Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(23)
“You’re seeing it now,” the maid said with a sigh. “And your hair, of course.”
Ariel put a hand to her locks in surprise. Her hair, while healthy, thick, and long, was hardly an unusual color. There were merfolk families who had tresses the blue of waves, the green of gems, the purple of poisonous mollusks.
Once again Carlotta read her correctly.
“Maybe red is normal for…wherever you’re from,” she said quickly, skipping over any thoughts that she didn’t want to acknowledge, “but here it’s very, very distinctive. The people up north sometimes have it…and right now, everyone is suspicious of northerners. Come with me and we’ll get you dressed up right, with a headcloth to cover your hair. And then you can save us all. Is it a deal?”
Ariel nodded, and Carlotta nodded, and no more words were needed.
There were fairy tales—known even to those who starred in those fairy tales—about human girls who worked for merwitches or mermaids in return for their help. The mermaids in the story would be so charmed by the good little girls that they not only help but also bedeck them in gems and pearls, and brush their hair with jeweled combs, and let them choose whatever gowns they desire out of a treasure trove of goods that were lost at sea.
This is a very strange, upside-down version of that story, Ariel decided.
Carlotta searched for the plainest, oldest, most unremarkable shift she could manage, a maroonish thing that was more bag than dress. It acquired a little shape once a suitably stained apron with braided ties had been fitted around Ariel’s waist. They didn’t even bother with stockings, just a pair of ugly boot-like slippers. The final touch was a rusty grey headscarf the maid expertly knotted at the nape of Ariel’s neck and pulled down close around her braids, making sure it stayed there with a strip of dishrag she tied at the back of her head, above her ears.
Like a crown.
“All right, that’ll do, though maybe you’ll want to smear a little bit of dust on your cheeks,” Carlotta said, eyeing her professionally.
Ariel looked down at her outfit. When she had been in the Dry World the first time they had outfitted her with a pretty little dress that the maid had thought was appropriate for a beautiful girl of no readily apparent station: she could have been a student or a modest princess. The mermaid tried not to smile, amused at the difference.
Then she thanked the woman the only way she could, managing it awkwardly without the supportive, thick feel of the water around her: she bent at the waist and bowed her head, giving Carlotta the respect that normally only another member of royalty received.
“Hmm,” the maid said, suddenly a little unnerved. She made as if to curtsy, then patted down her hair. “Something’s different about you, girl. You’re not the same little strip of a thing who came dancing into our castle, making our prince smile….You’ve changed. Somehow. I don’t know how, exactly.”
Neither do I, Ariel thought back.
Now she could search for her father properly. In her new outfit Ariel felt invisible, like she was wearing a magic cloak that allowed her to go anywhere unseen. Carlotta had given her a tray with some random food scraps on it—heels of bread, a goblet, some small fruit knives—that made it seem like she could have been on her way from anywhere in the castle. For a moment Ariel wondered if there were any spies from the north, or anywhere else, posing as servants. Apparently it was quite easy to go unnoticed if you dressed the part, kept your head down, and acted servile.
The one time a guard stopped her, Ariel just gestured the tray at him. That was enough: he grabbed a heel of the bread, leered at her, and ushered her on.
Ariel had to fight the urge not to gag. Was he really eating what he knew were someone else’s scraps? Did these “advanced” humans, with their machines and fires and carriages with wheels, know nothing about the spread of diseases? Surely there was a land equivalent of the unseen, tiny sick-fishes that surrounded and lived in those who were ill….
Thinking about this kept her from growing nervous as she approached the main royal apartments.
Two girls passed her, swearing and gossiping.
“Not me. I love how many baths she takes. It means I get a half watch to myself practically every night….”
“Sure, but is it worth it overall? My aunt is paying twice as much tax this season as she did last…while our princess bathes in expensive oils and burns through wood in the middle of summer!”
“But she doesn’t bathe in the oils or hot water. That’s the strange thing. Her baths are always cold and usually with mineral salt.”
“Whatever! She’s stealing from the poor of this kingdom to finance her stupid army and her stupid baths!”
“Shhhh! Keep your voice down!”
Ariel chanced a look at the girls as they passed, trying to guess their ages. Would she have been friends with them if she were human? Or was she, despite her looks, already too old? Did losing your voice and the love of your life and having to run a kingdom change you in ways more dramatic than mere years?
From the moist air that hit her a moment later it was obvious that Ursula was in the middle of one of her fancy baths right then. Good. It gave Ariel time to search the bedrooms.
She knocked tentatively on the royal couple’s apartment door. The way a servant might, or a nervous ex-lover.
No answer.