Mistress of the Mirror
The city streets had sunk into full darkness by the time Etta left the last pawn shop, still holding the mirror. Not one of the nine or ten--she forgot how many--pawnbrokers she had visited that day had wanted the mirror. It had to have some value; it was silver, or at least a metal that looked like silver, with all kinds of fancy swirls and designs on the back and handle. She had never really looked into the glass--she knew what she looked like, and it wasn’t something she cared to see that often--but she knew the mirror was unbroken, even though she had found it tossed out on a rubbish heap in the alley behind some rich person’s house. Surely, especially coming from that neighborhood, it had to be worth at least a few pennies.
But every time she laid it down on a counter for a pawnbroker to look at, they barely even spent any time inspecting it. A brush of fingers over the metal, a quick glance at the glass, then a hasty, “It’s no good,” or, “Nothing but a cheap piece of trash,” or simply, “Sorry, can’t take it.”
Every damn one of them. Fools, who couldn’t see that it had to have some value.
And now she was going home penniless. Lund, that no-good oaf, had gone out to see what he could win at dice tonight, but even if he won anything--which was doubtful, a toad was a better gambler than he was--she knew he would spend all of it on beer and some cheap floozy, and she wouldn’t see any of it.
She could have been something once, she thought as she walked through the dark streets, clutching the useless mirror. Once, she had had ambitions. She had been smart enough and pretty enough and strong enough to make something of herself. And then she had fallen in love with a charming gambler--a bad gambler, as it turned out, and ever since then, life had paid her back over and over for that one stupid decision. And now, in debt, penniless, her looks gone, her mind dulled, she had no way out.
A scream came from one of the side alleys. Not so unusual in this part of town, but what was unusual, what made Etta stop dead in her tracks, was the figure that slipped out of the alley the scream had come from.
It wasn’t the usual thief or cutthroat. He was dressed all in black from head to foot, even his face hooded in black, and the blade of his knife was made of a dull black metal. A Stinger--an assassin for one of the city’s great crime lords--something you never wanted to meet on a dark street. Even if you weren’t a Stinger’s official target, no one who ever saw one lived to tell about it.
Etta stood frozen, afraid to even breathe. He was looking the other way, as though watching to see if the coast was clear for his getaway; she prayed over and over that he wouldn’t turn around, he wouldn’t see her, he would go on his way and she would live to tell about it.
Except that someone who told about seeing a Stinger also wouldn’t live very long.
She’d been holding her breath too long, and involuntarily let it out in a rush. The Stinger turned. She felt his eyes, invisible beneath the hood, fixed on her. Then he leaped towards her, his knife aimed at her throat.
Instinctively, she held the mirror up as a shield. The tip of the assassin’s knife gouged into the glass--
The assassin disappeared.
Etta stared in disbelief at where he had been only an instant ago. He must have run off after missing his target--but how could he have moved so quickly? She looked around the dark street and saw no sign of him, no deeper, man-shaped shadows in the darkness, not in front of her, or to either side, or behind her.
Well, then. She had run across the city’s only easily-discouraged Stinger, and would live to not tell the tale. Too bad about the mirror; it had to be ruined now. She turned the glass towards her.
And gasped at what she saw. The force of the assassin’s knife had cracked the glass down the middle. From the broken glass, two identical black-masked faces, one on each side of the crack, looked back out at her. Startled, she dropped the mirror. The glass shattered.
And two identical Stingers stood before her.
Cold fear clutched at her belly. Now there were two of them--she was dead for sure. But they didn’t move. They just stood there, staring at her, motionless. After a long time, she stooped down, her eyes never leaving the Stingers, to gather up the pieces of glass and put them back in the metal frame. Maybe it could be repaired, or maybe the frame could be sold by itself.
In each piece of glass was another black-covered face, identical to the two before her. They seemed shadowy, though. Insubstantial, like spirits...
A crazy thought came to her. “Stingers,” she said to the two assassins standing motionless before her.
Silently, they bowed their heads in response.
“Turn around in a circle,” she said.
They obeyed.
“Help me pick up these pieces of glass.”
They did so, though they seemed to keep their faces averted from the images in the broken pieces.
“Put the pieces back together in the frame,” she said, handing the frame to them.
They puzzled over the broken pieces, but quickly fit them back together. Etta took the mirror when they were done. With the edge pieces tucked securely under the rim of the frame, the glass held together. A dozen shadowy spirit-Stingers stared out of the mirror at her.
Ideas began to grow in her mind. Possibilities. The Stingers would obey her. But were they really only puppets, who would do as she told them, nothing more or less? “I want you to find a certain gambler, Red Dice Fred. He cheated my husband at dice yesterday. Get rid of him.”
The two nodded as one, then slipped away. Etta waited. Red Dice Fred’s hangout was only a few streets over. She didn’t know if he had really cheated Lund--you didn’t have to cheat Lund to beat him at gambling--but his reputation was such that she felt no qualms about sending the Stingers after him.
A few moments later she heard a brief shout followed by a gurgled cry from the direction the Stingers had gone. Soon after, the twin Stingers reappeared. One of them tossed a pair of red dice at Etta’s feet. The other reached for the mirror. She held it more closely against her bosom. That Stinger dropped his hand again, and bowed his head to her.
Etta smiled. Things were starting to look up.
Copyright 2013 Kyra Halland. All Rights Reserved.
But every time she laid it down on a counter for a pawnbroker to look at, they barely even spent any time inspecting it. A brush of fingers over the metal, a quick glance at the glass, then a hasty, “It’s no good,” or, “Nothing but a cheap piece of trash,” or simply, “Sorry, can’t take it.”
Every damn one of them. Fools, who couldn’t see that it had to have some value.
And now she was going home penniless. Lund, that no-good oaf, had gone out to see what he could win at dice tonight, but even if he won anything--which was doubtful, a toad was a better gambler than he was--she knew he would spend all of it on beer and some cheap floozy, and she wouldn’t see any of it.
She could have been something once, she thought as she walked through the dark streets, clutching the useless mirror. Once, she had had ambitions. She had been smart enough and pretty enough and strong enough to make something of herself. And then she had fallen in love with a charming gambler--a bad gambler, as it turned out, and ever since then, life had paid her back over and over for that one stupid decision. And now, in debt, penniless, her looks gone, her mind dulled, she had no way out.
A scream came from one of the side alleys. Not so unusual in this part of town, but what was unusual, what made Etta stop dead in her tracks, was the figure that slipped out of the alley the scream had come from.
It wasn’t the usual thief or cutthroat. He was dressed all in black from head to foot, even his face hooded in black, and the blade of his knife was made of a dull black metal. A Stinger--an assassin for one of the city’s great crime lords--something you never wanted to meet on a dark street. Even if you weren’t a Stinger’s official target, no one who ever saw one lived to tell about it.
Etta stood frozen, afraid to even breathe. He was looking the other way, as though watching to see if the coast was clear for his getaway; she prayed over and over that he wouldn’t turn around, he wouldn’t see her, he would go on his way and she would live to tell about it.
Except that someone who told about seeing a Stinger also wouldn’t live very long.
She’d been holding her breath too long, and involuntarily let it out in a rush. The Stinger turned. She felt his eyes, invisible beneath the hood, fixed on her. Then he leaped towards her, his knife aimed at her throat.
Instinctively, she held the mirror up as a shield. The tip of the assassin’s knife gouged into the glass--
The assassin disappeared.
Etta stared in disbelief at where he had been only an instant ago. He must have run off after missing his target--but how could he have moved so quickly? She looked around the dark street and saw no sign of him, no deeper, man-shaped shadows in the darkness, not in front of her, or to either side, or behind her.
Well, then. She had run across the city’s only easily-discouraged Stinger, and would live to not tell the tale. Too bad about the mirror; it had to be ruined now. She turned the glass towards her.
And gasped at what she saw. The force of the assassin’s knife had cracked the glass down the middle. From the broken glass, two identical black-masked faces, one on each side of the crack, looked back out at her. Startled, she dropped the mirror. The glass shattered.
And two identical Stingers stood before her.
Cold fear clutched at her belly. Now there were two of them--she was dead for sure. But they didn’t move. They just stood there, staring at her, motionless. After a long time, she stooped down, her eyes never leaving the Stingers, to gather up the pieces of glass and put them back in the metal frame. Maybe it could be repaired, or maybe the frame could be sold by itself.
In each piece of glass was another black-covered face, identical to the two before her. They seemed shadowy, though. Insubstantial, like spirits...
A crazy thought came to her. “Stingers,” she said to the two assassins standing motionless before her.
Silently, they bowed their heads in response.
“Turn around in a circle,” she said.
They obeyed.
“Help me pick up these pieces of glass.”
They did so, though they seemed to keep their faces averted from the images in the broken pieces.
“Put the pieces back together in the frame,” she said, handing the frame to them.
They puzzled over the broken pieces, but quickly fit them back together. Etta took the mirror when they were done. With the edge pieces tucked securely under the rim of the frame, the glass held together. A dozen shadowy spirit-Stingers stared out of the mirror at her.
Ideas began to grow in her mind. Possibilities. The Stingers would obey her. But were they really only puppets, who would do as she told them, nothing more or less? “I want you to find a certain gambler, Red Dice Fred. He cheated my husband at dice yesterday. Get rid of him.”
The two nodded as one, then slipped away. Etta waited. Red Dice Fred’s hangout was only a few streets over. She didn’t know if he had really cheated Lund--you didn’t have to cheat Lund to beat him at gambling--but his reputation was such that she felt no qualms about sending the Stingers after him.
A few moments later she heard a brief shout followed by a gurgled cry from the direction the Stingers had gone. Soon after, the twin Stingers reappeared. One of them tossed a pair of red dice at Etta’s feet. The other reached for the mirror. She held it more closely against her bosom. That Stinger dropped his hand again, and bowed his head to her.
Etta smiled. Things were starting to look up.
Copyright 2013 Kyra Halland. All Rights Reserved.
