cove. He recognized them: two of the boys that lived up above the shore—one of whom was the erstwhile owner of that silly little dog Rover. It was late in the day for them to come down to the shore, Psamathos thought. And they were rather too late to find little Rover where he’d fallen in the sand. He was off away on the Moon, fluttering about with the moonbeams—and, Psamathos hoped, safely avoiding whatever it was that had turned the moon those odd colors not so long ago. Trouble with one of the dragons, Psamathos had thought. Nothing the Man-in-the-Moon couldn’t handle, but potentially quite dangerous for little dogs. The boys also, Psamathos thought with a small smile, did not usually whisper.

“…sure there’s a wizard down here?” one of the boys was asking, sounding doubtful.

“Yes. Roverandom said so!”

“In your dream.”

Ahh, so that’s what the Man-in-the-Moon was up to. Psamathos’ left ear twitched, though to anyone not in the know it would just be a twig shifting in the sand or with the breeze that had sprung up off the water, bringing a briny smell and the distant sound of singing voices—if you knew what to listen for.

“Well anyway, Dad always says there’s something queer in this cove,” the younger boy was saying, unable to argue with the general unreliability of dreams. “Look at the starlight on the water! It feels like there’s magic here.”

He was more right than he knew. Psamathos twitched his other ear, and then, when the boys did not come any closer from whatever stone they had hidden themselves behind, he chuckled and decided to reward their courage—for it did take some, to come down here in the evenings. There was nothing particularly dangerous, but normal land-folk generally kept away without really knowing why. A good rule of thumb, Psamathos thought as he stretched his own thumbs and fingers, and shook away the sand that was now rapidly growing uncomfortable, having lost the last of the sun’s warmth. He thought that he heard a gasp behind him, but it was drowned by the chorus of sea-fairies that sprang up down by the water, as they began to sing and dance in earnest, linking hands and turning in circles on the wet sand, leaving tiny swirling trails of footprints behind them.

No mer-folk came that night; they were still busy celebrating old Artaxerxes’ marriage to the mer-princess, and their acquisition of a proper magician. The wedding itself had of course taken place on the beach, but mer-folk did love to extend a party. But that was all right. A few pixies and woodland fairies came down to join the fun, adding their cheerful flutes and lutes and harps to the sweet voices of their aquatic cousins. Psamathos conjured a suitable feast for the lot of them, and for himself, and settled in to watch the fun. Occasionally he sang along, or conjured a little burst of bright colored light for the delight of the gathered fairies (and for the two watching boys).

The boys stayed and watched far longer than Psamathos would have expected—it was well past their bedtime by the time he noticed them creep away. The fairies, fortunately, hadn’t seen them at all, or else they would have fled back to their homes in fright.

All in all, it was a very pleasant evening, though Psamathos wondered what the Man-in-the-Moon was about. It would be harder to get Rover—Roverandom—back to his mistress if he had really made friends with the little boy, even only in a dream. Psamathos could do it, of course, but he always found it unpleasant to work such spells on an unwilling subject.

Ah, well. He settled back down into the sand as the moon began to set. In a few hours the stars would fade and the sun would rise, and perhaps the little boys could come back…ah. Psamathos roused himself for a few more moments. It wouldn’t be fair to let them think they had imagined all the fun. He carefully set out a beautiful pair of conch shells, shimmering faintly with a light that did not come from the stars. When put to a little boy’s ear they would not sound ocean waves, but a little bit of fairy music. Little boys should be rewarded for their adventurousness, Psamathos believed. And perhaps it would tide them over until they saw little Rover again.