by Jon Etter
The librarians both frowned. “True. We do currently ’ave ze support of both monarchs and would not want to put zat in jeopardy.”
“Well, then I clearly can’t go.”
“Again, you must. We might also lose support if you fail to appear when invited. Or they could have you arrested for defying a royal summons.” Émilie’s brilliant white teeth bit her equally white lip. “With everything you’ve read, you must surely know at least the basics of courtly manners. All the scenes in the books you’ve read where knights and ladies meet with kings and queens—”
“Are horribly boring,” Shade interrupted. “I barely pay attention to those bits and sometimes just skim through them to get back to the good stuff.”
“Zen you must ’ave ze crash course in ze etiquette.” François headed for the door. “I shall ’ave Dewey pull ze books of etiquette for you to study, tout de suite!”
“I am not sure that just reading will be enough in this case, François,” Émilie said. “I believe that Shade will need actual lessons if she is to have two royal audiences.”
“Well, that’s-a no problem! The Professor and I, we can teach you the manners, little Sprootshade,” Ginch said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. When a little dribbled out of his mouth, he dabbed at his lip with his tie. The Professor gave Shade a thumbs-up, noticed syrup on it, and proceeded to lick it, and all his other fingers, clean before taking off his hat and wiping them through his fluffy blond hair.
Shade shook her head. “Yeah, that would end well.”
Everyone frowned for a moment. Suddenly, Émilie’s eyes brightened. “Mademoiselle Shade, you say you never leave the library, non?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But you do!” François declared, catching on. “From time to time, you use ze door to ze Pleasant ’Ollow to visit ze friend who could be ze great ’elp to you now, n’est-ce pas?”
Shade looked at the smiling faces of François and Émilie. She said nothing for a moment. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. “Fine. If I have to do this, then I suppose I have to do this. At least one person will be happy about this whole nauseating business.”
“Oh, my dear, I am so happy for you!” Chauncey X. Troggswollop, Gentletroll of Refinement, exclaimed later over morning tea in the kitchen of his cozy cottage. “Can you believe your luck!”
“No. No I can’t.” Shade said flatly.
“Doesn’t it seem just like a dream come true!” Chauncey clasped his long-fingered, immaculately manicured hands together against his crimson-velvet-clad chest.
“Since a nightmare is a type of dream, I guess technically it does,” Shade muttered.
“And I am honored and, quite frankly, touched that you would come to me for assistance. Now tell me, how long do we have to prepare?”
“Two days.”
Chauncey gulped. “Two days. Two. Days. All right … So we have two days to prepare you for your first meeting with royalty. Far from ideal, but we can make that work. Now, just so we know the full scope of our challenges, how many days do we have between that first meeting and your meeting with the next royal court?”
“Zero.”
“Zero?” Chauncey’s teacup clattered in its saucer. “Zero?”
“Zero. I have to meet with Queen Modthryth the day after I meet with King Julius.”
“Oh dear! So I have exactly two days to make you into a proper lady by both Seelie and Sluagh standards?”
“’Ey, you no gotta the nothing to worry about. Me and the Professor, we make sure she mind her fleas and cubes,” Ginch said from one of the far ends of the oval dining room table they all sat at. He licked his finger to pick crumbs off his plate. “Hey, paison, toss me another snookerdeedle.”
The Professor tossed a cookie in the air, grabbed a long baguette off a nearby plate, and then batted it over to Ginch, who caught it in his mouth.
“I’m sorry, what are they doing here?” Chauncey asked.
“What’s it look like? We have the morning tea,” Ginch answered. The Professor nodded, stuck out his pinky, and slurped loudly from his cup.
“Well, anyway,” Chauncey said, frowning at the two as they ate, “we have no time to lose. Now, to help us better focus our energies, what types of meetings are these?”
Shade frowned. “What do you mean ‘what types of meetings’?”
Chauncey looked confused. “I mean exactly what I’ve asked. What types of meetings do you have with the king and queen? Are they audiences? Receptions? State dinners? Garden parties? Levees? Kirkings? Kissings—”
Shade held up her hands. “Okay, I don’t know what at least half of those are, and that last one sounds gross. The invitations just say that I’m to meet with them. What does it matter what kind of meeting it is?”
“What does it matter?” Chauncey gasped. “What does it matter? Why, it matters immensely! Each type of regal event has its own particular—and lovely and genteel—code of conduct and set of ritualized manners. Regal meetings are the apex, the very pinnacle of refinement! Oh, if only I could go in your place … But away, vain fantasy, we must attend to grim reality! Now, what do you have to wear to each meeting?”
Shade gestured to the traveler’s attire she always wore when she left the library: a tan shirt with lace collar and cuffs, green leather vest and breeches, and dark brown boots. “I also have some belted tunics I wear around the library, but this is a little nicer, so I was thinking I’d wear this.”
Chauncey spat out his tea in shock. “You thought you’d wear—? And all you have is—? By the sighs of St. Eeyore, the situation is even more dire than I feared! Mr. Ginch, Professor Pinky, we have a sartorial crisis on our hands! I need you to rush to Gypsum-upon-Swathmud this instant and fetch both a tailor and an armorer at once!”
Ginch stood up and began shuffling a deck of cards. “That’s-a no problem. We know the leprechaun with the gambling problem who owes us money and an armor guy who’s a-gonna owe us money real soon.” The Professor nodded, fanned out a handful of cards, all of them the Ace of Hearts, and handed them to Ginch, who hid them in his sleeve.
Chauncey took a small notebook and pencil out of his waistcoat and began writing furiously. “The Sluagh reception will be easier, as arms and armor are the traditional accoutrements of all formal occasions of the Horde. I believe brown bronze and green leather would wonderfully complement your flawless brown skin, which I’ve always been quite jealous of. Also, a short sword—something elegant but understated to be worn on the hip. You know, something that says, ‘Look out, world. I could kill you with this weapon, but I’d rather knock you dead with style!’ Now, the Seelie court attire is trickier, but I believe it’s best to assume the need for the highest level of finery, since it’s much more forgivable to be overdressed than under. Mr. Ginch, please note that this says ‘crushed velvet’ here, not just ‘velvet.’ Plain velvet simply will not do.”
Ginch grabbed the notes. “Plain velvet. You got it, Mr. Frogsgallop. C’mon, partner!”
The Professor took off his hat and bowed. As he straightened up, he swept all the available silverware on the table into his hat before settling it back on his head and dashing out of the room.
“All right, let us get down to business!” Chauncey began pulling book after book from a nearby bookcase. “We will begin by discussing where to direct your gaze when approaching a monarch.”
Shade groaned, closed her eyes, and buried her face in her hands.
“Wrong,” Chauncey sighed. “Utterly wrong. Not even close to proper etiquette there.”
Shade thumped her head down on table.
“Also wrong.”
In which etiquette lessons are shamefully given short shrift …
And now, dear Reader, I am afraid I must disappoint you. As you can see, this would be the perfect opportunity to cover no end of points of good manners that you could then act upon to make yourself even more pleasant and agreeable to all the adults in your life. Why, when Mr. Etter informed me
that Shade would be taught to behave like a proper fairy in this adventure, I was so excited that I outlined no less than twenty-two chapters on proper behavior for us to cover, including one on the evils of bubble gum and three on proper utensil usage.
However, Mr. Etter, vulgarian that he is, would hear none of it and insisted that we gloss over it all in a mere paragraph or two. Gloss over lessons in manners? The idea! We had quite the kerfuffle over this—harsh words were uttered, insults hurled (as was an antique snuff box at one particularly heated moment), legal actions threatened, and fisticuffs proffered—but in the end, because of a dratted clause in our writer-narrator contract, I was forced to finally concede the point, much to my and, I’m sure, your chagrin, gentle Reader.
Thus I can only report that for the rest of the day Chauncey coached, coaxed, corrected, and crabbed at Shade, taking breaks only for a light luncheon, lighter afternoon tea, and two extended fittings in which a leprechaun tailor and a dwarven armorer took turns poking, proding, and posing Shade. In short, it was exactly the sort of thing a proper young lady should absolutely adore. Naturally, Shade hated every minute of it.
•
It was an hour past sundown. Shade looked down at the neat array of cutlery arranged in a ring around her bone china plate like a pointy, highly polished halo. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she slowly reached out and picked up a fork and held it up for approval.
Chauncey’s brow furrowed. He raised a finger, opened his mouth, closed it, and put the finger to his lips. “That’s … very close,” he said gently. “Had I said leafy green salad, that would have been absolutely right, my dear. However, as I said fruit salad, you are just off the mark, although I must say we’ve come a long way since the melon ball fiasco of early this afternoon.”
“Rraaah!” A furious swipe of her hand sent Shade’s cutlery clattering to the floor. “Why do we even need to cover all this ridiculous dingle-dangle? Neither invitation even mentions dinner!”
“First, not the proper way to clear one’s place at the table—one waits patiently for the servants to do so.” Chauncey cringed as Shade growled at him. “Second, being invited to dine after a royal meeting is not unheard of. Now I believe we’ve made a lot of progress today—” Shade scowled at this. “—but perhaps we should get some sleep and start fresh tomorrow morning. While you were busy with the tailor and the armorer, I took the liberty of making up the bed in my spare bedroom and clearing out a few of my Uncle Lesley’s vacations so that you have room to move, although I’m afraid I don’t have any accomodations for Mr. Ginch or Professor Pinky.”
“That’s-a fine. I get the Professor to make the arrangments,” Ginch said from the wingback chair where he sat cleaning his nails with an oyster fork.
There was a loud scraping sound as the Professor dragged a steamer truck into the room, clapped it on the lid a couple times, and threw it open. Ginch looked inside and whistled. “We stay inna the big, big manse tonight?”
Shade stepped over and peered inside the trunk to see a gothic stone manor on a windswept field. “Ah, I see you’ve found Uncle Lesley’s holiday with the Earl of Bacongift at Upton Abbey,” Chauncey said approvingly. “If you’d like a recommendation, the bed in the Lavender Room is particularly plush.”
Shade shook her head. “I still don’t understand how your uncle manages to put his vacations in his luggage.”
“As I’ve explained, my dear, when the vacation is over, he throws away the contents of his suitcase and packs up the vacation instead.”
“Yeah, but how?”
The Professor took a small slate and piece of chalk out of his coat and began scribbling madly. After a minute, he held up a long, complicated mathematical equation full of numbers, letters, and symbols ending in an equals sign followed by a drawing of a suitcase with a house and trees in it. “That doesn’t help, pixie pants.”
The Professor shrugged and jumped into the trunk. “Well, good night, sleep tight, no let-a the bed bugs bite,” Ginch said as he too jumped in. His hand reached up and slammed the lid shut. A moment later, the lid flew back open and the Professor leaped out, stalked out of the room, returned with a pillow, and jumped back in. This happened several more times as the Professor sprang out to fetch a toothbrush, a glass of water, a glass of warm milk, a blanket, a candle, and finally an armful of teddy bears.
Shade shook her head, walked to her room, collapsed on her bed, and instantly fell asleep.
•
The next day Chauncey, much to Shade’s chagrin and exhaustion, redoubled his efforts to, as he put it, “unlock the wonders of civilization and refinement for a very worthy if sadly rusticated demoiselle in dire distress” or, as Shade put it, “dinkle me half to death with a bunch of stupid rootrot.” Not even at mealtimes could Shade get a breather, for Chauncey used those as exercises in table manners. At various points in breakfast, lunch, and morning and afternoon teas, Chauncey would tinkle a little bell and announce what sort of high-society dining Shade was supposedly taking part in at that particular moment: Sluagh state dinner, Seelie high tea, Sluagh funeral brunch, Seelie midmorning Fairy Rade picnic, etc.
It wasn’t until early afternoon that Shade, finally showing some improvement, got a break, although it was a most unwelcome one. Just as she was demonstrating the proper way to compliment and pet a marquise’s hunting poodle, Liam O’Buggery, Gypsum-upon-Swathmud’s premier tailor and Ginch and the Professor’s most devoted card-sharping victim, arrived with Shade’s Seelie Court gown wrapped in brown paper. Upon entering, he shoved the dress into Chauncey’s outstretched arms. “Dere! Take it!” he said, mopping sweat from his face and running his hand over his greasy comb-over to make sure it covered his bald spot. “It would have been doon yesterday if certain dandified fops weren’t so foossy!”
“I know you mean that as an insult, but I take great pride in being both a dandy and a fop, thank you very much, Mr. O’Buggery. And had you brought along crushed velvet yesterday as I clearly specified, perhaps we could have concluded our business earlier.”
“Well, consider it concluded, ye fancy pants,” the leprechaun grumbled as he turned to leave.
“Again, not a insult, and shouldn’t you stay to make sure the gown fits?”
“Oh, it’ll fit. Ginch, Professor, me debts cleared out, ye great buckets o’ snot!”
“Yeah, sure,” Ginch called after him. “Until we get you back inna the debt again. We on for Friday’s game?”
“Aye. Aye, we are,” Liam sighed resignedly as he shut the door behind him.
“Here,” Chauncey handed Shade the dress. “Go put it on so that we can see you in all your finery.”
“Right now?” Shade asked.
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t dream of making you wait one single second! Why, that would be like making children wait until midafternoon to tuck into their candied fruits on the Eve of the Feast of St. Figgymigg.”
Ginch grinned. “Yeah, let’s see you look-a like the little princess.”
The Professor nodded vigorously, pulled up an armchair, pulled out a bag of popcorn from his coat, and began munching on it expectantly.
“But I don’t—” Shade began, but stopped when she realized how genuinely excited her good friend Chauncey was to see her all dressed up. After all the effort he had put into helping her (annoying though it had been), she knew she couldn’t deny him. “Fine. I’ll go put it on.”
Shade went into the spare bedroom and unwrapped her new dress. It was beautiful—a long, flowing gown of red, shimmering crushed velvet with twisty gold serpentine embroidery around the neck and in bands just above the elbows and a belt of golden medallions than encircled the waist and hung down in front. It was the most beautiful outfit Shade had ever seen in her entire life. Shade stared at it a moment, hands on her hips. Then she moved her hands to her belly and frowned. “I can’t wear this—it’ll make me look like a cranberry,” she muttered, thinking of all the times growing up when her fellow sprites had made fun of her full figure.
“A big, fat cranberry.”
“Oh, do hurry, my dear!” Chauncey called from the living room. “I cannot wait to see!”
Shade sighed and changed into the dress. She looked down at herself. My stomach doesn’t look that plump, she decided. And my hips don’t look that wide. Maybe I won’t look too ridiculous wearing this.
It was with a great deal of trepidation that Shade stepped out of the room, scowling and balling up her fists in anticipation of criticism from Chauncey for not wearing it right and mockery from Ginch and the Professor. Chauncey, however, gasped and held a lace handerchief to his mouth. “Oh, my darling, you are a vision! Mr. O’Buggery has risen to the occasion and crafted a dress that truly showcases your beauty! All eyes will be on you when you stride—confidently but not proudly, remember—into Dinas Ffaraon to meet with the king. Gentlemen, isn’t she exquisite?”
Shade’s eyes narrowed as she turned to Ginch and the Professor, both of whom cringed. “Well? Get it over with.”
The two looked baffled. “Get-a what over with?”
“Whatever jokes you were going to make about how silly I look.”
The Professor and Ginch both shook their heads. “We no think you look silly. You look … beautiful. Just beautiful, mia bella Sprootshade!” The Professor nodded and blew her a kiss.
Shade’s cheeks blushed red, but she fought the urge to smile and maintained her scowl. “Then why did you cringe when you saw me?”
“Well, little Sprootshade, you’re-a beautiful but you look like you wanna give us the punch in the nose.”
“Oh.” She unballed her fists; the muscles in her arms relaxed. “Sorry. And … thanks for the compliments, I guess.”
The Professor waved a hand dismissively. “Aw, you no need to thank us,” Ginch said. “Us not getting the punch in the nose is thanks enough.”
“Okay … I’m going to go get out of this stupid thing and then we’ll get back to work.” Shade turned and walked out of the room, allowing herself a small smile since nobody else could see it.