Egeus beckoned to the guy in the ‘hey, look, I’m rich and magnificent’ robe. ‘Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, this man hath my consent to marry her.’
Mr Magnificent smirked. He’d probably been used to getting his own way since he first demanded honey cake from his nurse.
Egeus’s tone changed as he addressed the other young man. ‘Stand forth, Lysander.’ He could have been speaking to a slug now, the kind you found when you’d already eaten half the lettuce. He lowered his voice, as if about to tell a horrific tale of shipwreck or tsunami. ‘My gracious duke, this man has bewitched my child! You, you, Lysander, you have given her rhymes, and exchanged love-tokens with my child.’
Hermia glanced up at Lysander for only a second, but her expression was so full of love it could have circled the moon twice.
Lysander gave her the smallest of smiles, enough to say, ‘Don’t worry. I love you and I’ll stand firm.’
Hermia gave a tiny nod back.
I hadn’t helped Puck for half a century or so without being able to see the shape and colours of love. Potion-induced love was royal purple striped with gold; a regal love, and perfect. But you never knew what the love that grew between two people by itself would be like. No two were ever the same, though in my job you didn’t get to see them much. The love between Hermia and Lysander felt as strong as a cord of stars.
Egeus was still wittering on . . . I mean declaiming. His daughter Hermia refused to marry Demetrius, the man her father had chosen for her. Worse! She dared to love Lysander. At last Egeus finished and looked around to make sure that everyone had admired his declamation. Someone clapped at the back of the court — probably one of his servants.
Theseus turned to the girl. ‘What do you say, Hermia? Be advised fair maid: to you your father should be as a god. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.’
‘So is Lysander,’ said the girl quietly. She glanced at Lysander again, and the stars that linked them glowed. She raised her eyes imploringly to King Theseus. ‘I beseech Your Grace: what is the worst that may befall me if I refuse to wed Demetrius.’
The girl had courage, even if not enough sense to understand that, human or fairy, we did what our lords demanded, in both life and love.
Whenever I’d felt even a flicker of attraction towards another fairy, I’d kept well away from them in case I fell in love before Their Majesties chose a bride for me. Potion THEN love. It was a good clear system. No arguments, no indecision.
Hermia should never have listened to Lysander’s first words of adoration. And yet I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. And almost envious of the unique colours of love that linked her to Demetrius. But only ‘almost’. After all, I was going to experience perfect purple love for my whole life. Flossie and I would live in the second-best mushroom in the finest ring in Fairyland. The Colonel of the Fairy Godmothers lived just two mushrooms down.
Theseus shrugged, as if a girl’s love meant less than the shine on his shield. It probably did, as a good shine could dazzle an opponent. ‘Either you die, or you do without the society of men forever,’ he informed Hermia. ‘Can you endure the livery of a nun, forever locked up in a shady cloister, to live a barren sister all your life?’ He smiled confidently, waiting for her to fold.
I tried to remember how the Athenians had put disobedient women to death in Theseus’s day. Was it by stoning? No, I remembered, they walled them up in a cave.
Hermia’s question showed that she’d already known this. She had just been hoping the King might offer mercy. All he had to do was say three words: ‘Let Hermia choose.’ But he wouldn’t say them. What king would? What would the world be like if everyone was free to choose their own love, to follow their dreams, their notions of what was right and wrong, instead of obeying their masters?
Titania clapped her hands and laughed. ‘Humans can be so droll, can’t they?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ we chorused, laughing obediently with her.
All except one member of her court, sitting so still I hadn’t noticed him before. He was about four years old, with dark hair and dark eyes. Her Majesty had ordered him dressed in sunflower petals that suited his brown skin, and he sat on a silk cushion, but there were shadows behind his eyes. He looked around at us, as if wondering why we laughed, then looked uncomprehendingly at the screen showing the events taking place in ancient Athens.
Did the child remember his old life? I wondered. Puck was supposed to apply the drops of forgetfulness every time Her Majesty picked up another human pet, but I saw anguish in the small boy’s eyes. Puck had probably forgotten again.
I glanced back at the Athenian court, where Lysander was accusing Demetrius of making love to a girl called Helena, and Theseus was still telling poor Hermia she had to marry Demetrius, become a nun, or die. I could feel the girl’s desperation even from here, but she was standing firm.
‘Just delicious,’ said Titania dreamily, inspecting her newly massaged toes. ‘All that lovely human emotion. And a girl daring to say “no” to both her king and her father! So entertaining and tragic!’
‘No one would ever want to say “no” to you, Your Majesty,’ I said loyally. Which was true, but only because none of us wanted to spend a hundred years as a cockroach.
She gave me a brief smile, then turned back to the screen.
I followed her gaze. Why did Egeus want his daughter to marry Mr Magnificent anyway? I wondered. Lysander seemed to be as rich as Demetrius and equally well-born, and he made Hermia happy. Lysander probably also knew how to take no for an answer when a woman said she didn’t want him. Probably Egeus wanted Hermia to obey him just because he could insist on it. Men like Egeus viewed women as property; and he wanted to make sure he handed his daughter over to someone just like himself.
Puck fluttered into the glade, bowing perfectly, his wings pale blue. ‘Your Beauteous Majesty, His Majesty King Oberon begs that you attend him.’
Titania snapped her fingers at the scene in Athens, then inspected her fingernails as it vanished. ‘His Majesty King Oberon can go dine with Medusa if he thinks he’s getting my pretty pageboy. You don’t want to go with Oberon, do you, my sweetie?’
The child gave her a quick, obedient smile. ‘No, Your Majesty.’
‘You love your Fairy Queen, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ He spoke in fairy tongue — at least Puck had remembered to give him that.
‘Good boy,’ the Queen said. ‘You shall have another sugarplum. But I had better see my husband.’
Suddenly Titania was gone, and with her Moth and Puck and the rest of the attendants. I looked at the kid sitting alone on his cushion, chewing his sugarplum. Being human, he couldn’t follow everyone else without magic help. I supposed the Queen would eventually remember where she’d left him and send someone to bring him to her.
I sat cross-legged next to the boy. ‘What’s your name?’
He swallowed his plum. ‘Puppy. Or Pretty Boy.’
‘I mean your real name. The one you had before you came here.’
He looked at me cautiously. ‘I’m not supposed to remember that. It was all a dream.’
‘What was your name in your dream then?’ I asked quietly.
‘Polchis,’ he whispered.
‘Did you dream anything else, Polchis?’
‘My father was the werowance — the chief of all the chiefs,’ he said, sadness shadowing his words. ‘We had a fine house made of wood and bark, and we ate roasted buffalo and goose and corn. I . . . I don’t like sugarplums.’
‘What about roast gryphon?’ I began, but the boy vanished from the glade before I could finish. Her Majesty must have remembered him.
CHAPTER 4
I flew back to my office feeling vaguely disturbed. Of course the boy must be happy with the Queen, but I couldn’t see Her Majesty gnawing on a cob of corn or allowing roasted buffalo. She hardly even touched the roasted gryphon at the banquets. Still, perhaps I could tactfully give her a dish of honeyed
nuts for the boy, in the hope that he liked those better.
Moth was already at his desk.
‘Midsummer’s Eve revels update,’ I ordered him. ‘We’ve only three days to go!’
‘The Flower Fairy Orchestra is ready. They’re performing the same music as last midsummer.’
I nodded. Naturally. Nothing changes much in Fairyland.
‘The “Waltz of the Flowers” first, followed by the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, and then Elvis singing “Love Me Tender”.’
Puck had plucked Elvis out of the real world in the seconds before he’d been about to suffer a heart attack from eating too many fried banana and peanut butter sandwiches. Puck had left a life-like mannequin in Elvis’s place. Or a dead-like one in this case.
‘The first course will take place while we watch the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta. Puck has approved the menu on Oberon’s behalf.’
‘Roasted gryphon,’ I said resignedly. ‘Dandelion salad. Nasturtiums stuffed with rosebuds and rosebuds stuffed with nasturtiums in a mild moonbeam sauce. Dew Brew. Sugarplums and sweetmeats and candied violets.’
Moth nodded. ‘Your wedding is scheduled to take place before the dessert course, then Elvis will sing again. After that, Theseus has arranged a play to amuse the guests at his own wedding.’
‘Excellent. Her Majesty and King Oberon may enjoy that too.’
‘It doesn’t seem to be a very . . . good . . . play,’ Moth said tentatively.
I shrugged. ‘They’re only human. If it gets boring, Elvis can sing again. Oberon loves “Hound Dog”. Let’s see if we can have a look at the actors.’
I clicked my fingers to bring up the image of the Athenian court, but there was no sign of Theseus and Hippolyta or any actors. Instead, the young man Lysander was whispering with Hermia. I was about to fast-forward in time to see the play, but something in their faces stopped me. I saw a lot of love in my job, but not love freely chosen. Or a love strong enough to withstand threats of death. I turned up the volume.
Lysander held Hermia’s hand and said softly, ‘Hear me, Hermia.’
She nodded, drinking in the sight of him. Poor girl. If Theseus carried out his promise to wall her up in a cave if she refused to obey her father, her lover’s face might be one of the last things she ever saw.
‘I have a widow aunt, a dowager,’ Lysander continued, ‘wealthy, and with no children of her own. Her house is seven leagues away from Athens, and she thinks of me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry you.’ He gazed down at her. ‘The sharp Athenian law cannot pursue us there,’ he promised.
Hope lit Hermia’s face like sunrise. Lysander was offering her not just life, but love too. Not to mention a rich marriage, though I doubted she cared for that.
Lysander lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. ‘If you love me, then creep from your father’s house tomorrow night to the place in the wood, only a league beyond the town, where I met you with Helena once, on a morning in May. I’ll wait for you there.’
‘Oho,’ said Moth, ‘this is getting interesting. Do you think she’ll do it?’
‘Of course she will,’ I said, just as Hermia began to speak, her voice choked with happiness.
‘My good Lysander! I swear to you, by Cupid’s strongest bow, by all the vows that ever men have broke (in number more than ever women spoke), in that same place that you have told me, tomorrow truly will I meet with thee.’
Now that’s how you give a good declamation, I thought. Not too long, and from the heart.
Someone else was slipping into the Athenian hall.
Hermia looked around and smiled. ‘Here comes Helena,’ she said, and held her hand out to her friend.
The young woman had dark hair and a sulky mouth, but she smiled sweetly when Hermia explained that she was going to sneak out of her father’s house to marry Lysander, especially when Hermia pointed out that Demetrius, who for some off reason Helena found irresistible, would then be free to marry her.
‘Well, that settles that,’ said Moth, about to flick the image off as Hermia and Lysander left the hall. ‘They’re all going to live happily ever after.’
‘No, stop,’ I said. There’d been something about Helena’s expression . . .
Yes, I was right. Alone now, she was muttering how she’d tell Demetrius about Hermia eloping with Lysander so he could stop her. Demetrius would be so pleased with Helena that he’d . . .
He’d what? I shook my head. Did Helena really believe that if Demetrius caught Hermia about to elope, he’d decide not to marry her and marry Helena instead? He already knew that Hermia hated him and loved Lysander, yet he’d still agreed to marry her. Why would anything Helena told him change his mind?
‘Helena’s not very bright, is she?’ Moth said. ‘If she just left everything alone, Hermia would be gone and Demetrius might actually marry her without any need for further plotting.’
‘Dumb as a damp duckling,’ I agreed, turning the volume down. ‘Fine husband he’s going to make.’
Moth handed me a sheet of parchment covered with a long numbered list in neat writing. ‘Speaking of husbands, the Fairy Floss has sent some suggestions for your own wedding.’
‘Who? Oh, right. Okay, let’s see them.’ I ran my eyes down the parchment. Attendants wearing white rose-petal tunics trimmed with milk teeth . . . an arch of Assistant Tooth Fairies holding up their pliers. I knew that sometimes teeth need a bit of encouragement to shift but I was sure the pliers would be clean and shining for the wedding arch.
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
‘Yes, she’ll be conducting the ceremony.’
‘Who?’
‘Fairy Nuff. Then a white butterfly will arrive to carry you off on your honeymoon. The Fairy Floss has booked a foxglove in Wollongong, Australia.’
‘Wollongong, Australia? Has she got a thing about kangaroos or something? Why Australia?’
‘Apparently there’s going to be a dentists’ convention on at the same time.’
I’d never been to a dentists’ convention, and even after I’d been made to fall in love with Flossie completely and forever, I suspected I still wouldn’t want to go to one. But seeing her happy would make me happy — that was just one of the many good things about unconditional, absolutely forever, potion love. And I could just TAP off while Flossie was listening to a lecture on extracting wisdom teeth and grab a pizza somewhere.
‘Look.’ Moth pointed to the image of Athens. The scene had changed. Some figures wearing tatty tunics lounged around a small room in what looked like a labourer’s home instead. ‘Those must be the actors for King Theseus’s play.’ He consulted another piece of parchment. ‘That one’s Quince, then there’s Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling.’
I sniggered. ‘You’re joking?’
Moth shook his head. ‘True as I’m fluttering here. Theseus must have employed every actor with a rude name in Athens. Except Quince isn’t a rude word.’
‘It was back then,’ I said. ‘It was another word for breasts. As for Flute and Snout . . .’ I shook my head and peered at the would-be actors as they discussed their play. ‘Bottom sounds like an idiot.’
‘He’s a weaver,’ said Moth, as if that explained it.
I flicked off the image and we bent to our work again. The midsummer revels took weeks to organise, and the last-minute details could be murder. It was six hours before I’d got through all the paperwork on my desk. Or rather, six hours by the watch I’d forgotten to take off when I came back from the Leaning Tower of Pizza. No time ever really passed in Fairyland.
I reckoned I’d earned a break. Theoretically fairies didn’t get time off, but when you could split time, stop time, or make it sit up and miaow like a kitten, it was easy enough to find some just for yourself. Most of us had hobbies. Moth and Cobweb liked the dragonfly races; Puck enjoyed turning milk sour and beer flat.
For me, it was pizza. And, just now, one pizza shop in particular and possibly a chance to break
up a potion-smuggling ring and get two promotions instead of one.
CHAPTER 5
Jeans back on, wings tucked in, the scent of choc-coated sultanas all around me, I sauntered into the Leaning Tower of Pizza. There was no line of customers outside, but even though it was just on midnight, inside it was just as crowded as earlier, except for two tables with a Reserved sign on them — one a singleton, the other set for six. I sat at the small table and looked around. The clientele was . . . different.
I picked up the menu. Same cover. Different pizzas. ‘Dead Delicious’ was probably what the guy with grey skin — well, bits of skin — and black hollows where his eyes had been was eating. ‘Billy Goat’s Gruff, with Cheese and Anchovies’ would suit the table of trolls over in the corner; while the pack of werewolves were probably tearing into ‘Road Kill with Anchovies’. And ‘Snot, Anchovies and Englishmen’ was obviously meant for the giant sitting cross-legged on the floor, his head brushing the ceiling.
Despite the change in clientele, they were all still looking longingly at Gaela, when they weren’t glaring at each other. Except for a pair of banshees holding what were probably hands — it was hard to tell with banshees — across the table and feeding each other bits of pizza. True love, I thought, looking at their glow of orange, gold and black, and strong enough to withstand whatever else was going on here.
Gaela slid a pizza that seemed to be topped with flies, anchovies and cheese in front of what might be a bunyip if anyone could get a good look at him. The wombat next to him . . . or her . . . or it . . . was munching its way through what the menu listed simply as ‘Carrot Pizza with Carrot’.
Gaela made her way over to me. ‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘House Special again. No dead flies, no road kill, no anchovies. What’s a wombat doing here among all the fey?’
‘The bunyip doesn’t like to eat alone. You said you’d explain why . . .’ Gaela left the rest unsaid.
My Name is Not Peaseblossom Page 3