“We’ve even a free space on the squash team! How fortunate!” cried Rubedo, clapping his ruddy hands.
“September!” wailed Saturday, tugging at her sleeve. Finally, she turned to him, flustered by all the yelling.
“What?” she said, shaken.
“Your hair is turning red,” Saturday said softly
, embarrassed to have all the attention suddenly on him.
September looked down at her long, dark hair. One curl had indeed turned blazing scarlet, terribly bright against the rest of her. She touched it, amazed, and as her fingers brushed the red lock, it broke off and drifted off on an unseen wind, for all the world like an autumn leaf wafting away.
CHAPTER XII
THY MOTHER’S SWORD
In Which September Enters the Worsted Wood, Loses All Her Hair, Meets Her Death, and Sings It to Sleep
“It’s because I ate the food,” sniffed September miserably, hiding her face in the Wyverary’s chest. A-Through-L lay on the leafy ground like a Sphinx, nuzzling her hair with his nose. He stopped that right quick, though as more of it broke off and sailed away into the night.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “We ate it, too!”
“What’s happening to me?” September wept.
Her hair shone, bright red, curling up at the edges in pretty shapes. She had already lost much of it. The spriggans looked discomfited but they tried to be cheery.
“I think it’s rather nice!” chirped Doctor Fallow. “An improvement, I declare!”
“You do match me, now,” said Ell, trying to be helpful and optimistic.
September rolled back the sleeve of the green smoking jacket, which was terribly chagrined and tried to keep covering her to protect her, but in the end, she wrestled the sleeve up to her elbow and waved her hand for the doctor to see. The skin there, once the same warm brown as her father’s, had gone hoary and rough, tinged with gray and green, like bark.
“Is this an improvement?” she cried.
“Well, this sort of thing happens. We must be adaptable. Autumn is the kingdom where everything changes. When you leave, it’ll be all right, probably. If you haven’t put down roots yet.”
“Still, about my syllabus…,” insisted Rubedo. Citrinitas elbowed him roughly.
September rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands—which had begun to grow a healthy bit of silver moss. “Fine,” she said shortly. “Fine. I shall go now, then, to the woods, and get this awful business over with before I turn into an elm.”
“I think you’re a bit more birch-y,” said Doctor Fallow contemplatively.
“Not helping!” snapped Ell. “You could help if you had some medicine for her in your weird, ugly tower.”
“Medicine’s not our business,” said Citrinitas helplessly. “And besides … change is the blessing of Autumn. She should feel lucky.”
Ell, as September had never seen him do before, spat a lick of fire at her. Not enough to scorch, but enough to singe her hair. Citrinitas yelped and leapt back, batting at her curls. The Wyverary curled closer around September.
“Well, you can’t go with her, so you might as well stop smothering,” huffed Doctor Fallow. “This is strictly a lone-knight situation.”
“Then she isn’t going! I shan’t let her go anywhere without something large and fire-breathing and double smart behind her! Since I don’t see a flaming burp between the three of you, I suggest you leave us alone!”
“Ell, if that’s how it’s done, you can’t bellow it into doing it differently,” sighed September. She stood up and disentangled herself from her friend. Blazing curls of her hair fluttered to the ground.
“I can try!” Ell insisted.
“No, I shall go alone. I always thought I would be going alone. I shall be back presently, I promise. Say you’ll wait for me, you and Saturday, that you won’t go anywhere without me, that when I come out of those woods I shall see a red face and a blue one smiling!”
Ell’s eyes filled with panicked turquoise tears. He promised, his wings jangling his chains fretfully.