The Water Mirror (16 page)

“That didn't taste like raspberries!”

“What, then?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Then it was not as bad as you thought, was it?”

“I can't stand it when people trick me.”

“It will not happen again. Do you feel any different now?”

Merle listened within, but she could find no change. The contents of the vial might just as well have been water.

“Same as before.”

“Good. Then throw away the empty vial now. They must not find it on you.”

Merle put the stopper back in the little crystal vial and shoved it under a heap of garbage. Gradually she realized what had just happened.

“Do I really now carry the Flowing Queen inside me?”

“You always have. Like anyone who believes in her.”

“That sounds like churches and priests and religious twaddle.”

The voice in her head sighed.
“If it reassures you: I
am
now in you. Really in you.”

Merle frowned, then shrugged. “Guess it's too late to change it.”

The voice was quiet. Merle took that for reason to finally leave her hiding place. As quickly as she could she ran through the alleys to the Canal of the Expelled. She kept close to the walls of the houses so that she couldn't be seen from the sky. Perhaps the heavens were now swarming with the lions of the Guard.

“I do not think so,”
countered the Flowing Queen.
“There are only three city councillors who betrayed me, and they have to be content with their share of the bodyguards. No councillor commands more than two flying lions. That makes six altogether, at the most.”

“Six lions with nothing else to do but hunt me?” Merle exclaimed. “And that's supposed to reassure me? Thanks very much!”

“Don't mention it.”

“You don't know much about us humans, right?”

“I have never had the opportunity to find out more about you.”

Merle shook her head dumbly. For centuries now the
Flowing Queen had been honored, there were cults dedicated entirely to worshipping her. But the Queen herself knew nothing of it. Knew nothing about humans, nothing about what she meant to them.

She was the lagoon. But was she also therefore a god?

“Is the Pharaoh a god because the Egyptians honor him as a god?”
asked the voice.
“For them he may be one. For you not. Divinity is only in the eye of the beholder.”

Merle was not in the mood to think about that, so instead she asked, “Before, that business with the mirror, that was you, wasn't it?”

“No.”

“Then was it the mirror itself? Or the phantom in it?”

“Have you considered that you yourself could have thrown it at the envoy?”

“I would certainly have known about that.”

“You are listening to a voice in your head that is perhaps only your own. It is possible that you also do things without being conscious of them—only because they are right.”

“Nonsense.”

“As you will.”

She wasted no more words on it, but the thought wouldn't let go of Merle. What if she really was only imagining the voice of the Flowing Queen? What if she had been talking the whole time with a hallucination? And worse yet, what if her own actions were no longer under
her control and she was talking with supernatural powers that in truth didn't exist at all?

This idea frightened her more than the fact that something strange had established itself in her. On the other hand, she didn't feel this stranger at all. It was all so terribly confusing.

Merle reached the mouth of the Canal of the Expelled. The festival hadn't ended yet—a few stalwarts sat on the bridge talking softly or staring silently into their cups. Junipa and the boys were nowhere to be seen. Probably they'd made their way home long since.

Merle ran along the small path at the edge of the canal until she reached Arcimboldo's workshop. The water lapped, whispering, against the stone. One last time she looked up at the night sky and imagined the lions were up there circling, beyond the shine of all the gaslights and torches. The soldiers on their backs might be blind in the dark, but weren't cats nocturnal animals? In her mind she saw the yellow predator eyes, which stared full of bloodlust into the depths, on the lookout for a girl in wet, worn clothes, with stringy hair and knowledge that might mean death.

She knocked on the door. No one answered. She pounded again. The blows sounded louder than usual to her; they must be audible throughout the whole district. Perhaps a lion was already on the way here, just now diving straight down through the layers of cold air, then
through the smog over the city, the smoke of fires and chimneys, the weak shine of the lanterns, straight at Merle. She looked up in alarm, above her in the dark, and perhaps there actually was something there, gigantic wings of stone, paws as large as puppies and—

The door opened. Eft grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the house. “Whatever were you thinking of to just run away?” The mermaid's eyes were glowing with anger as she slammed the front door behind Merle. “I had really expected more sense from you than—”

“I must speak with the master.” Merle looked anxiously back at the door.

“There was no one there,”
said the Queen reassuringly.

“With the master?” asked Eft. Obviously she couldn't hear the voice. “Have you any idea how late it is?”

“I'm sorry. Really. But it's important.”

She held Eft's gaze and tried to read the mermaid's eyes. You are touched by the Flowing Queen, she had said to her. In hindsight the words sounded almost like a prophecy that had been fulfilled this night. Could Eft feel the change that had taken place in Merle? Did she sense the strange presence in her thoughts?

Whatever reason she might have, she stopped scolding Merle. Instead she turned around. “Come along.”

Silently they went to the door of the workshop. Eft left Merle standing there. “Arcimboldo is still at work. He works every night. Tell him what you have to tell.” With
that she disappeared into the darkness and soon Merle could no longer hear her steps.

Alone, she hesitated before the door. It cost her great effort to raise her hand and knock. What could she say to Arcimboldo? Really the whole truth? Wouldn't he say she was crazy and throw her out of the house? And even worse: Mustn't she make clear to him at once what a threat she presented to the workshop and its inhabitants?

Nevertheless she felt a remarkable certainty that it was right to speak with him about it instead of with Eft. The mermaid worshipped the Flowing Queen. Merle's story would sound like blasphemy to her ears, the talk of a girl who wanted to make herself important.

Steps sounded on the other side of the door, then Arcimboldo's face appeared in the crack. “Merle! You're back!”

She hadn't expected him to have been aware of her disappearance at all. Eft must have told him of it.

“Come in, come in!” Hastily he waved her into the workshop. “We've been very worried about you.”

That was something new. Merle hadn't experienced someone in the orphanage ever worrying about anyone else. If one of the children vanished, he or she was looked for halfheartedly, usually without success. One burden less, one more place free.

It was warm in the workshop. Steam puffed in little white clouds from Arcimboldo's apparatus, which were
linked together with a network of pipes, tubing, and glass globes. The mirror maker used the machines only at night, when he was alone. During the day he busied himself in traditional ways and methods, perhaps because he didn't want to give his pupils any deep insights into the secrets of his art. Did he ever sleep at all? Hard to say. In Merle's eyes Arcimboldo belonged to the fixed inventory of the workshop, just like the oak doors and the high windows with their dust-encrusted panes on which generations of apprentices had scratched their initials.

Arcimboldo walked over to one of the devices, adjusted a switch, and then turned to her. Behind him the machine spurted out three clouds of steam in short bursts. “So now, tell! Where were you?”

Merle had considered all the long way back over what she wanted to say to Arcimboldo. The decision had not been an easy one for her. “I don't think you're going to understand me.”

“Don't worry about that. I only want to hear the truth.”

She took a deep breath. “I've come to thank you. And so that you know that I'm all right.”

“That sounds as though you intend to leave us.”

“I'm going away from Venice.”

She had reckoned with all possible reactions to this news, such as that he would laugh at her, scold her, or lock her up. But not with the sorrow that now darkened his
eyes. No anger, no malice, only plain regret. “What has happened?”

She told him everything. Beginning with her meeting with Serafin, about the fight in the deserted house, the vial with the Flowing Queen, and about Serafin being taken prisoner. She described the robes and faces of the three traitors to him, and he nodded in annoyance at each individual, as if he knew exactly who was the one involved. She spoke of the voice in her head and, a little ashamed, of the fact that she had drunk the contents of the vial.

After she'd finished, Arcimboldo sank dejectedly onto a wooden stool. With a cloth he blotted the sweat from his forehead, blew his nose into it forcefully, and threw it into the stove opening. Both watched as the material was consumed by the flames. They were quiet, almost a little reverent, as if what was burning there was something else: a memory, perhaps, or the thought of what might have been—without the Egyptians, without traitors, and without the poison spell that had driven the Flowing Queen out of the canal.

“You're right,” said Arcimboldo after a while. “It's no longer safe for you here. Not anywhere in Venice. But in you the Flowing Queen can leave the lagoon, for you were born here and so are a part of her.”

“You know more about her than you've ever told us,” she declared.

He smiled sadly. “A little. She was always an important
part of my work. Without her there can be no more magic mirrors.”

“But that will mean that . . .”

“That sooner or later I must close the workshop. So it is. The water of the lagoon is a component of my art. Without the breath of the Flowing Queen that goes into every mirror, all my talents are useless.”

Apprehension closed around Merle's heart. “What about the others? Junipa and Boro and . . .” There was a lump in her throat. “Must they go back to the orphanages?”

Arcimboldo thought briefly about it, then shook his head. “No, not that. But who knows what will happen when the Egyptians invade? No one can say ahead of time. There will perhaps be fighting. Then the boys will certainly want to fight on the side of the defenders.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “As if that would do any good.”

Merle wished that the Flowing Queen would give her an answer to that. A few reassuring words, something or other! But the voice inside her kept silent, and she herself didn't know how she could have cheered the mirror maker.

“You must keep on taking care of Junipa,” she said. “That you must promise me.”

“Certainly.” But his agreement didn't sound quite as convincing as Merle wanted it to be.

“Do you think she's in danger from the Egyptians? Because of her eyes?”

“No matter where the Empire has invaded, the first to suffer under them have always been the sick, the wounded, and the weak. The Pharaoh puts healthy men and women into his factories, but the rest . . . I can give you no answer about that, Merle.”

“But
nothing
must happen to Junipa!” Merle could no longer understand how she'd thought of going away without saying good-bye to Junipa. She had to see her, as quickly as possible. Perhaps she could even take her with her. . . .

“No,”
the Flowing Queen weighed in.
“That is impossible.”

“Why not?” Merle asked rebelliously. Arcimboldo looked up, since he assumed she was speaking to him. But when he realized that her look was directed inward, he knew whom she was addressing.

“The way we must go is hard enough for one alone. The old man has promised to take care of your friend.”

“But I—”

“It will not work.”

“Don't interrupt me!”

“You must believe me. Here she is safe. There, outside, she will only bring you into unnecessary danger. Both of you.”

“Both of us?” retorted Merle acidly. “
You,
you mean!”

“Merle!” Arcimboldo had stood up and taken her by the shoulders. “If you are really speaking with the Flowing Queen, you should adopt a different tone.”

“Bah!” She took a step back. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. “What do you know anyway? Junipa is my friend. I can't just run out on her!”

She took another step and rubbed angrily at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. Not here, not now.

“You aren't running out on me,” said a voice behind her, very gently, very softly. Merle whirled around.

“Junipa!”

In the dark of the open door the silvery eyes were sparkling like a pair of stars that had just wandered there from heaven. Junipa walked forward. The yellow flames of the stove fire flickered over her thin features. She was wearing her white nightgown, with a red shawl over it.

“I couldn't sleep,” she said. “I was worried about you. Eft came to me and said that I'd find you here.”

Dear, good Eft,
thought Merle gratefully. She'd never show it openly, but she knows exactly what's going on in each of us.