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stay at the inn was already there. Could it be—was there the slightest chance—?
She looked up, peering down towards the street.
The vehicle rattled into the square; an odd little dogcart, driven by a little old lady dressed in a quite eccentric outfit of clothing. It could have been gypsy clothing, if gypsies were neat as a pin, impeccably groomed, and wore beautifully sewn and ornamented garments that looked far newer than Elena’s. It was certainly bright enough to be gypsy clothing; scarlet boots with black stitching, blue skirt embroidered with red and yellow flowers and green leaves, black bodice, yellow blouse, scarlet vest, and wildly embroidered black shawl. The old woman wore her hair in a fat knot at the back of her head, from which little curling wisps were escaping.
The cart was as odd as the driver, also scarlet, painted all over in multicolored flowers. And the horse—or perhaps, pony—was the oddest of all. It was grey with huge eyes, had floppy ears, a hunched back, and was no bigger than a mastiff, but it was wildly strong, for it pulled that cart with no perceptible effort at all, and looked altogether jaunty and proud of itself. And it wore a straw hat, both floppy ears pulled through holes and falling over the brim.
“Ah!” the old lady said, pulling up in front of Elena.
“Good. You haven’t gone home; that speaks well for your spirit! I’m very glad to see it. Would you like a position?”
“Ah—” Elena said, looking startled, into a pair of the bluest, kindest eyes she had ever seen. Someone kind— She did not even have to think. It didn’t matter what was wanted.
“Ah—yes! Yes, please!”
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“In with you then, my dear!” the old lady said, and Elena wasted not a second; she tossed her bundle into the back of the cart and scrambled up beside the old woman. She didn’t even stop to ask what the position was—
As they drove out of the square, she heard the man ask his son again, “Y’ant t’ go naow?” and heard the boy say, stubbornly, “No. Tain’t tomorrow, yet. I’m stayin’ till midnight.” She looked back at them, until the cart turned a corner and they were lost behind buildings, wondering what would happen to the poor lad.
The little horse picked up speed, trotting with all his might and main, still showing no signs that the cart was too heavy for him, acting as if, in fact, it was lighter than thistledown.
As they passed under the wall that encircled the town, and through the town gates, dusk descended.
The little horse picked up his pace, until he was galloping, his tiny hooves flying—
There was a bump, and Elena clutched the side of the cart. The old woman was making no attempt to rein her horse in, and he was going awfully fast. In fact, they were right out of sight of the town walls now, the cart bumping and rattling along at a rate that put her heart right in her throat!
The cart gave a lurch, a bump, a wiggle, and a huge jolt that sent it flying into the air—
—and—it—didn’t—come—down—
She gasped, and clutched at both the side of the cart and the old lady’s arm, as they rose right up into the twilight sky, heading for the stars.
She tried to cry out in fear—instead, she squeaked. The 54
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old lady laughed, and tied off the reins. Elena looked down at the ground, and immediately regretted it.
“Don’t look again, my dear,” the old woman said, cheerfully. “At least, not until you get used to it.”
Elena tried to say something, but nothing would come out of her throat. Panic was the mildest description of what she felt right now—
A Witch! She must be a Witch! That was the only possible explanation for this. A powerful Witch—a very powerful Witch, one that made Fleur look like—like—Elena! No wonder she wasn’t afraid of Madame, the way everyone else was. If she can make a cart and horse fly, she could turn Madame into a toad with a snap of her fingers!
But what did she want with Elena? Well, Witches ate, and presumably needed their houses cleaned. Maybe it was easier to hire a servant than to do it all by magic.
The old lady rummaged under the seat, nonchalantly taking out a basket. She flicked a finger, and a little round ball of light appeared over their heads, illuminating both of them. “I’m sure you’re hungry, Elena,” she said, with a cheerful smile. “Would you help me with this?”
She began handing Elena napkins, a plate of sandwiches, another of little iced cakes, and cups of tea that somehow emerged steaming from the hamper. The cart was as steady as a house, and the seat between them became their table, spread with plates of food, a teapot, a small milk-jug, a bowl of sugar. It was absurd, impossible, ridiculous—and the very ordinariness of the cloth set for two, in the midst of all this impossibility, gave her a kind of anchor, something to grasp at. At this point, Elena’s store of shock was begin
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ning to run out—she accepted a sandwich and cup in a numb daze.
“Well,” said the old lady, in a nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone. “I expect you would like to know what this is all about.”
Elena took a bite of her sandwich, automatically, because—well, because that was what you did with a sandwich. It was ham and watercress. Very good ham. In fact, she hadn’t had ham quite this good since she was a small child. “Yes, please,” she said in a small voice. Overhead the sky was a deep black strewn with the brightest stars she had ever seen. Beneath the cart was nothing but darkness.
Which was altogether better than looking down on houses no larger than toys.
“Well, where to begin?” The old lady sipped her tea. “I suppose I should begin with this. Elena, I am your Fairy Godmother.”
Elena blinked, and a thousand thoughts raced through her head. Uppermost was, then where have you been all this time when my stepmother was starving and beating me? The thought did not have the heat of anger in it—yet. But in a few moments, it would.
“Actually, to clarify, I am the Fairy Godmother to this entire Kingdom,” she continued, and Elena was suddenly glad that she had not blurted out what had been in her head. A Fairy Godmother to her was one thing; a Fairy Godmother to all of Otraria was quite another. Being angry now would be like being angry at a thunderstorm because it happened to rain on you. “You do know about the King of Otraria, I presume? And his Queen—who used to be the Princess Who Could Not Laugh?”
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Elena nodded.
“Well, that was my doing—the goose, and all those people stuck to the goose and each other.” She smiled, and patted her hair with every sign of pride. “One of my best efforts, I think. So, in that case, you already know how tales come true—for some people.”
Something about the way she said that made Elena repeat it. “Some people?”
The old lady nodded. “Indeed. You see, whenever there is a person whose life begins to resemble a tale—the brave little orphan lad, the lovely girl with the wicked stepmother, the princess with the overly protective father—something begins to happen, and that something is magic.” She paused, and ate a dainty quarter of sandwich. “Magic begins to gather around them, you see, and in fact, there are even certain people to whom that begins to happen from the moment they are born. That magic begins to try to force their lives down the path that their circumstances most closely resemble, and the longer it takes for that to happen, the more magic begins to gather around them.”
Elena sat stock-still, her cup clutched in both hands, thinking about that tension she had been feeling for so very many years. Was that—the magic?
The old lady peered at her, and nodded with satisfaction.
“So. You have felt it. Good, then you understand. That magic has been trying very hard to propel you down the path of a tale to a happily ever after, and you’ve been well overdue for that ever since you were sixteen.”
“But—” Elena began.
&nbs
p; “Among the many other things they do, the Fairy God
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mothers are supposed to help that sort of thing along, like midwives,” the old lady continued, right over the top of Elena’s “but.” “Which is why we always turn up when something goes horribly wrong, to counter the Bad Fairy’s curse or the invasion of an Evil Sorcerer. But quite often, I’m afraid, in fact more often than not, circumstances around that special person are just not going to allow the happy ending that the magic is pushing for. Take your case, for instance. You do realize what was supposed to happen in your life, don’t you?”
Well, of course she did! How could she not? She’d daydreamed it often enough. “On the Prince’s birthday, there would be a great ball,” she said, automatically. “I would get a gown, somehow—my mother’s spirit would weave it of flowers, perhaps, or—”
She looked penetratingly at the old woman.
“—or your Fairy Godmother would conjure it out of the rags left from your mother’s old gowns, yes, or Brownies would sew it and leave it for you in the garden. Exactly. And then?”
“Well, I would go to the ball, and no one would recognize me, the Prince would fall in love with me and I with him and he would take me away and I would live—”
They finished in chorus, “Happily ever after.”
“Exactly so. Unfortunately, my dear, in your case, though your stepmother and stepsisters are fully wicked enough to justify that sort of happy ending, Prince Florian is a mere boy of eleven.” She paused just long enough for Elena to begin to feel horribly cheated somehow, then continued. “Nor are you the only girl to whom this has happened with this par58
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ticular tale. All over the Five Hundred Kingdoms, down through time, there have been countless girls like you for whom the circumstances were not right. Their destined princes were greybeards, infants, married or terrible rakes, or not even Princes at all, but Princesses! And the magic keeps gathering around them, trying to make it all work—oh, and by the way, we call that, The Tradition. The way that magic tries to set things on a particular course, you see. And there are dozens and dozens of other tales that The Tradition is trying to recreate, all the time, and perhaps one in a hundred actually becomes a tale.”
Elena nodded, pushing off that feeling of being cheated with all her determination. “All right, I do see, but—”
“So all of that magic is building up around the person—you, in fact—like a snowball rolling down a hill. It just gets attracted, the same way that white cat hair is attracted to a black velvet bodice, you know.” Now the old woman was watching her, closely. For what?
“I see, but—”
“It never goes away. Sometimes, it just builds up to the point where a magician notices it, and it gets—” she waved her hand vaguely “—siphoned off. Sometimes neatly, with the person’s consent, and to the benefit of the person, though the effect of that is that it leaves them quite ordinary.
Nothing magical will ever happen again to her—or him—but at least their life will go on rather as everyone else’s life goes on. And if the person’s circumstances are truly dire, usually the magician who benefits by the magic gives them a helping hand to a set of better circumstances, which, of course, breaks The Tradition so that the magic stops build
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ing up around them. And sometimes—it is siphoned not so nicely.” Her expression darkened. “If that happens, Elena, they are generally left dead, and if they aren’t—well, believe me when I tell you that they are worse off than if they were dead.”
Elena went cold all over. Was that why the old woman had offered her a position? Did she only want the magic?
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to be ordinary—
But at that moment, even though, not so long ago, she would have welcomed the prospect, she knew that this was not the right answer anymore. Not now.
“And sometimes,” the old lady went on, “if the person has attracted someone who is not only a magician, but a magical guardian, something else happens.”
She smiled, a warm smile that felt like a comforting arm around Elena’s shoulders, and Elena smiled back without knowing quite why. “I am that something else, at least in your case.”
“What sort of—something else?” Elena asked, cautiously. Her mouth felt very dry and automatically took a sip of tea. It was stone-cold, but before she could do more than make a face, the old lady wiggled her finger at it, and the cup was suddenly steaming again. Elena felt dizzy.
“Someone has to become the Fairy Godmothers. And the White Wizards, and the Good Witches. It has to be someone who already has enough magic gathered around her—or him—so that she can properly learn how to use that magic and how to get more before what she has accumulated is used up.
As I said, I am the Fairy Godmother for all of Otraria, and I am getting old and tired. I need an Apprentice. That would be you.”
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Elena had expected to hear any number of things. This was not one of them. “Me?” Elena squeaked.
“That is where all of those Good Magicians come from, dear,” the old lady said. “All of those people like you, whose happily-ever-afters just aren’t going to come, but who still have too much that is special about them to ever be content with being ordinary. You’re ready. You are more than ready. You’re brave, sensible, clever, and extremely magical.
You have a kind heart, and a good mind. You are certainly proper Godmother material.”
Elena thought about that for a moment, and thought about how she had felt, just before the old woman turned up. Angry, and full of fear and desperation. “Excuse me, but—what happens if one of those same people goes bad?
Turns ugly and nasty over what they’re having to go through?”
“Where do you think evil sorcerers and wicked Witches come from?” the old lady asked darkly, and paused. “Not Bad Fairies though, nor Good Fairies. Those are Fair Folk, and something else entirely; they’re born that way. But the Wicked Witches—the Bad Wizards—the Dread Sorceresses? Oh my, yes.”
Elena took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t precisely think, she simply let all that she had been told sink in. Fairy Godmothers, Bad Witches—
The Tradition—the magic. It all fell into a pattern in a way that life never had before. She opened her eyes.
“Oh. I think I see. And the position you offered me—”
“As my Apprentice, yes, is for life. And one day, you will choose someone like you, and make her the same offer.” The The Fairy Godmother
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old lady nodded. “Now, you can refuse it if you like, and if you like, I can take all that magic from you and make you like everyone else. You’ll still have a position; I’ll see to that.
I know several kind folk who could use a plain cook or a housekeeper. And actually, that is something else that a Godmother does. There are far more people who want to be rid of the magic than want to become our Apprentices.
It can be hard work—and it can be dangerous. After all, we stand in the way of what they want.” She cocked her head to the side, and waited for Elena’s response. She did not have to say who they were.
Where do you think the evil Sorcerers and bad Witches come from?
And some of those were very, very evil indeed.
But Elena really did not have to think about her answer for very long. Given a choice between an ordinary life, and a magical one—well, it was no choice at all.
“I would love to be your Apprentice, Madame,” she said, solemnly, as if she was making a pledge. “And I do accept.”
“Grand!” the old lady crowed. “Now, you may call me Madame Bella, my dear, and I believe we shall get along capitally. Oh, look!”
She pointed, just in time for Elena to see a shooting star streak across the heavens in front of them.
“A good omen! Quickly, ma
ke a wish!”
“I—don’t have to,” she said, slowly, feeling the deep truth of her words even as she spoke them. “I already have it.”
Madame Bella smiled. “Then I believe that we shall make all speed for home. Your home now, and for as long as you care have it so.”
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Home. What a wonderful word that was. And words were powerful for Witches. For a Fairy Godmother, it should be very powerful indeed. More than powerful enough to make it all real.
Quite as matter-of-factly as if they were sitting on a bench in a starlit pleasure-garden instead of on a flying cart, Madame Bella packed up the hamper with Elena’s help, and stowed it once more under the seat. Madame made the little ball of light vanish when she was through, leaving them sitting side by side in the darkness.
Now, in spite of the fact that they were flying through the air, rather high above the ground, the only real indication of this was that there was nothing but darkness below them.
Madame Bella was as calm and composed as if she did this every day, and the motion of the cart—well, there just wasn’t any perceptible motion, only a bit of breeze from their passing. It was surreal, to tell the truth, giving Elena a sense of peculiar dizziness and disorientation.
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She blinked, and for the first time, wondered if she really was flying through the night sky above the countryside. The whole situation was very dreamlike, after all.
Dreamlike; was it a dream?
The more she thought about it, the more certain it seemed. Why, at any moment now she would awaken and discover herself on her pallet in the deserted, barren house, with the depressing prospect of no position and very few options in front of her.
Oh, surely this was a dream. When had anything this wonderful, this fantastic, ever happened to her? Never, of course. She stared out at the darkness. This was like something out of a tale; entirely like one of those dreams she used to have, stories she used to tell herself.
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