by F. D. Lee
Gertrude the pig grunted happily from her position at the front of the hitch. Behind her was Gussie the cow, who was somewhat less impressed. She chewed her cud, and wondered, in the way of most cows, what she’d done to deserve all this.
“Oh look!” Sindy cried when she saw them. “How lovely! I wonder-” and with that she ran back into the house.
Ana folded her arms across her chest. “A pig and a cow? I’ll certainly make an entrance.”
Bea walked around the coachkin, mouth already open to form the words ‘what would you have done, used magic mice?’ when they died in her throat.
Bea stared at Ana.
“You look… amazing,” she said, trying to hide the wonder in her voice.
“No need to look quite so surprised.”
Bea had no idea how Melly had done it. She hadn’t bothered trying to cover up everything Ana didn’t have, something which Bea suspected she would have done if she’d been left with the task of seamstress.
Instead, Melly had created for Ana a floor-length gown in red silk that ran in straight lines up her slender body and ended in a high neck. There were no sleeves, and Ana wore long black gloves on her arms. Her hair, which Sindy had brushed so hard it shone, was up in a neat, simple bun. She wore a small tiara, her lips were painted soft red and her eyes were lined with black kohl and framed with thick, sticky mascara. Bea wondered if they’d dropped a little lead infusion into her eyes, or if they sparkled like that naturally and she’d never noticed.
“Wow,” Bea said.
“Thanks,” Ana answered, her voice drenched in sarcasm. “Your friend has a good eye,” she added, nodding her head to Melly. Bea was certain she could hear a touch of respect in Ana’s voice.
A faint blush coloured Melly’s cheeks. She pulled a cigarette out of her case and lit it with a match struck against the house. “You’re very kind,” she said, drawing on her cigarette in embarrassment. “I used to be quite creative when I was younger. I suppose you never forget how. Of course, if you wouldn’t mind pretending to be at least at little bit scared of me, I’d appreciate it.”
“See?” Ana said. “That’s the problem with all these stories you peddle. Everyone feels like they have to perform some role. But I don’t need to marry the King to have my voice heard.” She walked up to Melly, taking the elf’s shoulders in her hands. Melly looked like she was about to faint. “You’re a funny, wonderful, creative woman, and the way all the little bunnies and birds helped make the dress… If you’re really a wicked witch, I’m Gertrude’s uncle. And who says that you need to be wicked to be a witch, anyway?”
Melly was saved from further embarrassment by Sindy, who ran out of the cottage trailing ribbons. “Come on!” she shouted, throwing bundles at the other three. “Coach, you shall go to the Ball!”
Thirty minutes later and the coach was looking better. Sindy was able to achieve what neither Melly nor Bea had managed, which was to gentrify it. She succeeded mainly because she did all the work while the others argued, but she didn’t mind.
Gertrude had ribbons tied to her ears and around her tail. Gussie was eating hers.
“That’s probably the best we can hope for,” Ana said, surveying their handiwork. “We need to go. It’s already going to be close to midnight before we arrive.”
“Alright then,” Bea said. “We’ll get Ana and the King talking, find Seven to let him know we’ve got Sindy back, and see if we can work out a Happy Ending before Mistasinon wants the Book back, agreed?”
Ana and Melly nodded their heads.
“Good. Let’s get this bloody Ball over with, then.”
It was not the most magical speech ever given by a godmother, but the three women clapped anyway.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Seven stood behind the throne, hidden in shadow, as far from the madding crowds as he was able.
He wasn’t wearing his hood – at the King’s insistence – but to some extent the swarms of guests kept him hidden. There was so much for people to see that in fact very few bothered giving him more than the cursory glance his beauty required. And John was right – he couldn’t very well meet and charm potential investors with his face covered.
He waved at one of the waiters, drawing the boy’s attention over to the dais on which the throne sat. He darted quickly up the shallow steps and presented a tray of small glasses of sparkling wine from Dirkbrock, a distant town in Sausendorf. Expensive wine, well suited to the opulence the crown had created. Seven took a glass and instructed the boy to return with a bottle.
The snake at his neck glittered as it caught the light, its flat, diamond-shaped head resting with grim threat above Seven’s collar bone. It seemed it was waiting only for its moment to sink its teeth into his smooth, cold flesh. He scanned the room again, looking for her.
The Ball was in full swing, if such a small word could be used to describe the hundreds of guests filling the Ballroom and spilling out through the wide, glass doors into the palace gardens. The high, star-painted ceiling glowed from the light of thousands of candles as the chandeliers turned on clockwork mechanisms, casting dancing shadows over the party.
The jewels at the throats, wrists and in the hair of the women sparkled like cats’ eyes amongst the movement of the guests as they flitted from group to group, gossiping and exchanging intrigues. There was even a smattering of cultivators from Cerne Bralksteld, invited to show the Baron that John held no secrets from him.
In the centre of the dance floor the band played, turning without cessation on their steam-powered platform, the guests dancing around them like love-addled mayflies on the last night of summer. Rice liquor, untouched by all but the most experimental and now horizontal of guests, was imported by O&P steamers from Penqioa, a fact which raised a number of eyebrows among the more miserly guests.
More popular, though in fact no less expensive, was the ale. Ehinen in origin, it hadn’t travelled so far but was exceptionally well brewed and oaked. There was also fire-wine, a drink that made Seven think of Ana, though most guests’ palettes had long ago lost the ability to differentiate the Morismontre from the Risebek.
Seven had worked hard to guarantee John’s Ball would be elegant, ostentatious and impressive, and he had surpassed himself. If it didn’t result in trade agreements the Crown would certainly end up bankrupt.
The boy returned with the bottle of wine. Seven took it and waved him away, sipping the wine from the neck, confident in the knowledge his beauty would forgive his behaviour. And if not, what would it matter? They would no doubt attribute his poor manners to his foreignness. And after tonight, he wouldn’t have to worry about what any of them thought of him, anyway.
The trumpet sounded. He looked up at the staircase to see Ana and her entourage enter the Ball. John excused himself from his conversation, hopping down the steps from the throne to stand next to Seven.
“That her then?” he asked out of the corner of his smile.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Looks smashing. Hope that’s not a bad omen. Got enough empty, pretty heads ’round me, present company excluded of course.”
“Of course,” Seven answered, with a ghost of a smile.
“Well, best you go offer up the intros, old sweat. Can’t be seen to be pandering to the opposition, what? Get her up here, and then I’ll see if I can’t find five mins for a quick chat.”
“Your Majesty.”
Seven glided towards the three women with all the grace and determination of a shark. He reached them just as Ana stepped off the staircase, and, bowing, said, “I am delighted to see you. I had been concerned that perhaps you would not be attending.”
He held his arm out for Ana, who gazed at it for a moment before taking it.
“And miss all this?” she replied, taking in the room. There was a definite hint of wonder in her voice, though she tried to hide it.
“This is nothing compared to the beauty you bring. I am ashamed of my feeble efforts,” he said, smiling lazily at he
r.
“Thanks,” she said, ducking her head. “My dad always said it didn’t matter how you looked if you could say the right things, but I always wanted to be prettier.”
Seven could tell from the look of surprise on her face that she hadn’t planned to say so much. He ignored the sting from his necklace as her need reached out to him.
“I have yet to see anyone so lovely,” he said, threading his fingers through Ana’s and bringing her hand to his lips, dropping a kiss on her knuckles.
Ana stared at him, her expression unmistakable. She coughed, flustered. “I don’t know why you need so many candles. It’s giving me a headache.”
“Ah. Yes. You should go,” he said to Ana, releasing her. “The King awaits.”
For just a moment, a look of absolute fury passed across Ana’s face, but then she seemed to remember herself. She stepped back, and Melly was next to her in an instant. She took Ana’s arm in her own and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.
“Excuse me?” Seven asked, puzzled.
“Melly’s going to chaperone Ana,” Bea said. “She doesn’t need an introduction to talk to the King, not really. And it’ll save you both any, um, unnecessary stress.”
Seven looked from Bea to the still, watchful face of the witch. He inclined his head graciously. “I see. Very well. Enjoy the Ball.”
Melly led Ana off. Seven noticed the way Ana kept glancing over her shoulder to look at him. He wondered briefly how it made the godmother feel, and then he wondered why he cared.
“You do not accompany them?” he asked.
“There’s no point.”
“Ah?”
Bea sighed. “I thought Ana might be my new ending. I’d planned for her to marry John. You know, a royal wedding. And she’d be a good Queen, you can’t say she wouldn’t be. But she doesn’t want to. And no – I’m not going to force her. But it means I haven’t got a Happy Ending.”
Seven stood silently, watching as couples began to take the floor. He lifted his eyes to the top of the Ballroom, where he could see Melly and Ana waiting in line to be formally welcomed by John. He touched his fingertips to his snake necklace, reassured by its weight.
“You believe the story must end in a certain manner for it to have been successful. I know this is not the case.”
Bea snorted. “You’ve never wanted me to finish this Plot – I thought you’d be pleased. Or at least sarcastic.”
“It was never my intent to hurt you, as I have stated. Frequently.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think, or what you think. It’s what they think that’s important.”
Seven nodded. “Perhaps you would take a walk with me in the gardens, in order that we might take full advantage of the fact we are free of our chaperone?”
Bea’s lip twitched. “Full advantage?”
“My dear, I know not what your tone implies. Like all godmothers, I suspect you are thinking of romance. I am shocked.”
Bea laughed.
Encouraged, Seven continued, “I forgot earlier to comment on your latest foray into the world of fashion. As the hero of your story-”
“The hero?”
“Please do not interrupt. As the hero of your story, it is my duty to inform you that in general this new dress is well. The corset is certainly striking, and never before have I been privileged to see quite such an excess of skirt. I do feel however, please forgive me, that the staining detracts somewhat from the whole.”
Bea and Seven stepped into the gardens. Braziers burned along the gravelled pathways, interspersed by tall spinning tops, their cogs ticking in a soft undercurrent to the sounds of the band. They were not alone, but the atmosphere was calmer and the cool air felt good after the heat from the candles.
“Really? It’s the rips I think are the problem,” she said, looking around her.
“No, no. Honesty forces me to disagree,” Seven continued, keeping to the shadows where he could, watching her watching the other guests. “Some of those rips are extremely promising. I find myself most intrigued by the one above your right thigh, and the fraying around your décolletage is quite distracting. No, I am of a mind. It is the stains that present the issue.”
“Thanks,” Bea said, stopping to sit on a stone bench.
Seven ran his hand over his necklace. He’d always been the one in control, the one to twist and lead the humans into whatever tale amused him. But now he sensed he was part of someone else’s story, and thus not so privileged. It was interesting. He left the shadows and sat next to Bea.
“You look nice too,” she said.
“I look not unlike those black and white icebirds from the Fifth Kingdom, but the King insisted. He is surprisingly rigid in some areas. He takes exception to my hood,” Seven added in a disapproving tone.
“Someone I know… he always wears suits,” Bea said, her cheeks glowing red. “I think he looks good in them.”
Seven grinned at her. “I would suggest it is the person beneath the suit whom you believe so pleasing to the eye. In my experience clothing is just another shackle. The witch wears black, does not she, because that is the colour a witch wears.”
“I suppose,” Bea muttered, fingering one the butterflies hanging from her dress, an expression on her face that Seven couldn’t intuit. “Do you know what the stains on my dress are?” she asked.
“I do not.”
“It’s blood. My blood.”
Seven shifted his weight, suddenly uneasy. He couldn’t gauge the direction of the conversation – the godmother’s desires were unchanged, and yet the way she was with him, and the things she was saying, didn’t match his experience.
“Aren’t you going to ask how it got there?” she asked.
“I assume you will tell me. You do seem inclined to involve me in your every mishap.”
“I got Sindy back. She was in a cave, near Sinne.”
“That is some five miles from here. How were you able to retrieve your young lady and arrive here in such good time?”
“I copied you.”
“Pardon?”
“I remembered travelling with you, and the sound of the drums, and then I was there. I brought her back too. That’s where the blood came from.”
Seven’s laconic attitude crumbled, and for the first time Bea saw him wrong footed. It was almost worth dying for.
“Of all the things I have witnessed, all those people I have had dealings with, you are by far the most – you impossible, idiotic, stupid fairy. You might have died.”
A thin smile flickered across Bea’s face. “I did. I died. No one dies in the Teller’s Plots. But I did. And the thing is, I don’t think I care. I don’t even care if they Redact me – I don’t think I ever have. I think that’s what I’ve always wanted, you know? What other reason could there be for what I’ve done? All the way through I’ve made choices to lead me here. It’s not fate, is it? And it sure isn’t a Plot, because that’s all a pack of lies. That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”
She put on what she thought of as Seven’s accent. “‘Whereforth and hence shalt thou realise thine whole existence doth be but a falsehood’. Well, you were right. Everything is arranged for us – no, it’s worse than that. We arrange it for ourselves. Happily Ever After, Rags To Riches. It’s a con, and we all buy into it, and we play our little games with these people here, and if they don’t let us, or they stop believing, or try to fight back? We’ll just change the rules. The game stays the same. So you know what? I honestly don’t think I’ll mind being Redacted. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
Seven tilted his head, his voice softening. “And thus you are obliged to remember.”
“Huh. I thought the whole point of genies was to tell us what we wanted to hear.”
“The night before last you came to me, demanding to know my purpose. Would still you like an answer?”
Bea shrugged.
“When The Great Redaction began, the genies had greater reason than most
to fear it. Some of my brethren fought back, but not I. I ran. I found a forest far from people and civilisation and the hateful eyes of the Teller and his Beast and lived, if not well, then quietly and safely for hundreds of years. This was my life, and I settled into it. Until one night I heard a scream and, against my better judgement, I went in search of the source of the cry. I found a girl, collapsed on the earth, her dress torn and her head bleeding. Slowly and as quietly as I was able, I approached her. My fear was great, yet I did this thing.”
“What happened?”
“She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hair was black as ebony, her lips red as human blood and her skin white as the new fallen snow. We loved each other to the detriment of all else. Every sense was awakened, every moment a dream. We were the world, entire and whole unto each other, all its wonders shared between us. And then she became entangled in a story, one which I could not stop. I loved her, and I am in no doubt my feelings were returned. Yet I am to believe that it was True Love when she was poisoned and encased and stolen from me?”
Bea found reached out and very gently touching his arm. Seven gave a little groan that quickly became a chuckle. “Are we comforting one another?”
“Maybe. Why not?”
“Ha. Yes. Why not?” Seven looked up at the stars. “Maria Sophia was everything to me. She brought into my life something I had never before known, and now I cannot live without. She created me, as the sun creates the day, as the moon creates the tides. She is more myself than I am. Without her, I know not how to live. And tonight, she attends this Ball. It has been the work of years to prepare myself for this moment. You know not the danger being here presents to me, not only from the humans and their wishes, but also from the General Administration. But tonight, I will see her again, and when I do, the spell she is under will be broken. She will remember me and love me again.”
