Mearsies Heili Bounces Back by Sherwood Smith Page A

boring. Everybody hates me. Why should I have to pay for my
grandfather’s ambitions?” He scratched his head with the end of his paintbrush.
The wrong end—blue pain splotched his pale curls. I noticed that his
clothes—blue silk robe layered over blue silk trousers—was all paint-splotched,
too.
    Puddlenose helped himself to some tarts, and sat on a
hassock. “What’s the story?”
    The little man groaned. “How many times must I tell it?
Well, here ’tis. You know that many in this part of the world were born with
magic, after they came through the world gate.”
    I thought of the horrible Yxubarecs—but then they’d refused
to give up their shape-changing powers, unlike the Mearsieans. Who’d been
shape-changers way, way back.
    I said, “We know about the Mearsieans, and the Yxubarecs.
You’re not one, are you?”
    He waved his hands. “You have it backwards! My grandfather
came through the world gate, seeking the four who serve as queens here. It’s
old politics from the other world—way before what you call the Yxubarecs were
confined to their cloud—and has to do with magic. But, hmmm, the four ... well,
call them sisters, in human terms. They loved this world. It’s a beautiful
world, if you get to see any of it outside this city.”
    Puddlenose waved an apricot tart in agreement.
    “And they got along fine with the local beings. They were
asked to become rulers, as they had so much magic. They agreed with the great
mages here to lay down certain powers, and in return they could stay. My
grandfather had thought to use those powers. They refused to join him in his
plans, and thwarted him. In revenge, he turned them into stone. But the
enchantment is difficult to break.”
    “We heard—only foreign royalty can do it,” Klutz said,
smacking her skinny chest. “We’re all foreigners, and we’ve got royalty.”
    A bunch of thumbs all turned toward me.
    The little man peered at me, his bushy blond brows raised
hopefully, then he sighed as he bent to carefully mix a new shade of green. “So
many come here, and say they are royalty. I’ve never met so many kings,
princes, princesses— especially princesses—and the like. Well, here’s the
rest. The queens’ cousins, who had taken human form, bravely tried to help
out—and got stuck under a horrible spell that thrust them outside time to
wander and never find rest or peace.”
    “That sounds even worse than the stone spell,” Seshe said.
    “Yes.” The man dropped the paint brush onto the palette. “I’m
tired of running a kingdom where no one wants me. I just want to paint, and to
sell my works! But if I leave, then the spell becomes permanent. My grandfather
wanted to start a dynasty.”
    “What do we do?” I asked. “I mean, I take it the magic
doesn’t work if you happen to be wearing a crown?” I tapped mine.
    “Nope. All kinds of crowns on our statues, as you’ve
probably seen. As to how or why it works, your guess is as good as mine, beyond
the antidote riddle,” he said. “I never could master magic, my mind just
wandered too much, always into colors. I’d read a spell ... and think about
what color it might be painted in.” He sighed. “I know just enough to maintain
things here.” He yawned, brought up his hand to cover his mouth, and the
paintbrush in his fingers jabbed him with green paint just above one eye.
    Puddlenose said, “What kind of royalty, can you say? I mean,
were all those statues of people running away really fake kings and the like?”
    “I guess so.” The little man shrugged again, and then
reached down for a brush. But then he seemed to remember his manners, and
folded his hands politely over his round middle. “In truth, I’ve often wondered
why we had that many false kings and princesses about. Maybe it’s the thought
of the reward that draws ’em. Or maybe some of them are real, but not real
enough?”
    Seshe said, “Can you tell us what makes them real? Do they
have to be named as