by Jim C. Hines
“She is of fairy blood,” Snow said. “If she makes a bargain, she’ll have no choice but to keep it. But Talia’s right. The odds are two to one against you, and you can’t risk—”
Danielle smiled. “I’ll play your game.” She saw Talia close her eyes in disgust, and even Snow looked nervous. But Danielle wasn’t worried. Not this time.
“Excellent,” said the woman, rubbing her hands together. “One road will take you south. Another curves to the west. The third will lead you to the north. Your friend awaits you on one of these paths.”
Danielle turned to Timothy. “You know where Arlorran is.”
He nodded.
“Tell me which road, and I’ll order her to serve you. ‘From the moment I answer, until we leave Fairytown.’”
“Hey,” shouted the old woman. “You can’t do that!”
The fox began to yip, a sound suspiciously like laughter. Slowly, Timothy smiled. Lifting his walking stick, he pointed down the road. “You want the southern path, which will lead you to the First Forest. Most evenings, you’ll find Arlorran in a tavern called the Tipsy Oak. You can’t miss it.”
The Queen’s Sun had all but disappeared when they reached the three branches the old woman had described.
“They did tell us the road split,” Snow said.
Talia rolled her eyes. “They might have been a little more specific about it.”
The central road continued straight ahead. The northern path disappeared into a stone-ringed hole in the earth. And the southern branch, the one Timothy had instructed them to follow, climbed into the trees.
Ancient oaks grew on either side of the road. Danielle could see the roots twining around the edges of the road at the point where it left the earth like a bridge. The road itself was thick as Danielle’s hand. Farther on, the trees grew like pillars beneath the road, carrying it higher and higher until it was little more than an emerald thread among the leaves. Branches laced together on either side like a railing. Danielle could see the whole thing swaying slightly in the breeze.
“Two suns make for healthy plants,” Snow commented.
Talia was already heading up the road. Danielle rested her left hand on her sword handle as she followed. The wood and glass were warm to the touch. A sword would do her little good against the dangers of Fairytown, but simply touching it brought her comfort. “Please watch over Armand,” she whispered, wondering if her mother could still hear her. “Keep him safe until we arrive.”
Already the road had taken them into the upper branches. Leaves surrounded them, so they walked through a tunnel of green. Despite the climb, Danielle still felt herself stumbling forward, as if she walked downhill. Her knees and thighs were beginning to ache.
Eventually, they broke through the upper branches, reaching the very tops of the trees. Danielle gasped. The leaves to either side were a rustling sea beneath the stars. Flickers of colored light danced through the trees in the distance. Here and there, a few rogue branches broke through the canopy, stretching even higher. Behind them, the dark shape of the hedge curved in a great arc in either direction. Orange campfires marked the goblin camp, where the fruit trees were but poor, shrunken shadows of the woods now surrounding her. On the other side, in the distance, she could just make out the lacelike spires of the queen’s castle, as well as the dark shadows of the king’s.
“How large is this place?” she whispered.
“The last official census had the fairy population at just over thirty thousand,” said Snow. “Of course, their tallies are a bit peculiar. Intelligent animals are counted—that’s the beast caste, like our friend the fox—but not the dumb. The unnamed caste won’t show up on any census, but there are only a handful of them. Some of the bloodless, like that glowing ball, only count as a fraction. But the numbers still come out pretty close.”
“Thirty thousand,” Danielle repeated. Yet so much of Fairytown was wilderness. “Where do they all live?”
“Remember, fairies can spread through the land in any direction,” Snow said. “Trolls and kobolds burrow into the earth, while griffins and elves spread upward, into the treetops and cliffs. And don’t ask me how they count the cloud striders and their riders, who can touch the land only once each year.”
“Do those numbers include mortals?” Talia asked. “Those who stumble into Fairytown and never make their way out again?”
Snow nodded. “Most of them end up slaves. They were included in Appendix B of the census.”
“You have got to find some other hobbies,” Talia said. She leaned against the branches as she dug through her bag, coming up with a paper-wrapped bundle. She unwrapped it and handed Danielle a thick strip of dried fish, wrapped in what appeared to be seaweed. “Trust me, it’s better than eating fairy food.”
Danielle nodded, grateful for the rest. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she was having a hard time keeping up with the others. “Is it true that if you eat the fairies’ food, you can never leave?”
“Not here,” said Snow. “We’re still in our world, changed as it might be by fairy magic. If you ever pass through the fairy hill, though, you’ll want to be careful.”
“Then why—” she started to ask.
“Because fairy cooking tastes like mud,” said Talia.
Danielle tried a bite, then doubled over the railing, spitting and doing her best to keep from throwing up. The seaweed had a sharp, salty tang, and the fish tasted of hickory smoke and some kind of pepper. Her stomach convulsed again, then began to settle back down.
“Maybe she would have been better off with the mud,” said Snow.
Talia pressed a wineskin into Danielle’s hand. “I’m sorry, Princess. I should have realized nadif would be too much for you.”
“It’s not. The taste is actually quite good, but the fish and the spice, I just—” The memory alone was enough to send her back to the railing. Several gulps of wine later, Danielle wiped her eyes and asked, “What is that?”
“The spice is called nadif,” Talia said. “It’s a recipe from back home. The queen loves it, but it’s an acquired taste.” She took a huge bite of her own fish and grinned. “The food in Lorindar is so bland.”
“But it doesn’t burn holes in your lips,” Snow said, snatching the wineskin from Danielle.
Talia grabbed a strip of smoked lamb and handed it to Danielle. “Here, this one’s milder.”
Danielle ate as she walked. “Mild” was still strong enough to clear her sinuses, but at least she didn’t feel like her head was on fire.
“Look at that,” Snow said, pointing.
Up ahead, a fallen tree leaned against the road. The branches had broken or been cut away, leaving only a great trunk. This was one of the giants among giants. By any logic, the tree should have smashed right through the road when it fell. While the road did tilt where the tree had fallen, it didn’t appear damaged. Merely stretched a bit.
“Does that look like a tipsy oak to you?” Snow asked. She didn’t wait for an answer, giggling as she ran toward the enormous tree. Starlight glittered from her mirrors.
“She acts like we’re on a picnic,” Talia muttered, but she began to jog after Snow.
Danielle gulped the last of her food, wishing Snow had handed over the wineskin before she started running. Her tongue was still tingling from the nadif spice. Hopefully, the Tipsy Oak would have something mild to drink.
Touching her sword for luck and comfort, she hurried after the others.
Up close, the tree was easily twice as wide as Danielle was tall. The top had been cut away a short distance past the road. Young twigs still sprouted from the bark, appearing comically small by comparison.
“So how do we get inside?” Danielle asked.
Talia pointed to a line of sap dripping down the side of the tree. She grabbed a broken branch and pulled, peeling a thick section of wood and bark away from the trunk to reveal a jagged hole. Talia poked her sword into the darkness, then peeked inside. “Hello? Any gnomes do
wn there?”
Her voice echoed and faded to nothing.
“Are you sure your friend Timothy was telling the truth?” Talia asked as she pulled herself through the doorway.
“He had to,” Snow said. “If he hadn’t, the old woman would have taken Danielle’s child, remember?”
Danielle stepped up to the tree. “Does anyone have a candle?”
Snow touched her choker, and the front mirror began to glow.
“Thanks,” said Danielle. The interior of the tree wasn’t high enough to walk upright, but she could crawl on her hands and knees with little trouble. To her surprise, bark covered the interior of the tree, the same as the outside. She even saw clusters of acorns hanging from the upper part of the tunnel. She set down her sack and climbed in after Talia.
The inside was cool, with a pleasant nutty scent. She crawled ahead to make room for the others. The tunnel sloped downward, and soon Danielle gave thanks for the rough bark that scraped her hands and knees. A smooth floor would make it too easy to slip.
“What’s that?” Danielle asked, pointing to a round hole on the upper part of the left wall.
Snow squeezed past to direct the light from her choker into the hole. A smaller tunnel led up and away from them. “Looks like the tunnel branches off.”
Talia grabbed an acorn and threw it at her.
They continued downward, passing other side tunnels as they went. The only way to investigate them would be to go back and take more of Trittibar’s shrinking spores.
Danielle’s head began to ache. Crawling downhill for so long had sent her blood pounding into her skull. “Why would anyone make a tavern so inaccessible?”
“It’s Fairytown,” Talia said, as if that explained everything.
High-pitched laughter was the first clue their destination was near. The air took on a smoky smell, and Danielle heard a low buzzing that reminded her of hummingbirds.
“We’re here,” Snow said. The light from her choker disappeared.
Up ahead, a wide hole in the floor pulsed with light of every color, changing from blue to pink to green in a single heartbeat.
“Let me go first,” Talia said. She drew her sword and crawled to the edge of the hole. “Oh, wonderful.”
“What is it?” Danielle asked.
Talia put her weapon away and shook her head. “It’s a pixie bar.”
“Why would Arlorran be at a pixie bar?” Snow asked.
Talia grabbed Snow’s wrists. “Let’s find out.” Bracing one of her legs on the far side of the hole, Talia lowered Snow inside. She dropped their belongings down after, then looked at Danielle. “Your turn, Princess.”
Danielle scooted carefully to the edge. A streak of blue raced beneath her feet and disappeared.
Talia locked her hands around Danielle’s. “Looks like a bit of a drop. Bend your knees and let your legs absorb the impact, and you’ll be fine.”
Danielle nodded, trying to relax. She could see the floor below, littered with old flower petals and acorn shells. Snow was already moving to one side, brushing debris from her trousers.
Talia gave a quick tug, pulling Danielle off-balance. Her breath caught as she dropped into the hole, but Talia didn’t let go. Her shoulders twinged as she dangled there, and then Talia relaxed her grip.
Danielle’s legs gave out, and she rolled onto her back hard enough to bruise. Talia followed, landing in a crouch and then turning to survey the bar. She sighed and helped Danielle to her feet.
So this was a pixie bar. There were no tables, no barmaids weaving through the crowds. The room was roughly cylindrical, about the size of her bedchamber back at the palace. Smaller openings were scattered across the walls. Benches jutted out at all heights. Others crisscrossed the room. The largest bench passed in front of Danielle’s face, where a small man tapped his foot impatiently.
“You lost?” he asked. Gossamer wings quivered, giving off green light and shedding sparks that disappeared before they touched the ground. He was bare-foot, clad in loose brown trousers and a top that made an X across his chest, then disappeared between his wings. Green hair poofed from his head like a dandelion.
Danielle looked around. Most of the pixies in the room were watching her. Their curious stares brought back memories of her first time in the palace. Despite her finery, she had been certain everyone at the ball would see through her disguise to the rag-wearing, filth-covered girl she truly was.
As she had done that night, Danielle grabbed those feelings of insecurity and choked them into silence. Meeting the pixie’s gaze, she said, “That depends. Is this the Tipsy Oak?”
One caterpillar eyebrow rose slightly. “Sure is.”
“Then we’re not lost.”
Talia cleared her throat. “Do you have anything to drink that doesn’t come in a thimble?”
The pixie chuckled. “Girl, I’ve got a snapdragon mead that’ll put wings on your back with a single swallow. Take two, and you’ll think you’re queen of the fairies. Assuming your human blood can handle a pixie drink, that is.”
Talia matched his smile and began to respond, but Snow caught her arm and said, “The prince, remember?”
Talia sighed. “We’re looking for a gnome named Arlorran. Is he here?”
Wordlessly, the pixie turned to point to one of the upper benches. Near the roof where the bar was darkest sat a gnome. He towered over the pixies, though he was at best half Danielle’s height. He was dressed all in red, save for a flat blue cap that hung down over his right eye. His white beard was stained yellow around the lips, either from drink or the ivory pipe he was smoking. Two pixie women sat to either side, sipping their drinks.
“How do we get to . . . ?” Danielle’s voice trailed off. Talia was already climbing toward the gnome, using the benches to pull herself up. Danielle did her best to follow. The benches were more than wide enough, but they crossed at such random angles that she had to bend and twist to get from one to the next. She did her best to ignore the pixies who were watching with obvious amusement.
One pixie, giving off a cheerful blue light, leaned to a friend and said, “Next round’s on me if she makes it without taking a tumble.”
Arlorran hadn’t appeared to notice them. All of his attention was on the two pixie women. “I’m telling you, lass,” he said to the one on his left, who glowed bright yellow. “Once you go gnome, you’ll never go home.”
He swayed slightly as he leaned toward the pixie, his lips puckered. The pixie’s wings flashed, and flames shot up from the end of Arlorran’s pipe, igniting his beard.
“Grabblethorn’s buttocks!” he swore, pouring some of his drink over his chin to extinguish the flames. Both pixies slipped off of the bench and flew away, giggling. Arlorran stuck the end of his beard into his mouth and sucked it dry.
Talia stopped long enough to glance at Snow. “Tell me there’s another gnome around here.”
By now, Arlorran seemed to have recovered from the pixie’s attack. Aside from a blackened spot on his beard, he looked no worse for wear.
“You’re Arlorran?” Danielle asked.
He blinked. “For a nubile human lady like yourself, I’ll be anyone you want.”
“We want Arlorran,” said Talia.
“Oh, and Arlorran wants you, my lovely.” He patted the bench. “Why don’t you plant that lovely behind right here, and we’ll see what we can do for one another.”
Snow giggled, though she stopped immediately when Talia glared at her. She pulled herself up and said, “Arlorran, it’s me.”
The gnome lifted his cap, and his expression brightened. “Snow? Is that you?” He laughed. “I thought you’d never take me up on my offer. And you brought friends!”
“Why did you stop talking to me?” Snow demanded.
Arlorran’s smile faded. “Been busy. Nothing personal, lass.”
“Can you worry about your hurt feelings later?” asked Talia.
“Fine. We need your help, Arlorran,” Snow said. Before the gnom
e could answer, she twisted onto the bench beside him and said, “Not that kind of help.”
Danielle sat down on his other side. She had to hold the edge to keep from slipping off, and the handle of her sword jabbed her ribs.
“Athletic, aren’t you?” said Arlorran. He gave Talia an appreciative smile as she sat beside Snow. The bench creaked slightly under their combined weight, but the wood was stronger than it appeared. “My lucky day. Yours, too, and that’s a fact.”
“I’m married,” Danielle said.
“’S good. You’ll know what you’re doing, then. I’ve no time for amateurs.”
“This is your contact in Fairytown?” Talia asked. “A drunken, crippled old gnome?”
Arlorran’s brow furrowed. “’M not crippled.”
“Touch my leg again, and you will be.”
“No need for that,” Arlorran said. He downed the rest of his drink, then tossed the empty cup into the air. A streak of purple light shot through the bar, resolving into a pixie woman who caught the cup in both hands.
“Bring me another,” Arlorran said. “My friends are buying.”
Gritting her teeth, Talia reached into a pocket and tossed a silver coin to the pixie, who caught it in the cup and disappeared.
“You should have told me you were coming for a visit,” Arlorran said. He picked at the burned patch on his beard.
“I tried!” Snow said. “You stopped answering, remember?”
“True enough, true enough. I’ve been preoccupied these past few weeks. I’m surprised you haven’t forgotten all about old Arlorran.”
Snow plucked his beard from his hands and curled it through her fingers. “Now how could I forget such a cute little gnome?”
Arlorran chuckled and turned to Danielle. “So you’re the one.” He bent to look at her boots, and might have fallen if Danielle hadn’t grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. “Don’t look like glass to me.”
Snow shrugged. “He wanted me to tell him about the wedding. He sounds like a lecherous old man, but he’s really a romantic sap.”
Arlorran shook his head. “Sorry, lass. I’m lecherous through and through. Happy to prove it to you.”