The Water Mirror (11 page)

Dario turned scarlet at her words. But Merle stared at
her friend in amazement. Had Junipa slipped into the boys' room at night and
observed them? Or could she, thanks to her new mirror eyes, even see through walls? This
thought made Merle feel uncomfortable.

Dario was swelling with indignation, but Arcimboldo settled the argument
with a wave. “Settle down now, or none of you will go to the festival! On the
other hand, if you've finished your jobs punctually by sundown tomorrow, I see no
reason—”

The rest of his words were lost in the cries of the apprentices. Even
Junipa was beaming all over. It looked as though a shadow had lifted from her
features.

“However, one thing you should all keep in mind,” said the
master. “The students from the weaving workshop will assuredly be there. I want no
trouble. Bad enough that our canal has become a battlefield. I will not permit this
quarrel to be carried elsewhere. We've already drawn enough attention to
ourselves. So—no insults, no fighting, not even a crooked look.” His eyes
singled out Dario from the other apprentices. “Understand?”

Dario took a deep breath and nodded hastily. The others hastened to murmur
their agreement as well. Actually, Merle was grateful for Arcimboldo's words, for
the last thing she wanted was a new scrap with the weaver boys. Junipa's wounds
had been healing well over the last three days; she needed some peace now to heal
completely.

“Now, then, all back to work,” the master
said, satisfied.

To Merle the time till the festival seemed endless. She was excited and
could hardly wait to be among people again, not because she'd had enough of the
workshop and its inhabitants—Dario being the one exception—but because she
missed the untamed life in the streets, the chattering voices of the women and the
transparent boastings of the men.

Finally the evening arrived, and they all left the house together. The
boys ran ahead, while Merle and Junipa followed slowly. Arcimboldo had made a pair of
glasses for Junipa with dark glass that was supposed to keep anyone from noticing her
mirror eyes.

The small troop turned the corner where the Canal of the Expelled opened
into the wider waterway. Even from afar they could see hundreds of lanterns on the house
fronts, lights in the windows and doors. A small bridge, hardly more than a pedestrian
crossing, linked their side to that place. Its railings were decorated with lanterns and
candles, while the people sat on the sidewalks, some on stools and chairs they'd
brought out of their houses, others on cushions or on the bare stone. In several places
drinks were being sold, although Merle realized with a trace of malicious pleasure that
Dario was sure to be disappointed: There was hardly any wine or beer, for this was a
poor people's festival. No one here could afford to
pay
fantastic sums for grapes or barley, which had to be smuggled into the city by dangerous
routes. After all these years, the Pharaoh's siege ring was just as tight as at
the beginning of the war. Even though the siege was imperceptible in daily life, still
no one doubted that hardly a mouse, not to mention a smugglers' boat, could sneak
past the Egyptian army camps. One could certainly find wine—as Arcimboldo
did—but it was usually difficult, even dangerous. The poor people drank water
ordinarily, while at festivals they had to be content with juices and various
home-distilled liquors of fruits and vegetables.

Up on the bridge, Merle saw the weaver's apprentice who'd been
the first to lose his mask. There were two other boys with him. One's face was
very red, as if he were sunburned; clearly it hadn't been easy for him to wash off
the glue Merle had sprayed under his mask.

Their leader, Serafin, was nowhere to be seen. Merle realized with
surprise that she'd involuntarily been watching for him and was almost
disappointed not to see him.

Junipa, on the other hand, was a completely changed girl. She
couldn't get over her amazement. She kept whispering to Merle, “See him over
there?” and “Oh, look at her!” and giggling and laughing, occasionally
so loudly that some people turned around and looked at them in surprise and were
especially interested at the sight of her dark glasses. Only the rich dandies usually
wore such things, and they rarely mixed with the common people. On
the other hand, Junipa's worn dress left no doubt about the fact that she had
never seen the inside of a palazzo.

The two girls stood at the left end of the bridge and sipped at their
juice, which had been watered down too much. On the other side a fiddler was striking up
a dance; soon a flute player joined in. The dresses of the young girls whirled like
colored tops.

“You're so quiet,” Junipa declared, not knowing where to
look next. Merle had never seen her so animated. She was glad, for she'd been
afraid all the hurly-burly might make Junipa anxious.

“You're looking for that boy.” Junipa gave her a silvery
look over the top of her glasses. “Serafin.”

“Where'd you get that idea?”

“I was blind for thirteen years. I know people. When people know you
don't see, they get careless. They mix up blindness with deafness. You just have
to listen and they tell you everything about themselves.”

“And what have I betrayed about myself?” Merle asked,
frowning.

Junipa laughed. “I can see you now, and that's enough.
You're looking in all directions all the time. And who could you be looking for
except Serafin?”

“You're just imagining that.”

“No, I'm not.”

“You are so.”

Junipa's laugh rang bright and clear. “I'm your friend,
Merle. Girls
talk
about a thing like that.”

Merle made a move as if to hit her, and Junipa giggled like a child.
“Oh, leave me alone,” cried Merle, laughing.

Junipa looked up. “There he is, over there.”

“Where?”

“There, on the other side.”

Junipa was right. Serafin was sitting a little back from the edge of the
pavement and letting his legs dangle over the canal. The soles of his shoes were
dangerously close to the water.

“Now, go on over to him,” Junipa said.

“Not on your life.”

“Why ever not?”

“He
is
a weaver apprentice, after all. One
of our enemies, or have you forgotten already? I can't just . . .
it's bad manners.”

“It's even worse manners to act as if you're listening
to a friend when in fact your thoughts are somewhere else entirely.”

“Can you also read thoughts with those eyes of yours?” asked
Merle with amusement.

Junipa shook her head earnestly, as if she'd actually taken the
possibility into consideration. “A person just has to look at you.”

“You really think I should talk to him?”

“Certainly.” Junipa grinned. “Or are you a little
afraid?”

“Nonsense. I really just want to ask him how
long he's worked for Umberto,” Merle said.

“
Very
poor excuse!”

“Ninny!—No, you aren't. You're a treasure!”
And with that Merle grabbed Junipa around the neck, hugged her briefly, and then ran
across the bridge to the other side. As she went, she looked back over her shoulder and
saw Junipa looking after her with a gentle smile.

“Hello.”

Shocked, Merle stopped in her tracks. Serafin must have seen her, for
suddenly he was standing directly in front of her.

“Hello,” she replied, sounding as though she'd just
swallowed a fruit pit. “You here too?”

“Looks like it.”

“I thought you were probably home hatching plans for splashing paint
in other people's faces.”

“Oh, that. . . .” He grinned. “We
don't do that every day. Would you like something to drink?”

She'd left her cup beside Junipa, so she nodded. “Juice.
Please.”

Serafin turned and walked to a stand. Merle watched him from the back. He
was a handsbreadth taller than she, somewhat thin, perhaps, but so were they all. After
all, anyone born during siege conditions never had the embarrassment of having to worry
about his weight. Unless you were rich, of course. Or, she thought cynically, you were
named Ruggiero and secretly ate up half the orphanage
kitchen.

Serafin came back and handed her a wooden cup. “Apple juice,”
he said. “I hope you like it.”

To be polite, she immediately took a sip. “Yes, very much, in
fact.”

“You're new at Arcimboldo's, aren't
you?”

“You know that very well.” She immediately regretted her
words. Why was she being so snippy? Couldn't she give him a normal answer?
“Since a few weeks ago,” she added.

“Were you and your friend in the same orphanage?”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

“Arcimboldo did something to her eyes.”

“She was blind. Now Junipa can see.”

“Then it's true, what Master Umberto said.”

“And that was?”

“He said Arcimboldo knows his way around magic.”

“That's what others say about Umberto.”

Serafin grinned. “I've now been in his house for more than two
years, and he's never showed me a single magic trick.”

“I think Arcimboldo will keep that to himself till the bitter end
too.”

They laughed a little nervously, not because they'd discovered their
first thing in common, but because neither one knew quite how to take the conversation
further.

“Shall we walk on a little bit?” Serafin
pointed down the canal where the crowds of people were thinner and the lanterns shone on
empty water.

Merle grinned mischievously. “It's a good thing we don't
belong to fine society. Otherwise it would be improper, wouldn't it?”

“I don't give a hoot about fine society.”

“Thing in common number two.”

Close beside each other, but without touching, they ambled along the
canal. The music became softer and soon was left behind them. The water lapped
rhythmically against the dark walls. Somewhere over them pigeons cooed in the niches and
carvings of the houses. They turned a corner and left the light of the shoals of
lanterns.

“Have you had to chase mirror spirits yet?” Serafin asked
after a while.

“Spirits? Do you think it's spirits living in the
mirrors?”

“Master Umberto said it's the spirits of all the people
Arcimboldo's cheated.”

Merle laughed. “And you believe that?”

“No,” Serafin replied seriously, “because I know
better.”

“But you're a weaver, not a mirror maker.”

“I've only been a weaver for two years. Before, I was
sometimes here, sometimes there, all over Venice.”

“Have you still got parents?”

“Not that I know of. At least they've never introduced
themselves to me.”

“But you weren't in an orphanage
too?”

“No. I lived on the street. As I said, sometimes here, sometimes
there. And during that time I picked up a lot of stuff. Things that not everybody
knows.”

“Like how to clean a rat before you eat it?” she asked
derisively.

He made a face. “That, too, yes. But I didn't mean
that.”

A black cat whisked past them, then made a turn and came back. Without
warning it leaped onto Serafin. But it wasn't an attack. Instead it landed
purposefully on Serafin's shoulder and purred. Serafin didn't even jump but
raised his hand and began to stroke the animal.

“You're a thief!” Merle burst out. “Only thieves
are so friendly with cats.”

“Strays together,” he confirmed with a smile. “Thieves
and cats have much in common. And share so much with each other.” He sighed.
“But you're right. I grew up among thieves. At five I became a member of the
Guild, then later one of its masters.”

“A master thief!” Merle was dumbfounded. The master thieves of
the Guild were the most skillful pilferers in Venice. “But you aren't more
than fifteen years old!”

He nodded. “At thirteen I left the Guild and went into the service
of Umberto. He could well use someone like me. Someone who can climb through
ladies' windows on the sly at night and deliver them the goods they've
ordered. You probably know that most husbands aren't
happy to
see their wives doing business with Umberto. His reputation is—”

“Bad?”

“Oh, well, more or less. But his clothes make them slender. And very
few women want their husbands to learn how much plumper they actually are.
Umberto's reputation may not be the best, but his business is doing better than
ever.”

“The husbands will find out the truth, at least when their
wives . . .” Merle blushed. “When they get
undressed.”

“Oh, there are tricks and dodges there, too. They turn off the
light, or they make their husbands drunk. Women are cleverer than you think.”

“I
am
a woman!”

“In a few years, maybe.”

She stopped indignantly. “Serafin Master Thief, I don't think
that you know enough about women—aside from where they hide their purses—to
express yourself about such things.”

The black cat on Serafin's shoulder spat at Merle, but she
didn't care about that. Serafin whispered something into the cat's ear and
it calmed down at once.

“I didn't mean to insult you.” He seemed quite taken
aback by Merle's outburst. “Really, I didn't.”

She gave him a piercing look. “Well, then I'll excuse you this
one time.”

He bowed, so that the cat had to dig her claws firmly into his shirt.
“My most humble thanks, madam.”