Nine cups of dew, taken from places in the forest humans have not seen yet, so the magical parts of the forest will not flee at my approach, and so I can join woodland fairies in their mushroom circles but not be compelled to keep dancing until I die from exhaustion
Eight azure keys, tattooed on my arm, each one able to open the way for me through a mental block, like a persistent phobia, a concept I just cannot seem to understand, or the anxious refusal to confess my love, with the promise that I will need all of them in the next year
Seven cobblestones, grey and unassuming, to be placed along the path to my front door to guarantee visitors on days when the sun is shining and the wind is cool, though I was warned that the results could be quite unexpected if I place them outside a habitat on the moon or Mars
Six dark equations, to be completed in times of cataclysm, that will adjust our understanding of physical laws to account for miracles in the past, revealing secrets of higher dimensions for me to ponder to ward off memetic attacks of the enemy and the despair they will bring
FIVE GOLD RINGS
Four figurines, tiny animals carved from salt, to be crushed or dissolved into my dinner before bed, that I might dream through the creatures’ eyes by night, though I do not recognise their species, and fear to see the ocean depths or far-off worlds they might inhabit
Three passwords, approved by the Forest King, to be repeated to his army depending on the path I take during his invasion: to be spared by the forces of the forest, to enlist as a noble overseer of their advancement, or to remain loyal to humanity and decide my fate in single combat
Two Merlin rooks, bright and talkative little fellows, who experience time in reverse, and will repeat things they remember hearing in the future, so I can be forearmed with words and phrases that I will say either with great frequency or great desperation
And a bag of feather-light seeds, specially grown by the plants of the wood after word spread that humanity might leave this world, and that heavy things are frowned upon during space travel, so I can take the forest with me, and never be without the quiet pine trees.
Version 2 (2018)
On the twelfth day of Christmas, the pine trees gave to me: twelve golden matches, each capable of brightening words rather than shadows, to be used in moments when the need for eloquence is too great to be trusted to the feeble wits of mortal minds
Eleven figures chanting, their grey hooded robes difficult to spot as they dwell on the far edge of my perception, their synchronised whispers almost lost in the noise of the modern world as they relay information about me to something that lives in a colder, smaller universe
Ten willow tears, delicacies of the Forest King himself, so full of the season of autumn they make my breath condense in the air and my fingers leave golden stains on the foliage, so the denizens of the woods will know me as a friend
Nine bits and bobs, trinkets recovered from the wreckage of my own time machine, still somewhat recognisable despite the char, so that I can get some clues about my future, and know that the machine won’t crash until I’ve found each of them on my own
Eight granite bowls, one of which will turn ordinary river water into an elixir to cure ageing, so that I and seven others can play a single round of Immortality Roulette and see who will have to live long enough to see the forests wither and die
Seven copper chains, each with one end affixed in the past and the other in the future; an old-fashioned and reckless form of time travel, to be held tightly to slow the passage of halcyon days, or traversed to reach future moments that are too good to wait for
Six hidden words, once reserved for poets whose skill left no challenge in ordinary vocabulary, to succinctly convey things that otherwise evade easy description, like the relief of knowing you’ve been snowed in, or fear at the realisation of what you could accomplish
FIVE GOLD RINGS
Four violet birds, able to see the rising and ebbing tide of fate, that will sing their fearful song together as moments of destiny approach just as roosters crow before the dawn, so I will be forewarned when the Forest War has at last begun
Three jade teeth, found washed up on the shore of a spring-fed lake, hinting at the stone monsters that lurk below its waves, or perhaps deep underground in the heart of the spring, so I can warn the rest of humanity of their presence, if I so choose
Two vellum shoes, covered in gentle adjectives, made for traversing stories rather than roads; to be worn in the inhospitable land of dreams, so that even when the narrative becomes dark and frightful, I can find my way to a happy ending
And the words to a silent song, one I can sing to myself in the brightest or bleakest places to see myself back in the forest, to hear its sounds and feel its shadows, and never forget that my place, my true home, is among the quiet pine trees.
Version 3 (2017)
On the twelfth day of Christmas the pine trees gave to me: twelve hidden hours, a secret third half to each day as the sun rings the horizon, when we can finally admit what’s in our hearts, because not a word of it will be remembered
Eleven daytime stars, dark points in a bright sky, a constellation pointing me to the lands I imagined were there as a child, making it impossible to ignore them again
Ten ancient poisons, each dose just barely strong enough to kill a moment’s worth of doubt, brewed from indigo flowers that were harvested to extinction during an age that was starved of heroes
Nine words of warning, whispered within the songs of crickets and scrawled in my own handwriting between the stars: ‘The sea will be your only refuge from them’
Eight caves of silver, carved by miners who left behind the precious metal either because something all the more seductive was calling to them from below, or because they were only seeking to hide from something calling to them from above
Seven amber statues, depicting those who will be my enemies in the years to come, so that by contemplating their sad smiles I can be ready for them, forgive them before we even meet, and perhaps understand why one of them is me
Six guardian snowmen, absolutely still and forever unblinking, their eyes locked on the sky, ready to cry out at the sight of an approaching figure from the void, so that I can finally rest from my vigil
FIVE GOLD RINGS
Four wooden coins, the currency of the seasons, just enough to pay for a single summer to turn to autumn, to wrap the world in darkling sweetness as the storms and frost drown out the sun
Three bone pins, carved from the skeletons of long-extinct creatures, which will ward against misfortune, having already been tempered with all the bad luck they can endure
Two loyal dogs, skyhounds who will never stop seeking out crashed starships and time travellers, eager as they are to take me away from this planet and show me the silent wonders of their playground universe
And a wooden crown beset with lake stones, a priceless heirloom of the Forest King himself, given as a test of my humility, to see if I will cast it aside and accept my place among the quiet pine trees.
Version 4 (2016)
On the twelfth day of Christmas the pine trees gave to me: twelve ancient dances, lost because our coddled souls can’t follow their native rhythms
Eleven silver deserts, reflecting and magnifying the minds of wanderers so the stars can see the unfamiliar emotions that come from being lost
Ten blue-green stones that appear over and over again, following me and disrupting my life because it’s been too long since I visited the sea
Nine black-market meals, free of the custom pharmaceuticals and radioactive tracers that alert the establishment whenever we’ve been reading
Eight night-sky horses, wormhole hearts pumping plasma from an alien sun, dark-matter hooves breaking flecks of gravity from the cobblestones
Seven unseen colours, the infrared palette of moonless nights and endless caves, invitation to an inner world that cowards leave behind
Six loyal lakes, awaiting orders to swallow my old life li
ke Usher ruins, wash me of civilisation’s electric dust, and build my castle of fog
FIVE GOLD RINGS
Four minutes sealed in acrylic, to be released in defiance of time itself when a perfect moment, one worth fighting to keep, threatens to end
Three new names, the true names by which I am called in dreams, so my heart can defend itself from the lonely horrors of that unwaking world
Two comet hearts, the spark of cosmic wildness still burning within, ready to escort myself and a guest in a hasty escape from the planet
And a chance to join their fabled ranks, to glimpse the mirror in Plato’s cave, and deny the truth no more loudly than the quiet pine trees.
Micro-Mysteries
1. A locked house. A tall staircase. A dead butler at the bottom. The moon is full. A lamp is missing from a table near the body. Music is playing upstairs. Payday was three days ago. Only four people were home. Whodunit?
A. Alchemist chef
B. Time-travelling maid
C. Zombie valet
D. Ghost gardener
2. A rare coin, the gold double-leopard, vanished from the museum overnight. Four people had keys. A second coin was scheduled to join the display the next day. The Taurid meteors were ending. The basement pipes had been replaced. The boiler was on. Who took it?
A. Vampire curator
B. Telepath janitor
C. Sentient brown-bear guard
D. Maintenance ghost
3. The lighthouse keeper was stabbed in his own lantern room. His wife found him at midnight. They were avid divers who recovered sunken treasures, which were taken. The door was unlocked. It was summer. Whodunit?
A. Gnome neighbour
B. Zombie milkman
C. Salty old robot sailor
D. Vampirates
4. The last human on Earth was fatally stabbed in his home in the woods. Robot police found his doors locked. The doorknobs were round. The old man’s money had been taken; it was not enough to buy passage to off-planet human colonies. Two cups of coffee had been set out. Whodunit?
A. Confused snowman
B. Out-of-work scarecrow
C. Desperate vampire
D. Time-travelling past self
Solutions:
1.With regular pay and a light-hearted atmosphere, there appears to be little motive for a murder. However, any member of the staff would want to conceal their involvement in an accidental death. This is especially true if that death took place during a non-work-related activity.
As with most workers, payday for this crew was Friday. That means the butler died on Monday. Since the family of the house wasn’t home, the music upstairs was for the benefit of the staff. The moon was full, so the mood was romantic, or at least whimsical. It is entirely plausible that the butler fell down the stairs while dancing. But with whom?
The valet is off the hook. Zombies haven’t danced since 1982, and ‘Thriller’ isn’t very romantic.
Gainful employment is a rare thing for ghosts. The gardener wouldn’t risk such a nice job by slacking off on a Monday.
That leaves the chef and the maid. The lamp is the key to the mystery. It was likely smashed in the butler’s fall. It is missing because the guilty party cleaned up the mess. The chef’s domain is the kitchen, and cleaning up a broken lamp there would be natural. However, while many are connected to cellars, few kitchens have staircases leading to the upper floors. Additionally, most kitchens use overhead lighting rather than lamps. Thus the death was not in the kitchen.
The maid would have felt the need to clean up the mess made by the butler’s death. With her time-travel powers, she and the butler could also afford to spend a few minutes dancing together, even on a Monday. You can travel into the past to finish your duties at work, but you can’t undo a death you caused without creating a paradox. Therefore the maid is the most likely suspect. She may not be a murderer, but she probably did tamper with evidence.
But, as with all mysteries, in the end, the butler did it.
2.The curator is immediately off the hook. The double-leopard, also known as the Edward III double florin, featured a royal cross on the reverse side. As a vampire, the curator could not have handled the coin safely.
The janitor is not a likely culprit either. Even though he’s just a janitor, he is also a telepath, so he would have known the new coin would be added to the display soon. He could have doubled his loot if he’d just waited another night.
The maintenance ghost would have been working all night in the basement, away from the exhibits. As a ghost, he can only work at night, and was clearly diligent, as his task was completed by dawn. The boiler was on, so he didn’t even have anywhere to stash the coin while he worked, since the furnace could damage it.
The Taurid meteor shower is an annual event, and if it was just wrapping up, then the caper happened in mid-autumn. This means, as a bear, the guard would have been preparing for hibernation. He would have used up all his resources to prepare, and would still need money for recovery in the spring.
The bear took the coin. With a looming hibernation deadline, he couldn’t wait for any new coins to be added. He planned to sell the coin in the spring, when the heat was off.
3.The vampirates are the obvious suspects, but the circumstances make that unlikely. Vampires must be invited into buildings, meaning they are the only suspects for whom the door was effectively locked. Their seagoing lifestyle also means they would have to drop anchor and row ashore to reach the lighthouse, which the victim would definitely have seen.
While the milkman’s proximity seems unusual, it actually makes perfect sense. With his limited mobility, the zombie milkman would want to avoid making his routes during the heat of the day in summer. He would naturally deliver milk at night to keep it fresh. He is also unlikely to make the long, dangerous climb to the lantern room, and could not have done so and made his getaway in the short hours between dusk and midnight.
Similarly, the gnomish neighbour is unlikely to make the climb to the lantern room when he could much more easily sneak in to steal the goods on the lower floors. Further, in all likelihood, such a diminutive creature would be unable to deliver a fatal stabbing to a grown man. If he was intent on killing the lighthouse keeper, he would be more likely to trip his victim down the stairs.
The most likely suspect is therefore the salty old robot sailor. As a mighty and sleepless robot, he would have the physical strength to kill the lighthouse keeper and make a quick getaway. He had means and opportunity. Like any old sailor, the robot would have known plenty of other sailors lost to the sea near his port of call. Some of these would have been fellow robots. That provides motive, since the lighthouse keeper and his wife were taking valuables from shipwrecks, presumably including precious metals used to build sailing robots. The robot killed the lighthouse keeper not just for his gold, but to give his fellow automaton sailors a proper burial.
4. Right away we can eliminate the poor, innocent snowman as a suspect. His snowy hands are too smooth to use a round doorknob, much less activate the lock. The victim would also not offer a snowman coffee, even iced coffee, since it would still be warmer than snow and therefore destructive to the snowman’s body.
The scarecrow is also an unlikely candidate. While it would be more likely to accept a cup of coffee, a scarecrow has no brains, and would therefore lack the wit to escape the locked house after the murder.
Additionally, both the snowman and scarecrow lack motive. Human emotions give purpose to snowmen, and human needs give purpose to scarecrows, so killing the last human on the planet would make them disposable in the eyes of their pragmatic robot overlords.
The vampire initially seems like a good suspect, since the lack of humans on the planet would certainly provide a motive to attack the victim. A vampire, able to change into smaller creatures like a bat, would also have no problem escaping the home after the murder, through the chimney.
However, the method of the murder eliminates the m
otive, since vampires do not feed by stabbing their victims. The money would not provide enough motivation for the vampire, either. This human lived in the forest, where wooden implements that could kill a vampire would be easy to find or make, and he didn’t even have enough money to buy passage to other human colonies. It would make more sense for the vampire to attack and steal from robots, which could have more money and would live in less dangerous surroundings.
The culprit was the victim’s own time-travelling younger self. The victim would certainly recognise himself and offer hospitality, like a cup of coffee. Robbing his older self would allow the perpetrator to easily claim his own money, return to the past, and repeat the process until he could afford to buy a ticket to another planet. And obviously, leaving the scene of the crime via time travel would allow the doors to stay locked.
Supporters’ Stories
Many people helped make this collection possible. As the book was being developed, some amazing people offered so much support that they got the opportunity to request their own custom stories on whatever topics they liked. To them I say, thank you.
Dan Keen
Fairies don’t always fly. Sometimes they walk, searching the ground for marvellous things. They know where to find the best magic pebbles and tastiest flowers. Sharp-eyed hikers can spot the fairies’ little trails along the forest floor, crisscrossing our own, formed by tiny feet.
Kendra Baxter
As a runt, the dog never fit in with its rough and tumble siblings. It preferred the gentle company of birds. Nuthatches taught the dog to climb upside down. Owls shared the secrets of darkling silence. The crows were the kindest, spying on humans to learn the words ‘good dog’.
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