The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [37]
Over the next couple of days, I set things up. I lied to Astris, to the Curator of the Metropolitan Museum, to the Mortal Historian, to the Schooljuffrouw and the Diplomat. I lied to my friends, which bothered me more even than lying to Astris. The only person I told the truth to was Airboy, whose only comment was, “Works for me.”
It worked for me, too. Three days later, every Van Loon’s changeling currently studying Mortal History gathered in the Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum. Everybody (except Airboy) looked happy and excited. I was as nervous as a mouse at an owl convention, but it must have looked like excitement, because nobody noticed.
I’d proposed a field trip as a way of learning about the development of mortal customs through the ages. Each one of us would pick a custom, research it, and write a report. I’d picked burial systems. Bastet, my docent, was supposed to introduce me to some Egyptian mummies and Roman sarcophagi and Greek funeral steles. Airboy’s project was to find out how mortals who didn’t have magic bags got food. His docent was—surprise, surprise—the Old Market Woman. Airboy and I had already filled our notebooks with fun facts about funerals and food. All we had to do was get back from the Park in time to hand them in.
The Historian went over the rules and regulations one last time. “Don’t wander away from your docent and don’t talk to any of the exhibits without permission. Be polite. Don’t touch anything. No fairy food from the cafeteria. I’ll be in the Frank Lloyd Wright Room. We’ll meet in the Great Hall an hour before sunset.”
Everyone scattered. I followed Bastet through the Egyptian Department, down to the Costume Institute, and through some storage rooms to the back entrance. The Old Market Woman and Airboy joined us a minute later.
The kouros on guard duty opened the door.
It was a beautiful day, all crisp and blue and green and gold like a Fra Angelico landscape, perfumed with damp earth and fresh water. Airboy hung back in the shadows, so pale and stiff and blank-eyed he could have been an exhibit himself: Statue of a Frightened Boy. Bright autumn sunshine poured onto the marble floor like honey.
“Race you,” I said, and took off into the Park at a run.
I heard footsteps pounding behind me. Grinning, I turned onto the path that led to the Reservoir.
Airboy caught up to me by the Reservoir and we clambered up the steep embankment side by side. It felt so good I had to laugh. To my surprise, Airboy cracked a shy smile.
“Welcome to the Reservoir,” I said cheerfully. “You ready to meet some of my Water Folk?”
The smile disappeared. Airboy nodded once, stiffly.
I threw some pebbles in the water, breaking the smooth copper-green surface of the water into a million tiny ripples. Shadows moved in the depths. Then Algae the undine, the nixie Pondscum, and two naiads popped their heads out of the water.
“What’s up?” Algae asked.
Pondscum glared at Airboy. “Who’s that?”
There was a liquid chorus of exclamations and questions, all running into one another like drops of water: “Mortal or City Folk?” and “Is he your boyfriend?” and “Doesn’t he look delicious!”
Airboy had retreated into statue mode again. “Cool it, guys,” I said. “This is serious. I want you to meet Airboy of New York Harbor. He—”
The water women started yelling. “Traitor” was the nicest thing they said. The nastiest gave me an itch in a place I couldn’t scratch.
“What’s it going to hurt to hear what he has to say?” I asked. “You know you’re curious.”
They were, although it took a while to get them to admit it, and a little longer to get Algae to undo the itching spell.
“We’re listening, Salt Boy,” said Pondscum finally. “Talk.”
I bit my lip and waited.
Airboy opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking as much like a fish as a mortal boy can look. The water women laughed.
Airboy took