[As a puppet manipulated by the contralto, it even moves a little, which draws a gasp from the audience.]
Triton’s daughter turns back into a mermaid and jumps sadly into the sea. The prince and the false princess are married. The false princess croons triumphantly to the little polyp that was once Triton, and talks about how she will keep him forever in a vase in her room.
The moon [mezzo-soprano] comes out and sings an ethereal, haunting version of the sun’s aria. But hers is about the inevitability and sadness of love, and questions what makes a happy ending. For if the little mermaid had stayed at home and remained a mermaid for all her days, ignorant of love, would that really have been better?
The crowd went mad. If the subject matter of the opera seemed a little fantastic, if the end a little gloomy, if the orchestration maybe just a tad simplistic compared to works by more professional, starving musicians—well, it mattered not. Never before had the amphitheatre been witness to such a display of clapping, screaming, stomping of feet, and whistling. So many roses were thrown at La Sirenetta and the sea witch that they were in danger of suffering puncture wounds from the thorns.
Everyone was already clamoring for an encore performance.
“Perhaps we should,” Prince Eric said. “A free performance—for all of the town! At the end of summer, on St. Madalberta’s Day!”
The cheers grew even louder.
Nobles seated closest to the royal box made a show of appropriately classy, restrained enthusiasm—while keeping their eyes on the prince and princess. Only a fool would have failed to notice certain similarities between the sea witch and Prince Eric’s beautiful wife, Vanessa. That night in the great stone mansions, over tiny cups of chocolate and crystal glasses of brandy, there would be much discussion of the thousand possible shades of meaning behind the words in the lyrics.
But the brown-haired princess was grinning and laughing throatily.
“Eric,” she purred, “that was positively naughty. And wonderful. Where do you get such imaginative ideas?”
She coquettishly took his hand like they were newlyweds and walked out proudly with him into the crowd, beaming as if she were also the mother of a very talented and precocious boy. Her two manservants trailed behind them, looking back and forth at the crowd with suspicious smiles, seemingly ready to kill at a moment’s notice should it be required.
Nothing was required; everyone was joyous.
Among the hundreds of people and creatures that were audience to this spectacle, only one was flummoxed by it.
Scuttle stood stock-still, an unusual pastime for him. Two very important things had been revealed in the play. And while he was as scatterbrained as a seagull generally is （perhaps more so）， the wisdom of his long years made him stop and try to focus on those things in his muzzy mind, to remember them, to pay attention to his quieter thoughts.
“PRINCE ERIC REMEMBERS WHAT HAPPENED!” he suddenly cried out.
That was the first thing, and it was easy.
“Even with the whammy laid on him!”
Scuttle had been there when the land-walking mermaid had failed to win Eric’s heart, the sun had gone down, and he had married Vanessa instead. Scuttle had seen the mighty fight break out between ancient powers, so poorly captured in the paints and papier-maché below. He had seen the ocean swell and waves rent in twain by the power of Triton. He had watched as the King of the Sea traded his life for his daughter’s and the sea witch, Ursula, destroyed him. The red-haired girl became a mermaid once more and swam sadly away, voiceless forever. Ursula-as-Vanessa remained married to Eric and now ruled the kingdom by the sea with little or no useful input from her hypnotized hubby.
“Yup, check and check,” Scuttle murmured. “And somehow my boy Eric knows this. But how?”
And what was that other thing?
That important thing?
The…almost-as-important thing?
Or was it actually more important?
“Waves rent in twain by the power of Triton,” Scuttle repeated to himself aloud because he enjoyed the sound of his voice and the big, epic words. His great-grandgulls rolled their eyes at each other and flew off. All but one, who sat watching him curiously.
“And the King of the Sea traded his life for his daughter’s, and Ursula destroyed him. THAT’S IT!”
Scuttle squawked, jumping up into the air in excitement. He beat his wings and the few lingering spectators covered themselves with their arms in disgust, fearing what the bird would do next.
“KING TRITON IS STILL ALIVE!”
“I’m sorry?” his remaining great-grandgull asked politely.