The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [46]
Admiration usually softens Folk up, but the swan maidens must have been too artistically temperamental to even hear me. The more maidenlike ones darted their heads at me on necks longer and more supple than was comfortable to look at. Fully feathered swans beat their powerful wings, whipping the heavy silver skirts of my dress against my legs.
“Shaddup!” a voice screeched behind me. “What’s with you ladies? Her Grand High Swanness must have quiet after a performance. You want her in here?”
A silence fell over the dressing room, in which I could hear the soft rustle of settling feathers. The swans dipped their heads sheepishly.
I turned around.
My rescuer was a mortal girl, her hands on her hips, her hair twisted up and skewered with a long white feather. I thought she was definitely older than Tiffany.
“What’re you staring at?” she demanded. “And why are you here?”
I curtsied hastily. “I’m on a quest.”
“Oh, you’re Danskin’s questing girl. Don’t tell me he stood you up.”
“As a matter of fact—”
The girl glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, boy,” she said. “Don’t you know not to turn your back on an angry swan?”
At that point, I found out that a Dress Silver as the Moon is good for more than impressing Folk at Full Moon Gatherings. The swan’s bite hurt me, but not nearly as much as getting a beakful of silver cloth hurt the swan. I heard a squawk, then the sound of webbed feet shuffling away.
The girl laughed. “I guess you’re not as soft as you look. So you’re on a quest, huh? What’re you looking for? A swan cloak? A used ballet slipper?”
I pulled myself together. “A mirror.” I made a circle with my hands. “About yea big. Silver rim, no stand. I heard that a dwarf gave it to a swan maiden. Have you seen it?”
If it had been quiet when the girl had yelled at the swan maidens, it was even quieter now. The girl smiled. “Snowbell. You’re talking about Snowbell.”
“Who’s Snowbell?”
The girl got a sly look on her face. She looked like a pixie, sharp-faced and skinny, with big eyes and a pointy chin and soft brown hair. “Come and see.”
Snowbell, it turned out, was the swan princess—the white swan, Odette. She was sitting in a large, untidy nest in a dressing room crowded with water lilies, irises, and reeds growing in painted china tubs. Her swan skin was spread over a couple of chairs to air out, and she had a fluffy pink jacket draped over her shoulders. She looked crabby.
“Where have you been, Minx?” she complained as my rescuer opened the door. “I’ve been calling and calling. I can’t reach my . . . What on earth is that?”
The girl Minx began to take the pins out of Snowbell’s hair. “It’s a mortal, madame,” she said, her voice soft and soothing as honey on a sore throat.
“Why did you bring her here?” Snowbell snapped. “You know I need to be alone.”
“I thought she might amuse you, madame.” Minx softened her voice even more. “Your dancing made her cry.”
“Is this true?”
Minx wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Yes, madame,” I said hastily. “Buckets.”
“Do you think you could cry now?” Snowbell asked hopefully.
“I can’t do it just like that. It was the music. And your dancing, of course.”
Snowbell preened. “Oh. Well. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Oh, I did,” I said, and swept her my best curtsy. “I know you’re tired, but would you mind terribly if I asked you a question? I’m on a quest, and you’re the only person in New York who might be able to help me.”
Minx was brushing Snowbell’s hair in long, gentle strokes. Snowbell’s round black eyes began to drift shut. She snuggled deeper into her nest. “You may ask.”
“I’m looking for a mirror.”
“Lots of mirrors in Lincoln Center.” Snowbell still looked relaxed, but the edge was back in her voice.
“This is a special mirror. A magnifying mirror. About yea big.”
She opened one eye to watch me do my measuring thing. She stiffened. “I see. And what makes you think I know where this mirror might be?”
Minx, still brushing, waggled