The Fairy's Tale

by F. D. Lee

  He leaned back against the door. His eyes settled on his desk, but after a moment he shook his head and headed instead into the small washroom attached to the main chamber. He turned on the brass taps and watched the water pour from their mouths like vomit. He splashed his face and started to feel better.

  He looked up into the space where a mirror should have been. He’d had one of the staff remove the glass the day he’d taken up residency in the castle, but that wasn’t to say he had no mirror at all.

  The second piece of furniture that Seven had brought with him, other than his carved wooden desk, was a tall mirror. The mirror itself hadn’t been anything special, only really the fact that it was full length making it at all noteworthy. Until, that is, Seven had purchased it.

  He had, at great personal trouble and expense, taken the mirror to Ataji, a bustling faraoli in Ota’ari and still the spiritual home of steam- and clockwork-powered machinery. There he had hired a bald, smiling little man to customise the mirror to Seven’s personal requirements.

  It had taken the human no more than a week to add to the mirror the series of valves and cogs that would ensure that if anyone actually stepped through it, they would receive a rather unexpected and inhospitable welcome; a welcome that would allow Seven to make his escape.

  That will allow Maria Sophia and I to make our escape, he corrected himself.

  And then he found himself wondering whether he might also be able to take John with him. It would be harder to hide with two humans, but not impossible. And he was certain the fairy, Bea, had not reported him. She wanted too badly to overthrow her oppressors, something he couldn’t help but respect. And if the GenAm were to discover him he could always leave his lamp hidden for a few more years. It would hurt him, true, but he had managed thus far. Yes, he perhaps could escape with both Maria Sophia and John…

  His thoughts were interrupted by sudden, violent stomach contractions, and before he knew what was happening he was throwing up into the sink.

  It was ten minutes before all he could taste was bile. He slid slowly down the edge of the counter, his eyes watering and his nose stinging. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, closed his eyes, and waited for his stomach to stop burning.

  Eventually he climbed to his feet and reached for the small pot of toothpowder he kept by the sink, listlessly dipping his blue fingertip in the dust, and started to clean his teeth, rubbing away the acidic taste of his stomach. He spat. A thick, black glob landed with an ugly sound against the white sink. Seven dipped his finger in the mess, bringing up to his nose and sniffing it.

  Blood.

  He frowned, absently rubbing his bloody fingers against his thumb. The Ball was in two days; all he had to do was hold on a little longer. And make sure nothing happened to disrupt his carefully laid plans.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Bea stood in the trees, watching all the people go in and out of Sindy’s cottage with rising dread.

  There was a constant stream of men toing and froing outside the door, all carrying heavy, serious equipment like axes and hoes. Bea also recognised a number of Ana’s encampment milling around, all equally burdened. There was a tall woman, with a hairstyle that must have weighed more than she did, sitting on a water butt and fanning herself. She was crying loudly, while other women bustled around her, offering her cups of tea which she kept batting away. The one person who wasn’t there in all of the hubbub was Sindy herself.

  Bea moved around the treeline towards the back of the house, a knot forming in her stomach. Here she found yet more men and women, all full of industry. There was an older man handing out woodcut prints to two soldiers, who were nodding their heads as they listened to him. One of the soldiers said something that upset the man, if the way his skin flushed red and his face disintegrated were any clue. She had the feeling he was Sindy’s father; there was something about the way he handled himself that reminded her of her character.

  She chewed her thumbnail, looking for Ana. Now she thought about it, the two people she would have expected to be here in all this furore, Ana and the boy Will, were absent. Maybe that meant that her initial suspicion upon seeing these people, all armed with weapons and panic, was wrong. Maybe this was some human ritual she didn’t understand. Surely if something had happened to Sindy, Ana and Will would be here?

  Bea arrived at Ana’s encampment and immediately noticed the difference. The other night there had been a relaxed ambience, with people playing music, chatting and laughing. Now there was a tension in the air, thick and heavy against her skin.

  She crept through the forest to the tent she recognised as Ana’s, a sixth sense telling her that today was not the day to be discovered by some random human. Her seventh and eighth senses asked her whether she was prepared to acknowledge that whatever was happening was probably her fault.

  She crawled under the covers and into the tent. It was empty. She moved around the crates by the edge and into the centre of the room. The firepit was unlit, and with the tent door closed it was hard to see anything. She started to poke around, looking for some clue about what was going on.

  It didn’t take Bea long to realise that there was a lot more to detective work than she had realised. She wished Joan was with her. She was just about to give up when light suddenly filled the tent.

  There is a scene that is often used in westerns, in which the stranger walks into the crowded saloon and the music stops, all eyes turning on the intruder. This was exactly like that only, obviously, different.

  Ana and Will stared at Bea in her dirty, patchwork dress, her silver hair falling out of its bun in tangles. Bea stared back at them, mouth opening and closing like she had just been asked to name all the Penqioan Emperors, in reverse chronological order, by height.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded Ana.

  Bea waited for her brain to supply some words. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

  “You’ve got until the count of five to explain just what the hell you’re doing in my tent, or I’ll-”

  And then Will pushed past Ana and marched up to Bea, waving a crumpled woodcut of Sindy in her face.

  “Have you seen this girl?”

  “Um, yes, I saw her a couple of days ago,” Bea said.

  Ana moved faster than Bea had ever thought a human could, grabbing the front of her dress in her fist, forcing Bea to look up and meet her sludgy green eyes. Had Bea been of a lighter build Ana would probably have lifted her off her feet. “Do you know where my sister is?” she demanded.

  “Er, no. But I think I know who’s taken her,” Bea said.

  “Taken her? No one’s taken her. She’s run away. She left a note and everything,” Will said. “She said she couldn’t stay here anymore, but she didn’t explain why.”

  Bea looked at Will’s sickened expression, and at Ana’s anger and fear. For some reason she couldn’t understand, the memory of her brother rose in her mind. She hadn’t thought about Mustard Seed in years, hadn’t had time, hadn’t allowed herself to think of what she’d left behind her when she chose to escape her life in the Sheltering Forest. But now, looking at Will and Ana, she saw him perfectly. The way his head had dropped the night he accepted their father was never coming back. His silence for weeks after the funeral. For the first time, she wondered if he had also tried not to cry when he realised she had left as well. Bea swallowed, and it hurt.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Ana snapped. She tightened her grip on Bea’s dress. “I want to know exactly who you are and how you know my sister, and I want to know now.”

  Bea took a deep breath and peered around Ana to address Will. “Would you believe I’m your, um, godmother?”

  The room fell silent.

  Ana let go of Bea’s dress.

  It had taken Bea about an hour to explain the basic principles of godmothering to Will and Ana, and she still didn’t seem to be getting very far. It was like they’d never even heard of a Rags To Riches story.

  �
�But I haven’t got a birthmark,” Will said again.

  Bea smiled her best smile. “I know that, that’s why I’ve got this red ink with me.”

  “Why does he need to have a strawberry birthmark again?” Ana asked.

  “Because he hasn’t got a mysterious sword,” Bea replied, trying to sound patient and not annoyed. “There has to be some mark of destiny, if we’re going to pull this off.”

  “Riiiight. Oh yes, and he’s selfish enough to have known both his parents,” Ana said.

  Bea was beginning to seriously dislike her. Ana was the sort of person who was so sharp she’d end up cutting herself. Bea was rather ashamed to find herself wishing she could be there to see it happen.

  “I didn’t say he was selfish – I just said it would have been helpful if he’d been sold at birth into some kind of menial job, like a swineherd. That’s all.”

  “But I still don’t see how any of this is going to get Sindy back,” Will said. “That’s all that matters right now.”

  Bea softened. “Yes. I know. But you see, it doesn’t work if you just, I don’t know, meet someone and get on with them and then, what, fall in love and get married? That’s not how Dreams Come True, is it?”

  “No… I suppose not…” Will said.

  She’d been surprised to discover he wasn’t all that good looking. She knew he wasn’t rich, but she had been working under the assumption, she now realised, that up close he would at least be handsome. He wasn’t ugly though – just very regular. He was neither tall nor short, and his skin was tanned from hours working in the sun. His nose must have been broken at some point and set slightly crooked. He had sleepy brown eyes, and an open face. He was completely unremarkable.

  “But, if you don’t mind, whose dreams do you make come true?” Will asked. “Because the last time I saw Sindy, she was very upset. She kept on asking me if she was selfish.”

  Alright, not completely unremarkable then.

  “Yes. You’re right,” Bea said. “Forget the birthmark. The other problem is I don’t know where Sindy is any more than you do. If she was younger I could ask my friend to help.”

  “So ask her,” Ana said.

  “She won’t be able to. Not unless Sindy still has her milk teeth. She’s a tooth fairy, you see.”

  Ana shook her head. She looked like she was about to laugh. Or murder someone. “A tooth fairy. Of course. What’s next? Trolls under bridges and three little bears? Do you think we’re complete idiots?”

  “You’re just too old, that’s all. And cynical,” Bea added. “It’s not my fault people stop believing in fairies when they grow up.”

  “And I suppose none of this is your fault either?” Ana snorted. “Some fairy you are. You’ve got no more of an idea how to find her than we have. You’re just wasting time trying to get Will to pretend to be some prince. You do realise there’re wolves in the forest, and bears? Not to mention Slavers? What if Sindy’s on a slaver wagon already? She’ll never survive in the Baron’s manufactories.”

  Will turned green. Bea had never seen anything like it, and she had recently spent time in the company of a blue genie. He fell to the ground on broken legs, his face buried in his hands. Bea knelt down next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He said something she couldn’t hear.

  “Pardon?”

  Will lifted his head up, silver trails of tears running down his face. Bea recoiled instinctively. Looking at him felt like she was witnessing someone’s soul screaming.

  “I’ve lost her, haven’t I?”

  Bea threw her arms around him. She could feel his warm, wet tears on her shoulders, seeping through the material of her dress. “No, no, no.”

  “Yes I have,” Will sniffed. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… and now she’s dead…”

  Bea realised she had no choice. The mortal gods knew what would happen, but she couldn’t let these people suffer like this. “Look,” she said, “maybe there is a way. Can you think of anything Sindy might have taken with her? Something important to her?”

  Bea didn’t want to think about what Melly would say when she asked her to help find a lost heroine on a Plot she’d promised she wasn’t going to continue working on. But Melly was a witch, and witches were good at finding heroines who had hidden themselves.

  Will grabbed Bea’s hands in his enormous ones and kissed them. “She wears a necklace – it’s a charm. I gave it to her when my mum died, I wanted Sindy to have it. She wears it all the time, and I know she looks after it. It’s a little glass slipper.”

  Bea thought about it. She didn’t know how Melly’s witchiness worked, but it had to be worth a shot. “Yes… maybe that would work.”

  “You’re going to use a glass slipper to find her? She could be anywhere in the whole Kingdom,” Ana said. But there was an edge of hope in her voice.

  “Alright,” Bea said, getting to her feet. “I’ll go home and ask my friend to help us. At least if we know where she is, we can make sure she’s safe. I’ll meet you at Sindy’s cottage – can you make sure no one else is home?”

  She didn’t add that she had no idea how she was going to get Sindy back, if they found her at all.

  Bea arrived in the Grand to find the checkpoints still up. She joined a queue and waited, tapping her fingers against her Book, safely held in her bag. It took an hour for her to reach the front of the line, and by this time she had worked herself up into a sickness of nerves. Melly might refuse to help her. Sindy could be dead already. Ana was right – it was all her fault.

  She finally reached the brown suit at the checkpoint. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that at first she didn’t register what he said to her.

  “Ssso?”

  Bea jumped at the sound of the brown suit’s slithering voice. He was a witchlein, not a tribe anyone wanted to run into unexpectedly. The witchlein were fearsome creatures, despite their small size. Sharp toothed with razor-thin scales over their yellow skin, they had, before the Redaction, been amongst those fae who had used fear to keep the belief rolling in. Now they used their skills to the same effect, only with a different audience. It was extremely unusual for one to be working for the Contents Department – if they were employed at all by the GenAm, they worked with the white suits.

  “I’m sorry?” Bea said, trying to hide the way her skin prickled at the sight of him.

  The witchlein hissed at her, baring his needle-point teeth. “Ssstupid fairy. When doesss your ssstory finisssh?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “Right,” his said, giving her a hard look. “And your FME asssssignment isss godmother. Why have you been in Thaiana today?”

  Bea met his glare and raised him an eyebrow. “Because I’ve been checking to make sure my Plot is running smoothly,” she said. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

  “A ssstory thisss ssssimple doesssn’t need to be checked,” the witchlein said around his teeth. Under different circumstances, Bea would have been impressed.

  “Why not?”

  “Becaussse the Mirrorsss are breaking. No unneccesssary travel permitted.” He stamped the inside page of Bea’s Book with ill-concealed glee. “You can travel there on Sssaturday night. Not before.”

  “But-”

  “Next!”

  “Now listen to me,” Bea said, ignoring the growing discontent of the queue behind her, “I very much nearly happen to be a godmother, and as such I think you-”

  “If you don’t like it, take it up with her,” the witchlein said, nodding over his shoulder. Bea peered around him.

  Standing on a platform, high above the crowds, was the blonde Redactionist Bea had seen the day she’d arrived back in Ænathlin. She was scanning the Grand, eyes narrowed as she focused. Every now and again a tompte would zip through the air to stand on the railing of the platform, no doubt updating her on the goings on below. The Redactionist would nod or shake her head, but she never once stopped scouring the Grand. Bea didn’t want to think too closely about what it was she was looking
for, just in case by some twist of fate the very act of thinking it brought her to the attention of the white suit.

  “Well?”

  Bea swallowed. “I think I’m alight.”

  “Thought ssso,” the brown suit said, smiling smugly.

  Bea swore, loudly and imaginatively.

  Luckily, there was no one in the Sheltering Forest to hear her. She was looking for Melly’s cottage, and she wasn’t having much luck. She was a good hour away from the wall, and still she hadn’t found her way. Of course, she hadn’t expected it to be easy, but she was beginning to think that something, or someone, was deliberately causing her to lose her way.

  She made a face, and stomped further into the woods. She hadn’t been back in the Forest for years, not counting the wobble she’d had the night she’d first realised she’d been changing the Plots. It didn’t feel like home. It should have done, but it didn’t. The trees were darker and thinner, and they twisted and turned in patterns that reminded her of broken spider webs. They whispered to her, their leaves rattling high above her head, telling her to go back where she came from.

  “I can’t,” Bea muttered. “I’ve got business here. Anyway, this is where I came from.”

  A cold breeze brushed against her skin. Bea wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had her cloak. She’d forgotten how cold it was outside the city. The wastelands beyond the Sheltering Forest did nothing to regulate the climate of the Land, and the chill of desolation threaded through the trees.

  “Look, I don’t want to be here either. Trust me, there are people in this Forest I don’t want to meet, and I don’t just mean gnarl raiding parties.”

  An apple dropped from overhead, landing heavily on the dank, brown carpet of leaves and mulch. It shone red, despite the hazy light.