In the time since Morvanna had made her appearance, the center of the field had turned into a giant dance party. A sea of fairies twirled in time to the music of a fiddle band. Izzy glanced over her shoulder. She spotted the dark green of a goblin uniform.
Izzy plunged into the middle of the field of dancing fairies. She dashed through the whirling bodies, pushing past them toward the apple orchard. The booths at this end of the festival had emptied out. Everyone must have joined in the dancing. A cider stand had a wooden sign hanging from the front that read, Back Soone. No Free Refills. Izzy circled behind the stall and ducked behind a row of wooden barrels. She looked back at the way she came. No goblin. She had lost him.
Even away from the crowd, the air was thick and hot. She slumped against a large burlap sack stamped with the word, Chestnuts. She needed to figure out what to do next, but she was too flustered to think clearly.
Over the sound of the fiddle music, Izzy heard harsh voices drawing close. She peeked around the other side of the barrels. Three goblin guards stalked toward her. Two were tall and gangly; the third was a greasy, short goblin with a nose covered in shiny pimples. Izzy’s pulse raced. Should she run away? But where to? She knew they hadn’t seen her yet, so she opened up the sack of chestnuts and wriggled inside. She cinched the top shut with the drawstring.
Still as a mouse, still as a tiny mouse, she told herself. She held her breath as still as she could, imagining she was no larger than a handful of chestnuts.
“Looks like there ain’t no one here,” said one of the guards.
“Guess that means this cider’s free for the taking!” said another, chuckling.
“Shut yer traps, the both of you,” said the third. “Hmm…we shoulda brought more hands. You two grab a barrel each. I’ll carry us back some vittles.”
Izzy’s stomach dropped as the sack she was in lifted onto what she assumed was the shoulder of the short guard. The chestnuts clattered all around her. She took shallow, mousy breaths and tried not to move.
“Oof, this is heavy!” complained the short goblin. “Come on, you lazy grunts! We’re supposed to be on duty. Grab yer barrels, and let’s be off before we’re missed.”
The goblins hoisted up their loads and shuffled off into the night. Izzy couldn’t guess where they were headed. She had a horrible vision of the sack being opened and of staring into the angry faces of a dozen hungry goblins. Did goblins eat children? From the look of their jagged teeth, it seemed possible.
The sack was made from rough cloth, worn thin in certain spots. She could tell by the absence of light that they must have headed away from the brightly lit field and were probably circling behind the booths and stalls. The goblins grumbled and cursed as they bumped into each other in the dark.
“Shhh!” hissed the short guard who carried Izzy. “Be quiet, you rodents. We’re about to walk past Her Majesty’s tent.”
The guards slowed to a tiptoe. With a crash, one of them tripped on something and fell into his companion. Izzy heard them tumble onto the ground and curse as they dropped their barrels.
From somewhere close by, a woman’s voice said, “What was that? Peter, go and have a look.”
“You’ve done it now, idiot!” whispered one of the guards. “You know what she did to Gristle? She conjured up them ants, and they ate him alive!”
“Me? It was yer fault. Don’t matter though—we’re done for!”
There was a swishing of canvas, then a flood of yellow light.
“Ah, Blister,” said a man’s genteel voice. “Her Majesty and I were just talking about you. Won’t you come in and join us?”
The short goblin gulped and mumbled a “Yes, sir.”
He stepped forward and dropped the sack. Izzy stifled a grunt as she fell hard onto the ground. Boots clomped away from her, and the yellow light disappeared.
As she lay there in the darkness, Izzy realized she had just been plopped right outside Morvanna’s tent.
19
The Fairy Queen
Izzy worked her fingers into the neck of the sack until she got it loose. She brushed the dusty chestnuts away from her face and gulped fresh air. The fiddlers were still playing up a frenzy, but they sounded farther away now. Blister must have dropped her on the back side of the queen’s tent. Izzy opened the sack wider and peeked out. She faced rows of gnarled, black apple trees. A large tent stood on the other side of her, only a few yards away. Blurry shadows swam across the canvas. If that was Morvanna’s tent, then Hen must be in there too.
Izzy took a deep breath and gripped the sack tight in both hands. Careful not to rattle the chestnuts, she rolled slowly toward the tent until the canvas brushed her nose. She pressed the side of her head into the grass. With one finger, she lifted the canvas just enough to see underneath.
The three goblins stood in a line with their backs to Izzy, shifting nervously on their feet. The man with the genteel voice was Good Peter. He sat with one leg sprawled lazily over the arm of a chair, looking very bored. Morvanna sat on a padded stool in front of a dressing table, combing her long, red tresses over and over. Next to the mirror, a black-and-yellow finch hopped about inside a wire cage.
Morvanna tore off a scrap of pastry from her half-eaten plate of food and held it out to the little bird. She swiveled to face the goblins. She stared at them icily, not saying anything.
It was too much for Blister, who dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Our humblest, deepest, sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. We’ll go right back to our posts. We’ll patrol the crowd, just like you asked.”
Morvanna glared at Blister, picking at the corner of her thumbnail with her forefinger. For a long moment, the tent was quiet except for the sound of her scratching.
“Come closer,” she said finally. The goblin stumbled forward. “Blister, you’ve been sloppy, and you know how I feel about sloppiness. Perhaps I should find you an easier task. Maybe I could put you in charge of the ants. Just like your friend, Gristle…”
“Oh, n-no, Your Majesty,” he stammered. “That…that won’t be needed, your most majestic Majesty!”
Morvanna thumped him between the eyes. “Then get back to work!” She turned back to the mirror on her table and resumed grooming herself. “If I learn that you miss something, I’ll send you right back to the Norlorns just in time for troll-hatching season.”
The three goblins blurted out a simultaneous “Yes, Your Majesty.” They scurried out through the flap at the front of the tent.
Morvanna pulled her hair back into a tight coil. She took a gold hairpin from her table and jabbed it into the bun to hold it in place. “There, that’s lovely, don’t you think so, Peter?”
The candlelight flickered in Peter’s large black eyes. From this close, they reminded Izzy more of a wild animal’s eyes than a man’s. “Your Majesty is the pinnacle of regal beauty,” he said.
Not really, thought Izzy. She’d seen hundreds of illustrations of storybook queens with “regal beauty,” and Morvanna didn’t fit the description at all. Her strong build seemed better fit for chopping wood than sitting on a throne. Queens were supposed to be elegant, confident. But Morvanna’s eyes flitted nervously around the room. Her fingers never stopped moving, fixing and straightening things on her table. Worse, she kept pick, pick, picking at the same spot on her thumb.
“Blister, that imbecile,” growled Morvanna. “I should come up with some elaborate torture for him just to remind the rest of them to stay on their toes.”
“You proved your point with Gristle,” said Peter, shining his flute on the lapel of his jacket. “Don’t waste your powers on those goblins. You should conserve your precious resources.”
Morvanna pinched her lips together. “Mmm, I suppose you’re right. Besides, my pets will leave their hiding places at midnight to search the festival themselves. Those lazy goblins might miss something, but I can assure you
that my Unglers won’t.”
Izzy’s breath caught in her throat. The Unglers were coming to the festival? But why? She had to warn the Changelings. She didn’t know what time it was, but midnight couldn’t be far off.
Peter looked disinterested. “Mmm, yes, I’m sure they will be most thorough.”
“Oh, they will. Once they pick up a trail, they don’t stop until they’ve caught their prey.”
Peter arched one eyebrow. “Are you keeping a secret from me?”
“The Ungler troop I sent into the Edgewood returned this morning,” said Morvanna, smiling. “They found Changelings!”
“What?” Peter’s flute clattered to the ground. He stood and swooped it up again. “But that’s not possible. You’ve had the Edgewood watched for years. We both agreed it was useless to keep looking there.”
“You always want to give up too easily,” said Morvanna, turning back to her mirror. She fed the finch another piece of bread. “I knew if we kept looking, we would find them. There were three, possibly four of them. The little brats only barely got away. The Unglers said they were headed west. Where else would they be going but to Avhalon? I told you bringing back this stupid festival was a good idea. Fairies can’t resist this sort of thing. I bet those Changelings are out there, mingling in the crowd as we speak!”
Every muscle in Izzy’s body tensed. The whole Apple Festival was one big trap her friends had walked right into. She cupped one hand behind her ear, straining to hear more of Morvanna’s plan.
Peter tapped his thigh with his flute. “Don’t be so sure about all this. Your Unglers don’t always get it right. After all, they led me up to that house on Earth, but when I got there, all I found was Henrietta.”
“My Unglers don’t make mistakes,” snapped Morvanna. “If they smelled Changeling, then there’s one there. And as soon as this is all over, you’re going right back up to search again.” She scratched at her thumbnail again. The horrid, digging motion made her whole arm twitch. “There’s something else. The Unglers found the Changelings’ hideout in the Edgewood. It’s a tree covered in Scarlet Stairstep.”
Peter wrinkled his nose as if he’d just taken a whiff of the red mushrooms. Izzy touched the strand around her neck nervously.
“Clever little urchins,” snarled Morvanna. “But now that we know their trick, they won’t be able to hide for long.”
So the Unglers and Peter were working together, and not just in the Edgewood. They were hunting for Changelings on Earth too. When Peter found Hen, he must have assumed she was the Changeling the Unglers smelled. They must have picked up on Marian’s scent by mistake.
Morvanna glanced at Peter and let out an annoyed huff. “Stop looking so depressed. It’s not like you won’t get paid for your work.” Her eyes flicked to his expensive suit. “Another trip to Earth will hardly be wasted. If for whatever reason you can’t find a Changeling, you can always bring me another human child. The girl may not be what I was looking for, but she does have her uses.”
Peter folded his arms. “I can’t just snatch up humans like they were stray cats. The rules of the Exchange clearly state there must be a one-to-one trade.”
“As if you cared for rules,” said Morvanna, rolling her eyes. “What about Hamelin?”
“Don’t believe that old story. I traded those townspeople for their children fair and square. It’s not my fault they didn’t want what they got. I learned my lesson though. It’s best if humans don’t know when they’re getting the switch. But a switch is always made.”
Morvanna slammed her fist on her table. The finch chirped and fluttered against the bars of its cage. “You’re always telling me no!” Izzy held still as a stone as she watched Morvanna rise from her stool and approach Peter. The skin around her thumbnail had split open, but she didn’t stop picking at it. “You always have some excuse, some reason why I can’t do what I want! When I want to use my power, you tell me to save it. When I want more Changelings, you tell me they’re all gone. And now you tell me you can’t even bring me one more measly human?” Morvanna now stood face-to-face with Peter. He was a tall man, but she appeared to tower over him. “Maybe that crown is going to your head. Maybe you’re confused as to who is ruler and who is servant.”
Peter tapped his neck like he was checking it was still there. “Your Majesty is overexcited,” he said with a flattering smile. “You know I only want what’s best for you. If you want more humans, then of course, you shall have them.”
Morvanna stepped back from him and wiped her bleeding thumb on her skirt. She exhaled as she sat back down. “You’ve been very useful to me, Peter. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I’ve rewarded you handsomely, haven’t I?”
Peter touched his crown with one finger and bowed.
“Good. Now, I want to see the girl. Bring her out.”
Peter opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. He nodded and ducked under a flap that led to an adjacent tent. Finally—Izzy was about to see her sister. She lifted the tent canvas ever so slightly so she could see a little better.
A moment later, Peter came back, leading a sleepy-looking Hen by the hand. Her hair was a nest of tangles, and she’d buttoned her nightgown wrong. Hen hung back when she saw Morvanna, but Peter whispered something softly to her that made her walk forward.
Izzy ground her teeth as she watched the queen hold out her arms to her sister.
“There, there, my little princess,” cooed Morvanna as she folded Hen into an embrace. “That bad old Peter woke you, didn’t he? But cheer up. Here’s something I know you’ll like.”
The queen reached for a candle on the vanity and held it up in front of Hen. Hen’s eyes widened excitedly as she watched the wavering flame.
“Yes, that’s pretty, isn’t it?” said Morvanna, placing the candle on the ground at Hen’s feet. “But I’m sure Peter can make it even lovelier.”
Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his silver flute. He began to play a simple, happy tune. The flame stretched and grew until it looked like a fiery little man with a spike of flickering hair. He gave Hen a gentlemanly bow. She smiled.
Peter picked up the pace of his tune, and the fire man crossed his arms and kicked up his heels in a dance. Peter ran the notes down the scale, and the little man tumbled off the candle wick onto his bottom. Hen giggled and clapped her hands.
“Yes, that’s it,” said Morvanna gently. “Our little princess likes your tricks, Peter.” She reached behind her and picked up a black glass vial from a tray on the vanity.
Peter directed the fire man to do ever sillier tricks, stumbling head over feet and knocking his head against the ground. Hen laughed harder.
Slowly, Morvanna stood up behind her. She held the ebony vial in one hand. Izzy stiffened.
As Hen laughed, the queen waved her fingers like she was wafting smoke upward into the vial. Izzy couldn’t see anything in the air above Hen’s head, but Morvanna was clearly gathering some invisible substance into the bottle. After a few moments, she plugged it with a stopper and replaced it on the vanity table. Hen still giggled as she watched the fire man. She didn’t seem to be harmed. Izzy let out a tense breath.
“That’s enough music,” said Morvanna. “My little blossom needs her sleep.” She poured her cup of wine onto the fire man. He sizzled and vanished.
“Hey!” said Hen.
Morvanna pressed two fingers over Hen’s lips. “Now, now, no arguments. A kiss and then back to bed with you, my love.” She bent down, and Hen gave her a quick peck on the cheek before letting Peter lead her back to her own tent.
The queen waited until they were gone. She turned back to her dressing table and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Izzy lifted her head another inch off the ground to see what Morvanna was doing. The queen bent over a stone bowl on the table. She held the vial up to the light, then tilted it
into the bowl. She opened a small velvet bag on her dressing table and withdrew a strand of burgundy thread. The contents in the bowl hissed as she dropped the thread into it. A thin wisp of vapor rose up. Izzy heard what sounded like the muted scream of a child.
Morvanna raised the bowl to her lips and drained it. She set it down and clutched at her throat, gagging and coughing. When the fit passed, she leaned toward the mirror and patted the corners of her eyes with her middle fingers. Peter returned. The queen spun to face him. Izzy held back a gasp of surprise.
Morvanna looked years younger. Even the fine lines at the corners of her eyes were gone. She still was no beauty, but she radiated youth and energy. Again, something familiar about Morvanna’s face drew Izzy in and kept her from looking away.
Even Peter seemed impressed. “Very nice. The girl laughs so easily. Why not just use her to make as much elixir as you want?”
Morvanna sighed like a teacher impatient with a slow pupil. “Human laughter lends the potion a certain charm.” She gestured to her rosy cheeks. “But the elixir’s true strength can only come from Changeling heart.” The queen reached up and opened the birdcage. The finch trembled in her hand as she drew him out. “Only a few more Changelings and I’ll have enough hearts to make a concentrated batch. Then there’ll be no more need to ‘conserve resources,’ will there?”
Izzy felt frozen in place. She wanted to get up and run to her friends, to warn them of the danger they were in. But her sister was almost within reach. She couldn’t leave without Hen, not now that she was so close.
Morvanna cupped the finch gently against her chest as she sprinkled a dusting of salt on the surface of her table. When she spoke again, it was in a dreamy, faraway voice. “All those years of hard work…so much time I thought I wasted… It was all leading up to this moment.”
Morvanna set the shivering bird on the pile of salt. She kept one finger firmly on its back so it couldn’t fly away. She breathed on the salt like a girl fogging a glass on a cold day. The salt swirled. It formed a white, ghostly substance, more solid than smoke, but just as fluid.
The Changelings Series, Book 1 Page 11
