The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen by Delia Sherman Page A

policeman. They just sat and stared at him. All he had to do to get past them was not freak out.
    I stared back at the Assistant. After a long moment, she took off her glasses. Without them, her eyes were small and weak. “You’ll have to ask the Deputy,” she said. “In there.”
    The Deputy’s office was gloomy and brown and smelled of very old sandwiches. The only furniture in it were some bookcases and, in front of the far door, a wheeled chair loaded with what looked a pile of brown blankets.
    I squeaked forward a few steps, the hair prickling along my arms.
    The blankets stirred and groaned, and the Deputy turned to look at me. His (or possibly her) face was a nest of wrinkles with a bony nose and a narrow, sunken mouth. If she (or possibly he) had eyes, they were invisible under a mop of yellow-white hair.
    “I know there’s somebody there.” The Deputy’s voice was creaky and thin, like the wind through bare branches. “Identify yourself immediately.”
    I reached for a curl. “Neef.” My voice came out in an uncertain squeak.
    “Beef? Stupid thing to call a changeling. When I was young, the Folk had style. Nonpareil. Dead Rabbit. Four-in-hand. Geegaw. A mortal could answer to names like that with pride. Come here, Beef.”
    Nervously, I took a step forward. A gnarled hand, all bones and skin, snaked out of the blankets and pulled at my arm. I jumped.
    “Stop playing with your hair,” said the Deputy. “It’s childish. What do you want, Beef?”
    “A quest pass,” I said, snatching my hand behind my back. “And it’s Neef, not Beef. N, as in Nonpareil.”
    The claw shook as the Deputy made disgusting liquid noises I guessed were laughter. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? Heard all the fairy tales, learned all the lists, got a magic bag and a pure heart, think you’re ready to seek your fortune? Well, it’s not that simple, Beef.”
    It was simple for the policeman: the dogs hadn’t argued. I was beginning to lose patience. “I know. I have to pass a bunch of tests first, and this is obviously one of them. So stop trying to scare me off and tell me what I have to do next.”
    “You’re going to be late for your lesson, you know,” the old voice warned. “Unless you leave right now .”
    Another test. “So I’ll be late,” I said.
    The Deputy’s wrinkles grew more threatening. “You could be banished from Miss Van Loon’s.”
    “I’ve been banished before,” I said. “I survived. Look, I need a quest pass. Can you please just give me one?”
    The pile of blankets pulled itself higher in the chair. “You’ll have to get by me first,” the Deputy said.
    It would have been so easy just to shove the wheelchair away from the door. But Astris had dinned it into me that only oldest sons and wicked magicians are mean to old people. Heroes give them their cloaks, or half their lunch. And I was a hero, right?
    Well, I didn’t have a cloak. And I suspected that toothless mouth wouldn’t be able to deal with bread and cheese. I thought a moment, then opened Satchel and wished. A cup nudged into my hand. I pulled it out, steaming fragrantly.
    The Deputy sniffed loudly. “Is that hot chocolate? I haven’t had hot chocolate in over a hundred years.”
    “It is. And I’ll give it to you when you let me pass.” The Deputy’s voice edged into a whine. “I’m not a wicked witch or an evil dwarf. I’m just a poor old mortal, good for scaring away cowards and weeding out bullies. You’re obviously neither. Go on in. But give me the chocolate first.”
    I shoved the cup into the Deputy’s bony hands and opened the door.
    This time, it really was the Schooljuffrouw’s office, complete with books and huge wooden desk, with the Schooljuffrouw behind it, looking into a large crystal ball. When I came in, she covered it with a piece of cloth.
    “I understand you want a quest pass,” she said.
    When the policeman got past the guardian dogs, he’d found a magic treasure.