The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [41]
If Fortran changed his mind once about what he was going to be, he changed his mind a million times. Each time, it was going to be the scariest costume ever and he’d win the costume competition for sure. Espresso announced she was going to be a flower child, which didn’t sound very scary to me.
“That’s ’cause you haven’t seen my threads. They’re outasight, man. What are you going to be?”
I shrugged. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”
Stonewall grinned. “Remember—no Tiffany, no challenge. No challenge, no being scared out of your mind. Now you can concentrate on the true meaning of Hallowe’en.”
“Being scared out of your mind is the true meaning of Hallowe’en, Daddy-o,” Espresso said.
They’d forgotten about my quest for the mirror. I wished I could.
The days went by. Still no quest pass. I didn’t understand. I’d passed the test, I’d filled out the forms, I’d sorted feathers. I hadn’t complained. The Schooljuffrouw had said it wasn’t her decision. Couldn’t she tell whoever’s decision it was that I was in a hurry?
I knew I had to be patient, but I couldn’t help poking my head in the Secretary’s office occasionally to see if there was any news. After a few days, I found the door wouldn’t open. I rattled the doorknob, just in case it might be stuck. A folded sheet of pink paper slid under the door.
It had Neef written on it in green ink. I picked it up and unfolded it.
Do that again, it said, and there’ll be no quest pass for you, young lady.
The day before the next full moon, the Diplomat kept me after the final horn. Wondering what I’d done this time, I watched her open her desk drawer and pull out a large white envelope. She put it in my hand. The contents shifted heavily from one corner to the other.
“Your quest pass.” The Diplomat’s voice was a study in mixed feelings. “I feel I should tell you, Neef, that if there were another changeling available with any working knowledge of Central Park, we wouldn’t have given it to you.”
Fury rose up inside me like a swarm of bees. I clenched my fists.
“You’re volatile,” the Diplomat went on, her eyes on my face. “You speak before you think. You jump in without a plan and hope for the best. You can’t keep your temper. All this is perfectly natural behavior for a mortal adolescent or even for a Genius, but it’s unacceptable in an official Voice.” She sighed. “You’re turning purple, Neef. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Aloud. Or I’ll put this quest pass right back in my drawer.”
The breath almost choked me, and the numbers shook a little at first, but by the time I’d reached ten, I was calmer.
“That’s better,” the Diplomat said. “There are rules, of course. First, the quest pass is nontransferable. No other student may accompany you or break a school rule to help you. Second, you may not speak to any Genius except your own. Third, a quest pass does not permit you to skip lessons. You must limit your quest to weekends, holidays, and after school.”
She paused. I held on to my volatile temper and waited.
“Well, Neef?” she said patiently.
I took another deep, calming breath. “I understand, Diplomat.”
“I’m sure you do.” I thought she sounded amused. “Good luck with your quest, Neef. I fear you’re going to need it.”
The quest pass was a medal on a chain. The symbol of New York Between was engraved on one side—a beaver, looking annoyed. The other side bore the familiar profile of Miss Wilhelmina Loes Van Loon. I hung it around my neck, under my jacket and T-shirt, where it pressed against my breastbone.
What had the Diplomat called me? Bad-tempered? Not my fault. Volatile? There wasn’t anything wrong with that. Being unpredictable was un-Folklike: a strength, under the circumstances. Jumping in and hoping for the best? It had worked just fine last summer.
The Diplomat might know a lot about contracts and manners, but I’d bet anything she’d never been on a quest in her life.
I went out into the yard, which was full of kids darting around like imps and screaming. The sun was low and golden, the shadows long and black. The wind from the East River was cool on