The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen (15 page)

As soon as they’d slowed down enough to jump off, they were on either side of me, jittering with excitement and curiosity.

I took off the quest pass and held it out for them to look at.

“This is deeply groovy, Neef,” Espresso said. “Dig that crazy beaver!”

Fortran put his ear to the medal and listened. “It’s not magic,” he said, surprised. “I thought it would be magic.”

“It’s plenty magic, Number Man,” said Stonewall, who’d strolled up with Danskin just in time to hear. “It lets her do what she wants without worrying about the Loonie Rules.”

I put the quest pass back around my neck. “I wish it was magic enough to get me out of lessons. I can only quest on weekends and after school.”

“Then it’s a good thing that the next performance of
Swan Lake
is going to be the night after the Full Moon Gathering,” said Danskin. “Do you have anything to wear?”

I smoothed the lapels of my black coat. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on? I thought you said my coat was dashing.”

“Oh, it
is
,” Stonewall said. “But it doesn’t exactly say ‘Evening at Lincoln Center,’ does it? What did you wear to Autumn Equinox?”

“A Dress Silver as the Moon.”

“You have one of
those
?” Danskin was impressed.

“Excellent!” said Stonewall. “Wear that. And lose the sneakers. You think your fairy godmother can magic up some glass slippers for you?”

“No glass slippers,” I said. “I might need to run.”

 

The next night, I was standing in Central Park Central between Astris and Mr. Rat, listening to the Lady hand out prizes for the scavenger hunt. The winner was the silver earring, with a pocket mirror (un-magical) and a shiny quarter as runners-up. The winners got to keep what they found, plus their choice of what everybody else had collected.

It was a beautiful night. The trees were beginning to turn, the ground beneath them scattered with the first of a dragon’s hoard of gold and ruby leaves. The moon was gigantic in a sky so clear and black I could see stars. Jack and his chilly relatives had touched the wind with the promise of frost. Astris had given me a new dress made with wool from the Sheep’s Meadow flock. I was as happy as a rat in a garbage bag.

And then Astris started chittering. “He’s here again. The Mermaid’s Voice!”

I looked past a flock of fauns to the Lady’s granite throne, where the Lady, crowned with leaves, was glaring at the shiny-vested mortal who had threatened the Park on the last full moon. I remembered Airboy had said that the changeling’s name was Oxygen, and he wasn’t really ready to be a Voice. Now that I’d been around mortals, I could tell he wasn’t grown up yet—maybe Stonewall’s age. He was nervous.

“Hail, Green Lady of Central Park,” he said. “Have you considered the Queen’s offer?”

The Lady laughed angrily. “You call that an offer? Sounded a lot like a threat to me. Yeah, I’m thinking about it, and I’m not done yet. Get lost, Fish Boy.”

“That’s the Lady,” Astris said, voice sad, whiskers admiring. “Proud as the rocks underfoot and twice as hard.”

In other words, the Queen was a pigheaded idiot. And I seemed to be the only one who thought it was a problem.

When Oxygen was gone, Astris grabbed Mr. Rat and plunged into the dancing. I ran up to the Castle and climbed into bed, where I shut out the stars with the curtains and the music with my pillow.

 

 

I
told Astris about Lincoln Center the next morning.

Her whiskers quivered like butterfly wings. “How very exciting,” she said. “You’ll wear the silver dress, of course, and I’ll see if I can fix up Satchel a bit. You’ll be needing a carriage. And a cloak. Oh, and a ticket.” Her pink nose wrinkled. “I can’t magic up a ticket.”

“It’s all set,” I said. “This Lincoln Center changeling said he’d fix it up for me.”

The whiskers went into overdrive. “A mortal boy has invited you to the ballet? Oh, dear. Is this a Date?” I could hear the capital letter in her voice. “The Fairy Nurse told me about Dates. Is he going to make you pay him with a kiss?”

I went hot, then cold, then hot again. “It’s not a date,” I managed at last. “It’s a quest. Sheesh, Astris. He’s a
friend
. I wish I hadn’t said anything. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s probably against Rule Three.”

The whiskers went still. “Rule Three’s very convenient, isn’t it?” Astris fixed me with a ruby eye. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, pet? Oh, dear me. A Quest and a Date. Whatever next?”

 

When I came down the stairs in the Dress Silver as the Moon, Astris, Mr. Rat, all the mice wintering in the basement, and some of the bolder ghosts were waiting in the kitchen to see me off. Astris had spent the afternoon with the dress and a bottle of polish. It was pale gray now, and patches of it glittered in the lamplight like stars in a cloudy sky.

“Ooh,” said the ghosts, who were easily impressed.

“She walks in beauty, like the night,” murmured Mr. Rat, who liked poetry.

Astris handed me Satchel, spelled down to half its size and decorated with a silver bow. “You look very nice, pet,” she said. “Remember to pay the horse and the driver—Satchel will give you some cheese. Try not to get the cloak wet. And remember that the carriage won’t last past midnight.” She looked at my sneakered feet. “Oh, dear. Are you sure you don’t want me to change those into glass slippers for you?”

“They’re fine,” I said. “I’ll remember about the carriage. You’re a peach, Astris.”

She patted my skirt fondly and said she’d see me at midnight.

Pumpkins are thin on the ground in Central Park, so Astris had provided me with an apple cart. It had a shiny red body and round, bright green wheels and white velvet upholstery. Astris had recruited one of our mice and a (non-talking) rat and turned them into a cabbie and a dun-colored cab horse, both with buck teeth. The cabbie tucked my silver skirts inside the door, jumped into the driver’s seat, squeaked at the horse, and we were off.

In no time at all, we were through the Park and stuck in traffic in Columbus Circle. I saw horseless carriages and chariots pulled by everything from frogs to gigantic dogs, plus coaches made from every kind of fruit I could think of, including a pomegranate. There was even an old-fashioned witch’s sulky hitched to a pair of fire-breathing goats.

Then my rat-horse leapt into a gap between two carriages and the apple cart lurched forward, throwing me back against the white velvet seat.

Eventually, we pulled up to Lincoln Center and stopped. Everything—the plaza, the fountain, the three theaters—glittered with fairy lights and jeweled torches, as bright as Broadway but a lot more elegant. It was all I could do to wait for the cabbie to open the door and help me unpack myself from the apple cart. I did, however, remember to give him the cheese before I picked up my silver skirts and marched up the golden steps to the Plaza.

The crowd in the Plaza was dressed to kill. I saw lots of fur—both self-grown and borrowed—and velvet cloaks and lace and fairy dust. Folk with fingers or necks had decorated them lavishly with jewels. Many wore top hats, and not just the vampires, either. I was glad to see my dress fit right in.

Since Danskin had said he’d meet me in the lobby, I stationed myself by a door, where I’d be easy to find. A stream of elves, kitsune, afrits, air spirits of a hundred different nations poured past me. No Danskin.

Maybe I was early. I waited. The stream slowed to a trickle. Still no Danskin.

When I realized he wasn’t coming, I was furious. Also, without a ticket or any way of buying one: Satchel didn’t do gold.

Well, I’d just jump in and hope for the best.

By now, there was almost nobody in the lobby except a group of East Side fairies and the guardian spirit taking tickets by the stairs. The fairies headed for the stairs in a clump. I slid in behind them.

A muscular arm in a dark blue jacket barred my way. “Ticket, please.”

“Oh, dear.” I looked up at the uniformed guardian. “Didn’t Prince Hyacinthe give you my ticket just now? Maybe you dropped it. Will you check?”

The guardian spirit didn’t take his eyes off me. They were a cold, clear blue, like sunlight through thick ice. “One person, one ticket,” he said. “If you have no ticket, you go away.”

His hair was ice white, hanging in two long braids over the shoulders of his jacket. I guessed he was from Finland or Norway.

I opened my mouth to explain about Danskin and the promised tickets, shut it when I realized he probably wouldn’t believe me, not after the lie about “Prince Hyacinthe.”

“I have to see the ballet. I’m on a quest. See?” I pulled the quest pass from the neck of my dress. “Here’s my pass.”

The guardian bent to examine the medal. “Nice metal-work. Pure gold. Very pretty. Not a ticket, though.”

“A quest pass is
like
a ticket,” I said. “It gets you into places the quest leads you to. Like the Ballet Theater. It’s very important.”

The guardian chuckled. “You are funny person. Very entertaining. You might should go to Broadway. But not to ballet. Here is high art, not low joking.”

“This isn’t a joke. You’re a guardian spirit, right?”

He proudly tugged his jacket straight. “
Ovenvartija
,” he said. “Door Warden in the Old Country. I come over with my family. Family go west, I stay New York. Now I am Usher at Ballet. Is good job.”

“Well, Usher . . .”

“Fred,” he corrected me.

“Fred?”

“New country, new job, new name.” He leaned down a little. “We talk about you see ballet with no ticket, better you talk to Fred.”

“Okay then. Fred. I really have to see this ballet.”

The ice-blue eyes narrowed. “You such big fan, why I never see you before?”

“I’m not a fan.” Fred frowned. “I told you, I’m on a
quest
. My Neighborhood is in danger and I’m the only one who can save it.”

“
Swan Lake
is ballet,” Fred pointed out. “Ballet is beautiful only. I think you are telling mortal thing. What you call it? When story is not true?”

“You mean a lie. And no, I’m not. I really do need to see
Swan Lake
. I’m looking for a swan maiden, you see, and—”

“
Swan Lake
has plenty swan maidens.” Fred thought for a moment. “Is impossible, what you ask. My job is to make sure nobody sees ballet who does not pay.”

I pulled the strip of silver moon-cloth out of my hair. “This is silver. Also magic. Will it do?”

Fred made it disappear into his pocket. “Come. I hear overture begin.”

He led me up a wide flight of marble stairs to a glass and marble hall you could have fit all of Belvedere Castle into with room to spare. He headed for another, narrower stair, which led to another and another and another. I climbed grimly, thankful I’d held out for my sneakers, getting slower and slower. Fred grabbed a handful of my cloak, dragged me up the last flight of steps, across a carpeted hall, and through a bronze door into a darkness full of beautiful, swoony music.

We stood inside the door while I got my breath back and my eyes adjusted to the dark. We were up by the ceiling of a gigantic cavern filled with rows and rows of well-dressed Folk. About ten miles below was a dazzling stage. On it, a bunch of dancers, tiny as mice, moved in patterns like the figures of a fairy reel, but much more complicated.

I didn’t see any swans.

Fred guided me to a velvet-covered rail. “Stand here,” he whispered, and slipped away.

Figuring the swans would show up later, I settled down to watch. I knew the dancers had to be Folk—ballet was high art, after all—but they seemed to be pretending to be mortals. Nobody flew, although they jumped around a lot, and there was lots of bowing and touching each other, which isn’t usual Folk behavior at all. They were mostly dressed like peasants, too, except for a few elves in tights and velvet jackets that didn’t even cover their butts.

One elf, in blue tights and a tiny gold crown, was clearly a handsome prince. After watching everyone dance for a while, he picked up a little golden bow and ran offstage. I guessed he was going hunting. I hoped it was for swans.

At that point, the curtain went down. Everybody got up and wandered around, but I stayed where I was, in case somebody wanted to see my ticket. I wasn’t going to risk getting thrown out before the swans showed up.

Finally, everybody came back, the lights dimmed, and the curtain rose again on a fake-looking forest. The handsome prince came on and leapt around the stage, waving his little golden bow in a way the Pooka would have said was very dangerous. Luckily, he didn’t have an arrow.