The Collector of Remarkable Stories (11 page)

The City of Mirrors

It was several days before Margie woke; her lips and tongue swollen from thirst, her skin dry and shrivelled from the desert's pounding heat.

"Where are we?" she croaked, clutching her head which throbbed as though her brain was forcing its way out through her skull.

"Oh Margie," he cried, "It's all my fault. I should've taken better care of you. I ain't no good at bein' a friend. Please don't tell Spider Beast.

"I need water."

The Giant shook his head. "You ain't allowed water in Avaricia. No one is. It's banned."

"But I'm thirsty," whispered Margie unable to even cry because her tears had dried up in the desert. "Get me some water from the tap!"

"There ain't none. I told you. It's the law in Avaricia."

"But
why?
" asked Margie.

The Giant shrugged. "I ain't never thought to ask."

"So what do people drink?"

"Wine or milk," said The Giant. "You wait here and I'll find you some."

Once The Giant had gone, Margie turned her attention to the room in which she found herself.

She could see they were in some kind of tavern or inn. The room was small but opulently decorated in red, purple and gold with heavy damask curtains. In one corner was her bed with a large red velvet bedspread. Also in the room was a large gold wardrobe, a large high back chair and a writing desk. Compared to the Emporium, which smelt of damp and mould, this room - imbued with hints of musk, amber and jasmine - smelt luxurious and sensual.

And then she noticed the mirrors. There were hundreds of them, covering just about every inch of space in the room. No two mirrors were the same size or shape and each one was beautifully crafted. There were hanging mirrors attached to the ceiling, the doors and all four walls. There were hand held mirrors on every surface and in every drawer.

Slowly, shakily Margie eased herself off the gigantic bed and shuffled over to the wardrobe. Inside she found the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. It was a simple blue coat-dress pinched in at the waist with long buttoned sleeves and a calf-length bell-shaped skirt. Margie couldn't help pulling the dress towards her and admiring how it looked in one of the many mirrors. And then she noticed her reflection. Was that really her? Margie released the dress and leaned in closer to study her reflection in more detail. She looked pale, thin and ill and her original white dress hung off her in rags. Margie felt sad and ashamed.

She pinched her cheeks to rouse some colour, tidied her hair then shuffled over to the window and peered outside. Margie was shocked by the hive of activity that she saw. Compared to Limbuss, where everything felt half-asleep, it was pandemonium. The market extended as far as the eye could see in every direction, along narrow twisting alley ways, crammed full of people frantically buying and selling. Very quickly Margie realised that this wasn't just an ordinary market.

Everyone seemed perfectly presented, their clothes were exquisite. The women in particular looked as if they were dressed for court. Their dresses, although beautiful and ornate, seemed overly exaggerated. Collars, cuffs, buttons and petticoats seemed excessively embellished (almost desperate) and the larger-than-life bustles were almost obscene. Everything was exaggerated: the women wore thick layers of white paint on their faces and great circles of rouge on their cheeks and their poufed hair was so primped and festooned with feathers, beads and ribbons that their heads wobbled under the weight.

The men’s attire was no different. Margie was sure she had never, in all her life, seen anything like the gold-embroidered knickerbockers they wore.

Everywhere she looked, in every direction, people were fighting over items like hyenas. Others seemed in a hurry to buy as much as they could physically carry, barely even looking at what they were purchasing.

The Giant returned a short time later with a large flagon of milk.

"Giant," asked Margie. "How can we afford to stay in a room like this?"

The Giant looked surprised and confused. "It were the cheapest they had."

"Even so, it's a very nice room. It must have cost you quite a lot."

The Giant shifted uncomfortably. "I got me some money."

"How?"

"Nothing in particular," he replied shaking his head dismissively. He pointed the empty flagon. " My, you was thirsty."

"Giant," gasped Margie, "You joined the circus didn't you!"

The Giant's rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs anxiously and his eyes welled up. "I didn' mean to. It jus' happened!"

"Giant," soothed Margie. "It's okay, really. I just think we should find somewhere cheaper, that's all!"

"Margie," said The Giant for the second time, "this
is
the cheapest room in Avaricia."

The rest of the day passed slowly. Feeling much better, Margie ate a feast of bread, fish, eggs and bacon. She had forgotten how nice it tasted to eat; it had been such a long time since anything other than water or milk had passed her lips. She quickly regretted eating such a mountain of food when her stomach bloated to twice its normal size. As she lay on the bed groaning from the pain, she noticed that The Giant was pacing.

"Are you okay, Giant?" she asked suspiciously, "You seem nervous?"

The Giant stopped in front of the wardrobe then turned to face Margie as though he was about to make an important announcement.

"There's a dress in the wardrobe. "

"I saw it. It's beautiful."

"It's for you."

Forgetting the pain in her bloated belly, Margie leapt up. "Really? For me?"

The Giant grinned a grin that cut his face in two.

"To keep?"

The Giant nodded.

"Everyone is dressed so nice here. I didn't want you to feel left out."

"Well," said Margie with a glint in her eye, "Spider Beast did tell us to keep a low profile. It wouldn't do for us to stand out in the crowd now, would it!"

"Plus you was beginning to smell."

Margie laughed. "It was a bit hot crossing that desert you know. I was never going to smell like roses after that."

Margie bathed and changed and when she stood before The Giant, he was speechless.

"So what do you think?"

The Giant opened his mouth but no words came out.

"I love it. Thank you !" she cried, throwing her arms round a very awkward and embarrassed Giant.

Later that evening, the two of them wandered round the market square. The noise was deafening. And what had seemed like excess to Margie from the distance of the bedroom window was thoroughly grotesque up close.

"Why does everyone look so serious," whispered Margie. "Why isn't anyone smiling?"

The Giant shrugged. "They're slaves."

"They don't look like slaves to me," exclaimed Margie. "Look at them."

"I'm just saying what I've heard others say."

Margie stopped and looked in one of the street mirrors. "I can't see your face!" she said, tilting her head. "You're too tall."

"Ain't such a bad thing really," replied The Giant. "With my face I'd be cracking them all."

Margie laughed but inside she suddenly felt quite miserable. The young woman looking back at her from the mirror looked grey and dull compared to all the colourful, dynamic people that milled around her.

No sooner had the thought popped into her head than an older lady approached her. Despite her mature years, the woman's gown left her shoulders bare and plunged low between her breasts. Her hair was coiffed so high that Margie couldn't begin to imagine how it stayed up and she was wearing so much perfume that Margie's eyes watered and she struggled to breathe.

"Such a pretty lady." said the women pawing at her like she was on sale in some market."Shame about the dress. Why, you could be the most beautiful girl in all of Avaricia with the right amount of attention. A little touch up here and there." The strange woman reached out and clasped Margie's hands in her own. "Why don't you come with me," she said. "I have more lotions, powders and ointments than you could ever imagine. I can make you beautiful forever. Did you ever imagine? Never a wrinkle or a pimple!"

Margie pulled her hands away. "Why would you do that for me?" she asked startled by - and somewhat suspicious of - the woman's generosity.

"I know what it's like to be new to Avaricia," said the woman. "There's nothing worse than being a tenderfoot. I'm just returning the kindness that was bestowed upon me when I first arrived."

"Don't do it," whispered The Giant urgently. "Don't listen to her."

"You shut up," snapped the woman, "you would have her walking round Avaricia looking like this!" She handed Margie a small looking glass and when Margie looked at her reflection she was horrified to see that the woman was right. She did look terrible. In fact, she looked far worse now than she had a few hours earlier."

"So what do you say?" asked the woman in a fever of anticipation.

"Yes," she replied glancing sheepishly at The Giant. "I
will
come with you. Thank you."

The Giant, who was too tall to see his own reflection anywhere in Avaricia was the only person who could see the truth; that the repulsive reflection Margie saw in the small mirror bore no resemblance to the beautiful reflection
he
could see.

"Please don't go!" he begged. But it was too late. Margie had already disappeared into the darkness with the stranger.

For weeks, The Giant waited for Margie to return. By day he worked at the Circus to cover their board. By night he waited by the window, watching the poor tortured souls of Avaricia chasing their own tails in pursuit of physical and sartorial perfection. Despite having more than they would every
need
, they could only see what they didn't
have.
They would feel nothing but the pain of 'needing' and 'wanting' and 'coveting' for as long as they remained there.

He thought about his beautiful twins and how their bodies had been deemed to be freaks of nature. Oh how they would have laughed at the grotesque people that walked the streets of Avaricia. He missed them dreadfully and prayed that Margie hadn't come to any harm.

It was one evening when Giant was feeling particularly low, that Margie returned with the older woman in tow. At first, The Giant barely recognised Margie who looked nothing less than a hideously overdressed and over-groomed doll. Instead of the simple blue coat-dress that he had bought her, she now wore a sumptuous blue gown brocaded in elaborate silver peacocks. The skirt, which opened at the front, exposed a quilted ivory petticoat, beneath which he could just about see a pair of exquisitely embroidered shoes. Her face was plastered with thick layers of paint and her hair, which had been tousled and twisted into a giant pouf, was gushing with bows and feathers.

Margie didn't smile (it later transpired that she couldn't on account of her makeup which had a tendency to crack). The Giant, overwhelmed to see Margie safe and well at last, flew out of his chair and, lifted Margie off the floor in a colossal bear hug. "I ain't half missed you!" he cried.

Far from embracing The Giant, however, Margie struggled violently then slapped him square on the face. Shocked The Giant dropped Margie to the floor and placed his hand on his stinging cheek. "What were that for?" he asked.

Margie dusted down her dress and poked desperately at her hair. "It took me ages to get ready!" she snapped.

"Not as long as it took
me
to get ready," insisted the older lady. "My gown has more buttons than any other dress in Avaricia."

"Giant," announced Margie, paying no attention to his obvious distress. "This is my friend, Teresa. Do you remember her?"

The Giant nodded. Like Margie, Teresa was a vision of excess. And although she appeared to smile at The Giant, her glazed eyes were in fact focused on the mirror behind him.

"How can I forget," he replied glumly.

"My hair was styled by the greatest coiffure in Avaricia," said Teresa.

"My dress was made by the greatest seamstress in Avaricia," said Margie.

"The ribbons on my dress are made entirely from gold."

"Mine are made entirely from spider silk."

"The buttons on my dress are made from mother of pearl."

"Mine are made of black diamonds."

Teresa scowled at Margie's dress then forced a smile. "Have you seen my shoes? They're so in vogue. I love them! They'll be totally outdated by tomorrow of course."

"I love your shoes"

"And my nails. They're not real. They're synthetic. I do love a bit of synthetic, don't you?"

"I do," said Margie.

"You know, your friend really doesn't say much does he?" said Teresa nodding in the direction of The Giant. And before The Giant could defend himself, she was off again. "You know it's rude not to compliment a lady on her beauty."

The Giant looked at Margie. "I've told her a million times how beautiful she is."