She shot a terrified look at the guffawing Dragon. “I’ll help, I guess. But we have to hurry.”
I ran toward the Scales just as if I thought I was going to snatch them up as easily as Carlyle had snatched me, and carry them triumphantly out of the Treasury.
DowJones emerged from behind the Scales, brandishing the heavy silver coffeepot in both hands. I skidded to a halt.
“Get out of my way, DowJones,” I panted. “I did what the Dragon asked. I made the Bear laugh and the Bull cry. The Scales are mine, fair and square.”
“No, they aren’t,” DowJones said grimly. “The Dragon would say you rendered the deal null and void by exceeding the terms of your bargain. In other words, it took you two tries to succeed, and he only gave you one. If I were you, I’d cut my losses and run.”
“What about me?” Fleet wailed, stumbling up behind me. “After this stunt, he’s going to have me for breakfast.”
“You’d better go with her then, hadn’t you?” DowJones lowered the coffeepot. “You’re not going to believe this, Fleet, but I’m not your enemy. I feel sorry for you. All the Executive Assistants do. You’re completely unsuited to this job. It’s not entirely your fault; the Bureau of Changeling Affairs made a bad call. It happens.” She sighed. “I’ll tell the Dragon that the Bull trampled the three of you to a bloody pulp. He won’t care, as long as the Scales are still here.”
“What about the Central Park air rights?” I cried.
“I don’t know. Nobody’s signed anything. The contract’s not even drawn up. I may be able to convince him the deal’s a no-go.”
Fleet and I looked at each other. The storm of supernatural laughter was beginning to subside. We didn’t have much time. I knew we didn’t really have a choice, but I didn’t want to leave with my quest unfinished.
I started to say something, I don’t know exactly what, but Fleet interrupted me. “Is anybody going to stop us?”
“Not if you get out of here before Himself sobers up,” DowJones said.
“We have to get Changeling!” I cried.
Luckily, she hadn’t gone far. Fleet found her by the coffee tower, doing her flowered turtle impersonation, with Satchel clutched tight in her arms. She poked and prodded her to her feet, and then the three of us ran through a narrow gap in the Treasury Wall and down a tiled corridor toward the familiar rumble of the Betweenways.
CHAPTER 22
WHEN ALL IS LOST, IMPROVISE.
Neef’s Rules for Changelings
In the end, it was Changeling who got us back to the Metropolitan Museum. Fleet didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t care. When we reached the Betweenways station, I folded up on the platform and put my head in my arms. I could hear Fleet and Changeling talking, but it was like listening to some made-up language. I wished I could turn into something peaceful, like a rock, or go to sleep for a hundred years, like the Sleeping Debutante.
Instead, Fleet grabbed my elbow and hauled me onto the Betweenway. It was like a mirror image of my first trip, where Changeling was totally freaked out and I was—well, calmer than she was, anyway. This struck me as funny, so I laughed and then I cried, around and around like the Bull and the Bear.
When we got off the Betweenway at the Metropolitan Museum, the Old Market Woman and Bastet were waiting for us.
“The Head of Apollo prophesied that you’d be arriving,” said the Old Market Woman.
“You look like somebody’s been trying to sacrifice you,” said Bastet. “I want to hear all about it.”
“Tough,” I said. “I’m not in the mood for stories.” And I ran for the Tomb of Perneb, where I could be miserable in peace.
I guess funerary friezes are used to weeping mortals; I must have cried gallons of tears, and they never cracked a smile. Like some stupid eldest brother, I’d flunked my quest. I couldn’t go back to the Park. Since I hadn’t been eaten by the Dragon, neither could the Pooka. And Changeling couldn’t go home. Oh, and I might have lost Central Park’s air rights to the Dragon of Wall Street. My life was ruined and so was everybody else’s and it was all my fault.
Eventually I must have gone to sleep, because I woke up feeling like I’d been wrestling a wind sprite, and my face was stiff with dried tears. An apple and a piece of cheese had appeared beside me, along with a pitcher of water and my favorite pale green Chinese bowl. I was too depressed to be hungry, but I drank half the water and poured the rest into the bowl so I could wash my face.
When I came out of the temple, Bastet was sitting with her back to me and her bronze tail wrapped primly around her paws.
“Mew,” I said pathetically.
She sneezed in an amused way. “You need to work on your accent,” she said severely. “You just gave a kitten call, which is insulting in more ways than I can tell you. Nonetheless, I’m glad you survived your quest. So is the Curator.”
“Thanks.” I sat down beside her and hugged my knees to my chest. I wondered how the Curator was going to react when he found out that Fleet wanted to become the Museum’s official changeling. I wondered if he’d let me live here, too. And Changeling, of course. I wondered what the Pooka would do. My eyes went hot again.
Bastet butted me with her hard bronze head. “That’s enough of that,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”
I scrubbed both hands over my face, hard, and then I got up and followed Bastet out of the Egyptian Wing into the Great Hall.
I wasn’t surprised to see the Green Lady hanging out by the Museum Shop, looking at postcards. The Curator had probably sent for her as soon as I got back. She turned when she heard Bastet’s bronze feet clicking on the marble floor and planted her green hands on her hips.
Today she was wearing a leafy minidress, and her dreadlocks were stuck with roses. She gave me a disdainful once-over. “If it’s not the great hero, home from her big quest. Whassamatter, kid? Ain’t you glad to see me?”
I curtsied. “I’m always glad to see you, my Lady Genius of Central Park.” Oddly enough, I really meant this. I loved Central Park, after all. Maddening as she was, the Green Lady was Central Park. So I loved her, too.
“Where’s my loot?” she said.
Bastet clicked forward. “Neef has been on a quest,” she said severely, “not a shopping spree. She’ll present the talismans she’s collected in the presence of the Genius who witnessed the original bargain.”
The Lady’s hair gave an irritated twitch. “I want it now.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” Bastet said, and trotted off toward Ancient Greek Sculpture.
Following Bastet and the Lady, I knew for the first time since I started this adventure just what was going to happen next. It was kind of comforting to know that I’d come to the last chapter, that there was nothing I could do or say to change the way things were. The story would end, and somebody would live happily ever after, because that’s the way stories in New York Between always end. It just wouldn’t be me.
We stepped through the door into the Fountain Court. The cheerful bronze boys raised their pipes to their lips and blew a shrill fanfare.
The Curator had dressed up for the occasion with a red bow tie and a matching handkerchief. He’d pushed his glasses onto his forehead and forgotten them, but with the Assyrian Lion and the Minoan Priestess flanking him, he looked impressive anyway. The other docents and guards were ranged behind them. On one side, I saw an unfamiliar Egyptian princess in a pleated white gown and a hollow-cheeked man in black. Then the Egyptian princess waved at me and I recognized Fleet. The hollow-cheeked man, I realized, was the Pooka.
“Hi,” I said weakly.
The Pooka stepped forward and opened his mouth.
“Enjoying your visit to the museum?” The Green Lady’s voice was poison sweet. The Pooka shut his mouth, bowed, and stepped back again. The Lady turned to the Curator and gave him a little nod.
“Green Lady of the Parks,” he said formally. “Are you prepared to keep your bargain?”
“I am i
f she is.”
“Hero,” said the Curator. “Present the magical talismans.”
There was an awful moment where everybody was looking at me and I was wondering where Changeling was with Satchel and whether I was going to have to excuse myself to go look for her, and what an anticlimax that would be. Then I heard the leathery slap of sandals and turned to see the Old Market Woman herding Changeling into the Fountain Court.
Changeling’s hair was springing out of her hair clips, her shirt was untucked, and the flowers on her jacket were hairy with loose threads. But her head was up and her mouth was firm.
I was very glad to see her.
The Lady, however, was not. As soon as Changeling came into the room, the Lady’s hair came alive in a tangle of hissing snakes. The docents, who were a pretty tough bunch, weren’t fazed, but Fleet put her hands over her ears, and the bronze dolphins dove for the bottom of the pool. The Pooka covered his eyes with one long hand and shook his head. Changeling gave a startled yelp, then retreated into her flowery jacket and shut down.
The Curator beckoned to the Minoan Priestess, who rustled purposefully toward the Lady, her snakes held high. The roses settled back into the Lady’s hair.
“Don’t get your ruffles in a twist, pipsqueak,” the Lady snapped. “I’m not going to turn into anything. I’m just going to take care of that changeling over there.”
The Lady turned to Changeling, forefinger cocked. Without thinking, I jumped between them. “Oh, no you don’t,” I said.
“Butt out, kid,” the Lady snarled. “I have to get rid of it.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t belong here, that’s why. It’s a changeling. I made it for the Bureau of Changeling Affairs so they’d have something to leave in your place. If you’re here, it has to be there, or nowhere. I’m voting for nowhere.” She grinned toothily at me. “Unless you’d rather go Outside and let it take your place with the Hunt.”
Now it was my turn to get mad. “What’s your problem with Changeling, anyway? She’s a lot more fairy than I am. She can do all kinds of magic stuff. She can see things I can’t, she can remember anything, she can fix stuff even a Computer Wizard can’t fix.”
“See now, that’s just what I’m talking about,” the Green Lady said. “Who ever heard of a Park fairy who could fix computers? She’s different. She might change things. Change is dangerous. She’s got to go.”
“Fine,” I said. “Send her back Outside, then. Once she’s safely home, I’ll give you your loot, and everybody will be happy.”
The Green Lady bared her teeth in an unfriendly smile. “Loot first,” she said.
I turned to Changeling and lifted Satchel off her shoulder, being careful not to touch her. There’s nothing like a good blast of fury to kick the mind into gear. I hadn’t failed completely, after all. I had the Mermaid’s Mirror and the ticket to Peter Pan. With luck and a little fast talking, I could probably salvage some kind of happy ending out of this mess. Maybe the Pooka could go back to the Park even if I couldn’t. Fleet was right: I could live anywhere. All I needed was friends, and I had made enough new ones to know I could make more.
I opened Satchel, pulled out the Mermaid’s Mirror, and flourished it. “Behold the Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen!”
The Green Lady made an unladylike grab for it. “Gimme.”
I pulled it out of reach. “In return for the Mirror, I get to stay in New York Between, right?”
“That was the deal,” she agreed. “Hand it over.”
I gave the Lady the Mirror. She looped the golden chain around her neck and clasped her hands over the silvery disk in a gesture that made me think of the Dragon.
“Next.”
I reached into Satchel, picked one of the tickets out of the envelope, and held it up. My hand shook a little.
“One orchestra ticket to Peter Pan,” I said.
“In return for the freedom of the Park,” the Lady said. “Give.”
I took a deep breath. “I want to change the deal. In exchange for the ticket, I want you to let the Pooka go back to the Park.”
You’d think I’d broken another geas.
“You can’t pull the old bait and switch on me!” the Lady screeched.
The Curator held up his hand. “Stop! Stop, both of you. Neef, you can’t just go around renegotiating your bargains like that. It just isn’t done.”
When the Curator says a thing isn’t done, he means it. The Lady held out her hand; reluctantly I laid the shimmering disk in it. She checked it over, then narrowed her eyes at me. “With the original Tinkerbell?”
“Yes,” I said wearily.
She tucked the ticket away in the neck of her leafy dress. “Best for last,” she said. “The Scales of the Dragon of Wall Street.”
Everybody leaned forward: the docents, the guards, the Pooka, the dolphins and the cheerful boys, even the Curator was waiting for me to pull this one last rabbit out of my hat.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t have them,” I said, then went on, very fast. “I do have another ticket for Peter Pan. You can have it if you want, but you have to let the Pooka back into the Park.”
The Lady’s smug little half-moon smile flopped into a snarl. “What?”
“I didn’t get the Dragon’s Scales. I understand that means you won’t restore your protection, so I can’t live in the Park anymore. That’s okay. It’s a big city. I can find another place to live. It won’t be as nice as the Park, but I think I’ll be able to—”
My words trickled to a stop; the Lady was shaking her head gently. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said. “You promise me the Dragon’s Scales, you gotta get me the Dragon’s Scales, or die trying. You want me to look like a fool?”
There was something about her soft, cold voice that made my mouth go all cottony and my stomach try to fold itself up and disappear.
The Curator cleared his throat. “If I may just remind you, Madame, you cannot take back the boons your hero has already won.” The Lady glared at him. “It’s just not done,” he said firmly.
They glared at each other. The air crackled, and the docents shifted uneasily. Someone tugged at my jacket. I turned around to see Changeling frowning at me.
“Satchel,” Changeling said.
I don’t know how Satchel works. It doesn’t get heavier when I put things in it, and sometimes they’re not there next time I look. Besides mortal food, sometimes it produces handkerchiefs and gloves when it thinks I need them. I didn’t have any control over it at all. But maybe Changeling did.
I put Satchel in her hands. She lifted the flap and started to rummage inside.
Hope sprang in my chest. It hurt.
Changeling pulled out two familiar-looking iridescent plates. They were roughly fan-shaped and silvery gray, with pale narrow stripes and a sheen like heavy silk.
“Dragon scales,” Changeling announced, holding them out triumphantly.
The Lady stared at Changeling with her jaw around her collarbone and her hair lank with shock.
“There you are, Lady,” I said. “The Dragon’s scales, just as I promised.”
The Lady recovered herself. “No way, José,” she said briskly. “Those bits of shed horn aren’t what I meant, and you know it.”
“Madame, you try my patience,” the Curator said. “Those bits of shed horn may not be what you meant, but they are exactly what you asked for.”
Thank you, Curator, I thought, but the Lady waved a dismissive hand. “Nuts to that. They’re not the same thing at all. In the first place, they’re just a couple of pin-striped castoffs. In the second place, they’re not good for anything.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the Curator said. “You may remember that the teeth of even ordinary dragons are very powerful indeed. The scales of the Dragon of Wall Street are bound to have extraordinary virtue.”
“Fuggedaboudit,” the Lady said. “The deal’s off.”
Changeling’s mouth settled into
a grim line. “That is wrong,” she said.
For the second—no, third time, all eyes were on Changeling, but she didn’t seem to notice. “The Lady promised to place Neef under her protection in exchange for the Dragon’s scales. Neef has kept her promise. If the Lady fails to keep hers, she will be in clear violation of her own rules. And that would be wrong.”
There was an air-shivering moment when I thought that the Green Lady was going to go totally snaky. Her eyes started to whirl and her dreads lifted and twined, scattering roses everywhere. Then she put her hands over her whirling eyes and took a huge breath. When she lowered her hands, she’d shrunk noticeably and her nails and teeth had lost their Wild Hunt pointiness.
“Uncle,” she said. “I give up. You win. On a technicality, but you win. Give me the scales. I’ll take Neef under my protection again. And the Pooka can come back to the Park. The quest is accomplished.”
I took the scales from Changeling and gave them to the Lady. With too much to feel at once, I felt pretty much nothing.
The Pooka bounded over to me and whacked me on the back, mouth in a triumphant V.
“I knew you’d do it,” he crowed. “I thought I’d die of laughing when the changeling pulled out those scales, the creature. ‘The Dragon’s scales’ indeed! She’s the wonder of the world.”
“She’s pretty cool,” I agreed, and then, when I got a better look at him: “Oh, Pooka! You look terrible!”
“I’ll thank you to be keeping a civil tongue in your head,” he said huffily. But he didn’t deny it. He was as white as Carrera marble, and his eyes glittered as if he had a fever. Even his flying eyebrows seemed to have landed. He looked like a trickster who had been in a museum for three days without playing a single prank on anyone.
“A tiny bout of mischief, and I’ll be right as rain again,” he said. “But it was all worth it, eh? At least we can go home.”
“Right,” I said, but somehow I wasn’t as happy and excited about it as I should have been.
“Can I go home now?” Changeling asked.
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