Another Dreadful Fairy Book

by Jon Etter

  “Release me, you curs!” barked Grand Scrutinizer Drabbury, who had awakened to find his hands and feet bound.

  “We’ll leave that, if they so choose, to officials of the Seelie Court and the Sluagh Horde,” Émilie said.

  “’Oo, I zink, will be very, very interested to ’ear about your actions today,” added François, as he glanced longingly back at the door to the library and nervously up at the skies.

  “And thy plans to conquer Elfame, villain,” Sir Justinian said as Grouse helped him stand.

  The bugbear laughed. “With my influence and connections? Who do you think would possibly take your word over mine?”

  “I for one!” declared the black-cloaked elfin boy as he stepped out of the crowd of scholars and patrons who had been trapped in the Grand Library. He threw back his hood to reveal his dark, handsome face. “You know who I am, do you not, Grand Scrutinizer?”

  “I know you, whelp,” Drabbury growled. “And you forget—I have supporters amongst both the Seelie and the Sluagh.”

  The green-clad elfin girl came forward and removed her hood, revealing shimmering white hair streaked with bright purple. “I don’t know how many supporters you’ll have when it becomes known that both the heir to the Sluagh throne and the daughter of the late Seelie king and queen were almost killed by your actions today.”

  Drabbury’s eyes burned. “You think two children can stop me?”

  “Two royal children who love books and know how important it is that all fairies have access to them?” the Seelie princess smirked. “Frankly, yes.”

  “Books for all fairies?” the bugbear spat. “You really think all of them should read? Books, knowledge—they belong to those with the strength and the vision to rule. Give books to the commoners and it will fill their heads with ideas, and those, you silly little fools, are far more dangerous than any weapon. But do not doubt for one second that I, Norwell Drabbury, won’t someday—mmff, mmff, mmff!”

  What Norwell Drabbury would someday do was cut off by the Professor stuffing a pair of filthy socks in his mouth. “The Professor says to put-a the sock in it,” Ginch explained. “Hey partner, how long since you wash those socks?” The Professor held up two fingers. “Two weeks?” The Professor shook his head. “Two months?” The Professor shook his head. “Two years?” The Professor nodded. “’Ey, mulicorn, you might need to spit on the booger-the-bear later.”

  “Unicorn. And he can take his chances,” Trudgemore snorted.

  “My servants and I will take Drabbury to Ande-Dubnos and hold him until we can make arrangements for a hearing and trial,” the Sluagh prince announced.

  “Why not take him to Dinas Ffaraon, Prince Beow? I believe we Seelie can do just as good of a job imprisoning the bugbear—probably better, in fact—as you Sluagh,” the Seelie princess said.

  “First, I doubt you have anything nearly as secure as our royal dungeons, Princess Viola. Second, Dinas Ffaraon is at least three times as far from here as Ande-Dubnos, and in case you haven’t noticed, this is the only library tree left. We can’t just walk out a doorway and be home anymore.”

  There was a collective groan, then assorted grumbles, amongst the assorted fairies and humans who had gathered outside the library tree. “It’ll take weeks to get home!” “My husband and kids will be so worried!” “Who’s going to take the varg out for walkies?” “Eh, never did much care for the place—guess I’ll be mountain folk now.”

  “Hang on,” said Shade. “We’re smart people.” She glanced at Ginch and the Professor, who waved enthusiastically. “Mostly. And we’ve got the largest collection of books in history at our disposal. I’m sure that someone here can figure out a reasonably fast way to get everyone home.”

  The crowd nodded and murmured its approval of the plan. Then everyone began to scratch their heads, stroke their beards, or tap their fingers on their teeth in thought. After a few quiet moments, a tall human wizard dressed all in gray muttered, “I suppose we could . . . but no, nobody would want to . . . ”

  “What?” Shade asked.

  “Well, I know a spell that could summon giant eagles down from the mountains to give people rides home and—”

  “And each one could plant a library tree and everyone else could just walk right out of the library to get home!” Shade said. “Brilliant!”

  “I suppose, but I’m sure nobody would be interested in that.” The wizard sighed.

  “Why would anyone not want to ride on the back of a giant eagle and save themselves days or even weeks of long, exhausting travel?”

  The wizard shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you think walking the whole way would be more dramatic?”

  “What could be more dramatic than swooping in on the back of a giant eagle? Just summon the dingle-dangle birds!” Shade smacked the wizard’s pipe to the ground. “And no smoking around the library!”

  In which a new acronym is born . . .

  Within hours, most of the library trees had been replanted, and all of the patrons had returned home. Though weakened by his near-fatal poisoning, Sir Justinian insisted on accompanying Princess Viola back to the Seelie Court with a slightly less grumbly Grouse in tow. With the library emptied out and Martinko recovering quietly after a dose of unicorn spit, the staff of the Grand Library, several G.L.U.G.ers, two bodyguards, a pair of mountain fairies, a hornless unicorn, and Shade and her friends drank coffee, hot chocolate, tea, and other beverages together in one of the reading lounges. Alexandria’s books were arranged on a coffee table for all to see.

  “It’s not that I’m invulnerable to iron,” Cuthbert explained, lifting up an ironclad foot. “I just wear heavy socks. The shoes are for this family foot condition I’ve got.”

  “If you’re hurt by the iron, then how do you take the shoes on and off?” Dewey asked.

  “Carefully. Very carefully.”

  “’Ey, little Sprootshade—how’d you figure out the iron spell was-a the dud?” Ginch asked.

  “No, it did work.” Shade paused to sip her cocoa. “It just wasn’t the spell we all thought it was. See, I thought it was weird that a book of library spells would have a spell to make you immune to iron. Plus there was that bit about ‘the well-dressed librarian.’ Then when Drabbury finally cast the spell, our clothes glowed but not our skin. And when I saw all the wrinkles in my clothes straighten out, I realized it was a clothes dewrinkling spell—”

  “So that a librarian need not fear burning themselves on a hot iron,” Émilie finished.

  “Or scorching zeir clothes.” François unbuttoned his vest to reveal a triangular yellow patch on his shirt. “Well, I for one more zan welcome zis book to our collection.”

  “But it’s not exactly the sort of book that could bring down a kingdom, is it?” Shade frowned.

  “That’s not the dangerous book. That one is.” Cuthbert pointed at The Fairy Chronicle.

  Everyone looked at one another. “You’ve read these books?” Shade asked.

  “I live on a mountain. I’ve read every book in that tower about a hundred times.”

  “I am not understanding vhy a history book vould be dangerous,” Johannes said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Poor Richard chimed in. “You’d be surprised by how much power comes from knowing your history.”

  Cuthbert nodded. “Anybody want to tell us how the Seelie Court ended up ruling the lands of fairy until the most recent war?”

  “They always have,” Shade replied. “When the creator made the fairies and the fairy lands, she appointed the elves of the Seelie Court as its rulers and protectors. Everybody knows that.”

  “Actually, not everybody knows that,” Émilie said. “We have Sluagh-authored books here that claim they were the original rulers, betrayed and cast out by some of their own people who then established themselves as the Seelie Court.”

  Cuthbert snorted. “And both stories are loads of mule dung. No offense, Trudgemore.”

  “N
one taken. I’m a unicorn.”

  “See,” Cuthbert went on, “The Fairy Chronicle, one of the oldest books in existence, is a year-by-year account of what happened in Elfame. If you read it, you’ll learn that Elfame was originally a commonwealth with an elected government until a group of wealthy elves decided it would be better if they called the shots, so they overthrew the government and set themselves up as the new rulers. The Final Judgment Book’s a big list of who got what when they carved up the land after they took over. And, of course, as soon as they were in charge, those rich elves started fighting amongst themselves—”

  “And the Sluagh lost and got kicked out, and the Seelie became the rulers,” Shade finished.

  Cuthbert nodded. “It’s all in the book, along with reports of their attempts to erase all records of anything before Seelie rule—book burnings, imprisonment of former government officials, the destruction of the former site of the government, which is what the ruins on the edge of Stormfield used to be.”

  “Truly?” François looked amazed. “Ze nature of ze ruins has always been a great mystery.”

  “So all this Seelie and Sluagh stuff about ’oo’s got the right to rule’s just a bunch o’ rubbish?” Caxton drained his mug of mead and plunked it down. “Can’t imagine them nobles’ll be ’appy to read any o’ that!”

  “They definitely won’t.” Ginny Bowser looked grim. “Listen, in my time as a fake crime lord, I’ve had a lot of dealings with members of the Court and the Horde. If word of this book gets out, they’ll destroy it and anything and anyone that gets in their way. You can’t keep it here.”

  François set his coffee down with a clatter. “I am a librarian, Mademoiselle Bowser! I ’ave devoted my life to bringing ze light of knowledge to ze world. I would razzer die zan ’ide a single book from ze people or let it be destroyed!”

  “Maybe there’s another way . . . ” Shade said slowly. “Cuthbert, have you ever used the book-copying spell in the grimoire?”

  Cuthbert nodded. “Made at least one copy of every book I have in case of mishap. More for some—can’t really have a book club if everybody doesn’t have a book to read. Takes quite a while, but it’s a lot faster than hand-copying them.”

  “What if we made copies of The Fairy Chronicle and somehow made them secretly available without keeping an actual copy here in the library?”

  Johannes took his glasses off and cleaned them meditatively with a napkin. “But I am vondering how a few secret copies of this book vill make it available to everyone like having it in our library vould.”

  “Oh, I think we can manage more than a few copies,” Poor Richard chuckled. “One of the inventions I was working on before my home rather unfortunately exploded is a machine designed to make multiple copies of books at a fast rate. Instead of a scribe taking months or years to make one copy of a book, this machine—which I believe I could have up and running soon, especially with the help of that great-nephew of Grigor’s you told me about—could make at least a hundred in a month.”

  Ginnie grinned. “And with my knowledge of smuggling, black markets, and secret criminal organizations, I’m sure I can get copies out to interested parties, especially if my helpers and I can use this library to get here, there, and everywhere. What do think, Yax? Ront?”

  The human and the spriggan both smiled. “And ’ere we was afraid we’d ’ave to go straight-straight now,” Ront said.

  “Yeah,” Yaxley added. “We definitely prefer bein’ crooked-straight. We’s in, boss.”

  “And if you’re looking for an out-of-the-way place to do your printing, why not set up shop in my tower?” Cuthbert offered. Fiona muttered something indistinct, although Shade was pretty sure she heard “thistlepricks” somewhere in it. “It’ll be fine, Fiona. Plus, seems like a good excuse for me to finally move in with you.”

  Poor Richard clapped his hands together. “That would appear to settle things, then! We’re done guarding the knowledge of the past—now we spread it in secret. The Great Library’s Unseen Guardians are dead. Long live Book Lovers, Active and Hush-hush!”

  “Wait—B.L.A.H.?” Shade said. “Can’t we do better than—”

  “Long Live B.L.A.H.!” everyone else cheered.

  “No, apparently we cannot do better,” Shade sighed.

  In which Shade once more

  reluctantly goes home . . .

  Chieftainess Sungleam Flutterglide fluttered (but did not, however, glide) above the burnt ground so that all the residents of Pleasant Hollow could see her. The hollow that day did not look terribly pleasant, what with more than a quarter either reduced to ash or heavily damaged by the previous night’s fire, nor did the majority of its residents, who glared at their leader.

  “Just think,” the chieftainess declared cheerily, her usual smile looking rather strained, “rebuilding all of these homes—beginning with my own, of course—will be the Grandest Project in the history of Grand Projects!”

  She paused to allow time for the assembled sprites to cheer. Instead, there was a great deal of unhappy mutterings and grumblings in response. “Doesn’t sound that grand to me.” “Build you a house right next to my Aunt Fannyfeather.” “Got your Grand Project right here!”

  “But the most important thing to keep in mind is that thanks to me, the council of elders, and a number of concerned citizens, we are rid of that horrible book tree, its corrupting influence, and all the unpleasant non-sprites it was attracting to our dear, dear Pleasant Hollow!”

  Again, the crowd’s only response was mumbled hostility. “I’d rather have the dingle-dangle tree.” “Books didn’t do any harm that I could see.” “None of the fairies that came for the library ever even tried to burn down my house.”

  The chieftainess frowned, unaccustomed to anything less than enthusiastic support. “Be at ease, my fellow sprites, for we will rebuild.” She raised her face and hands to the skies above. “And Pleasant Hollow will be even more pleasant and safe than it has ever—AAAGH!”

  Sungleam Flutterglide streaked into the trees. The rest of the sprites looked up to see a gigantic eagle swooping down, vicious talons extended. The air was filled with the screams and flutterings of fleeing fairies. The clearing emptied. As the sprites peered out from the relative safety of the trees, Shade hopped down from the mighty raptor’s back. “Again, I ask: Why would anyone not travel on the back of a giant eagle?” Shade gave the eagle a pat on the wing. “Thanks, Gwaihir.”

  The eagle screeched, flapped its mighty wings, and flew away. Shade reached into a pocket of her traveling coat and took out an acorn. Surveying the devastation that fire had wrought upon the village, she shook her head in disbelief and dug a hole in the ground with her boot.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Chieftainess Flutterglide flew out and landed in front of Shade. The other sprites slowly came out of hiding to watch. “You will not plant that acorn anywhere near Pleasant Hollow! Can’t you see that . . . that . . . library has done enough damage?”

  Shade snorted. “Looks more like you did enough damage here. Let me guess—the Grand Scrutinizer didn’t bother to tell you that burning the biggest tree in the forest would cause more to burn down?”

  “I’m . . . I’m sure it just slipped his mind. Besides, I believe it was the books more than the flames themselves that caused most of the damage.”

  “And we’ve hit a new level of stupid.” Shade sighed. “When I replant this, maybe try reading a few books. Reading really is one of the best remedies for stupidity.”

  The chieftainess grabbed Shade by the wrist before she could drop the acorn. “You will not barge in here and plant a library in the middle of Pleasant Hollow against our wishes again! I forbid it!”

  Shade opened her mouth to say something insulting but stopped. “You know, you might be right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” Flutterglide huffed. “I’m the chieftainess!”

  “Being in charge doesn’t prove you’re right. If anything
, it usually proves the opposite. But in this case, you actually have a point.” Shade turned to the rest of the sprites. “Last time I did this, the chieftainess and council of elders all told me not to create a library here, and I didn’t listen. Today, I’m going to listen . . . to all of you. How many of you want the library tree back? Hands up high.”

  At first the sprites just stood there, blinking and looking uneasily at one another. Shade’s heart fell. Then one young sprite slowly raised her hand. After a moment, another young sprite did the same. Then one of the older sprites joined them. Following their lead, sprite after sprite raised their hands until more than half the village stood with hands held high.

  Shade smiled. “Well, I guess that decides that!”

  “It does not!” Chieftainess Flutterglide shouted. “The council of elders and I are in charge here—”

  “For now,” interrupted Shade.

  “—and we are the ones who decide what is best for everyone!”

  “I think that needs to change,” Shade said, dropping the acorn in the hole. “It’s high time that every fairy had some say in what’s best for them. It’s a really old idea, but once it makes its way back out into the world, I believe it’ll spread and grow as fast as this acorn here.”

  With that, Shade kicked dirt onto the acorn and took several steps back, looking quite pleased with what she had done. And she wasn’t the only one.

  • Epilogue •

  In which your humble narrator

  receives truly dreadful news . . .

  As a very well read and knowledgeable Reader, I’m sure you expected that last chapter to conclude with “And they all lived happily ever after!” just as I’m sure you expected the same of our previous adventure of Shade. And if either of these books were proper fairy books, they would have. However, as I have made abundantly clear many times, these are dreadful ones. Still, I did my best to make the case to that horrid old contrarian Mr. Etter that this terrible tale should at least have a traditional ending. But as before, he would have none of it.