by Nova Nelson
The inn’s wooden sign hung at an odd angle in front of the door, one of the two metal hinges having apparently rusted out.
“Can’t say the guests aren’t warned,” Ruby remarked.
Bloom entered the lobby first, instinctively clearing the way of any danger before she let Ruby in behind her.
A long bench made from a cross-section of a tree was unoccupied against one of the rough stone walls, and ahead was the reception desk. One lamp on either end of it was the only light in the room, but it was enough to make out the features of the man on duty—the two horns poking out of his nest of dark curly hair, his almond eyes, and the bulbous nose that was currently pointing downward at an open book.
He looked up at the newcomers and took his time letting his gaze wash over them. Then he grunted, adjusted his cream-colored linen shirt, and got to his feet. Well, in a matter of speaking. Bloom heard the faun’s hooves clip-clop against the stone floor. “What can I help you with, Sheriff?”
“We’re just here to meet some friends…” She looked around for a name plate of some sort but found nothing. Apart from the two lamps, the desk appeared to hold only an aged leather guestbook and a brass handbell. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Galvin. Do your friends know you’re coming to see them? I prefer for my guests to not have to worry about unexpected visitors.”
“I bet you do,” mumbled Bloom. “They don’t know to expect me. But maybe you can send word ahead.” A group of actors was unlikely a flight risk. No doubt they would relish the opportunity to put on a show for her and Ruby.
“Their names?”
“I don’t actually know their names,” she said. “But I’m sure you noticed them. They’re actors.”
Galvin grunted again. “Oh yeah. I noticed them, all right. They’re the kind that likes to be noticed.”
“That’s their profession, yes. Will you send word for us?”
He shook his head, and for a moment Bloom feared that this might get ugly. But then he said, “No need. I don’t care much for them. Too noisy. Draw too many eyes. And if they never bring their business back here again, I wouldn’t shed a tear.”
“And you do seem like the weepy type,” Ruby interjected, “so I’ll take that to mean quite a bit.”
He narrowed his eyes at the Fifth Wind, and for a fraction of a second, Bloom could have sworn he was about to grin. “Rooms eleven, thirteen, and fifteen. I think the ringleader is staying in eleven, though, if it’s her you want to speak with.”
“Perfect,” Bloom said. “Thank you so much for your help. I won’t forget it.”
The staircase was to the right of the desk, and as they moved toward it, Galvin said, “Hound stays down here. No pets.”
Bloom said, “Not a chance. He’s coming with us,” and the matter was all but settled. Galvin could be tough as nails, but no one in their right mind would choose that particular battle against a hellhound, a Fifth Wind, and an angel. And while Galvin was unhelpful at best and an outright criminal at worst, he proved to be in his right mind and let them proceed without argument.
The staircase spiraled upward and was so narrow that they had to go one at a time. Bloom led the way.
Once they reached the landing, iron sconces along the hallway hardly provided enough light to walk without tripping on the uneven floor, so Bloom took it slow as she looked for room eleven.
She shared a quick glance with Ruby, who seemed ready to go, and then she knocked on the thick door.
There was no sound from the other side.
Had they escaped through a window? It wouldn’t be hard for fairies. They could simply fly off.
But then the latch moved and as soon as the door cracked open, a torrent of singing rushed out of the room, echoing through the corridor.
A tiny fairy with plump cherry lips and cerulean wings peeked out, realized she’d misjudged the height of the guest, and flew a foot higher to be face-to-face with Bloom. “Hello?” Her eyes darted from one being on her doorstep to the other.
“Hi there. My name’s Sheriff Gabby Bloom, and these are my friends Ruby and Clifford. We were wondering if we could have a word with you and the rest of your troop.”
The fairy looked to be on the cusp of refusing, but then her shoulders relaxed and she pulled the door open wider. “Of course, sheriff. Come on in.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ruby True didn’t need a nose like Clifford’s to be absolutely accosted by the wall of incense burning within the hotel room. What other smells were they covering?
Never mind, she thought. Better not to know.
She was pleased to discover that her initial guess on the fairy’s lip color, the one she’d made while looking at the black and white flyer in the Pixie Mixie, had been proven correct. And that same fairy led them into the cramped room where it appeared the whole troop had gathered to celebrate their performance.
Not one of them, as she scanned their small round faces, seemed particularly pleased to find a sheriff and a hellhound suddenly in their presence, and the riotous singing came to an abrupt end. One of them even went so far as to throw the back of her hand to her forehead and pretend to faint out of the air, falling onto the mattress beneath her.
Actors.
Ruby didn’t know any fairies personally, but they were simple enough to tell apart from pixies. Both had delicate wings, but a pixie’s were opalescent and nearly translucent like a soap bubble, while a fairy’s had a distinct coloration that varied from one to the next. There was also an obvious distinction in their bodies. While pixies had humanlike proportions, fairies’ bodies were more compact, and their faces had a slight bug-like quality— nothing Ruby could ever put her finger on, but something around the eyes.
She’d never seen one with lips like the troop leader’s, though. Did fairies get cosmetic surgery? She was relatively sure such a service didn’t exist in Eastwind, magical or otherwise. But if this was a traveling band of players, they could easily have found somewhere in Avalon or one of its many connecting realms.
“Friends,” announced the ruby-lipped woman, puffing up her chest and beginning her monologue, “we have some new guests. As you can see, one of them is law enforcement, and as we have nothing to hide, we will give her our full cooperation. As you know, two catastrophes have befallen our wonderful audience during our last two glorious triumphs of the theater, and it is only natural that those in charge of keeping the peace and protecting the populace would wish to speak with us, as the occurrences do seem strangely related.” She nodded and turned to address Bloom directly. “My name is Bitania Flutterwings”—a stage name if Ruby had ever heard one— “and this is my talented troop of stage performers, The Rambling Mummers.” She made a grand sweeping gesture to encompass them.
Most of the fluttering had stopped, and the actors, who were now perched in various places around the room—the bed, a small writing desk, the accompanying chair—all took a bow at once.
What, did they expect her to clap? Not a chance. Ruby was not a clapper, on the whole.
“Rambling Mummers,” said Bloom casually, though Ruby knew Bloom rarely did anything casually when she was interviewing people of interest. “An apparent contradiction.”
Bitania guffawed. “Indeed, it is! Indeed, it is! Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you Sheriff Baum? Nothing gets past you; I can already tell! I pity the petty criminal of Eastwind!”
Neither Ruby nor Bloom bothered correcting her on the name.
“This one’s a real piece of work,” Clifford said.
“I don’t need a nose like yours to smell the unicorn swirls all over this room.”
“No amount of incense could cover up that stench.”
“May we have a seat?” Bloom asked.
“Oh! Of course!” crowed Bitania. “Where are my manners? Yes, yes. Take that trunk over there. And here”—she flew over and roughly shoved a turquoise-winged fairy off the desk chair— “this is for you.” She smiled at Ruby.
Once they were settled, with Bitania perched on a bedpost at the foot of the bed across from her new audience of three, Ruby did what she preferred to do, which was let Bloom do all the talking while she invited her Insight to come forth and help her keep an eye out for any strange behavior.
Unfortunately, all the behavior in this cramped space was strange, and Ruby couldn’t tell how much was attributable to their being artists and how much was downright fishy.
“How long have you been in town?” Bloom began.
“Six days now,” Bitania replied.
“And are you enjoying your stay?” She smiled warmly.
The question was perfect. The fairies were clearly settling in for an interrogation, and the unnecessary hospitality was a quick change of direction. Ruby observed the facades around the room crack for just a brief moment. Well, except for the fairy who’d just been knocked off the chair. He’d managed to catch himself right before he hit the ground and had fluttered to a position on one of the pillows, about as far from Bitania as he could be. Bloom’s pleasant inquiry hadn’t wiped the scowl from his face. In fact, all it resulted in was him crossing his arms. Ruby could hardly fault him for being sour after such treatment.
“Oh yes! It’s been so wonderful,” proclaimed Bitania. “Everyone here is incredibly welcoming, and the town is just so quaint. If I didn’t know better than to overstay my welcome, I might settle down here for good.”
The fairies behind her bobbed their overlarge heads amicably.
What a load of swirls.
Ruby didn’t need to tap into her Insight to know that.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Bloom said. “And of course, you’re welcome to come back whenever you would like. Your production has caused quite a stir around town. I haven’t gotten a chance to see it myself, but I hear it’s getting rave reviews.”
If the sheriff’s strategy was to adulate Bitania into submission, she was going about it the right way.
The fairy played bashful in a way that might have appeared subtle to someone fifty yards away. But up close, it just seemed clownish. “I do hope the town appreciates all the hard work we’ve put into preparing. We really pour our hearts and souls into our work. At times, we even bleed for the love of our art.” She added hastily, “Not intentionally, of course, but long hours and grueling emotional scenes do take a toll, and that can lead to accidents.”
She looked like she might go on providing examples or simply emphasizing their commitment to their profession, but Bloom stepped in. Ruby wasn’t upset about that.
“It’s unfortunate that your play has been interrupted in such a way both times. But it speaks to the quality that an audience would stick around for the ending after such a tragedy.”
Bitania folded her hands in her lap, staring down at them. “Yes,” she said softly. “It’s hard to believe that’s happened twice. We have our finale in two days’ time, and then we move on.” She looked up at the sheriff. “I don’t mean to sound superstitious, but it does seem like your townsfolk like to jump from that clock during our productions. Can I assume you’ll be keeping a closer eye on it for our Saturday show?”
Bloom leaned back on the sturdy trunk where she sat. “We’re keeping an eye on lots of things after this second attempt. We don’t intend to let it happen a third time.” She paused. “Speaking of which, I do have a question, and I believe your theatrical mind might help me clarify things a bit.”
Bitania perked up and a few of the fairies behind her fluttered their wings eagerly. “I do have a theatrical mind.”
“We’ve encountered a problem while investigating this case. No one we’ve interviewed has actually seen either elf fall. They were all far too engrossed in your dramatic retelling at the time.”
“We are very captivating,” said a small male fairy with butter-yellow wings and bushy eyebrows who was perched on the bed behind Bitania.
The troop leader whirled on him and hissed, “You don’t speak!” before returning her attention to Bloom with a dreamy smile already plastered on her face.
Bloom did a good job of pretending not to notice the tension and went on. “So that got me thinking, who would have seen the jumpers? Well, we saw the second one.”
One of Bitania’s little hands flew up to her heart. “And thank goddess for that!”
“Right,” said Bloom. “Many thanks to the goddess. But I also wonder if anyone on stage might have seen the first jumper.”
It wasn’t lost on Ruby that Bloom was referring to Bron Danann and Dalora Greyborn as “jumpers” rather than “victims” in front of these fairies of interest. Take away the potential of suspicion, and it was simply trying to make sense of a terrible tragedy—not investigating a possible murder.
“I did,” Bitania said, her eyes turning red and welling up in an instant. “It was horrible.”
Bloom’s eyebrows raised. “You saw it? Can you tell me what happened?”
Ruby braced herself for another monologue.
But, despite Bloom having set up the melodramatic troop leader for the perfect moment to let her acting chops shine, Bitania simply replied, “Not much to tell. As I stared out over the transfixed audience, movement behind them caught my eye. I looked up just in time to watch that man drop like a sack of turnips.”
“And what time was that?” Bloom asked.
“It was right at noon. The last of the bells was still resonating through the air as he fell. I remember it so vividly. The horror plays over and over again in my mind.”
Ruby worried the effort to keep her mouth shut about the time discrepancy might cause her to have a stroke. Bitania was claiming she’d seen Bron fall at noon, but it wasn’t until at least ten minutes later that Ted even noticed the body. She wanted to ask why, why Bitania hadn’t immediately told someone about what she’d seen, but she knew better than to do so. There was no way to phrase it so that it didn’t sound accusatory, and she doubted she would receive a sufficient explanation anyway, because as far as she was concerned, one did not exist.
But she couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer, so she jumped in with a different time-related question. “Why start at eleven fifty?”
Bloom had her mouth open, about to ask another question, but she shut it and nodded for Bitania to focus on Ruby’s question instead.
Whatever psychological trauma the fairy had been confronting a moment before at her recollection of the incident vanished. She seemed excited to answer this question, almost as if she’d been waiting for it.
“Ah, that’s one of The Rambling Mummers’ most well-known flourishes! Whenever we move to a new location, we like to incorporate some of the natural elements of that location into the production. It makes the audience feel like they’re a part of the world we’re creating!”
“And what did you use for Eastwind?”
Her arms flew into the air as she proclaimed, “The bells, of course! Welling here”—she nodded to the disgruntled fairy she’d knocked off the chair— “scouted the area long before we moved our troop in. He said there was an absolutely divine location that had the space we needed for our stage and a glorious bell tower that we could use as a sound effect for the thrilling inciting incident of the production.”
“Forgive me,” Ruby said, “but I haven’t had a chance to see the play yet. It involves bells?”
“Oh yes! We’ve timed it so that it falls perfectly in line with the moment when Queen Naifa’s guards, after leading her up to the highest tower in the castle as a means of protecting her, hear the bells of victory sounding from below.” She waved her hands as if to wipe away the imaginary painting her words had created. “Oh, I should explain what led up to that. A mighty rebellion had erupted and Queen Naifa had deployed all of her bravest men, save her personal guards, to strike it down.”
Ruby struggled to follow along. “So, the queen hears the bells and they tell her she’s safe, that the rebellion has been squashed?”
Bitania shared a knowing look with the fairy closest
to her and chuckled patronizingly. “Oh no, no, no. The queen only thinks she’s safe. But the guards know better. The bells are a signal from the rebels that the rest of the court and the leaders of the queen’s army have all been taken or killed. And it is in that moment, as the bells continue to ring in the rebel victory that the queen’s guards reveal their true allegiance. They’ve been traitors the whole time! They kill the queen in that tower, and then parade her body through town.”
Ruby cringed. “That’s all in the first ten minutes of the play?”
Bitania beamed. “We like to capture the audience’s attention from the moment the curtain opens. It’s part of why we’re so highly reviewed by even the harshest of critics.”
“And the rest of the play is about…?” She couldn’t imagine where it would go from there that would be of any interest. Already it didn’t sound like a book she would read.
“The power vacuum left behind, of course,” supplied Bitania. “Lots of scheming and plotting, and even a few duels!”
Ruby snuck a glance at Bloom, and to her dismay, the angel’s eyes were large as she leaned forward, taking in every word of the plot with a disarming enthusiasm.
“That’s brilliant,” said the sheriff. “You take the usual structure and flip it on its head!”
“Indeed!” Bitania nodded appreciatively at the recognition. “I wrote the script myself.”
The disgruntled fairy behind her cleared his throat.
“Oh,” Bitania added begrudgingly, “and Welling helped with some of the historical research, but only a little.”
The gargantuan size of the troop leader’s ego was beginning to make Ruby feel claustrophobic in the space.
“And in the scene that takes place in the tallest tower,” the Fifth Wind said, “which of you are present on stage in that moment?”
“All of us,” the troop leader said. “We aimed to create a sense of total chaos to overwhelm the audience and make them feel like they’re present in the kingdom at that moment. So, those of us who aren’t immediately involved in the drama are battling on each side of the stage leading up to the ringing of the bells. And then the queen’s loyal generals are all either killed or surrender. In that moment all of the frenzied movement freezes on each side, and at center stage, our captive audience beholds the treacherous slaying of the queen.”
