The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making (Fairyland 1)

“I am the Honorable Wyvern A-Through-L, small fey. I would say, ‘at your service,’ but that’s rather fussy, and I’m not, you see, so it would be inaccurate.”

“That’s a very funny name for…”—September considered her words—“such a fine beast,” she finished.

“It’s a family name,” A-Through-L said loftily, scratching behind one horn. “My father was a Library. So properly speaking, I am a Lyvern, or … a Libern? A Wyverary? I am still trying to find the best term.”

“Well, I think that’s very unlikely,” said September, who preferred Wyverary.

“However unlikely it may seem, it is the truth and, therefore, one hundred percent likely. My sainted mother was the familiar of a highly puissant Scientiste, and he loved her. He polished her scales every week with beeswax and truffle oil. He fed her sweet water and bitter radishes grown by hand in his laboratory and, therefore, much larger and more bitter than usual radishes. He petted her, and called her a good Wyvern, and made a bed for her out of river rushes and silk batting and old bones. (They didn’t come from anyone he knew, so that was all right, and a Wyvern nest has to have bones, or else it’s just not home.) It was quite a good situation for my mother, even if she hadn’t liked him a great deal and thought him very wise. As all reptiles know, the bigger the spectacles, the wiser the wearer, and the Scientiste wore the biggest pair ever built. But even the wisest of men may die, and that is especially true when the wisest of men has a fondness for industrial chemicals. So went my mother’s patron, in a spectacular display of Science.”

“That’s very sad,” sighed September.

“Terribly sad! But grief is wasted on the very roasted. Without her companion, my mother lived alone in the ruins of the great Library, which was called Compleat, and a very passionate and dashing Library indeed. Under the slightly blackened rafters and more than slightly caved-in walls, my mother lived and read and dreamed, allowing herself to grow closer and closer to Compleat, to notice more and more how fine and straight his shelves remained, despite great structural stress. That sort of moral fortitude is rare in this day and age. By and by, my siblings and I were born and romped on the balconies, raced up and down the splintered ladders, and pored over many encyclopedias and exciting novels. I know just everything about everything—so long as it begins with A through L. My mother was widowed by a real estate agent some years ago, and I never finished the encyclopedia. Anyway, Mother told us all about our father when we were yearlings. We asked, ‘Why do we not have a Papa?’ And she said, ‘Your Papa is the Library, and he loves you and will care for you. Do not expect a burly, handsome Wyvern to show up and show you how to breathe fire, my loves. None will come. But Compleat has books aplenty on the subject of combustion, and however odd it may seem, you are loved by two parents, just like any other beast.’”

September bit her lip. She did not know how to say it gently. “I had a friend back home named Anna-Marie,” she said slowly. “Her father sold lawn mowers all over Nebraska and some in Kansas, too. When Anna-Marie was little, her daddy ran off with a lady from Topeka with the biggest lawn in the county. Anna-Marie doesn’t even remember her daddy, and sometimes when she’s sad, her mother says she didn’t have one, that she’s an angel’s daughter and no awful lawn mower salesman had a thing to do with her. Do you think, maybe … it could have been like that, with your mother?”

A-Through-L looked pityingly at her, his blazing r

ed face scrunched up in doubt. “September, really. Which do you think is more likely? That some brute bull left my mother with egg and went off to sell lonemozers? Or that she mated with a Library and had many loved and loving children? I mean, let us be realistic! Besides, everyone says I look just like my father. Can’t you see my wings? Are they not made of fluttering vellum pages? If you squint you can even read a history of balloon travel!”

A-Through-L lifted his wings slightly, to show their fluttering, but the great bronze chain kept them clamped down. He waggled them feebly.

“Oh, of course. How silly of me. You must understand, I am new to Fairyland,” September assured him. But really, his wings were leathery and bony, like a pterodactyl’s, and not like vellum at all, and there was certainly nothing written there. September thought the creature was a little sad, but also a little dear.

“Why are your wings chained up?” she asked, eager to change the subject. A-Through-L looked at her as though she must be somehow addled.

“It’s the law, you know. You can’t be so new as all that. Aeronautic locomotion is permitted only by means of Leopard or licensed Ragwort Stalk. I think you’ll agree I’m not a Leopard or made of Ragwort. I’m not allowed to fly.”

“Whyever not?”

A-Through-L shrugged. “The Marquess decreed that flight was an Unfair Advantage in matters of Love and Cross-Country Racing. But she’s awfully fond of cats, and no one can tell Ragwort to sit still, so she granted special dispensations.”

“But surely you’re bigger than the Marquess. Couldn’t you say no? Squash her or roast her or something?”

A-Through-L marveled. His mouth dropped open a little. “What a violent little thing you are! Of course, I’m bigger, and, of course, I could say no, and, of course, in the days of Good Queen Mallow, this would never have happened and we’re all very upset about it, but she’s the Marquess. She has a hat. And muscular magic, besides. No one says no to her. Do you say no to your queen?”

“We don’t have a queen where I live.”

“Then I’m sorry for you. Queens are very splendid, even when they call themselves Marquesses and chain up poor Wyverns. Well, very splendid and very frightening. But splendid things are often frightening. Sometimes, it’s the fright that makes them splendid at all. What kind of place did you come from, with no queens and bad fathers and Anna-Marees?”

“Just one Anna-Marie. I come from Nebraska,” September said. Home seemed very far away now, and she did not yet miss it. She knew, dimly, that this made her a bad daughter, but Fairyland was already so large and interesting that she tried not to think about that. “It’s very flat and golden, and my mother lives there. Every day, she goes to a factory and works on airplane engines because everyone’s father left for the war, and there was no one left to make airplanes. She’s very smart. And pretty. But I don’t see her much anymore, and my father went away with all the others. He said he would be safe, because he would be mainly learning things about other armies and writing them down, not shooting at them. But I don’t think he’s safe. And I don’t think my mother does, either. And the house is dark at night, and there are howling things out on the prairies. I keep everything as clean as I can so that when she comes home she’ll be happy, and tell me stories before bed, and teach me about boilers and things that she knows.” September rubbed her arms to keep warm in a sudden breeze that kicked and bucked through the field of little red flowers. “I don’t really have many friends back home. I like to read, and the other kids like to play baseball or play with jacks or curl their hair. So when the Green Wind came to my window, I knew what he was about, because I’ve read books where things like that happen. And I didn’t have anyone to miss, except my mother.” September wiped her nose a little. “I didn’t wave good-bye to her when we flew away. I know I ought to have. But she goes to the factory before I’m awake in the morning and just leaves biscuits and an orange on the table, so I thought maybe I wouldn’t say good-bye to her, since she doesn’t say good-bye to me. I know it was vicious of me! But I couldn’t help it. And, really, she leaves little notes with the biscuits and sometimes funny drawings, and I didn’t leave her anything, so it’s not fair at all. But I don’t want to go home, either, because there aren’t gnomes and witches and wyveraries at home, just nasty kids with curly hair and a lot of teacups that need washing, so I will say I’m sorry later, but I think it’s better to be in Fairyland than not in Fairyland on the whole.”

A-Through-L carefully put his claw around her shoulders. His talons quite dwarfed her. She wrapped her arms around one and leaned against it, the way she might have leaned against an oak trunk back home.

“Except … things are not all well in Fairyland, are they? The witches’ brothers are dead, and they’ve no Spoons, and your wings are all chained and sore—don’t say they aren’t, Ell. I can see where they’ve rubbed the skin away. And can I call you Ell? A-Through-L is so very many syllables. Things are not right here, and I haven’t even seen a proper Fairy at all, with glittering wings and little dresses. Just sad folk and no food. And that’s more than I’ve said to anyone in forever, even the Green Wind. I do wish he had been allowed to come with me. I believe I am sick to death of hearing what is and is not allowed. What is the purpose of a Fairyland if everything lovely is outlawed, just like in the real world?”

“How poor you are, September. You make my heart groan. I know about Homesickness. It begins with H. What will you do?”

September sniffed and straightened up. She was not one to feel sorry for herself for long. “Mainly, I am going to Pandemonium, to steal the Spoon that belongs to the witch Goodbye, so that she can cook up the future again and not feel so sad.”

A-Through-L sucked in his breath. “That’s the Marquess’s Spoon,” he whispered.

“I don’t care if it is! What a dreadful person the Marquess must be, with her ugly chains and her bow and her silly hat! I shan’t feel at all bad about stealing from her!”

The Wyverary drew his huge foot back and settled down on his haunches just exactly like a cat, so that his face was on a level with September’s. She saw now that his eyes were kindly, not fearsome at all—and a beautiful shade of orange.

“I am going to the City myself, human girl. After my mother was widowed, my siblings and I went each our separate ways: M-Through-S to be a governess, T-Through-Z to be a soldier, and I to seek our old grandfather—the Municipal Library of Fairyland, which owns all the books in all the world. I hope that he will accept me and love me as a grandson and teach me to be a librarian, for every creature must know a trade. I know I have bad qualities that stand against me—a fiery breath being chief among these—but I am a good beast, and I enjoy alphabetizing, and perhaps, I may get some credit for following in the family business.” The Wyverary pursed his great lips. “Perhaps we might travel together for a little while? Those beasts with unreliable fathers must stick together after all. And I may be a good deal of help in the arena of Locating Suppers.”

“Oh, I would like that, Ell,” said September happily. She did not like to travel alone, and she missed the Leopard and her Green Wind fiercely. “Let us go now, before the sun gets low again. It is cold in Fairyland at night.”