Lady Changeling

by Ken Altabef

  “It’s a carousel,” Eric explained. “It’s a ride.”

  She understood perfectly well what it was but hesitated in order to maintain her provincial cover story. Eric led her closer. She noticed brass fittings glinting in the moonlight. The frame was mostly pressed tin but she sensed the presence of some iron in the posts as well. The nearness of the iron caused a bad taste in her mouth.

  “Which one do you choose?” he asked. He indicated a war horse, decked out in silvery armor. “This one seems a sturdy mount, but perhaps a bit too serious for a night like this.” He turned to a more fanciful sculpture—a white horse with black spots and a fiery red mane, adorned with a colorful saddle in yellow, blue and green. “Too pretentious?”

  He gave the machine a gentle spin. The horses bobbed slowly up and down as the carousel turned. “Maybe something in between?” he asked, serving up a more natural looking horse. This one was a deep chestnut brown with a saddle painted in a faux-weavework design. With its head thrown haughtily back, it seemed to be smiling at the late-night sky.

  “Perfect.” She forced a smile and climbed aboard. Sitting with her skirt side-saddle, she reached for the pole linking the horse to the top of the machine to steady herself. She pulled her hand back and away, nearly toppling from the wooden saddle. The pole contained a large amount of iron. Theodora dared not touch it. The very nearness of it drained the strength out of her, bringing an ache to her bones that bespoke all of her hundred years. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

  Eric spun the machine with greater exertion and the whole device began to circle, Theodora’s horse pumping up and down. There was a need for music, he explained, and began to hum a wild carnival tune. Theodora gritted her teeth and forced another smile.

  Surely Eric meant well, bringing her to a place that he must have enjoyed immensely in his childhood, making a surprise of it, even humming that ridiculous tune. She hated it. She could think of no greater abomination than a mechanical horse forced to prance rhythmically up and down in a tight circle. What had she gotten herself into? Entering this world of mortal men and their machines. What would this charade cost her in the end? A shiver went down her spine.

  Eric’s admiration for the mechanical horses turned out to be short-lived. He grew tired of the carousel in only a moment or two, remarking that it seemed purposeless to ride this thing when they had a real flesh-and-blood horse standing beside them. He had a special fondness for horses and Theodora shared this sentiment as well. She loved the meek creatures of the wood, the rabbits and squirrels, the voles and night-mice, but horses were special to her. Astride such a great beast she felt a strong connection to its gentle power and quiet majesty. Eric had a tendency to laugh as he rode, losing himself in the pure joy of it. And so did she.

  Eric loved the outdoors as much as any faery. In those early, carefree days there were many rollicking rides, picnics under blue skies, and wild assignations in fields of clover. They rode, laughing into the night.

  Theodora heard unshod hooves striking the cobblestones below. Her family had arrived. A wagon and two mounted riders swung into the courtyard. The cart, drawn by two piebald Clydesdale horses, wobbled on crooked axles. It was covered by a tarp that had previously seen use as a banner advertising some sort of traveling carnival, its paint faded and peeling. Across the side was written ‘Stump Shoemaker’ directly across the flaking face of some hissing lizard-man.

  Theodora flew down the stairs. As she passed the porter on the way, she directed him to bring her bags immediately. She burst onto the courtyard just as Eric stepped out from under the eave at the front entrance of the manor. He’d been waiting.

  Chapter 10

  Theodora tripped over one of Eric’s boots and almost fell, but he caught and steadied her.

  She laughed at her clumsiness and gave him a warm hug.

  He held her elbow for a moment, looking deep into her eyes. “You’re in quite the hurry. Are you so absolutely certain you want to go?”

  “Of course. And don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe, as always.”

  “No,” he said ominously, “this won’t be the same as always.” He approached one of the men sitting atop a hump-backed Clydesdale. “She’s not going anywhere until I speak to Finnegan. Is he in the cart?”

  Theodora recognized the faery named Dandillio playing the role of her elder brother. He was caught off guard by Eric’s demand and didn’t know what to say.

  Eric ignored him. Turning toward the wagon he called out, “Come out. I want to talk to you!”

  Ten years ago, at news of their impending wedding, her ‘father’ and the rest of the Stump clan had pulled up stakes and abruptly left town. Finnegan had said he couldn’t stand to watch the wrath of the faeries destroy his only daughter. Eric had been so glad to see them go, he never bothered to track them down or make inquiries. Everything had gone according to plan. Meadowlark’s portrayal of Finnegan Stump was so utterly repulsive, Eric could hardly stand to think about the man let alone seek him out.

  Eric’s distaste for Stump provided good cover for the faeries, even to this day. But Theodora knew it wouldn’t be enough this time.

  “Come on out, you damned Stump!”

  A rattle and a clatter came from inside the wagon as a cooking pot toppled noisily, followed by a grumbled expletive, and a tambourine jangling. Finally the side flap parted just at the point where a smiling fat lady was painted on the burlap. A gourd-like head peered out. “What do you want?”

  Eric glared at his father-by-marriage. “To wish you happy birthday.”

  The oversized head remained poised inside the curtain as if Stump had only been half-born. “I don’t want kind words from you, Grayson.”

  “That’s Lord Grayson to you.”

  “You’re not my lord. My lord is the blue sky. My fiefdom is the ground beneath my feet, the mud under my cart wheels. I value only one thing—freedom.”

  Finnegan Stump punctuated this notion with a wicked little smile and Theodora wished Meadowlark would tone it down a bit before he set fire to the whole situation. Eric was in no mood to suffer his taunts.

  “I’ve been asking around,” Eric said. “You haven’t any customers in Stockton or Newcastle or any town along the coast as far as I can tell. Where exactly do you ply your trade?”

  “We’re just a travelling shoemaker clan. We go wherever boots wear thin.”

  “And to whom do you pay your taxes?”

  “To anyone who can pin me down long enough to wring them out of me. Come, daughter. It’s time we were away.”

  “She won’t be coming alone. I’m sending two men as escort. And, just so you know, this is the last time she’s going with you.”

  “That’s truer than you know,” said Meadowlark. “This arrangement doesn’t suit me either. You’ve taken my treasure from me. Stealing her away, like a thief in the night. Now I have to borrow her back… corrupted… tainted.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Meadowlark laughed. “’Twere nothing. Just a loose tongue, a foolish old man.”

  “How old exactly? You look just the same as you did ten years ago.”

  “Old enough to know better.”

  “Why don’t you come out? Don’t you even want to see your grandchildren?”

  “Why? What interest could I possibly have in them? Wretched changeling children?”

  “What?”

  “Father!” shouted Theodora. The damn fool had gone too far.

  “Get out of here,” growled Eric. “She’s not going.”

  Theodora grabbed his arm. She had to go. “Please Eric. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. We won’t go far. Just to Trentham and back. Three days. That’s all. Besides, your men will be with us.”

  Reed and Quentin Bambury had finally come down from the stables. Eric gave Finnegan’s wagon another withering look.

  “Please,” Theodora said again. “It’s his—”

  “Birthday,” huffed Eric. He threw his ha
nds up into the air. “What can I do? It’s his birthday.” He turned to give his men some last parting instructions. Theodora stepped into the wagon. The driver whipped the Clydesdales and the procession turned and drove away.

  Eric stomped back to the house. His blood was boiling. No one got under his skin so much as Finnegan Stump. That withered face, sneering at him from between the fat lady’s buttocks. The smug bastard wouldn’t even come out of the wagon.

  He already regretted letting Theodora go. But when she’d pleaded with him, as usual, his resolve just melted away. Perhaps he should have stood firm but he hated to disappoint her. If she was so absolutely determined to go, she must have a good reason. Something other than her father’s birthday.

  He found Fitzroy March standing over a basin in his bedroom, washing the pirate’s blood off his hands.

  Though he had left his regiment behind many years ago, March kept his room in a strict military order. The only concessions to personal style were a pair of French dueling swords decorating one wall, a mounted boar’s head on another. Many years ago, March and Eric’s father, Henry Grayson, had both served in His Majesty’s 16th Infantry. March was a commoner and therefore a foot soldier while Henry Grayson, being a local gentleman, held an officer’s post. They both had to answer to the same Lord Lieutenant however—an earl who lived in upper London and sent his commands to the field via courier on alternate Thursdays. Henry was only eighteen at the time and inexperienced at command, but March had a solid understanding of drills and military discipline. The two made a formidable pair. March had a pleasant and confident manner, the type of man that soldiers feel comfortable confiding in. Consequently, he came to know everyone and everything that went on in the regiment. He fed this information to Henry and the two got along famously on long marches and sieges against the Jacobites. They lost no engagements and very few men during their entire campaign together.

  Eric never thought of his father as a military man, just a wealthy landowner and businessman. Henry had made a clean break from the redcoats before Eric had even been born. But March remained firmly entrenched in the 16th Infantry, from his short haircut to his straight-backed stature, to the high shine on his boots.

  “Looks like it got pretty ugly down there,” said Eric. “I hope you got something out of him.”

  “Besides a couple of skinned knuckles, not really. He just raves about the moon and the stars or whatever. I can’t make anything out of it at all. Must have spent too long roasting in the sun, I think.”

  “Or too smart to talk.”

  “Yeah. He’s either a cagey bastard or stark, staring mad. Trouble is both types of men bleed just the same. And he won’t break.”

  “Well, all right. Let’s not do him too much damage. He may be just an unlucky castaway and not a pirate at all. Can’t hang a lunatic for being crazy can we?”

  “We could.”

  “No. No, that’s no good. Let him rest a few days unmolested,” Eric wagged a finger at March, “and we’ll see what he says then. We can always send him down to the Courts of Justice in Kensington. Let them deal with him.”

  “He’ll wind up dangling from a snug loop of hemp at the harbor in any case.”

  “That’ll be up to the magistrate. Setting that business aside for now, I’ve got something else I need you to do for me right away.”

  March finished wiping his hands and began neatly folding the bloody towel. “Name it.”

  “Lady Theodora is setting off for a visit with her family.”

  “I know. I sent Reed and Quentin Bambury to escort them, just as you asked.”

  “That’s not enough. I want you to follow along as well, for the lady’s safety. They’re heading for Trentham. Just keep well back and out of sight. I don’t want anyone to know you’re there.” Eric cleared his throat softly. “Not even the Lady.”

  “Be kind of hard to protect her from a hundred yards away.”

  Damn, March saw through him every time. “Don’t reveal your presence. See what happens and report back to me. As long as she’s not in apparent danger, stay out of sight.”

  “Eric, what are you thinking?”

  “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.”

  “What’s this now? You don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not you.”

  “Then who is it you don’t trust? The Lady, or yourself?”

  “A little bit of both I’m afraid.” I just want to know the truth, he thought, that’s all. I just want to know.

  Eric forced a half-smile. “Just bear with me on this, old friend. And be careful. I don’t know what you might be getting into. Just be ready for anything.”

  “I always am.”

  Chapter 11

  The ox-cart rocked wildly, its tired axles creaking with every bump along the lumpy dirt track. Theodora exclaimed as the cart lurched suddenly to the side.

  “What’s the point of this?” she asked. “Those are two of Eric’s best men. We’ve no hope of losing them.”

  Meadowlark chuckled. “If we can’t lose them, we’ll give their balls a merry thumping against their saddles at least. All the way to Barrow Downes. I told Dandillio to weave in and out of every small town on the way. Let’s us just tire them out a little until I think of something else. You needn’t worry about any of that. You’ll be home soon. Home.”

  Meadowlark sat on the bench across from her, flanked by two of their ‘cousins’. As Eric’s men couldn’t possibly see inside the cart, the faeries were now free to relax. She watched them revert back to their normal shapes with sighs of grateful satisfaction. Their faces elongated and slimmed, noses growing slender and pointed, ears peaked. Clumps of greasy hair dissolved into long, silken tresses. The illusion of sack-cloth and cracked leather gave way to more natural garments made of plaited hemp and broadleaf and weaves of tree bark. Meadowlark, however, chose to retain the grotesque appearance of Finnegan Stump.

  A young human girl sitting beside Theodora reverted to a young faery. It was Gryfflet. The blonde-haired, green-eyed waif flung herself into Theodora’s arms.

  “Missed you,” she said. “Missed you so much.”

  Though she was eighty-six years old, Gryfflet always chose to appear as a child. She was a true faery, always joyful and carefree.

  Theodora squeezed her back, thinking of her own children James and Nora. She told herself she needn’t worry about them. They would be all right for a few days without her. They had their nurse Lucinda to care for them. And Eric.

  “Did you miss us?” Gryfflet asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Always.”

  “Miss me?” asked Meadowlark.

  “Not hardly,” she replied. “You were very foolish back there. You almost gave us away. My husband isn’t stupid, you know.”

  “Who cares what he thinks?”

  “I do. He’s not like his grandfather. He’s a good man.”

  “A good man, eh? Well, sounds like you haven’t been such a very good girl.” Meadowlark sneered, still playing Stump.

  “Stop it.”

  “Oh no! You’ve been very naughty. I know. I can smell it.” He gave his huge bulbous nose a squeeze.

  Theodora couldn’t help herself. It felt good to laugh.

  “I’m sure of it,” croaked Stump. “My little girl’s been naughty, naughty, naughty…”

  “You’re not my father and you know it.”

  “Such disrespect. This shall not pass. I say there will have to be discipline.” He twisted Stump’s hideous mask into a thoughtful face. “But what is discipline anyway? It sounds stupid. How do they do it?”

  “They take the child over their knee and spank their arse,” said Theodora.

  Meadowlark’s eyes popped open. His mouth hung agape. “There will be discipline!”

  Theodora laughed again. “Oh stop it. I’m tired. Let me get some rest.”

  She closed her eyes to shut the others out. She had nothing more to say to them. She felt so incredibly tired, but still unable to
sleep.

  She should be excited about going back, but she wasn’t. When she closed her eyes she saw the pieces moving, spinning into place like a gigantic puzzle. A deadly clockwork of the stars. She kept thinking of Eric. The carousel, the horses, the picnic lunches on sunny days, the children.

  The bumpy ride helped her relax a little. She began to drift off. Her mind wandered to one such picnic, on a fine day in early spring, ten years ago. After a wild, frothy ride she and Eric had disembarked in a wide meadow, somewhere out on the estate. The field was covered in dandelions. Eric chased her across the grassy field, knocking a stream of puffy dandelion heads into the air in their wake.

  They settled on a nice little spot on the bare grass to unload their basket. A flock of swallowtail butterflies fluttered between them.

  Theodora gazed inquisitively at her young Lord Grayson, dressed as he was in a simple tunic of dark gray flannel. “I wonder what you’d look like in a great big powdered wig and frock coat.”

  He smiled. “Well, I’d look smashing of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But seriously, I don’t even own a wig like that. Pretentious nonsense, that’s what it is.”

  “Don’t you have any ambitions toward high court?”

  “Not a bit of it. I’ve no stomach for all those arrogant sops and false-faces, not to mention the greasy food.” He let out a warm laugh. “I get invitations on occasion, fancy balls down at Kensington or… even the occasional marriage inquiry from some other landed family, some unsubtle notice of an earl’s comely but unmarried daughter—”

  An unexpected sound drifted down from one of the trees above. Eric looked up. “What was that?”

  Of course he couldn’t see what she saw. Crouched among the branches of the red oak, dressed all in shimmering green, was Theodora’s good friend Gryfflet. The little faery smiled broadly, tilted her little round head down at Theodora, and then stuck out her tongue and sent another raspberry down at them.