“I dare not seek mercy unless I grant mercy.”
Now his eyes narrowed further. “Mercy? What word is this? Who are you?”
“I am the Foxmaiden.”
“Impossible. I saw the body of one her victims. Parts of the body. She does not know that word. You are an imposter.”
“I died and was reborn.”
“Impossible! Neither elf nor necromancer can raise the dead alive again, nor can the proud spirits of Hell, despite their deceptions. No one can do it.”
“The fountain you seek is real. Something washed away my vendettas and oaths. A lady told me.”
“Where is this fountain? Show it to me, and I will believe.”
“I cannot show it. I did not see it.”
“Then how do you know? Ours is a world of deceptions and deceits like hollow Russian dolls, one within the next, and no core, no solid doll at the heart. How do you know?”
“Why should I doubt? Despair is the last deception. It kills the thirst for truth.”
For the first time he showed expression, for now he gritted his teeth in pain and tears came from his eyes.
Yumiko said calmly. “Release me. I command it.”
“In whose name do you ask?”
“Your name! In the name of Garlot, the Red Knight, whose life I saved from certain death twice this day. I will save Althjof if you tell me what to do.”
The arms and legs of the chair relaxed as she spoke that name, and she was free. She stood.
Garlot said, “I offer you a trade…”
She said, “No!”
A spasm shook him. He clutched the pink bandages that wrapped his midriff. He coughed and caught blood from his mouth in his handkerchief. “I offer… in return for…”
“No!” She snapped. “No trade. I will save Althjof. But I do not know what you would have me do. Tell me. Freely I will do it. This is mercy.”
Ither, the squire, swung down from the tripod to the top step of the amber step ladder, shouting in anger. “How dare you speak so to the master, you lowly drudge! His blood is of the highest and most ancient line!”
She turned and scowled coldly at the boy. She could feel her heartbeat in her face of some high emotion, perhaps anger, perhaps fear. “What blood? The blood of servants. In my veins is the blood of Eve, the mother of mankind. Go pick up my bow and hand it to me.”
Ither was startled by the sheer effrontery of it and sputtered. “We are smarter than mortal men, wiser, older, more beautiful. Our memories fade not. We are lucid in sleep! Time and seasons are our servants; plague and pestilence dare never draw nigh to us! We can see hidden things afar off or hidden in the heart! The least of us has written poetry sweeter than Dante, songs bolder than Orpheus! I could put your feet on backward or give you a hedgehog’s head!”
Yumiko drew herself erect and spoke in a voice more stern and regal than his. “It is not for your wit or wisdom or age or any other great gifts that you have the right to rule mankind. You have no such right at all. Those gifts were meant to be placed at his service. The fairies spoke of exile. Where are you from? Where is your home?”
The young elf’s face grew pale as ash. He stammered, and his eyes swam with a strange look of pain and loss.
Garlot said, “Do not torment the boy, Moth girl.” Then, he said, “Ither, fetch her bow as she asks and do her all good service. Do not blame her if she yanks our chains. We forged the fetters ourselves, saying at first how little one mere link more would matter, one mere foot, one mere fathom.”
Ither picked up the white, red, and black great bow and then stared down in surprise. “The spirit in this is ancient! It smells of high Heaven!”
Galen said, “You have not paid mind to your lessons! That is the ghost-slaying bow of Yorimasu. Danger Moth gave it to Pelenore of Listenoise, my half-brother’s half-witted son, who sits in the high seat in Ruddystone, which my sister wishes for me. It was borne up to Sarras and lost to lore.”
“How comes she by it then?” demanded Ither.
“Silence, willful squire! Hand it to her on your knees.” And Garlot said to her, “Shoot the widdershins arrow into the brew. Do not hit my steward. You may stand on the top step if you wish.”
7. The Left-Handed Arrow
Yumiko understood now why Garlot was so solicitous. She took her position, and in one smooth motion, nocked the white arrow, raised the bow high, and drew back the string as she lowered her arms. The string sang, the arrow sped, but it shimmered and vanished after entering the water before it struck the bottom of the cauldron.
Immediately, the fluid seemed brighter, cleaner, clearer, as if a very light film of darkness had been banished.
Had her irreplaceable arrow been so suddenly obliterated, with no trace left? Wondering, she reached over her shoulder, opened the quiver, and felt the feathers of the two white arrows. Unlike her others, these two returned with dreamlike swiftness to her quiver. A more convenient magic for an archer could not be imagined.
Within the cauldron, the fluid thickened about the motionless body, and little white dots, no bigger than snowflakes, fell into Althjof’s torn and boiled skin from every direction. He stirred; he thrashed; he put his head above the water and gagged and gasped for breath. His face was now smooth and youthful, and his long white beard was now short and black and thick, as was the hair of his head. Ither hauled him out of the cauldron with a rope and pulley running through the tripod.
“No worse torture I have ever known!” the now-youthful old steward said, shaking his head gravely. “It was a mercy when all the outer parts of me died, my eyeballs perished, and I saw my disintegrating flesh no more, my nerve endings cooked, and so I felt nothing but boiling water in my lungs. Is it like that for you every time, my lord?”
Garlot said, “A ghost possessed the spirit of the cauldron and silenced its charm so that the elixir of life was merely oil, and the boiling was merely boiling. A clever way to turn the best of medicines into the worse of deathtraps in an instant, with no change in appearance. The unclean spirit was banished back to Hell by this girl, who seems to be dressed as the Foxmaiden of Winged Vengeance but speaks strangely and unlike her. You owe her lauds and thanks.”
The steward bowed. “How may I repay this?”
She said, “Show mercy to the next fifty folk who need mercy.”
He straightened up, looking surprised. “Fifty?”
“Is your life worth fewer? Forty.”
Pride and confusion warred on his face. “Fifty then. But mercy is not in my nature. I am a child of the Svartalfar, a son of darkness and stone and the fire at the earth’s core.”
“My nature changed. Yours may yet.” She turned to Garlot. “Wilcolac the Magician sent the black mice at the command of Lucien Cobweb. The spirit within was called Le Maudit, the Hunter King. Lucien is Thursday of the Supreme Council of Anarchists and your sister’s lover. She is aiding the Anarchists in the hope of weakening Erlkoenig.”
Garlot raised his hand, and a glittering swarm of sparks flew from his fingers.
8. The Sons of Air
The eyes of his three servants, Elf, Nephilim, and Nibelung, all went blank. They were entranced.
Garlot regarded Yumiko narrowly. “You are acute one moment and obtuse the next. You spit out dire secrets without checking the eaves for eavesdroppers. One of these is my sister’s creature, and another is Erlkoenig’s spy. Why does Wilcolac conspire against me? He is famed for being neutral in all disputes and welcoming to all.”
“The club is the headquarters for Thursday, Lord of Werewolves.”
“Why should I believe this tale? How could you possibly know this?”
“Look at my face. Do you have a perfect memory, like other elfs do?”
“I don’t recognize your face.”
“I was the hatcheck girl. I waited on your men when they went into the backroom. They are bad tippers.”
“Ah. One of the magician’s dancing girls? I did not look at your face.”
&nbs
p; Yumiko blushed. She said sharply, “Release Elfine and all these imprisoned here.”
Again, a shiver passed through his frame, and again he clutched his side. “Let us set out clearly the terms of the trade…”
“I told you. There is no trade!”
“That is not the way of the elfs. We were strictly instructed by the fallen angels in Hell. They are not blinded by the light; only they see reality clearly. No one is free, no two are equal, and no three can be one! That is their motto. It means all gifts come at a price.”
“What comes at a price is not a gift, but a purchase.”
“The fallen angels say otherwise.”
“If you wish to be damned, follow the damned. But I will not swap with you. Your life has infinite value! So does the freedom of those you pen here.”
“You broke the door of my treasure house. No locksmith will dare mend a lock a fairy has broken, lest he be cursed. Do you owe me nothing for that?”
“I owe you an apology for being a rude trespasser. You have already forgiven me the trespass. I ask for forgiveness for the rudeness.” She bowed.
“Why should I grant it? And do not say for mercy’s sake!”
“I have shown mercy to you.”
“Gilberec Moth is your blood and my foe. How can you show me mercy? It is wrong! My race despises and abuses mortal men, but we despise you half-mortals even more. Am I to be in debt to you? Would you heap coals of fire on my head?”
“You can never repay this debt to me. Only to Heaven.”
“You killed my dwimmerwurm. This was plain murder.”
“I do not know what that is.”
“My eft. The dragon newt that looks like a man. The one who breathed fire.”
“Oh. That one.”
“That one. His name was Pheleg, son of Belphegor. You cannot claim the death was self-defense as he was no threat to you. You cannot claim it was honest combat since you struck without warning while concealed. You cannot claim a duty to defend the Swan Knight since you are no vassal of his, and he clearly did not know you were there.”
She was silent and bowed again.
“Where is your mercy now? You saved my life but took his. What words of Heaven will you speak to shame me now? You are a murderess! I curse you and your mercy! To avenge my loyal eft, I am in my rights to arrest, enchant, or enthrall you or execute you swiftly or slowly. I could put the Ring of Mists on my finger, as a trophy of war, and put the ghost-slaying bow in my arsenal until I find another virgin fierce enough to wield it. What stops me?”
“Honor.”
“So? I am already the least honorable knight in the land. There are tax gatherers and panderers and coiners more honest than I! With a soul so black, what is one more stain?”
“With a soul so black, why add one more stain? But please release my friend and all these others.”
“You did not save me from the Swan Knight for mercy’s sake but because you wanted to follow me here and loot my treasure chamber.”
“But I shot the first black mouse for you. And I shot your steward to prevent you from going into the cauldron and being boiled to death. I did not mean for him to fall in. You have my apology for that. I am sorry.”
He said, “And if that is insufficient?”
She said, “I also saved the life of your steward, the dark dwarf.”
“Ah! But you tell me life is infinite in value, and one cannot be swapped for another. Do you espouse heavenly words only when they suit you?”
She had no answer for that but bowed deeply. “Then I am at your mercy.”
“Again with that word! You are in my power. Do you understand how entirely within my power you are, you silly little girl?”
She answered nothing, and her face was blank. He evidently interpreted this to be insolent boldness on her part, for now he became animated in his gesture and fierce expression, and this set his wound to bleeding.
“I am within my rights, as a keeper of the elfking’s law, to lock you in a cell, or a dream, or a book, or turn you to stone, or chain you to a hearth as a kitchen drudge, or feed you to the Questing Beast inch by inch! Nor is your soul safe. I am within my rights to charm you with chanted spells and make you the willing paramour of my horsegroom, or of his horse and make the unspeakable crimes of Pasiphaë your own!
“And I am not even the most skilled or most terrible of my kind at songs and spells and invocations from the substances of dream.”
Still she had no answer. The longer her silence grew, the louder his anger grew.
“Elf is paramount over Man and Moth alike! The Sons of Air are masters of all Creation! Did you think your toys and weapons would save you? What are your gizmos and gimcracks compared to the high sorceries of the Night World? How did you imagine you could come here? What makes you think I should accept your hateful mercy! If you are dead, what thanksgiving do I owe then? And… And… what do you mean, first black mouse?”
9. The Second Black Mouse
Now she spoke in a soft voice. “Sir, there were two. I assume one ghost was in each of them. The dead mice were in your horse’s belly. Not the little one, the big horse with metal clothing.”
“The word is destrier. His name is Tachebrun. Horse armor is called barding.”
“Did you stable your horse at the Cobbler’s Club at any time? Then that was when Wilcolac introduced the mice into Take—Tacky—I am sorry. I cannot pronounce it. I mean no disrespect. Into your horse.”
“Why two mice? One was to poison the cauldron. What was the other one’s task?” He winced and clutched his side and turned his head. The back of his seat was empty. No garment was thrown over it. “And where did my cloak go? Where is the Cloak of Mists?”
Yumiko smiled and waited.
Garlot turned his bloody eyes back toward her. “What mirth is this? Do you mock me?”
“I smile for sake of the joy which comes from the further mercy I shall show you this day.”
He slumped in his chair wearily. “Speak!”
“Since your men are asleep, I will help you into the cauldron. After all your prisoners are freed and you escort me back to the surface, I will tell you where the cloak is. Even if it is moved or hidden, it cannot escape me.”
“How could you come by such knowledge?”
Her smile grew brighter. “What are the high sorceries of the Night World compared to the science and technology of the modern age? My beloved is a wonder worker. And his spirit was equal to the task of returning to the moon! I mean to save him, and so I mean to emerge from here alive and well. And not all the elfs in the underground realm nor all the omens and fiends of night will dissuade me!”
Garlot spread his hands in surrender and nodded. “You exasperate me into submission. In mercy’s name, I accept your gift of my life. For mercy’s sake, I grant you and all whom you would, liberty and free passage from here, safely. You will find the Day World, where men live, in the same year and day you entered this realm.
“Your terms I accept meekly, with one emendation: I will return Elfine Moth to your hand when you return my stolen cloak into mine. But for the sake of Pheleg, whom you have slain, when we meet next, we meet as enemies. Look to it. Now help me up, please. I am not accustomed to pain.”
Chapter Nine: Fire and Shadow
1. The World is Marred
The promise to return Yumiko to the surface within the same day as her descent was not strictly kept. By the time Sir Garlot, atop his magnificent roan charger Tachebrun, sped like a roaring wind up from the secret gate of Ys-Elfydd, night had fallen. Yumiko’s own sense of time was confused, and she did not see any clocks on banks or hear any church bells. From the look of the streets, it was after midnight, in the small hours of the morning, which, technically, was the next day.
Yumiko was sitting side-saddle behind his high saddle, her arms tightly around his broad shoulders, her cheek against his back, her knuckles white.
Misgivings fluttered in her rapidly beating heart like moths in a dar
k closet. She did not like that the rump of the steed was too broad for her to sit astride; that Garlot would not permit her yet to see Elfine; and that Garlot had emerged from the cauldron younger and more virile than before, gleaming elixir dripping from his mighty, naked limbs.
He rode now with his helm tied to his saddlebow, and the hairs of his head, blown by the wind, tickled the crown of her head, and his alluring musk tickled her nose. Had she been in a posture peacefully to meditate, she could have cleared her mind from the heated, wild, dreamlike images her close embrace of the villainously handsome elf sent dancing through her.
Instead, the wild ride down the streets of New York was intoxicating, and she yelped and clung more tightly to his warm, strong body each time they overleaped a honking automobile, startled a pedestrian, or jumped from street to stair to elevated track to the roof of a moving bus and to the street again.
Her misgivings increased when they passed fire engines, their sirens wailing and lights flashing, crawling through the intersection. Ahead, the light of leaping fires beat against the knees of the surrounding towers. They turned a corner and raced down the street. As abruptly as if she had opened an oven door, heat beat Yumiko’s face.
Ahead was the Cobbler’s Club. Arms of fire billowed from the second and third story windows, and a nodding cowl of smoke rose above, the billows dark and solid in the light of the surrounding streets and shops. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around the police cars and ambulances. A police officer with a bullhorn bellowed at Garlot as his great steed leaped from the hood of his police cruiser and over the yellow sawhorses forming a barricade.
Garlot looked over his shoulder at Yumiko, raising one eyebrow. “Here? Truly?”
“Here.”
“Your oracle must be mistaken.”
Yumiko tossed her head to lower her mask and called up her inset map. The red dot centered on a window on the fourth floor. Wilcolac’s office. “No mistake. Where is Elfine? I need her help for this.”
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