The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen

by Delia Sherman

  The Autumn Equinox was only a week away. Even though the weather was still hot and humid, summer was definitely dying. The grass was brown, the dryads were getting sleepy, the days were growing shorter. During my before-Gathering swim in the Turtle Pond, I overheard the ducks arguing about the best routes south. The field mice were already moving their nests to the Castle cellar, and the resident ghosts were already grumbling about the noise.

  At sunset, the trees clacked their branches to summon Folk to the Gathering. Astris and I crossed the courtyard and joined the crowd of moss women and flower fairies, were-bears and fox-wives from the Zoo, peris and corn-spirits and fauns all flying and lumbering and rolling and scampering toward Central Park Central.

  A roiling fog at the edge of the field hung over the demons and water-horses and vodyanoi, the trolls and ogres and hags who ride the air with the Wild Hunt.

  Astris and I joined Mr. Rat and Stuart Little at our usual Gathering spot beside a grove of pin oaks. It was close enough to the great lawn of Central Park Central to let us see what was going on, but sheltered enough to keep us from getting trampled if the Wild Hunt got out of hand. They’re not supposed to rampage at a Gathering, but you don’t want to get too close in case they forget.

  As the sky darkened, the windows of the buildings around the Park began to light up like constellations of low-hanging stars. The trees gave a woody flourish, and the crowd of Folk parted to make way for the Lady’s Court.

  At the head of the procession, dryads and nymphs trailing late summer draperies of dusty green and brown scattered dry leaves and twigs on the grass. The Lady’s scouts scampered after—squirrels and rats and a few big black crows flying above, cawing raucously. Next came the Lady’s Councilors, one from each of the different kinds of Park Folk: Nutter the Squirrel King, Chiron the centaur, Iolanthe the fairy, Pondscum the ondine, Snuggles the werewolf, the Huddlestone Bridge troll, and Herne of the Wild Hunt.

  And at the end of the procession, surrounded by lantern-carrying fairies and fireflies, came the Green Lady of Central Park.

  When I haven’t seen the Lady for a while—or have only seen her when she’s in a temper—I’m always surprised by how beautiful she can be when she wants. Tonight, her long greeny-brown hair bounced on her shoulders in a million ropy dreadlocks, and her brownygreen face glowed. Her fringed leather miniskirt and jacket were the color of fading leaves, and her high boots were bright green. She looked tall and queenly and proud, and not even a little bit mortal.

  She walked past us to the exact middle of Central Park Central, which is the heart of New York Between, and held out her hands over the grass. The earth groaned and a granite boulder appeared, slowly pushing aside the grass and dirt, rising and rising into a granite throne sparkling with mica.

  Everybody cheered, and the Lady sat down. “Moon’s up,” she said in a voice as clear as the night sky. “Let’s get this show on the road. Who’s got a beef?”

  Officially, Gatherings are for business. Folk complain about their neighbors, ask for favors, brag about adventures, pay tribute. In Neighborhoods whose Geniuses have alliances with other Geniuses, mortal Ambassadors visit between courts, planning street fairs and trading mortal changelings and minor amulets and other precious things. The Lady doesn’t have any alliances, of course. She hasn’t had a mortal Voice to talk to the other Geniuses for her, not for a very long time. When I was finished being educated, I guess she’d have me.

  This was a scary thought.

  Across the lawn, I saw a forest of claws and talons shoot skyward: the Wild Hunt.

  “Fuggedaboutdit,” the Lady said. “I ain’t in the mood for the Hunt’s bellyaching tonight.” She pointed to a leprechaun jigging impatiently in the front row. “Seamus, you got something on your mind, or do you need to go find a bush?”

  The Lady was in a hurry. In short order, she disposed of Seamus’s complaint that the Glen Span Bridge troll was trying to steal his gold, the troll’s complaint that the flint sandals Seamus made him had rubbed a crack in his right foot, and a petition by the flower fairies for more autumn-blooming flowers in the Conservatory Garden. My old enemy Peg Powler of the Wild Hunt had just stepped forward to argue, as she always did, that the Hunt needed more fresh meat, when a crow blundered out of the sky and landed on the Lady’s knee in a flurry of black feathers.

  “Dwarfs,” he cawed. “Dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs.”

  The air quivered with tension as three dwarfs marched into Central Park Central. Dwarfs are not popular in the park. The nature spirits don’t like their axes, and the animals aren’t wild about their taste for exotic fur cloaks. The fairies are nervous around naked iron, even though they’re all protected by anti-ironsickness spells.

  The dwarfs stopped a little way from the Lady’s throne and bowed awkwardly. I noticed their hands were stuck respectfully in their belts. No fur. No iron. No axes. This was obviously a peaceful delegation.

  The middle dwarf stepped forward. “It’s like this, Lady,” he said. “There’s a mess on the border between Riverside Park and the Upper West Side. Seepage. Leaking. Water everywhere. The wall’s undermined, the sidewalk’s a box of dominoes. The trees are upset—leaves all over the place, bark peeling, dryads panicking.”

  The Lady leaned her elbow on her knee, unbalancing the crow. “And the Riverside dryads ain’t telling me all this, why?”

  “It’s the panic, Lady. Afraid to leave their trees. Anyway. Us dwarfs thought we’d do a little quiet poking around on our own, see what’s up, not make a Neighborhood case out of it, if you know what I mean.”

  The Lady obviously didn’t, but I thought I did. The Diplomat had told us about the feud going on between the Provost of Columbia and the Psychiatrist of the Upper West Side. There’d be a horrible fuss if Geniuses got involved. Dwarfs don’t like fuss.

  The Lady looked thoughtful. “Where in Riverside Park?”

  “Up by the marshes,” the dwarf said. “We might have to do some damming.”

  He launched into a speech about water tables and landfill that I did my best to listen to. The Green Lady’s booted foot jigged, and the long ropes of her hair braided and unbraided restlessly. Finally, she interrupted the dwarf in the middle of a sentence.

  “So the marsh is getting out of hand. Fix it. Just don’t go crazy with the digging and don’t move any trees. First complaint I get from a dryad, you’re landfill. You get my drift?”

  The dwarfs groped at their belts where their axes should be. “You do realize we’re trying to do you a favor?” the spokes-dwarf said.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You got hearts the size of the Waldorf.” The Lady stood up. “Now, get lost. We got real Park business to do. And then we’re going to dance. You know what they say: It ain’t a Gathering if you don’t dance.”

  The dwarfs marched away, muttering. I wondered if I could have handled things better.

  “Listen up, guys. Autumn Equinox is almost here, right? I thought I’d get the fun started early this year. You’ve heard about scavenger hunts? You run around collecting special things? There’s a prize? Okay, here’s what you look for. Round things. Shiny things. Things that reflect. Look in any of the Green Places—East River Park, Gramercy, Riverside, Fort Tryon. Anything you find, bring to Councilor Snuggles’s den before the Equinox. I’ll announce the winner at the revel.”

  Peg Powler waddled forward like a huge green toad. “If I can ask one small question, Lady dear? As to the prize? Is it warm and crunchable? Will it fill my belly?”

  “Talk about your one-track minds! It’s a surprise, Peg Powler. That means you’ll have to wait and see. Any more questions? No? Then let the dancing begin!”

  Chapter 6

  RULE 12: STUDENTS MUST NOT CHALLENGE, DARE, OR ENCOURAGE ONE ANOTHER IN DANGEROUS OR RULE- BREAKING PURSUITS.

  Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules

  There is no school the day after a full moon. I danced until moonset and slept until noon, when Astris woke me up to use my negotiating skills
on the Castle ghosts. She said she was tired of their moaning and wanted them to stop. I tried to tell her that ghosts moaning is as natural as fairy godmothers worrying. But she insisted, so I went down and told them they were getting on Astris’s nerves.

  They haunted me out of the cellar. I guess I needed more practice in Diplomacy.

  The next morning was the kind of day only Water Folk and ducks could love. By the time I got to school, my sneakers were soggy and squelchy and my black coat smelled like wet dog. For the first time, I didn’t mind putting on my Inside Sweater.

  Basic Manners was a disaster. Even Peony, who was usually so well behaved I wanted to pinch her to see if she was real, had trouble keeping her pleasant expression cultivated. Fortran, whose manners were pretty basic to begin with, was a total demon. He jittered in his chair and tapped on the desk with his pencil. And when the Diplomat was showing us how to set a table for a formal dinner, he licked a dessert spoon and hung it off his nose.

  We all collapsed into helpless giggles. Even Peony.

  The Diplomat silenced us with a granite glare. “I’m deeply disappointed in each and every one of you. Lightbulb and Sweater, bring me the beans and rice, if you please.”

  In Diplomat-speak, deeply disappointed was about as bad as it could get. Lightbulb and Sweater scrambled to the corner cabinet and got the ritual bowls. The Diplomat upended the small, hard kernels of raw rice and dried black beans over the floor, where they spread into a crunchy, slippery carpet.

  “Girls take the beans. Boys take the rice. Smile while you work. And meditate on the importance of self-control. Fortran, another peep out of you and I’ll send to Talismans for a Cone of Isolation.”

  Everybody was relieved when the horn blew for lunch.

  Our table had been filling up since the beginning of school. Two other Village changelings had followed Stonewall, plus a couple of Danskin’s friends from Lincoln Center. Espresso had made friends with the sari-girl I’d seen in Talismans—Mukuti, from Little India. She had wavy black hair down to her waist and at least three protective amulets around her neck at all times. Her magic bag was made of embroidered silk and produced wonderful spicy-smelling dishes that burned my mouth.

  I took a seat next to Espresso. “Hey there, Neefer-bear,” she said. “What did you do to Tiffany, man? That’s some hairy eyeball she’s giving you.”

  I turned. Tiffany narrowed her sapphire eyes at me. I narrowed mine back. Tiffany mouthed “Wild Child” and bared her perfect teeth. Her fellow East Siders burst into giggles.

  I lowered my eyes to my lunch. “I’m sick of cheese. Anybody want to trade?”

  Espresso offered me a spoonful of what looked like pebbles floating in milk. “Granola?”

  I shook my head.

  Fortran fished around in Backpack, brought out a glass of thick orange stuff. “Mango batido,” he said. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

  It was sweet and cold and creamy. I drank it all.

  During talismans, I had to get permission for a trip to the bathroom.

  I was disappointed, but not surprised, when I opened the bathroom door to see Tiffany and her sidekicks, Best and Bergdorf, posing in front of the mirror. The girls’ bathroom on the third floor boasted the only mirror in Miss Van Loon’s. It wasn’t magical, but the bigger girls spent a lot of time looking at themselves in it. Especially the East Siders.

  Bergdorf was standing sideways and frowning at her skinny reflection in the mirror. “. . . gigantically fat,” I heard her say. “If I want an elf lord to dance with me at Midwinter, I’m going to have to do something extreme.”

  “Stop eating.” Tiffany sounded bored.

  Bergdorf saw me watching in the mirror and blushed painfully.

  Tiffany sneered. “Oh, look. It’s the Wild Child. Need a sandbox, Wild Child?”

  Best gave me a haughty look. She wasn’t as good at it as Tiffany. “Yeah, go find a sandbox. This bathroom is for civilized mortals only.”

  The diplomatic thing to do was to go to the bathroom downstairs. I wasn’t in a diplomatic mood. “Then what are you doing here?” I snapped, and headed for the stalls.

  Tiffany blocked me. “You heard Best. Get lost, ugly girl.” “Go soak your head in the toilet,” I said, and tried to push past her.

  Tiffany grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back into the door. “Temper, temper,” she cautioned. “Remember Rule One.”

  I rubbed my shoulder. “You remember it. Why should I pay any attention to the rules if you don’t?”

  Tiffany looked down her nose at me. “I can break the rules, Wild Child, because I’ve been at Miss Van Loon’s since I could talk. I’m smart and I’m quick and I’m beautiful. The tutors love me. I have a position and a following. You have nothing. Except a frizz-ball head and the lamest coat in the universe.”

  I resisted the urge to check out my reflection. “And what have you got?” I said. “A bunch of stupid stars and shiny hair? Big deal. You can’t do magic. You’re still a mortal in a fairy world, just like the rest of us.”

  Tiffany’s face went pink, then white and pinched around the nose. “I can so do magic.”

  I laughed. “Isn’t carrying magic talismans against the rules?”

  “I don’t need one,” she said tightly. “There are spells mortals can do. Or didn’t they tell you that in the Park?”

  They hadn’t, but I wasn’t about to say so.

  Bergdorf tugged at Tiffany’s gray wool sleeve. “Um, Tiff? Don’t you think we should be getting back to Urban Myths?”

  Tiffany shook her off. “I know what I’m doing, Bergdorf. She’s got to learn her place.”

  I’d been mad before. Now I was furious. “I’m up for anything you can do, Tiffany of Park Avenue, except maybe sliding down a drain from the inside.”

  Tiffany lowered her voice ominously. “How about summoning Bloody Mary?”

  “Sure,” I said. “When and where?”

  Best gasped. Bergdorf said, “Tiffany, are you—?”

  “Shut up, Bergdorf,” Tiffany snapped, her blue gaze unwavering. “Midnight. During the Hallowe’en Revels. In here. Deal?”

  I looked from face to face. Bergdorf and Best looked like sheep when the Hunt’s riding. Tiffany looked like one of the Hunters. Now that it was too late, I realized I’d just broken Rule 13 (Students must not make or accept dares or challenges while on school property), and thought maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t back out now.

  “Deal,” I said. Then I turned my back on them and retreated into a stall. Deal or no, I still had to pee.

  At the end of the day, Espresso and Fortran and Mukuti and I usually headed for the swing. Espresso and Mukuti taught me hopscotch and jump rope while Fortran tried to see how high he could swing. He said he should be able to go higher than Miss Van Loon’s roof, but so far, he’d only gone level with the top of the trees in East River Park. I thought he was scared to go higher.

  Playing mortal games in the rain held no appeal, and nobody was ready to go home yet, so we hung around the front hall, trying to figure out if we could play giant checkers on the squares. While we were talking, Airboy, the changeling from New York Harbor, came downstairs. He sat on the bottom step and watched us with his chin in his hands.

  Remembering the scene in the lunchroom, I had to wonder why he was so interested in us all of a sudden. I was about to go right up and ask him when Danskin and Stonewall wandered by.

  “Hi, kidlets,” Stonewall said cheerfully. “We’re going to the Mansion. Wanna come with?”

  I immediately forgot about Airboy. The Mansion was a café catering mostly to dwarfs and kobolds and other underground Folk, but the kobold who ran it didn’t mind if Van Loonies hung out in the afternoons as long as we ordered milk (which was the only thing on the menu mortals could eat) and didn’t complain about the dirt. Mostly, it was the older kids with a lot of stars who went there. It was an honor for newbies like us to be asked.

  Fortran played it cool. “I’ve got
an important experiment cooking at home, but I guess I could spare the time.”

  Mukuti didn’t know what cool was. “We’d love to.”

  Espresso jerked her chin toward Airboy. “What about him?”

  Stonewall looked startled, then shrugged. “Why not? Hey, Airboy. Want to join us?”

  Airboy’s eyes, long and black and expressionless, rested on Stonewall’s face for a moment, then moved away.

  “I guess not,” Stonewall said.

  As we walked, we talked about what was up with Airboy. Mukuti said maybe he was under a spell of silence (except during lessons, Fortran pointed out); Stonewall thought he might even be half Folk.

  “Maybe he’s just a snot,” I said. “Like Tiffany. What did you think of Talismans today? Who knew there were so many kinds of magic pins?”

  At the Mansion, Danskin led us to an empty booth under a murky picture of dwarfs bowling. Since I was soaking wet, I took off my black coat and spread it over the back of my chair to dry before I sat down.

  “Groovy threads, Neefer-girl,” Stonewall said approvingly. “Highwayman, with a side of dandy.”

  Danskin winked at me. “He wants it for himself, you know. Tell him he can’t have it.”

  “Of course he can’t. My fairy godfather would kill me.”

  Stonewall sighed theatrically. “Bummer. A ruffled shirt, a pair of breeches, some silver-buckled shoes, and I’d be the grooviest Headless Horseman in the history of Miss Van Loon’s.”

  “Hello?” Fortran was scornful. “You’ve got a head? There’s a rule about wearing glamours to school.”

  “Three-oh-five,” Mukuti quoted helpfully. “Students must not wear glamours or alter their appearance magically.”