Read Online Instead of Three Wishes by Megan Whalen Turner - Free Book Online

I swooped my head through the frame and fell with an ungainly splash into the smooth water of a canal. All around me were boats filled with people, but no one looked my way as I flapped and splattered through the water. They showed no interest in me, a foreign girl swimming through their canal in strange clothes. I was invisible and inaudible to them as well. As I neared the dock, I was nearly run down by several gondolas whose gondoliers passed their poles over my head unaware of my existence.
    When I did reach the side of the canal, I realized a great difficulty. The water was more than two feet below the level of the stone street. I couldn’t pull myself out. I looked back over my shoulder and could see the gold leaf picture frame floating four feet above the canal. If I couldn’t even get myself onto the quayside, how was I ever going to get myself back up to the picture frame? Before I could panic, I heard a voice behind me say, “Here, turn around and give meyour hand.” The English words stood out from the babble of Italian.
    I turned. A blonde-haired girl in a green coat bent down to take my hand. She braced herself and pulled, but not hard enough. My waterlogged clothes dragged me back. Before she’d had a chance to pull a second time, a boy arrived beside her. He was much more dramatically dressed, in a gold embroidered coat and a scarlet sash. He grabbed my other hand and pulled as well. Two others came to help. By the time I was out of the canal, a large puddle had spread across the stone pavement and my helpers were almost as wet as I was.
    The four of them stood and looked at me, and I, with my hair dripping down my face and my clothes dripping onto the street, looked back at them. The first girl had a black flat-brimmed hat, like a sailor hat, that matched her coat. Beside her stood a boy, taller and probably older, in a fox red shirt a shade darker than his long brownish red hair. He, too, had a hat, but his was a deep black velvet rolled up around the edges. Beside him, and a little behind him, was another girl, dressed in a white dress with a black taffeta shawl across her shoulders. On her head was a peculiar collection of lace and ribbons that looked like a tiny wedding cake. She was pulling wet yellow silk gloves off her hands. The last of my helpers was a boy. He had no hat. His hair was trimmed very short and curled against his head. His clothes were far and away the most fancy, brightly colored and embroidered with gold. Helooked like an illustration for a prince in a book of stories.
    The first girl reached out a hand and said very formally, “I am Celeste.” When I took her hand, intending to shake it, she sank into a curtsy. Beside her, the boy with the long hair bowed from the waist. “I am Antonio.” The second girl also curtsied. She held her skirts out to the sides with both hands and whispered, “I am Caroline Howard.” And the second boy stood up straight to announce, “I am Rannuccio.”
    I had no idea how to respond to introductions this formal. I thought that I should probably curtsy like the girls, but I didn’t know how. The head bob I usually gave to ladies at my mother’s tea parties wouldn’t be enough. I stood paralyzed by shyness. Finally the girl called Celeste broke the tableau. She covered her mouth with both hands and stifled a burst of giggles.
    â€œOh,” she laughed as she said, “you are so wet. You are like a cat pulled out of the well. A dog caught in a rainstorm.” Her giggles were contagious. Antonio was the next to break down, then Rannuccio. I swept my soaking dress to one side and executed an exaggerated imitation of the girls’ curtsies. Even Caroline smiled down into her silk gloves.
    Celeste was the first to stop laughing. All her formality was gone. She took my hand and towed me toward the nearest bridge over the canal. “You are too wet to stand in the cold,” she said.