by Heide Goody
She looked down at the goblin by her side. Smaller than most, with a look of quiet cunning about him.
“I’ll take my chances,” she said.
“You will?” said the goblin with exaggerated surprise. “Every single vendor in this place will try to engage you in some smart street patter or a simple-sounding riddle that makes you sign away your soul.”
“Yes, I know,” said Epiphany.
“Well, even if you can outsmart them all, don’t you think it’s a bit tiresome?”
Epiphany looked at him. “Tiresome? Yes. I predict that it will indeed be tiresome.”
“The name’s Spunky,” he said, holding out a hand that was fifty percent knuckles, “and I can cut through all of that for you with my riddle goggles. Seriously, nobody should go in there without a pair of these.”
Epiphany avoided shaking Spunky’s hand, in case it came with an implied agreement. “Nice to meet you, Spunky. I don’t think I’ve seen riddle goggles before.”
“I’m so confident in this product that I’m prepared to let you have a free trial,” said Spunky. “State of the art, real-time situational advice lenses, guaranteed to provide the next-best-action under any circumstances. They have an SPF of fifteen to protect your eyes as well.”
“Do I need sun protection in a world of eternal twilight?”
“That’s Spell Protection Factor, lady. Here, put them on.”
Epiphany took the goggles. She held them up to her eyes and looked towards the dingy stalls of the market. It was very like wearing a cheap pair of swimming goggles, with the addition of some text at the side of her vision.
Choose the middle door.
The first thing you open is your eyes.
Roosters don’t lay eggs.
It’s a grey elephant from Denmark.
She removed the goggles and looked at the lenses from the outside. She could just make out the carefully painted script on the outside.
“A beautifully-crafted item, Spunky,” she said, “but I am afraid I must save my meagre funds, as I need to solve a very particular problem.”
“Ah!” said Spunky. “So, you need a pair of seeking goggles. Not a problem.” His hand dived inside his coat and he pulled out another pair of goggles.
Epiphany held them to her eyes and saw a different set of messages artfully painted around the edges.
Look up
You can’t always get what you want, but you might get what you need
Find someone who appears to know what they are doing and copy them.
“Most interesting, but again I must decline,” said Epiphany. She looked over towards the market. “I see a familiar face over there. If he declares a need for seeking googles, I’ll know where to send him.”
She walked over to Pak Choi who stood next to a stone fountain that babbled and sang. The fairy was slender and elegantly dressed, at least relative to the squat and frequently filthy goblins.
He saw her and doffed a hat that he didn’t have.
“So, you invited me here,” she said. “You think you have a solution to my troll problem.”
“A dandelion clock is no friend to the —”
“And I could do without the cryptic comments,” she told him.
His mouth shut with an audible slap.
“It’s just attention seeking,” she said bluntly. “If you were one of my undergraduate students, I’d have that kind of empty waffle trained out of you in the first term. Either say what you mean or don’t speak at all.”
Pak Choi frowned deeply. “The true path winds among ditches and diversions and —”
She held up a hand. “Shall we just limit ourselves to yesses and noes, perhaps?”
Pak Choi pouted. It was a very elegant fairy pout, but a pout nonetheless.
“Yes?” he offered.
“Good,” she smiled. “Now, do you and your friend have solutions to my troll problem?”
Pak Choi thought about this, opened his mouth once then twice in the search for words and then finally settled on smiling and gesturing for her to take a turn down a market alley.
She led the way through the stalls. She paused to glance at an enticing display of baked goods. There were piles of golden loaves, fragrant biscuits and steaming pies. At the very front of the stall, a dozen hogweed leaves were laid out on a velvet cloth, each with a candied fruit in the centre.
Pak Choi leaned across. “You are aware of the consequ —”
“Yes I am,” said Epiphany. “I do not intend to eat anything while I’m here. I was merely admiring the aesthetics. Ah, what is this?”
They walked between stalls that were loaded with household goods like bentwood chairs and besom brooms. There were racks of pipes and goblins offering foul-smelling tobacco to stuff them with. There were plants for sale, but some of them were so bizarre and unattractive that their use could only have been magical or medicinal. Epiphany bent to look at a particular bloom and recoiled as it puffed at her, a pungent smell filling the air.
“It’s an elvish stinkflower,” said the stallholder, a female goblin. She came round and cupped her hand, wafting the abominable stench towards her nose and inhaling deeply. “It’s a defence mechanism for the plant, of course, but if you can get over the smell, it stimulates the pleasure centre in the brain.” She closed her eyes and groaned with pleasure by way of illustration.
“Onwards,” said Epiphany to Pak Choi, shaking her head and striding forwards. “Pleasure centre indeed! Don’t these people have work to do?”
Pak Choi gave her a wide-eyed look. “Pleasure in work and work in pleasure. The red star rises —”
Epiphany thrust her nose up against his.
“Mr Pak Choi. I am a patient teacher but I will slap that nonsense out of you if I need to.”
She strode on and Pak Choi hurried to catch her. He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her round to face a stall which was arrayed with gemstones, exotic shells and insect cases that shimmered with iridescence. The stall holder was arthritically bent and shrouded in a hooded cloak.
“If truth you seek, the first step is…” began Pak Choi but quickly trailed off under a sharp gaze from Epiphany. “What you want is here,” he said simply.
“Who is that?” warbled the stallholder in an unconvincingly geriatric manner. “Has a kind young lady come to visit my humble stall?” The stallholder wobbled closer. “My eyes are old, my ears are crooked. Take a look at my wares, poppet.”
Epiphany had seen better acting at a primary school assembly. A hand slipped loose from the cloak’s sleeve. A slender and beautiful hand poking from the cuff of an elegant cobweb suit.
“Any of these charms can be yours,” said Oaknut in his faux old-lady voice.
“And you’re just a harmless old lady, are you?” said Epiphany.
“That I am,” said Oaknut.
Pak Choi tried to hold back a snigger, clearly under the impression that Epiphany had been fooled by the act.
“Just a humble purveyor of trinkets,” said Oaknut. “A hundred years, man and boy — I mean girl and woman. Take any. My prices are fair. No tricks.”
Epiphany’s hand hovered over a black and emerald beetle in a bottle. “This?”
“The Bug of True-Finding. It will only cost you a day of your life. A pittance.”
“The day I was born, perhaps?”
Oaknut stumbled. “What’s that? My ears are dim. I don’t hear too well. Or take this.” He gestured to a gold necklace. “Boreal’s Chain of Command. In payment I’ll take your hand.”
“I think not.”
“Only for a minute.”
“That’s a minute too long. Right, Oaknut, enough of these games.”
“Oaknut?” he croaked. “Who is this person your speak of? He sounds like a handsome and powerful cove.”
She sighed. Fairies were the most tiresome of creatures. “Enough.”
“But I have something important to show you,” said Oaknut.
“It had better be worth my
time,” she said.
“It is,” he said, flung his hood back and stood upright. “Behold! It is I! Oaknut!”
Pak Choi fell about laughing, literally rolling in the earth next to Epiphany and clutching his belly in mirth.
“It was me all along!” declared Oaknut, delighted. “And I fooled you!”
“You didn’t.”
“Don’t pretend otherwise. I had you fooled!”
“Hilarious,” panted Pak Choi.
“Just one of our little fairy games and I won,” said Oaknut.
“You’re idiots,” said Epiphany and wandered off through the market.
By the time Pak Choi had caught up with her, she’d reached the end of a row. Set slightly aside from the main part of the market near the heavy boughs of a spreading sycamore tree was something that looked like a cross between a totem pole and a gargoyle graveyard. The pole stretched up above Epiphany’s head, and every side featured faces that looked like seriously ugly carvings, but were animated. They all seemed to be murmuring to themselves, but she couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. A goblin with bristly nostrils stood proudly in charge of the thing.
“Welcome to the deed pole!” he said.
“Is that what it is?”
“Do you doubt me, me ol’ mucker?” said the goblin.
“I was merely expressing surprise,” said Epiphany. “It looks…”
“Bold? Exciting? Tantalising?”
“Yes, why not?” said Epiphany. “All those things.”
“Ah, it’s simple, ain’t it?” said the goblin. “This here is the committee of names.” He pointed at the faces. “These fellers know every name that’s in use and all ones that ain’t, and they can come up with a fresh one at any time. Unique names, new and pre-owned. All of them guaranteed to blow yer socks off.”
“Really?” said Epiphany.
“Abso-blinkin’-lutely!” grinned the goblin. “It’s a solid promise from me to you that nobody else could know any of the names that’s in the committee’s heads. Never guess ‘em, not for all the tea in China.”
“That’s fascinating. All the tea in China?”
“So I swears.”
“And I wouldn’t be able to guess any of them?”
“Not one.”
Epiphany nodded. “How lovely,” she said and wandered on.
“You doubt me?” the goblin called after her. “You won’t find no better name source this side of the gates of hell.”
“Thank you!”
“You insult me, madam.”
She turned. “Uggle Yok.”
There was an insistent, hissing whisper from one of the faces. The goblin leaned across to put his ear closer. His face took on an expression of absolute horror.
“I believe it was previously owned by a trollop currently living in the back of a truck in Sheffield,” said Epiphany.
The goblin staggered as though shot.
“You tricked me.”
“Nothing of the sort,” she said.
“So, what was that solid promise of yours again?” she said.
The goblin wrung his hands and hopped from foot to foot. “Did I say all the tea in China? I’m sure you understood that was just a figure of speech.”
“No,” she said with slow certainty. “I think you literally meant all the tea in China.”
“That’s a lot of tea. It’s gonna take me a while to get that together.”
“It’s not just a lot of tea,” said Epiphany sternly. “It’s all of the tea. All of the tea in China.”
“Oh please!” The goblin flung itself at her feet and sobbed onto her shoes. “I can’t get that. I’d give it a good go, I really would, but what would you do with that amount of tea, anyway? There must be something else you’d rather have?”
“I am extremely fond of tea,” said Epiphany. “I drink a good deal of it, and I have many friends who also —”
“I like tea,” chimed in Pak Choi, the strain of joining a conversation appropriately evident on his face.
“Something else? Anything else?” pleaded the goblin. “You can have all the names you want.”
As the mouths on the deed poll muttered, the panicked goblin scribbled names down on scraps of paper with a charcoal pencil.
Sunrover Dreasy
Dr Juniper Codfingers
Barry Go-Lightly
Chunky Humous
Mr Cogington Downmelon
Epiphany paused in deep thought. “Well, perhaps you could help me with a small matter?”
“Yes! Yes, me and the lads will definitely help you!”
“I find myself in need of a contact. Someone with powers that extend beyond Faerie and into the human world. Someone who can help me. Do you know of such a person?”
“Yes I do,” said the goblin, “but I cannot say her name, lest I accidentally summon her. Put your ear to the pole and listen carefully.”
Epiphany leaned over towards the pole. The nearest face murmured softly into her ear.
The name was one word, three syllables and it was a name known to her.
“That’s no good,” she said. “I said someone who can help me.”
“And she can?”
“But she’s evil.”
“Evil shmevil,” said the goblin. “She’ll help for a price.”
“And where can I find her?” said Epiphany.
“On the other side of the Underhill,” said the goblin and pointed down a street to a cliff face and cave that Epiphany could have sworn wasn’t there before. “Past the Ogre with the Terrible Toll.”
“A sacrifice of a hundred lives,” said Pak Choi.
Epiphany tutted to herself. Things in Faerie were never easy.
“Let me have those names then,” she said and took the scraps of paper from the goblin and stuffed them in her satchel.
He clasped her sleeve and gave her a wide ingratiating smile. “Most gracious lady, please honour me further by taking a sip of nectar from my special collection.”
“I will do no such thing,” she said sternly, “and you will refrain from trying to entrap me further unless you want me to insist that you uphold our tea bargain.”
He grovelled and cringed for a few moments. Epiphany could see the faces on the pole behind him rolling their eyes and sighing.
“Come on Pak Choi,” she said. “I have one more small errand to run before we go through the Underhill.”
Chapter 6
The fairy godmother of European mythology is a creature to be feared above all others. Like the djinn of Arabian stories or the angels of Christian mythology, her powers are effectively limitless. However, she is not limited by magical lamps, divine authority or anything remotely resembling a conscience.”
Solomon Re-examined
Makepeace Alexander
Epiphany returned to the stall of delicious-smelling loaves, piping hot pies and candied fruit. She spoke briefly to the stallholder, a brownie in a pair of curly-toed boots. He produced a tiny sack.
“This?” he said.
“Yes.”
“But it’s just raw ingredients. Don’t you want one of my fine baked goods?”
“They do look tempting,” said Epiphany honestly, “but no. No fairy food for me. Now, the price?”
“Your heart’s desire?” suggested the brownie.
“No.”
“Your firstborn child?”
“You’ll be waiting a long time for that.”
“The sound of your voice?”
“Be reasonable.”
The brownie shrugged, out of options.
Epiphany thought a second.
“I can pay with protection,” she said.
“What kind of protection?”
“The kind that goes with you wherever you go.”
“Is it a bodyguard?”
“It’s always above you.”
“An angel?”
“If it’s raining and you don’t want to be rained on, there it is.”
�
�Is it a god?”
“If it is sunny but you don’t wish to be burned, it will shield you.”
“And if it’s rainy and sunny?” asked the brownie.
“It protects from both.”
“What is it?” said the brownie.
“Do we have a deal?” asked Epiphany.
The fairy creature, worked up in a lather of curiosity and excitement, nodded firmly. They shook on it and then Epiphany took Smutcombe’s hat from her head and presented it to the brownie.
“Cor, powerful magics,” he said, appreciatively.
Hat exchanged for little sack, Epiphany walked away, found the side street and walked towards the cave in the conveniently located cliff.
The darkness of the cave swallowed them almost instantly and out of the warm glow of permanent sunset, the cold wrapped around Epiphany. She could see nothing of the path ahead.
“Take my hand,” said Pak Choi.
“Can you see?” said Epiphany.
“A little.”
“And taking your hand does not constitute any form of contract or legal obligation between us,” said Epiphany. “I’m not marrying you.”
“No.”
She reached out and there was a hand in hers. It was thin and light, as if it was made from nothing more than tissue paper and straw. It trembled in her grip.
“You’re afraid,” she said as they walked in the pitch black.
Pak Choi’s voice was uncertain. “To speak of thunder is to invite lightning.”
She let that cryptic comment go. The fairy was clearly terrified.
“I’m sure the Ogre with the Terrible Toll isn’t as frightening as he sounds,” she said.
“No,” said a voice in the darkness. The voice was huge, resonating but deeply mellifluous, the cultured reading voice of a favoured uncle. “I try to be as pleasant as possible.”
Pak Choi squeezed Epiphany’s hand in fear.
“Ah,” said Epiphany, who was not a little unafraid herself. She bowed in the direction she felt the voice was coming from. “Would I be addressing the ogre?”
“An ogre for certain,” said the voice.
In the hierarchy of monstrous creatures of fairy, ogres were larger than trolls but smaller than giants. Unlike either of the other creatures, ogres possessed the gift of magic and weren’t entirely stupid.
