The Palace of Glass (16 page)

“Can I ask you something?” Alice said, leaning against the side of the boat and trailing one hand in the water. The fish she'd seen earlier darted about, agitated in the turtle's wake.

“Of course,” Erdrodr said, not looking up from her sketch.

“You said you'd heard stories about Readers. What kind of stories?”

“It's . . .” Erdrodr looked up at Alice, then back down at her drawing. “They are just stories. I know most of them are not true.”

“It's all right. Tell me.”

“Readers are . . .” The giant sighed. “Not evil, I think, but not good, either.
Capricious,
above all else. Powerful.
Figures to be appeased, or bargained with at great peril. To make a deal with a Reader is to risk your very essence out of desperation.”

Like we would say “a deal with the devil.”
It wasn't every day you found out you played the role of the ultimate villain in someone else's fairy tales. “Had any of you ever met a Reader?”

Erdrodr shook her head. “We negotiated, a few times, with creatures who claimed to represent some Reader or other. They barter with us. And when the nations meet, there's always someone whose cousin's cousin has seen something incredible.” She shrugged. “I never placed much credence in any of it.”

“You don't seem afraid of me,” Alice said.

“Why should I be?” Erdrodr held her drawing at arm's length, looking from it to the turtle and back. “You risked yourself for me, when you didn't have to.”

“Thanks,” Alice said.

“For what?”

“Never mind.” The sun was setting, and Alice had to shade her eyes, but a tall shape up ahead was casting a three-pronged shadow across the water. “I think we're nearly there.”

THE PALACE OF GLASS

T
HANK YOU, ESTEVIU
S
,”
A
LICE
said as they unhitched the turtle from the boat.

“It was the least I could do after your timely rescue,” Estevius said, a bit puffed up with his own heroism. “I must say, you are the least unintelligent human I have ever met.”

A compliment from a turtle?
Alice frowned, then sighed. “You haven't ever met any other humans, have you?”

“A state of affairs that I devoutly hope continues!” Estevius said cheerfully. “Best of luck with whatever adventure your dull mind has dreamed up for you.”

He slid off, head slipping beneath the surface of the river.

Finding the right place hadn't been difficult. The ice boat was tied up to an actual dock, albeit a very old and weathered one. It was a slab of marble, pitted and worn by the elements, with small, nearly faceless protrusions that might have once been statues. Alice had tied the rope around one of them, and she and Erdrodr had helped Flicker ashore.

Now they stood by the river's edge, looking up the mist-covered slope of the mountain. It was littered with marble columns and low, fragmented walls. Trees grew up between them, small pines thick with needles, and here and there was a boulder or a patch of fallen rock. Running directly up from the dock was a staircase, made of broad marble flagstones, that switchbacked uphill until it was swallowed in the mist.

Alice had been expecting something more intimidating. Ending had warned her that the Palace could drive her mad. Pyros had told her that the place was a prison, and prisons normally had walls and guards. And Helga had said something about monsters from beyond time and space, but all Alice could see was some old statuary and a bit of fog.

Of course, where magic is involved, appearances don't mean much. I'm only here to find
The Infinite Prison
.
The last thing she wanted to do was let anything
out,
especially if it might find its way back through the portal to the ice giants and the fire-sprites.

“Well,” Alice said. “I think it's pretty clear where I need to go. You two stay with the boat until I get back.”

There was a long pause. Flicker and Erdrodr looked at each other.

“Are you sure—” Flicker said.

“Do you think—” Erdrodr said.

“No,” Alice said. “I told Pyros I would go up there alone, and I said the same thing to Helga.”

“But . . .” Flicker stopped, hair flaring a sickly yellow green. “I mean, what if—”

“We'll wait here,” Erdrodr said firmly, “until you come back.”

“Thank you.” Alice shrugged out of her pack and made sure the last of her emergency acorns was still in her pocket. “I'll be as quick as I can.”

The steps were broad and shallow, sharp corners rounded off by the passing centuries. It wasn't long before Alice lost sight of the river, though Flicker's hair glowed through the gathering mist for a few minutes
longer. Then that too was gone, and she was climbing alone in a world of ancient marble and cold, dripping pines. Columns had once lined the steps, but most of them were broken, and some had toppled altogether and lay among the moss and bushes on the rocky slope. Periodically there was a statue on a pedestal, missing arms or legs, face weathered into a featureless oval.

There was still nothing that looked dangerous, but the silence was eerie. The mist muffled the noise of the river, and before long the only sound on the mountainside was the scrape of Alice's boots against the stone. There was no birdsong, no rustle of small animals in the grass, not even a breeze to stir the trees. Alice found her breath coming faster. When she caught a flash of movement, she froze in place, reaching for her threads.

“Hello?” she said. The mist swallowed the words as though she were swathed in rolls of cotton.

When she took a cautious step forward, something moved again. Alice raised her hand, and finally caught sight of a small figure farther up the mountain, repeating the gesture. She squinted, taking another step closer.

It's a mirror
. She shook her head.
I'm jumping at my own reflection.

To be fair, she thought as she got closer, it
was
hard to
see. The mirror was the size of a shop window, standing at an angle off to one side of the marble staircase. The mist blurred the edges. If not for her own image, Alice would have had a difficult time picking the thing out from the ruin-filled forest it reflected.

There was another mirror across from the next switchback, and then two more side by side, so that for a moment a pair of mirror-Alices climbed beside her. Other mirrors were set deeper in the forest. None of them were within arm's reach of the path. She kept climbing, and the mirrors multiplied with every turn, showing reflections of reflections of reflections. Dozens of Alices, then hundreds, followed by her side.

At last, the staircase reached a flat space, a broad circular courtyard floored with weathered marble. It was surrounded on every side by towering mirrors, smooth and perfect. As soon as Alice stepped in among them, she was multiplied into infinity, versions of herself receding into the distance in every direction. She turned in a slow circle, and they all turned with her, like an army on maneuver. The staircase ended there.

“Hello?” Alice said again. Here, among the mirrors, the word echoed on and on, down to the very cusp of hearing. “Is anyone there?”

One of the mirror-Alices turned around. Alice's voice caught in her throat. It looked exactly like her, of course, down to the last detail; but where her face ought to be, there was a blank white mask, as smooth as porcelain.

“Hello.” It was Alice's own voice, echoed back at her.

Alice raised a hand tentatively. All the mirror images moved with her, except for the masked figure, which stood absolutely still.

“It has been a long time since we had a guest.” The voice was still Alice's, still had the
quality
of an echo, but it spoke words she never had. The mirror image bowed elaborately, hair falling around her masked face. “It can be quite lonely up here. Be welcome.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. “I've come a long way to find you.”

“I can imagine,” the mirror image said—Alice thought she was speaking, anyway, though the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once now. “But where are my manners? We must show a guest proper hospitality.”

The image in the mirror shifted and swam. The masked Alice was suddenly standing in a grand ballroom, ablaze with the light of crystal chandeliers and sumptuously decorated with exotic hardwood and gilt. A table beside her was heavily laden with food and drink, platters of
carved meat steaming gently beside potatoes swimming in butter, pies and sugary confections, fruit and nuts and cheeses. The mirror-Alice's clothes had been replaced with a gown the likes of which Alice had never seen, all green silk and blue lace and long, elegant folds. Her hair was perfectly coiffed into a neat wave, and diamonds sparkled at her ears and on her wrists. Only the mask was the same, as blank as an empty sheet of paper.

Alice looked over her shoulder. The ballroom was repeated, over and over, mirrors multiplying on forever. Every Alice but her was splendidly dressed; when she moved her arm, a thousand images moved with her in delicate folds of lace. But, she realized with a start, each of the others was
different,
each a new variation of cut or color more spectacular and beautiful than the last. She looked down at herself, still wearing her scuffed, practical leathers, and felt a little out of place.

Curiously, she reached out a hand toward the banquet table. It looked close enough to touch, and all the other Alices reached with her. But her fingers found a pane of cold glass, inches from the food. When she looked around, every other Alice had picked up something from the table and begun to eat.

“I apologize,” the masked figure said. “All we have to
offer, truly, is tricks of the light. But we do the best we can.”

“Thank you,” Alice said, thinking it was best to be polite. “It's beautiful.”

The mirror image inclined her head. “We are so
very
glad of your company. What brings you here, from far away?”

“I'm looking for something,” Alice said. “A book. It's called
The Infinite Prison
.”

“That old thing?” The masked figure laughed. Alice felt strange, hearing her own laugh echoing around her. “Of course you can have it. Here.”

The mirror-Alice turned to the table and picked up a small, leather-bound book that Alice hadn't noticed there a moment before. She flicked through the pages, shrugged, and snapped it closed again.

“Catch,” she said, and tossed the book at Alice. Alice brought her hands up automatically, at the same time not expecting anything to reach her—
it's only a mirror, after all
—

The book fluttered open, bouncing off her hands, and she grabbed it before it could fall. Long practice made her avert her eyes until she got the book properly closed. It was light, and the cover was worn, but she could just
make out an image tooled into the leather, two identical men staring at each other.

“Thank you,” Alice said.

“It's been lying around in a corner all these years. We're glad to be rid of it.” The mirror-Alice's voice had a pleading note. “But there must be more we can do for you. We're so alone here, and you've come so far.”

“Do for me?” Alice looked over the food. “I don't suppose you could throw me one of those apples?”

“I'm afraid not. The book was given to us, long ago, and aside from that, all we have are—”

“Tricks of the light,” Alice said. “None of it is real.”

“But,” the mirror image said eagerly, “tricks of the light can be useful things. We can
show
you anything you desire. Any time, any place, any person. Whatever you like.”

Alice hesitated. She felt like she should leave—she'd gotten what she came for, with no difficulty at all, and asking for anything more seemed like pushing her luck. But the mirror-Alice sounded so eager, so
lonely,
blank mask leaning forward until it was practically pressed against the glass.

Could they show me my father?
Even Readers couldn't just call up a view of the past from nothing. Pyros'
warning, and Helga's, floated across her mind.
It could be a trick.
She decided to test them first.

“Well,” Alice said. “I wouldn't mind seeing my old house again. The way it was a few years ago, before—”

And suddenly she was standing in it.