Another Dreadful Fairy Book

by Jon Etter

  “So thou can serve as an obedient lapdog to thy lady, the Duchess of Sighs?” Sir Justinian looked almost willing to impale himself on the spears holding him at bay just to get to the bugbear.

  Drabbury’s lip curled up in a mocking sneer. “Perchta and a number of other discontented nobles throughout the land, both Seelie and Sluagh, may believe that I serve them—and they have been more than happy to provide me with troops to do my bidding and scholars to try to crack that blasted code of Alexandria’s, which has been happening under your very noses in your own library for the past week—but in the end it is they who will serve me. Backed by the fairies I’ve recruited in secret and armed with the wisdom I’ve stolen and hoarded as Grand Scrutinizer, I will be unstoppable, especially since the one single threat to my power . . . ” Drabbury pointed back toward the flaming library tree behind him, “ . . . is no more.”

  “Well, then, the joke’s on you, Grand Insquishitor!” Ginch declared. “Because that’s-a no the only library tree! The Grand Library, it’s-a here and-a there and-a all over the place!” The Professor grabbed a handful of peanuts out of his pocket and threw them at the bugbear while blowing a raspberry. “The Professor says, ‘The nuts to you!’”

  “True.” The bugbear smiled. “Or it was true until minutes ago. You see, there are plenty of fairies in Elfame concerned with the ‘corrupting’ influence of books who are more than willing—eager even—to do away with every last book . . . and every library that houses them. You might be surprised at how easy it was to organize mobs to burn them all down, especially when the library, ironically, gave me and my agents immediate access to every single community with a library tree. And for the record, little sprite, the residents of Pleasant Hollow were especially enthusiastic about my little plan. This tree that burns behind us is the last of them, and with it dies the Grand Library and all the books and book lovers it housed.”

  Shade stood in stunned silence. My home! My books! Destroyed . . . burned . . . again! she thought. But this was worse, she realized, as tears rolled down her face. Because this time it wasn’t just a home and it wasn’t just books—this time it was also her friends. François, Émilie, Johannes, Caxton, Dewey—all of them and who knows how many visitors had been inside. And now they were gone.

  Like water in a teakettle, Shade felt rage bubble up within her until it finally boiled over. Screaming in fury, she flew at the mighty bugbear. What she hoped to accomplish, who can say—probably not even her. Drabbury, much more swiftly and adeptly than one might expect of a fairy his size, swatted her to the ground. Shade lay gasping for breath in the dirt but only for a moment. Drabbury yanked her up, slit the straps on her backpack, and tossed her over to Ginch and the Professor.

  Drabbury opened the backpack and smiled. “Thank you, my dear, for so kindly delivering to me the—here! It’s here! The book that will bring down kingdoms!”

  The bugbear pulled out The Muiredach Grimoire and threw off his glasses to reveal multifaceted bee eyes, red and blazing like two large rubies with fires burning at their cores. Feverishly, he flipped through the spellbook, grinning in maniacal glee. “I have it! Gather round, my loyal subjects! Gather round and we will be freed of our greatest weakness!”

  “Trying to hit an inside straight when playing Slap-a-the-Selkie?” Ginch offered.

  “Iron. With this spell, we and all who join us will be immune. Then we shall take up arms forged from the cursed metal and cut a bloody swath through all who oppose us!”

  “No!” Justinian lunged at the spearmen between him and Drabbury, but those behind him swept his feet out from under him. The troops piled on and disarmed him, although one fox-faced goblin ran away screaming and flailing at the burning cut on his arm that he earned for his troubles.

  “What you have witnessed, you need never fear again,” Drabbury declared, pointing at the panicking goblin. He then looked down at the book and began chanting in his deep, growly voice the words—unknown and possibly unknowable to all who heard them—on the page.

  “We’ve got to stop him!” Shade cried. “He can’t make these thistlepricks ironproof!”

  “’Ey, booger-the-bear!” Ginch shouted at him. “You gotta the untied shoe! And there’s-a the toilet paper stuck to you foot!”

  The Professor took out a straw and a handful of peas and started shooting them at Drabbury’s face.

  “Your mother was a honey thief and your father licked salmon!” Shade called out.

  Their efforts, however, were in vain. The Grand Scrutinizer continued unabated, his chanting growing more and more vehement and his bug eyes burning brighter and brighter until at last, flecks of spittle flying from his maw, he howled: “Klaatu Barada NIKTO!”

  That final word echoed, then all was quiet except for the crackle of flames. And then everyone there began to glow. Shade could feel her skin getting warm and tingling . . . but not the skin on her face and hands. She looked down at herself, then around at everyone else. Only our clothes are glowing, she realized. Suddenly, the wrinkles and folds in her clothes straightened out and the yellow glow faded. ‘Being a Spell So That the Well-Dressed Librarian Need Fear No Iron’. . . Now I think I get it!

  In which the importance of close

  reading is demonstrated . . .

  Drabbury gave a triumphant roar. “It is done! Now we are unbeatable!”

  “I bet I can beat you, Drudgery,” Shade jeered. “You and all your rock-headed, grub-chewing goons.”

  Drabbury snorted. “I believe, you impertinent little insect, that you are long overdue a lesson in respecting your betters.”

  “Haven’t met any yet, fuzzbutt.”

  “Here, boss, let me,” the massive troll Thornburgh said. He cracked the knuckles of his long, sharp-nailed fingers. “This oughta be good for a laugh. And I can’t even remember the last time I ate sprite meat. It’s like quail but buggier.”

  “’Ey, little Sprootshade—whatta you do?” Ginch’s brow furrowed with concern. “You gotta the death wish?”

  “No. I think I know what I’m doing.” Shade turned to the Professor. “I need gloves. Please tell me you have gloves.”

  The Professor rummaged through his various pockets. Eventually, he pulled out bronze gauntlets with one hand and canvas gardening gloves with the other. Shade took the gardening gloves. “Okay, let’s hope this works.”

  Shade walked toward the troll, picking up Grouse’s iron skillet as she went. She gripped it with both hands and held it over one shoulder like a baseball bat. Thornburgh tossed back his head and laughed. “Okay, bug girl! Okay! Tell you what—I’ll give you one shot. One free shot because this . . . this is just too funny!”

  Thornburgh held his long, long arms out to either side and strode forward, eliciting delighted laughter and cheers from Drabbury’s minions. He stopped in front of Shade, towering over her, guffawing heartily. Shade made a silent prayer to St. Eeyore, then leapt up and swung the skillet, smacking the savage troll right on his filthy, bare belly. Thornburgh’s laughter abruptly ceased. Confusion and panic filled his eyes as he looked down at the red, slightly smoking circle on his stomach. He let out a roar of pain that silenced his laughing comrades, and he clutched and clawed at his burning belly. Shade, heartened by this, smashed the skillet down on the toes of both of his shoeless feet, making him dance about in pain.

  “Grouse! Catch.” Shade tossed him the skillet. Of course, since she was a bookish sprite unaccustomed to athletic activities, her throw was off and the skillet hit the jaw of the dwarf who was holding him, which proved to be effective enough. The dwarf grabbed his now burning jaw as Grouse swept up the skillet and struck every patch of bare fairy flesh near him. Meanwhile, the Professor donned his bronze gauntlets, grabbed an iron pot from Grouse’s cooking supplies, and bounded through the crowd, clonking fairy after fairy on the head. Ginnie Bowser, meanwhile, broke free from her captors and tackled Ronnie to the ground where the two grappled, and Trudgemore kicked and bit at every
fairy around him.

  And of course, there was the brave, noble Sir Justinian. With a swashing blow, he knocked aside the elfin spearmen standing between him and Drabbury. “Have at thee, thou blackguardly bugbear!” he cried as he charged. He swung his sword, but the bugbear blocked the blow with his two long elbow barbs. The places where the sword touched the stingers sizzled, but if it pained Drabbury, he took no notice as he slashed with claw and barb at the noble knight, who was forced to give ground because of the great hulking bulk of the bugbear but who, hero that he was, refused to yield.

  Shade glanced about the melee, trying to figure out something she could do, when the head of a mace came swinging directly at her face. She gave a yelp and closed her eyes. She felt herself be yanked backward and opened her eyes to see Ginch dragging her by her coat away from the crowd. “Whatta you do, little Sprootshade! You wanna get smooshed? I say we let the fighters do the fighting.”

  “But we’ve got to do something! They’re outnumbered! There’s no way they’ll survive without help!”

  Suddenly there was a loud clanging—it was Cuthbert, racing their way with a swirling cloud of gray smoke by his side. “Now that’s-a what I call the good timing!” Ginch said, as Cuthbert vaulted over them feet first to kick a pair of goblins directly in the faces, and Fiona the banshee materialized in front of a swollen spriggan and gave a hideous shriek that left the fairy writhing on the ground, clutching his ears.

  Shade watched the battle roil in front her. The appearance of Cuthbert, the most feared fairy in all of Elfame, made some of Drabbury’s troops break ranks and flee, but most stayed and fought. Shade wracked her brains for something, anything, she could do to help. Suddenly, a mighty crack sounded and the flaming library tree toppled, every branch and leaf consumed by white flame. Despair filled her heart. But then a vague memory floated up in her mind and kindled the faintest flickering flame of hope. “Professor!” she called. “Professor! Get over here!”

  The pixie sprang through the air and landed in front of her, saluting as he landed. His gauntleted hand clonked against his forehead and he staggered back, shaking his head.

  Shade grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him to her. “You tried to eat some Grand Library acorns and then shoved them into your pocket. Do you still have them?”

  The Professor’s eyes lit up and he began to search his pockets. He tossed handful after handful out—scones, wedges of cheese, silverware, cups, spools of thread, hammers, hats, wigs, fake mustaches, coins, jewelry, a rubber chicken, a real live chicken, a confused-looking Will o’ the Wisp, and lots of hard-boiled eggs—until finally he triumphantly held up a single acorn. Shade snatched it from him.

  “If all the trees are gone, could everybody still be alive somehow?” she asked. The Professor scratched his head and shrugged. “We’ll just have to hope.”

  Shade dug a hole in the dirt with her heel and dropped the acorn in. The ground shook and buckled. Shade ran hand-in-hand-in-hand with Ginch and the Professor as a mighty oak erupted from the ground, launching the fairies nearest it into the air. In a matter of moments, a new library tree loomed large at the base of Mount Wyrd. Shade gave a cry of joy as the door in its side was flung open and Yaxley and Ront strode out, paused a moment as they surveyed the brawl in front of them, and then threw themselves into it, fists flying. Right on their heels was Émilie, her serene marble face now a study in fury. Just behind her François paused in the doorway, looking around at the vast outdoors with anxiety, placed his hand on his chest, and took a couple deep breaths. He then grabbed a pair of elves by their Seelie Court tabards, soared into the air on great granite wings, and dropped them to the ground.

  One by one Drabbury’s fairies either fell or fled, while there, at the center of the battle, Sir Justinian remained locked in mortal combat with the Grand Scrutinizer. The valiant knight stabbed and slashed as he ducked sweeping claws, dodged snapping jaws, and parried jabbing stingers. Stepping back to avoid an especially close swipe, Justinian tripped on an unconscious goblin and fell. The bugbear seized the opportunity and stabbed downward with his elbow, burying it deep in the fair knight’s shoulder. Betraying not the slightest bit of pain, Justinian slashed the barb off at the elbow. Drabbury howled in pain. Justinian hauled back his sword arm and cracked Drabbury on the side of the head with the pommel of the sword. The bugbear’s eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over, unconscious, next to the brave knight.

  Seeing their leader fall took the fight out of the remaining members of Drabbury’s crew, who either dropped their weapons and surrendered or fled. Sir Justinian slowly rose to his feet. He grasped the barb in his shoulder and grimaced as he wrenched it free and dropped it to the ground. He smiled as he staggered toward Shade. “The day . . . verily . . . is ours . . . ” he panted.

  Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed at her feet.

  In which the author jolly well

  better not kill off the only properly

  heroic character in this dratted book

  if he knows what’s good for him!

  Shade, Ginch, and the Professor crowded around Sir Justinian. “Get back,” commanded Grouse as he pushed through them and knelt next to Sir Justinian. He helped his master sit up, his arm around the knight’s shoulder.

  Sir Justinian grimaced. “Argh! . . . feels like my veins are filled with molten lead . . . ”

  Shade scanned the ground until she found the severed bugbear stinger. She ran to Poor Richard. “Here! You’ve got to use this to make an antidote!”

  Poor Richard shook his head sadly. “I wish I could, but I don’t know how. It’s never been done before.”

  “You have to try!”

  “Even if I succeeded,” Poor Richard lowered his voice, “our good knight wouldn’t live long enough. Martinko hovers on death’s door from just a slight scratch from one of those stingers—”

  “Martinko! That’s it! We’ll cast a stasis spell and—”

  Poor Richard put a hand on Shade’s shoulder. “With the amount of venom in his system, even a stasis spell wouldn’t buy us enough time. He has mere minutes to live.”

  Grouse gazed down at Sir Justinian and brushed his graying hair from his feverish brow. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Tomorrow, I’ll cook up a good breakfast, and you’ll drone on, as you always do, about some stupid, boring ‘noble battle’ and . . . ”

  “No, good Grouse, no . . . ” Sir Justinian closed his eyes and smiled. “My devoted squire . . . ”

  “I wasn’t that devoted. In fact—”

  “And my boon companions—”

  The Professor pulled an inflated balloon out of his coat that Ginch instantly popped. “He said ‘boon,’ not ‘balloon.’ We’ve been through this before, paisan.”

  “Every warrior’s journey . . . ” Sir Justinian continued, undeterred, “ . . . must one day lead to death . . . that undiscovered country . . . from whose bourn no traveler returns . . . Today, I have come to the end of my journey . . . Thus begins my eternal rest. But it is a sweet one, my good friends . . . knowing that I leave behind my squire—a noble, skilled, and devout warrior—worthy to carry on my fight . . . ” All of the fairies exchanged doubtful looks and turned to Grouse, whose tear-filled eyes remained fixed on the dying knight. “ . . . and so many friends of stout hearts, strong arms, and good cheer . . . O good Grouse . . . if thou didst ever hold me in thy heart . . . throughout this harsh world . . . tell my story.”

  “I will, sir,” Grouse sobbed. “I will.”

  Sir Justinian sighed contentedly. “Good. Good, my squire,” he said, his voice fading. “I have but one last thing to say . . . and the rest is silence . . . ”

  Everyone crowded close to hear his last words and witness his final moments. But instead of the sort of heartbreaking, inspiring, morally improving final utterance that any decent, self-respecting tale of heroism would give us, there was instead the horrid hawking of someone clearing a phlegmy throat, followed by the
wet splat of spittle striking our tragic hero. Everyone looked up in outrage to see who was responsible.

  “That oughta do it,” Trudgemore said.

  “What the donkle are you doing?” Shade screamed.

  “Fatcha-coota-matchca, mule!” Ginch made a rude gesture.

  “Unicorn,” Trudgemore replied coolly. “I’m a unicorn.”

  “The dingle-dangle you are!” Ginnie objected. “You haven’t got a horn, you jerk!”

  “In my heart I do.”

  “You are a mule!” Shade yelled, jabbing her finger in Trudgemore’s face. “You are a dingle-dangle mule, and a horrid, stupid, cruel one because you have just ruined the last moments—”

  “They’re not his last—”

  “Shut up, mule! You have ruined his final—”

  “But they’re not his final—”

  “SHUT UP! Poor Sir Justinian, the most brave and noble—”

  “And they call mules stubborn.” Trudgemore butted Shade hard, sending her with a whomp onto her backside. “Just be quiet a second and look.”

  Shade looked down to see a yellow, blood-streaked ichor flow from Justinian’s wound. When the last of it oozed out, the hole closed shut without even a scar. Justinian’s eyes flew open, and he gasped great lungfuls of air.

  “Sir! You’re alive!” Grouse cried.

  Sir Justinian’s breathing slowed. “Yes. By St. Figgymigg, I live! ’Twould appear this noble beast has saved my life!”

  “But how—?” Shade began.

  “Unicorn spit,” Trudgemore said. “Told you it cured poison.”

  “Ha-ha!” Ginch clapped his hands. “Say, you really are the mulicorn!”

  “That’s ‘unicorn,’ but you’re gettin’ there. We’re just gonna have to keep workin’ on you,” Trudgemore said hopefully.