By Tavaan
All I can say is that it’s too bad these people took a perfectly wonderful boyhood fantasy and turned it into . . . this.
The Mermaid is right on the docks, ready to serve ale to those sorts of sailors who can’t think about anything except getting off their ship and having a good drink. The rest of the crew – that being the respectable ones – take care of the considerable burden of work that docking requires and then make their way, in small groups, to one of the finer restaurants or taverns a bit deeper into the city.
But the Mermaid is right there, and it’s all about instant gratification. Upon first approach, you see their sign, which is where the majority of the business’s funds have probably gone. It’s a very nice carving of a lasciviously leering mermaid, without any of those clinging strands of seaweed or shells that are used for covering in finer paintings. Mothers cover their children’s eyes when they walk by. The sign is high (to keep it away from the sword-strokes of enraged nobles) and chained on with permanent rivets to guard against stealing, as the carving is actually quite good and the mermaid quite alluring. And that’s the best it gets.
Inside there’s the smell of fish and ale and woodsmoke, mingling with the heavy scents of oils worn by the serving wenches. And then there’s the noise. No music, mind you, but only the boisterous shouts of men too long cooped up in tiny rooms.
The menu consists of pan-fried, breaded fish, meatballs (who knows what sort of meat they use), meat loaf (same concern), and sausage dishes (notice a trend?). They do have good ales from just down the street, good brandies and wines, and lots of bread and butter. But the meal I had was nothing to brag about. Just food.
Then there are the serving girls, obviously selected for the role. They’ve got the serving wench look, with plump lips, plump breasts, and plump hips, and a seeming desire to put the twylahs out of business, since they appear ready to take just about anyone in back to show them the ‘trophy room’. One drunk sailor told me that all you have to do is tip them a little high.
At night the Mermaid, along with the Pelican, ranks as the first place that you’ll see fights breaking out, most for no reason anyone can readily figure out.
What more can I say? If you’re low on gold, have been missing bedsport, and don’t care if your food is overcooked meat-of-mystery, take yourself to the Mermaid and you’ll be a happy man. And if you’re a woman? Don’t even bother going in, unless you want to get a really vivid idea of what it means to be harassed.