by Leah Cutter
The Maker, the Teacher, and the Monster
Leah Cutter
Book 2 of the Clockwork Fairy Kingdom trilogy
The Maker, the Teacher, and the Monster
Leah Cutter
Copyright © 2014 Leah Cutter
All rights reserved
Published by Book View Café
by arrangement with Knotted Road Press
www.BookViewCafe.com
www.KnottedRoadPress.com
ISBN: 978-1-61138-422-2
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Acknowledgements
There is no Port City. I’ve always envisioned it on the Oregon Coast around Lincoln City and Newport.
Extra thanks to Blaze for helping me at the critical points in this novel.
And always, thanks to Kris and Dean for showing me that this second career was possible.
Chapter One
Cornelius sat on his balcony on the top floor of the palace, enjoying the dim glow of the false dawn created by lights stuck in the cavern ceiling of the Greater Oregon underground fairy kingdom. It wasn’t the same as a real sunrise, no, it was much prettier, with pinks, oranges, purples, and reds harmonized across the “sky” as they gained strength.
The golden temple tower to the east—not as tall as the palace, or as important—gleamed in the new light. Darkness gave way, clarity sharpened, and the mere shapes across the land took on form and meaning.
The precision, the order of everything Cornelius saw below him soothed his heart.
Village lanes were straight and orderly, clean of debris, the thatched roofs all repaired. Fairies from the servant caste—farmers—flew peacefully from the village to the fields just visible beyond the golden temple. Other servants flew to the palace itself.
Tinkers and tool makers, tall and thin, mainly from the royal caste, flew to the factory next to the palace. Instead of making foreign, alien, clockwork and machinery, they now focused on traditional crafts and tinkering.
No funerals were scheduled that day, so the great graveyard to the west lay still and empty, the grave markers covering the entire hill.
Cornelius didn’t see any fairies from the warrior caste then again, their barracks were on the northern side of the palace, outside of his view.
Everything was so peaceful, now. Cornelius knew the shape of every hour, every day, every week. No more surprises—every day flowed the same way, exactly like the one previous as well as the one to come.
Then someone knocked on his door.
Cornelius wasn’t expecting anyone. His heart pounded in his chest.
As the head royal of the Greater Oregon Fairy Kingdom, Cornelius had plenty of servants to attend to him. However, he never asked them to arrive until after his ritual morning meditations.
“Who is it?” Cornelius called as he crossed from the balcony to the door, his wings flexing. He still wore his dressing gown, made of the softest spidersilk and a lovely gray color, like soft morning fog.
Not appropriate for battle, or even for greeting another member of the court.
“Bascom, Sir,” came the reply.
Cornelius threw open the door. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Was there some threat to the kingdom that the head of the warrior caste sought him out so early? Cornelius hadn’t seen Bascom in a while—he’d claimed he’d been busy, and had been sending his second in command, Thirza, instead.
The warrior stood in the empty hallway, his head bowed. His bare chest was broad and muscled, while the legs under his leather kilt were strong. His short brown hair flared out like a mane around his head.
“Nothing is wrong. I merely have a favor to ask. Sir.”
Should he make Bascom come back later? At least until after Cornelius dressed?
“Please,” Bascom added.
Cornelius sighed and opened the door wider for the warrior to step in. Bascom wasn’t as tall as Cornelius but he was quite broad.
“Can I get you anything? Sweet dew? Moonlit wine?” Cornelius asked as he led the way back to the balcony.
“No, thank you,” Bascom said.
Cornelius settled himself back down on his backless couch, stretching his wings to balance himself. “How can I help you?”
Bascom finally looked up.
Cornelius caught his breath, trying to hide his shock.
All the warriors had magical clockwork imbedded in their bodies. The late queen of the Greater Oregon fairy kingdom, Adele, had had clockwork wings. Bascom had a magicked red jewel instead of a right eye.
The skin around Bascom’s eye was swollen and enflamed. Even the prominent bony ridge running down his nose had veins of red running across it. It looked very painful.
Fairies didn’t get sick.
Or at least, in all his centuries, Cornelius had seen merely a handful. The only plague he knew about that fairies had succumbed to had been the great Plague in London, just a few decades before he’d been born.
Even if a fairy had been gravely injured in battle, they were difficult to kill. Particularly the warriors: In their first days in the New World, Cornelius had seen a warrior still fight on against a dwarf even after her arm had been hacked off and both her wings torn asunder.
Cornelius braced himself for whatever news Bascom had. How sick was he? Was he here to resign?
However, the warrior’s next words were again a surprise.
“Could you go see Dale, the human tinker, this year? Take my place for the annual visit?” Bascom said.
“Really?” Cornelius asked. The warrior caste had fought the royals for almost a year to get the privilege of addressing the boy.
Though Dale hadn’t seemed to be aware of just how much of an honor it was, and instead, always insisted that the fairies go away and leave him alone.
They still paid him an annual visit. Though the kingdom’s great machine had blown up, gravely damaging the palace and parts of the kingdom, there were still many pieces of clockwork that could use tuning from a master tinker.
“You must convince him to help us,” Bascom had told Cornelius. “He may listen to you. He won’t even talk to me.”
“You did try to kidnap him,” Cornelius pointed out. He remembered how frightened the boy had been of the warrior caste. It had been five years, though, since Cornelius had seen the Tinker. Possibly, it had been that many years as well since he’d left the underground fairy kingdom and gone up into the world of the humans.
“The queen explained that to him,” Bascom said grimly.
Both men paused for a moment, remembering their loss. Though Queen Adele had been mad, they both still missed her and mourned her passing.
“It’s the time we always go and plead with him,” Bascom pointed out. “The anniversary of Her death.”
Cornelius didn’t need to ask whose death Bascom meant. The Greater Oregon fairy kingdom didn’t officially celebrate Queen Adele’s death any more than it remembered her birth: too many had been lost in the great explosion caused by the machinery she’d set in motion.
His wings stirred restlessly. He hadn’t flown hard and strong in such a long while.
Maybe it was time for him to go up the human world again. See what had changed. How the human twins, the Maker and the Tinker, had grown.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Cornelius said. “I doubt I’ll have any more success than you have had over the years,” he warned.
Bascom shrugged. “He do
esn’t have to come back down here,” he said, indicating the kingdom. “But the clockwork imbedded in all the warriors needs tuning. Fixing. Adjusting. Or we’ll all die.”
“Surely you’re being overly dramatic,” Cornelius chided the warrior. The members of the warrior caste could be so childish sometimes, as Queen Adele had shown time and again. Couldn’t their own fairy tinkers take care of their minor ailments?
Then again, something was obviously wrong with Bascom’s eye. Something that possibly even the human tinker couldn’t fix.
Bascom gave Cornelius a cold stare. “We’re dying, Cornelius. Whether now or a few years from now. Queen Adele may have been right—we should have risen from here, left our underground kingdom. It may be too late now.”
“I’ll talk with you more when I return,” Cornelius promised, standing up so he now could look down at the warrior.
Cornelius knew he’d never convince the warrior with mere words. He’d need to find proof that the fairies in the Greater Oregon fairy kingdom weren’t dying. Then he’d have to demonstrate the truth of it—not just to Bascom, but to the entire warrior caste.
Really, it was just like leading children sometimes.
* * *
Garung rapped his wooden ruler on the teacher’s desk in front of him. “Silence!” he shouted.
None of his students paid any attention to him, though. They were too excited about the formation of a new student troop and the trip he’d just announced.
They waved their gossamer fairy wings, creating a cool, magical breeze that danced through the schoolroom. Their high-pitched voices bounced off the white ceiling set with bright fairy lights. They eagerly exclaimed about the marvelous things they’d see, like the ocean lit with moonlight, the great redwood trees, maybe even humans!
None of the students had ever traveled outside the Redwood Fairy Kingdom.
Several even floated above their mismatched backless chairs, showing off, displaying for all how strongly they could fly. Sree did a backflip, stepping gracefully down on her desk as she turned, floating back up into the air when it wobbled.
Garung bitterly remembered when they’d first divided the fairy castes, less than a decade ago, adding a new one, one never before seen in the old country: Students.
The fairies from the Redwood Fairy Kingdom had already informally formed the new caste, but it hadn’t been officially declared before.
Members of the student caste were taller than the other castes, even the royals. They fancied themselves smarter and more serious as well.
Garung remembered the passionate speeches he and his brother Ramit had made, imploring the council to grant their caste official status and let them leave the Redwood Fairy Kingdom. Since many of the new students had come from the royal caste, it had taken quite a bit of maneuvering to get the council to agree and to let the children of the royals go outside, where the dangers were constantly enumerated.
The new student caste was supposed to be formed from the explorers, the adventurers. Unlike the royals and the warriors, every student pledged to travel in peace, not to fight with every new being they came across, fairy and non-fairy alike.
They were supposed to leave the Redwood Fairy Kingdom like the warriors, but to learn about the world, not to gather supplies and keep their borders clear.
Their next pledge was to bring that knowledge home. All students were dedicated to returning, to fight to get home as hard as any warrior battled a dwarf.
It hadn’t happened that way.
Only two dozen of the newly-recognized student caste had actually organized themselves into traveling troops. Garung had been surprised by how few had actually gone ahead to do the work, and instead, had made excuses to stay behind.
Then, only one of the original four troops had returned from their adventures.
So the students turned even more inward, keeping strictly to the underground kingdom, locked up in their classrooms, interpreting and re-interpreting the few books that already existed, or writing new ones full of myths and misunderstandings.
Desperate, Garung had petitioned the council to let him form another troop. It had taken years. And sticky promises.
But finally, he’d been successful. Though it hadn’t all been his doing.
While Garung’s students continued to be overly enthusiastic, his co-conspirator, Adele, still sat at the back of the classroom, silent. Her brass clockwork wings folded and unfolded, showing her joy and agitation.
She was the only one who really understood what Garung’s proclamation of a new student troop meant.
She was finally going home, back to the Greater Oregon Fairy Kingdom—her former kingdom, where she’d once been queen.
* * *
Cornelius started his investigations inside the palace, flying down the grand staircases into the depths, where the great machine had once stood, the former king—Thaddeus’—sanctuary.
The warriors had done a marvelous job rebuilding. Cornelius noted with approval that all the holes in the floor were now covered, proper wood and marble. Which meant that all the dwarf tunnels that the explosion had exposed were now filled. The walls no longer glinted with magic that stabilized them, but were solid and strong on their own. Servants had even repainted the workshop down there, replacing the sterile white walls with whimsical blues, pinks, and greens, shot through with wavy white or gold patterns.
Next, Cornelius flew off to the far fields. The lights above him now shone bright and yellow, mimicking a perfect sunny day. Green fields of moonberrries, golden fields of wheat, and blue fields of flax spread out beneath him like a patchwork quilt. Red berries dotted the thornless raspberry bushes, and warm brown nuts filled the orchard. The natural greenery soothed Cornelius’ heart, and as far as he could see, all the plants looked healthy and full.
So what had Bascom been talking about? What had him convinced the fairies were dying?
Cornelius shot up, spreading his wings and coasting on faint currents and magic. Though the day was neither warm or cold, but the usual flawless temperature, Cornelius had still abandoned his usual black suit-jacket and top hat for just a vest, pants, and white shirt. The tools of his trade as the master jeweler for the kingdom were pressed tightly against his belly, held there by a second chain. Joy filled his heart—why hadn’t he flown in so long? He really was going to have to remember to do it more often.
Then again, it was custom for only the warriors to fly great distances, to build up the necessary muscles. Royals were traditionally tall and thin, not bulky.
The factory near the palace buzzed with productivity. It had been re-purposed: instead of making the clockwork necessary for the great machine, now it created supplies for the kingdom, beautiful hand-made backless chairs for the palace, the softest suits and dresses for the royalty, even sturdy beds and benches for the servants.
Clearly, Bascom was wrong. Since the queen had died and all the fairies had returned to their natural work, things in the kingdom were much better. The huts in the village where the palace servants and field workers lived were now in good repair; wooden walls shored up, thatched roofs patched, cobblestone lanes cleared of all debris.
Finally, Cornelius flew to the west, to visit the third focal point of the kingdom, the graveyard. The golden temple tower in the east represented life, the graveyard in the west represented death, and the dark brick palace to the north gave everything order.
When had the graveyard gotten so crowded? It now flowed down from its original hill and pushed into the fields on both sides. Not even flowers could grow there—too many gray stones took up space, pushing into each other. Even the crypt under the hill where the most important royals were buried had been extended again and again, becoming a labyrinth of markers.
Now that Cornelius thought about it, the cries of families mourning were a weekly, if not a daily occurrence. How many fairies remained if they were dying so frequently? There had only been a single census taken, when they’d first established the kingdom. W
ere they down to five thousand souls? Three?
They weren’t at war. They’d driven off the dwarves and their other enemies. Since the death of Queen Adele, every fairy now filled his or her natural place, their roles well defined by the castes they’d been born into.
The Greater Oregon Fairy Kingdom should have been thriving. The air should be filled with songs and praise to the old gods.
Maybe Bascom had a point. Something was killing his people. But what?
Maybe the priesthood was to blame.
Cornelius flew to the temple directly, planning to confront the head priest and priestess.
The temple tower appeared in good repair, all three stories covered in gold foil, the top of it roofed with bright red tiles. A small stone wall encircled the complex of buildings, deliberately similar to the cobblestone walls Cornelius remembered from the old country. The other buildings were traditionally made from moss and stone, round, with thatched roofs.
When Cornelius lighted down in the courtyard, Sebastian, the head priest for Anabnus, the sun god, ambled out in his brilliant yellow robes, the bright matching streamers that decorated his wings flowing behind him.
“About time you came,” he growled.
* * *
Garung finally called his class to order. The students settled into the backless chairs behind their desks, but the bubbling excitement still flowed through the room. Even the bright white walls seemed to sparkle, the high ceiling ringing with merriment. Fairy lights set in every corner glowed more brightly.
“We will be going east, then north,” Garung said, answering the question he was certain was the first one on everyone’s tongue.
“Following the route you once took?” Pravir asked, looking askance. “Going back to the northern kingdom?”
The young fairy was going to have to learn how to control his expressions better, Garung noted. Too much warrior influence. Students were supposed to ask questions openly, to get an unbiased response. Not to let their own emotions influence the conversation.
It took training. Discipline. To not let their natural volatile fairy nature reign.
