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

“On with it,” gruffed the ferryman, waggling his caterpillary eyebrows and scooping up the gems.

The Wyverary gave one giant leap and settled gracefully on the top level of the great black ferry. September walked with her head straight, up the plank and around the spiral staircase to join him. Perhaps it was Lye’s bath, but she felt quite bold and intrepid and, having paid her own way, quite grown-up. This inevitably leads to disastrous decisions, but September could not know that, not then when the sun was so very bright and the river so blue. Let us allow her these new, strange pleasures.

No?

Very well, but I have tried to be a generous narrator and care for my girl as best I can. I cannot help that readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.

Chaise longues in blue and gold dotted the sunny deck of the ferry. Lithe blue women and great pale trolls lay out, bathing in the light. A-Through-L snorted happily along with the creaking and groaning sounds of the ferry uncoupling from the pier.

“Isn’t it lovely to be on our way,” he said, sighing, “to be near the City? The great City, where everyone has some hope of becoming marvelous!”

September did not answer. A shadow fell over her as she thought of how often she had heard older girls in her school bathrooms talk about how they would go one day to a place called Los Angeles and be stars, be beautiful and rich, marry the men from the movies. A few said they might chuck California and go to New York, where they would also be beautiful and rich, but instead of movie stars, they would be dancers and photographers’ models and marry great writers. September had been dubious. She had not wanted to go to either city. They seemed awful and huge and too crammed with marriageable men. She did not want to think that Pandemonium could be like that. She did not want Fairyland to be full of older girls who wanted to be stars.

“Look sharp, girl,” grumbled the ferryman, who had come up to take his place at the pole. He did not take it up, however, and yet the ferry sailed smoothly through the water. He just leaned against it and squinted at the distant City. “Small’ns who daydream are like to fall off, and you’dn’t want that.”

“I can swim,” said September with mild indignation, recalling her adventure in the ocean.

“Sure, and you can. But the Glashtyn have run of the Barleybroom, and they swim better.”

September wanted to ask about the Glashtyn, but her mouth ran away from her.

“Are you a Fairy, Sir?”

The ferryman gave her a withering look.

“Well, I mean, I think you are one, but I’d rather ask. I wouldn’t like someone to assume I’m something I’m not! And what I mean to say is, if you are a Fairy, then could you tell me what a Fairy is, taxonomically speaking, and why you’re the only one I’ve seen?” September was glad for her pronunciation of taxonomically, which she had had as a spelling word not terribly far back.

“Scientifick’ly speaking, a Fairy—what I am—is not much different’n a human. Your lot evolved from monkeys. We evolved … well, it’s not talked on in polite circles, but there never was a polite circle with a human in it. Fairies started out as frogs. Amphibianderous, right? Well, being frogs was no kind of fun, so we went about and stole better bits—wings from dragonflies and faces from people and hearts from birds and horns from various goats and antelope-ish things and souls from ifrits and tails from cows—and we evolved over a million million minutes, just like you.”

“I … I don’t think that’s how evolution works…,” said September softly.

“Oh? Your name Charlie Darwin all sudden-true?”

“No, it’s just—”

“It’s Survival of Them Who’s Best at Nicking Things, girl!”

“I mean to say, humans didn’t evolve like that—”

“That’s your trouble, then. Don’t you go striping my facts with your daft babbling. I say, let them as wants to evolve do it and soak the rest. As for why we’re not exactly thick on the ground, that’s none of yours, and I’ll thank you not to pry into family business.” The ferryman fished a corncob pipe out of his pocket and snapped his fingers. Smoke began to trail out of the basket, smelling mostly like a wet cornfield. “’Course, if you want to keep evolving your own self, I’d advise you get stowing away down below.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m not supposed to say. Whole point is your’n don’t know what day the tithe comes calling.” The ferryman winked, his eyes twinkling with a sudden dim glee, rather more like September expected from a Fairy. “Now, look there,” he said with a grin. “I’ve gone and spilt it.”

September might well have run, but she could not abandon her scaley red friend and, despite being quite able to use the word taxonomically in a sentence, was somewhat fuzzy on the meaning of tithe. Thus it was that September was caught with her mouth hanging open when the ferry ground splashily to a halt in the middle of the roaring river.

“Told you, but ears like a cow you’ve got,” sighed the ferryman, and stuck his pole to meet the six tall men climbing six ropes, pirate-like, over the top of the deck.

Each of the men stood naked but for silver gauntlets and greaves and had black regal horse’s heads where their human heads ought to have been. The leader, a big brass ring in his silky nose as if he were a bull, called out in a deep echoing voice, “Charlie Crunchcrab, the Glashtyn come to claim our tithe by Law and Right of Fair Trade!”

“I hear ya, old nag,” grumbled the ferryman. “Not so dense as all that. Got the summons this morning and everything. Needn’t be so formal.”

The Fairy folk gathered on the top deck and quailed and clung together in silent terror. They stared fixedly at the floor, trying desperately not to look the horse-men in the eye. September looked across the throng at Ell, who shook his great head and tried to hunker down and become, improbably, invisible.

“Bring the children up!” bellowed one of the horse-men.

Rough hands grabbed September’s arms and dragged her, along with dozens of other small ones, to stand before the Glashtyn, whose eyes flashed blue-and-green fire. September looked down and saw the little Pooka girl beside her, trembling, her jackal-ears appearing and disappearing nervously. Septem