The river whizzed by beneath his boots. He could picture, in horrible, vivid detail, tumbling into that void. He had to hold on, but his palms sweated and started to slip from the bar. His arms and legs shook so hard he knew he’d fall off. His hands slid until only his fingers remained curled around the iron. He closed his eyes again; he didn’t want to witness his fall. For a second, he thought Querry could still save him. Or maybe Frolic. Maybe Frolic would fly over at the last minute and pluck him from the sky. In his logical mind, though, he knew they couldn’t save him.
Just as Reg’s cramped, shaking fingers fell from the bar, a set of strong, lean arms closed around his waist and pulled him the last few inches to the edge of the cliff. He threw his arms around Querry and buried his face against Querry’s neck. Querry helped him stumble a few feet, to where Frolic sat beneath a tree, his wings folded behind him like a bird resting on a twig. When Querry released him, Reg crumpled at Frolic’s side and dropped his cheek to Frolic’s shoulder. Frolic squeezed Reg’s hand, and his terror dissipated much faster than he’d expected. In only a few minutes, it felt like a bad dream, and Reg was embarrassed by his panic.
“Glad that’s over,” he said, forcing a laugh. The knowing looks his friends gave him told him they’d never mention the incident again, and he couldn’t begin to express his gratitude.
Jack Owens came over to them and offered Reg a canteen of water. “Well done, lad.”
All of them silently agreed just to relax for a few moments, and they found shady patches to recline. Reg had almost dozed off when he heard Istvan calling from somewhere deeper in the jungle.
“Sir,” he yelled in his heavy accent. “Sir, you have to see this.”
Owens, who’d been sleeping on his back next to Corny, had his gun in his hand before he reached his feet. Jean-Andre pulled his pistol just as quickly and sprinted into the trees, his hat flapping behind him. Starling wreathed his hand in a glove of flame and called for Tom to follow him. The faerie, with a secret smile on his lips, followed at his own, leisurely pace.
Querry groaned and rubbed his forehead with the knuckles of the hand holding his pistols. “Fuck me. How much more can happen to us?”
“Did you think we were going on a holiday?” Reg grabbed Querry’s elbow and helped his groggy friend to his feet. “What fun would it be to just lie on a beach all day? That doesn’t make an interesting story to tell in the pub.”
“Prick,” Querry teased. “Let’s go.”
Frolic hurried to stand in front of them. “This isn’t a joke. Something strange is happening, and we need to be very careful.” He clutched something Reg couldn’t see, presumably his little pet, tight against his chest.
Reg expected anything but what he saw within the round clearing. A dozen tables draped in crisp, white cloths waited beneath a porcelain tea service. Tiered platters overflowing with tiny snacks and sandwiches sat at their centers, next to crystal vases full of flowers, and not exotic jungle flowers, but good, Anglican, summer blossoms: pink roses, sweet peas, hydrangeas, snapdragons, foxglove, and honeysuckles. The fragrances recalled to Reg his afternoons after being adopted by the Whitneys. He’d spent many of them at garden parties such as this. White candles sparkled within crystal lamps, and cloth lanterns hung from the tree branches, just like they had at the manor house.
At the sight of the food, the mercenaries cried out with joy and ran toward the nearest table.
“Don’t eat or drink anything, you dunces!” Querry yelled. “Where do you think all this came from?”
“Listen to him,” Starling cautioned.
The three mercenaries stopped a few feet from a tray of what looked like egg salad, cucumber, and watercress sandwiches, looking like little boys who’d had their hands slapped reaching into a tin of biscuits. Reg couldn’t blame them. After weeks of nothing but fruit and the bland, charred meat of whatever they could kill, he’d have traded his fortune for a buttered scone. For a cup of tea, he thought he’d sacrifice a limb. Not surprisingly, his gaze fell on a tray of buttered scones and a steaming cup of tea he would have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. A little silver dish of sugar cubes and a pitcher of fresh cream sat next to it. He didn’t reach for it, because he also knew the fey, the spirits, or whoever had laid this feast would know to tempt him with his heart’s desire. Who knew if the mercenaries or the others even witnessed the same things he did. Maybe the brothers inhaled the savory aroma of a pot of their native goulash, or the delicious paprika chicken Reg had sampled while visiting their country. Querry likely saw a plate of greasy chips with vinegar, a slab of battered fish, and a big bottle of gin.
Reg edged close to Frolic, who would be able to see through the glamour. “What’s going on here, beauty? What do your eyes see?”
Before Frolic could answer, Reg heard a voice that made his bones feel like they melted and dripped out of his body. He grabbed Frolic’s elbow and froze.
“Now, now, Mr. Knotte. And you, Baron Starling, Viscount of the End of Dreams. There’s no need to be rude to my guests.”
Reg turned slowly, dreading who he knew he’d see. The faerie gentleman who’d hired Querry for so many ridiculous jobs, no doubt with some unfathomable agenda of his own, stood holding a flute of pale, sparkling wine. He wore a suit of emerald velvet with long tails, paisley lining, and a floral-printed cravat. His shining golden hair spilled over his shoulders, almost to his waist, and his bright green eyes looked as wild and unpredictable as Reg remembered.
“Sir?” Querry said, hurrying to stand before his former patron. “What are you doing here?”
There was something between them, or there had been, Reg knew. He saw it in their posture, the way their eyes met, and their lips twitched up when they regarded one another. Though annoyed, he trusted Querry. Whatever Querry had allowed in the past wouldn’t recur, he felt sure. Still, he didn’t like it.
“Well, Querrilous, I’m here to celebrate a very special occasion. Please, join me in a toast.” Crystal glasses of pale, effervescent wine materialized in everyone’s hands. “To my son.” The gentleman raised his glass, and the others, either ensorcelled or just afraid, mirrored his actions.
Reg’s arm jerked up almost involuntarily, spilling wine over his lapels. He scowled at the dark splotches on the leather.
Querry clapped the powerful and terrifying fey on the shoulder, as if they’d been friends for many years. Reg supposed, in a way, they had. “Oh, sir! That’s wonderful and… a bit unexpected. Where is the little fellow?”
“Querry, you misunderstand.” The wizard Kristof, the gentleman’s partner, stepped from beneath the shadow of a tree, puffing on his pipe.
Reg was glad to see Kristof in his simple, antiquated clothing, with his long, auburn hair loose around his shoulders. The gentle young sorcerer seemed able to influence the gentleman’s unpredictable and often violent moods. If needed, he’d protect the others from his lover’s wrath.
“Misunderstand how?” Querry asked. By now, the others had gathered in a crescent around him to listen and observe.
Reg still clung to Frolic’s shirt. He couldn’t deny his fear and even hatred of Querry’s “gentleman.” He’d been witness to the events the fey had set in motion in Halcyon, whether he’d intended to or not. The gentleman seemed to have an instinct to incite chaos. He was the last thing they needed on their already ill-fated excursion.
“What is it I don’t understand?” Querry repeated.
“My son is already here,” the gentleman said with a proud smile. He elbowed Reg aside to put his arm over Frolic’s shoulders. “The son resulting from my union with the one love of my endless existence.” When he looked fondly at Kristof, he seemed almost human.
“What?” Querry asked.
But Reg understood. When the faerie gentleman and his wizard lover had repaired Frolic’s heart, they’d needed elemental fire, fever dreams, and oaths spoken during love. So, they’d used as a spell component the very words they’d spoken to each other in the heat
of passion. Their oaths not only helped to keep Frolic’s heart eternally warm, but apparently they gave the gentleman some sort of delusional claim over Frolic.
“Exactly one year ago today, the love between Kristof and myself brought Frolic into the living world. Our desire for one another heated his veins and roused him from the edge of death. He is our son, a product of our love, the same as any child. We wish to celebrate his birthday.”
“It’s not his birthday,” Reg growled under his breath, unsure what inspired him to verbally disagree with the crazy fey.
“What’s that, Reginald?” the gentleman asked with a sneer.
Reg puffed up and straightened to his full height. He was angry. Irrationally so. “I said, it’s not Frolic’s birthday.” Querry reached a warning hand out, but Reg shrugged it off. He noticed Kristof slip up behind the gentleman. “We don’t know Frolic’s birthday. None of us. Not even Frolic.”
“That is true, sir,” Frolic added innocently. Poor Frolic was totally unaware he witnessed some complex and unspoken power struggle. “Only my creator knows the day I was born.”
The gentleman heaved a theatrical sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The things I suffer in the name of family,” he said with exaggerated persecution.
“Reg, what are you doing?” Querry whispered while the gentleman appeared to swoon.
“He has no claim to Frolic,” Reg answered without whispering. “I’m sick of being a slave to his whims.”
“He helped us once before.” Querry continued to whisper. “He could help us again.” Reg stood firm, his chin thrust out. “We wouldn’t even have Frolic if it wasn’t for him.”
That hit home. Reg deflated a little. Querry was right. Despite the fey’s insanely unpredictable nature, he was a being of immense power, and he might be able to get them out of this godforsaken jungle sooner. He looked at Frolic. The clockwork boy looked back, his golden eyes wide and an earnest expression on his smooth, porcelain skin.
“I’m sorry,” Reg stated without really feeling sorry.
“Now he’s sorry!” the gentleman exclaimed and motioned grandly at Reg. Then he dropped his head to Frolic’s shoulder and wept dramatically. Frolic looked around at his traveling companions for some advice as to how to handle the faerie sobbing on his shoulder. Reg rolled his eyes. Querry bit his lip. Cornelia shrugged. Frolic reached behind the gentleman and patted him gently. When the fey finally recovered, a placating smile had appeared on his pale lips. “Fine, Reginald. No,” he stated, before Reg could open his mouth. “What would you have me celebrate?”
“I don’t know. I mean, really it was more of a rebirth than a birth, wasn’t it?” Reg suggested.
“Are you honestly suggesting we call my son’s most special day a rebirthday?” The gentleman clucked, disgusted, before Reg could respond. “No, Reginald. That’s just silly. We’re not doing that.” The faerie struck a grand pose and announced, “Please join me in celebrating my son’s birthday!”
The faerie gentleman waved his hand, and a grand, seven-tiered cake decorated in frosted, golden roses appeared. Almost a hundred candles flickered along the layers. Reg doubted the queen herself received such a display on her birthday, but he mistrusted it. He mistrusted everything to do with this so-called gentleman. He wondered how he’d warn Frolic to beware of the deception without upsetting the faerie again.
“I want to make my son happy,” the gentleman continued. “What father wishes for more?”
Kristof colored, though he didn’t seem opposed to his partner’s reasoning. “There is a little something of both of us in you, Frolic. I’m proud to be part of the person you’ve become. Proud to be a sort of parent to you.”
A few minutes of awkward silence ensued, during which Frolic gradually moved behind Reg. Reg was only too happy to shield him, to keep him from this corruption.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Come, sit. Celebrate!” The gentleman motioned to the tables where all manner of creatures had suddenly appeared. Some of them looked similar to the gentleman, almost human but for strange attributes like horns, pointed ears, or eyes seemingly too big for their faces. Others were definitely not human. Reg saw a tree sitting across from an overlarge hedgehog in Edwardian finery with fine silver pince-nez perched on his twitching nose. The gentleman didn’t wait for his guests; he strode to a table at the head of the celebration, exchanging pleasantries with the strange creatures as he passed them: two men with long white beards and pointed red hats, and a woman clothed only in leaves with an odd, green cast to her skin. He shook hands with a donkey-headed man and kissed the hand of a woman who had flames where her hair should be.
“It’s all right,” Kristof assured them. Reg jumped a little when the wizard touched his shoulder. “The food is safe, and we have no intention of harming anyone. We truly just want to celebrate the amazing life of our Frolic.” Reg rankled at the term “our Frolic,” but he didn’t protest. Starling and Tom Teezle walked over to his trio and the wizard. “You’re welcome here as well, Viscount.”
“Thank you.” Starling inclined his head. “I think we could all use a proper meal, Mr.—?”
“I am Kristof,” the other wizard answered, offering a hand to Starling.
Starling extended his hand slowly. “Kristof?” Starling gripped his hand and shook it. “The wizard Kristof?”
“That’s right,” Kristof said, nodding. He released Starling’s hand, and Reg was surprised that their tormentor stood staring at the hand that had recently been in Kristof’s embrace. The other wizard turned to Starling’s servant. “Are you still calling yourself Merrifont?” Kristof asked.
“Tom Teezle.”
“Then I suppose you’re welcome too, Mr. Teezle.” Kristof accented the faerie’s last name.
Reg frowned. He couldn’t fathom the intricacies of fey society or how all the little lies and oddities fit together. The wizard walked off. Starling gave the rest of his company permission to join the party, though he warned them against accepting gifts from, giving thanks to, or touching any of the fey guests. The men eagerly obeyed, while Cornelia walked over to Frolic, grabbing his hands. She looked frantic.
“Frolic, what is all this? I don’t like it. Not one bit.” Her words spilled forth in a rush. Sweat shined on her forehead. Reg realized this clearing wasn’t hot like the rest of the jungle. It was actually quite pleasant, like an Anglican spring afternoon. “It’s all terribly magic-y and strange. I don’t understand any of it, and I feel ill.”
“Calm down, Corny. It’s really going to be fine.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and kindly mopped her brow. “These two men are old friends. They saved my life. We’re just going to have dinner and be on our way.” He smiled at her, and she relaxed slightly. Reg almost believed Frolic’s words; the clockwork boy’s tone was so sincere. “Hungry?” he asked Corny.
“Always,” she said, relief in her tone.
“Go on, then. Join Jack. It looks like he’s having a little trouble with that rabbit fellow in the tuxedo jacket.” Frolic pointed toward the large man. He appeared to be determinedly explaining something to the disinterested rabbit waiter.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Corny rolled her eyes and dashed over to the man, taking his arm and speaking politely to the rabbit.
“Well, I suppose we might as well have a bite to eat,” Querry said, a little too nonchalantly for Reg’s taste. He reached out and grabbed Querry before he could get too far. “What?” Querry asked, turning back.
“Are you serious about this?” Reg asked.
“You heard Kristof. It’s safe. And we’re starving.” He had a point.
“Come on, Reggie,” Frolic said, taking Reg’s other arm. “Let’s enjoy the break while it lasts.”
Unable to think of any valid arguments, Reg allowed his lovers to steer him to the gentleman’s table.
While they ate, the gentleman instructed some of the local wildlife in the proper handling of musical instruments, and the monkeys played
a jaunty tune for the revelers. Starling and Kristof conversed enthusiastically, and it seemed as though everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief for a few hours. Even Corny had relaxed and was busy repairing the hedgehog gentleman’s watch. She’d managed to find something she understood in all this madness. Reg wished he could say the same. He still glanced at the faerie gentleman suspiciously from time to time. Querry spoke to the gentleman about the state of things in Halcyon. The gentleman kept trying to change the subject to marbles, shoes, various cheeses, and epic battles he’d fought centuries ago, although it seemed to amuse Querry rather than frustrate him.
Some of the faerie beings moved the tables apart so they could dance to the monkey music. Reg was shocked when the mercenary brothers joined them. He worried for a moment, having heard the stories about men being led astray by fey dancers, but then he noticed Starling clapping and laughing at them. Surely, if they were in real danger, Starling would have put a stop to it. Then his gaze fell on something slightly more worrisome. Tom Teezle sat in his chair, arms folded with a scowl plastered across his face. The faerie hadn’t touched his meal.
Frolic had wandered off to speak with some of the partygoers. They stood in a circle as if watching something, periodically chuckling and applauding. Reg assumed they observed Frolic’s new pet. He wished he could see the creature. That, along with everything else, made him feel a bit isolated in the middle of all the chaos. He searched the crowd and saw Jean-Andre sitting at a table alone. He decided to join the Belvaisian.
“Hello, Reg,” Jean-Andre greeted him as he approached. “Enjoying this little soiree?”
“Eh,” Reg grunted. “The food was acceptable, but the company leaves a bit to be desired.”
A Grimoire for the Baron Page 32