The Glass Word (28 page)

Seagulls screamed over the wrecks of galleys, half-sunk along the banks of the lagoon like the ribs of bizarre ocean creatures of wood and gold and iron. Men of the City Guard were posted on most of them to protect the wreckage from plunderers. Days would pass yet before the cleanup work in the city was far enough along for anyone to attend to the costly shipwrecks in the sea.

Above an island in the northeast of the lagoon, far away from the main island, a dark column stood out against the sky. Black smoke rose from the fires that burned there day
and night. The fallen mummy soldiers were carried thither on ferries and laid on pyres for their final rest. The wind stood favorable and carried the ashes out over the sea.

Over the roofs and towers of the city the guardsmen flew their rounds on silent stone lions with widespread wings. The men were vigilantly observing the activities in the streets, making sure that no mummies lay undiscovered, even in the remotest back courtyards and gardens. Calling loudly from the sky, they directed the cleanup troops, repair crews, and soldiers on the ground. Down there all differences were suspended: Everyone, whether in uniform or day laborer, whether fisherman or tradesman, was busy cleaning up the streets, clearing the remains of mummy soldiers out of houses and from piazzas, and taking down the barricades, soot-blackened witnesses to the meager resistance against the Empire.

At the broad opening to the Grand Canal, Venice's main waterway, the activity was as lively as it used to be only on feast days. Dozens of boats and gondolas darted around on the water like ants at the foot of their hill, transports in one direction or the other. Everywhere, shouting and calling and sometimes even, again at last, individual songs from the sterns of polished gondolas.

On the bank of the canal mouth, at the harbor wall of the Zattere quay, stood Merle, Junipa, and Lalapeya. They waved at the departing rowboat that had brought them to shore. Tiziano and Aristide lay to the oars, while Dario and Eft
waved good-bye with arms outstretched. The sea wind tore the words from their lips. The submarine lay far outside, on the other side of the ring of wrecked galleys, but none of the three turned away until the little dinghy was entirely out of sight. And even then they remained standing there, looking out over the water to where their friends had vanished.

“Will you go back with me for a little way?” Lalapeya asked finally.

Merle looked at Junipa. “How do you feel?”

The pale girl ran one hand over the scar on her chest and nodded. “Right now I don't feel anything. It's as if the Stone Light has withdrawn for the time being. Maybe to get over the defeat of the sphinxes.”

Lalapeya, who had covered her petite woman's body with a sand-colored dress from the pirates' stores, led them through an alley deeper into the confusion of streets and piazzas. “The Light will probably rest for a while. After all, it has all the time in the world.”

They crossed slender bridges, narrow courtyards, and the Grand Canal on a ferry. Merle was astonished at how fast the work of cleaning up was going. The traces of the thirty-year siege could not be removed within a few days, yet all the indications of the Empire's takeover of power were already erased from the cityscape. Merle wondered what had become of the Pharaoh's body. Probably they'd thrown it in the fire along with the mummies.

A young water carrier they met along the way told
them that the City Council had again taken over the business of governing. Many councillors had been executed by the Pharaoh, among them the traitors, and now their successors were trying to restore the credibility of the regime. It was said that they'd already gotten the advice of the Flowing Queen, who had returned to the lagoon with the downfall of the Empire; all decisions of the City Council would be hers; they would follow her will and would on no account anger her. Therefore it was in the population's interest to obey all orders and not to question the rule of the councillors. The young woman beamed with confidence. As long as the Flowing Queen watched over Venice, she was not afraid. She and the councillors would see to it that everything became good again.

Merle, Junipa, and Lalapeya nodded politely, thanked her for the information, and quickly went on their way to the sphinx's palazzo. No one had the heart to tell the young woman the truth about the Flowing Queen. And what sense would it have made? No one would have believed them. No one
wanted
to believe them.

In the palazzo they found many of the boys whom Serafin had excluded from the attack on the Pharaoh. They broke into shouts of joy when Lalapeya appeared in the doorway. She had no choice but to allow them to continue to live there—provided they made themselves useful working in the district and kept the salons and the corridors clean. Merle thought the company would be good for Lalapeya;
she would no longer feel so lonely in the big old building.

In the evening they sat together in the large salon and Merle and Junipa realized that this would be their last meal in this world for a long time. That made them sad and excited at the same time.

It had long been dark when Lalapeya led them into her chamber, through a labyrinth of silk curtains to a wall with a high mirror. The silver glass sparkled like the purest crystal. On the wooden frame were carved all the fabulous creatures of the Orient, a dance out of
A Thousand and One Nights.

“Yet another good-bye,” said Lalapeya, as the girls stood before her with bulging knapsacks filled with food and water canteens. “The last, I hope.”

Merle was about to say something, but her mother gently laid a finger on her lips. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You know where you can find me whenever you want to. I will not leave here. I am the guardian of the lagoon. If the humans do not need me, perhaps the mermaids will.”

Merle looked at her for a long moment. “It was you who built their cemetery, wasn't it?”

The sphinx nodded. “It lies under the palazzo. Someone must keep watch over it. And perhaps I can teach those boys out there that there is reason to respect the mermaids or even to be their friends. I think that would be a good beginning.” She smiled. “Besides … it will soon be summer. Venice is wonderful when the sun is shining.”

“Summer!” exclaimed Merle. “Of course! What became of her and Winter?”

“Became?” Lalapeya laughed. “Those two will never change. They go on through the world again as they have from the beginning of time, undisturbed by the fortunes of humans. And now and again they meet one another and then they act as if they were humans who are in love with each other.”

“Aren't they, then?” Merle asked. “In love?”

“Perhaps they are. But perhaps there is no other choice for them. Not even they are entirely free.”

Junipa kept thinking about what she'd said, but Lalapeya had already turned to Merle and put the question that had burned on her lips for too long. Merle had been waiting for it for days.

“You want to find him, don't you? Steven, I mean. Your father.”

“Yes, perhaps,” said Merle. “If he's still alive.”

“Oh, that he certainly is,” said the sphinx with conviction, “somewhere behind the mirrors. You've inherited your toughness and tenacity not just from me, Merle, but also from your father. Especially from him.”

“We can look for him where we want to,” said Junipa, and her mirror eyes seemed to blaze with determination. “In all worlds.”

Lalapeya gently stroked Junipa's cheek with the back of her hand. “Yes, you can. You'll watch out for Merle,
won't you? She broods too much when she's alone. She gets that from her mother.”

“I won't be alone.” Merle smiled at Junipa. “Neither of us will be.” And then she hugged and kissed Lalapeya and finally took leave of her. Junipa touched the surface of the mirror and whispered the glass word.

Merle followed her through the wall of silver, out into the labyrinths of the mirror world, where there was so much to see, to learn, to find. Her father. That other Venice—that of the reflections on the canal. And even, who knew, another Merle, another Junipa.

Another Serafin.

But Lalapeya stood there for a long time after the two were gone and the mirror ripples had smoothed out. At last she turned around, parted the silken curtains with her bandaged hands, and strolled through the house, which was finally full of life again.

From far below, from the kitchen, it smelled of cinnamon and honey, and through the walls she could hear the ferment of the city, the awakening to the future. In between, so far away that no human ear could have perceived it, sounded the soft singing of the mermaids, somewhere in the sea, far away from all islands; behind it the call of the sea witch; the sprouting of a flower in desert sand; the wing beats of a powerful lion prince.

And perhaps even, very far away, very vague, the voices of two girls who had just walked out into another, alien world.