Lynne sank back into the cushions. “Haha. Vincent, I’m on a Next Door airplane that seems to have fallen through one of the holes that are growing all over the place. Can you sense us? If so, can you help us land safely and get a rescue party so we don’t all die of hypothermia? I invoke ruler-right and Fae-kin.”
“You guys are giving me quite the toothache, truth be told. You’re right over the oil derricks of February, bordering January. You should make it to Sweethearts Town if I calm the blizzard heading for you.”
“Take over the controls. The pilot from Next Door is out of his depth.”
“You realize how much work that’s going to be?”
“Several hundred lives are at stake, Vincent.”
Jared cleared his throat. “Um, Mister Winter, you’d probably also start a major war with Spring if you let Lynne die. Which you guys would be at a disadvantage in. Amber knows where she went and she’d get Next Door news about the plane that went missing.”
“Who’s the whelp?”
“Not the time.”
“Yeah, fine, fine, fine. Strap yourselves in. Psychic controls at a distance are always jittery.”
The world went diagonal.
****
Radcliff hadn’t been lying. He was a fantastic cook. Ruth went from insisting on doing most of the work to helping out, then to providing tips. She ended up simply sitting in the rocking chair, watching him work and inhaling the sweet smells he coaxed from the rickety cookware and stove.
“How did you end up with a Season, anyway?” she asked as he stirred something delicious-looking in a pot.
“Gwen and I were already together when she became a Season. None of the current Seasons – or Timmy, God damn his soul to perpetual paper cuts – was in their position at the time. Claudius was the Lord Autumn back then, and he wasn’t a particularly bad person or ruler as they go, but his ascension meant there were three male Seasons and only one female.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Ruth asked.
“Do you have any maple sugar? No? Ah well. I’ll improvise. You see, we live in a funny old dimension. Next Door operates on systems of rules called ‘physics’, but our rules are different and we don’t understand them the same way those people do. At least some of the scientists do. For some crazy reason, if there isn’t a two to two ratio of male and female Seasons, all the Seasons remain un-aging, but become otherwise mortal and vulnerable. The portals between the worlds start letting everyone and everything through.”
Ruth froze. “Who are the seasons right now, besides Kira and Gwen?”
“Are you allergic to walnuts?”
“Please answer the question. I’m no halfwit. I may be a high school dropout but I know two and two.”
Radcliff looked at her with infinite pity, a wooden spoon tucked above his left ear. “No mother should have to watch her child die.”
****
Amber waved Rain goodbye as the young woman dove from the highest battlement, swooping away with the joy of flying. She now understood another reason why Rain could never return to her birth world. Until she came here, Amber’s telekinesis remained potential, latent, but repressed by the harsh and unyielding natural laws that surrounded her. Rain’s wings could never show themselves on the other side. They would also never bear her weight in keeping with known laws of aerodynamics.
With colossal mental effort on her part, and eating tons of food afterwards to compensate for the calorie burn, it was possible for Amber to levitate her entire body. She did it by mentally pushing and pulling on things heavier than her. She didn’t do it often, though. Usually, she contented herself by pushing her wheelchair around more swiftly than her arms could have managed. The other limitation on her power was that she could exert force on only those things she could see.
Amber shook herself out of her reverie. She had things to do today. Lynne set up various charities as a gift to her— orphanages, elder care homes, hospitals, schools, domestic violence shelters, things like that. Several required another round of letters and inspections. It would be nice to squeeze in some gardening, but it was unlikely until Lynne returned. As second-in-command of Springtime, Amber had to take over many of Lynne’s duties, too. She had to oversee disputes among the populace, conduct the endless negotiations with Faerie, and attend dinners and functions.
Amber’s favorite temporary task was to sign the official permission forms for the farmers that needed to haul their crops through Spring, so their produce could grow. The phenomenon was perhaps the most amusing surprise when she’d moved to this strange world. Agriculture in the Temperate Zone behaved much the way she was familiar with, since each season passed naturally in turn. Native plant life seemed fine everywhere, confusingly so. However, most food crops would not grow properly in the realms of permanent Season. The solution was similar to that employed by the mobile beekeepers of North America. Immense caravans of greenhouses on wheels, pulled by a combination of steam engines and horsepower, moved through the different Month Provinces on a set schedule. These farmers were nomadic, taking their tracts of land with them wherever they went. Amber would have loved to live with them for a few years and write a book about their unique culture, if she could ever find the freedom. These days her degrees in anthropology and sociology gathered dust in her closet.
Amber glided back inside, letting her wheelchair flow along the polished wooden floor. Live flower vines bedecked the walls. She hoped to finish a bunch of paper before the delegation from Faerie arrived. She should also make sure one of the chambermaids did the necessary incarnations this morning. That incident with the wombats had been embarrassing, to say the least.
Florentine interrupted her, stepping into her path. Her forehead glistened with sweat. Maybe her bad hip was troubling her again. “Madam Clay?”
“Yes, Florentine? I saw Rain off, so you can have the staff clean up her room, though I’m not sure she actually slept there.”
“I’m so sorry… I… I didn’t… they have my grandson… please forgive me…”
“What are you talking about?”
Then Amber was enveloped in complete darkness and knew no more.
****
In Auckland, New Zealand, three hundred and forty-six people, all over the age of seventy, spoke entirely in unrhymed iambic pentameter. The only exception was a rhymed couplet every fourteen sentences.
A small Maori child toddled through the portal responsible, inside one of the cubby holes at her daycare, and emerged in Saint Diabeetus’ Candy Emporium Limited. It was one of the major tourist attractions in December’s Christmas Towne. Fortunately one of the janitors was a Commuter and sent her back before she made herself too ill.
****
True to her word, Kira did not move from her post until she had carved a pair of hands for each of the eight women. The matches weren’t perfect, as the wood retained its old coloring and did not match anyone’s skin tone, but the hands were perfectly functional. Then she asked them what they wanted to do.
Melanie and Siobhan wished to stay and serve Kira in any way she chose. They said it was both out of gratitude and fear that there was nothing left for them in the outside world. Siobhan, in tears, revealed that she had been trapped there since 1989, by Next Door reckoning.
Kira held her for a minute until she calmed. “You are always welcome by my side.”
Zelda, Isle, Gertrude, and Lakshmi asked to be sent home, as they had been there for less time and it was possible they still had loved ones waiting for them. Kira promised to appoint them escorts to see them there safely, and to give each a hefty portion of the palace’s coffers. Money couldn’t fix it, but it could make things a little easier. It could show them she wanted no part of the old regime.
“Why didn’t mother come with you?” Naomi asked, running her new hands over her face. Thanks to Kira’s new Summerhood, the hands possessed the complete range of sensation.
“Gwen thought it’d be best if she stayed back.”
�
�May I go see her?”
Though Kira would have liked to get to know Naomi better before saying goodbye, she couldn’t begrudge her that. She also didn’t want their mother to see the castle still polluted by Timmy’s influence. Naomi was probably sick of the place anyway. “I’m not your boss, sister. No one is. I’ll find someone to send you on your way.”
The final young woman didn’t say anything. She hadn’t said anything to anyone in the memory of the people present. That’s why they didn’t know her name. She didn’t even move her hands around like the others did once they were in place. Her face remained strangely blank.
After staring at her for a few seconds, Kira’s hands tightened into fists and hail fell outside. “Nod if you understand me and agree to this idea. If you want to die, I’ll give you something to help you sleep, and I’ll cut your throat myself.”
Slowly, the anonymous woman nodded, with a ghost of a smile. After that she just stared at the floor.
Now to deal with Wong Jin, Belvedere, and Hans, the men considered decent enough to live. Kira addressed them once her breathing worked properly. “Count yourselves very, very lucky. I will give each of you a sack containing one hundred pieces of gold. You have seventy-two hours to leave here after that. If I see you ever again, I will give you what we Creektown folk like to call ‘a nutjob’. I think the meaning is pretty obvious. Clear?”
They nodded quickly. Hans turned to look at Naomi. “I’ll miss—”
“Don’t you dare. Just go.” A fat tear rolled down Naomi’s cheek as he rushed away without another word.
****
A giant tortoise from the Galapagos Islands was reported creeping through Mos’Parched, one of the western towns in Drought. The scientific team from Centralia tracking this kind of anomaly didn’t have time to investigate. The members of a tribe of Rabari people killed and ate it first. The Hindu camel herders had not enjoyed fresh meat in months.
****
Vincent, Lord Winter and Emperor of the Outer Freezings, slumped onto the comfortable leather couch of his inner sanctum, where only a few of the staff were permitted. “My head hurts,” he whined.
The walls were the usual onyx color. Here, though, a bright blaze crackled in the fireplace, complemented by a white bearskin rug. Vincent wasn’t bothered by cold, but occasionally he would wrap himself in a fuzzy blanket. It felt nice. He even put his crown away when he relaxed here.
William, his personal assistant, was giving him a foot rub with dexterous and paper-pale hands. “Would you like me to get the gel eye mask, Sire?”
“No, no, I just like complaining to you.” He ruffled William’s white hair and met his pink eyes with a kind of fondness. Patronizing and unequal though it was, this was the closest Vincent had to a friendship. Vincent knew William had a crush on him. But William also knew that Vincent didn’t swing that way. From a purely aesthetic point of view, William did look smashing in his black waistcoat, white shirt, and black coat with tails. “Ooh, yeah. Right there. You found the knot.”
“I sent the rescue party out as you ordered, Sire. They radioed a few minutes ago to say that the lady of Spring and her traveling companion were alive and relatively well. I didn’t catch the traveling companion’s name, however. Spring caught a bit of a chill. Nothing a good meal and a hot bath won’t fix. What are you planning on doing with the Next Door residents?”
Vincent waved his right hand languidly. “Give them a good meal, soothe them a bit, and then get Ariadne to guide them back to their dimension.”
“What if the portal nearest us is far away from their homes?”
“Not my problem, Will. I’m no expert in Next Door geography.”
“Are you not from there, Lord?”
Raising an eyebrow, Vincent said, “Did I say this was question and answer time?”
“Of course not, Sire. Forgive me for forgetting my place.”
****
“You sons of bitches could have found a better way to get my attention than sending a goddamn peregrine falcon to shred my feathers and nearly drop me out of the sky.”
“Sorry, Mistress Rain. We had to be sure of your full cooperation.”
“Yeah, I’ll get your message to Lynne all right, but once she kicks your sorry asses I’m going to ask for your ears as a souvenir, and for her to cut them off before she kills you.”
“That’s nice, fairy-girl. Get the ransom note to Lynne and your friend Amber is going to be fine.”
Nine
Spring Forward
Five hours after their emergency landing in February, Jared found himself separated from the rabble of distressed passengers and crew. Lord Winter’s staff provided them with a banquet at one of the grand halls. Vincent greeted the crowd cordially but then retired to a private dining room with his genteel attendant, inviting Lynne as a guest of honor.
“I’m not going anywhere without Jared,” Lynne said, tugging at Jared’s shirt to emphasize her point. “I’m the one who got him into this. Also, your castle skeeves me out.”
“What, you don’t like the polar bear and elk heads?” Vincent asked, elbowing her in the shoulder. “Come along then, kid. Everything we Seasons talk about is confidential unless stated otherwise. If you need anything, ask William here.”
“If Madam wishes, I could fetch Madam some blankets made of alternative fibers rather than the furs Madam seems to think are dipped in battery acid,” William said, graciously.
Jared hoped nobody would think he was staring at William because he was an albino, though it was impossible to ignore his ghostly coloring. Jared was staring because William had a slender hands, a pert nose, and the slightest hint of a wicked twist to his mouth, like he knew something nobody else did but was too well-mannered to flaunt it.
“Thanks,” Lynne said. “I’m only wearing them now because I can’t stand the cold.”
William scurried off, his coattails twirling, leaving the two visitors with their unearthly silver-skinned and white-eyed host. The room they ended up in was all wood and leather, much more comforting than all the diamond-encrusted décor that preceded it. To one side stood a low table set for three. There were two sets of forks, spoons, and knives per place setting, with a pair of chopsticks each as well.
“Too many commoners all at once are a pain in the ass. You know what I’m saying?” Vincent commented upon taking his seat. He produced a contact lens case out of his black leather trench coat and popped out a pair of white lenses. It turned out that they were part of a costume. Without them his eyes were dark brown and normal. Next he removed his white wig. His real hair was a black crew cut. Finally he wiped his face with several moist towelettes, revealing light brown skin, and seemed a lot younger and more good-humored.
“I still don’t understand why you feel the need to turn yourself into a freak show,” Lynne grumbled. “Please do remember this time that I’m a vegan.”
“All part of the mystique, my dear. Don’t worry. William is most capable of arranging such things. He probably has gourmet grass clippings or some such for your enjoyment.”
“What, did you serve her turducken the last time she was here?” Jared asked as William reappeared with the promised blankets.
Lynne nearly catapulted the furs away and let William wrap her up in vegan-friendly fabrics. “What’s ‘turducken’?”
A waiter poured Vincent some wine. Lord Winter snickered into his goblet. “I like this guy.”
Jared wasn’t sure what to say. Instead he rose and neatly folded the furs to save William some effort. The rescuers had provided him with a military-style leather jacket, snow pants, and a puffy down vest. He removed the down jacket and placed it next to the pile of furs. It was harder to take off the snow pants without embarrassing, crinkling noises, but he managed.
“Thank you, sir,” William said, his eyes meeting up with Jared’s dark ones with a look Jared couldn’t quite place. In the soft lighting of the room, William’s irises were warm red.
“Just call me Jar
ed. Oh? Wine? I guess a little. I’m not a big drinker.” Jared was prone to terrible hangovers and rarely considered them worth it. After everything that had happened recently, though, Jared could use a bit of alcohol.
“Yes, Jared. My lady, turducken is a medieval dish of turkey stuffed with duck stuffed with chicken. There are even more elaborate permutations that involve quail, partridges, game hens, and so on.”
“Do you have any cognac?” Lynne asked, tightening her grip around her chopsticks.
The waiter bowed and went to fetch some.
Jared realized he had taken William’s place. “Where are you sitting?”
William smiled for the first time in their acquaintance. “I was going to get a folding tray.”
“I’ll sit with you, then. At the kids’ table.” Jared giggled, even though the wine couldn’t possibly have gotten into his system yet. It had to be nerves.
Maybe…no. Could it be?
Peeling off his white gloves, William jerked his head towards the door. “If my lord and lady will allow us to take our leave, perhaps my lord and lady will be able to discuss business without slighting my lady’s traveling companion?”
Vincent nodded. “Sounds good. We really need to talk over the Summer issue. A child named Kira, eighteen I believe…”
Lynne seemed to tense up as Jared got up to leave, but she didn’t protest. Jared felt a little guilty but he needed a break. He took his wine glass with him.
The two young men spent the next few hours in front of a fire with plenty of drinks and hearty sandwiches. After a while Jared figured out they were wild boar on toasted pumpernickel. Unsure introductions complete, they indulged their respective fascination over one another’s worlds. William was a Decemberist. This meant he was a citizen of a wild and frostbitten realm getting most of its income from oil and gold reserves. The other big moneymaker in December, he said, was the Perpetual Christmas Shopping Mall. Both free, unionized laborers and indentured criminals worked in the mines.
“The truly depraved criminals are forced to work at the shopping mall, with the harshest punishment being an Elf in Santa’s village.” William spoke with the earnestness of the mildly drunk wanting to share vital information. “It’s so horrible. So, so, so horrible.”
Seasons Turning (Timely Realms Book 1) Page 11