Do Queens even knock at all? September supposed they didn’t. All doors were open to a Queen. All doors belonged to the Queen. And besides, this was her house now. She shouldn’t be any more fearful of it than of her own bedroom door. But she had not ruled for a solid week yet. Not even a solid day. But surely some exceptions must be made for the current monarch? In the end, though her manners shuddered and hid behind her heart, September turned the knob and entered the drawing room without announcing herself in the least.
She half expected the Once and Future Club to be as crowded and noisy as the grand hall had been, with Kings and Queens hanging out of every window and dueling over dessert. But a pleasant, hushed, and half-empty room greeted her instead. Several lounge chairs and sofas had been hauled in from other parts of the Briary, for a Tyrannosaur has little need of footstools and tastefully plush pillows. Dinosaurs do, however, have great need of high ceilings and room to thrash a tail about. September could hardly see the chandelier; it hung so far up in the shadowy rafters that it looked like a distant moon. Someone had set up a slapdash bar on one end of the enormous parlor. Fringed lamps made little pools of soft, friendly light here and there, polished end tables hoisted drinks and sweets, and there was even a hastily hung portrait over the fireplace, slightly skew in its heavy silver frame. September recognized it—the portrait of Queen Mallow she had seen in the grand hall the first time she had ever set foot in the Briary. Only someone had painted Fairy wings onto her and pasted antlers cut out of another portrait onto her golden hair. The whole place looked like an illustration from an old detective novel involving men who smoked elaborate pipes.
September recognized several club members: There sat Madame Tanaquill, smoking a cigar in a black leather armchair, her iron dress swapped out for a graceful gown the color of lime juice. She turned and whispered something to old Charlie Crunchcrab, who’d dug up his old Ferryman’s peacoat and shoved his wings through it once more. He glared at September, but neither of them said a word to her. Hushnow, the Ancient and Demented Raven Lord, preened on a mahogany perch. The Headmistress bustled about, clearing glasses and plates, her stern cobalt dress still buttoned all the way up to her throat. Pinecrack, the Moose-Khan, drank from an elegant copper soaking tub full of mulled wine while Cutty Soames, Captain of the Coblynows, straightened his cravat in a long mirror. Curdleblood, the Dastard of Darkness, stoked the fire with a long, cruel-looking poker. Thrum, their host, the Rex Tyrannosaur, stood gallantly by the fireplace, his teeth and green scales glinting in the ruddy light. He was deep in conversation with a large panther.
“Iago!” September exclaimed, louder than she meant to.
The panther turned toward her and purred. He padded across the floor of the Once and Future Club. The Rex Tyrannosaur looked much insulted, and went to fetch ice.
“Hullo, September,” rumbled Iago, the Panther of Rough Storms. He jostled her shoulder with his great dark head. “I presume you know everyone?”
September wanted to hug him, but she was not sure it would come out right. You never could be sure, with Iago. “But you’ve never ruled Fairyland. How can you be a member?”
“Cats go where they like. Besides, I was thinking of racing myself on Thursday. I do love a good lope. I like to get a good whiff of my competition before I commit to anything.”
“You? You want to be King of Fairyland? I thought you belonged to the Marquess.”
“I belong to no one. I let her stroke me when I was in the mood for scheming. I carried the Red Wind when I wanted to stretch my legs. I hunted cloud-mice and pounced upon lightning bolts and enjoyed my own company when I couldn’t stand either of them. A cat’s love gets bored easily. But we are naturally suited to leadership. Most people obey us without even having to be hissed at. Would you like a drink?”
“HELLO,” said the First Stone, who had installed himself behind the bar, fixing drinks with more grace than you might think a boulder could muster.
However, few seemed interested in his concoctions. The First Stone pushed a brandy snifter at September. She peered inside. Water so cold it had begun to turn to ice at the edges, ancient gray moss, several small fern and snail fossils, and a half-burnt stick still smoking at the tip. The First Stone beamed at her with his rough half-hewn face, clearly feeling that he had given her a great gift worthy of a Queen. Perhaps these had been the most precious things in the world once upon a time, in the primeval age before even dinosaurs: water, the first baby plants and animals, fire. But Madame Tanaquill and Cutty Soames clearly preferred brandy in their brandy snifters. September sipped it politely.
“Mmmm!” she said, even though it tasted mostly like very wet dirt and unfathomable secrets from before the invention of dreams. The First Stone beamed even more broadly.
“So you’re her,” said the Headmistress, eyeing September appraisingly. “I am the Headmistress. I reigned eleven centuries ago, before I was deposed by the bint with the cigar over there. I was very good at it—I am sure I would have much to teach you.”
“Oh yes, terribly good,” cooed Madame Tanaquill, seeming to take notice of September for the first time. “Go right ahead. Teach little September all about the Caged Wood.” The Prime Minister of Fairyland glided across the drawing room to September’s side. Her lime-juice gown trailed invitingly behind her; her violet hair floated round her head in a delicate bob. She draped one long arm around September’s shoulders. “My friend here put each and every Fairy into an iron cage and hung us up on the boughs of a babbling baobab forest. She left us there for a hundred years with only the kindness of crows to feed us—and crows are vicious little cretins, you know.”
“Oy!” squawked Hushnow, the Ancient and Demented Raven Lord. “I’m right here!”
“Fairies were rather shy and curious creatures before she got ahold of us,” Madame Tanaquill continued, ignoring Hushnow entirely. “A hundred years of listening to babbling baobabs and begging crumbs from crows will drive even a doctor mad.”
“Now, that’s a lie,” snorted Pinecrack, the Moose-Khan. “How do you fit such a big lie in your mouth, Tansy? She put you in cages because you and yours couldn’t stop stealing the wings off a dragonfly’s back and the horns off a goat and the tusks off an elephant! Let me tell you, kid, tusks looked a thousand kinds of stupid glued to frogs.”
“How dare you,” Tanaquill hissed. “How dare you call me a frog? You’re nothing but a ruined horse.”
And the Prime Minister of Fairyland flicked her fingers at Pinecrack. A sizzle of ultraviolet bubbles snapped, popped—and the Moose-Khan’s antlers turned to ash
, falling from his head and into his bathtub of wine in a fine gray spray. Thrum roared in reptile rage.
“Lovely. Lovely behavior. Ever been bitten by a moose? I know how you like new experiences.” Pinecrack turned on her, his eyes gone molten blue with hatred and rage.
“Put them back or you’ll have my cutlass for a spine,” snarled Cutty Soames, who had crept up on her, even in a pair of marvelous high-heeled boots covered in shells and jewels. September had seen him moving on Tanaquill, but had kept her mouth shut.
“Come now,” sighed Curdleblood, tamping a long black pipe. “This is unworthy. One does not behave this way in a gentlemen’s club. We agreed to refrain from magic and other weapons while the club is in session. I know some of us are very cranky, having only recently come back from the dead, but reanimation is no excuse. Tanaquill, put his antlers back. September, good evening. I’m pleased you accepted our invitation. Welcome to the Society of Tyrants.”
“I’m not a tyrant,” protested September.
Madame Tanaquill smirked. “Only because you don’t know how yet.” She flicked her fingers again and two bony nubs appeared at Pinecrack’s temples, growing quickly into new antlers. It did not look like a comfortable process.
“I’m not a tyrant because I don’t want to be a tyrant.”
“Who wants to be a tyrant?” asked the Headmistress, sipping a glass of champagne. “I certainly didn’t. Did you, Hushnow? You, Cutty? No? And yet—Hushnow stole the sun and held it hostage. Cutty Soames stole the three most precious things from every house in Fairyland. Yes, the Headmistress put all the Fairies in cages—but Pinecrack outlawed magic except for those in the Cervidae family—that’s anybody who’s part deer, love. Hushnow forced all of Fairyland to grow wings whether they liked it or not, Thrum ordered anyone herbivorous to present themselves at the palace every morning for convenient devouring. And I expect you know about Madame Tanaquill already. Even our quiet friend Mr. Q. Humdrum there cast a terrible spell so that everyone could only repeat the day he came to power over and over, so that nothing would ever change and he would never have to suffer surprise. And yes, me too. Fairyland was such a disorderly place when I deposed the Happiest Princess and ascended the throne. I had to make it better. I had to make it right. You see, sweetheart, nobody wakes up in the morning and thinks: Today I shall be a wicked murderous tyrant and crush something nice under my boot. It just happens to you. Like catching a cold. It starts the first time someone says no to you and goes on and on until everyone is saying no and saying it so loud you can’t sleep for the din.”
“What about him?” September asked, pointing at the First Stone, who had just finished adjusting a paper umbrella on a goblet of mud.
“The Stone?” the Headmistress asked, nonplussed.