The Fairy's Tale

by F. D. Lee

  Joan grinned. “So, what do you say?”

  “Well,” Bea said, “what else could go wrong?”

  Joan rapped her fist hard against the door of The Golden Claw. Bea couldn’t hide the fact she was nervous, though she was trying to. She stood up straight and put on a nonchalant air, as if this was just a regular morning for her. Joan, too, seemed to be affected – or at least, her stream of happy burble had slowed to a trickle the closer they had come, and now she was standing silently, every now and then rubbing the toe of her heavy boot against the back of her other leg.

  Bea brushed down her dress for the tenth time and tried to prepare herself for whatever lay inside. Dragon dens were by all accounts strange, opulent places, the air scented with opium, calaris root and fenlandriz from the large glass smoking pipes which were glued to the lips of those customers who had enough wealth to gain entry. Trade power wasn’t the only necessity, however. You also needed courage.

  Dragon dens were dangerous places, if you didn’t have the will to manage what they offered you. The Raconteurs were there to guide their clients through the stories, to give those who could trade for it a little taste of something forbidden, so that they didn’t ask for anything more. But if you asked for too much the white suits would find out, and then you wouldn’t want anything ever again.

  The thought hadn’t escaped Bea that The Golden Claw probably wasn’t the best place to start asking questions about unreported Anties, but what choice did she have? To distract herself, Bea looked up at the sign hanging from the eaves. It was painted with a curving slash on a shield, in hard blocks of colour like the heraldry that used to be popular in The Third Kingdom.

  “It does look sort of like a claw,” Bea said to Joan as they waited.

  Joan looked up. “Oh that? I don’t know… The old one had this smoke trail, twisting and turning. If you looked at it right you could see the dragon.”

  “Really? I wish I’d see that.”

  Joan scratched her head. “Ah well. Times change. That was when-”

  The door creaked open, revealing a pair of brown, heavily dilated eyes.

  “Yes?”

  Joan leaned forward, tilting her head upwards. “I’m here to see Delphine,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly.

  The eyes blinked against the muted sunlight. “She doesn’t take visitors. You can make an appointment.”

  “That’s alright, I mean, I haven’t got an appointment, but I know she’ll see me.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  The eyes fell back behind the door, but Joan was ready. She stepped quickly forward, shoving her booted foot in the jamb. The door bounced harmlessly against it. There was a pause while Brown Eyes tried to understand why the door wouldn’t close.

  “You can’t do that, I need to close the door,” came a plaintive voice.

  “I know. Sorry. But I promise she’ll see me. Tell Delphine it’s Joan ó Cuilinn.”

  “Let me close the door and I will.”

  “Yes, I will. Definitely. But could you just let me hear you tell her? Shout? Then I’ll move my foot. Sorry.”

  Bea waited, trying hard to remember to breathe, while Brown Eyes thought about it.

  “Alright,” she said through the crack in the door, and then the message was loudly shouted that someone called Joan was waiting.

  Joan pulled her boot away and the door slammed closed.

  “Joan ó Cuilinn? Your name is Joan ‘Holly’?” Bea asked.

  Joan giggled. “It’s the clan name. We weren’t always tooth fairies.”

  Bea joined in. “Holly’s alright. My brother’s called Mustard Seed. I think my mum must have hated us.”

  “Mustard Seed and Buttercup Snowblossom? I think you might be right.”

  Just then the door opened again, and the same pair of rheumy brown eyes blinked at Joan from the darkness.

  “You can come in,” they said, opening the door. Joan slipped in easily, but Bea had to squeeze through the narrow gap Brown Eyes had allowed them.

  The inside of The Golden Claw was almost exactly what Bea had imagined. The floor was dotted with yielding, well-cushioned beds that sat on short legs and were smothered in beautifully sewn blankets of soft velvets and silks. Even at this early hour a dozen or so guests of varying tribes lounged on them.

  Tall, slender tables abutted the beds, each with only enough space on their surface for one bulbous glass pipe to sit, its trailing hoses dropping off the edges like octopus arms. Each table was made of brass or silver plate, with little tiled patterns decorating their surface. Either they came from Ota’ari, The First Kingdom, or they were extremely good reproductions. In fact, the whole room seemed to be inspired by Ota’ari, which suggested that Joan’s friend Delphine was doing well for herself if she could afford to trade for such frivolities.

  The light was dim and hazy, in part due to the sticky brown smoke from the pipes and in part because there was no natural light. Oil lamps burned on the walls, their orangey glow reflected in the little mirrors that were sewn into the large wall hangings, each one depicting one of the Teller’s Plots.

  A flower fairy floated in front of one, her wings a blur and her soft turquoise and purple hair fanning across her shoulders with all the flashy beauty of peacock feathers. She was tracing the line of the characters with her delicate fingers, a happy smile on her face. Bea scowled at her out of habit.

  Brown Eyes led them carefully across the lounge, stepping as neatly around the beds as a politician avoiding an honest answer. Bea had to struggle to keep up with her guide, whilst at the same time not stamping on any of the patrons. She had never been a clumsy or heavy-footed person, but compared to Joan and the brown-eyed tompte, she might as well have been an ox.

  “I’ve got to stay by the door,” Brown Eyes said as they reached the foot of the staircase. “You can go up by yourselves – the room with the red door. Delphine says you may have the freedom of the house after you’ve finished, if you want.”

  “Thanks. Sorry about the door,” Joan said absently, eyeing the staircase. “Don’t they look steep?” she said to Bea once Brown Eyes was out of earshot.

  Bea looked up at the staircase. It seemed perfectly normal to her.

  “Joan, are you sure about this? We can still turn back.”

  “Nope. Onwards and upwards,” the tooth fairy said, and began climbing.

  Bea followed behind, eyeing her friend with concern. She’d never known Joan to be anything other than good natured and easy going. She was utterly unfazed by Melly’s anxiety or by Bea’s stubbornness, no matter how often this caused the two friends to come to harsh words. She got on with everyone and was always the first to laugh it off if something didn’t go her way.

  Bea remembered once Joan had spent two days sitting outside some child’s bedroom window in the biting snow, only to find out later that she’d been in the wrong place. Bea had been astonished and then, later, very impressed by how quickly Joan had taken to telling the story herself, laughing at her own misfortune.

  But there was no mistaking the anxiety that shrouded her friend. She watched as Joan’s pace slowed to a dawdle the closer they got to the red door. She kept rubbing at the back of her neck, and her shoulders were rigid.

  “Joan – I think we should go,” Bea whispered. “I’m sorry I brought you here. Let’s just go home.”

  Joan turned around and attempted a smile. “Ah, get away with you. She knows we’re here now. Besides, you want to know more about this Anti and so do I. C’mon.”

  And with that, Joan knocked on the red door.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Entrer, Joan,” came Delphine’s voice. She sounded rich and bored, and was sporting an affected Marlaisan accent.

  Bea shot Joan a questioning look, who rolled her eyes in return. Joan pushed the door open and walked in, holding her head up high as she did so. Bea swallowed, rolling her shoulders to get rid of the tightness there. This was it. She was finally going to meet
a Raconteur.

  The room was dim, but not dark. There were oil lamps in the wall, set to burn low, and a hurricane lamp on a stand by the bed, a red scarf draped over it, casting strange shadows across the room. Bea resisted the temptation to rub her eyes, instead waiting for her vision to adjust.

  Slowly, she began to make out the image of a woman sitting neatly at an armoire with her back to them, daubing perfume on her wrists from a small glass decanter. Bea could see her face in the polished bronze that rested against the wall. Her short hair was curled around her face in soft waves, and she wore little green gems in it that sparkled like jealousy. Her eyes were round and misleadingly innocent, her face oval with a pointed chin and plump, heart-shaped lips painted a dark brown.

  So this was a Raconteur, Bea thought. No wonder they could charge so much for their time.

  “I wondered if I’d ever see you again,” Delphine said casually, not bothering to turn around.

  “You said that you didn’t want to see me again,” Joan replied with a little laugh. Bea had never heard Joan laugh that way. It was like she was trying to seem unaffected, as if the Raconteur had said something offensive to her.

  “It’s a terrible person who listens to what we say rather than what we mean,” Delphine answered, fluffing her hair. “So, who is this?” She turned her eyes in the bronze, acknowledging Bea for the first time.

  “This is my friend.” Joan hesitated. “Bea.”

  Delphine spun round on her seat to face them, crossing her legs in a way that accentuated her plump thighs and narrow ankles, and let out a dismissive puff of air from the corner of her mouth.

  “This is the cabbage fairy? Humility is a hard lesson, but I wonder that you need to teach it in such a cruel manner.”

  “She’s my friend, that’s all.”

  Delphine blew out another puff of air, ruffling the hair around her collar bone. “This is how it begins.”

  “Delphine,” Joan said in a warning tone.

  “Non, you have come to me, Joany. You do not get to set the tone.”

  “Joan?” Bea asked. There was something wrong, and it wasn’t what she had expected to be wrong. The air between Joan and the Raconteur vibrated with the tension of unspoken words.

  Delphine narrowed her eyes. “I do not want to hear her voice,” she said to Joan.

  “I don’t care what you want,” Bea said, pulling herself up to her full height. “This was a bad idea. Come on Joan, let’s go.”

  Joan scratched again at her hair. She looked wretched. “It’s alright, just… just let me do the talking.”

  Delphine smiled triumphantly. Bea sensed that somehow she’d just lost a competition with the Raconteur, a competition she hadn’t known she’d been playing, for a prize she didn’t understand. But she trusted her friend to know her own mind. Plus, she hated to admit, she wanted answers.

  “Fine,” Bea said, folding her arms. “But the moment you want to go, you say so.”

  Delphine leaned forward on her elbows conspiratorially, talking directly to Joan. “How are you? Your hair has grown.”

  “I’m good, thank you. Busy.”

  “And your family? Your mother?”

  “She… She’s better off now,” Joan said.

  Delphine cocked her head, waiting to see if any more information would be forthcoming. “Well then,” she said in a business-like tone when it became clear Joan wasn’t going say any more, “I suppose I must ask why you’re here, since I assume you have come for a reason. So be quick – my time is precious.”

  Bea frowned at the sudden change in the Raconteur, but kept her silence. Delphine was an adhene, a famously spiteful tribe, and it could just as easily be her nature that made her sound suddenly so cold. Or, more likely, there was something there. Something in the comment about Joan’s job, but Bea had no idea what, nor why Joan’s voice had thickened at the mention of her mother. She squirreled the comment away, to ask Joan about when all this madness with the Anti was finished.

  “I know it’s been a long time,” Joan said to Delphine, “and you don’t owe me anything, but we were friends once, and I thought perhaps – well, I hoped you might be able to give me some information about the 2nd Chapter.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “No, no, no, not at all,” Joan said quickly, and then, in a formal sort of tone that didn’t suit her, “but we’re having some difficulty, and we’ve been led to believe that we might find some answers from the 2nd.”

  “You shouldn’t go poking your nose around. There is danger in the air.”

  “That’s why we need to find out what’s going on. It affects a story. We need the stories right now.”

  “We? You and this cabbage fairy?”

  Joan turned to Bea. “I’m sorry, Bea, but I think we should go. It was a mistake coming here. I don’t know why I thought she’d help me,” she said, shaking her head. “Apparently time doesn’t heal all wounds.”

  Delphine stood up and walked over to her bed, fingering the silk canopy that hung from the masts. The adhene were not known for being ugly, but even by their lofty standard Delphine was a sight to behold. There was something about her, whether it was her round face and cloudy hair or her curved hips and narrow waist, which seemed to hint at all the things she would share with you, the stories she could tell you. There are, in short, some women who wear short skirts and stiletto heels to create allure; Delphine merely needed to smile.

  She smiled at Joan.

  “Darling one, it is not about helping you or not helping you. You of all people should know what’s coming.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you of all people’? Are you laughing at me?”

  “Not at all. You are a detective, are you not?”

  Bea started. Joan was hugely secretive about her dream to become a detective. Of course, the adhene were liars and tricksters, but this part of Joan’s life was a truth, a precious secret she kept from the world, because she was afraid of being mocked for it. Bea had known Joan for two years before the tooth fairy had admitted to it, and even then Bea was certain she only told her because she knew that Bea’s own dream was even more impossible. Whoever this Delphine was now, she had clearly once been someone Joan trusted.

  Joan shook her head. “I didn’t do that in the end. I was needed at home. I’m a good tooth fairy,” she added defensively, although Delphine hadn’t said anything.

  “So you are still the secondary character, little Joany? The sidekick?”

  “Why do you always have to be like this?” Joan said.

  “Why not? You will not even think these things, and you hate me still for saying them.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Joan said.

  “Really? You have come here, after so many years, for my help, not for me. Traditionally we would play the game. Three questions, three guesses, three riddles. Which would you prefer?”

  “You’ve never been a traditionalist,” Joan said.

  “A fact of my life that used to frighten you, I remember,” Delphine answered. Bea watched as the colour drained from Joan’s face, and then flooded back in a hot red blush.

  The conversation was jumping between Joan and Delphine so quickly Bea couldn’t begin to understand what was being said, let alone what wasn’t. But she didn’t need to. She could see the look on Joan’s face, and no amount of information was worth it.

  Bea reached out and put her arm around her friend. “Let’s go.” Delphine shot her look full of hatred, but Bea was beyond caring. “I’m sorry you don’t like me, Delphine, but to be honest you can join the queue. Joan, if she’s just going to upset you, we don’t need her help.”

  “Ouf. She is angry, isn’t she Joany? I suppose that’s something in her favour,” Delphine said grudgingly.

  Joan stepped forward, letting Bea’s arm drop from her shoulders. “Please, Delphine – Delphi. We need your help.”

  Delphine pursed her lips. When she spoke next there was a new note in her voice, one Bea hadn’t expected: fea
r. “Joany, the city is dying, and it will not be a quiet death. She will try to take us all with her, and it is always the good little sidekick who dies first.”

  Joan shrugged. “No one dies in the Teller’s, whocaresaboutus, Plots. Well, except the parents, and that’s before the story begins.”

  Delphine shrugged. “Very well. Sit down, both of you. But I will say again, you should not be asking these questions, not at a time like this.”

  “Thank you,” Bea said. “We need to know about the 2nd Chapter. Can you tell us anything?”

  “Very little. I am old, but I am not so old.”

  Joan flopped down on the stool by the armoire. “You don’t know anything at all?”

  “Take heart, my love. I said I know little, not nothing. The 2nd was the time of the djinn. Genies, in the new tongue.”

  “The genies had a Chapter?” Joan asked. “That doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows they were stupid, clowning things. All you had to do was wish for more wishes. That’s a loophole in their story big enough for a hoodlelump to jump through.”

  “Ah, this is what everyone knows, is it?” Delphine frowned. “So why not ask everyone? You came to me.”

  “She’s right,” Bea said. “Haven’t you noticed? It’s always ‘everyone knows this’ and ‘everyone knows that’, and how often do they actually know anything? It’s all the old ones, keeping secrets, and us just bumbling along, swallowing the shi- I mean,” she said quickly, remembering that Delphine could report her if she said too much, “we don’t think to question because the Teller Cares About Us. How could the genies have had a Chapter and no one know about it?”

  “The genies were, I believe, one of the first to be targeted by the Great Redaction,” Delphine continued. “The Teller Cares About Us, as you say, but he also cares about order and control, yes? The genies were the epitome of everything he despises. They were wild things, telling tales based on the desires of the characters, desires which relied solely on the judgement of the one who happened to rub the lamp.”