by A. C. Salter
“I’m not sure,” he replied, absently stroking the bird’s head. “I’m learning as I go along.”
That statement sounded odd, even to himself. But he couldn’t find the words to describe how it was he knew what he was doing. It was as if his subconscious was doing the work, but because it wasn’t communicating with his wakeful mind, he had no inkling as to what to do next. His actions were fully instinctual.
A few moments later and the fairies returned with the items he had asked for.
Taking the sugar-grain spoon, he bent the end and tied the thread to the handle.
“Can you hold his beak open?” he asked Jambilee.
She did as he asked, wedging her forearm inside. Her nose wrinkling as she watched him push the spoon down the back of the finch’s throat, followed by his arm.
Good boy, he soothed as he probed deeper, his limb so far down that his shoulder was wedged in tight.
Almost there, keep sleeping...
The spoon hit something solid and he worked it around the back of the blockage, sharing the pain with the bird as the edge of the cutlery scraped the delicate wall of the stomach.
Nearly done, stay still.
The spoon slipped behind and he worked the object out, sliding his hand this way and that to tease it along the soft membrane.
As his arm emerged from the throat, the finch’s reflexes kicked in and it gagged, almost swallowing the foreign body once again. He yanked his arm free as the beak snapped shut and the bird began to cough.
“Is it done?” Jambilee asked, the eager glances of the others gathering closer.
Dylap held up the object in his palm. A large stone, slick with mucus and bile.
“It’s done. As long as he drinks, he’ll be fine.”
“Incredible,” Jambilee said, and surprised him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him close. “Simply incredible.”
He felt a moment’s awkwardness as he pulled himself away, the onlookers staring in admiration, several of them clapping. One was about to shake his hand until he saw the stone he held and turned it into a friendly tap on the arm.
Unused to the attention, Dylap felt his cheeks flush as he touched the finch. The moment he did, he got an overwhelming sensation of gratitude from the bird. Smiling to himself, he told the finch to drink. He felt its thirst and a new-found desire to live.
“Are there any others that have afflictions?” Dylap asked, feeling an immense sense of wellbeing at helping.
“Not at the moment,” Jambilee replied as she led him away from the crowd. “But I expect by the time the word has gotten around Farro that a bird-soother has returned to the city, there will be more than a few of the higher-class bringing their mounts for you to inspect. But before you get too busy, might I suggest you take that deboon and visit the tailors.”
“I will,” replied Dylap, eager to begin the journey through the trees.
“Take Noggin,” Jambilee continued, nodding towards the pin-bush squirrel who was busy preening itself outside the hole he was tied to. “And buy something hard-wearing. If you’re to begin flying lessons you’ll need leather. I’ll report to Master Sabesto and tell him about the finch.”
Dylap waved farewell to Jambilee as she flew towards the Master House, leaving him with the squirrel.
Noggin, sniffed the air excitedly as Dylap approached. Sitting back on his haunches, his tongue flicked out between huge front teeth and licked him up the entire side of his face.
“Thanks,” Dylap chuckled as he wiped the dampness away and tickled the squirrel behind the ear. “We’re going to the tailors, but first we need to pick up a friend from the Aviary.”
Noggin dropped to his belly, allowing Dylap to climb onto the saddle. He gathered up the reins as the squirrel began to hop with excitement. The large rodent appearing as giddy as he was the first time he had ridden him.
Hoping that he was doing it right, he pulled one side of the leather reins to the left, aiming Noggin’s head at the Aviary platform and gently pressed his knees into his flanks.
Instantly, the squirrel darted forward, hopping along the branch and bounding across the huge gap of nothingness between the two tall reds. Dylap tried to lean with Noggin, the advice given by Jambilee the last time he had ridden him, yet the force of the jump had him holding on for fear of falling.
He let out the breath he had been holding when Noggin’s paws struck the platform of the Aviary. They skipped over the pieces of broken bridge and darted along the gutting branch until they reached a small group of fairies.
They parted as he pushed through them, Ebbin grinning up at him while Spoffle and his crew glared.
“I’m going to the tailors, but need a partner to go with,” Dylap explained, nodding towards Ebbin.
“Tailors? You?” Spoffle snapped, shoving Noggin’s head aside as he sniffed at his jerkin, the reek of worm gut emanating from his spoilt clothes. “You’re not going to the tailors. You can take this stupid creature back to the Taming Tree and then…”
“No, Spoffle, I am now part of the Taming Tree,” Dylap cut in, feeling his temper rising as he guided Noggin closer to the head boy and forcing him to step back. “And although I don’t outrank you, you no longer have authority over me.” He held Spoffle’s gaze, watching him struggle for something to say. Then turned his attention to his friend.
“Ebbin, climb up, I must still go to the tailor with a companion. As the master said, we must travel in pairs.”
Grinning, Ebbin climbed up behind Dylap and gripped onto the squirrel’s fur.
“But…You can’t have gone to the Taming Tree,” Spoffle spluttered, having finally gained control of his mouth. “I’m supposed to go. I was next in line. Not some freak from the Twine who hasn’t even got wings - who can’t even fly.”
Dylap turned Noggin around, his pin-bush tail whipping out as he did so, knocking Spoffle onto his rump.
“I don’t need wings to fly,” Dylap said, enjoying the anguish burning in Spoffle’s face. “Jambilee will be training me to fly the birds.”
“But…”
The rest of Spoffle’s words were lost amongst the clattering of Noggin’s paws as they skittered away. The squirrel choosing a direct path vertically down the trunk.
“Is that true?” Ebbin asked as his grip tightened.
“Yeah, it was Master Sabesto’s choice. I’m a bird-soother.”
He heard Ebbin laugh for a moment before quieting down. “Truly? You’re a bird-soother?”
Dylap nodded. “I only found that out at the same time as everyone else. I didn’t know I could calm that crazed bird.”
“Amazing,” Ebbin proclaimed. “I guess you’ll be leaving the Aviary now.”
“Not fully, there aren’t any spare beds or hammocks,” Dylap explained. He had already had that conversation with Jambilee as she sorted him a place to sleep. Although the Taming Tree had more space for training, it had fewer chambers, as there were fewer fairies who worked there. “I’ll be staying in the nook for the foreseeable future.” It was something he didn’t mind. He had grown fond of the cosy little space behind the ivy. It felt like home.
Noggin reached the hollow tree and the halo lift, but instead of waiting for the contraption to rise, he simply leapt out in the open and let gravity guide them in the only direction it pulled - down.
Dylap leaned back, fingers going numb as he squeezed the reins for all they were worth, yet he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He felt a thrill pulse through him as the world opened up. The canopy stretching as far as he could see, a lush green sea glimmering in the sun. It was beautiful.
Ebbin whooped with joy as they crashed through the upper leaves and small branches. Noggin easily picking out the stronger boughs that would hold their weight, his legs making light work as they descended into the city.
“That put Spoffle in his place,” Ebbin said as they skipped along a branch and hopped onto another limb. “I don’t think he’ll take it so well though.�
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“I agree,” Dylap replied, having to talk in sporadic bursts as the motion of the squirrel made it hard to speak. “But his face was priceless.”
They were both still laughing as Noggin scurried down an old oak and darted over the gnarly remains of a charred tree, riding into part of the city Dylap hadn’t been in before. Its vastness reminding him how big Farro was.
“That’s the Shroom Tree,” Ebbin pointed out as they leapt around a colourful shrub which stretched as high as an elm. Bright violet flowers nestled between the many mushrooms and toadstools that wove their way around the spongy trunk to the top. Fairies in equally colourful clothes were busy preening and feeding the delicate flowers. Some of them singing a merry song to themselves as they worked.
“They are the moonflower fairies,” Ebbin explained. “They’re maintaining the moonflowers in order to keep the city’s barrier functioning. It’s an important job, although they are as dotty as the shrooms they work with.”
Dylap watched as one of them raised a large staff over a flowerhead, a purple haze falling from a gem at the top of the wooden shaft. It rained across the petals and they began to peel open to reveal a silver centre. It was as round and as bright as a full moon.
He wanted to see more but Noggin began to ascend around a birch, replacing the view with flaking bark. From the birch, they scurried along a row of shops and a tavern before coming to another elm. A thick limb supported lines of string which spanned across to the trunk. Clothes hung from the line on pegs, swaying with the tree as it rocked with the rest of the city. Robes, britches, cloaks, jerkins – there was a hundred different types in all sizes and colours.
Above the double door entrance was a board: ‘Tangilup Tailors of fine silks, leathers and workwear’.
“I don’t know how much you have to spend, but the better things are inside,” Ebbin said as they climbed down from the squirrel.
Dylap tied the reins to a post beside an overweight humming bird which snored, wheezing with every intake of breath.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he told Noggin, stroking him behind the ear.
A bell rang as they opened the door to reveal a polished chamber, rolls of materials lining the walls and a wooden dummy at its centre; partly sewn cuts decorating the body. A rosy-cheeked fae looked up from behind the counter. Eyes narrowing as she took in the pair of them. Her gaze lingering on Dylap’s back before she addressed Ebbin.
“I have nothing to be collected for the Aviary,” she said coldly, blue wings rippling to reveal a purple smudging on the tips.
“We’re not here for collection, Mrs Tangilup. Dylap is here to purchase clothes,” Ebbin said as he motioned for Dylap to step forward.
Mrs Tangilup shivered as if touched by an icy chill, her jowls shaking as she forced her gaze away.
“Has he coin?” she asked, addressing Ebbin. “If he has, he’ll find the cheapest rough spun on the bottom line. If it doesn’t fit then he’ll have to make do. I’ll not waste my time spinning new for a miserly growt.”
Dylap pulled the deboon from his pocket and flicked it in the air before catching it again. Watching her greedy eyes follow the coin back into his pocket.
“Shame,” Dylap said as he turned to leave. “Isn’t there another tailor back towards the market?” he asked Ebbin, winking so only his friend could see.
“Yes, there’s that one or we could try the Farro fashion in the high-class row near the Palace. They will have clothes fit for a bird-soother.”
“Bird-soother? No wait, please,” Mrs Tangilup spluttered as she came around from the counter. “Sorry,” she continued as she wafted a fan in front of her reddening cheeks. “My mistake…Sir. Please forgive me.”
Dylap bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He was about to reply when another fairy appeared from the other side of the counter. He was equally as large as Mrs Tangilup, a handkerchief dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.
“Hatty dear, have you heard?” he blurted out, ignoring Ebbin and himself. He leaned against the dummy as he regained his breath. “There is bird-soother in the Aviary – well the Taming Tree. And you’ll never guess who it is…”
“Edmun,” Mrs Tangilup hissed, offering Dylap an apologetic smile.
“It’s the Dylap. That wretch they dragged from the Twine. I heard it from Mr Pintingle who heard it from the gem collector who had been there to see him calm a finch.”
“Edmun Tangilup, will you hush your mouth.”
The frown on Edmun’s brow deepened as his bulbous eyes swivelled around to Dylap. They fell from his face to the spines on his back and almost popped out of their sockets.
“My apologies, Sir,” he said, bowing low before retreating from the room under the hostile glare of his wife.
When he had gone, Mrs Tangilup regained her composure and produced a tape measure.
“What will Sir want?” she asked, her voice full of sweetness.
The question had caught him off-guard. He hadn’t expected to be asked what he wanted, instead of selecting from what there was.
“I require something that’s hard-wearing and wind-resistant,” he said, remembering that he was to begin flying lessons soon. “Perhaps mouse leather.”
“Very good Sir,” she said, then raising her chin she shouted into the back. “Spit? Bring me the mouse leather samples.”
“Yes, Mistress,” replied a meek voice.
Dylap and Ebbin exchanged a glance as Elaya appeared from around the counter, sheets of leather draped over her arm. Her gaze was cast on the ground as she briefly curtsied and held out the material.
“We’ve southern pink tail,” Mrs Tangilup said, pointing to a pale skin, “Light, soft but not so hardy against the elements. Or there’s weasel water mouse – extremely strong and water resistant but is rather weighty. Then there’s the common forest mouse,” she gestured towards the same grey as what Edvin wore, “a good allrounder, supple and tactile. We can give you a good price on that.”
It was the sensible choice. The one he would have chosen if it wasn’t for the fact that it was what Edvin wore. He couldn’t wear the same.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a dark-coloured pelt that lay almost hidden beneath the rest.
“That’s not mouse leather,” she explained, “I don’t know why the wretched girl brought it out.”
Dylap spared Elaya a glance but she remained statue-still, as if the condescending words were simply part of the job.
“I didn’t ask what is was not,” Dylap replied, tersely, wanting to defend Elaya. “I asked what is was.”
“Sorry, Sir, it’s bush rat leather, for the city guard and the night watch uniforms. Only it’s too dark. Not as fine or as handsome as the mouse…”
“How much?” Dylap asked, rubbing his finger and thumb over the thick material.
“It’s not for sale, Sir. Perhaps you would like to see…”
“Why not?”
Mrs Tangilup screwed her nose up. “Because it isn’t fit to be tailored. Too dark for the uniforms and nobody would buy bush rat to wear around the city.”
“I’ll buy it,” Dylap said. “I trust you have enough of it to make two sets of jerkins and britches.”
“I do, but the leather is practically worthless. And it wouldn’t seem proper, a fairy of your stature wearing something so…” She scratched her head as she sought the right words. “Lowly.”
“This morning, I was as lowly as the ground-dwellers. A creature that the fae of this city would cringe away from. Master Sabesto may have given me the title of bird-soother and a place in the Taming Tree, but I am still that same creature – and whether I wear southern pink tail or bush rat, it won’t change who I am.”
He stared at Mrs Tangilup as she bit her lower lip, her many chins wobbling as she nodded.
“Very well, Sir. Bush rat you will have, but it will be at the same price as the common mouse leather. It’s thick and hard to work with so will take twice as long.”
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nbsp; “Of course,” Dylap replied.
“And gloves,” Ebbin cut in.
“And gloves,” Dylap repeated. “And a cloak with a hood, oh, and strong boots.”
“Very good sir,” Mrs Tangilup said, sounding as if it was as far from good as it would go. She ushered Elaya out of her way as she produced a tape measure. “I’ll need your sizes, Sir.”
Dylap held his arms out, allowing the large fairy to take his measurements. After his arms, she held the tape around his waist, the length of his legs, both inner and outer and was about to measure the base of the wings where the spines grew from his back, but paused. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but guessed that she was having problems sizing the wing slits without touching his spines. He could almost feel her disgust.
“Spit?” the tailor hissed after muttering to herself.
Elaya placed the swatches of leather on the counter and took the measuring tape from her mistress.
“Make sure you double check the length of the base,” she ordered as she paced from the room, snatching up the bush rat cloth as she went. “And be quick about it.”
Elaya approached timidly, taking small steps until she came level with his shoulder. Dylap offered her a smile.
“It’s alright, Elaya, I won’t sting you.”
“Shush,” she whispered, casting a glance over the counter and at the door Mrs Tangilup had gone through. “I mustn’t be heard speaking.”
“I didn’t have chance to thank you for the soap you gave me,” Dylap said, matching her whisper. “And why are you working here? I thought you cleaned clothes. No wonder you never returned to the pool.”
“The pool? Have you been looking for me?” she asked, dropping her face beneath her muddy brown hair so only her eyes stared out.
“Not looking, but possibly hoping I might bump into you again.”
She disappeared behind his back before he had chance to read her reaction.
“This is Ebbin,” he explained as he felt her hands press into his back, showing no fear whatsoever.
Ebbin jovially bowed, “How do you do?”
“I’d do a lot better if you wouldn’t talk to me,” she whispered as she pushed his spines aside to measure the other side of the base.