Chasing the Green Fairy: The Airship Racing Chronicles

by Melanie Karsak

  Having known this conversation was coming, I had considered Ianthe’s words since leaving her the night before. “You said that Wardens are chosen because of their quality of spirit. You said they are chosen because their spirit resonates with the realm. Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “And that is the sole criteria against which the Warden is selected?”

  Ianthe nodded. “Naturally, some of these talents must be nurtured. Sometimes the spirit needs to be drawn forth, or maybe the Warden needs something or wants something. That is where I can help.”

  “But, if I understood rightly, such an agreement is not required. If I followed the chain correctly, the preceding Warden nominates a successor. Mr. Spencer suggested that if the vault opens, the realm is in agreement. The successor signs their name then becomes Warden of Arcadia in protectorate. Protecting the estate is the sole duty of the Warden, correct?”

  Ianthe gave me that strange lopsided smile again. “Yes, in bare-bones terms. But your relationship with the realm is more than a responsibility; it is also a gift. It’s meant to feed you, to connect you with forces larger than yourself that can help you find what you seek. I’m here to make that happen. Surely, Lily, there is something I can do for you?”

  “In exchange for what?”

  Ianthe tried to smile. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

  “Doesn’t it? I see what you took from Byron. You robbed him of his own son. You took for yourself without any regard to what it cost George . . . and Robin. Who knows what you have taken from others. I am the Warden of Arcadia, Ianthe, whether you like it or not. But I don’t want anything from you.”

  I rose and went toward the door.

  “Come now, Lily. Don’t be rash.” Ianthe stood abruptly. “I can assure success in your racing career. You could become a legend. Maybe your family life . . . or a secret wish? I can help you.”

  “Why?” I said, turning to face her. “On what authority? This bargaining is a game of your own invention and has nothing to do with Arcadia. Are you so bored here? I can only imagine what you said to young Byron, an unloved and crippled boy. You filled his head with ideas of fame just to get what you wanted. He was good enough as he was! You could have told him that instead of setting him on fire with a dream that burned him alive from the inside. The heavens forbid anyone actually love that man for who he really was! Shame on you! I don’t need you! I love my country and will shelter this place, whatever that means, because that is what the realm asks of me. But I don’t need anything from you. I make my own fate,” I said then left, slamming the door behind me.

  Full of fury, I left the cottage in a huff and set off down the deer path the way I had come. The longer I walked, the angrier I became. I cursed everyone who had ever crossed Byron’s path: from his drunk, half-pirate father to his neurotic mother to his vulture cousins to his manipulative, shrewish ex-wife. I cursed them all. When I was done cursing them, I cursed Byron. What kind of man abandons his children in pursuit of pleasure? What kind of man bargains away his only son? And even if he had been manipulated—which surely he had been—when he was old enough to know better, why hadn’t he done right by Robin? Furthermore, I knew Annabella was a wretched waste of life, but young Ada was a sweet, smart, beautiful child. Didn’t she deserve more from her father? I cursed Ianthe and the games women play when they grow bored. And most of all, I cursed myself because I was drunk again, strung out on opium, and lost in Byron’s world, a million miles from Sal, the Stargazer, and Jessup and Angus. I wanted to kill myself.

  I sat down with my back against a tree and wept. In my fit of rage, I had veered off the deer path. I was totally lost. And in that moment, I just didn’t care anymore. I wept and wept until I was totally exhausted, then fell asleep in the middle of the woods, hoping the little people from the hollow hills would come carry me away.

  “ANOTHER INCH TO THE LEFT, and you would have fallen asleep in the poison oak,” someone said. I opened my eyes to see Robin looking down at me from his astride his horse, an amused expression on his face.

  “Do you have to keep rescuing me? It’s becoming cliché.”

  Robin laughed. “It would be more of a rescue if it hadn’t taken all morning to find you. Let’s go have a drink.”

  “A drink? Another one of your mandrake teas? I still have a headache.”

  “Mandrake would’ve killed you. That was something else. The Pig and Whistle is about five miles from here. They’ve got a nice bitter.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I said, but as I looked down at my Moroccan best, I hesitated. For a moment, I remembered that dinner at Katy’s house so long ago. At least, maybe now, I was dressed more like my true self: a total mess.

  “And what kind of chivalric rescue would it be if I didn’t bring the damsel something proper to wear?” Robin said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “Seriously?”

  He laughed. “I’d actually gone for the dress when you were talking with Ianthe. Imagine my surprise to return to find you’d stormed off. I didn’t get much out of Ianthe. She was still too mad to talk.” Robin pulled a bundle from his saddle bag. “What did you say to her?” he asked, tossing the cloth bag to me.

  From within, I pulled out a violet-colored gown made of soft chemise material. It was not air jockey wear, but it was a fine dress. “Where did you find this?” I asked.

  “The fairies sewed it for me. Out of gossamer, of course,” he replied teasingly.

  “All right,” I said, chuckling in spite of myself. “Well, be chivalric a bit longer and turn your horse around so I can get changed.”

  “Watch out for the poison oak.”

  “I did get some on my arm. It’s burning like hell.”

  “We can get you some salve.”

  “After the pint,” I said, and I began to shimmy out of the sticky, filthy, black clothes. Moments later, I found myself standing almost entirely naked in the woods. I turned around and looked back toward Robin. He was dutifully facing away. I slid the gown on.

  “After the pint? Now, that is dedication.”

  “Any chance you found a pair of boots?”

  I picked up the slippers. They had ripped down the sides and were totally unwearable. I bundled them up with my old clothes.

  “Sorry.”

  “All right. How is this?” I asked, turning to face him.

  Robin turned then smiled. His expression was appreciative. “Beautiful. Now, give me your hand.”

  I walked, barefoot, across the forest floor to Robin. I stuck my old clothes into his saddle bag, secured my satchel, then put my hand in his. With a heave, he pulled me onto the horse behind him.

  I tried to settle in sidesaddle like a lady should, but then, giving up, I pulled the dress up to my thighs. I slid in behind Robin, wrapping my arms around his waist.

  He laughed. “Ready?”

  I held him tightly. “Sure.”

  He clicked at his horse, and we headed through the woods. We dodged under the limbs and through the underbrush. A short while later, we came to a cart path. Reining his horse in, we headed off in a trot.

  “You never answered me,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “What you said to Ianthe that made her so angry.”

  “I wouldn’t bargain with her.”

  Robin was quiet for a while then said, “Maybe that’s another reason.”

  “Another reason for what?”

  “Well, another reason why Byron chose you.”

  I thought about his words. If Byron had regretted his decision to bargain away Robin, then it would have been just like him to make a move to stop Ianthe’s game, to punish her. And Byron knew me well enough to know I would not trade away anything. “It’s possible.”

  “You’ve put her in quite a quandary. I have to admit, I kind of enjoy seeing someone get the best of her,” Robin said with a chuckle.

  “But she is your mother.”

  “That doesn’t mean
I agree with her.”

  I smiled to hear him say so. I pressed my cheek against his back, soaking in the warmth radiating from his skin. For some reason, being so close to Robin made me feel better.

  We arrived at the pub shortly thereafter. It was a quaint little woodsmans’ tavern in the middle of nowhere. Because I was shoeless, Robin carried me to the door. He set me down once we were inside.

  “Robbie!” a table full of rugged looking men shouted, waving him over.

  “Not today. I’ve got company,” he called back.

  “Hey, look, our Robbie brought a girl!” the barmaid cried, causing many of the patrons to whistle.

  “Okay, okay,” he said bashfully.

  “We can sit with your friends,” I offered.

  Surprised, he looked at me. “Are you sure?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “All right, gents,” he said, then led me to a table where five of Robin’s friends had gathered. “Try not to be rude,” he told them, pulling up chairs for him and me. “This is Lily,” he introduced.

  One after the other, Robin’s friends introduced themselves while Robin talked to the barmaid. A few minutes later, the woman brought over two bitters and ploughmans’ lunches for both Robin and me. I had not realized how hungry I was until the platter of bread, cheese, chutney, butter, and thin sliced meats was set before me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Robin.

  “Cheers,” he replied, tapping his mug to mine, then we both drank. I polished off half of it, wincing at the sharp taste.

  “Christ, Robbie, where’d you find such a beautiful girl?” asked the man who’d introduced himself as Jack.

  “Maybe she’s clockwork,” another man, Alfred, suggested.

  “If she is, she runs on bitter,” an older gentleman sitting beside me, Monk, said as he looked into my mug.

  “Tick, tick, tick,” I joked as I reached out for my bread.

  The men laughed.

  Robin grinned. “She’s just visiting for a bit.”

  “Where you from?” Millman, who sat next to Robin, asked.

  “I’m Cornish, but I live in London,” I replied as I spread butter on the bread. I handed the buttered piece to Robin then exchanged his bread for mine, buttering a piece for myself.

  He smiled at me then took a bite.

  “Your people are from Cornwall, aren’t they, Eddie?” Jack then asked a wiry man sitting near the window.

  He nodded. “From Penryn. What about you, Lily?”

  “Morvah.”

  “Morvah? They got more standing stones than people there,” Eddie joked.

  I smiled. “We had a small farm near the coast, but that was long ago.”

  “What do you do in London?” Jack asked.

  “Try not to get pickpocketed,” I replied, polishing off the drink.

  They chuckled.

  Robin signaled to the barmaid to bring me another. When she arrived, I took the mug from the woman’s hands and drank half of it before setting it down. I rarely drank bitter since it usually made me feel melancholy, but I was trying to dull my aching head. And I was already melancholy. By the time I reached the bottom of the second mug, my head felt better.

  “Hey Robbie, I don’t think I ever saw you with a girl before,” Alfred said. “Gents, how much you bet he’s in love already?”

  They laughed.

  “You married, Lily?” Millman asked.

  I gazed down at the ring on my right hand. “No.”

  “Don’t get personal,” Robin warned then pushed his mug toward me.

  “We’re not getting personal, we’re just getting acquainted,” Alfred explained. “You have a man?” he asked.

  I picked up the drink. “Does any woman really ever have their man?” I replied with a wink. I took a drink then slid the mug back to Robin.

  “Only until the next best looking woman passes by,” Monk joked.

  They all chuckled.

  The tavern door opened.

  “Here’s Aubrey,” Monk said. “Afternoon!” he called.

  I looked back to see an older man at the door. He came slowly over to the table then sat down with a sigh. He took off his hat and set it on the table.

  “What is it, man?” Millman asked.

  Aubrey looked around at those assembled at the table. “Ma’am,” he said to me with a nod. “They are in a terrible fit at Newstead today,” he said, referring to Byron’s old home.

  I looked up at Robin. He gazed quickly at me then looked into his mug. I grew still and listened.

  “What’s the news today?” Jack asked.

  “They refused to bury our good Lord in the Poet’s Corner in Westminster. He was too wanton. I guess they’ll have to bring George Byron back home to Newstead.”

  “You heard the news, didn’t you, Miss?” Jack asked me. “We learned a few days back that Lord Byron has died,” Jack explained to me. “Folks around here are partial to him. Newstead Abby was his home. Where was it he died, Rome?” Jack asked Monk.

  Monk shook his head. “No, I think it was on some island somewhere.”

  “I’d bet he died from syphilis,” the barmaid called with a laugh.

  Some of the others chuckled.

  “No, no, he was abroad . . . got wounded in battle. Where was it now?” Aubrey pondered, running his hand across his head.

  “Greece,” I whispered.

  “There, of course a lady would know, Greece,” Jack said. “That sounds right.”

  “Greece,” Aubrey confirmed. “That’s right. It was Greece. Now I remember, ’cause I heard the girls in the kitchen saying they were going to bury him in the Acropolis, but instead they just took out his heart. I guess they’re going to keep it in Greece . . . put it in some kind of shrine. Can you imagine? They took out the man’s heart.”

  “Took out his heart?” Jack asked aghast.

  “Put it in a jar, just like the old Egyptian Pharaohs,” Aubrey said with a sad shake of the head.

  Involuntarily, I stood. “They took out his heart?” I stammered.

  “That’s what they were saying at Newstead,” Aubrey replied. “They’re going to build him some kind of monument.”

  I could feel my body tingle as the blood left the tips of my fingers. I reached out for Robin who stood up.

  “Just breathe,” he whispered, and wrapping his arm around my waist, he led me outside.

  I began to see black spots in front of my eyes. “They took out his heart,” I croaked.

  “I know. Horrible. Just breathe,” Robin said. “Tell Moll I’ll settle the tab later,” he called back to Eddie who stood in the doorway.

  “Everything all right?” Eddie asked.

  “We’ll be okay,” Robin replied then came and stood in front of me. “Look into my eyes,” he said.

  I did as he instructed.

  His eyes were wet with tears. “Breathe,” he told me. “In and out. Close your eyes. Feel the earth under your feet. Breathe in the forest. In and out,” he whispered.

  I breathed deeply, but rather than closing my eyes, I kept my gaze locked on him. My stomach quaked. Staring into his striking eyes, I began to feel better. I reached out and wiped away his tears. His face softened.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered. We mounted his horse and rode off. Robin led the horse into the woods and soon we were trotting along a trail in the forest. I did not recognize the place. I clung to Robin. How could they take out his heart, the heart that had loved me? I squeezed my eyes shut. We’d been riding at a steady clip when the clouds overhead darkened. Soon, it was raining. “We’re almost there,” Robin said as he guided his horse. The blanket of trees overhead protected us to some extent, but in the end, we were both soaking wet.

  Robin led his horse into a thick part of the woods. There, in the center of a fern-covered low area, was an earthen burial mound. Such mounds were frequent across the realm. This one was rather large, maybe eight feet at its pinnacle. Moss grew all over it. Robin rode toward it the
n stopped. He dismounted then helped me down, leaving the horse to roam free. He led me toward the mound.

  “In there?” I asked him.

  “It’s okay. This is where I stay,” he said.

  Curious, I followed him. He opened a small, handmade wooden door. Bending low, he went inside. I followed behind him.

  Moments later, I was standing inside the mound. The walls were fortified with stones. The curved earthen ceiling overhead was reinforced with timbers. He’d lined the floor with straw. In his main living area, he’d laid animal hides on the floor. Taking my hand, he led me to a bed sitting along the curved wall.

  “Cover up,” he said, pulling his blanket around me. I was overcome by his earthy smell. All around the room, he had work stations covered with tinkered contraptions. For a moment, I felt like I was in Sal’s workshop. But Sal never had bunches of dried rosemary and lavender hanging from the ceiling nor shelves lined with jars of mushrooms. Robin lit his small fireplace. Soon the space grew warm and filled with the scent of wood smoke. The fire made the space glow with a cheerful orange color as the burning wood popped and crackled.

  Robin sat beside me. My satchel was at my feet. “Do you mind?” he asked, leaning down.

  I shook my head.

  He opened the bag and pulled out the fairy box.

  I fished the key out of my bodice and handed it to him.

  He unlocked the box and took out the clockwork fairy. “Hold out your hand,” he whispered then gently set it in my palm. He took a tiny instrument from his vest pocket, turned back to the box, then extracted a small bone from the wing of the skeletal fairy. “Steady,” he told me as he leaned toward the clockwork fairy. Carefully, he set the bone inside an almost invisible chamber along the clockwork fairy’s spine. The chamber locked with a click. Then, to my amazement, the clockwork fairy’s wings fluttered. Moments later, the small, tinkered creature began flitting about. Robin held out his hand. The fairy landed in his palm.