A History of Glitter and Blood

by Hannah Moskowitz

  Everyone is watching her, the dirty little fairy girl without a uniform. Everyone is watching her except the ones she most wants to see her.

  Where is her pack?

  She realizes that, as far as she knows, Ferrum does not have a courthouse.

  “Excuse me,” she asks a fairy woman. “Where’s the courthouse?”

  “Go to the hospital,” the woman says, without looking at her.

  “I don’t care about a fucking uniform!” she yells, but she’s jostled as she walks and soon the hospital is right in front of her, and through the window she sees a boy on a bench with an ice pack over his eye. A boy getting prodded by a fairy in gray uniform.

  A boy in a white uniform.

  “Piccolo!”

  Immediately, she’s through the doors, and she hears a load of doctors or nurses or someones yelling at her to go to the front desk, to sign in, but Piccolo sees her and drops the ice pack and they hug like they haven’t seen each other in years.

  “No,” Piccolo says. “No, don’t cry.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just hit in the eye. They wouldn’t let me in the courtroom, I kind of freaked out.”

  “Why not?”

  “No tightropers ’cept the ones on the jury. I can’t believe you . . . fuck, we thought you were dead.”

  She shakes her head. “Josha . . . ?”

  “Josha’s fine. In the courtroom.”

  “With Scrap.”

  He nods.

  Then, behind her, a skinny throat gives a thick ahem, and she turns around to see a tall fairy with her hair put up on top of her head, her red glitter somehow perfect, her gray uniform sharp and clean.

  It’s the woman from the meeting before the war. Jenemah. The one who told Scrap that no city was worth losing a limb.

  So what is it worth losing, is the thing.

  “Name?” she says.

  “Beckan Moloy?”

  “Come with me.”

  Beckan looks at Piccolo.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he says. “I’ll be able to get in once you’re with me.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a fairy.”

  She forgot that ever meant anything.

  Fairies could go anywhere, could do anything, ruled their little world.

  That’s what the history books said. (That was history.)

  Jenemah leads her through the hall to a bed surrounded by curtains, where she rolls up Beckan’s sleeve and takes a vial of blood. While it fills, she swabs off glitter from Beckan’s cheek and wipes it onto a small piece of glass.

  She flips through pages on her clipboard. “You’re not on my list. Were you in Calman’s traveling party?”

  “I wasn’t in anyone’s traveling party. I took a walk for a few weeks. Before that I was in this city. Every day. For my entire life.”

  She chuckles and tucks her hair behind her one remaining ear. “Right. Your name has come up in the trial, I believe.” She runs Beckan’s blood through a machine. “Good. Fairy.”

  “What else would I be?”

  Jenemah gives her a look. “You never know who might be pretending these days. You could be a gnome covered in glitter. The first step toward reorganizing this city is to have each creature in its proper place. We cannot make any progress in chaos.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “We will always come back when we are needed.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Scrap’s predicament is delicate. The outcome of his trial will determine a great deal for the city and for our race relations as a whole. Scrap involved himself in a conflict between all three races.”

  She says, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Scrap’s a fairy. He’ll get off.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Beckan is cold. “Where is the courthouse?”

  The fairy woman throws an armful of cloth at her. “Put on your uniform.”

  She does, shaking. “You said my name came up. As a witness? I’ll be a witness. Everything that Scrap did was self-defense. Piccolo was a witness too. The tightroper. That boy out there.”

  “Miss Moloy,” Jenemah says, “might I be frank?”

  “Scrap never did anything he didn’t have to do, and he’s the only one in the whole war who can say that.”

  “At this point,” she says. “Our main focus is on fostering suitable species-to-species relationships. The necessary opinions in the matter are those of a carefully selected council consisting of two gnomes, two tightropers, and two fairies.”

  “And a fairy judge,” Beckan guesses.

  “Naturally.”

  “None of whom were here when it happened.”

  “Oh, the gnomes were,” she says. “Rest assured, the gnomes remember quite well. And bringing a fairy to justice might be all they need to stay content underground for a long, long time.”

  They have plenty of time, Beckan thinks.

  What she says is, “This is bullshit. Tell me where the courthouse is.”

  Court Transcript

  The Trial of Scrap Oregna

  7/31/546

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Mr. Oregna, you stand trial today for the murder of the late gnome king Crate. How do you plead?

  SCRAP OREGNA: I don’t know.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Do you understand the charges brought against you?

  Whereupon the door opens and two latecomers slip through the cracks. The defendant does not turn around.

  SCRAP OREGNA: Yes.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: And how do you plead?

  SCRAP OREGNA: I don’t know.

  FAIRY COUNCILMAN CALMAN CREED: He’s stalling, Your Honor.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Mr. Oregna. You’ve had nearly three weeks in confinement to contemplate your trial. What more could you possibly ask for to help you make the decision of whether you are guilty or not guilty?

  SCRAP OREGNA: A lawyer.

  Whereupon there is a disturbance near the back of the courtroom as one of the aforementioned newcomers rises and charges toward the front of the courtroom.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Young lady, if you please!

  RUDE NEWCOMER: Scrap requested a lawyer. I’ve decided that I’m up for the job.

  Whereupon Scrap Oregna stares at the rude newcomer as if he has just seen a ghost.

  Rude newcomer, in accordance with her title, does not look at him.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: You decided, in the two and half seconds between Mr. Oregna’s request for a lawyer and your own charge toward the bench, that you are adequate to stand as a lawyer in this trial?

  RUDE NEWCOMER: Yes.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: And your name?

  RUDE NEWCOMER: Beckan Moloy.

  A FAIRY BOY, HIGH IN THE STANDS: Fuck yeah, Beckan!

  Beckan knows now why she didn’t know there was a courthouse. This isn’t what used to be here.

  This building used to be a library.

  These spectator seats used to be shelves.

  The judge’s bench is stuck in the middle of the children’s section.

  She came here a few times for her lessons with Scrap, but largely her memories of the place are from her childhood, with her father, with Josha, snuggled into a chair in the corner with a picture book, trying to read.

  GNOME COUNCILMAN PLUG: Your honor, I must object to this. The fairy girl has not been sworn in and she hasn’t shown us any credentials.

  Whereupon everyone ignores this objection and Beckan Moloy whispers back and forth with her new client.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Well, Miss Moloy? How does your client plead?

  BECKAN MOLOY: We plead bullshit.

  SCRAP OREGNA: We plead not guilty. She says I’m not guilty.

  “Where’s Josha?” Beckan whispers to him.

  Scrap jerks his head toward the side of the courtroom. He’s there, up in the stands, still smiling after cheering her name. Piccolo has climbed up beside him, and they beam down at her and Scrap like they have all gotten along this whole
time. There is a difference between hating someone and hating someone during a trial. She grabs Scrap’s hand and squeezes it hard before she lets it go.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “For the book.”

  “Are you still writing it?”

  He nods, a little.

  “Then don’t apologize. Keep the hope alive, kid.”

  His smile stretches to his ears.

  She notices his hand, the metal one, has its fingers bent into the tightest fist. He must have used his other hand to fold it that way. It must have been hard.

  She’ll ask about that later.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Plug, you’ve gathered up reports of the alleged murder from various sources, have you not?

  GNOME COUNCILMAN PLUG: I have, your honor.

  BECKAN MOLOY: Objection! I’m afraid I have to insist that these sources be disclosed to my client and I—

  SCRAP OREGNA: Me. Client and me.

  BECKAN MOLOY: Prior to Plug delivering his report.

  Whereupon the judge appears already exhausted of playing house with the children.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Sustained, I suppose.

  GNOME COUNCILMAN PLUG: The testimonies are those of various gnomes who witnessed the incident and were not so horribly traumatized that they couldn’t stand to speak of Crate’s murder.

  BECKAN MOLOY: Excellent, so we can all agree ahead of time that these testimonies are biased and likely false, as the murder—alleged murder—took place aboveground, where very few gnomes would have witnessed it. Thank you. You may continue.

  GNOME COUNCILMAN PLUG: On the morning of Fairy Date 4/16/546, the defendant, his lawyer, and a fairy by the name of Cricket Oregna, the defendant’s first cousin, were leaving the mines where they had been performing another night of prostitution to the gnome forces. They had just come out of the elevator when Cricket Oregna began to fraternize with a pair of tightropers hanging relatively close to the ground. Several gnomes report that he was speaking suggestively to them and offering them the services of himself and his friends. While this was occurring, King Crate had ascended the elevator to view tightroper carcasses. They were, at this point, nearly starving, as most of their food was going toward paying said fairies for said . . . services.

  Whereupon Beckan Moloy makes a crude gesture to her defendant, who rolls his eyes and smiles.

  GNOME COUNCILMAN PLUG: Both of Crate’s attendants had recently been killed, so he was uncharacteristically alone. When one of the tightropers stated that he thought the gnomes had an exclusive right to the fairies’ services, Cricket Oregna began to mock the gnomes. He said, “We have them wrapped around our finger. We’re the ones in charge here. They are starving and won’t even eat us.” At this point, Crate lunged toward Cricket and promptly ate him.

  Crate next targeted Beckan, but she was armed with a small knife that was enough to make him hesitate. The defendant took advantage of this opportunity, leapt on the king, and proceeded to strangle him. The king, weak with hunger, was able to rip off only one of the defendant’s arms before he perished.

  BECKAN MOLOY: My client, therefore, suffered heaps and piles of pain and suffering, and his arm was never returned to him.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: So a murderous part of your client is still loose in the city.

  BECKAN MOLOY: It’s in gnome custody, I believe. Largely destroyed.

  Whereupon a few gnomes mutter in the affirmative and the defendant looks at his false hand.

  FAIRY JUROR CALMAN CREED: Further evidence that the defendant is a danger to society, Your Honor. Why else would the arm need to be destroyed?

  BECKAN MOLOY: Truly bulletproof logic, thank you.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Thank you, Mr. Creed. Miss Moloy, do you have any objection as to how the incident was presented? Was any of it factually incorrect? Is there anything you’d like to add?

  Whereupon the defendant and Beckan Moloy look at each other in silence.

  BECKAN MOLOY: No, Your Honor.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: We will now hear a statement from the prosecution followed by the recommended sentence. Miss Moloy, you will then have a chance to respond.

  Whereupon the defendant mumbles something to his lawyer about improper courtroom procedure and misreads of historical documents, and it is his lawyer’s turn to roll her eyes.

  GNOME COUNCILMAN RAP: Your Honor, we’ve just heard the story of Crate’s cruel murder at the hands of his employee, but what we haven’t yet heard is how much a betrayal this was to the relationship Crate had forged with Mr. Scrap Oregna. Scrap was the only one of the three prostitutes ever allowed to fraternize with Crate himself, and he did, frequently. In addition, Crate would often recommend Scrap to his close associates. He protected Scrap from some of his seedier clients, passing them instead to Mr. Oregna’s cousin. Many gnomes noticed that there was a tenderness in their relationship. Perhaps Crate believed that Mr. Oregna looked upon him as a father figure, as the defendant’s father left Ferrum, never to return, very early in the defendant’s life.

  So the question arises: Why murder Crate, if they were so close? Was it truly a heated argument leading to the consumption of a cousin Scrap dragged into prostitution (and left with the aforementioned seedier clients)? Was his relationship with his cousin really strong enough to be grounds for murder?

  What we believe—what we hope the entire council will come to believe by the end of this trial—is that Crate’s murder was not a crime of passion. It was a power play.

  As a confidant of Crate, Mr. Oregna would no doubt have known that Crate, in order to ascend to the throne, had to kill the previous king, the late Sir Hoole. No doubt this planted a seed in Scrap’s mind, and his cousin’s transgression provided the perfect opportunity for his own coup. This was interrupted by the aforementioned arrival of the fairies.

  What appears to be one unfortunate murder was, therefore, the beginning of an attempt to deconstruct gnome power. And let us not forget that, by instigating a rebellion, Mr. Oregna put both his fellow fairies and the tightropers in danger.

  He is a hazard to society, and we recommend that he pay the gnomes the flesh debt he so sorely owes. We recommend he be jailed, divided into parts, and eaten.

  BECKAN MOLOY: Objection.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: On what grounds?

  Whereupon the defense has no words.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Miss Moloy, are you ready to deliver your statement?

  BECKAN MOLOY: Tomorrow.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: I’m sorry?

  BECKAN MOLOY: Give me until tomorrow. I need time to speak with my client.

  JUDGE PEONY LACHTURN: Unfortunately, that won’t be possible. Mr. Oregna will be taken back to his underground confinement. But the court will grant you until tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp to prepare your statement. Court is adjourned.

  “I’m going to figure this out,” Beckan says, while they drag him away. “You’ll be fine.”

  Scrap nods, his eyes huge, his one arm clutching his notebook, his stupid life flashing in front of him.

  “Hey!” Beckan yells after him. “You don’t owe anybody anything!”

  Josha and Piccolo tackle her into their arms as soon as they’re out on the street.

  “Shit, Becks,” Josha says, lifting her a few inches off the ground. “When I saw you come in with Piccolo . . . I’d thought you were dead.”

  “I almost was. Shit, what are we going to do?” She turns to Piccolo. “Why aren’t your guys on the jury talking? They don’t have anything against Scrap. They don’t have any reason to protect the fucking city—”

  “The tightropers are fucked. They’re trying to stay on the fairies’ good side so you don’t chuck us out. You know they burned down four of our other settlements on their way back home? Killed hundreds.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. So now we’re basically all there is left, and we have no idea how far we’d have to go to find more of us. So yeah, you could say they have a reason to protect this city. This is fuck
ing ridiculous. If I don’t get out of this uniform, I’m going to shoot something.”

  Josha says, “Everyone’s trying to play big happy family because right now everyone’s at the same strength, so no one wants to fight. The fairies could get overthrown again at any second, and everyone knows it. Scrap’s a nice symbol of resistance because he pissed off the fairies and the gnomes, and the tightropers don’t care enough to save him.”

  They are talking about these races as though they are not part of them, and maybe they’re not.

  “Out of this uniform,” Piccolo says, “I swear, I don’t know what I’ll do. . . .”

  Josha puts a hand on his arm. “Hey. Try to stay calm, okay?”

  On either side of them, gnomes and fairies and tightropers are pouring out of the courtroom, jostling them, ignoring them. They took Scrap out through a back entrance. She doesn’t know where he is underground, because she sees no movement in the torn-up tunnels.

  Piccolo sees her looking and says, “Oh, that’s bullshit. They’ve built tons of them back up already, they just have those open so we think we see everything that goes on. Everyone knows it and no one talks about it. Have you seen Tier and Rig?”

  “Yes. They’re alive. They’re fine.”

  “Oh good, okay, okay.”

  “Maybe it would help if they were here,” she says. “Some gnomes on our side.”

  Josha says, “A ton of them are on our side. You know a bunch of them loved Scrap. Best little whore and all that.”

  She hears the words in Cricket’s voice and wants to cry, and also scream and rip her hair out and hit somebody because the words she truly remembers in Cricket’s mouth are the ones calling Scrap a whore.

  “But they’re not exactly welcome to speak their minds right now,” Josha finishes.