The Water Mirror

by Kai Meyer

  “Now you are more than that. You have undertaken a task.”

  “I have undertaken nothing at all!” Merle said. “I didn’t want all this. And don’t talk to me now about fate and such nonsense. This isn’t a fairy tale.”

  “Unfortunately, it is not. In a fairy tale, matters are simpler. You go home and find that the soldiers have burned down your house and carried off your friends, you become angry, recognize that you must take up the battle against the Pharaoh, meet him finally, and kill him through a trick. That would be the fairy tale. But unfortunately we have to deal with the reality. The path is the same one and yet different.”

  “I could simply take the vial and tip whatever’s in it into the nearest canal.”

  “No! That would kill me!”

  “Then you aren’t the Flowing Queen. She’s at home in the canal.”

  “The Flowing Queen is only what you wish her to be. At the moment, a fluid in a vial. And a voice in your head.”

  “That’s confused nonsense. I don’t understand you.”

  “The Egyptians drove me out of the canal by laying a spell on the water. That is the only reason the traitors succeeded in imprisoning me in this vial. The magic still permeates the water of the lagoon, and it will last for months before it has evaporated. Until then my essence cannot be combined with the water.”

  “We all thought that you were something . . . something different.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Something spiritual.”

  “Like God?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Even God is only always in those who believe in him. Just as I am in you now.”

  “That’s not the same. You left me no choice. You talked to me. I must believe in you, otherwise . . .”

  “Otherwise what?”

  “Otherwise it would mean that I’m crazy. That I’m only talking to myself.”

  “Would that be so bad, then? To listen to the voice inside you?”

  Merle shook her head impatiently. “That’s hair-splitting. You’re only trying to confuse me. Perhaps you really are only that dumb phantom who went into my mirror.”

  “Put me to the test. Leave the mirror lying somewhere. Separate from it. Then you will see that I am still with you.”

  “I will never give up the mirror voluntarily. I treasure it, as you know very well.”

  “It is not going to be forever. Only for a moment. Put it down at the end of this little alley, come back here, and listen to see if I am still there.”

  Merle thought it over briefly, then agreed. She carried the mirror to the farthest corner of the alleyway, about fifteen yards from the entrance. She had to step over all sorts of trash that had collected there over the years. She drove away rats with her feet, and they snapped at her heels. Finally, leaving the mirror, she ran back to the front end of the alleyway.

  “Well?” she asked softly.

  “Here I am,” responded the voice with amusement.

  Merle sighed. “Does that mean you continue to claim that you’re the Flowing Queen?”

  “I never claimed that. You said it.”

  Merle hurried back to the mirror and picked it up. Quickly she dropped it into her dress pocket and buttoned the pocket closed. “You said you used my words and my thoughts. Does that also mean that you can influence my will?”

  “Even if I could, I would not do it.”

  “I guess I have to believe you, huh?”

  “Trust me.”

  It was the second time tonight that someone had asked that of her. She didn’t like it at all.

  “Nevertheless, it could be that I am only imagining all this, couldn’t it?”

  “Which would you prefer? An imaginary voice that speaks to you or a real one?”

  “Neither one.”

  “I will enlist your services no longer than necessary.”

  Merle opened her eyes wide. “My services?”

  “I need your help. The Egyptian spy and the traitors will stop at nothing to get me into their power. They will hunt you. We must leave Venice.”

  “Leave the city? But that’s impossible! There’s been a siege for more than thirty years, and they say it’s just as tight as on the first day.”

  The voice sounded stricken. “I have given my best, but at last I also have fallen victim to the enemy’s tricks. I can no longer protect the lagoon. We must find another way.”

  “But . . . but what about all the people? And the mermaids?”

  “No one can keep the Egyptians from invading. At the moment they are still not certain what has happened to me. That helps us with a delay. But there is only a little time left before they find out the truth. And the city is only safe until they do.”

  “That’s nothing but a temporary reprieve.”

  “Yes,” said the voice sadly. “Nothing more and nothing less. But when the Pharaoh’s fist closes around the lagoon, he will be looking for you. The envoy knows your face. He will not rest until you are dead.”

  Merle thought about Junipa and Serafin, about Arcimboldo and Eft. About all those who meant something to her. She should just leave these people behind and flee?

  “Not flee,” contradicted the voice. “But go on the quest. I will never give it up. If it dies, I die as well. But we must leave the city to find help.”

  “There’s no one left outside anymore to help us. The Empire has ruled over the whole world for a long time.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not, too.”

  Merle had had enough of these enigmatic hintings, even though she was gradually losing any doubt that the voice in her head actually belonged to the Flowing Queen. And although she’d grown up in a city in which the Queen was venerated exceedingly, she wanted to show no reverence. She hadn’t asked to be drawn into this mess.

  “First I’m going back to the workshop,” said Merle. “I have to speak with Junipa, and with Arcimboldo.

  “We will lose valuable time.”

  “That’s my decision!” Merle retorted angrily.

  “As you will.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to try to talk me out of it?”

  “Yes.”

  That surprised her, but it gave her back a little of her self-confidence.

  She was just about to climb out of the space between the boards to the alley when the voice spoke again.

  “There is still one thing.”

  “And?”

  “I cannot remain much longer in this vial.”

  “Why not?”

  “The desert crystal numbs my brain.”

  Merle smiled. “Does that mean you’ll talk less?”

  “It means that I will die. My essence must bind with living organisms. The water of the lagoon is full of them. But the vial is only cold, dead crystal. I am going to wither like a plant that is withdrawn from the soil and the light.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “You must drink me.”

  Merle made a face. “Drink . . . you?”

  “We must become one, you and I.”

  “You’re already in my head. And now you want my entire body, too? Do you know the saying about someone to whom you give your little finger and instead he takes the whole—”

  “I will die, Merle. And the lagoon with me.”

  “That’s blackmail, you know that? If I don’t help you, everyone will die. If I don’t drink you, everyone will die. What comes next?”

  “Drink me, Merle.”

  She pulled the vial out of her pocket. The facets of the crystal sparkled like an insect’s eye. “And there’s no other way?”

  “None.”

  “How will you . . . I mean, how will you get out of me again, and when?”

  “When the time for it has come.”

  “I thought you’d say something like that.”

  “I would not ask you to do it if we had a choice.”

  Merle thought for a brief moment about the fact that she very much did have a choice. She cou
ld still throw away the vial and act as if this night had never taken place. But how could she lie to herself about all that had happened? Serafin, the fight with the envoy, the Flowing Queen.

  Sometimes responsibility sneaked up on you without your seeing it coming, and then, very suddenly, it wouldn’t let you go anymore.

  Merle pulled out the stopper of the vial and sniffed at it. Nothing, no smell.

  “How . . . umm, how do you taste, actually?”

  “Like anything you want.”

  “How about fresh raspberries?”

  “Why not?”

  After a final hesitation, Merle put the opening to her mouth and drank. The fluid inside it was clear and cool, like water. Two, three swallows, no more, and then the vial was empty.

  “That didn’t taste like raspberries!”

  “What, then?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Then it was not as bad as you thought, was it?”

  “I can’t stand it when people trick me.”

  “It will not happen again. Do you feel any different now?”

  Merle listened within, but she could find no change. The contents of the vial might just as well have been water.

  “Same as before.”

  “Good. Then throw away the empty vial now. They must not find it on you.”

  Merle put the stopper back in the little crystal vial and shoved it under a heap of garbage. Gradually she realized what had just happened.

  “Do I really now carry the Flowing Queen inside me?”

  “You always have. Like anyone who believes in her.”

  “That sounds like churches and priests and religious twaddle.”

  The voice in her head sighed. “If it reassures you: I am now in you. Really in you.”

  Merle frowned, then shrugged. “Guess it’s too late to change it.”

  The voice was quiet. Merle took that for reason to finally leave her hiding place. As quickly as she could she ran through the alleys to the Canal of the Expelled. She kept close to the walls of the houses so that she couldn’t be seen from the sky. Perhaps the heavens were now swarming with the lions of the Guard.

  “I do not think so,” countered the Flowing Queen. “There are only three city councillors who betrayed me, and they have to be content with their share of the bodyguards. No councillor commands more than two flying lions. That makes six altogether, at the most.”

  “Six lions with nothing else to do but hunt me?” Merle exclaimed. “And that’s supposed to reassure me? Thanks very much!”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “You don’t know much about us humans, right?”

  “I have never had the opportunity to find out more about you.”

  Merle shook her head dumbly. For centuries now the Flowing Queen had been honored, there were cults dedicated entirely to worshipping her. But the Queen herself knew nothing of it. Knew nothing about humans, nothing about what she meant to them.

  She was the lagoon. But was she also therefore a god?

  “Is the Pharaoh a god because the Egyptians honor him as a god?” asked the voice. “For them he may be one. For you not. Divinity is only in the eye of the beholder.”

  Merle was not in the mood to think about that, so instead she asked, “Before, that business with the mirror, that was you, wasn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Then was it the mirror itself? Or the phantom in it?”

  “Have you considered that you yourself could have thrown it at the envoy?”

  “I would certainly have known about that.”

  “You are listening to a voice in your head that is perhaps only your own. It is possible that you also do things without being conscious of them—only because they are right.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “As you will.”

  She wasted no more words on it, but the thought wouldn’t let go of Merle. What if she really was only imagining the voice of the Flowing Queen? What if she had been talking the whole time with a hallucination? And worse yet, what if her own actions were no longer under her control and she was talking with supernatural powers that in truth didn’t exist at all?

  This idea frightened her more than the fact that something strange had established itself in her. On the other hand, she didn’t feel this stranger at all. It was all so terribly confusing.

  Merle reached the mouth of the Canal of the Expelled. The festival hadn’t ended yet—a few stalwarts sat on the bridge talking softly or staring silently into their cups. Junipa and the boys were nowhere to be seen. Probably they’d made their way home long since.

  Merle ran along the small path at the edge of the canal until she reached Arcimboldo’s workshop. The water lapped, whispering, against the stone. One last time she looked up at the night sky and imagined the lions were up there circling, beyond the shine of all the gaslights and torches. The soldiers on their backs might be blind in the dark, but weren’t cats nocturnal animals? In her mind she saw the yellow predator eyes, which stared full of bloodlust into the depths, on the lookout for a girl in wet, worn clothes, with stringy hair and knowledge that might mean death.

  She knocked on the door. No one answered. She pounded again. The blows sounded louder than usual to her; they must be audible throughout the whole district. Perhaps a lion was already on the way here, just now diving straight down through the layers of cold air, then through the smog over the city, the smoke of fires and chimneys, the weak shine of the lanterns, straight at Merle. She looked up in alarm, above her in the dark, and perhaps there actually was something there, gigantic wings of stone, paws as large as puppies and—

  The door opened. Eft grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the house. “Whatever were you thinking of to just run away?” The mermaid’s eyes were glowing with anger as she slammed the front door behind Merle. “I had really expected more sense from you than—”

  “I must speak with the master.” Merle looked anxiously back at the door.

  “There was no one there,” said the Queen reassuringly.

  “With the master?” asked Eft. Obviously she couldn’t hear the voice. “Have you any idea how late it is?”

  “I’m sorry. Really. But it’s important.”

  She held Eft’s gaze and tried to read the mermaid’s eyes. You are touched by the Flowing Queen, she had said to her. In hindsight the words sounded almost like a prophecy that had been fulfilled this night. Could Eft feel the change that had taken place in Merle? Did she sense the strange presence in her thoughts?

  Whatever reason she might have, she stopped scolding Merle. Instead she turned around. “Come along.”

  Silently they went to the door of the workshop. Eft left Merle standing there. “Arcimboldo is still at work. He works every night. Tell him what you have to tell.” With that she disappeared into the darkness and soon Merle could no longer hear her steps.

  Alone, she hesitated before the door. It cost her great effort to raise her hand and knock. What could she say to Arcimboldo? Really the whole truth? Wouldn’t he say she was crazy and throw her out of the house? And even worse: Mustn’t she make clear to him at once what a threat she presented to the workshop and its inhabitants?

  Nevertheless she felt a remarkable certainty that it was right to speak with him about it instead of with Eft. The mermaid worshipped the Flowing Queen. Merle’s story would sound like blasphemy to her ears, the talk of a girl who wanted to make herself important.

  Steps sounded on the other side of the door, then Arcimboldo’s face appeared in the crack. “Merle! You’re back!”

  She hadn’t expected him to have been aware of her disappearance at all. Eft must have told him of it.

  “Come in, come in!” Hastily he waved her into the workshop. “We’ve been very worried about you.”

  That was something new. Merle hadn’t experienced someone in the orphanage ever worrying about anyone else. If one of the children vanished, he or she was looked for halfheartedly, usually without success. One bu
rden less, one more place free.

  It was warm in the workshop. Steam puffed in little white clouds from Arcimboldo’s apparatus, which were linked together with a network of pipes, tubing, and glass globes. The mirror maker used the machines only at night, when he was alone. During the day he busied himself in traditional ways and methods, perhaps because he didn’t want to give his pupils any deep insights into the secrets of his art. Did he ever sleep at all? Hard to say. In Merle’s eyes Arcimboldo belonged to the fixed inventory of the workshop, just like the oak doors and the high windows with their dust-encrusted panes on which generations of apprentices had scratched their initials.

  Arcimboldo walked over to one of the devices, adjusted a switch, and then turned to her. Behind him the machine spurted out three clouds of steam in short bursts. “So now, tell! Where were you?”

  Merle had considered all the long way back over what she wanted to say to Arcimboldo. The decision had not been an easy one for her. “I don’t think you’re going to understand me.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I only want to hear the truth.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve come to thank you. And so that you know that I’m all right.”

  “That sounds as though you intend to leave us.”

  “I’m going away from Venice.”

  She had reckoned with all possible reactions to this news, such as that he would laugh at her, scold her, or lock her up. But not with the sorrow that now darkened his eyes. No anger, no malice, only plain regret. “What has happened?”

  She told him everything. Beginning with her meeting with Serafin, about the fight in the deserted house, the vial with the Flowing Queen, and about Serafin being taken prisoner. She described the robes and faces of the three traitors to him, and he nodded in annoyance at each individual, as if he knew exactly who was the one involved. She spoke of the voice in her head and, a little ashamed, of the fact that she had drunk the contents of the vial.

  After she’d finished, Arcimboldo sank dejectedly onto a wooden stool. With a cloth he blotted the sweat from his forehead, blew his nose into it forcefully, and threw it into the stove opening. Both watched as the material was consumed by the flames. They were quiet, almost a little reverent, as if what was burning there was something else: a memory, perhaps, or the thought of what might have been—without the Egyptians, without traitors, and without the poison spell that had driven the Flowing Queen out of the canal.