by Pratt, Tim
He didn't look at her. This was the first time she'd openly admitted that she wasn't human. “No. They ... they agreed with the judgment passed down by the mayor. They agreed that I should be exiled. They're very strict, very traditional. They forget what it's like to be young and hot-blooded..."
“Young and hot-blooded.” She shook her head. “Your kind mystify me. I've always been as old as I am now."
He sighed. “Can't you even pretend to be a normal woman?"
“Once we're inside the city walls, certainly. If that proves advantageous. But here, between us ... what's the point?"
“What's going to become of me, when all this is done?” Humans never got the good end of a bargain with the Fair Folk in the stories, and he hadn't even struck a bargain with this one, just been coerced along.
“I think I'll keep you for a while. You are a useful set of hands, and you have some spine, though it's buried deeply. We've had a rough time of it these past two days, I know, but things will get better, once I take care of this little errand.” She shook her head. “I left the Isle of my people a very long time ago, to fetch this item. I never imagined it would take so long. It's even possible that my Queen grows impatient, and her patience is like that of a mountain."
“What are we stealing? Why do you insist on keeping it secret?"
“Just contrariness. Why do you want to know so badly?"
“If I'm supposed to steal something, it would be helpful to know what it is, so that I can make plans!"
“You never make plans anyway,” she said, waving his objections away. “You wait for a clear opportunity, and you seize it. In this case, I'm going to prepare the opportunity for you. All you have to do is grab what I tell you to grab and then follow me."
The thief was unhappy with that, but he could do little about it. So he followed the woman as they neared the city of his birth, a walled city on the coast. As they neared the gates (which were just opening as dawn approached), the thief noticed something strange. Several wooden cross-pieces had been erected outside the wall, and a metal cage hung from each beam. “What are those for?” the thief asked.
“I don't know. It's your city."
“They didn't have these last time I was here."
A man sat in one of the cages, his legs crossed beneath him. The bottom of the cage hung at roughly eye-level. The cage was floored with wood, and the prisoner sat cross-legged, staring blankly toward the city.
“What's this?” the thief called to him. “What's the meaning of this cage?"
The man looked at him for a moment, then turned his face away, and wept.
“Imprisoned in an iron cage,” the woman said, horrified. “I wonder if he's only meant to hang there for a short time, or if they'll leave him until he dies?"
The thief only shook his head.
“You humans. Your ingenuity never fails to amaze me."
You look like you're about to piss yourself, smith's son. What is it?
Yes, I know every town you've ever heard of has punishment cages, like this cursed one I'm inside, like the ones the thief saw, yes. What of it?
He'd never seen one before because this fable takes place in the past, in a time before any of you were born, when your parents, if they lived at all, were mere children themselves. The cages were a new thing, then.
Ask your mothers and fathers if you don't believe me, or your grandparents. I wager they'll tell you they used to live in pleasanter times, that people haven't always been so treacherous and cruel, and that there was no need for these cages, long ago.
They're wrong, though, my boys. People have always been as they are now, throughout all time.
I know, you're impatient. We're almost done. I'll pass by their arrival, the way they came through the gates unnoticed, the thief surprised and a little dismayed to find that his exile was of so little importance that the guards didn't even recognize him. He knew there were those in the city who would know his face, though, even with his black beard, and so he walked with his head down. The woman walked the streets with great assurance, and the thief's heart sank as it became clear that she intended to begin this grand theft of hers right now, in daylight.
And then they reached the destination, and it was a house the thief knew.
“No,” the thief said, stopping short on the cobbles. “Not that house."
“None other,” the woman said. “Do you know it? Is it the home of a childhood friend, perhaps?” She half-smiled, and the thief wondered how much she knew about him, wondered if she could see his dreams, or hear his memories and thoughts.
“It is the captain's house. The house of the man who had me exiled."
“Well,” the woman said, pleased. “I told you it was destiny, didn't I? You're familiar with his house, then, the arrangement of rooms?"
“Yes,” the thief said, because she would know if he lied. “Yes, I've been inside many times. What can he have that you want?"
“Something his father stole ... or his father's father, or perhaps the one before that. Who knows? I can't keep up with your teeming generations, thief. Some ancestor of his landed on the Isle of my homeland and, through blind luck and stupid audacity, made off with something that belongs to my Queen. When I came to steal it back ... I found that I could not do so alone, that I needed a human agent. Before I could get help, I was tricked into the prison where you found me."
“How did you wind up in a place so distant from here?"
“That's a long story,” she said darkly. “And one I have little interest in telling you. I imagine the one who holds that treasure now will be less cautious, less resourceful, than his forefather."
The thief knew the captain, and he doubted her assessment. The captain was a formidable man. “How do you know he even has the treasure? Fortunes change over generations."
“It's in the house,” she said. “The owl's guts told me that much."
“Ah. What do we do now?"
“We break in, and murder everyone in the house, and you scoop up the treasure when I point it out to you. Easy enough, yes?"
The thief stared at her. “Murder?"
“Yes,” she said placidly. “I am to kill the thief—or his descendent, as that's the best I can do—and all who serve him, and all who dwell in his house."
“But ... his daughter..."
“Ah, yes. The root of your exile. You'd best hope she's married, and living in another man's house, hadn't you?” She raised her eyebrow. “But I suppose her value as a wife might have been ... diminished ... by the cause of your exile? Unless human customs have changed greatly while I've been underground."
“I won't help you if you kill her,” the thief said.
“We'll see,” she said.
They proceeded up the walk to the captain's front door. The woman pounded on the wood with her fist, then frowned. “Look, the doorknob's made of iron,” she said. She peered at the doorjamb. “And there's iron hammered onto the frame, here. That wasn't here the first time I arrived. It appears I taught the old man caution, though as usual they misunderstand the relationship my kind has with iron."
“I knew a man once,” the thief said slowly, “who couldn't eat shrimp or lobsters. If he did, his skin puffed up and turned red and split. Is it something like that, that iron does to you?"
Before she could answer, the door opened. The thief tensed, expecting to see the captain's face, expecting to be shouted at and struck.
Instead, it was the captain's daughter, a bit older of course but still lovely, her hair falling in fine curls around her face. Seeing her brought forth a welter of emotions—shame at what he'd done to her life, wistfulness for those sweet, exciting days with her, sadness at what had become of his life, resentment of her as the fundamental cause of his current situation.
“Yes?” she said. “Can I—” Her eyes widened as she recognized the thief. “You,” she said, and for a moment he thought she would strike him—he'd chosen exile over marriage to her, which certainly gave her cause for
anger. But she only said “You have to go! What if my father sees you?"
“My nephew has come to beg your father's forgiveness,” the woman said.
The thief stared at her—fortunately, the captain's daughter did, too, and so she didn't notice his expression. “What? I don't—"
“He's my grand-nephew, in truth, and after his ... unfortunate experiences here ... he came to live with me. He has made quite a life for himself, down the coast, and he has always regretted what happened. He'd like to speak to your father, to offer his apologies, and ... if possible ... find out what he has to do to make things right.” Then, as if the question had just occurred to her, the woman said “Have you married, child?"
The captain's daughter looked at her, then at the thief, and shook her head. “No. I never have."
“Then we've come in time,” the woman said. “May we come in?"
The captain's daughter stepped aside. The woman glanced at the thief, grinning with her eyes, and stepped through the door. The thief followed.
The daughter led them down the hall, glancing over her shoulder at the thief all the while, worry and confusion showing in her face. The thief avoided her gaze, glad the woman hadn't killed her straight out, but troubled by this pretense. There could be no neat way out of this. There would be a theft here, at the very least, and if he knew this woman at all, there would also be blood.
Perhaps I can intercede to save her life, he thought, looking at the curls falling down her back.
But that was a foolish thought. To avoid thinking, the thief looked around the house. It hadn't changed much. The walls were hung with brass nautical implements and lined with shelves and cabinets, which held strange curios from other lands—figurines, bits of statuary, slivers of petrified wood, crystal formations.
The daughter led them to a sitting room. “Father is in his office. I'll ... I suppose I'll go and get him. You can wait here."
After she left, the woman said “Do they have servants?"
The thief jumped. “N-no, they didn't, anyway. A woman came in the evenings to cook for them, but that was all. The mother and daughter kept the house in order otherwise.
“So just the parents and the girl to contend with. Good."
“Why did you tell her all of that, about my coming to make things right?"
“I was going to twist her head off, thief, but I decided to honor your wishes, for the time being, at least. I told you you'd been good. I'm feeling indulgent."
“You don't—"
Someone shouted elsewhere in the house, and something crashed, like furniture falling over. Boots pounded down the hall.
“I think Papa's coming,” the woman said.
The captain entered the room, stopping just inside the door. He ignored the woman entirely, staring at the thief. “You,” he said. “I didn't believe her. I didn't think you were this sort of a fool.” Daintier footsteps followed, and the daughter and her mother appeared behind the captain, each laying a restraining hand on his arm. He shook them off and stalked into the room. He was not a big man, but strong, his muscles standing out like ropes.
The woman raised her arms, and the captain stopped in mid-stride, his eyes bulging.
“Now that you've calmed down, perhaps we can talk,” the woman said. The daughter and the captain's wife stood unmoving, too, their eyes wide. “You have something that belongs to my mistress—a jewel, a green jewel. One of your grand-sires stole it, and I've come to take it back.” She stood and approached the captain. She brushed back her sleeve and turned her arm, showing him the scars. “That old thief cut me, too, and trapped me. You look very much like him, and if you don't cooperate, I might forget the distinction between you and your ancestor. We wouldn't want that."
The captain twitched a little around the mouth. The woman stepped close to him and touched her finger to his chin. His mouth dropped open. He made a low, moaning sound.
“You don't want that old jewel anyway, do you?” she asked softly.
“No."
“So where is it?"
“My office."
She turned and looked at the thief. “Let's go fetch it, then."
The thief nodded, queasy. He'd thought he hated the captain, but seeing him like this, afraid and paralyzed, made him sick, not satisfied.
“This is a good opportunity for you,” the woman said. “We've got him right where we want him. You can make any ... demands ... that you like. I'll see that he agrees.” She looked, pointedly, at the captain's daughter.
The thief looked at her, the woman he'd loved once, or believed he'd loved. At her body, still beautiful, which had once moved under him and still moved in his dreams. He could have her, he knew. Take her with him. The woman could even make her ... love him. If he wanted that.
But he hadn't wanted her enough to stay and marry her the first time, had he? And he shouldn't do so now. She deserved better.
Slowly, the thief shook his head. “I want nothing from this house."
The woman curled her lip. “You think you're being noble, I suppose. She might have had a pleasant life, with you. I could have made her forget this nonsense.” She clapped her hands together, as if brushing off dust. “Very well. Let's go.” She lifted her hand, and the daughter and her mother fell, to lie stiffly on the carpet like tumbled statues. The thief winced, but he could do nothing to help them. He'd done all he could.
They went to the captain's office. The woman stepped inside, assessed the room—shelves of books, a large desk, lamps, chairs—and walked straight to a glassed-in case. “There,” she said. “The jewel."
The thief looked into the case, and saw no jewel. Only a large dark sphere of...
Ah. It was an intricate, spherical metal cage, a thing of curves and layers. A journeyman smith's useless piece of finery, perhaps. An iron ball of filigree, as big as two fists held together, with a tiny green jewel set deep in the center.
“You can't even touch it,” the thief said.
“Why else do you think I brought you?"
The thief nodded. He took a heavy piece of quartz from the captain's desk and shattered the glass, then reached inside and grasped the iron cage. “It's cold!” he gasped.
“I imagine,” the woman said. “Though it would burn me. That jewel is from my Queen's crown, and it carries a little bit of her royalty still—like a scent that lingers on a pillow. To have even the Queen's decoration trapped in a cage of iron...” She shook her head. “The antipathy is strong, and it makes the iron cold."
“What do we do now?” the thief asked, his fingers growing numb. “Where ... where do we go?” For he was thinking of the far Isle of the Fair Folk, and of the wonders and horrors he would see there, of the madness and forgetfulness that would surely overcome him on those shores.
“Back to the hole in the ground,” she said. “There are smith's tools there, among all the other things. And as iron cannot be enchanted, I know those tools are real, and not bits of wood or offal made to look like coins and furs."
“You want me to break this cage, and free the jewel,” he said. “I've never used smith's tools."
“If you can't figure it out, my thief, we'll just find a blacksmith and let you eat him whole, hands and ankles, heart and eyeballs. Then you'll know how to wield a hammer. Do you prefer that course?"
“I ... think I can learn enough on my own to break this cage."
“Acts of destruction are the easiest to learn, aren't they, thief?"
They went down the hall.
“What will become of the captain and his family?” the thief asked. “Will you spare them?"
“Would you like to consume the daughter, eat every bit of her, and keep a little of her with you always in that fashion?"
“Gods! No, monster, I would not!"
“Very well. Then her soul will be consigned to wherever such things go. I'm going to kill them all, thief."
“You horrible—"
“Clutch that ball tightly, my dear,” she said. “And go to
sleep."
The thief did.
He woke, groggy, lying on a pile of musty furs.
“My sleepy thief. I hit you with that enchantment hard. I'm sorry."
He sat up in the dimness and screamed as every part of his body exploded into pins and needles as his sleeping limbs woke.
Only his hands, still clasping the metal ball, were awake. The proximity to the iron had kept her enchantment from making his hands fall asleep.
“That's right, move around,” the woman said. “Work out the stiffness."
“We're back?” he croaked, his throat dry. “Underground?"
“You walked the whole way, though it's a jerky, stiff-legged walk, and it tired me out to drive you that way. I thought you'd wake up sooner, but I was a little ... annoyed ... when I put you under. You really shouldn't speak to me harshly, thief. I had you drag away the old metal trap door and build a wooden one to replace it, and there's a ladder now. Otherwise, yes, this is our familiar abode."
“The girl, the captain's daughter—"
“A puddle,” she said, waving her hand. “A pool of nothing much. When your arms are well awake, the smith's tools are there, and I've got a fire going. We'll figure out how to break that ball."
“Why did you kill them?” The thief squeezed the cold iron ball.
“Because of the hurt their ancestor gave me. He was beyond my reach, so I contented myself with the descendents."
“You're inhuman."
“You state the obvious."
“I need water,” he said suddenly.
“I imagine."
“The pitcher is...?"
“Over there,” she said, and stretched out her arm to point.
The thief saw his opportunity. He hurled the ball as hard as he could toward her midsection.
She grunted as the ball struck her, then screamed. Smoke rose from her dress as it caught fire. In the dimness, the thief could hardly see what had happened, but it seemed that the iron ball had buried itself into her stomach.
“You shit-eating bastard,” she shrieked. She reached down as if to pull the ball away, but screamed and pulled her hands back when she touched it.
