August 13, 1245
Today I made the dive, first telling young Mickey to stay behind at all costs and to take my place as Harriet’s rescuer if I did not return. The water was icy cold, I could barely breath, but I was almost to the other bank when I felt a cold, slippery hand grip my coat of mail. I, I am ashamed to say, gave a cry of fright as I was dragged below the surface, and to make matters much, much worse, watched Michael dive down after me. Why will he not listen to a word I utter to him?! I am surprised that my parchment is not soaked, but then I can breath quite normally as well. It seems to be quite a different story with Michael--he is gasping for breath. It must be some magic of these merfolk.
Sir Melchisedek R. Gnawington