The War of the Flowers

by Tad Williams

  "Do you need me longer, Button?" the white-whiskered goblin asked.

  "Doorlatch, thanks to you. Go if you wish. Oh, but would you be so kind as to bring my friend Nettle up to see me before you return to your post?"

  The old goblin called Doorlatch gave an oddly casual wave and headed back down the stairs. "Now," the one called Button said to Theo and Cumber, "until I can give you of my time and offer you to drink as is proper, I think perhaps you will have the most comfort with one of your own kind." He turned to the yellow-haired fairy. "Caradenus, perhaps you could see that these guests are well hosted?"

  "Certainly." The fairy rose. He was quite tall, and wore a kind of loose, unconstructed suit that looked like it belonged on the veranda of a sugarcane plantation. "Come with me," he told Theo and Cumber.

  "Very many thanks to you for your patience," called Button as they were led back to the stairs, Theo groaning inwardly at the thought of having to go all that way back down. "Soon we will speak together."

  "Excuse me for asking," said Theo as they started down, "but who the hell was that?"

  The golden-haired fairy turned to look at him in surprise. "If you do not know, what are you doing here? And why should you receive such kind treatment?" His eyes narrowed, more puzzled than hostile. "You speak strangely, friend. Where are you from?"

  "A long way away. Are we safe here?" He didn't know how much he dared to give away just yet. "I mean, can we spend the night here? We're very tired."

  "Of course," the one called Caradenus said. "By the falling light through the leaves, of course you can. Button has said so — nobody here would dare say otherwise."

  "So he's . . . in charge? That goblin?" Again Caradenus looked at him. He turned away for a moment as they stepped down off the stairs and nodded to the ogres by the door, then turned back to stare at Theo again as they walked out of the tower and onto the bridge. The sky was already much darker; fires had been kindled all through the shantytown. "Forgive me, but there is something terribly familiar about the way you speak — like something I've heard in a dream. Where are you from?"

  "Rowan," said Cumber flatly, "he's from Rowan," but it was clear by the yellow-haired fairy's face that he did not believe it. He continued to stare at Theo, then his frown suddenly turned to something else — a wide-eyed look of surprise.

  "I have it. You speak like a mortal I once knew. You speak like someone from the mortal world. It is faint as the scent of a flower beneath the snow, but it is there. How can that be?"

  Theo was tired. He didn't like subterfuge, and he didn't want to stand here in the middle of the bridge with everyone down in the shantytown staring at him.

  "Because I am a mortal," he said wearily. "Or at least, I come from the mortal world and thought I belonged there until a couple of days ago. I'm not quite sure what I am. Does that explain it?"

  Caradenus was still staring, even more intently if possible. "And do you know a mortal man named Eamonn, of the house of Dowd?"

  "Eamonn Dowd? You knew Eamonn Dowd?" Theo was so shocked that he lost his grip on any kind of discretion. "He was my great-uncle!" The fairy took a step backward as though he had been struck across the face. His astonishment turned into something more complicated, an expression of puzzlement and perhaps even sadness. "Then I am in a terrible situation," he told Theo.

  "Why?"

  "That's enough," said Cumber, a worried edge to his voice. "Let's not say any more until we've had a chance to talk to this Button fellow again." "Because I fear I must kill you." With a gesture as economical as it was graceful, Caradenus reached into his loose jacket and drew out a knife as long as Theo's forearm. He lowered it until the blade pointed unwaveringly at Theo's heart. "And yet, you are the guest of one I hold dear. But the honor of my entire house rests on me." He shook his head, his narrow face now miserable but very determined. "I see only one solution. After I kill you I will have to end my own life. It will not expunge all the dishonor, but there is nothing else I can do."

  Theo looked at the tall fairy and his terrifyingly sharp blade. "Oh, shit," was all he could think of to say.

  28 GOBLIN JAZZ BANDWAGON

  "If you have a weapon," said the fairy who seemed quite sincerely intent on murdering him, "this would be a good time to produce it. The obligations of honor do not extend so far as to prevent me killing you if you are unarmed, but I will feel better about things if you defend yourself."

  Theo kept backing away. His weariness had burned away in the rush of fear, but he knew he was too exhausted even to run, let alone fight back against a taller man with a long, sharp blade. "You don't need to do this," he said, but the one named Caradenus was still walking toward him. Theo tried to think of something else that might save him but his brain seemed to be short-circuiting. "Jesus Christ, Buddha, and Mohammed! Saint Francis of Assisi! Hooray for the Pope!"

  Cumber winced and lifted his hands to his ears, but the fairy with the knife only blinked. These people are hanging out in clubs named "Christmas" now , Theo thought miserably. I guess they're getting over the whole God's-name thing. "Why are you doing this? I've never met you — I've never met my Uncle Eamonn, either, for Christ's sake!"

  Not even a blink this time. "You have my pity but nothing more. I am sure you are innocent, in your way, but your blood is not. Just as punishment is a dynastic responsibility, so is the original crime." The blade began to move in small circles, mesmerizing as the sway of a cobra's head. "Your great-uncle defiled my sister and disgraced the Primrose clan. Be glad my father is dead." For a moment the fairy's face twisted with something like grief. "Be glad the traitor Hellebore has murdered him, because my father would not have offered you the kindness of a quick death."

  "But Hellebore is my enemy, too!" The face had again settled into an expressionless mask. "It does not matter. This is not political. This is a matter of a blood oath on the waters of the Well." The fairy lunged.

  Theo stumbled as he dodged backward, which probably saved his life, but the tip of the blade still pierced his shirt at the shoulder; a moment later he felt a cold sting that told him the skin beneath had also been cut. The fairy did not stop, but continued toward him, the blade hunting his heart again.

  "Stop!" said Cumber Sedge. "He is not who you think he is!"

  "Trickery will do him no good. He has confessed from his own mouth." Theo flung himself backward again as the blade snapped out and suffered no more than another, longer rip in his shirt, but there was stone behind him now and he could go no farther. He had backed across the width of the bridge.

  "But that's just it!" Cumber started to step between Theo and the fairy; the slender blade almost took him in the eye. The ferisher's dark golden skin lightened a full shade. "He calls him his great-uncle, but he's not! Theo, tell him what you've learned!"

  "Huh?" His heart was thumping so hard he felt like someone had hooked an industrial compressor to his arteries. It was like the worst speed rush ever. The blade was wavering only inches away from his chest. It rose until it danced a slow weave in front of his throat. "What? Tell . . . ?"

  "What you learned! At Daffodil House! About what you are!" "Oh! I'm . . . I'm not a mortal. That's what they told me." He couldn't take his eyes off the silver blade decorated with twining symbols of deer and flowers.

  "What is this nonsense?" the fairy demanded. "What has that to do with the honor of Primrose House?" "Because if he's not a mortal — if he's really one of our kind — how can he carry the blood guilt for something that Eamonn Dowd did to your family? He only thought he was related to Dowd, but he's not — he can't be!"

  It was almost as surprising to Theo as it was to Caradenus Primrose. He had only begun to think about what it all meant — his mother not really his mother, his life a kind of lie. But Cumber Sedge was right. If he wasn't mortal, then Eamonn Dowd wasn't really his great-uncle.

  There was some kind of coincidence there, something big and strange and significant, but at the moment all Theo could think about was the tall, yel
low-haired person who wanted to kill him.

  The fairy stared, first at Cumber, then at Theo. The blade stopped moving, but stayed very close to Theo's neck. At last he turned back to Cumber. "Do you swear this is true? That you are not merely trying to save your friend? Do you swear on the timeless Trees?"

  "I do." The blade wavered for a moment, then dropped until it pointed at the stones of the bridge beneath their feet. "I . . . I do not know what to say." Primrose looked so confused that Theo almost felt sorry for him, until he remembered how close the fairy had come to pushing that shish kebab skewer into his heart. "If I have accused you wrongly, I beg your pardon. Someone else must be your guide. I have shamed Button and myself." He turned abruptly and walked a few steps up the bridge, then vaulted onto the wall and leaped down out of sight.

  "What did he do?" asked Theo, stunned. "Kill himself?" "It's only a few yards down," Cumber reminded him. "And unless he landed on a sharp tent pole, I think he's probably doing just fine." The ferisher made a disgusted face. "These bloody Flower-folk and their debts of honor."

  "He wanted to kill me. I never even met him before and he wanted to kill me!" Theo leaned against the side of the bridge trying to catch his breath again, waiting for his heart to slow down. "He said Hellebore murdered his father. There were Primrose people in that conference room when . . . when the dragon came. That must mean . . ." Theo already felt sick to his stomach with fear; he did not want to think about what he had seen in Daffodil House. It was still hard to muster sympathy for the golden-haired fairy, but if his father had been in there with Hollyhock and Lady Jonquil and the rest . . .

  "Since what we told him is true, I don't think you'll have to worry about him any more. That honor thing cuts both ways and he seemed pretty upset he might have killed you for a bad reason." Cumber's smile was not a cheerful one. "Anyway, nothing's really changed. We still need to decide what to do next."

  Discussion was put off by the sudden appearance of two figures, one familiar, one not. "What am I hearing?" asked the goblin Doorlatch, his wizened face full of concern. "A fight between guests? Between the friends of Button? But this is a terrible thing!"

  "All is well now," said Cumber. "A misunderstanding." "But you have no one to be your guide . . ." the old goblin began, then suddenly the second figure lurched forward. The man's movements were so awkward that for a long, heart-stopping instant Theo thought his undead nemesis had found him again.

  The tall young fairy was dressed in little more than rags. He had an unruly thatch of hair like a comedy wig and was so thin that he made an ordinarily slender fairy like Cumber look like the first Rotarian in line at the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. He also had eyes that did not quite focus, or rather focused a little bit past the apparent subject of their attention. Despite the incomplete eye contact, though, he seemed fascinated by Theo, or at least by something in Theo's vicinity.

  Whatever it is that's caught this weirdo's interest, Theo decided, he certainly is standing uncomfortably close . . . "Ah, well." The goblin darted a nervous glance at the skinny fairy, as though he were a dog that might suddenly decide to run out onto the freeway. "Once I have brought our friend Nettle to esteemed Button, I will come back and help you myself. Did I share my name? I am called Doorlatch."

  "Yes, I'm Cumber Sedge. And this is my friend, Theo." "You . . . !" The tall thin fairy leaned even closer to Theo, who had a sudden nightmare vision of the rest of his time in Faerie consisting of a series of vengeance-duels, but Nettle only squinted and raised his longfingered hands as though he wanted to feel Theo's face. "She . . . she knows you," he said. "She . . . talked about you." He spoke as though he had some kind of problem thinking and expressing himself, as though he had suffered brain damage or some kind of birth defect.

  "Who?" Theo was beginning to feel more than a little overwhelmed by the way everybody in this damned camp seemed to know him. "Who are you talking about?"

  "Poppy. Her name is Poppy. I like her." "Poppy Thornapple?" Of course it was Poppy Thornapple — Theo only knew about three women in all of Fairyland. "Wait a minute, you know her?"

  The thin fairy shook his head. "I hear her." He tapped his long skull. "In here."

  "I don't understand." "Do not alarm yourself, master," said Doorlatch. "Our friend Nettle, he is not like others. He is full of strange ideas." He curled dark fingers around the fairy's wrist and began to lead him away toward the bridge tower. "Come. Button wishes to see you."

  "Button is good to me," Nettle told Theo. "He brought me food. He helps me think."

  Theo was rapidly losing his grip on what was normal. "But I do know the woman he's talking about!" he shouted after them.

  "We will speak when I return!" Doorlatch called back. "Wait for me!" "I think I've reached my saturation point," Theo said as they disappeared into the tower. "Fairies who want to kill me for family honor, telepathic fairies — I can't take any more strange stuff."

  "I must say, you certainly seem to attract it," Cumber observed. "Back home, my luck was just bad. Here, it's bad and weird." He slumped down on the bridge, his back against the wall that only a few minutes earlier had blocked his retreat and almost killed him. "And all the people who could send me back are dead now, aren't they? Killed in Daffodil House?"

  Cumber frowned sympathetically. "Well, it's not sending you back that's the problem so much as getting rid of that dead thing that's chasing you. It's probably safe to say that most of the people who could get that thing off you and send you home — and who also don't want to kill you — well, they're dead, yes. I suppose there might be some other possibilities . . ." He sighed. "But believe me, Theo, some of them could turn out worse than just staying here. Actually, some of them could turn out worse than being stabbed by that Primrose fellow."

  Theo squinted into the orange-streaked distance. The long sunset of Faerie was over and twilight was rushing on. "That's a lot of help, Cumber. Thanks. I'm grateful that you kept that guy from killing me and everything, but if any other encouraging thoughts like these occur to you, could you just keep your mouth shut?"

  ————— "There we are, cozy as toast, eh?" Doorlatch carried a slim torch; behind him, the sky was velvety black and the frozen-firework stars of Faerie had sprung into view. Theo realized he had dozed off sitting against the bridge wall. A little panicked, he looked around for Cumber and was relieved to discover the ferisher sitting beside him.

  Theo climbed onto unsteady feet. He'd had just enough of a nap to feel even more exhausted and groggy. "Who was that tall guy, that . . . what was his name? Nettle?"

  "He is a very kindly young fellow, like yourself," said Doorlatch. "And a great favorite of our Button, oh yes."

  "What did he mean when he said he heard Poppy Thornapple in his head?" The little goblin shrugged. "It is all too deep for this old fellow. He often says things I do not understand. He is . . . damaged." The goblin didn't seem to want to talk about it much. "You must ask Button. He is the one who found young Nettle. He thinks very highly of him, so of course the rest of us also do, oh yes."

  Cumber had fallen in alongside them as they made their way down to the end of the bridge and off, then clambered down the crude wooden stairs to the riverbank below and the shantytown. Theo looked at the ferisher's alert face with no little irritation. If we're both fairies, Theo thought, how come he looks rested again and I feel like shit? "Are all these people homeless? Is that why they're here? Is the goblin named Button in charge of all of them?"

  "You have many questions, young master. Too many for old Doorlatch. You must save them for those who can give proper answers." He led them through a jumble of tents and cook fires as crowded and active as a Moroccan marketplace, but with a variety of inhabitants a hundred times stranger. There were many of what Theo thought of as "ordinary fairies"— the ones who looked mostly human, either with or without wings — and even more goblins, but there was also an impressive sprinkling of other types.

  A group of small, sullen looking fellows wh
o were covered with short fur just like a Weimaraner dog's glared at the passersby as though the intruders might be intending to steal the flames out of their campfire. "Capelthwaites," Cumber explained quietly. "They're shape-shifters, or at least they used to be. They formed a union and now nobody can afford to pay them to do it, so they just stay like that. Rather an unfortunate, liverish color to be all the time, it has to be said. And those nice-looking ladies over there are Green Women. They might ask you to dance. Don't do it. They used to keep young men like you up all night dancing, then eat them. They don't do that anymore — at least they're not supposed to — but they'll still happily take your purse and your clothes and leave you to wake up naked and bruised in a meadow somewhere."

  "Charming," said Theo. They made their way through the crowd, ducking the ubiquitous sea birds and marsh birds and crows that seemed to swoop down and take up any space left momentarily free of people.

  "Don't get me wrong. I'm not a bigot. Most ferishers are just thrilled about doing household tasks — they hate disorder — but I'm not one of those kind of ferishers, so I suppose there are also Green Women who are vegetarians or who don't like to dance, and tommyknockers who are uncomfortable in enclosed places. But by and large, one of the differences between mortals and fairies is that humans are all pretty much the same and fairies have . . . well, we have roles, I suppose. We're most comfortable when we're doing what we're expected to do."

  "Like doonies becoming drivers when the roads were taken over by the government."

  "Yes, perhaps, although I'm not sure . . ." Cumber suddenly grabbed Theo's arm and swerved to the right. "Careful! Don't step on the klippies."

  Theo looked down to see a group of tiny people with dark faces staring up at him. A moment later they scattered, running under the wall of a tent. "Almost there, almost there," said Doorlatch. "I was going to put you with young Master Primrose — ah, how very sad, I have just realized he must be Lord Primrose now! But since you aren't getting on together, hmmm, I'll have to make another arrangement."