The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen (9 page)

He stood out against the Folk like a boulder in a flower garden. He moved, and starlight glittered from the silver safety pins on his shiny black vest. I’d seen vests like that last summer on my quest. They were the official uniform of the merguards at the Court of the Mermaid Queen of New York Harbor.

My heart and hands were suddenly as cold as my moon-silver skirt.

The mortal bowed. “My Lady Genius of Central Park,” he shouted, loud and deep. “I am the Voice of the Mermaid Queen of New York Harbor. On this day of balance between light and dark, my mistress sends you greetings.”

The Lady’s hair burst angrily from its neat coil, scattering her crown of leaves. “I’ll just bet she does, buster. Let’s cut to the chase here. I’m not giving up the Magic Magnifying Mirror. My champion won it fair and square. You can tell old Fish Breath, from me, that she can put that in her water pipe and smoke it.”

By now, the Park Folk were listening intently. Those who had hands applauded.

The Voice of the Mermaid Queen ignored them. “My Lady Queen foresaw your answer. And she bade me say this: The Magnifying Mirror is part of New York Harbor, just as the trees and water and grass and stones are part of Central Park. It was given to her by the first mortal changeling at the Council of Inwood, and it cannot be taken from her without upsetting the balance of power. You must return it.”

The Green Lady’s hair writhed around her head. “
Must
, Fish Boy?”

“My Lady Queen,” the Voice went on, “says this: Return the mirror by the Winter Solstice or she will flood all the waters of the Park with salt.”

Now would be the time, I knew, for the champion of Central Park (namely, me) to jump in and save the day. Except I couldn’t think of any way of saving it. The Diplomat’s lessons on negotiating treaties and making conversation flashed through my brain, offering not a single useful clue. If there was a lesson about preventing a disaster, we hadn’t got to it yet.

“Winter Solstice, huh?” The Lady’s voice was thoughtful. “Okay. Here’s the deal. You tell Her Fishyness I’ll get back to her. I’m not making any promises here, but I’ll think about it. Now, get lost.”

The Voice of the Mermaid Queen bowed and walked away.

The Lady clapped her hands. “Dance time! Come on, you guys, whatcha waiting for? Solstice?”

Nobody moved.

“What a bunch of chumps! Look at you, scared of a stupid mortal that smells like three-day-old fish! Old Lady Fish Breath can’t make salt from seawater, let alone turn the Reservoir and all the lakes and ponds into brine. She’s talking through her hat.”

A low murmur of doubt and rebellion swept through the Folk, rising into panic. I clung to my branch. Then a couple of nixies surged forward, weedy hair streaming in distress, and begged the Lady to save them. That did it. Naiads wept, water-horses whinnied, and vodyanoi croaked nervously. Above the hubbub, I heard a banshee shrieking that she’d never get her bloody linen clean if she had to wash it in salt water.

“Shaddup!” the Lady screamed. “Am I or am I not the Genius of Central Park? Would I let anything bad happen to our water? Fuggedaboutdit!”

Slowly, the tumult faded. The nixies and naiads backed off; the water-horses pawed the ground uncertainly. The Lady’s hair settled back on her shoulders. “That’s better,” she said. “Now. Let’s have a little music here!”

The trees began to play, raggedly at first, then more enthusiastically. I wasn’t surprised when the Folk started to dance. Folk are Folk. They do what they do. When they see gold, they have to take it. When you make a wish, they have to grant it. When music plays, they have to dance until the dance is done.

Not me. I’m mortal. I can’t dance all night without stopping. And I can’t dance if I don’t feel like it.

I climbed down from the tree, careful not to get tangled in my skirt. Then I collapsed on the nearest rock, put my spinning head in my hands, and tried to think.

I’d hardly started when the Pooka appeared in front of me in his man shape. His long black hair was braided in a thick tail between his shoulders, his eyebrows looked like they were about to fly off his forehead, and his narrow eyes shone a bright, wicked yellow.

“You’re not dancing!” he cried. “Is it waiting for your old fairy godfather you are?”

“Go away, Pooka. I don’t want to dance.”

“Don’t want to dance? Are you stone mad? Why should you not want to dance, for all love?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He quirked a flying eyebrow at me. “It’s the Mermaid Queen, isn’t it, with her puffing and blowing threats here, there, and everywhere. Never mind her, my heart. She’ll not be salting the waters tonight. There’s plenty of time before Midwinter.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I still don’t feel like dancing.”

He pulled me to my feet and toward the reel. I jerked away.

“Stop it, Pooka. I’m worried, okay? The Water Folk are my friends. I don’t want them to get all salty and poisoned. Why doesn’t the Lady just give the Queen her mirror back? It’s not like she knows how to use it or anything.”

“You’re right,” the Pooka said. “The Lady can no more make the mirror work for her than a brownie can fly to the moon.”

“Then why not return it?”

“She’s a Genius,” the Pooka said, “not a sheep. She may be led, but she won’t be driven.” He grinned. “Which is why you’re in school, learning the finer points of Genius-herding.”

School, where Tiffany was Queen of the May and I was just a Wild Child slated to get her face scratched off on Hallowe’en night. I made a quick decision. “I’m quitting school, Pooka. Maybe I’ll go back later, after I’ve saved the Park.”

The Pooka was amused. “And how will you be doing that thing?”

This seemed obvious. “I’ll persuade the Lady to give the Mermaid Queen her mirror back, of course.”

“The Lady’d throw you to the Hunt before you’d opened your mouth.”

“Well, I’ll get the Mermaid Queen to back off.”

“Have they taught you underwater breathing, then, in that school of yours?”

I had one last idea. “I could go on a quest?”

“Bah,” the Pooka said. “What kind of quest? For what? To where? Herne the Hunter help me, do you know nothing? No,” he went on before I could argue, “you’ll go to school tomorrow as always, bright and early in the morning, brushed and dressed and ready to learn. In the meantime, tonight is a dancing night, and dance you must, willing or no.”

I knew I’d lost the argument, but at least I could have the last word. “Aha,” I said triumphantly. “I can’t go to school tomorrow. It’s a day off.”

“All the more reason to dance tonight, then.” And the Pooka drew me into the reel.

 

At dawn, the Pooka carried me up to the Castle. I slept all day, and when I woke up, it was dark out. Disoriented, I got up and tripped over a heap of cold slitheriness that smelled of tarnish.

I remembered everything: the Dress Silver as the Moon, the Equinox Reel, the Voice of the Mermaid Queen. I remembered the threat to the Park. I remembered Miss Van Loon’s Hallowe’en Revels and Tiffany’s challenge.

It looked like this fall was going to be even more full of adventures than last summer.

 

 

T
he first lesson the morning after Equinox Break was Talismans.

When we were all seated, the Magic Tech said, “Today we’re going to talk about magic mirrors. Anybody here ever used one?”

I didn’t raise my hand. Too many explanations I didn’t feel like making, too many questions I didn’t want to answer. I listened with half an ear while the Magic Tech went on about doors between realities and harmonic resonances and the technical differences between mirrors backed with silver and mirrors backed with mercury.

“It’s possible to tune mirrors to each other,” the Magic Tech said. “But it’s dangerous, and ultimately unstable. If one mirror goes offline, it weakens all the others.”

The only mirror that interested me at the moment was the Mermaid Queen’s. I stopped listening.

While I’d been waiting for it to be dawn, I’d done a lot of thinking. Taking the Magnifying Mirror from the Mermaid Queen had made me a hero, but it had also put the Park in danger. Was that my fault? Or was it the Lady’s for giving me the quest in the first place? Not that it mattered one way or the other. As official Park changeling, it was my job to fix it.

If I could figure out how. If I survived Hallowe’en and my stupid bet with Tiffany.

At this point, I realized the Magic Tech was standing in front of me. He was holding a ring with a black stone over my head and looking concerned.

“Problems, Neef?”

I cranked up a smile. “Problems?” I said brightly. “No. Just not enough sleep.”

He frowned at the ring. “The Mood Ring says Distress. Must be broken.” He shook the ring and stuck it in the pocket of his lab coat. “Pull yourself together, Neef. What if you broke a mirror and you’d been woolgathering when we talked about counterspells?”

“I’d be in deep trouble,” I said. “I know. I’m focused now.”

Which wasn’t true, but what else could I say? The ring was right. On top of everything else, what was I going to tell my friends when they asked how my Equinox had been? The thought of explaining what had happened, of some random East Sider overhearing and telling Tiffany—or, worse yet, that sneaking Airboy . . . No. I’d just keep my head down and my mouth shut and maybe they’d mind their own business for a change.

I’d hardly sat down at lunch when Fortran looked at me. “What’s up? You look like ogre spit.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And you look like an apopa.”

“What’s that?” Fortran asked.

“An incredibly ugly and misshapen dwarf from Alaska.”

Stonewall
tsk
ed. “You’re in a
mood
, girl. Did Radiatorella stay too long at the ball?”

Espresso passed me her cup of milky coffee. I took a sip. It tasted almost as good as it smelled. I opened up Satchel and reached inside, too depressed even to make a wish, and pulled out a hamburger.

“Whoa,” Fortran said. “Satchel’s being nice to you. You must be
really
upset.”

“Are you worried about that stupid challenge?” Danskin said. “Because if you want to get out of it, I bet we can come up with a way.”

I’d almost forgotten Tiffany’s challenge. Now I really wasn’t hungry. I laid my hamburger on Satchel’s flap. “I don’t want to get out of it. I just want to survive.”

“We need to know more about the Angry One,” Mukuti said. “You want me to go look her up in the library?”

“You won’t find anything,” Stonewall said. “She’s an urban legend. In Folkish terms, she’s just a baby. There’s no traditional way to get rid of her. Nobody even knows if she’s a ghost or a ghoul or a hungry demon. That’s why she’s so dangerous.”

This was not what I wanted to hear. “Are you telling me that she doesn’t follow any rules?”

“Of course she does. We just don’t know what they are.”

Stonewall opened his magic bag, pulled out a plate of poached eggs in white sauce, and started to eat. Mukuti, Espresso, and Fortran argued about where Folk came from. I didn’t listen. I’d just remembered that the Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen knew everything.

Relief percolated through me like coffee. I could ask the mirror how to control Bloody Mary. And since the Green Lady never let the mirror out of her sight, I could at least raise the subject of giving it back to the Mermaid Queen at the same time. Of course, I’d have to find the Lady, and then I’d have to think of how to phrase the question so the mirror would answer me, but those were minor details.

Suddenly I was starving. I picked up the hamburger and took a bite. Even cold, it was still good.

 

The Green Lady is hard to find unless she wants you to find her. The Pooka had taught me that the best way to run into her accidentally on purpose was to get really, really lost. And there’s nowhere in Central Park that’s as easy to get lost in as the Ramble.

Even when you’re used to it, the Ramble is spooky at night. The trees stick their roots in front of your feet and catch their twigs in your hair. There are ghosts, too, shadows that are white or gray instead of black. Some of them are still person-shaped; some are so old that they’re nothing but trails of chilly mist or a sudden shiver down the back. I was careful not to look at them too closely, or at the lights that twinkled invitingly between the trees. They were will o’ the wisps,
feux follets
,
ignis fatui
. Following them would mean falling into the Lake at the very least.

I don’t even like to think about what kind of Folk play in the Lake on a dark night before moonrise.