Faerie Fruit

by Charlotte E. English

  Hattie had not been obliged to return to the use of her spectacles, to her delight, for her mended eyes did not again weaken. But she remained the owner of seven pairs of boots of which she was in no way in need, her pockets considerably lighter by consequence. To her great dismay, she was plagued by a periodic compulsion to acquire still more. She was forced to ban herself entirely from Verity Wilkin’s shop, and from the shoemaker’s company as well.

  Long in the habit of paying regular visits to her brother’s bookbindery, Hattie had taken to walking thither more often, for little else was so effective at alleviating her solitude. There came a morning upon which her spirits, customarily brisk, were unusually weighed down, and she felt in immediate need of a remedying dose of Theodosius’s enlivening wit and kind consideration.

  She resolved upon setting off at once, and collected her hat and her warmest shawl in readiness to encounter the clinging mists of the morning. But when it came time to don her shoes, she found that her favourite and most comfortable boots had finally resigned all claim to further duty. There could almost be some manner of complicity suspected between the pair, she thought upon surveying them, for the heel of her left boot had detached itself from the sole, and the toe of the right had worn through. When both boots had been perfectly useable only the day before, the circumstance struck her as unlucky indeed, and she set them aside with a sigh.

  Her shoe-cupboard, typically only minimally filled, was swollen with new pairs. But these she had hidden away on a bottom shelf and never touched, for the gleeful joyousness of the impulse that had led her to purchase them could not banish the lingering guilt she suffered upon having done so, nor the sense that she had committed the dual sins of gross extravagance and inexcusable frivolity.

  For the shoes were not only new and regrettably expensive; they were also the very opposite of practicality. Each pair sported higher heels than she could justify wearing for the dispatch of mere daily errands, and a few of them were possessed of narrower, tapered toes than could be considered in any way necessary. Moreover, they were of sadly unsuitable colours. Hattie was a weaver, and loved the brightly coloured silks of her trade, but one did not reasonably wear coquelicot shoes to walk to market, particularly when they were furnished with sea-green ribbons besides! Could she appear before the good people of Berrie Wynweald in boots of violet velvet, with lacings of azure and gold? Or perhaps a fine pair of soft kidskin half-boots! Their indigo hue was not too far removed from respectability, were it not for the embroidered tracery worked in every other colour of the rainbow.

  Not a single pair could be deemed acceptably sober, so Hattie was forced to choose the least obviously inappropriate. She settled at last upon a pair of leather shoes not too shockingly high of heel, their colour a relatively unobjectionable shade of mulberry. Lined with jade silk they might be, and trimmed with beads of a matching hue, but the lining would not show when she had them on her feet, and perhaps no one would much observe the beads.

  Hattie put them on, collected her bag, and set out into the street.

  The air was still and cold, and not a breath of wind stirred the thick white coils of fog that wreathed the chimneys of Berrie North. Fallen leaves drifted about the streets in desultory fashion, moved to sluggish activity by the sweep of Hattie’s skirts as she passed by. In these lingered a reminder of the strange events of the summer, for not all of them were precisely the colour they ought to be. They wore threads of silver and gold woven through like veins, while others were tipped at the edges with vivid grass-green or primrose or carmine. These scarcely caught Hattie’s eye anymore, so accustomed was she to seeing them jumbled amid the discarded foliage of the oaks and chestnuts.

  She walked briskly along, her thoughts adrift upon the question of her husband’s whereabouts. It was whispered by many that Southtown had gone into Faerie, and no one could advance any alternative theory that seemed half so satisfactory in the eyes of Berrie North. But what credence could Hattie give to the idea, and of what use would it be to her if she did? Full of wonders Faerie must undoubtedly be, but to her practical mind the notion seemed far-fetched. After all, was it not said that Faerie had abandoned the mortal kingdoms long ago, and barred the doors in between? An occasional faerie venturing forth for the purposes of wreaking mischief was one thing; the theft of so large a patch of land, complete with its complement of houses, shops and people, was quite another.

  And since those doors were barred, if Southtown could be supposed to have gone into Faerie, how could it be brought back?

  So lost in such reflections was she that she did not notice her steps had wandered awry. She might have expected to be halfway down Tinder Street by now, but was startled to find herself rounding the corner of Gloster Lane instead. This was in entirely the opposite direction to her brother’s shop, and she noted the deviation with exasperation.

  ‘Stop wool-gathering, Hattie Strangewayes,’ she admonished herself, and turning herself about she strode onwards again.

  This approach did not long answer, however, for not five minutes later she found herself once again turning the same corner upon Gloster Lane. A second attempt to correct her direction produced the same result, though this time she was all the way to Ashling before she realised that she had again gone astray. She stood in the street, nonplussed, for she was not given to such vague-minded wanderings.

  Nor was she given to fidgeting, but today she was incapable of refraining from it. Her feet shuffled and tapped, eager to be moving on, and Hattie could not long resist. Off she went once more in her marvellous mulberry shoes, not in the direction of Penderglass’s Bookbindery but south instead, all the way down Ashling.

  She was alert enough, now, for such strangeness could not fail to impress itself upon her senses and render her fully observant. Hattie made no further attempts to resist the impulse which guided her steps, or to change the direction in which she walked. Her curious mind was intrigued, and only a little alarmed, and she thought the latter a fair price to pay for a mystery.

  A very few minutes brought her to the Wynspan, and there she stopped still, her fidgets at an end as surely as her journey.

  There was nothing remarkable about the bridge to warrant the peculiar manner of Hattie’s arrival, if one discounted the fact that it was now but two-thirds of one, its missing end embedded within the swell of a grass-feathered hill. Beyond it stretched the mossy, velvet dale, unchanged as far as Hattie could see. For a moment her heart had quickened with a fierce hope that she would see some alteration here, some sign that the Wynspan was liberated, and ready to carry her into Southtown once again. But these hopes were dashed by the absolutely unaltered nature of the scene before her. Neither the peace of the early morning nor the undoubted serenity of the scene could soothe in the wake of such disappointment, and Hattie struggled for some minutes with a crushing return of the low spirits which had plagued her upon waking.

  Her curiosity could not long be dampened, however, and it soon revived. She might be unsure by what force or mischief she had been drawn here, but that her presence was intended by something she could not doubt, and she soon bent her efforts to the discovery of what she might be imagined to do here.

  A closer inspection of the bridge produced no more promising results. There was nobody else upon it, and nobody could she see wandering the dale on the other side. The clear waters of the Wyn rushed beneath, their flow as lively and skittish as ever, and she discerned nobody fool enough to go swimming within.

  A glance up and down the neighbouring streets assured her that she really was alone.

  Hattie paused in thought, pulling her shawl closer about herself against the chill in the air. Her toes began to tap once more, an impatient gesture, as though she were frustrated with herself. She took a step, and a few more, until she stood just a few paces away from the entrance to the bridge.

  And then, a glimmer! A brief flash of muted light caught Hattie’s eye, barely more than a sparkle. She stooped at once, and caught at someth
ing half-buried among the dust of the road.

  It was a small object, only two inches across, and of curious design. The shape of it was broadly round, though it was composed of strands of woven glass oddly knotted. Or so it appeared to her weaver’s eye, but how could glass be so contrived? Hattie turned it about in her hands, mesmerised and intrigued, and found that a shimmer of bright colour sparked sometimes in its depths.

  She took a corner of her shawl and wiped away the grime besmirching its smooth surface. At once, the colours brightened and it began to glow, emitting the faintest, softest radiance like a breath of moonlight.

  Hattie was enchanted.

  She could not imagine what the lovely thing might be, but she instantly resolved that it would never leave her possession.

  It occurred to her that Theodosius, in all his learning, may be able to answer questions she could not decipher for herself, and anything he did not know might be discovered among the pages of his books. She turned away from the Wynspan, confident that her purpose in going there had been served; and indeed, she was permitted to walk all the way to Theo’s bookbindery without interruption. This time, her feet accomplished the short journey with more glee than reluctance and she all but skipped her way to her brother’s abode, the beads upon her mischievous shoes twinkling with delight.

  Theodosius looked up as she entered his shop, and she was relieved to see that his eyes were bright and alert today. His taste of faerie fruit had cured him of the shortness of breath he sometimes suffered, and the attendant tightness in his chest. His affliction had not recurred, like Hattie’s shortness of sight, but the fits of languid dreaminess that had come as the price sometimes plagued him still.

  ‘Good morrow, Hattie!’ said Theodosius, with a bright smile. ‘You are early this morn, sister mine.’

  ‘And you are unusually formal, Theo. What can have put you in such a priggish flow of words?’ She bestowed her usual warm salutation upon him as she spoke and hung up her hat, her glass treasure clutched tightly in her hand.

  Theodosius grinned, and thumped the book he was working on. ‘These ancient tomes take themselves very seriously, and cannot possibly employ but three simple words when they could use twenty-seven complicated ones. I am afraid it rubs off on me. Shall I try again? What brings you here so early?’

  ‘My feet,’ said Hattie promptly. ‘Or perhaps my shoes, I cannot precisely decide which.’

  Theodosius glanced down at the shoes in question, his expression bemused. ‘They are unusually splendid shoes, at that,’ he agreed. ‘Though I shouldn’t think that would impart any particular liveliness to a pair of footwear.’

  ‘This is no ordinary footwear,’ said Hattie.

  Theodosius took a long look at the mulberry leather and the bright jade hue of the trim, and nodded placid agreement. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘That is not what I meant.’ Hattie gave her brother to understand that her morning had not proceeded at all as usual, and recounted the adventures of the preceding half-hour in an excited flurry of words. She concluded her account by displaying her treasure, and was dismayed when Theodosius greeted the revelation with a raised eyebrow and a doubting silence.

  ‘Oh, Theo! ’ she said in exasperation. ‘Do not give me the sceptical brow, I beg! When have you ever known me to tell tales?’

  ‘That is true,’ said Theodosius. ‘I would not have credited you with the imagination for such a wild story, Hat!’

  ‘Then it must be the truth,’ said Hattie serenely, by no means offended by this unflattering reflection upon her creative powers, for she knew it to be fair. ‘I do not see why it is so very hard to believe,’ she added, ‘for many a strange thing has happened in Berrie of late.’ Hattie spoke with no consciousness of hypocrisy, having forgotten for the present her own scepticism regarding the fate of Southtown.

  Theodosius could hardly deny the truth of her words, and he did not try. He took the treasure from her instead, with a long-suffering sigh, and bent his eye to the examination thereof. Hattie felt that he was ready to dismiss it as naught but a trifle, except that the moment he took it in his hand the glass shone with a particularly vibrant flash of colour.

  Theodosius looked around as though seeking an alternative source for the dreamy glimmer, and finding none was obliged to acknowledge the justice of Hattie’s surmise. ‘Though I do not see why your shoes have taken an interest in the business,’ he complained. ‘What can they care about such a bauble?’

  ‘I do not know,’ admitted Hattie. ‘But you see, Theo, it is a mystery! And I have always wanted to solve one.’

  ‘There has been no shortage of those. If you wish to uncover enigmatic truths, pray turn your attention to the small matter of our errant Southtown. Perhaps it has not quite finished enjoying its sojourn Elsewhere and has no mind to return, but if you could contrive to discover where it is — and, while you are at it, how to get it back again — I am sure Berrie would be monstrous grateful.’

  ‘Well, yes, but that is a mystery of such proportions as to —’

  ‘And quickly, Hat, if you can manage it. There is talk of John Quartermane taking over the Moss and Mist, and I cannot like it. Tobias must be got out of Faerie, or wherever it is that Southtown has gone.’

  ‘Not to mention poor Jeremy,’ said Hattie with some asperity, for she could not feel pleased with her brother for rating the claims of the Mist and Tobias higher than her own, or her lost husband’s.

  ‘Quite,’ said Theodosius, unabashed.

  ‘I should be more than happy to solve that mystery, as you may well believe. But it is a problem of such daunting size, and I have nowhere at all to begin! One must have a clue, one clue at the least, and no one has any at all.’

  ‘Ah! But you are furnished with some particularly excellent hint as to the nature of your trinket,’ said Theodosius, in the tone of one suddenly and delightfully enlightened. ‘Do, pray, tell me what it is. I am all agog.’

  Hattie hesitated. ‘Well…’ She found she had nothing to add, and the silence stretched some moments before Theodosius consented to break it.

  ‘I might conclude that you came here hoping for my help,’ said Theodosius, fixing Hattie with another of his penetrating raised-eyebrow looks.

  Hattie beamed upon her brother in vast relief. ‘That is it, exactly.’

  Theodosius snorted ungraciously. ‘One might wonder, then, which of us is to play investigator!’ But he turned his attention to the glass ornament with no less alacrity for all his protestations, and Hattie was well satisfied. Theo had the same curious mind as she, and she knew well he could not resist a puzzle. Indeed, he had devoted most of his evening hours to the matter of Southtown’s disappearance, searching book after book for any word of a precedent for its peculiar fate, and of course a remedy. That his efforts had yet to prove fruitful reflected not at all upon the vigour of his exertions, his periodic lapses into dreaminess notwithstanding.

  But he fell to examining the trinket for so long, and in such silence, that Hattie grew impatient, and fearful that his mind had wandered. ‘Do you not think it is undoubtedly out of Faerie?’ said she at length.

  Theodosius made some wordless sound of agreement, tracing a forefinger over the smooth curves of the knotted glass. ‘I must disappoint you, for I have never seen its like, nor heard of such a thing before.’

  Hattie sighed, dismayed. It would have to be a search, then, through his books, and she was not so fond of dusty pages and aged scripts as he.

  ‘And before you think of ransacking my library, allow me to assure you there is not a word of use to you in there.’ He spoke very firmly indeed, and Hattie was abashed. ‘So no pawing through them, Hat.’

  Hattie sighed again, more deeply than before. ‘You are a disappointing brother to a beginning investigator, Theo.’

  ‘Ask your shoes, then,’ said Theodosius ruthlessly. ‘They have proved themselves mighty knowing, and thoroughly interfering besides.’

  Hattie folded her arms and huffed, bu
t a twinkle in Theodosius’s eye arrested her display of displeasure before she had gone any further. ‘You do have an idea!’ she declared. ‘Tell me at once.’

  ‘I do not precisely know that I do,’ cautioned Theodosius. ‘But let us perform a small experiment.’ He took a length of twine from his pocket and threaded it through the graceful loops of glass in Hattie’s trinket, knotting the two ends together. Then he got up out of his chair and went to the window, through which the pale autumn sunlight shone. He hung the ornament from the sash and stepped back to observe.

  Hattie was enchanted by the glow of colour which sprang forth from the glass. Great splashes of it were cast all over the walls and floor of Theodosius’s shop, many-hued and dazzling.

  ‘As pretty as it is,’ Hattie said with an apologetic air, ‘I do not quite see how it helps.’

  Theodosius stared intently at the display, his eyes narrowing as the patterns twisted and altered with the faint, swaying movements of the trinket. ‘Nor I, just yet.’

  Something else caught Hattie’s eye, a gleam of bright green in the heart of the glass ornament. As the trinket moved, the colour altered into gold and then to some dreamy combination of the two. It seemed to Hattie that the wisp of colour was somehow more present than the rest; not only brighter but more stable, its contours maintaining a set of stricter dimensions.

  She went to the window for a closer examination.

  ‘Theo,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I am dreaming, but does that not look to you rather like an apple?’

  Her brother did not reply, and a glance revealed to Hattie that he had disappeared into one of his reveries, his eyes blank and his face expressionless. She heaved a great sigh, for though it was not his fault, it was tiresome of him, for he always seemed to lose his focus at the most inopportune moments.