The Fairy Godmother

by Mercedes Lackey

  They can’t separate us, she told herself. No matter how hard they try. They can’t unmake him a Champion, and I don’t think they can take my magic away from me if I’m not willing to give it up.

  “How much difficulty do you think we’re in?” Alexander asked her, soberly.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied, yet again, and smiled wanly. “At least we’ve broken the Traditional paths so completely that there isn’t a scrap of Tradition to give them a hint of what to do.”

  The doors opened, and a servant beckoned them inside.

  They stood up together, and followed him into the Library.

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  There were about a dozen people at the long table in the center of the Library, and at least one was a genuine Fairy Godmother. Elena didn’t know any of them—which was probably on purpose. And if she didn’t have any friends here, at least she didn’t have any known enemies, either.

  “Champion Alexander and Godmother Elena,” said the Fairy Godmother in the center. “Have you any idea what you have done?”

  “Um—” said Elena, flushing.

  “We had a band of six new Champions that you deprived of a battle,” said the Fairy Godmother, ticking the “faults”

  off on her fingers. “You gave three Unicorns entirely unsuitable ideas of a new vocation, so now we’ll have to pair three of those Champions with the Unicorns, and heaven only knows how we’ll manage to keep those boys virgins!

  You almost intervened as a Godmother, which is a very, very bad precedent to set.”

  “But that’s why I was dressed as Alexander’s squire!”

  Elena protested.

  “We know, dear,” said one of the old Wizards. “Not to worry. Very wise of you to think of that. Wiser still that you realized what The Tradition would have done and that you could have made a dreadful mess if Kylia had fallen in love with Alexander. It isn’t in the tale now; you’re just the Champion’s female squire who followed him into battle in disguise—that’s two Traditional paths you’ve combined there, the disguised female serving a boob of a man who hasn’t figured out his servant is a she and the brave and cunning girl who follows her lover into battle, so that’s all right.”

  “You’ve opened up the Traditional warrior-woman path The Fairy Godmother

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  a bit wider now, though, so—” the Fairy Godmother grimaced and shrugged. “What’s to come of that, I suppose we’ll have to see. But why didn’t you wait for a few hours to get the replies to your messages? If you had—”

  “If she had,” Alexander said, his jaw set, “my brother would probably be dead. It wouldn’t have taken that—

  Katschei, was it?—very long to discover he had the Prince in his dungeon.”

  “Yes, it was a Katschei,” said a Sorceress. “A kind of northern-Kingdom half-demon, not entirely human. He shouldn’t have been in your Kingdoms at all!”

  Elena bowed her head, and waited for them to tell her that the Katschei’s presence was her fault.

  But they didn’t. “Try this, if you will,” said the Fairy Godmother, grimly. “Despite Traditional pressure against anything of his sort coming into our Kingdoms, he got his foothold by getting an unscrupulous amber-merchant to bring his heart as far south as he could and bury it, a hundred years ago, then he waited for the amber-merchant and anyone else who might remember what had been done to die. Of course, a hundred years is nothing to his kind.”

  Elena’s head came up and she gaped at the Fairy Godmother. “You mean—it wasn’t my fault?” she squeaked.

  “Of course not,” the old Wizard replied. “What, were you worried because you’d been breaking Traditions? Good lack, girl, that’s what the best of us always do! Bend them, anyway. Shape them the way we want them to go.”

  “Fretting because you’d gone and married that handsome piece you redeemed?” asked the Sorceress, with a lecherous smile. “Well, generally Godmothers take lovers, 468

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  but if you’re going to restrict yourself to just one man, that just leaves more choice for the rest of us!”

  “Shariss!” scolded the Fairy Godmother, as Elena blushed and Alexander began to grin, “you’re telling tales!”

  “It’s all right, dearie,” said a particularly grandmotherly Godmother. “The only thing you did wrong—and I’m not saying it’s wrong wrong, because as your young man said, his brother might well have been discovered before we could set up a rescue—was to go haring off before you could hear from the rest of us. No, indeed, you mustn’t do that anymore, and you must promise us that you won’t.”

  Elena and Alexander exchanged a look and a nod. “I think,” she said, carefully, “that providing the next emergency doesn’t involve any of Alexander’s brothers or father, we can promise that.”

  The Fairy Godmother looked up, and gave Elena a quick wink. The Wizard chuckled. “She’s learning,” he said to the air.

  “As for Alexander, there is ample precedent for Champions in a Godmother’s household as Consort,” said the Fairy Godmother. “At least, in the Elven Tradition there is. I see no reason why that can’t be extended, although, as Shariss pointed out, I suspect that there are not as many as you might think who will take advantage of it. Champions tend to have wandering ways, you see, and they roam over several Kingdoms in the course of their careers.”

  Elena’s brow wrinkled. “But I’m responsible for several Kingdoms,” she pointed out.

  “And you’re about to get one more,” said the Wizard.

  “There’s no one to take Fleurberg. Poor old Hessian never The Fairy Godmother

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  took an Apprentice, and he wasn’t strictly a Wizard anyway, he was a Sorcerer who liked to meddle. So Fleurberg’s yours, and I expect this young man is going to have his hands full for a while. The Katschei’s minions mostly fled. He’s going to have to track them down and dispose of them as they pop up. And it’s possible that having heard of a way out of an area, other Evil things may try to follow the Katschei’s example, so he’ll have to look sharp for that.” He shrugged.

  “We’d better get together before we leave and put a Portal to your cottage in the back of an old wardrobe or something. What do you want to do about Glass Mountain?”

  “Why don’t you bring those six young Champions here and set them up as a sort of Order?” asked Alexander unexpectedly. “That way they have a place to come and go from, you’ll have them here to clean up the Katschei’s monsters, and they’ll be able to come directly to Elena if they need magical help.”

  “Hmm. You didn’t do so badly, did you, dear?” Shariss asked Elena, with an upraised eyebrow. “Beauty, brawn, and brains!”

  Alexander blushed, and Elena flushed.

  “Done,” said the Fairy Godmother. “An Order of Champions is a fine new Tradition to start. Very useful indeed. I can see that you are going to be a valuable addition to the ranks, Champion Alexander.”

  She turned to Elena. “As for you—are you certain you wish to continue to be a Godmother? You certainly qualify as a Sorceress, if you choose. It seems a waste of your time for you to be puttering about with small problems and making potions and amulets.”

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  She shook her head, vehemently. “No—I would much rather take care of things while they are small problems, please. And I really don’t mind making potions and amulets for farmers and shepherds. It’s only the ones that live in my village that come to me for such things, anyway.”

  “True enough, there are Witches in plenty in your other Kingdoms. Well, dear, there are those of us who would rather hide away on the mountaintop until terrible situations require resolving, and those of us who prefer to have people about us and nip smaller emergencies in the bud.” She smiled. “And, truth to tell, I wouldn’t be living among you mortals if I wasn’t the latter.”

  “Nor me,” said the old Wizard, cheerfully. “There’s room for all sor
ts, thank heavens! Now, I hate to put you two to work immediately, but you’ll have to for a bit. You, Alexander—I need you to go help your brothers sort out what to do with that little army that your brother Octavian brought.

  And help Julian out with his reconciliation letter to your father; from all reports he keeps weeping over it and tearing it up. He’s a good boy, but a bit—”

  “—sentimental,” the Wizard and Alexander said together.

  “Anyway, when you get that sorted, do something sensible with the Katschei’s treasure, too. Just burying it or putting it in the treasury will only invite more trouble. I don’t think Julian will need convincing, especially not if you hint at curses.”

  “You could offer most of it to a dragon,” Elena suggested suddenly, recalling her initial impression of a dragon’s hoard.

  “In exchange for monster hunting or something. The dragon could even live up here, as the symbol of the Order.”

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  “Oh, there’s a lovely thought!” said the Sorceress, brightening. “And we’d have a source for shed scales and blood!”

  “Does that suit you?” the Fairy Godmother asked Alexander. “Good. I’ll find the dragon, then.”

  “And the rest of it can be used to reward Octavian and his force, those magical creatures that came to help us, and repair the damage to the palace and compensate the families of those who were killed,” said Alexander.

  “And when you finally return home, I believe you’ll find that you now have all the resources of the first inhabitant of Emerald Cottage, and the responsibilities that go with it.

  Which means that you will need to establish a permanent portal—or perhaps, I should say reestablish—with one Witch, Wizard or Sorceress in each of the Kingdoms for which you are responsible.” The Fairy Godmother gave Elena a long look. “You will have your Mirror-Slave Randolf contact my Mirror-Slave Esteban when you have decided who will play host and where each one will be, and the appropriate Moot will gather to create them—or reopen them, if you decide to use the old ones. This is as much to keep you from acting too impulsively as it is for your convenience. If you know you can get to the source of trouble by stepping across a portal, you’ll be less likely to fly off without waiting for answers to your messages.”

  Elena blushed.

  “Now, I believe that this will do.” She looked up and down the table, getting nods from all assembled. “Very well.

  This Grand Council session is closed. Commendations to Godmother Elena and Champion Alexander, who are admonished to go back down into Fleurberg and finish tidy

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  ing up, keeping in mind that a Godmother always cleans up after herself and a Champion never leaves a job half-finished. All agreed?”

  “Agreed,” came the chorus.

  “Opposed? Abstentions? Good.” She looked back up at Alexander and Elena. “Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation to join the Grand Council? Be careful or you’ll get it!”

  Elena made a small sound of alarm in her throat, and to the sound of kindly laughter from around the table, they turned and fled as one. Nightsong was waiting for them at the door, tacked up in a new saddle with a pillion seat.

  Alexander took the saddle, and greatly relieved not to be responsible for being anything other than a passenger, Elena took his hand and pulled herself up onto the pillion behind him.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “For anything,” she replied, with a soaring heart.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Godmother,” he warned.

  “You might get it!”

  “And if I do?” she shrugged, gaily. “Then we handle it together.”

  “So we do,” he agreed. “So we do! It can’t be any worse than the family reunion we’re about to negotiate!”

  She laughed, and shook her head. “You’re right. Oh, families! All right, Nightsong! To Fleurberg!”

  He laughed as well. “To Fleurberg, and my brothers! But this time—we’ll take our time about it.”

  And the great black stallion trotted off—rather than flying—under a cloudless blue sky.

  Madame Fleur plumped herself down on a chair at the little table in the window of the Rose and Ivy with a sigh, and tucked her heavy string shopping-bag beneath the seat.

  Her sister Blanche did the same.

  “Dear saints, what a day!” Blanche said fanning herself with her hand. “I do believe that every living body in town was in the market today.”

  “I would not disagree,” Fleur said. “What a crush! I don’t know, dear, perhaps we’re getting too old to fight our way through the market. Do you think we ought to hire a boy for it?”

  “Or a girl. Actually, I would not be averse to hiring another girl altogether, for more of the household chores.”

  Blanche made a face. “Perhaps we are getting old.”

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  “Well, if we are, then there’s no shame in hiring another girl. We’ve earned it,” said Fleur decisively. She looked out of the window. “I must say, it’s very convenient, having this inn right next door,” she added brightly. “So nice, being able to nip over for a bite when we’re too tired to cook!”

  “Terribly convenient,” echoed Blanche, a twinkle in her eye. The potgirl, a bit of hair straggling damply into her eyes, hurried over to take their orders. “Ah, Daphne, there you are. What has Theresa got on the menu today?”

  Now, both of them knew very well what Theresa Klovis had on the menu, because it rarely changed, but both of them took a great deal of pleasure in watching Daphne Klovis stand there and recite it all.

  Red-faced from her exertions, the formerly-plump daughter of Madame Klovis told over the menu without a flicker of exasperation. She daren’t display any bad temper, not now, not when she knew very well that if anyone complained to the debtors who owned what had been the Klovis home, there would be a reckoning.

  “Well, I do believe that I will have a Ploughman’s Luncheon,” said Blanche, as she always did. “With a nice ale to wash it down.”

  “And cold quiche for me, and a glass of white wine,” said Fleur as she always did. Daphne hurried off, her back hair straggling down from under her cap. Gone were the silk gowns and ribbons; the Klovis’s all wore what any working servant did; a plain smock-dress and canvas skirt, a plain apron to go over it, and a plain mob-cap.

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  “Well, all this work is doing her good,” Blanche observed.

  “That weight has come off nicely.”

  When Madame Klovis had returned, without a rich husband, but expecting to find “her” house being cared for by her stepdaughter, she found something else instead. Forewarned by Madame Fleur that she was coming, a committee of those to whom she owed money was waiting.

  The committee included a brace of constables, and before you could say “knife,” they had hustled off Madame and her daughters, all three of them protesting at the tops of their lungs, while their creditors stripped the coach of everything and divided her belongings among themselves.

  There was less there than she had taken with her—foreign climes had not been receptive to Madame and the girls, and foreign merchants disinclined to part with anything on credit, and she had been forced to sell a great many things in order to support herself and her daughters in what she considered to be the proper style. There certainly was nothing near enough to settle her enormous debts.

  But a solution had been suggested to this problem, by a party who had wished to remain anonymous, and the judge had presented them with this solution as a fait accompli the next morning.

  “The portion of the home that is hers already having been deeded to the creditors—most generously—by Elena Klovis, the remainder is declared confiscated,” the judge had said sternly, as Madame and Delphinium stared at him with angry arrogance, and Daphne wailed. “Being as the debts are still not discharged, yo
ur creditors have agreed to re

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  furbish the house as an inn and hire a plain cook until you, Madame, have demonstrated that you have mastered the art of producing edible food. Whereupon you will become the cook and kitchen-maid. Monsieur Rabellet’s cousin will serve as innkeeper, and you and your daughters as the inn servants until the debt is fully discharged, at which time, you may either continue to serve as servants for a wage, or go your ways.”

  Fleur and Blanche had been in the gallery, as had all of the creditors and indeed, nearly anyone who had a dislike for Madame and her daughters. And they really had fallen mightily; even the gowns they had been wearing had been taken from them, and they were now garbed in ugly grey linen prison smocks and caps.

  Madame’s nostrils had flared, as Daphne wailed still louder. “And if we refuse?” she had asked, icily.

  “Then, Madame, you and your daughters will be packed off to the workhouse,” the judge replied, just as icily. “And there you will remain until you die, since it is unlikely, at workhouse wages, that your debt will ever be discharged.

  I advise you to accept.”

  There really was no choice in the matter. Madame was forced to assent. And so she and her daughters had become exactly what they had forced Elena to be—unpaid servants, sleeping in the attic on whatever was deemed to worn to use in the inn, eating what was left over after all of the customers had been fed. In that, they were treated better than they themselves had treated Elena; they got two new The Fairy Godmother

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  smocks and a skirt a year, (where Elena had gotten rags), a set of sabots and underthings every year, and woolen shawls and stockings for winter. And they never starved.