The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [32]
Our table was full, but Espresso had saved me a seat across from Danskin and Stonewall.
As I sat down, Fortran leaned around Espresso. “So? How’d it go? I was right, wasn’t I? The goblin had the mirror and you’re not worried anymore?”
“Actually, I’m still worried,” I said. “The goblin gave the mirror away before I got there. To a dwarf.”
Espresso giggled. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest dwarf of all?”
“You’re a nut, Espresso. The dwarf was going to give it to his girlfriend. She’s a swan maiden at Lincoln Center.”
Danskin looked up from his smoked salmon sandwich. “Swan maiden? Did he say which one?”
“I was hoping you’d help me find out.”
Danskin frowned thoughtfully. “Swan Lake’s in repertory this season,” he said. “I’ll get us tickets and a backstage pass.”
I gaped at him. “Tickets? For the ballet?”
“The best way to approach a swan maiden is to tell her what a wonderful dancer she is. It works better if you’ve seen her dance.”
I tried to wrap my brain around attending an actual ballet. “Are you sure, Danskin? I’m the Wild Child, remember—I only know about Folk dancing.”
“It’s all Folk dancing, Neef. Don’t worry. I’ll do the flattering part.”
“I hate to ruin your lovely plan,” Stonewall said, “but does Neef have a quest pass?”
“Quest pass?” I asked blankly.
Mukuti swallowed a mouthful of naan. “You know, Neef. Rule 746: ‘No student may embark upon a personal quest or journey of discovery without a valid quest pass.’ ”
“This isn’t a personal quest,” I said. “It’s for the Park.”
Mukuti, who was clearly going to be an expert on rules when she grew up, said, “You should have one anyway. A lot of Miss Van Loon’s rules are against things you need to do on a quest, like going places without permission. A quest pass lets you break rules without getting in trouble.”
Fortran wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater. I was surprised it didn’t have a permanent red-orange stain on it, he did it so often. “It’s no fun breaking rules if you’re allowed to do it.”
“She’s not doing it for fun, Fortran,” Stonewall said. “She’s doing it for real.”
In fairy tales, quests fall into three parts:
1. Find out about a magical thingummy.
2. Go look for it.
3. Get it away from whoever has it.
There are rules governing each of these parts. Be kind to animals you meet in the forest. If an oven asks you to clean it, get out your rubber gloves and start scrubbing. Ask birds for directions, but not rocks or mysterious little men. If somebody offers you a choice between a box of gold, a box of silver, and a box of lead, take the lead. If you’re offered three coffee mugs, take the gold one.
They don’t always make sense, but it doesn’t matter. They’re rules, and you have to follow them. If you don’t, there are consequences.
When a quest begins with the quester not knowing the location of the object she’s looking for, the rule is that she should start walking until she meets somebody magical to give her advice. There’s nothing, not even in the most obscure fairy tale, about waiting for a quest pass.
The day after the Lincoln Center conversation, I skipped lunch again, went to the Schooljuffrouw’s office, and knocked.
“Come in, dear.”
It was not the Schooljuffrouw’s voice, and it wasn’t the Schooljuffrouw’s office. Everything in it was pastel and cozily cushioned, including the man who’d called me “dear.” When I came in, he removed his glasses and let them dangle against his Inside Sweater, which was a delicate leaf green.
I pulled myself together. “Hi. Um. I’d like to speak to the Schooljuffrouw about a quest pass?”
“A quest pass. Well.” The man fiddled with the cord holding the glasses around his neck. “That’s not . . . I don’t think . . . I’m not authorized, you see. I’m just the Secretary. Are you sure you really want a quest pass, dear?”
“I’m positive,” I said. “It’s very important.”
He put the glasses on again. Behind them, his eyes were like fish eyes, big and goggling. “You’ll have to talk to the Assistant, then. In there.”
He pointed to a