The Gorgon's Blood Solution (20 page)

And then he surprised himself by turning around to face her again; he wasn’t sure why.  “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked suddenly, as they prepared to part ways.

“Of course, Marco, if you want.  I didn’t mean to make you think you have to do anything for me.  Heaven knows you’re doing enough,” she said with a winsome smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and tomorrow night too,” he told her, then bolted away, walking towards any escape he could find to put an end to the conversation that was moving in such an unexpected and uncomfortable direction.

Marco walked back towards Marches shop, unaware of any of his surroundings, absorbed with self-analysis as he tried to decipher his own actions and thoughts.  Why had he prepared the lotion for Mirra, and why had he asked her out to dinner, he wondered.  Had he been trying to set up a relationship with her?  He didn’t think so.  He hadn’t been aware of any attraction between the two of them; but she had been taking care of him, and he had enjoyed being awoken by her every morning.

It didn’t make any sense, he told himself.  He was only here while he tried to get back to the Lion City.  Though he’d been away from the city for more than a month, he still considered it home, and he knew that he imagined being welcomed back as a hero when he made it back to the city.  Yet here he was in Barcelon, being treated so well by Gabrielle and now stumbling into a date with Mirra.

That night he went swimming with Kieweeooee, though they swam only a short time, then stopped at a sand bar on the side of the harbor, where Marco continued to learn the language of the dolphins.  He stripped his clothes off before he got in the water, the first time he had the presence of mind to do so.

”My friends think I’m crazy to play with you.  I don’t tell them where I go many times,” the dolphin told Marco.

He laughed and then put his face in the water.  “I don’t tell anyone about you.  A girl asked me about swimming, and I didn’t tell about you.”

“Is the girl your mate?” Kieweeooee asked.

“No, not my mate.  Just a friend.  Part of my pod,” he answered.

“You are a boy.  I see,” the dolphin told him.

“I am.  Aren’t you a boy too?” he asked.

“No.  I am a girl,” Kieweeooee answered, then slapped her flippers in laughter.  “They tell me to mate with you, since I play with you so much!”

Marco laughed as well.  “Then our babies will
be little mermaids and merboys!”

They both laughed, then Marco asked to be taken back to the docks, as he saw how low the crescent moon had fallen in the sky.

When Mirra awoke Marco the next morning, they both stared at one another.

Mirra’s complexion continued to dramatically change under the influence of Marco’s potion.  The skin discoloration was gone completely, and the texture was smoothing out, taking away not only the scars, but also the lines that stress and hunger had already etched around her mouth and eyes.  She stared at him intently.  “I used the mirror downstairs.  I didn’t recognize myself this morning. 

“Will this last?  When I stop using your potion, will my face go back to the way it was before?” he could hear the trepidation in her voice.

“No, it shouldn’t ever change.   You should always look this pretty,” he assured her.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I see you didn’t go swimming,” she pointed towards the dry clothes heaped next to him.

“It looks that way,” he agreed.

“You are looking so pretty,” he told her after another pause.

“I need to get back to the kitchen,” she said, with a last look at him, and then she was gone from his roof space.

Marco sat up, the ladies were not yet at their window to watch him, so he climbed back into his room without waving, and was soon downstairs having breakfast.

He mixed and sold a handful of alchemical solutions to problems that day, then waited nervously for Mirra to return in the evening.

“Take her someplace nice, maybe one of the inns over by the Ducal Square,” Gabrielle suggested.

When the breakfast cook tapped at the door, Marco quickly sprang up and opened it, then stared at the girl who stood there.  Her transformation was complete.  There were no sores, no blemishes, no scars, no lines.  Her high cheek bones and almond-shaped eyes stood out with classic beauty, and she smiled a fetching shy smile at him.  He was astonished as how gorgeous Mirra had become.

“I haven’t had a complexion like this since I was nine years old,” Mirra told him.  She reached out and hugged him.  “Glaze says I’ll be married to a nobleman soon with my looks!” she laughingly referred to her brother.  “But I’m not looking for a nobleman!” she added quickly.

“Gabrielle, we’re leaving now,” Marco shouted into the shop, then closed the door and started walking.  “Gabrielle said we should go to Ducal Square to eat.  I don’t know where it is; can you lead the way?” he asked with a rueful smile.

“Come along,” she held out her hand, and when he took it, she began to pull him along, guiding him through the streets.

“I’ve only got enough of the lotion to put on my face one more time,” she told him.  “You told me that my skin will stay pretty even after I use the lotion all up?” she sought reassurance one more time.

“Every bit of you will stay pretty, even after the lotion is gone,” he told her gallantly, and he was satisfied to see a grateful smile on her face in response.

“Why are you wearing that sword?” she asked after a moment’s pause.

Marco had not picked up the sword or worn it in the shop or around the city since the day he had faced off against Allied, when he had been emboldened by the gorgon’s blood.  He felt completely safe within the shop, and saw little evidence of violence around the city.  During his life in the Lion City he had not carried a weapon, and so he had fallen back into that habit in Barcelon.  But tonight, he felt a premonition that he would be better off with the extraordinary weapon than without it.

“With such a pretty girl as my friend, I think I’ll need to scare the other boys away,” he laughed.

“Oh, pshaw!” she giggled.  Marco could tell that she was unused to the compliments, uncertain of how to react.  “Look at this dress I’m wearing,” her hands motioned along her torso, calling attention to the threadbare and plain material.  “No one would possibly be interested in me.”

The dress was plain, and did detract slightly from Mirra’s emerging beauty, Marco thought, but not very much.  “No boy’s going to be distracted by your dress,” he countered, “you’re too pretty.”

They arrived at Ducal Square just then, emerging from a narrow street into the open, opulent public space, where many magnificent homes displayed their rich splendor.

“Where would you like to eat?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know!” Mirra’s voice shot up.  “I never dreamed of coming to a place around here to eat.  I don’t know which is what; you pick,” she urged.

Marco looked around as they stood and were passed by the other pedestrians entering and leaving the square.  “Over there,” he pointed.  He recognized a landmark, the side of a building that had housed the inn where the cook had given him an extra chop to eat on his first miserable night in the city.    He wanted to return the favor, and spend his money on that inn.

“We’ll eat at,” he paused and squinted at the sign, “The Fence Post Inn,” he announced.

“We’d like a table for two,” he told the head waiter at the restaurant when they walked into the lobby.

“This is an expensive restaurant,” the waiter warned.

“I have money,” Marco replied instantly.

“May I see it?” the man asked looking them both up and down.

Marco was stunned, then angry.  He pulled his silvers out of his pocket.  “Do these look real to you?” he asked.

The waiter immediately answered.  “Of course sir, I’m sure you understand.   Follow me,” he said, and instantly walked out into the dining room and led them to a table.

The waiter held a chair out from the small table, then stood expectantly until Marco realized that Mirra was supposed to sit there.  He gently nudged her towards the seat, and sat down in his own as the waiter pressed her seat in beneath her.

“Your first course will be here momentarily,” the waiter told them.  “That will be two silvers,” he spoke quietly.

Marco fished his coins back out and handed them over, then watched the waiter leave.

“Oh Marco, with two silvers I could have fed Glaze and myself for a month!  You shouldn’t have spent that money like this,” Mirra told him, nearly in tears as she watched him part with his first wages.

“We get to find out what food tastes like to cost this much,” he replied.  “Don’t worry about it.  Neither one of us will ever get to do this again, so we ought to enjoy it this time.”

A different waiter appeared just then and presented them each with a glass of wine.

They each tasted the wine, and both made faces that clearly showed they didn’t enjoy it.

“For that much money, we should at least get some good wine,” Mirra said in a low voice.

When the waiter came back to bring them each a small plate with a loaf of bread, she spoke up.  “I’d like a different wine,” the girl told the waiter.

“Is this wine bad?” he asked politely.

“It’s too bitter.  We’d like something sweeter,” she replied.

The waiter stood over them, seeming to evaluate them as he considered his wine selections.  “Let me see what I can find,” he told her, and left the table.

They ate their loaves of bread, enjoying the light, fluffy texture that was so different from the thick, hearty breads they were used to.

“Would you like to try this wine?” the waiter asked, as he returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

He poured a small amount of wine into the glass for Marco, who looked at it, then comprehended that he was supposed to taste it.  The new wine was much more palatable he thought.  It was much sweeter and fruity.  “Here Mirra, see if you like it?” he pushed the small amount in the glass towards his friend.

“I like that much better!” she said brightly, and the waiter immediately poured generous portions of the wine into the two glasses, then whisked the other wine glasses away from the table.  They began to drink their glasses of wine freely, as new samples of food were served to them on a series of plates that came one at a time.

“Marco, this tastes like my mother’s cooking!” Mirra said after receiving a seasoned portion of vegetables.  “She used to use these same spices on our meals.  She was a cook, a very good cook.”

“What happened to her?” Marco asked.

“When I became pregnant, we argued a lot.  She didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to tell her.  I moved out and moved in with my brother, and I haven’t seen her since, for almost a year now,” Mirra said as she took another drink of wine.

“What does she look like?” Marco asked, thinking of the large, cheery woman who had given him the extra food when he had stood at the door, begging for something to eat.

“Well, she likes her own cooking.  She eats a lot.  She’s big,” Mirra over-explained, as she drank more wine.

A waiter brought another set of dishes, this one containing small, baked pastries.

“Is it dessert time already?” Marco asked Mirra.  “If the meal is over, maybe we should go see if your mother is the cook here.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” Mirra giggled.  “She works in taverns, not in fancy places like this.

“But, okay, we can go,” she immediately changed her mind, and stood up.

Marco stood too, and the pair of them began to walk unsteadily towards the back of the restaurant, weaving among the tables to reach the kitchen doors.

“Maybe we better not,” Mirra faltered as they stood by the door.  “What if she really is here?  What would I say?”

“You ought to see,” Marco urged her.  He held the door open, and waited to see if she would go in.

She stood in a long moment of confusion, then cautiously stepped into the kitchen, followed by Marco.  As soon as they entered they had to step aside, while a waiter went through the door carrying plates of food.  The kitchen was a busy place, as dishes were washed on one side, while food was prepared on the other, and assembly of plates and drinks took place between.

“That’s her!” Mirra exclaimed, grabbing Marco’s arm in a tight grasp, so intense that he looked down to see if her nails were drawing blood.  “I can’t do it,” she said, as she stood transfixed, her eyes staring at the large woman who hovered behind three cooks, talking to each, touching up their products a bit.

“I can’t go see her.  I don’t know what to say,” Mirra repeated as she stood in place.

Her mother turned at that moment, and stared at the pair of interlopers who were strangers within her kitchen domain.  He gaze traveled on past them then, but suddenly returned, and she took a faltering step towards them.

The cook took another step and another.

“Mirra?  Is that you?” she asked as she approached.

“Momma, it’s me,” Mirra replied.  She released her grip on Marco and flew over to the woman, then the pair of them grabbed each other in a long, teary hug.