The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen (2 page)

The Pooka swallowed a gulp of tea. “Well, that’s the thing of it. We’re not entirely certain what a school might be.” He hesitated. “I’ve heard tell you learn things there.”

“I learn things
here
, in the Park,” I pointed out. “Astris teaches me Folk lore. Mr. Rat teaches me fishing and rowing, Stuart Little teaches me sailing, and the Water Folk teach me swimming and water sports. The Shakespeare Fairies teach me poetry. The Old Market Woman at the Metropolitan Museum teaches me ancient languages and art appreciation, Iolanthe teaches me dancing, and you teach me questing and trickery. What else is there to learn?”

Astris fixed me with a stern ruby eye. “We don’t know. And that’s why you have to go to school.” She hesitated. “You’re growing up, Neef. You’re changing every day. I’m used to mortals growing from little to medium-sized, but—” She stopped, her whiskers twitching unhappily.

“None of them grew up,” I finished for her. “Yeah, I know.”

Last summer, I’d found out that none of the Central Park changelings who came before me lived very long. They’d drowned in the Harlem Meer or fallen off a cliff or done something stupid and been eaten by the Wild Hunt. I did something stupid, too, but I didn’t get eaten. I got sent on a quest instead.

“But you
are
growing up,” Astris said. “And school is part of it. Think of it as your reward for surviving your quest.”

The Pooka picked up the last cookie. “The truth is,” he said, waving it at me, “you’re the official Central Park changeling. When you get big, you’ll do whatever it is official changelings do. Which we haven’t a notion of, not having had one since before the Genius Wars. And that’s why you must go to school—to learn official changelinging.”

I looked at the Pooka and Astris and my cooling tea and the empty plate. I got up. “I’m hot,” I said. “I’m going for a swim.”

I took off before they could react. When I reached the courtyard, I heard Astris chittering behind me. I speeded up. I needed to move, I needed to think, I needed to get away from the Pooka’s eyebrows and Astris’s anxious whiskers.

And I
was
hot.

 

Astris and I live in Belvedere Castle, high on a rocky cliff between the wooded hill of the Ramble and Central Park Central, the big field where all the Fairy Gatherings are. I swim in the Turtle Pond, which is at the foot of the cliff. The only way down is to follow the path through the Shakespeare Garden to the stair cut into the cliffside.

It was a hot, muggy afternoon, all white sky and dust and sticky sweat down my back. The shadows of the Shakespeare Garden looked cool, but weren’t. I slowed down and pulled up the hem of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. As I passed the big mulberry tree, a voice floated down from the branches: “I know something you don’t know.”

I looked up, and saw the hobgoblin Puck, grinning slyly at me through the leaves.

My life is full of tricksters. I know how to deal with them.

“Don’t you always?” I said. “Well, guess what? I don’t care who the Willow weeps for or where the Squirrel King hides his nuts.”

Puck grinned wider and started to chant. “
School days, school days, dear old Golden Rule days
.”

I groaned. “Am I the only person in Central Park who didn’t know I’m going to school tomorrow?”

“Lord, what fools these mortals be.”

“All right, Puck. If you know so much, tell me. What’s school like?”

Puck made a wry face. “
Readin’ and ’ritin’ and ’rithmetic, taught to the tune of a hick’ry stick
.” He shrugged. “What know I of mortal ignorance, Neef, save that it is boundless?”

He stuck out his tongue, long and red and pointed, then disappeared among the mulberry leaves, leaving me feeling like an idiot, as usual.

At least nobody at school could tease me about being a mortal.

At the Pond, I shed my jeans and cannonballed into the water, splashing the ducks who’d been dabbling, tail-up, in the shallows.

They popped upright, sputtering and coughing. “Why don’tcha watch where you’re goin’?” they quacked angrily.

I dove into the water and frogged my way through the cool, green dimness, scattering fish and upsetting the turtles. I didn’t care. I had to move, or I’d jump out of my skin.

It wasn’t just having school sprung on me and the Pooka eating all the cookies. I’d been crabby and restless ever since I came home from my quest.

The thing was, I’d learned there was more to New York Between than just Central Park. I’d been to Broadway. I’d played the Riddle Game with the Mermaid Queen of New York Harbor and done a deal with the Dragon of Wall Street and lived to tell about it. I’d even met my fairy twin, which was a trip all by itself. I’d had a real Fairy-tale Adventure.

After that, Central Park felt kind of tame. Here I was, officially the hero and champion of Central Park, and I still had to keep my room clean and go to bed when Astris told me to. It was enough to make a tree scream.

When I got tired of swimming, I floated on my back, looked up into the hazy white sky, and wondered what school would be like. Would there be a lot of rules, like the Folk had, about who you could speak to and how and when? Would they make us learn long lists of Folk and their ways?

Would they teach us magic? I really wanted to learn magic.

The shadow of Castle Rock crept out over me. I paddled to the shore and climbed out onto the bank.

And that was when I realized that I’d forgotten to bring a towel or anything dry to put on over my wet T-shirt.

The ducks laughed like loons, and I thought I could hear the turtles sniggering. I picked up my jeans and dripped all the way up the steps and across the courtyard to the Castle.

I peeked in the kitchen door. The entire contents of my clothes chest was draped over the furniture, with the Pooka standing in the middle of it, holding my Demon Dance T-shirt by one sleeve and shaking his head.

“What are you
doing
?” I squealed.

Astris snatched up a kitchen towel. “You’re as wet as a fish, pet. Come by the stove and have a cup of tea. You’ll catch your death.”

I ignored her. “Why are my clothes all over the kitchen?”

“Your godfather and I were discussing what you should wear to school tomorrow. Do dry yourself, pet. You’re dripping all over the floor.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” I took the towel and rubbed at my hair. “I’ll wear jeans and a T-shirt. It doesn’t have to be the Demon Dance one.”

The Pooka dropped the shirt and nudged it to one side with his toe. “My heart,” he said, “you will not so. Your jeans are out at the knees, and each and every one of your shirts is a crying and a shame. Mortals care about such things.”

“I’m a mortal,” I said. “I don’t care.”

“You should.” To my surprise, he was totally serious. “The pride and honor of the Park are at stake.” He pointed to a chair piled with black and white. “Put those on, and let’s have a look at you.”

It was the black pants and white top Honey the vampire had given me last summer so I’d fit in on Wall Street. I took them upstairs, changed, and came down again, tugging at my top and wishing my waistband wasn’t cutting me in half.

The Pooka walked around me. “The britches are a bit snug.”

“I’ve grown,” I said defensively. “There’s no rule against that, is there?”

The Pooka
tsk
ed. “With your leave,” he said, and laid his hands on my shoulders. Immediately, my clothes began to squirm unpleasantly against my skin.

I squealed and wriggled. “Be still,” the Pooka said severely, and I bit my lip and endured until everything settled down.

“Better,” the Pooka said, “but it’s lacking something.” He took off his own coat. It was black, with a nipped-in waist and full skirts and wide sleeves with turned-back cuffs and big silver buttons. He helped me into it. It snuggled across my shoulders, smelling faintly, like the Pooka, of animal.

“There,” he said. “They’ll all be inquiring after your tailor, so they will, and never mind your worn jeans. Mind you take care of it, now. Coats like that don’t grow on trees.”

I spun around, making the skirts whirl, and grinned at him gratefully.

“One thing I do know about school,” Astris said, “is that you must get there bright and early in the morning.”

I hate getting up early. I sighed. “Is there a Betweenways stop nearby?”

The Pooka shoved a pile of clothes off a chair and sat down. “Will I let a godchild of mine take the Betweenways her first day of school? I will not so. See you’re waiting for me in the courtyard—shall we say dawnish?—and I’ll take you there myself.”

Since Folk don’t like being touched unless they ask, I didn’t hug him.

Astris announced it was time for dinner and I must tidy everything away. Because of the coat, I did not point out that I wasn’t the one who had spread my clothes all over the kitchen. I gathered them up and headed to my room at the top of the tower.

On the second-floor landing, I passed the full-length mirror hanging outside Astris’s room.

Mirrors are rare in New York Between. Astris’s mirror is the only one in Central Park, if you don’t count the Magic Magnifying Mirror I won from the Mermaid Queen, which now belonged to the Green Lady of Central Park. As magic mirrors go, Astris’s mirror is pretty lame: it shows things exactly the way they are.

I dropped the clothes on a step and studied my reflection.

Now that everything fit, my outfit looked super-cool—a lot cooler than I did. My hair was okay, a slightly tamer version of the twiggy mass the moss women in the Ramble sported, but my face was just medium. I wasn’t extra-beautiful or extra-ugly, I didn’t have horns or warts or feathers or scales or green skin or anything to make me stand out in a crowd. Which was good, right?

I stuck out my tongue. My reflection returned the gesture. Then I picked up my clothes and went upstairs.

 

 

E
arly next morning, a black pony with flaming yellow eyes clattered into the courtyard of Belvedere Castle, ready to take me across the City to Miss Van Loon’s School for Mortal Changelings.

Astris was one big twitch of nerves. “Did you brush your hair? Eat your breakfast? Drink your orange juice? I know you don’t like orange juice, but it’s good for you. Do you have Satchel? What about a scarf? Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”

Satchel is my magic bag. It’s old and beat up and smells of damp leather, but I never go anywhere without it. It gives me mortal food and holds everything I put in it without getting any heavier. “Satchel’s right here. And it’s still summer—I don’t need a scarf. Stop fussing, Astris. I went on a whole quest by myself.”

Astris patted my knee with pink paws. “I know, pet. It’s just . . . well, I worry, you know. It’s a fairy godmother’s job to worry.”

“I know,” I said impatiently. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I didn’t say good-bye. It’s against the rules to say good-bye.

It’s also against the rules to ride black ponies with flaming yellow eyes, because they might buck you off into a bottomless lake and drown you. But since the black pony in question is my fairy godfather, it’s one rule I can safely ignore.

The Pooka and I trotted east until we got to the low granite wall that marks the boundary between the Park and Fifth Avenue.

I’ve lived next door to Fifth all my life, but I’ve actually never been there. It’s all buildings, vaguely fortresslike, guarded by door wardens dressed up in ceremonial armor with elf swords at their hips—not very appealing to someone used to trees and grass. The Pooka leapt lightly over the wall; the nearest wardens glared and fingered their swords. I waved cheerfully to them as we trotted east toward Park Avenue.

Astris had told me that the strip of trees and flowers down the middle of Park Avenue was under the care of the Green Lady. She hadn’t mentioned that the trees were imprisoned in stone pots and the flowers were barricaded behind iron fences. I wanted to stop and find out if they minded, but the Pooka trotted on into Yorkville, where the German Folk live in narrow brownstone houses with white lace curtains at the windows.

“East River Park ahead,” the Pooka remarked.

Up to now, I’d been feeling pretty good. I was seeing the City, the Pooka was with me, I was going to meet mortals, everything was fine—except maybe Park Avenue. Now I panicked. “You’ll come in with me, won’t you, Pooka?”

“With the red curiosity burning my heart like a bonfire at Samhain? You couldn’t keep me out.”

A breeze sprang up, carrying a bitter, salty, unfamiliar smell. “That’ll be the East River,” the Pooka said. “Miss Van Loon’s is down a bit on the right, in case you’re interested.”