Serpents and Stairways

Chapter VII - Part 4

The mermaids, like almost all immortals, had phenomenal memory, so neither was Michel surprised she recognised him, nor took it personally.

"And you were right to. Can I go straight to the room," he sneaked a glance at the key label, "twenty two, or do I have to file the papers at the counter first?"

"No, no, don't worry about it," she softly spun the wheels, and both of them moved towards the entrance adorned with two tailed caryatides, "but if you need anything, I'd be at my bureau."

"That won't be necessary. You can stay at the fountain, if you like."

Enona cast a regretful look back on the water and the harp she left on the fountain edge.

"No," she said decidedly, "there—is too stale for a night like this. Say, is your third friend coming, too? The one that stutters so charmingly?"

Having parted with the owner and governess, Michel found his way to the stairway.

A strained effort had turned this building into a hotel: new rugged walls cut through stucco, fireplaces with ceramic tiles would now and then interrupt the flow of corridors, revealing that they had not always been corridors, here and there the contours of painted-over frescoes surfaced under lifeless immature plaster. Michel didn't like this place. It was trying to prove him something he couldn't agree with. But Gris loved being here.

Although, Gris often loved what Michel found objectionable.

His thoughts on the ways he'd renovate this building, were he given the opportunity to, were interrupted by muted voices—he was already half-way up the flight of stairs, and could make out the words. And since any eavesdropping, accidental only more so, was not among the moral dilemmas that bothered him, Michel made himself comfortable on the windowsill, listening in.

"... and dad has already ordered a new mirror disc for the Captain's face, so you really have nothing to worry about!" said a young voice, belonging, most likely, to a girl, "and Dinah... Listen. I didn't really buy any of her fairydrivel, but she did take Iolaus with her, right? He was just a small dented automaton, redundant like a trailing zero in decimals. She only asked for him because fairytale heroes always help the damaged elements in trouble—old ladies, ducks, I don't know, fairies?.."

"Mara is trying to say," the other voice, almost grown-up but not quite, "that Dinah might have known what she was doing. Maybe only very vaguely, but we have an instance when her idea had worked out. If not for Iolaus, we wouldn't have been able to come back."

"Yeah, that," the first voice agreed, "so... come out, alright? For some reason dad refuses to write to the palace about her disappearance, and maybe if you—"

"Arman is not the only one who thinks this is a bad idea!"

"Just explain to me already, why? They are her family! You can write anonymously if you're such a coward!"

"Because... Because we shouldn't worry them too soon. And anyway—a search warrant is the last thing we'd need right now. She was last seen in the workshop—even sent a bird from there... And they probably remember you, in the Grand Hotel."

"They'll toss around our stuff a bit—what's the big deal? When I lose something I can make a mess far worse."

The children fell silent—probably exchanged a few expressive looks.

"Anyway, Arman and I will be waiting for you tomorrow at the poetry evening, alright?" the boy said at last, "We'll have to go now. The cable car will close for the night. So, you... get better soon."

Before the children walked downstairs, Michel quietly ran down to the first floor, turned around, and started dawdling up. The girl seemed vaguely familiar, otherwise unremarkable. But the boy... the stars would fall from the skies sooner than he'd believe he was the age that he looked.