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

“They forget, chickie. They’ll all forget.”

“No they won’t! They’ll whisper, ‘That Penny, she’s naughty and nasty!’”

“Penny, you don’t have to do a thing,” said Saturday gently, who knew a thing or two about whipping.

“But Saturday, we’ve so little time…”

Saturday looked at September for a moment, his expression, as always, unreadable. Then he leaned over and rubbed his cheek against her forehead just as she had done to him. The Marid got up and walked away from the fire into the dark and wavering grass and the volerie of snorting, spinning velocipedes.

“Is he yours, then?” Calpurnia asked, draining her wooden flask with relish. She spat into her goggles and rubbed them clean with her fingers.

“Mine? No, he’s his own.”

Calpurnia grunted doubtfully and squinted at the dark.

“Miss Farthing, may I ask you a question?”

“How can I deny such a nicely wrapped request?”

“Are you helping us because you want to? Because you like us, because you’re friendly and good-hearted? Or because the Marquess wants you to be nice? Because she’ll greenlist you if you’re not?”

Calpurnia Farthing looked long and deep into September’s eyes. She felt as though she was naked again, as she had been in the bath house. The Fairy’s golden gaze seemed heavy and hot.

“What makes you think I’m not already greenlisted, girl? Do you think taking a changeling out of the orchestra comes at no price at all?” She tugged on the flaps of her hat. “If it will make you feel better, I can lead you to a pit in the forest or steal your breath or whatever it is I might—and I’m not admitting to anything—have done in my profligate youth. These days, I have my highwheels and my girl to look after. Hardly time to go spoiling the barley for beer. Maybe when I retire, I’ll go back to it. But if it pleases the Marquess to think that her hoofing list is all that’s keeping me in my place, then let her think it. Mainly, I’ll help you because lost little human girls are a hobby of mine.” Penny snuggled up to Calpurnia and laid her head on her lap. The Fairy woman stroked her changeling’s matted hair. September smiled. She liked them. She felt safe with them near.

Out of the dark, Saturday returned amid much grinding and crushing noises, leading two huge highwheels behind him. They rolled along docilely, each leaning in to nuzzle the other’s handlebars occasionally.

“They’ll take us as fast as they can—faster, even,” said Saturday firmly. “They’re ready to go home, they don’t want to wait. They’ll leave right now if we want. They’ve drunk their fill.”

“Hey! Only I talk to them!” said Penny, hands on her little hips.

Saturday shook his head and crouched next to her, his wild blue hair catching the firelight and blazing orange. “There’s not a creature living that doesn’t have wishes, Penny. And I can always hear wishing, even the very quietest kind.” The Marid stood up. “No whipping,” he said softly, almost embarrassed. “Not ever. Not even if the whipping would make them do your will as fast as blinking. Especially if.”

Calpurnia Farthing held out her hand. Saturday shook it, thought better, and then kissed it in a very courtly way. “I said I didn’t like to whip anyone. They’d have forgiven me. Probably not you, but me, they would have loved again.”

“I know,” whispered Saturday.

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Calpurnia slapped her thigh. “Let’s be off then. I’ll see you to the edge of the equinox. Leastaways I can do, for such raw wheelers as you and yours.”

Into the silver-spangled night, two great bicycles rolled silently, bearing them all into the dark, so swift the moon never saw them go. A-Through-L ran beside them, his tongue clamped between his teeth, willing his legs to pump faster.

“Calpurnia,” said September, when they had left the last ruddy light of the campfire behind them, “I thought Fairies danced in reels together and had big families.”

“Ayup, we do.”

“Then why are you alone? And Charlie Crunchcrab, too? Where has everyone gone?”

Calpurnia turned her face away. Her wings fluttered weakly under their iron chain, and September could see where red hives had boiled up under the metal. It’s the iron, she thought, Fairies are allergic.

When Calpurnia Farthing, Queen of the Velocipedes, looked out across the flats again, her face was streaked with silent, stubborn tears.

CHAPTER XI

THE SATRAP OF AUTUMN

In Which September Finally Eats Fairy Food, Very Nearly Matriculates, and Discovers the Nature of Autumn