The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [80]
“You’ll be long enough getting there by that road.” The Pooka shifted from man to pony, shaking back the inky forelock that fell over his eyes. “Hop up and I’ll carry you to the Hudson.”
Airboy kept climbing. “That’s okay,” he said. “I can walk.”
The Pooka arched his neck proudly. “It’s hurt to the soul I am, to think you’d not trust me to carry the Mermaid Queen’s Junior Attaché safely on his way.”
Airboy stopped, but he didn’t turn around. There was a long pause. “No wild rides,” the Pooka said. “By the sacred peace between our Neighborhoods, I swear it.”
Then Airboy came down the steps. “I accept,” he said. “Sorry.”
The Pooka shook his mane. “Pish, boy. No need to apologize. It’s perfectly reasonable to doubt a trickster such as myself.”
Back in Advanced Diplomacy, the discussion of the leprechaun and his shoe problem was going strong. Abercrombie was arguing that dancing slippers with no soles couldn’t really be repaired.
With Tiffany out of the scene, Abercrombie had pretty much taken over as the new leader of the East Siders. Bergdorf had been busted from debutante to personal-assistant-in-training. She blamed Mother Carey, Tiffany’s godmother. To get back at her, she told the East Siders just exactly what had happened to Tiffany and what we’d done about it. Now nobody would go near the third-floor bathroom, even though someone had hung a curtain over the mirror.
I still had my quest pass. I was planning to return it to the Diplomat after lessons were over, along with the report—on parchment in my best handwriting—of what Neighborhoods I’d visited in the course of my quest, what magical objects I’d gained (if any) and what I’d accomplished (if anything). It was weird seeing it all written down, ending with “An Alliance formalized between the Mermaid Queen of New York Harbor and the Green Lady of Central Park.” It made me feel like a real diplomat.
Airboy’s elbow in my ribs let me know my lack of attention was in danger of being noticed.
The Diplomat was making an announcement. “. . . a new student to introduce to you. It is not usually school policy to admit new students between the Equinox and the Solstice, but the Bowery has not sponsored a changeling at Miss Van Loon’s in a very long time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Woolworth of the Bowery.”
I felt Airboy jerk upright beside me. Advanced Diplomacy students are far too self-possessed to react out loud, but for a second, it was like all the air had been sucked from the room.
Woolworth marched forward and stood beside the Diplomat’s desk. Her Inside Sweater, empty of gold stars, was ripped at the shoulder and along one pocket, which was pinned on with safety pins. Under it, she wore a low-cut black top and baggy gray pants stuffed into heavy black lace-up boots. Her nails were painted black and her blonde hair was hacked short and pulled back from her forehead to display what Bloody Mary had done to her.
Five long scars scored the left side of her face from hairline to chin, with one extending all the way down her neck and across her chest. I wondered whether she’d even used the Glamourist’s beauty cream. Then I realized it would look a lot worse if she hadn’t.
“What’re you chumps looking at?” she asked the room at large. “Do I have a smudge on my cheek?” She rubbed at the deepest scar. “Whaddya know? It doesn’t come off.”
“Woolworth,” the Diplomat said warningly. “Do you think this is the most useful attitude to take?”
Woolworth glared at her fiercely. “It’s Bowery attitude. Get used to it.” Then she honored the Diplomat with a graceful and perfectly executed bow, stomped to the back of the room, and sat down. The air quivered with everybody’s desire to turn and stare at her, but nobody moved a muscle.
“One more announcement,” the Diplomat said. “Today, I have the honor of presenting two gold stars. Neef, Airboy, if you would care to step forward?”
Airboy looked ready to crawl under the desk. I gave him a poke and herded him to the front of the room. His neck and ears were a painful, deep red. I had a feeling