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MIRROR IMAGE by Diana L. Paxson
The big mirror glimmered balefully from the wall, challenging him.
Even from across the room, Lalo could see himself reflected - a short man with thi
A shout from the street startled him and he went softly to the window, but'it was only someone chasing a cutpurse who had mistaken their cul-de-sac for a shortcut between Slippery Street and the Bazaar. The strangeness of life in Sanctuary since the Beysib invasion, or infestation, or whatever it should be called, gave simple theft an almost nostalgic charm.
Lalo gazed out over the jumble of roofs to the blue shimmer of the harbour and an occasional flash where the sun caught the gilding on a Beysib mast. Ils knew the Beysib were colourful enough, with their embroidered velvets and jewels that put a sparkle in even Prince Kitty-Cat's eye, but Lalo had not been asked to paint any of them so far. Or to paint anything else, for that matter - not for some time now. Until the good folk of Sanctuary figured out how to transfer some of their new neighbours' wealth into their own coffers, no one was going to have either the resources or the desire to hire Sanctuary's only notable native artist to paint new decorations in their halls. Lalo wondered if Enas Yorl's gift to him would work on a Beysib. Did the fish-eyes have souls to be revealed?
Without willing it, Lalo found himself turning towards the mirror again.
'Lalo!'
Gilla's voice broke the enchantment. She filled the doorway, frowning at him, and he flushed guiltily. His preoccupation with the mirror bothered her, but she would have been more than bothered if she had known why it fascinated him so.
'I'm going shopping,' she said abruptly. 'Anything you want me to get for you?'
He shook his head. 'Am I supposed to be watching the baby while you're gone?'
Alfi thrust past her flowing skirts and looked up at his father with bright eyes.
'I'm t'ree years old!' said Alfi. 'I a big boy now!'
Lalo laughed suddenly and bent to ruffle the mop of fair curls. 'Of course you are.'
Gilla towered above him like the statue of Shipri All-Mother in the old temple. 'I'll take him with me,' she said. 'The streets have been quiet lately, and he needs the exercise.'
Lalo nodded and, as he straightened, Gilla touched his cheek, and he understood what she could so rarely manage to put into words, and smiled.
'Don't let the fish-eyes gobble you up!' he replied.
Gilla snorted. 'In broad daylight? I'd like to see them try! Besides, our Vanda says they're only people like ourselves, for all their fu
The building shook beneath Gilla's heavy tread as she went down the stairs, and Lalo moved back to the window to see her down the street. The hot sunlight gilded her fading hair until it was as bright as the child's.
Then she was gone, and he was alone with the mirror and his fear.
A man called Zanderei had asked Lalo if he had ever painted a self-portrait whether he had ever dared to find out if the gift the sorcerer Enas Yorl had given him of painting the truth of a man would enable him to make a portrait of his own soul. In return, Lalo had given Zanderei his life, and at first he had been so glad to be alive himself that he did not worry about Zanderei's words. Then the Beysib fleet had appeared on the horizon, with the sun striking flame from their mastheads and their carven prows, and no one had had leisure to worry about anything else for awhile. But now things were quiet and Lalo had no commissions to occupy him, and he could not keep his eyes from the mirror that hung on the wall.
Lalo heard a dog barking furiously in the street and two women squabbling in the courtyard below and, more faintly, the perpetual hubbub of the Bazaar; but here it was very still. A stretched canvas sat ready on his easel - he had been pla
Like a sleepwalker, Lalo lifted the easel to one side of the mirror, positioned himself so that the light from the window fell full on his face, and picked up the paintbrush.
Then, like a lover losing himself for the first time in the body of his beloved, or an outmatched swordsman opening his guard to his enemy's final blow, Lalo began to paint what he saw.
Gilla heaved the basket of groceries on to the table, rescued the sack of flour from the child's exploring fingers, and poured it into the bin, then found a wooden spoon for Alfi and set him down, where he began to bang it merrily against the floor. She stood for a moment, still a little out of breath from the stairs, then began to put her other purchases away.
It did not take long. The influx of Beysib had strained Sanctuary's food supply, and their wealth had sent prices climbing, and though Gilla had hoarded a fair amount of silver, there was no telling how long it would be until Lalo was working regularly again. So it was back to rice and beans for the family, with an occasional fish in the stew. Now that so many new ships had been added to the local fleet, fish were the one item in ample supply.
Gilla sighed. She had enjoyed their affluence - enjoyed putting meat on the table and experimenting with the spices imported from the north. But they had subsisted on coppers for more years than she liked to remember, and few enough of those. She was an expert on feeding a family on peas and promises. They would survive the Beysib as they had survived everything else.
Alfi's short legs were carrying him determinedly towards the door to Lalo's studio. Gilla scooped him up and held him against her, still squirming, and kissed his plump cheek.
'No, love, not in there - Papa's working and we must leave him alone!'
But it was odd that Lalo had not at least called a welcome when he heard her come in. When he was painting a sitter, Vashanka could have blasted the house without his noticing, but there had been no commissions for some time, and when Lalo painted for pleasure he was usually glad for an excuse to break off for a cup of tea. She called to Latilla to take her little brother into the children's room to play, then coaxed a fire to life in the stove and put the kettle on.
Lalo still had not stirred.
'Lalo, love - I've got water heating; d'you want a cup of tea?' She stood for a moment, hands on hips, frowning at the shut, unresponsive door; then she marched across the floor and opened it.
'You could at least answer me!' Gilla stopped. Lalo was not at his easel. For a moment she thought he must have decided to go out, yet the door had not been locked. But there was something different about the room. Lalo was standing by the far wall, for all the world like a piece of furniture. It took another moment for her to realize that he had not moved when she came in. He had not even looked at her.
Swiftly she went to him. He stood as if he had backed across the room step by careful step until he ran into the wall. The paintbrush was still clenched in one hand; she tugged it free and set it down. And still he did not move. His eyes were fixed, unseeing, on the easel across the room. She glanced at it - a man's face, and at this distance she saw nothing remarkable - then turned to him again.