by Sean Cullen
Brendan nodded. He took one last look back at Kim, Ariel, Og, and Deirdre. They were all watching him, save Deirdre, who was slightly turned away and looking down at something she held in her hand. Brendan recognized that stance: she was trying to send a text on her phone without anyone seeing. Presently, she stuffed her hand back into her pocket and looked up at him. She smiled at him reassuringly. Og raised his whisky glass while sucking mustard off his knuckles. Ariel nodded. Kim merely looked steadily back and mouthed the words “Be careful.” Brendan waved and stepped out into the night.
And so he found himself, immediately soaked to the skin and shivering in the downpour, holding the soggy sandwich. He was miserable, depressed, and alone.
He turned around to look at the Swan but it was gone. The doorway was gone. A blank wall stared back at him. There was no hint that it had ever been there at all. He could not go back.
“Where do I start looking for something that I didn’t even know existed?” He felt utterly miserable. He held up the sandwich, which was dissolving in the rain before his eyes. “Even my sandwich is ruined.” In disgust, he threw the sandwich onto the grass.
“Ow!” the sandwich squeaked.
Brendan almost leapt out of his skin. “Who said that?”
“Uuuughh,” the sandwich moaned.
“Will the weirdness ever end?” Brendan said to the rain. “I’m talking to a sandwich.”
As he watched, wide-eyed, the top slice of bread flopped over to reveal a tiny person, her clothes smeared with mustard and mayonnaise, lying on a bed of ham. The person in question had small fly wings and pale mauve eyes. “Oh crap.” She picked at her tight brocaded coat, trying to wipe mustard off. “That’s not coming out.”
Brendan reached down and scooped the person into his hand. Sitting on his palm was a perfectly formed little woman dressed in a tight-fitting red velvet suit. Her hair was fireengine red and her cheeks were flushed. Brendan peered closely at her. “You’re a . . . Diminutive?”
“Bah,” she spat. “I don’t stand by that modern malarkey. I’m a Lesser Faerie and proud of it!” She thumped her chest and tried to stand but fell back onto her bottom.
Brendan sniffed. “You’re drunk!”
“Never! Not a bit of it! I never touch the demon liquor. Not me! Ha! Drunk, he says! The idea!” Finishing with a huff of disgust, she glared at him, her tiny arms crossed defensively over her chest. A sly look came into her eye. “Something sweet, now! I wouldn’t say no to that! Ya have anything sweet in your pockets, your grace?”
Brendan frowned. Digging into his pockets, he found the packet of gum that he’d used to strike a bargain with Skreet in the Undertown. He held it up.
The little fairy spat. “Sugarless? Poison! Poison, I say!”
“Forgive me,” Brendan said sarcastically. Digging in the pocket of his trousers, he was pleasantly surprised when his fingers closed on a small hard object. He pulled his hand out and revealed a small after-dinner mint furred liberally with lint. “How about this?”
The Lesser Faerie’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” She zipped forward and snatched the mint from Brendan’s fingers. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stuffed the entire sweet, lint and all, into her tiny mouth. Brendan marvelled that she could even encompass the entire morsel. It was like watching a normal-sized person stick a softball in her mouth. With great effort, somehow, she managed to stuff the whole mint in. “SnarffffffmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMM MMMMM!”
The effect was immediate. The tiny creature began glowing, brighter and brighter, as if she were a tiny star. The raindrops falling on her fizzed like drops of fat in a frying pan as they struck her. Brendan had to shield his eyes from the intense glare.
“Yesssssss!” The Lesser Faerie began zipping around erratically, shooting here and there at random. “Sugarrrrrrr!” she shouted. She divebombed Brendan’s head and then whirled around his ears in tighter and tighter circles.
“Hey! Calm down!” Brendan cried in alarm.
Then, as suddenly as the fit began, it ended. Her light winked out, and she fell with a soft plop face-down in the mud.
“Sugar . . .” she mumbled. Snores, impossibly loud for such a minute creature, rose to Brendan’s ears. He bent down and picked the tiny woman up in the palm of his hand.
“Great,” Brendan snorted. “I’m stuck in the rain with homicidal Orcadia after me, and all I have to defend myself with is a miniature sugar junkie.”
“That’s not all you have,” Mr. Greenleaf said, stepping out from under the trees. “You have your wits and your luck.”
Brendan almost dropped the Lesser Faerie in surprise. “Do you people enjoy scaring the crap out of me?”
“Sorry to startle you,” Greenleaf said with a smile. Titi zipped out of the darkness to land on his shoulder. After a wink at Brendan she began preening her coat of colourful feathers. “I forget that you can’t sense us yet. When you become fully fledged, you will be very difficult to surprise. But to the matter at hand . . . You must be off. Time is wasting. My sister texted me that you might need some help.”
“I thought cellphones weren’t allowed in there,” Brendan said.
“Rules must be bent when the situation demands it.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna help me find this amulet?” Brendan’s heart lifted.
“No.” Greenleaf shook his head decisively. “Even I can’t flout the Law to that extent. As it stands, my even talking to you could be misconstrued. If anyone asks me, I will say that I wasn’t aware of your status.” Greenleaf looked at the lingering cloud bank. “I will try to give you a little breathing room, that’s all. I’ve been keeping an eye on Orcadia. She is waiting for you to leave the island.”
“If I leave this place, I won’t be protected, will I? This . . . shield-thingy . . .”
“The Ward of the Island.”
“Whatever, it only assures my safety on the Island. As soon as I leave here, I’m toast.”
Greenleaf shook his head. “If she sees you leave. I can do something about that.”
“I thought no one could help me.”
“I wouldn’t be helping you directly. If asked, I would say that I was just trying to vex Orcadia, which has become something of a hobby of mine, of late.”
“Fine. So how are you going to hide me?”
“I won’t hide you.” Greenleaf’s smile showed a hint of mischief. “I will be you.”
Greenleaf reached out and touched Brendan’s shoulder. There was a tingling sensation where the hand contacted him. Then, as Brendan watched in astonishment, Mr. Greenleaf shimmered. His features smeared. He shrank slightly in stature. In a matter of seconds, his appearance had completely changed. Brendan stood open mouthed, staring at an exact replica of himself. “What do you think? Neat, huh?” Even Greenleaf’s voice and manner of speaking had changed to sound like Brendan’s.
“How did you do that?”
Greenleaf laughed. “A glamour. Now I will leave the Island, and Orcadia, thinking I am you, will chase me. I will lead her on a wild goose chase.”
Brendan stared in disbelief. “I can’t get over how creepy it is looking at another me.”
“Get over it, dude. Now!” Greenleaf struck a very “Brendan” pose. Brendan had to admit, Greenleaf was good.
“Okay.”
“I will go and lead her away. I don’t know how long I can give you, but you must use the time wisely.” Titi waggled a hand at Brendan, then crawled into Greenleaf’s shirt pocket, out of sight. Greenleaf turned to go.
“Wait,” Brendan called. “Where do I even begin?”
“Remember,” Greenleaf said, “you have friends.”
“Friends? What friends?” Brendan cried but Greenleaf was already moving. He sped off across the grass and disappeared down the path. Brendan watched himself run away and shook his head. “That is weird.”
Recovering his composure, Brendan set off after him at a slower pace. The first item of business was to get off Ward’s Island.
&nb
sp; He tucked the Lesser Faerie into the pocket of his school blazer and trotted along the paved path to the ferry terminal. He knew it would be too late for the ferry, but he had to start somewhere.
He arrived at the pier to find the ferry docks in darkness. A chain hung across the entrance to the dock.
“Now what?” he said aloud.
“The Faerie Terminal,” a tiny groggy voice said.
“Huh?” He looked down to see the Lesser Faerie had recovered enough to haul herself up and was hanging out of his pocket. She was looking slightly green.
“We go to the Faerie Terminal.”
“We’re at the ferry terminal. It’s closed.”
“Not the ferry terminal, you idiot,” she snapped. She pointed off down a path that Brendan hadn’t seen before. The path was paved with white stones that shone faintly in the moonlight. A sign stood at the top of the path. In elegant painted letters it read TO FAERIE TERMINAL.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
“Your Faerie Sight is not very reliable, is it?” the Lesser Faerie teased. “There’s a whole world that you’ve been missing, friend. Now let’s haul some butt, please.”
Brendan had no choice but to do what she asked. He jogged down the path in the direction that the sign indicated.
“Do you mind not bouncing me around too much? I may puke.”
“I’ll do my best. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Basra La Tir.”
“Huh.” Brendan snorted a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I found you in a sandwich, and your initials are B.L.T.”
“I don’t get it,” Basra said.
“Bacon, lettuce, and tomato. It’s a sandwich.”
“Oh. Sounds awful.”
They came around a bend, and the lake spread out before them. Down by the shore a light was shining. Brendan saw movement, people shuffling in the pool of illumination. A flash of lightning erupted out of the water to the north. Thunder rolled across the grey waves. “I guess Greenleaf is doing his part.”
Brendan came to the light and discovered a small wooden dock. The waiting Faeries gave him a cursory glance and went back to shuffling from foot to foot in the steady downpour.
“Bloody late again,” one said.
“Probably the weather,” another offered.
“Bah,” the first replied. “What do we pay taxes for?”
“We don’t pay taxes,”75 another observed.
A bell rang out on the water. Brendan peered through the rain and saw a boat looming in the darkness. At its prow stood a tall thin man who wore a bright yellow rain suit topped with a drooping yellow hat.
The boat came up to the dock and bumped against it.
“’Bout time, Ferryman!” the grumpy Faerie grumbled.
The Ferryman didn’t say a word. He merely bent and looped a painter76 around the nearest post. That done, he stood up and held out his hand. One by one, the would-be passengers stepped onto the precariously rocking boat, dropping a gleaming coin into the Ferryman’s hand.77
Brendan didn’t know what to do. He stepped up to the Ferryman and said, “I haven’t got any money.”
A gasp came from the other passengers. Brendan couldn’t see the face under the shadow of the rain hat. Up close, Brendan realized how tall the Ferryman actually was. He towered over everyone. Water dripped from the brim of his hat as the Ferryman stood eerily still despite the rocking of the boat beneath his feet.
Brendan fished in his pocket and pulled out his useless braces. He held them up and said hopefully, “Will you accept these?”
The Ferryman bent closer and sniffed. “Nay. These are not noble metal: gold, silver, platinum only.”
“Oh,” Brendan mumbled, sticking the braces back in his pocket. “I have nothing else.”
“A promise.” The voice of the Ferryman was like the rattle of dry sails. “A promise in exchange for passage.”
BLT flitted up to Brendan’s shoulder. Her eyes were wary. “Be careful, my friend. A promise is a solemn Pledge.”
“What do you mean?” Brendan demanded.
“Ferrymen accept only noble metal as payment. Or sometimes gemstones. If you don’t have noble metal, they take a Pledge. I warn you, if you make a promise or a Pledge to one such as this, it must be paid in full at some point in the future.”
Brendan thought back to the Undertown. He had made a bargain with Skreet and he’d managed to escape any drastic consequences. How bad could it be? This was just a guy in a rowboat. “Well, I have no ‘noble metal’ and I haven’t got any other way off the Island. Unless you can fly me, BLT?”
She shook her tiny head.
“Fine then.” He turned to the Ferryman and said, “I promise to pay you later. I need to get to the city.”
“The promise is made.” There was a wheezing chuckle from the Ferryman. The sound was chilling and mirthless. “Board.”
Brendan stepped into the boat with BLT on his shoulder. He sat down on the nearest empty bench. The others around him shimmied away as though they didn’t want to catch something from him.
“Why do I feel like I’ve made a horrible mistake?” Brendan moaned.
“Probably because you have,” BLT offered helpfully. She groaned. “Boats don’t agree with me.”
The boat suddenly jerked, and they were forging through the waves toward the distant skyline of Toronto.
The Ferryman stood in the stern, solid as a rock despite the pitch of the waves. His pale hand lay on the tiller. Brendan could see no engine, but despite that fact, the vessel powered forward, cutting a direct path toward the piers at the harbour front. No one spoke. At least the rain didn’t seem to touch them while they were aboard the ferry. It parted on either side of the craft, some unseen force shielding the passengers from the weather. Only the Ferryman streamed with rain, and he didn’t seem to mind.
He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the boat bumped against the dock. He shook himself awake to find the towering condominiums looming in the rain all around him. He was at the ferry dock. He was so tired. When was the last time he’d slept? The night before last. He looked blearily about. All of the other passengers were gone. There was only the Ferryman looming over him.
“Out,” the Ferryman said, jerking a pale thumb at the dock. Brendan forced himself to stand and step over the gunnels. The Ferryman’s hand stopped him.
“Remember.” The Ferryman’s raspy voice was chilling. “You made a Pledge to a Brother of the Ways. The Pledge will be called in.”
Brendan looked into the dark face and saw a flash of icy blue eyes beneath the brim of the yellow hat. He nodded once. The hand was lifted from his chest, and he stepped out onto the solid wood of the pier. He watched the boat pull away and disappear into the misty drizzle.
Shivering, he stood on the pier and thought for a moment. Where can I go? Greenleaf said I have friends, but who are they? I can’t go to my parents. It’s too dangerous for them. Who then?
Then it struck him. He did have friends. Do I want to involve them in this? It’s too dangerous. But . . . there’s no one else.
He made a decision. He started off down the pier toward the city. BLT flitted ahead of him, hovering in front of his face.
“Where to then?”
Brendan smiled grimly. “I’m going to get some help.”
75 The Faerie is obviously joking. Everyone pays taxes. The old adage is true: nothing is sure except death and taxes. Being practically immortal, the Fair Folk can escape the first but not the latter of these two evils.
76 A painter, as it is referred to above, is a short rope used on a boat to attach objects to it. If you thought that the Ferryman had thrown a painter like perhaps Picasso or Van Gogh and tied him around the mooring post, you are a little weird.
77 Ferrymen, Keepers of the Crossroads, and Bridge Guardians are a special category of magical beings. They have their own special guild called “The Brotherhood of the Ways” that accepts only
their own kind as members. To be honest, no one else would want to be a member anyway: these guys are really creepy.
BABKA
Dmitri finally opened his bedroom window. Brendan had been tossing pebbles for ten minutes and was about to resort to larger rocks when the blond head poked out.
“Brendan! What are you doing? Everyone’s looking for you! Your parents are worried sick!”
“I know,” Brendan whispered in a raspy voice. “I’ll explain everything. Just let me in. I need your help.”
“You should just go home.”
“I want to but I can’t! Please! I have nowhere else to go. You’ve got to let me in.”
Dmitri’s head disappeared and the window closed. Brendan waited for what seemed like an hour. He was about to leave when the back door to Dmitri’s townhouse opened with a low squeak. Dmitri held a flashlight in his hand.
“Hurry,” the small boy said, motioning Brendan toward the house.
Brendan gratefully padded across the dead brown grass of the backyard and into the kitchen. Dmitri was careful to close the door so that it didn’t make a sound.
The kitchen was small but cozy, redolent of the smell of Dmitri’s mother’s cooking: garlic, cabbage, and fresh bread. A small table occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by wooden chairs. A lamp burned in the corner of the counter, casting a warm glow. Dmitri indicated that Brendan should have a seat, then went to the counter beside the ancient gas stove and opened a steel bread box. He retrieved a pan of chocolate cake and a dull knife and brought them to the table. He sat down and cut a square piece of cake and lifted it onto a napkin for Brendan.
“Eat this,” Dmitri said quietly. “You look completely worn in.”
“Out,” Brendan said wearily, “worn out, not in.”
Dmitri watched in silence as Brendan devoured the cake. When Brendan was licking the icing off his fingers, Dmitri asked at last, “Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story,” Brendan replied. “And I’m afraid you won’t believe a word of it.”
“Let me decide what I will believe,” Dmitri said, crossing his arms. He was dressed in flannel pants and a threadbare dressing gown. He wore a faded T-shirt that read POLAND IS FOR LOVERS. His small face was pale and serious.
