by Jim C. Hines
“That’s Yamma the ogre,” Diglet said, pointing to a huge skull hanging on an equally huge thorn. “He plotted against the fairy queen. When she found out, he tried to flee. She let him get halfway through the hedge, then turned it against him. Not an easy death, but old Yamma makes a good landmark. It’s easy to get turned about in here, you know.”
Behind her, Danielle could hear Snow whispering. She glanced back. Snow was talking to Talia, who had her eyes squeezed shut. Both of Talia’s hands clamped around Snow’s wrist.
“We’re almost there,” Snow murmured. “You’re doing great.” She pressed close to Talia. Danielle moved her hand to Snow’s shoulder as Snow reached for the bags. “Stop for a moment, there’s a thorn caught on one of the straps . . . there you go.”
“Thank you.” Talia’s voice was so strained Danielle barely recognized it.
Snow squeezed her arm. “I’ll burn this hedge to the ground before I let it have you.”
Diglet was still pointing out various sights and landmarks: an oversized beehive suspended between two thorns, a vine that had broken under its own weight, with smaller vines coiling up from the exposed ends. . . . “Hey, look at that. A hedge cat!”
Danielle looked up to see a slender gray cat slinking along the upper vines. The cat’s long tail twitched furiously with each step.
“They hunt the birds and squirrels who nest in the hedge,” Diglet said. “Most cats stay near the edges, but the hunting is better the farther in you go.”
“Has anyone else passed through here recently?” Danielle asked. “Two human women, probably accompanied by a man.”
“Not through here,” Diglet said. “Not since I took over for Pirrok, at any rate. They might have gone around to the king’s side, but you’d have to ask the dwarves about that.”
“And there’s no other way in to Fairytown?”
“Not unless they want to climb up from the chasm.” Diglet gave a mock shiver. “That way carries dangers to make the hedge look as cozy as your very own bed. Come up on the queen’s side of the cliff, and likely as not you’ll find yourself in the labyrinth. The king’s side is even worse. The dragon’s nest is on that side. More sun over there, you see.”
The vines had begun to thin, and Danielle could see patches of orange sky overhead. How long had they walked through the hedge? The thorns grew shorter as Diglet pulled them along. Purple-and-red buds sprinkled the vines. A few more steps, and the buds were fully bloomed flowers, each one the size and shape of a teacup. They smelled like fresh honey.
“Mind your step,” said Diglet. “It wouldn’t do to get yourself impaled this close to the edge.” He hopped over a fat vine as thick as his body, drawing Danielle and the others after him.
The tangle of vines beneath her feet gave way to hard stone. Danielle found herself on a road paved with cobblestones that shone blue-green like the sea. Flower petals littered the ground. Crude tents stood to either side of the road, many painted with scenes of battle and carnage. A group of goblins sat in the middle of the road, playing cards and eating the roast remains of some kind of bird.
“Diglet’s back,” said one.
Another laughed and waved a well-chewed drum-stick. “Good thing, too. I’m still hungry.”
“Aw, he doesn’t have enough meat to be worth butchering,” said a third.
“Hey, tell the runt to run and fetch me. . . .”
The goblins’ taunts stopped abruptly as Danielle knelt, placed both hands on Diglet’s cheeks, and kissed him square on the mouth. His breath was foul and fetid, and his lips were badly chapped, but she held the kiss long enough to make sure every last goblin had seen. Breaking away, she said, “Thank you, Diglet. We would have been lost without your help.”
Snow was next, throwing herself into the role with such enthusiasm that she knocked Danielle to the ground. “The way you fought those horrid kidnappers . . . it was incredible!” Snow wrapped her fingers around Diglet’s ears and pulled him close, kissing him so long the poor goblin gasped for breath when she finished. “I’ll always remember the sight of you leaping forth from the hedge, like one of the warrior gods of old, wreaking vengeance upon those foul beasts who would have stolen our virtue.”
“Stolen your . . .” Talia coughed and looked away.
Snow blushed, but continued to heap praise on the little goblin. Diglet’s smile was strained, like a part of him wanted to flee, while another part clung to Snow’s every word.
Danielle looked at Talia, who scowled. Danielle twitched her head at Diglet. Talia’s eyes narrowed.
I promised, Danielle mouthed.
I didn’t.
“What are these humans going on about, Diglet?” asked the first goblin. “You don’t even know which end of a knife to hold, let alone—”
“He needed no knife,” Talia said, with one last glare at Danielle. “Diglet leaped upon the first bandit, driving him back with tooth and claw. He stole the villain’s sword and laid about until they fled like sheep. Not one of those filthy beasts escaped his wrath.”
Diglet looked up at her, his eyes wide, his blue lips slightly puckered.
“Forgive me, brave goblin,” Talia said, her jaw tight. “Much as I wish to give you a proper reward, in my mind I still see you as you were in battle, your fangs red with blood. The memory of such violence nearly makes me faint.”
Now it was Snow’s turn to cough.
Talia stooped to plant a quick kiss on the top of Diglet’s head. “Fare thee well, brave goblin.”
Danielle smiled and blew him a kiss. “Your courage has earned you the gratitude of a future queen.”
“Thank you, ladies,” said Diglet. He bowed and lowered his voice. “Be careful. You, in particular, Princess Whiteshore. That child you carry is a tasty prize in these parts. Well, not tasty. I mean, except for a few witches over eastside. Plus there’s supposed to be an ogre living in the king’s swamps who enjoys the taste of human young, but I think he spreads those rumors himself. He doesn’t appreciate visitors. Most of us in Fairytown don’t even like human flesh. Too stringy, and unless it’s drenched in a good mushroom sauce, you humans leave a nasty aftertaste. So I wouldn’t worry—”
“Thank you,” Danielle said firmly. Leaving Diglet with his dumbfounded companions, she turned and led the others up the road into Fairytown.
CHAPTER 7
DANIELLE SHIELDED her eyes and stared at the horizon. Maybe she had spent too much time in the darkness of the hedge. “I could be mistaken, but when I woke up this morning, there was only one sun.”
She glanced at the other side of the road to confirm it. Twin shadows stretched out beside her. Both were fainter than she was used to, except where they merged at her feet.
Snow pointed to the lower of the two suns, which already touched the horizon. “The Queen’s Sun always sets before the King’s. She’s ruler of the morning, but as night falls, the King’s Sun dominates.”
“Fairies,” Talia muttered, shaking her head.
Danielle had taken one of their bags when they left the goblin camp. She set it on the road and studied the sky. “How can there be two suns? All we did was pass through the hedge.”
“The king and queen don’t get along,” Snow said. “Fairy nobles tend to be passionate, jealous, petty, and slightly mad. They’re also tremendously powerful. Centuries ago, a poet compared the king’s might to the blazing sun, and the queen’s beauty to the moon. The fairies began to talk about the King’s Sun and the Queen’s Moon. Naturally, both wanted what the other had. The illusion is a huge waste of magic if you ask me, but it kept them at peace.”
“As peaceful as fairies ever get,” Talia added.
“Wait until you see the moons rise,” said Snow. “The Queen’s Moon is silver, while the king’s is gold. Have you ever seen our moon on a cloudy night, when the light forms a halo? Here, if the moons are close enough, the halos intersect to form a dark rainbow. There are pictures in one of my books.”
“If they’re c
lose enough?” Danielle repeated. “They move?”
“They grow closer together every midsummer and midwinter. On those two nights, the crescent moons rise together, forming a single ring in the sky. It’s supposed to be a time of great celebration and mischief.”
“If we’re still here come midsummer,” Talia interrupted, “I’m throwing myself into the chasm.”
The land beyond the goblin encampment was as alien as the sky. Fruit trees of every variety bordered the road. Some, such as the apples and pears, were familiar. Others she had never seen before. Yellow-green globes the size of her fist, tiny black berries growing in thick shining clusters, brown-crusted melons so large the branches bowed from the weight. The too-sweet smell of spoiled fruit filled the air.
“The goblins used to have a thriving market,” said Snow. “They sold fruit to passing humans, back before the treaty. These days, with so few people coming in to Fairytown, they just make really bad wine.”
A loud crack from the side of the road made Danielle jump. One of the trees toppled toward the road. Before Danielle could move, Talia grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back. They landed hard on the road as the tree crashed down . . . . . . and disappeared. High-pitched jeers and giggles came from a patch of quivering black wildflowers.
“Brownies,” Snow said. She hadn’t reacted at all to the illusory tree. She pointed to a tiny manlike shape darting through the orchards. “Mischievous little things, but they won’t hurt us. The road through Fairytown is protected. None can harm you unless you leave it.”
“I knew that,” Talia muttered. She helped Danielle to her feet.
For a time, they walked in silence. Danielle felt like she was walking downhill, but every time she looked back, the road was as level as the sea on a calm day. Perhaps it was the road itself urging them onward.
“So where are we going, anyway?” Danielle asked.
“Snow has a contact in Fairytown,” Talia said. “Some gnome who’s close to the fairy queen. She says he should be powerful enough to snatch the prince back from your stepsisters.”
“His name is Arlorran,” said Snow. “He’s the queen’s summoner. Arlorran told me once that he spends a lot of time with the goblins, so he should be around here somewhere.”
“You never did tell me how you met this gnome,” Talia said.
“I met him a few months ago, on my mirror. I was trying to see Allesandria, but I coughed near the end of the spell, and ended up with this confused little gnome staring out at me.”
Talia stopped walking. “A few months? You’ve been talking to a fairy all this time, and you didn’t tell me? What if he was a spy? What if he tried to enchant you through the mirror?”
“Through my mirror?” Snow laughed. “I’d like to see him try. Besides, he’s cute for a gnome.”
“Will he help us?” Danielle asked.
“I think so.” Snow glanced around. “He told me I should come visit sometime. I just wish he’d told me where he lives.”
Talia groaned. “You mean you didn’t stop to ask before we left the palace?”
“I did!” Snow flushed. “I mean, I tried. I couldn’t get through. We haven’t talked much in the past few weeks. I’m a little worried about him. I think he’s depressed.”
“A depressed gnome,” said Talia. “That’s great, Snow.”
A low wall of weathered stone crossed through the woods, stopping to either side of the road. The stones were barely a foot high, enough to stop Trittibar in his shrunken state perhaps, but little more. There was no cement or mortar. Blue-green moss filled in the gaps between the stones. But when Danielle nudged one of the stones with her foot, she found it rooted in place as firmly as the palace walls back home.
“A boundary wall,” said Snow. “Most of the fairy races build them. They’re very territorial. This marks the edge of goblin territory.”
“Not much of a territory,” said Talia. “We haven’t been walking for very long.”
Danielle glanced back at the road. “I wonder if we should go back. Diglet might know how to find Arlorran.”
“I doubt it,” said Snow. “Goblins don’t really concern themselves with outsiders. Especially those of higher castes, like Arlorran.”
Danielle stopped and switched her bag to the other shoulder. “What we need is—”
“No!” Talia shouted.
“—a guide,” Danielle finished. She blinked. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”
Snow giggled. Talia rubbed her forehead and sighed.
Before Danielle could ask again, a bobbing white light caught her attention. The light zoomed up the road, bouncing like a child’s toy. It moved faster than the swiftest horse.
At the same time, a tall, pale-skinned man in old-style traveling clothes stepped out of the trees to their left. His silken tunic was tucked in at the waist, while his pants ballooned out over knee-high black boots. He tucked a polished walking stick beneath one arm, doffed a purple hat with a plume as tall as himself, and bowed low.
On the other side of the road, a hunchbacked old woman sprang up from the grass. She brushed dirt and worms from her ragged clothing and smiled a toothless smile. Her left eye was rheumy and pointed off to one side.
“Never ask for a guide in Fairytown,” Talia said.
There were more. A toad the size of a dinner plate hopped onto the side of the road. Its warty body sagged over its legs, completely hiding the feet.
A fox crept from between the trees close to the man. The fox studied the crowd, sniffed the air, and bared his teeth at the toad. As he started to creep across the road, the old woman swooped down and seized the scruff of his neck. The fox snarled and snapped, but she held him at arm’s length. Her free hand stroked the fox’s back and tail.
“I could use a new scarf,” she said.
“Ladies, welcome to Fairytown,” said the man. He bowed again. “My name is Timothy Stout, and I would be honored if you allowed me to lead you wherever—”
The glowing ball slammed into Timothy Stout’s backside, sending him face first into the grass beside the road.
“I take back what I said about not calling for a guide,” said Talia. “This is kind of fun.”
Timothy rolled and smacked the end of his stick into the glowing ball, which flashed bright red and dropped to the ground.
“You killed it,” said Danielle.
“Not at all. I merely taught it a lesson.” Timothy tapped the ball again.
Glowing feebly, the ball began to roll in a lopsided fashion, fleeing back down the road.
A furious shriek drew Danielle’s attention back to the struggle between fox and hag. The fox had finally managed to twist around enough to sink his teeth into the old woman’s thumb. She flung him away, but he landed lightly on his feet and stared up at her with what Danielle could only describe as a smug grin.
“Princesses, please forgive my companions.” The deep, rusty voice came from the toad, who had hopped into the middle of the road. “As a noble myself, let me urge you not to trust these ruffians. Their behavior is ill-fit for such ladies as yourselves, and—”
Timothy tucked his stick beneath one arm and used both hands to grab the toad.
“You see?” screamed the toad. “Hooligans, all!”
Timothy raised the toad overhead.
“Wait,” Danielle cried.
He hesitated, and in that time, the toad struck back. Urine spread across the sleeve of Timothy’s finely tailored silk shirt. With a howl of outrage, Timothy flung the toad into the woods.
“Stop it, all of you,” Danielle snapped.
Timothy, the fox, and the old woman glared at one another, but none made any aggressive moves.
“We’re looking for Arlorran the gnome,” Danielle said.
“And I would be delighted to escort you,” Timothy said, extending his arm. The gesture would have been far more gallant if his cuff hadn’t been dripping with toad piss.
The fox yipped, and when Danielle looke
d down, she would have sworn he winked at her.
“Forget them,” said the old woman. She pointed to the fox. “This rascal will lead you to a trap and eat you, and as for this fellow here, he’ll take your virtue as payment.”
Talia touched the handle of her knife. “If that fop tries to take my virtue, I’m taking his manhood.”
“I only take what’s willingly given,” said Timothy.
Snow looked Timothy up and down. “He’s pretty, but I don’t think he’s my type,” she said. “He’s far too impressed with himself.”
“Go on, you scoundrel,” the old woman said. “These ladies aren’t for you.”
“And what would you want?” Danielle asked. She was starting to understand this place. Nobody did anything for free.
“Me?” The woman rubbed her knobby, hairy chin. “I’d like to play a game, my pretty.”
“Not interested,” said Talia. “We’ll find Arlorran on our own.”
“How?” Danielle asked. “How much time will we give Charlotte and Stacia to work their magic while we wander aimlessly about Fairytown?” She folded her arms and turned back to the woman. “What game is that?”
“You’ll lose,” Timothy said in a taunting, singsong voice.
“A short way from here, the road splits in three directions,” said the old woman. “You guess which road will lead you to Arlorran. If you’re correct, I’ll be your willing servant throughout your journey. Your every wish will be my command, from the moment you answer until you leave Fairytown. You’ll need allies here, and my power is nothing to sneer at.”
The fox wrinkled his nose, proving her wrong.
“And if I guess wrong?” Danielle asked.
“If you’re wrong, you give me the son you carry in your womb.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “It’s all about the unborn children with you fairy folk, isn’t it?” Turning to Talia and Snow, she asked, “Is she telling the truth? Will she serve me if I guess the right road?”
“You can’t,” Talia said. “That’s the heir to the throne, Princess.”