Another Dreadful Fairy Book

by Jon Etter

  “Wait—you’re G.L.U.G.ers?” Cuthbert asked, skeptically eyeing the Professor and Ginch.

  “Actually, just the sprite and me,” Ginnie said. “I’m Máire Bowser’s granddaughter, and she’s related to Moonshadow. The others couldn’t make it up here.”

  “Hear that, Fiona?” Cuthbert nudged the banshee, who glowered at them and whispered something none of them could make out. “Mom always said you’d come someday.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Yeah. My mom. Alexandria. Come with me and we’ll get you those books.”

  “Alexandria was your mother?” Shade asked as Cuthbert led them to the tower.

  “Yep. Grew up near the base of the mountain. She and Dad were childhood sweethearts, so when the library fell, she came back here, married Dad, and moved into the old family home. So does this mean it’s safe for books down below again? Fiona and I and the other fairies who live up here don’t get around much.”

  Shade thought of Norwell Drabbury. “They’re mostly safe. Probably as safe as they’ll ever be.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  The ground floor of the Tower of Dred Soulis was one immense circular room with a high, vaulted ceiling and a large, candle-covered chandelier. The walls contained two fireplaces, one clearly for cooking. Arched alcoves where light came in through cracked but very clean windows and bookcases crammed with books filled the walls. Near the cooking fire was a battered dining table on top of which sat several bottles of wine, pots of honey and jam, and platters of tea cakes, blueberry scones, and raspberry tarts. Arranged in front of the other fireplace were worn but comfortable-looking leather chairs and a small sofa on top of a colorful braided rug. In the very center of the room was a spiral staircase. “I’ll just pop upstairs and get the books. Have a little bite to eat if you like. We’re having a few friends over for our monthly—”

  The banshee muttered something to Cuthbert that none of the rest could make out. “What do you mean the Llewellyns aren’t coming?” Fiona muttered again and pointed at Sir Justinian. “He did? Then I guess it’ll just be us and the Bjargmanns, then, which is too bad since Steinn hardly ever finishes the reading.”

  “Say, is-a Steinn the little rock guy?” Ginch asked.

  “Yes. He and his wife, Crystal, are both ellyllon.”

  “Justinian kinda, sorta threatened to kill them too.”

  “Sorry,” Sir Justinian offered, “but it’s a mistake anyone could have made, really.”

  Cuthbert frowned at the troop. “So in addition to attacking me in my own garden, you have scared off every member of my book club except Fiona? Okay, wait here, touch nothing, be nice to my girlfriend, and—” he paused to glare at the Professor, who was stuffing scone after scone into his pocket, “—no snacks! I officially rescind your invitation to snack.”

  Cuthbert’s metal shoes clanged up the steps as the Professor pouted and returned scones from his pants to the tray. The banshee eyed them warily. Everyone stood around in awkward silence.

  “So . . . there’s a really great library at the base of the mountain now,” Shade said. “On the south face. Shaped like a big tree. Lots of books. You can borrow them. Not just you, I mean. Anyone really. But you and Cuthbert should come down sometime. The others too. The Llewellyns and the . . . what was it? The Bergsteinns?”

  Fiona finally muttered something that Shade couldn’t quite make out. “Uh-huh,” Shade replied. “Sure.”

  “What did she say?” Ginnie whispered.

  “No idea,” Shade whispered back.

  “What are you whispering about, good sprite?” Sir Justinian asked in a low voice. “Are we plotting some sort of bold stratagem involving the books?”

  “No.”

  “’Ey, why alla you have the whisper party?” Ginch murmured.

  “We’re not having a whisper party,” Shade muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Then whatta you do?”

  The banshee frowned and mumbled. The Professor smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “’Ey, partner, whatta she say?” Ginch whispered.

  The Professor shrugged.

  The banshee rolled her eyes, then moved all the food to one end of the table and began spreading out the sheet she held. Shade swatted Sir Justinian’s arm. “See! I told you it was a tablecloth!”

  “Here—the rarest, most important books from the Great Library.” Cuthbert shoved a small wooden chest into Sir Justinian’s arms. “Now I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but I’d like you all to leave so I can get cleaned up, and Fiona and I can go calm down our friends and maybe salvage our book club meeting.”

  “Yeah. Get the donkle out, you thistlepricks,” Fiona said, loud and clear enough for everyone to hear. Which they did.

  In which our true enemy is

  revealed . . .

  Once they reached the bottom of the stone stairs, Shade opened the chest. Inside were six books. Two had blank, flaking leather covers barely attached to the yellowed pages coming loose between them. The other four, while old and worn, were in better condition and had writing on their covers: The Fairy Chronicle by Ælfrëd the Pretty Good, The Final Judgment Book compiled by order of Uiliemus the Conqueror, Codex Poetica, and The Muiredach Grimoire.

  Ginch tapped the cover of the grimoire. “I bet-a you this is what the Doochess of the Sighs try to get.”

  “Maybe.” Shade took it from him. “Everybody grab a book and see what’s inside.”

  “This is-a the book of really depressing poetry,” Ginch said after a few minutes. “You gotta read the sad old sailor talking about being sad, the sad old wanderer talking about being sad, the poem about the ruins and how sad they look . . . ”

  “That’s better than mine,” Ginnie sighed. “It’s just a long list of property and who owned it.”

  “Mine is a much more interesting read, my friends,” Sir Justinian said. “’Tis a month-by-month, year-by-year history of Elfame. The beginning is dull—a lot about elections, whatever those are, and laws and trade and the like—but there are some terribly rousing accounts of battles at the end. Still, hardly seems like something worth sacking and burning a library over. How about you, my learned companion?”

  The Professor held up the two untitled works to show their runic language, unknown by everyone.

  “And you, fair sprite?”

  “It’s a book of bibliomancy.” Shade flipped through The Muiredach Grimoire. “There are spells for creating copies of books, repairing bindings, darkening faded ink, banishing bookworms . . . It’s great stuff, but I don’t really see any reason why anyone other than a librarian would want—wait!” Shade stopped flipping. “I think this is it. Listen: ‘Being a Spell So That the Well-Dressed Librarian Need Fear No Iron.’”

  “A spell that makes fairies immune to iron?” Sir Justinian asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Kind of weird wording, but yeah.”

  Ginnie Bowser whistled appreciatively. “I know some villains who’d pay me an arm and a leg—maybe even literally—for that.” The others all glared at her. “I wouldn’t actually sell it to them. Look, I’ve been a fake criminal mastermind for most of my life—these thoughts just come to me, okay?”

  Sir Justinian picked up the book. “I did wonder how our new friend Cuthbert—”

  “I no think he and his ghoul-friend like us,” Ginch interjected.

  “—could wear iron boots. This spell must be the answer. Should this fall into the wrong hands, like those of our enemy Lady Perchta, they who wield it would be nigh unstoppable. This book must be either destroyed—”

  “No.” Shade snatched the book away and clasped it to her chest. “I watched the books I grew up with burn. I’ll be donkled if I ever let another book be destroyed.”

  “Then it must be taken and secured someplace safe.”

  “We’ll take it to the Grand Library.” Shade gathered all of the books and stowed them in her backpack. “I doubt ther
e’s a safer place in the world.”

  •

  For hours, down they climbed, tired but buoyed by the thought that they were almost done. Shade should have been jubilant. She had completed a generations-long family mission. She had found priceless, one-of-a-kind books, lost for more than four hundred seasons, and was bringing them to the Grand Library. And she had kept a powerful weapon out of the hands of her archenemy, Lady Perchta (she still had trouble accepting the fact that a reclusive bookworm like her had an archenemy). Yet her thoughts were troubled. It feels like I’m missing something here, something important, but what?

  Shade hid her qualms from her companions and joined in their pleasant banter as they made their way to the base of Mount Wyrd back to the library tree.

  Their jokes soon fell silent, and their smiles vanished. At the base of the tree stood Grand Scrutinizer Norwell Drabbury, torch in hand, surrounded by a score of assorted fairies—some wearing Seelie Court livery, some in that of the Sluagh, still others sporting red caps—all of them armed and spoiling for a fight. At the front near a smoldering campfire were Trudgemore and Grouse, bronze daggers held to their throats. The air was heavy with a thick, oily stench.

  “Welcome back,” Drabbury called out. “I trust your expedition up Mount Wyrd was productive. No doubt you’ve found some excellent additions to your beloved library.”

  “You mean the long-lost books from the library of Alexandria?” Ginch asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “We no find-a nothing. And I never even hear about the books of Alexandria.” Ginch winked at Shade. She groaned.

  Drabbury smiled a vicious, sharp-toothed smile. “Let us forego the ridiculous charade—”

  The Professor sprang forward, held up three fingers, then one finger, and began to pantomime walking. “Okay, it’s-a the three words,” Ginch said. “First word is-a ‘walk’? ‘Stroll’?”

  “‘Go’?” suggested Ginnie, to which the Professor pointed and nodded. He held up two fingers and began making snatching motions.

  “‘Grab’! ‘Steal’! ‘Get’!” Ginch called out. The Professor nodded and tapped his nose at the last one. “I think I know. Is it ‘Go get-a donkled’?”

  The Professor smiled and shook his hand. “We make-a the good team! Why we once win the Upper Swinetoe senior varsity charade tournament with—”

  “Enough of this nonsense!” Drabbury roared, his eyes burning red behind his dark glasses.

  “’Ey, you’re the one who suggested we play the charades,” Ginch objected.

  “You will hand over the books,” Drabbury demanded, “or we will take them from you after you have watched us kill your friends and burn your beloved library to the ground.”

  “Dost thou think my squire would truly prefer dishonorable surrender to an honorable death?” Sir Justinian scoffed.

  “Actually, I would,” Grouse grumbled. “I really, really would.”

  “Truly?” Sir Justinian looked stunned.

  “I think I’d vote ‘surrender’ too, in case you’re wondering,” Trudgemore said.

  Shade looked to the others. “What do we do? We can’t let him have these books but we can’t let him kill our friends.”

  Just then the door to the library tree opened and Ronnie Bowser walked out with the massive troll Thornburgh and several rough-looking fairies. Ginnie gave a slight nod and wink in her direction, then whispered to the others, “That’s what we do. Attack before they notice that my sister—”

  “It’s doon, boss,” Ronnie said to Drabbury. “Ain’t no blokes goin’ to coom oot o’ there. Now let’s clean oop this mess.”

  “You’re working with Drabbury? You traitor!” Ginnie shouted and charged at her sister. Thornburgh strode forward and swung his massive war club, striking Ginnie squarely in the stomach and sending her flying through the air to crash in front of Shade and the others. She groaned, “Why . . . would you . . . ?”

  Ronnie smirked. “It’s like this, sis. You know how we was playin’ at being villains to protect Gran’s book? Well, I actually like bein’ a villain better than I like babysittin’ a stupid book. So when Drabbury here cooms in an offers to help me get rid of me secretly goody-goody sis and set me oop as head crime boss o’ all Elfame, well, couldn’t say no, could I?”

  “You were the rat that grassed on me in Bilgewater!” Ronnie growled as Sir Justinian helped her up.

  “And you snuck off and told Snorewell Drudgery there when we went to the Hollow Hills and when we came here, didn’t you, blueberry-brain?” Shade pointed an accusatory finger at her.

  Ronnie smiled. “Yez was all supposed to be nicked by the bizzies at the warehouse while I handed over me book at the safe house. Then we tried to grab yez in the hills.”

  “In the end, I realized that it would be much easier for us if we let you do all the work of climbing Mount Wyrd and fetching the books for us.” The bugbear chuckled. “Many thanks.”

  Ginnie stared daggers at her sister. “Gran would be ashamed of you!”

  “You shoot yoor mooth aboot Gran!” Ronnie shouted, her blue face flushing a deep purple. “I’m sick to death o’ hearing aboot bloody Gran! It’s always ‘our Gran’ this and ‘our Gran’ that with you! Gran always did like you best! As far as I’m concerned, Gran can joost—”

  Whatever Ronnie Bowser thought Gran could do was interrupted by the mighty crackle of twin lightning bolts blazing out the door of the library tree, striking several of the fairies in Drabbury’s gang. They fell, twitching and smoking on the ground. Standing in the doorway was a stooped old cowlug in homespun brown clothing wearing two smoking metal gauntlets on his hands. “Oh, that did work well,” he said, seemingly to himself as he looked appraisingly at them. “Precision could be improved a tad . . . ”

  “Poor Richard!” Shade shouted.

  He looked up and smiled. “My dear Shade! I’m happy to report that I made two breakthroughs while you were out. First, these—” Poor Richard paused to blast a couple of goblins and a spriggan who had begun to charge at him. “And then Martinko’s poison: bugbear venom. So as soon as I saw the Grand Scrutinizer and his goons marching through our beloved library, I—”

  “What are you waiting for?” Drabbury roared. “Attack him, you fools!”

  “We must attack as well, my comrades!” Sir Justinian cried, drawing his sword and rushing at Drabbury’s thugs. “Have at thee!”

  Shade, Ginch, and the Professor watched, unsure what to do, as everyone else sprang into action. More lightning bolts blasted from Poor Richard, felling Seelie and Sluagh alike. Trudgemore chomped down hard on the hand of the goblin threatening him and kicked up his back legs, sending a couple of elves flying. Ginnie Bowser gave a mighty shriek and threw herself at the crowd, punching and kicking her way toward her backstabbing sister. Grouse’s reluctant battle training kicked in and he grabbed his captor’s arm and flipped him forward, slamming him to the ground. Sir Justinian laughed and swung his sword in an arc that slashed through the leather armor on two of Drabbury’s goons. They ran screaming away as the flesh that had touched iron sizzled.

  “’Ey! Whatta you know!” Ginch elbowed Shade and pointed as the Professor pulled a bag of popcorn from his coat and began to eat. “I think we’re-a gonna win!”

  But the brownie’s optimism was short-lived as one by one his comrades fell. Grouse ran to grab his iron skillet from beside the campfire but was tackled by a burly dwarf. Goblins swarmed Ginnie and held her in place while Ronnie grasped her sister’s furry collar and delivered a vicious headbutt. Fairies piled onto Trudgemore’s back, weighing him down too much for him to kick, and then a tall wulver grabbed his reins and held a short sword to his neck. As for the brave Sir Justinian, surely in a fair fight he would have prevailed, but this was no fair fight: Spear-wielding elves in Seelie Court livery encircled him, their sharp-tipped weapons holding him at bay. “Cowards and traitors all!” Sir Justinian declared, searching for an opening that did not exi
st.

  That left only Poor Richard. His hands crackled with electricity as he looked for a clear shot that wouldn’t harm any of his friends now in the clutches of their foes. In that moment of hesitation, Thornburgh snatched an ax from a nearby goblin and hurled it at the little cowlug. The ax spun end over end and buried itself in Poor Richard’s chest. The blow lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground. His gauntlets sparked a few times and then fell, seemingly like their owner, dead.

  “No!” Shade screamed. She, Ginch, and the Professor ran to the little cowlug and huddled around his body. His hat was gone; his eyeglasses were cracked and askew. Shade reached out to touch his face but started back when he gave a cough and reached up to fix his glasses.

  “Oh, dear,” he said, studying his gauntlets. “It may take days to fix—”

  “You’re alive!” Shade gasped. “How—?”

  Poor Richard pulled open his jacket. The blade of the ax was buried in the cover of Uncommon Nonsense. “I told you I always keep it close to my heart. In addition to it being a lovely sentiment, I’ve always thought it a wise safety precaution to keep a nearly indestructible book in front of my internal organs.”

  “And now to make sure we have no other unnecessary interruptions . . . ” Drabbury roared, then threw his torch at the library tree. There was a blinding flash of light and a blast of intense heat. Shade rubbed at her eyes. When her vision cleared, in front of her she saw the Grand Library, burning from roots to branches.

  In which villains crow and

  fairies glow . . .

  Shade stared in horror at the white flames that ate away at the library tree. “How . . . how could you . . . ”

  Drabbury laughed. “Quite easily. Dragon Oil. We doused the tree with it while awaiting your return.”

  “Thou dishonorable, dastardly dog!” Sir Justinian cried out from his circle of spear tips. “Dragon Oil has been banned from Elfame—”

  “Since the Trajan-Hygelac Treaty, after which all known copies of the formula were supposedly destroyed. However, one of the perks of being Grand Scrutinizer is rooting out—and keeping for oneself—all sorts of wonderful bits of knowledge, like the formula for Dragon Oil, crop-withering spells, and so forth. You see, knowledge is power, and I mean to control all of it.”