The War of the Flowers

by Tad Williams

  "All local lines connect to a main station — it's just not always the same main station." "Oh." He let his head fall back against the seat. "Well, that's crystal clear." "I'm glad." Applecore was either missing the sarcasm or just wanted to get back to her nap.

  He picked up Eamonn Dowd's book again, hoping for some mortal's-eye clarification of Fairyland's insane transportation system, which was beginning to seem like some high-school roleplaying game full of arbitrary, nonsensical rules, but Theo still couldn't concentrate well enough to read. He gave up and stared out the rain-spotted window, exhausted by his terrifying day but trying not to doze, waiting for a heavy (and probably anything but human) hand to fall on his shoulder, a voice to announce that the jig was up. It took him a moment to realize that he was staring at moving shapes in the distant hills.

  Dark figures, perhaps a dozen in all, were riding down into one of the meadows. They dropped out of sight behind the train so quickly that he thought for a moment he had indeed been drowsing and dreaming, but a few moments later the train passed another cluster of riders reined up in the deep meadow, watching the train with a yellow-eyed intensity that made Theo extremely nervous. This group was much closer: even in the brief moments while the train swept past he could see that their clothes were dark but fantastical even by fairy standards, voluminous head scarves and billowing robes tied with strips of ribbon. The downpour did not seem to bother them. Each of the riders had a spear or goad in his hand and what looked like a rifle strapped on his back. What he could see of their narrow, long-nosed faces looked oddly familiar, but even that was not what made Theo reach up a hand to poke the little fairy on his shoulder awake.

  Each of the horselike animals on which the riders were mounted had a single glossy horn in the middle of its forehead.

  "Applecore? Applecore? There are people . . . or whatever . . . outside the train. Watching us. They're . . . they're riding unicorns." He felt her wings buzz into motion beside his ear, tickling him. She hung before the window watching as they passed another group of the riders, these a bit farther away and riding parallel to the tracks, their every sureseated movement suggesting that they could go as fast as the train if it were worth the bother. Looking at their lightning-legged mounts, Theo wondered if that might not be true.

  When they had passed this last group, the stormswept plains were deserted again.

  "Shite and onions!" Applecore said, but it sounded more like wonder than apprehension. "You don't see that very often."

  "Who are they?" "Grims. Wild goblins, I guess you'd call 'em. They live out in the wastelands and the mountains with their herds of sheep and cows, but they almost never come near the railroad or the cities. I've heard of some towns out in Ash and Alder where they show up to trade hides and some herbs and things, but that's the first time I've seen them in Great Rowan."

  "Are they going to attack us?"

  She gave him a look of puzzled amusement. "No, why? Is that something that happens where you come from?" "No." He thought of all the Western movies he had seen with vengeful Indians riding down on a train, whooping and blazing away at the helpless passengers. "Well, not lately. Not where I live."

  "Well, there used to be bandits here, too. But it's been a deadly long time, and I've never heard of it happening since the last Goblin War, and certainly not since the Winter Dynasties." She shook her head. "Grims on the plains of Great Rowan. I wonder where they're going? Strange days."

  She was just settling herself back on his shoulder, and he was trying to decide whether he dared fall asleep himself, when the pitch of the train's engines began to change. At first Theo wasn't even certain what he was hearing — the locomotive already sounded quite different from its earthly counterpart, the engine sounds more a low rushing and humming than a puffing choo-choo — but he found himself leaning forward. He could feel the motion changing even before the first screech of the brakes.

  "The train's stopping." Whatever was happening, he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to like it. "Are we there yet?"

  "We bloody well are not," Applecore said. "We're an hour out of Starlightshire, at least."

  "Maybe those goblins are angry and they've blown up the tracks. Maybe your Great Fairy Chief spoke to them with a forked tongue or something." The train had definitely stopped. Many of his fellow passengers had woken up and were talking among themselves, clearly less worried by this than he was. He tried to calm himself.

  "You do talk a load of old shite sometimes, Theo. But it won't hurt to find out." She buzzed up off his shoulder and started down the aisle at ankle level, but passengers were beginning to get out of their seats and she quickly rerouted to an airspace just below the ceiling. Theo sank down and did his best to look like a half-asleep fairy on the way home from visiting perfectly normal fairy-friends or something. He couldn't see where Applecore had gone — some of the other passengers had stopped on their way back from the restrooms and were standing in the aisles, looking out the windows and speculating.

  He spotted her coming back to him about a second before she arrived; she was going so fast that she had to beat her wings hard to stop.

  "This is very bad, Theo," she said. "They've stopped the train."

  "I know they've stopped the train! Who are 'they'?" "Constables have just got on. But that's not the bad part. One of those hollow-men is with 'em. He's leadin' 'em down the aisles, looking for someone. What do you want to bet it's us?"

  "Oh . . . fuck."

  "Hold on till I get into your shirt."

  "What?" "If it's one of those fellas that was in the station and he's just been up with the driver till now, then he'll probably be looking for a big one like you with a little one like me. So I'm going to get out of sight. Meanwhile, you're dressed different. He may not recognize you — we don't know how close they saw you. And that sort of troll doesn't see that well, anyway."

  "Are you suggesting I just sit here? What do you mean, don't see that well?" "With their eyes. They're cave trolls. But their hearing and smell are sharp, so don't you say a damn word no matter what — it would only get you in trouble anyway. Just show your ticket and pretend you're deaf or somethin'."

  "No, bad idea." He shook his head frantically. "Stay here — bad idea. Run away — much better idea." "What, you think they won't have someone at the back of the train? I saw the uniforms — these aren't village plodders or even shireblades, these are Field Special Constables and that lot aren't stupid. Just sit tight." And with those words she clambered down his shoulder, over his collar, and into his shirt. A moment later he could feel her feet and hands as she braced herself against the inside of the stolen garment and belayed herself a little farther down, her torso pressing against him as she flattened herself against his chest. It was a bizarrely intimate sensation, like having a living Barbie doll squirming against his bare skin.

  Thank God I'm probably going to die right now, he thought in a surge of near-delirium. Because otherwise this would put me in therapy for years.

  "Don't you dare bump into anything," she hissed from a spot just to the side of his left nipple. "You'll smash me like a bug."

  "Should I call Tansy? Maybe he could vouch for me or something." "He'll do no such thing. He's not a fool. If they've stopped the train and put the Specials on to find you, it's probably because they've found Rufinus and someone's blamed it on you. Tansy on the phone won't make them change their minds and it will make him look very bad."

  "Shit! So there's nothing we can do?" For a moment he thought he might throw up, then his stomach and everything else inside him seemed to turn to a single block of ice as the door at the front end of the compartment opened and a pair of armed fairies with padded vests stepped through. Behind them came a horribly familiar shape dressed all in dark clothes, slouch hat pulled low, face gleaming beneath the brim like the belly of a fish.

  Theo watched helplessly as the two officers, prompted by whispered comments from the hollow-man, moved slowly down the aisle. The constables both had wi
ngs, or seemed to: their padded, dark-gray body armor certainly bulged behind their shoulders. They wore wraparound mirrored sunglasses, the kind Theo had seen on every highway patrol officer who had ever pulled him over and listened with blank-faced contempt to his stammered excuses, although these seemed to shine with a light of their own, like luminous mother-of-pearl. In fact, their heavy gloves had a faint glow to them, too — not so much a radiating light as a weird visual intensity. But most disturbingly, both constables carried what looked like heavy machine pistols, menacing slate-colored things whose magazines were not rectangular but shaped instead like . . . hand grenades? No, something more organic . . . pineapples?

  No, bees' nests, he realized — they looked like some kind of modern-art beehives. Something wriggled on his breastbone, then Applecore poked her head up above his collar to sneak a look. "Shite!" she hissed, "they must think you're the one who burned down the Cathedral or somethin'. They've got Hornets." With a little grunt of despair, she slid back down under his shirt again.

  The police weren't actually asking many people for tickets or documents. As they got closer, Theo was fractionally relieved to see that the constables themselves looked a little bored, as though they had already decided that their superiors had sent them on a wild goose chase. But the hollow-man was not bored in the least: like a dog reluctant to be led away, he leaned in between the policemen to sniff as the group moved slowly down the aisle.

  Theo sank lower in his seat. He thought about lifting the book, but such a show of nonchalance seemed no different than screaming out his guilt. Every other passenger was watching the threesome coming down the aisle with sick fascination and many of them looked only a little less full of guilty panic than Theo himself.

  This isn't a happy place, he realized. It wasn't before I got here. Fairyland is in bad times.

  To his astonishment, the police moved right past him, the dull glow of their sunglasses sliding over him as though he were nothing, a bug.

  Yes! he wanted to shout. I'm a bug! I don't matter! The hollow-man's shadowed face swept across him and for an instant Theo thought he saw a glimmer as the tiny, piggy eyes beneath the hat touched his, paused for a split-instant, considered. Theo's heart seemed to swell until it was too large to beat. The hollow-man peered at him, flicked a glance at the trembling boggart next to him, then stepped past and began surveying people in the next row.

  Theo's gaze rolled up to the ceiling and he sagged. For a moment, he thought he might faint from sheer, hysterical relief. Then, just as he was about to let out the breath he'd been holding for so long that sparkly lights were dancing along the edge of his vision, the pale, half-hidden face swiveled back in his direction. The head went down and Theo heard a loud, whuffling noise, then the hollow-man reached out a hand, flashing an inch of clammy white between black glove and black sleeve, and touched the elbow of one of the police constables.

  "Back here," the hollow-man rasped. The voice was awkward, aphasic, as if the creature spoke with organs forced to adapt to speech but meant for some other task. "There is . . . something . . . someone . . ."

  The police turned around and came back in Theo's direction, following the damp-faced thing as it sniffed the air like a hunting hound. From beneath the hat's brim, the tiny eyes sought Theo out and found him again and this time they did not slide away.

  "Yes," the troll said. "Ah, yes. There you are."

  16 POPPY

  "There you are!" Theo knew the voice, but he was too stunned with terror to figure out whose it was or why he recognized it. The armed constables had turned around and the hollow-man was leading them right back to him, but they all stopped at the sudden cry.

  "What are you doing back here, you wicked thing?" The violet-eyed girl in black swept down the aisle from first class, her long coat flaring like the wings of a bat. The police stared at her openmouthed, and Theo was no less boggled: she seemed to be talking to him. "Did you think I would nap all day?" She turned and announced to the entire carriage, "It's true I'm a liberal employer, but really! I ask you!" She stopped beside Theo and gave him a little slap on the back of the head. "Get up, you great oaf. I am very angry with you. I rang my bell for simply minutes and there was no sign of you. Back here gambling and trading filthy stories with the rest of the noaccounts, I'm sure." As Theo stared at her in stunned surprise and Applecore squirmed in blind confusion beneath his shirt, the young woman turned a brightly amused smile on the two police constables. "Has my servant stolen something? If so, you have my permission to take him out and shoot him on the spot!" The smile bent into a mock-frown. "But Daddy and Mummy are so very fond of him. Perhaps I shouldn't have him shot after all."

  "It is . . . some kind of trick," the hollow-man said, lurching forward. He turned toward the Field Special Constables. "He is the one — I am sure of it . . ."

  "Get up, Quaeus, and tell me what you have done to offend this . . . moist person." The young woman got her hand under Theo's elbow and pulled until he struggled onto his feet. Everybody in the entire car was watching, every slotted eye and triangular bat ear aimed straight at them. Theo was so nonplussed that it took him long moments to realize the girl was trying to push something hard and thin into his hand. For an insane moment he thought it was a knife, thought she was trying to encourage him to attack the well-armed police.

  "I . . . I don't know." He could barely form the words. "He is a murderer," the hollow-man grated. "He has killed a young Flower lord in Penumbra Station only a few hours ago." Many of the onlookers gasped at this assertion and stared at Theo with bright, fascinated eyes. Whispers ran through the carriage like wind through wheat.

  "Rubbish," said the young woman. "He has not left my side all day until I lay down to take a nap a few minutes ago. We never even got out at Penumbra Station. Show them your ticket, Quaeus."

  Theo looked down at the thing in his hand, a wafer-thin rectangle that seemed to have been sliced off a gemstone like a piece of pastrami, then looked up at the woman. She smiled encouragingly. "He is a bit stupid as you can see," she told the officers, "and he's a trial to me sometimes, but he would never harm anyone."

  Theo held out the special ticket in a shaking hand. The constables looked at it with something like awe, but the hollow-man ignored it, staring at Theo and the young woman with a hatred that even his hat and shrouding garments did not conceal.

  After he had held the ticket for a moment in his radiant glove, one of the constables passed the crystalline wafer back to Theo. The expression on the fairy-policeman's high-boned face, bored a few minutes earlier, was now electrified. "All in order."

  "Now come back to the compartment, Quaeus," the young woman said. "When we get home, I'm afraid you will have to be punished for causing such trouble."

  "Sorry to have bothered you, milady," said the other policeman. "Yes, sorry to have bothered you, Lady Thornapple," said the one who had examined the ticket, who still looked as though he had briefly been allowed to tread on the steps of heaven.

  The young woman laughed. "Lady Thornapple is my mother. You need only call me 'Mistress Thornapple.' "

  "Yes, La . . . Yes, Mistress Thornapple." The hollow-man let out a hiss that turned into a sputtering whisper. He shook his head in fury, writhing eel-like, as though he had no bones in his neck. "Are you fools going to let him walk away? Are you going to be taken in by this crude trick?"

  "Shut up, you," one of the constables said. "First off, I told you, nobody's found a body in Penumbra Station. We checked."

  "Then it's been hidden by this man or his associates," the hollow-man declared. "I witnessed the murder!" The constable looked at him with obvious distaste. "Fine. Then how do you like this? This woman's father is First Councillor of the realm — what are you but a jumped-up private op? Now, do you want to finish this search, or are you going to waste more of our time here?"

  The hollow-man seemed about to let out a shriek or leap at the constable's throat. Instead he turned toward Theo's rescuer and made a rubbery bow
, but there was a nasty glint from the eyes beneath the hat brim. "I do not know what game you are playing, milady, but for now you have the advantage."

  The woman in black's only reply was to laugh as she tugged Theo away up the aisle. "I think we'll go to the club car," she said cheerfully as they passed through the loud connector between coaches. "That horrid person seemed extremely angry. He'd be a fool to try anything after all that, with so many witnesses, but we won't tempt him by isolating ourselves."

  "What in the name of the Trees is going on out there?" shouted Applecore, struggling to fight her way loose from inside Theo's shirt.

  "Ah, it's your little friend," said the young woman. "Well, I suppose she can come too. What do you drink, dear?"

  Applecore fell back into the shirt as they bumped through the sliding door into the club car; her reply was lost against his midsection. "I'm so pleased." The young woman collapsed into a booth. "This looked like being such a dull trip." Theo sat down carefully, not only to protect Applecore, who was still squirming around inside his clothing, but because he felt that if he moved too quickly his head might come off and roll under the table.

  "Uh . . . thank you," he said. "For everything."

  "Not at all," she replied. "What would you like to drink? You really must have at least one drink before we begin our torrid affair."

  A head the size of a grape poked out of Theo's collar. It scowled. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but what the hell are you playing at?"

  "Why — is he yours?"

  "Not as such, no — but I'm the one looking after him. Did I hear that you're a Thornapple?" The young woman rolled her eyes. "By birth, not by choice. The Trees know I'd just as soon have been born into an ordinary family like the Stocks or the Loosestrifes."

  "An ordinary family with pots of money, then," said Applecore quietly, but the woman did not seem to hear. Theo could only stare in dazed astonishment at the exotic black-haired creature who had saved him. Just five minutes earlier he had been certain he was going to die; now his personal Tinker Bell was apparently arguing with this glamorous Goth princess about whether the newcomer would get to make love to him or not.