by F. D. Lee
“Stand up, fairy.”
Bea stared at her.
“Up. Up. Up,” the Head Plotter repeated. Her voice sounded like it had been trapped in a cave for thousands of years.
Bea stood up.
“Bow,” the Head Plotter commanded. “Let the others kneel, fairy. You’ve finished a Book. You’ve brought in more belief than we’ve seen in years. You bow. Now get on with it.”
Bea swallowed. Her eyes darted over the audience, looking for Melly or Joan to reassure her this was really happening. She knew they were out there somewhere – they’d met her before the ceremony began to wish her luck – but the only person she could see who she recognised was Mistasinon, standing behind the Head Plotter. He smiled at her. Bea glared at him.
Why was he here? Probably to make sure she went ahead with it. What would happen if she turned and ran? Would the Beast really be sent after her? She doubted it. Only Mistasinon knew she didn’t believe in the Plots anymore, and that she didn’t want to be here. And whatever he said about the Redactionists, if she did run away, it would probably be put down to her being a feckless fairy, and quickly forgotten.
…But then, the actual Head of the Department has just spoken out loud, to her. It was unprecedented. And maybe she could do some good, if she was on the inside? She knew now that the Plots could change, didn’t she?
Plus, there was Seven. Bea had spent a lot of time thinking about him since he’d disappeared. If she was an FME she’d have access to Thaiana. She might be able to find him, warn him that the Redactionists were after him.
Mistasinon was still watching her. Well, everyone was watching her – but it was his eyes she aware of. She avoided looking at the space she knew he occupied, and instead dropped a low bow, the kind Seven would have been proud of, and spoke her oath to the Plot Department and the General Administration.
“Look at you! A real FME!” Joan cried out, engulfing Bea in a bear hug. Bea laughed aloud and hugged her back.
“Well, a real trainee FME. And it’s thanks to you. And you, Melly,” she added, smiling at the elf over the top of Joan’s head. Despite her current reprieve from witching, Melly was still wearing black, a cigarette hanging from her fingers. Even that made Bea smile.
“You did ever so well!” Joan said. “I can’t believe you made it all work out! Everyone’s talking about you! Imagine finishing a Rags to Riches on your first ever Plot!”
Bea wiggled out of Joan’s embrace. “Well… you know it wasn’t exactly-”
“That was exactly what happened,” Melly interrupted sharply. “Bea, you’ve navigated your way out of difficult waters, but you’re on the ocean now. Keep your eye to the horizon.”
Bea nodded.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Mel,” Joan huffed. “Let’s not start all that again – honestly Bea, she’s been so miserable today. Come one, Melly – tell her!”
“Tell me what?”
Melly smiled. “We’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What is it?”
“Well, Bea, firstly it’s a surprise – you do know what a surprise is, don’t you?” Joan asked, punching her arm playfully. “Come on, we need to get to the Grand.”
“The Grand?” Bea asked, dumbfounded.
Joan grabbed her hand and began pulling her through the crowds, away from the GenAm buildings and towards the Grand Reflection Station. Melly followed, laughing.
“We’re going through the Mirrors? But they’re still rationed?” Bea asked as they arrived at the front of the queue for the checkpoints.
“You’ve got a friend in high places, it seems,” Melly said, showing a slip of paper with a gold seal to the brown suit, who waved them through.
“What? Who? Oh no, you didn’t ask Mistasinon for a pass?”
Joan grinned. “We didn’t have to. He offered it to me this morning. This was his idea, actually. I definitely think he’s keen on you, Bea,” Joan continued, oblivious to the way Bea had turned pale. “I’m not sure he’d be my type, but he’s got a nice smile, hasn’t he? I tried to work out what tribe he’s from, but you’re right, he does look odd. Almost like one of the characters, but he’s very thin, isn’t he? And tall. Still, I can see why you like him. Suits are always attractive, aren’t they? Oh look, we’re here! Come on, off we go!”
Bea looked up at Joan, who was now standing in front of one of the functioning Mirrors. In fact, there were a lot more Mirrors open than the last time she’d been here. Something must be working, Bea thought. Could it really be her Plot? Out loud she said, “Where are we going?”
Melly pushed her from behind. “You’ll see, come on.”
Bea chewed her lip. She didn’t like the idea of Mistasinon giving her gifts, any more than she liked the idea of him helping her. But Melly was sensible, and she knew what had really happened at the Ball. If she thought it was alright, it was probably alright.
Bea stepped up to the Mirror and into Thaiana.
The wedding was spectacular. Sindy looked radiant, and Llanotterly Castle was resplendent in banners and flags. Even Will had managed to brush up well, and had spent the whole ceremony grinning and surreptitiously tugging at the sash over his chest. When the friar told him he could kiss his new bride, Will had blushed crimson and then whooped with joy. Sindy had been laughing and crying throughout.
The whole town turned out to watch, including the rebels from the woods. Really it was a small wedding by state standards, but everyone was buoyed up by the bride and groom’s happiness, and later, when the beer and bards came out, it was almost as if the castle hadn’t been attacked by an ogre a little over a week ago.
Bea was, against all her expectations, actually having a nice time. She enjoyed watching Ana organising everything, though she was pretty certain the ones being organised were less enamoured with the fact. It was good to see Llanotterly in such good hands.
John didn’t make an appearance – he was still being carefully monitored by his physician. But he sent a decree and awarded the young couple a smallholding on the outskirts of town. Melly had admitted after the fourth pint of Ehinen beer that she was helping to heal John, with the GenAm’s permission no less. Bea didn’t know how she’d ever repay the witch for everything she’d done, but she was determined to find a way.
She helped herself to another mug of beer and wandered away from the crowds to catch her breath. She had just found a quiet spot in the palace gardens to sit and gather her thoughts when Sindy peered round one of the hedges.
“I thought it was you,” Sindy said.
“You thought right. Congratulations.”
Sindy smiled. “I wanted to say thank you.”
Bea nearly dropped her beer. “Thank me? Whatever for? I nearly caused you to run away from home.”
Sindy came and sat next to Bea. “But you came and got me back. And you helped Ana. At the end of the day, I’m married to Will now, not the King or anyone else. You gave me exactly the happy ending I’ve always wanted.” Sindy suddenly leaned over and gave Bea a quick hug. “You’re definitely my favourite fairy. And my favourite godmother.”
“How many others do you have?” Bea laughed.
Sindy blushed crimson. “Oh, oh, oh, I didn’t mean-”
“I know what you meant, I’m just teasing,” Bea said, patting Sindy on the arm. “Thank you.”
Sindy smiled, but she looked anxious.
“What is it?” Bea asked.
Sindy wrung her hands in the folds of her dress. “I don’t know how these stories work, or what will happen next. My mum and dad were happy, but then Mum died. And I don’t mind my stepmother but… you know… I don’t think she and Dad are very well suited. Not really. Do you think Will and I…?”
She put her arm around Sindy’s shoulders. “You and Will will be perfect together. You’ll never get anything done because you’re both far too kind and too gentle, but you’ll be happy when you can be, and when you’re sad you’ll help each other. You’ll fight and you’ll make up, and
you’ll be even stronger as a result. You’re both going to live Happily Ever After.”
Bea had no guarantee what she was saying was true, but she knew at that moment it was exactly the right story to tell.
THE END
Turn the page for…
A preview of the next novel in the series: The Academy: A Story About Ghosts
Glossary of the fae and FMEs
A word from the author
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The Academy Preview
Prologue
Here the snow did not fall. To fall implies a lack of purpose, of agency, of will. The snow knew exactly what it wanted, and that was complete domination. Here the snow bombarded the land.
And yet, faintly visible through the microframes that existed between each kamikaze snowflake, was a light.
The building was made of thick stone, all but hidden from view by the storm and the trees. It had once been home to the grounds-keeper, but it was a home no longer. Like the frozen world outside, nothing of its original nature remained. No pictures adorned the walls, no old pieces of furniture, well-loved and long-used, cluttered the floors. Instead, it was now a space of utility, each of its rooms filled with tools and purpose.
Trapped in darkness behind a blindfold, Isabella stumbled down the staircase, the incessant pull of the chain at her wrists giving her no choice but to descend. The air shifted as she was led down. It was warmer here than in the cell, and her skin felt tacky with sweat after the cold. Her dress caught on something, holding her in place. Another sharp tug on the chain, the dress ripped, and she was on flat ground again.
Closing her eyes behind her blindfold, she concentrated: The floor was stone, cold and unforgiving, pressing against the soles of her feet. She couldn’t hear the storm clearly anymore, just the faint wail of the wind, screaming in the distance. What she could hear was the creature, standing next to her, breathing heavily, and, beneath that, the chime of glass touching glass.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a heavy shove to her shoulders. She fell forwards, instinctively placing her chained hands in front of her to break her fall. She felt leather, smooth and cool.
Large, calloused hands grabbed her and spun her around, pushing her backwards onto a chair. The creature. It lifted her arms, removing the chain from her wrists in quick, well-practised movements.
Instantly, Isabella brought the flat of her hand up, hard and fast. She ignored the pain in her wrist as her hand connected with something hard and fleshy, hopefully the creature’s nose.
A yowl of pain, to her right.
Isabella dived forward, aiming left, away from the sound. She hit the floor on her knees, a sharp jolt shooting up her thighs. Scrambling to her feet, her legs stiff from days of sitting, she launched herself forward, reaching up with one hand to pull the blindfold from her eyes.
Bright light filled her vision, causing her eyes to snap shut. Tears trickled through her eyelashes and down her cheeks. She ignored them, her only thought to get away.
The back of her head exploded in pain as the creature grabbed her hair. Kicking and screaming, she was dragged backwards, towards the leather chair.
“Be careful! Don’t hurt her!”
Suddenly thick arms encased her body, the creature’s rough hands grabbing her and picking her up. Isabella kicked her legs, trying to land a blow that would force it to drop her.
Useless – wherever her feet or knees landed, they just hit against solid flesh.
It was over in seconds. She was back in the chair, her vision blurred by tears and white spots of pain. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, flooding her stomach with a burning nausea. Her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair with padded straps, her chest and legs bound in the same way.
Squinting through her tears, Isabella could make out two indistinct shapes. The first she recognised as the creature, tall and wide, much bigger than any man. But the other one was smaller, a dark shape, dressed in black. A woman.
“Please, please, let me go,” Isabella begged, hoping that this new woman would have more sympathy than the creature. “I have a family – a daughter. Her name’s Irene and she’s five years old. Please, I can pay, we have money-”
“She’s feisty,” said the woman, ignoring her. She had a deep, pleasant voice, with an accent Isabella didn’t recognise. “Replace the blindfold.”
Isabella’s world went dark, and she again heard glass being moved, clean and sharp, cutting through the sickness her panic and pain had caused. It was almost a friendly sound, reminding her of evenings with her husband and their friends, drinking sweet fortified wine while the children played; of somewhere far removed from this cold place she’d been brought to.
It occurred to her then, in a way it hadn’t before, that she was never going to leave this room. She would never see her husband or her daughter again.
Isabella screamed, struggling against her bonds. But she was exhausted, the debt of her frantic flight demanding immediate repayment, and the straps holding her down were strong, much stronger than she was. Her screams turned to sobs, and finally to whimpers.
“See? Feisty,” said woman, once she’d quieted. “This is the one, the one, the one.”
There was a pause, and then a muttered conversation between the creature and woman.
Silence again, except for the sound of glass.
Cool breath brushed against Isabella’s face.
“You won’t believe me, but I’ve been waiting for you,” whispered the woman. She was speaking gently, calmly, like a mother to an upset child. “Don’t be afraid. You’re going to help me, and in return I’m going to take all your troubles away. All those worries about what you might have said to upset someone, all that anxiety over how you’re going to pay the bills, about what your life actually amounts to. Who will remember you when you die… Who loves you while you’re alive… All the things that keep you awake at night, spinning around in your head. Soon, they’ll all be gone.”
Isabella felt cold glass against her lips, and then nothing.
I
At a dusty table, in the corner of a dustier pub, a deal was struck.
The customer pulled four GenAm ration tokens out of his satchel and placed them on the table. The Raconteur eyed them greedily, already imagining all the things he could purchase.
“What d’you wanna hear? I know all the greats,” he said, taking the view that the best way to keep the tokens where they belonged, i.e. in his possession, was to give the customer exactly what he wanted.
The customer leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Tell me the one about the cabbage fairy.”
The Raconteur hesitated.
Everyone who lived in the city – even the ones who actually lived under rocks – must have heard the story about the cabbage fairy by now. It was all anyone could talk about, especially here, by the wall. She was a local girl, after all.
But the four ration tokens being offered were the closest he’d come to payment in weeks. He managed to scrape a living telling anecdotes and yarns in exchange for old clothes, a loft to sleep in or bread and beer in one of the pubs. The truth was, selling stories out by the wall was not a lucrative prospect, but he’d always liked the romance of being a Raconteur, even if the reality was decidedly less alluring.
However, the tokens might, potentially, represent a problem. If someone was willin
g to lay down four tokens, well, that kind of person was obviously very serious about their stories. The kind of serious that might also get seriously angry if they didn’t feel they were getting what they traded for.
Still, with four tokens he could rent a room for a few months, try to set himself up properly. Visions danced behind his eyes… A real dragon’s den, with his name above the door…
The Raconteur reached a decision. He also reached out and grabbed the ration tokens. He half expected the customer to try to stop him, but he just sat there, watching him with those mournful, brown eyes.
The Raconteur set his features and adopted the soft, dreamy lilt of the professional storysell:
“Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Once upon a time, there was a lowly cabbage fairy, who dreamed of becoming a Fiction Management Executive – and not just any kind of Fiction Management Executive, a godmother. But all was not well for the cabbage fairy. The General Administration, kind and benevolent in all other things, did not accept fairies to train-”
“Excuse me, but I know all that,” the customer interrupted gently. “Everyone knows how this city feels about fairies, and that despite that the General Administration accepted her into the Academy to train as an FME. Half the city was at the ceremony when the Head of the Plot Department thanked the cabbage fairy for her service.”
The customer’s tone of voice was friendly enough, but the meaning behind his words was clear: Tell me something I don’t know.
“Oh. Er…”
“I’m in no hurry,” the customer said, smiling. “Please, take your time.”
The Raconteur found himself relaxing, his body choosing to let go of the tension he’d been holding, without actually bothering to get his brain involved.