The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen (27 page)

I raised my hand. “He’s got a couple of choices. He could wait until a Full Moon Gathering and take his complaint to the Genius of whatever Neighborhood he lives in—although if it’s the Wholesaler of the Garment District, probably all he’ll get is a review of his shoe designs.”

The corners of the Diplomat’s mouth twitched slightly. “And his second choice?”

“He can track down the Voice of the Wholesaler and get him or her to work things out with the Voice of whatever neighborhood the CEO lives in.”

The Diplomat nodded. “What do the rest of you think?”

They thought a lot of things. I didn’t listen.

It was weird being back in school, sitting in lessons and answering questions like everything was just as it had been. My quest for the Mermaid’s mirror felt like it had happened a hundred years ago, to somebody else. I had changed. Everything had changed.

For instance, Airboy was sitting next to me.

We’d been seeing a lot of each other over the past three days. Apparently, being Junior Attaché to the Embassy of the Mermaid Queen meant that Airboy was responsible for setting everything up for the alliance. I’d helped things along by talking Astris into inviting him to tea with the Pooka and Councilor Snuggles. It was a little awkward at first, but by the time the Autumn cookies were gone, Snuggles had promised to arrange an “accidental” encounter with the Lady by Bethesda Fountain.

The meeting itself had been kind of fraught. There wasn’t going to be a moon, so it had to happen in the afternoon, when the Lady is never at her best. As soon as she saw Oxygen and Airboy, she totally snaked out, scales and twirling eyeballs and everything. Airboy told me later he thought it was pretty impressive, but not as bad as the Mermaid Queen’s rages. “She isn’t really going to bite anybody. She just wants you to think she might.”

Which was pretty much what I thought, too.

Once she’d recovered from her fairy fit, the Lady listened quietly to our proposal.

“The Wild Places Alliance,” she said thoughtfully. “Okay, I’m in. As long as Old Fish-Face keeps her scales clean.”

There was a ceremony, of course. Oxygen presented the Lady with a huge pearl that would turn red when the Harbor was threatened. After some thought, the Lady produced an acorn enclosed in a hollow stone that would split when the Park was in danger. Then she disappeared, and Councilor Snuggles went off to present Oxygen to the rest of the Lady’s council, leaving Airboy, the Pooka, and me alone by the fountain.

“That’s that, then,” the Pooka said. “You look dead beat, the pair of you. Home to bed, my heart, and may a blessing of sleep be upon you for four-and-twenty hours. And where are you off to, boyo?”

Airboy was climbing the steps that led to the street. “Home,” he threw over his shoulder. “Like you said.”

“You’ll be long enough getting there by that road.” The Pooka shifted from man to pony, shaking back the inky forelock that fell over his eyes. “Hop up and I’ll carry you to the Hudson.”

Airboy kept climbing. “That’s okay,” he said. “I can walk.”

The Pooka arched his neck proudly. “It’s hurt to the soul I am, to think you’d not trust me to carry the Mermaid Queen’s Junior Attaché safely on his way.”

Airboy stopped, but he didn’t turn around. There was a long pause. “No wild rides,” the Pooka said. “By the sacred peace between our Neighborhoods, I swear it.”

Then Airboy came down the steps. “I accept,” he said. “Sorry.”

The Pooka shook his mane. “Pish, boy. No need to apologize. It’s perfectly reasonable to doubt a trickster such as myself.”

 

Back in Advanced Diplomacy, the discussion of the leprechaun and his shoe problem was going strong. Abercrombie was arguing that dancing slippers with no soles couldn’t really be repaired.

With Tiffany out of the scene, Abercrombie had pretty much taken over as the new leader of the East Siders. Bergdorf had been busted from debutante to personal-assistant-in-training. She blamed Mother Carey, Tiffany’s godmother. To get back at her, she told the East Siders just exactly what had happened to Tiffany and what we’d done about it. Now nobody would go near the third-floor bathroom, even though someone had hung a curtain over the mirror.

I still had my quest pass. I was planning to return it to the Diplomat after lessons were over, along with the report—on parchment in my best handwriting—of what Neighborhoods I’d visited in the course of my quest, what magical objects I’d gained (if any) and what I’d accomplished (if anything). It was weird seeing it all written down, ending with “An Alliance formalized between the Mermaid Queen of New York Harbor and the Green Lady of Central Park.” It made me feel like a real diplomat.

Airboy’s elbow in my ribs let me know my lack of attention was in danger of being noticed.

The Diplomat was making an announcement. “. . . a new student to introduce to you. It is not usually school policy to admit new students between the Equinox and the Solstice, but the Bowery has not sponsored a changeling at Miss Van Loon’s in a very long time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Woolworth of the Bowery.”

I felt Airboy jerk upright beside me. Advanced Diplomacy students are far too self-possessed to react out loud, but for a second, it was like all the air had been sucked from the room.

Woolworth marched forward and stood beside the Diplomat’s desk. Her Inside Sweater, empty of gold stars, was ripped at the shoulder and along one pocket, which was pinned on with safety pins. Under it, she wore a low-cut black top and baggy gray pants stuffed into heavy black lace-up boots. Her nails were painted black and her blonde hair was hacked short and pulled back from her forehead to display what Bloody Mary had done to her.

Five long scars scored the left side of her face from hairline to chin, with one extending all the way down her neck and across her chest. I wondered whether she’d even used the Glamourist’s beauty cream. Then I realized it would look a lot worse if she hadn’t.

“What’re you chumps looking at?” she asked the room at large. “Do I have a smudge on my cheek?” She rubbed at the deepest scar. “Whaddya know? It doesn’t come off.”

“Woolworth,” the Diplomat said warningly. “Do you think this is the most useful attitude to take?”

Woolworth glared at her fiercely. “It’s
Bowery
attitude. Get used to it.” Then she honored the Diplomat with a graceful and perfectly executed bow, stomped to the back of the room, and sat down. The air quivered with everybody’s desire to turn and stare at her, but nobody moved a muscle.

“One more announcement,” the Diplomat said. “Today, I have the honor of presenting two gold stars. Neef, Airboy, if you would care to step forward?”

Airboy looked ready to crawl under the desk. I gave him a poke and herded him to the front of the room. His neck and ears were a painful, deep red. I had a feeling mine weren’t much better. We stood there, glowing like beacons, while the Diplomat made an endless speech about City Harmony and Diplomatic Initiative and Grace Under Pressure that made me squirm. What saved me was the sight of Woolworth slouching in the back row, tapping a pencil noisily on the desk and sneering furiously.

And then the Diplomat handed us each a gold star.

I’d never really noticed that gold stars were beautiful. Maybe it was because this one was new. Maybe it was because this one was mine. It shone with a glory of pure and golden light around a tiny, intense, five-pointed center. It was magic—not the kind of magic that does anything, just the kind of magic that is wonderful and mysterious and, well, magical.

I looked up at the Diplomat. “This is a greater honor than I can ever deserve.”

“Your modesty does you credit, Neef. But you do deserve it, or I wouldn’t give it to you. Be careful, though. One quest’s diplomatic initiative can be another quest’s diplomatic incident. Do you understand me?”

I did. And suddenly, I understood Rule 0, too. “I do, Diplomat.”

“Airboy, Neef, these gold stars mean that you need not attend Diplomacy anymore. But I hope that you will continue your lessons, at least until Winter Solstice.”

“Certainly, Diplomat,” I said. And I meant it, too. There was a lot I wanted to learn, especially about crisis management.

And that was that.

Our table picked up a bunch of new lunchers that day. Some Tech-heads, eager to geek out about the Mermaid’s mirror. Fortran was in his element. Mukuti made nice to a couple of renegade East Siders, while Espresso talked Folk lore and poetry with a mixed group of West Siders, Spanish Harlemites, and Villagers. Woolworth sat glowering at the end of the table, bracketed by Danskin and Stonewall, who were sparkling at everyone, planting the seeds, I realized, of future alliances.

I opened Satchel and pulled out my lunch: white cheese, black bread, an apple. Across the table Airboy grinned and offered me a piece of fish.

 

 

 

Apopa
(
Inuit
): A kind of dwarf. They’re supposed to be truly hideous and misshapen and deformed, but I’ve never seen one, so who knows? Maybe it’s just bad press related to their habit of playing nasty tricks on people.

 

Banshee
(
Ireland
): A spirit who flies around wailing when someone important is going to die. Think nails across a blackboard. Now turn up the volume. Now think of the saddest sound you ever heard. That’s what a banshee’s wail sounds like.

 

Black Dog/Gabriel Hound
(
England
): Bad dogs. Very, very bad dogs. They lead you astray, they attack you with their foot-long teeth, they foretell your death. They tend to show up at intersections and on bridges, and they have glowing red eyes.

 

Brownie/Kobold
(
Europe
): Household spirits. They’re all about cleaning and helping around the house. They’ll do anything: laundry, mending, scrubbing the stove. They’ll even wash windows. They’re all pretty small (about knee-high) and skinny. There are differences, though. The Brownies (from England) are brown (duh) and shaggy-haired and have webbed hands. You can make them go away by giving them new clothes and saying “Thank you.” Kobolds (from Germany) are gray and bald and much crabbier than brownies. They take their milk with dirt, and think everybody else should, too.

 

Centaur
(
Greece
): Half man, half horse, with the man part at the front. Chiron, the Green Lady’s Councilor, is a Literary Character. Back in the Old Country, he was a healer and an astronomer and a teacher of heroes. He tried to teach me astronomy once, but we decided it would be better to wait until I was bigger, and maybe knew some math.

 

Demon
(
Everywhere
): A kind of general term for bad guys of all sizes, shapes, and places of origin. A demon can have anywhere between no and twelve heads, and as many arms as will fit on its body. It’s usually a good idea to keep as far away from them as possible.

 

Djinn/Afrit
(
Middle East
): Djinns are wind spirits. Afrits are fire spirits. Both are big, powerful, mean, and smart. When you make a bargain with a djinn or an afrit, be sure you get it in writing and read all the fine print before you sign.