The Curious Case of Mary Ann

by Jenn Thorson

  She did. An extra room had shown up once at her father’s cottage when she was small. She thought she’d finally gotten her very own bedroom — she was so excited! It was all she’d ever wanted … Until the next morning, of course, when she woke up in the flowerbed, a snail trailing across her face.

  Such was Turvy.

  She snapped out of this reverie in time to realize Douglas was saying something. “The only glazier I can think of would be in the market district of Square Five. Plaine’s the name, I think. Gertie … Greta … something like that.”

  “And what is this sudden fascination of yours with mirrors?” Rufus asked. He seemed to be recalling he was supposed to be annoyed and planned to get back to it as soon as possible. “Not taking some other poor, trusting knight on a hare-brained folly?”

  “Rabbit,” said Mary Ann. “And no, Sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve chores to do.” With that she curtseyed — rather hard to do in squire’s trousers, but she managed — and scuttled out.

  10

  Mary Ann bustled about the Manor the rest of the day, taking care of not only the chores she had missed earlier, but tomorrow’s, as well. It was a nice feature of Turvy, really, that if you were very clever, you could clean the grates for today, and then clean them again for tomorrow in sequence, and it would keep nicely until another day hence. So the hours went by swiftly, filled with double-duty on all the major tasks she could think of, creating a sort of Mary Ann-ness about the place that should hold them for a while. She even peeked into Lady Carmine’s room to see how she was getting on after the blizzard. The lady slept. The snow showers were down to sporadic flurries but the cloud over the bed was as large as ever, its color now a foreboding charcoal grey. Mary Ann shook her head sadly. There would be more to come.

  The next morning, Mary Ann was out of bed and down the path from the Manor at first light, on her way to see a woman about a looking-glass. If all went well, she would be back in time for training with Sir Rufus and the household would be none the wiser.

  An unexpected excitement was mounting in her chest. She hadn’t been to Square Five since she was a child, and she looked forward to recapturing this time in the hustle and bustle of one of Turvy’s major villages. It was just a shame it was for information instead of pleasure. She needed a few things, but all she could afford was free information.

  Square Five, she was soon reminded, did present its topographical challenges. The streams that spread across the sector made the journey rich and varied, but were winding and on the soggy side. In some places, bridges had been erected, but in others, one had to hop across mossy stones or wade through the waters. These were not the easiest undertakings in a housemaid’s dress and Mary Ann wished, several times during the course of the hike, that she’d had the presence of mind to clad herself in squire gear before she’d left.

  Alas, some things could not be done backwards.

  But she arrived at her destination in due time. The place had changed a bit since she was a girl, but then it did so constantly. At the moment, there was a cobbler — button boots in plum, apple and cherry were on special that day. She passed a place for spun wool and sundries, where shawls were the specialty and the sheep proprietress sat out front knitting them, putting much of herself into her work by way of will and wool.

  The pawnshop looked lively this morning; it was doing a brisk trade among both Red and White Turvian pawns looking for a new shield, affordable armor or a book on how-to exploit the weaknesses of the opposing side and not get taken prisoner. The shop was split down the middle, Red and White, with two separate doors. But a quick glance through each battle guide sitting on the outside tables proved that it was the very same book for both groups, with a different cover and minor text edits for each.

  If anyone noticed, certainly, no one seemed to be bothered by it. Then again, there had been peace for almost a decade between the two sides in Turvy, yet here was a store specifically catering to those who hated to let go of a good grudge once they’d got a hold of it. She supposed it made for a pleasant hobby.

  It was only when Mary Ann came to a place with a sign that read “Hats, Custom Hats and Royal Messenger Service” that her shoulders tensed and she lost her breath. (She found it again; she’d just dropped it nearby.)

  Quickly, she surveyed the style of hats, the choice of fabric, the color combinations, the generous use of embellishments and decorative codfish … All very distinctive and instantly familiar. But, surely, it could not be …

  Oh, it was. Mary Ann could see the man himself bustling round the shop, arranging the hats with, of all things, a teacup still in his hand.

  A very dirty teacup, Mary Ann noticed guiltily …

  For she was the indirect cause of that.

  While working for Mr. Rabbit this past year, the fellow had promised Mary Ann’s assistance for two hours, three times a week to one of his acquaintances, Mr. Simon Milliner, hat maker of Neath. Mary Ann agreed to the work, not because she had much choice in the matter (despite his cuddly appearance, Mr. Rabbit was not one easily denied), but because some extra funds would be nice to sock away for the future. She’d even made the sock.

  The problem with this particular position was not specifically Mr. Milliner, though the man was prone to the occasional rude personal comment. (She recalled him observing once quite seriously over a cup of hot chamomile how her face resembled a chipmunk in need of a hair restorative.) No, the real issue was that the man had somehow gotten on Time’s bad side and was essentially cursed to perpetual tea for eternity.

  Now perpetual teatime may sound like a lovely thing to those who are fans of the stuff. But it presents a certain series of problems in the housemaid/kitchen departments. Mainly, there was simply no way of ever ensuring enough tea, foodstuffs and clean dishes to support the effort. Mary Ann would just get done with preparations and set-up and, suddenly, all was dirtied and devoured again.

  What’s worse, because it was always six o’clock, Mary Ann’s allotted two hours per day never came to pass. Hour after hour of work: still six o’clock. Eventually, she’d simply walked out of the engagement. Her talents for going invisible had never come in handier. Even Mr. Rabbit hadn’t pressed the matter once she’d explained the situation. She’d apparently been gone four days in teatime, and now his socks needed mending and the linens changed.

  On the up side, he never lent her services to anyone again.

  Now, seeing Mr. Milliner here in Turvy with a second shop and a messenger’s service to boot, Mary Ann felt nothing but ill-prepared and uneasy. She bowed her head and ducked past the front window, unsure about her invisibility status and hoping he hadn’t caught a glimpse. Mr. Rabbit never had said what the hat-maker’s reaction to her vacancy had been. She’d wondered if they ever got anyone to replace her. Based on that tannin-stained cup, she suspected not.

  Mary Ann tried to put it out of her mind as she wound through the marketplace section of Square Five. Signs to various purveyors pointed this way and that, through tiny doors, sideways corridors and upside-down staircases while she scanned them for any mention of the glazier she sought. All the while, she could not shake a feeling that eyes were on her, trying to read her like she read those signs.

  Then she saw it: “Plaine Ornamentation: Stained Glass, Looking Glass, Baubles, Beads and Buoys. Made-to-order!”

  Mary Ann had ducked through the door in half a tick.

  A little bell tinkled and Mary Ann was almost blinded by reflective silver and overwhelmed by color. There were stained glass windows and mirrors propped on tables, in wooden stands, hanging from the ceiling, tiled to the floors. There were bowls of round glass spheres and buckets of round glass fishing floats. There were mirror animals and glass insects and some glow worms wriggling around with real fire blazing within their glass bellies.

  One of these dropped from some height onto Mary Ann’s arm and she could feel the heat radiate from it. On closer look, she saw the creature had real stained glass eyes and …
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br />   “May I help you?”

  It was a woman with very large spectacles whose lenses were stained glass. She could not make out the woman’s eyes behind them. The lady’s dress was decorated with bits of mirror embroidered into it. Tiny mirrored buttons trailed down her bodice. Her shoes appeared to be stained glass.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for a Miss Plaine. Forgive me, I don’t know the first name. Gertrude or Greta, they thought it was.”

  “They, whoever they are, thought wrong,” said the woman. “There has never been, nor will be, a Gertrude or Greta Plaine here.”

  It was a tone of dismissal, and Mary Ann dismissed. “Oh, I daresay. I’m very sorry to have troubled you.” And Mary Ann stepped to the door, to double-check the name of the shop.

  “Stop right there, young lady!” Given the sheer volume and sharpness of the voice, Mary Ann did as she was told. The woman went over, put an arm around her shoulders and led her back in. “I did not say you were in the wrong place, did I? But the name,” she said. “The name is Gilda.” She smiled. “Gilda Plaine.”

  “Ah.” Mary Ann nodded.

  “And what can I help you with, my dear?”

  “I’m looking for a mirror.”

  “We don’t have any,” Gilda Plaine said.

  Mary Ann looked from the wall, to the ceiling, to the floor, to the other wall and heard herself let out a little frustrated exhale. This was either going to be a long encounter or a very short one.

  “We don’t have any that are not already spoken for,” purred Miss Plaine, following Mary Ann’s gaze. “The work is custom. We don’t keep stock. What you see here are samples, samples, and more samples.” She picked up a small hand mirror with a stained glass dragonfly the same colors as her glasses and twirled it around. “Also samples.”

  “I see,” said Mary Ann. “Well, I came because I thought you might be the one to make a very specific type of mirror.”

  “Ideal, then, you being in a place that makes many specific types of mirrors,” she said. “What would you like, dear? Flat? Convex? Concave? Full-length? Hand? Wall? We have tabletop mirrors, tables made of mirrors, and mirrors framed in old table legs. We’ve got mirrors that magnify, reduce, stretch, bend, or only show you the back of your head. We’ve got mirrors that make you look younger, that tell you when someone is lying, and show you when you’re in love. We’ve got mirrors that know who’s the most beautiful in the land and ones that, no matter how dreadful you look, will lie and say you’re a dolly. We’ve got mirrors that won’t fog, mirrors made of fog, and mirrors with foghorns in them (lighthouse keepers love them). So.” She seemed quite out of breath. “What would you like to see?”

  At this point, Mary Ann’s head was spinning. “My! Such choice!” she said. “But I was rather hoping for… a mirror that led to other places?”

  “Nope, don’t have that.”

  The words fell flat.

  “That’s curious,” Mary Ann continued, trying to put it politely, “because J. Sanford Banks mentioned you’d done one for a project of Rowan Carpenter’s recently.”

  “Ah,” said Miss Plaine, “well, that was a very special commission. Limited edition. One edition, very limited.”

  “And, um, who did you deal with for that commission? Mr. Carpenter, was it?”

  “No, Mr. Banks. I always deal with Mr. Banks. I’ve never met Mr. Carpenter, though I appreciate his work. Simply magnificent! Genius! If this particular item I made goes well, Mr. Banks and I plan to secure a more lengthy partnership. My mirrors, Mr. Carpenter’s frames. Frabjous possibilities. We’re simply beamish about it.”

  Mary Ann nodded. “So if someone wanted a mirror like the one you did for Mr. Banks, what options would they have?”

  “It was a transporting mirror. So the options are: go through the mirror or don’t. Not a very good transporting mirror if you choose the latter, though.”

  “I mean about the location,” said Mary Ann. “Where does the looking-glass lead?”

  “Right now, all transporting looking-glasses lead to Thither. That’s non-negotiable. It’s the only place that has a receiving mirror installed, permanently. In the future, I like to think there will be mirror ports all across the realms. But right now, there’s the one. Thither.”

  “And how is the passage in the mirror accessed? It isn’t activated all the time, is it?”

  “Certainly it’s not,” snapped the woman. “Why, you can’t go just leaving it wide open all the time, can you? Toddlers and pets would be getting into it, the moment you looked away. You’d be losing toddlers and pets in droves. Piles of toddlers, lap dogs, cats and hedgehogs all piled up at the base of it. Very untidy and they’d have to start a Lost and Found. The authorities in Thither would be a-tither. It wouldn’t do at all. You have to say the right word.”

  “Yes, but how do you know what it is? Does the client choose the word? Do you? Is it predetermined in some way?”

  “No,” the woman looked at her like she had apples for ears. “You just say the right word and go through.”

  “But where does the word come from? If I wanted to access the mirror to use it, how would I know what to say?”

  “You? Clearly, you wouldn’t,” and she laughed to herself bitterly about this. “And you know what’s more? I don’t want you going through my mirrors. I think we’re done here.”

  “Please, ma’am, I meant no disrespect, I just —”

  “Out.”

  As she was escorting MaryAnn out, the housemaid tripped on something. She looked below and saw she had crushed one of the pretty little glow worms. It was all broken glass and a burnt spot on the floor.

  “Oh dear! Madam, I am so terribly sorry! I’ll pay for —”

  Gilda Plaine looked at the broken insect and shook her head. “Pane in the glass,” she muttered. “You. Gone. Now.”

  “I’m going. I’m going.”

  Mary Ann went.

  She emerged onto the market street and bumped directly into someone, feeling even more of a fool. “Oh my, I do beg your pardon, it’s —” She recognized the red tunic and looked up. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

  It was Sir Rufus.

  “I might ask the same of you,” he said. His arms were folded, his face blinding in the daylight, his lips a thin, not-amused line. “Shouldn’t you be housemaiding? Isn’t there all sorts of …” he waved a hand, “… housemaidishness you should be getting up to? Because I’m quite certain no one sent you on an emergency mirror errand.”

  “Oh. Ah …” She brightened. “Well-done, Sir Rufus!”

  His frown deepened. “Well-done who?”

  “Well-done you, Sir!” she said, infusing her voice with warmth.

  “And what have I done exactly?”

  “You passed.”

  “Passed? Passed?” He seemed to be scanning the various market tables to see if he’d passed something vital there.

  “You passed an important part of your training. Just as I hoped. You’ve learned tracking today and done a splendiferous job of it, too. Perfect for a Jabberwock situation, don’t you think? Huzzah for that fellow!” she said, pointing to him.

  Before he could recover from this wave of enthusiasm, she cleared her throat and started down the street toward home.

  He ran to catch up rather faster than she was wishing. “See here, Mary Ann.” He always flung her name like a knife. “You’re trying to distract me. Just now, you were at that glazier Douglas Divot mentioned yesterday.”

  “Was I?”

  “It’s all smoke and mirrors with you,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly. It is not —” She coughed and waved away the cloud from the market incense vendor. “Oh. Yes, I see.”

  “You’ll tell me what’s going on.” His expression was not dissimilar to the look he had when slaying the Jabberwock.

  “In time, perhaps,” she said gently, feeling very tired. “Right now, it’s really nothing over which to trouble yourself. Besides, I have much to ponder.”<
br />
  11

  The water pooling at the base of the Manor’s grand staircase was not a good sign and the higher Mary Ann looked, the more enthusiastic the waterfall became.

  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Mrs. Cordingley, running in with an armload of fresh towels, trying to staunch the stream. “Oh dear and dear again!”

  “Whatever is happening?” asked Rufus.

  “Your mother, Mr. Rufus,” said the housekeeper. “It’s gotten worse. She’s feverish and begun a thaw! I fear before it’s over, we’ll all drown!”

  In a flash, Sir Rufus was dodging around her, up the stairs, and Mary Ann followed.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Sir, if I were you!” Mrs. Cordingley called. “You’ll let out the —”

  There were towels packed at the base of the lady’s door. But Sir Rufus ignored them, yanking open the entrance, dragging the towels aside. A foot of water and ice came rushing out. It soaked their legs and poured down the steps.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” continued Mrs. Cordingley, for lack of better analysis.

  There was no denying it. Mary Ann had been right about that foreboding cloud she’d spied earlier. Inside Lady Carmine’s chambers, torrents of rain issued from it, the air was steamy as a laundry and every surface was either fogged, dripping, buckling or drenched.

  “Mother,” said Sir Rufus, leaping over a half-melted snowbank and rushing to her bed. “Are you all right?”

  It was hard to hear him over the roar of the rain hitting the bed parasol. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck the marble-top dresser, leaving a scorch mark down the center. Mary Ann was glad Sir Rufus wasn’t wearing his armor. He’d rust, if he weren’t shocked senseless first.

  “Oh, I’m fine, my dear boy,” Lady Carmine said feebly. She reached out to stroke his cheek as rain soaked his hair and ran down his face. “You look tired,” she said, brushing a limp ginger curl from his forehead. “Are you getting enough rest?”