The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [36]
“Shut up!” I yelled. “It’s not like that.”
“I knew you’d deny it,” he said simply.
I couldn’t hit him—that would just make him more sure he was right. I was on the edge of a total fairy fit. And then, suddenly, I wasn’t.
I’d had an idea.
There’s a story about a girl who was under a spell that made her speak flowers and jewels. My best ideas feel like that. And this was one of my best ideas.
“You don’t have to believe the Park’s not a total jungle,” I heard myself say. “Come visit, and I’ll show you.”
Airboy’s mouth opened and closed. “That’s against Rule Four,” he managed at last.
“Do you really care about rules? I don’t believe it. I think you’re scared.”
“Am not,” he said.
“Come to the Park, then. I dare you.”
He hesitated. “I don’t have to. I already know everything I need to know.”
“So do I.” The words poured glittering out of my mouth. “You’re a coward, Airboy, and the thing that scares you most is that you might be wrong and I might be right.”
“I’m not wrong. I’m not.” He looked like he was going to cry.
“I challenge you,” I said. “I challenge you to come to the Park with me.”
It worked like magic. Airboy’s face uncrumpled and his shoulders went back. “Very well. I accept.”
When my initial triumph wore off, I realized two things. One, I’d just broken about a million rules without even noticing. Two, getting Airboy into the Park was going to take some help.
It went without saying that I couldn’t ask the Pooka and Astris. And my friends would probably freak out about the rules. Which left me only one place to turn.
Instead of going home that evening, I took the Betweenway to the Metropolitan Museum.
I’d spent a lot of time at the Museum while I was growing up. I’d learned things from every exhibit and docent there, but the Old Market Woman and Bastet were special, like extra fairy godparents. But they’re not fairies of any kind. The Old Market Woman is a Greco-Roman marble sculpture. Bastet, who swears she’s a genuine Egyptian cat goddess, is a hollow bronze statue. And Van Loon’s rule against talking school business is about Folk, not art.
Why this should have seemed so important after my afternoon rule-breaking orgy, I don’t know. But it did.
I found Bastet and the Old Market Woman in a gallery, watching my mortal friend Fleet copying Hopper’s Portrait of a Woman.
Last summer, Fleet had been an Executive Assistant-in-Training to the Dragon of Wall Street, dreaming of being an artist and in immediate danger of being eaten for disorganization. In return for her getting me in to see the Dragon, I’d rescued her, and now she was the official changeling of the Metropolitan Museum, with thousands of paintings eager to teach her how to paint.
When I came up, the Woman was complaining that Fleet had her nose all wrong. Fleet looked harried. Bastet looked amused. The Old Market Woman looked furious, but that didn’t mean anything. It’s the way she’s carved.
“Hi, guys,” I said. “I’ve got a problem.”
“We missed you, too,” Bastet said.
“A problem? Wonderful.” Fleet put down her brush. “Let’s go to the Fountain Court and talk about it.”
I’d only meant to ask them about sneaking Airboy into the Park, but I ended up telling them everything: about school and the Big Book of Rules and Espresso talking Village and diplomacy and the goblin and Swan Lake. For different reasons, I didn’t mention the Lady or Tiffany.
When I was done, I listened to the bronze dolphins spouting water in the fountain and felt peaceful.
The Old Market Woman broke the silence. “The Museum’s practically in the Park,” she said. “If you bring the Harbor child here, we can sneak him out the back door.”
“Great idea!” I said sarcastically. “And how am I supposed to get him here?”
Bastet grinned. “Field trip.”
First she had to tell me what a field trip was, and then we had to figure out how to make it work. It took a while, and several dishes of chocolate ice cream from Fleet