Sparrow Falling

by Gaie Sebold

  Whatever he had to do was only a question of rebalancing the scales, making things the way they should be, after all.

  But had the Queen decided? He was up here every dusk, and every dawn. Cora used to complain that he was never at home, but she had, to his relief, stopped that nonsense.

  The Queen hadn’t turned the girl down straightaway. Surely that meant it was going well?

  He didn’t dare go back before the date she had given him. She was such an impossibly capricious creature, as bad as any human woman, but with power. Terrifying power. So he came here, and waited, in case she should send a messenger, as she had done before.

  He didn’t use the flute. It made them angry when he did that. He could only wait, and be conciliatory, and crawl on his belly to them because they had all the cards.

  The sky outside the window thickened. Yellow-grey fog pressed against the panes, like something trying to get in. Stug fidgeted with the cover of the book on the table – if that stupid girl was half as smart as she thought, she would have taken this, a genuine antique, rare and ancient. He wondered what would happen to her if she attempted to use any of the spells it contained. Even the spell of summoning that used the elder-wood flute required will, and concentration. It might look simple, but then so did a bolting horse.

  His thoughts were everywhere this evening. He pulled out his watch. It was hard to tell if it could any longer be considered properly dusk, with the fog – but the Folk took little account of time as it was measured this side of the Stream.

  It was very quiet. The last shift-change had been minutes ago; and the ever-present humming roar of a modern city had dulled. The stillness got on Stug’s nerves.

  He would wait one more minute, then...

  The creature appeared absolutely silently, without so much as disturbing the crow feather that lay on the shelf behind it. Stug bit down on a shriek, but could not prevent the jolt backwards which sent him staggering. He would have fallen if the chair had not been right behind him. He sat down with a thump, his teeth jarring together.

  The creature watched him with its head on one side. It showed neither amusement nor any other emotion; its huge faceted eyes, like great black glittering mourning brooches carved of jet, held no expression he could read, and its mouth was a rigid downwards curve. Its head and body were approximately human, though the limbs were excessively long and skinny. Gleaming wings were folded against its back.

  “Wha...” Stug cleared his throat, and sat up straight in the chair. “Are you from the Queen?”

  Its head tilted the other way, but it made no answer, though its wings shivered, making a low humming and sending the crow feather floating to the floor.

  “Now, my pet,” said a voice. “Discourteous to startle the man in his own place.” The young man who appeared beside the creature seemed to step out of the air, as it had done, but more leisurely. Stug caught a glimpse of the landscape behind him, glimmering softly, its light entirely out of place on this grim, dank evening.

  The insectlike thing shivered its wings again and rubbed its head against the young man’s arm.

  He was beautiful, like all the High Folk; his hair danced in shades of copper and gold. His clothes were those of a gentleman – frock-coat, trousers, waistcoat, high-collared shirt – though their colours and materials, their glistening bronze and shimmering topaz, were nothing any respectable man would wear.

  He patted the creature on the head and folded his legs up under him, balancing midair, and regarded Stug with blue-green eyes.

  “I bring a message from my lady mother,” he said.

  The son, then, Aiden. Even such a creature as the Queen had a son. A fine boy, if he had been human. What does she say? Is it yes? Finally, is it yes? Stug forced the questions back down his throat. “I hope she found my gift pleasing?” he croaked.

  “Oh, the girl is well enough. But Mama...” He shrugged. “She has become... troubled, of late. Things please her for such a short time. Even those things that formerly were most amusing, now fade from her pleasure like flowers at summer’s end. She is becoming concerned, and plans for the future. Just think, my lady mother planning for the future! It is quite amusing.” He tilted his head, like the insect-creature, and his eyes, though human, and amused, glittered just as coldly as did his pet’s. “Perhaps it is your influence.”

  Stug attempted a self-deprecating smile. “So humble a creature as myself could hardly hope for as much,” he said, loathing the shake in his voice, loathing the words. Only until I have what I want, he told himself. Only until then.

  “Indeed,” the young man said, his voice perfectly expressionless. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. My lady mother... has been troubled. And there is something particular that troubles her. There is an old woman.”

  The silence stretched out. Eventually Stug could no longer bear it. “An... old woman?”

  “Yes, a terrible, ugly, tyrannous old woman, without grace or beauty, without finesse. She thinks herself a rival to my mother.”

  “How could anyone be so foolish?” Stug quavered.

  “Oh, the arrogance of this loathsome creature must be witnessed to be believed. One would laugh, except that it is an insult. You understand?”

  “I...” No, he did not – the endless dance of the Folk and their rivalries was of no interest to him at all. He only wanted one thing from them, and never to have to deal with them again. But the gift was not yet in his hands, and he would have to bow and scrape and attempt to follow the steps a little longer. “Yes, of course it is an insult.”

  “She has got above herself, recently. She crows. She flaunts. It is not to be borne. So my dear mother has decided that she must be put in her place.”

  What is this to do with me? Stug clenched his hands and held his mouth shut, feeling a muscle along his jaw jump and twitch.

  “And you will assist her in this.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. If you wish to be assured of her continued goodwill, that is.”

  You were warned. A voice in Stug’s memory, the voice of his father, colder than stone. You were warned about dealings with the Folk, like dealing with a blackmailer. Always more than you thought you would have to pay, and always with a sting in the tail, always a twist on the bargain. You were warned, Joshua. You chose not to listen.

  But his father was dead, and his sententious pratings had no place in this deal.

  “What does the Queen desire me to do?”

  “The old woman has a subject here. He has a child. She wants it.”

  “A subject?”

  “Yes. Our boundaries, to some degree, reflect your own; and like you, we have ambassadors. The old woman has a human subject, who is an ambassador here, the ambassador has a child, my lady mother wants that child. You are to get it for her. You understand?”

  “I... I...”

  “Need I say it again?”

  “Only, my lord Aiden, the name...”

  “Oh, I don’t know his name,” the boy said. “I’ve seldom troubled to learn the names of humans.” Something passed over his face, a shade of... grief? For a moment he looked almost human himself.

  “Not his name, lord. The name of the old woman, her country.” Stug clenched his hands, feeling the sweat pool in his palms, his nails digging, stinging. Who... who... let it be some pitiful little colony, some place where the ‘embassy’ is two rooms on the outskirts of Kensington, with a guard in an extravagant uniform shivering on the pavement.

  “The old woman is Baba Yaga. It is the country of the bear. Russia.”

  Russia. Dear god she wants the Russian Ambassador’s child.

  Stug felt his knees weaken, and locked them.

  “I hope that is sufficient information,” Aiden said, “as I begin to find this conversation tedious, and this place stinks. And roars.”

  “My lord...”

  Aiden raised a hand. “Oh, you will get what you wanted,” he said. “Once it is done. You will be given a son, under the conditions you
requested. My lady mother keeps her word. I hope you will be wise enough to do the same.”

  “JACOBS, WHERE ARE the documents for the Shoreham properties?”

  “With the lawyers, sir. I took them over yesterday.”

  Damn.

  “What about the takings?”

  “Banked on Monday, sir.”

  “Hmm. You’ve been exceptionally efficient lately, Jacobs.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The boy radiated keenness... and was in the damn way.

  “Take a half day,” Stug said. “You appear to have earned it.”

  “A half day, sir?”

  “A half day, boy, a half day. You have heard of such a thing, I presume?”

  “Sir. But there’s the documents for the Shoreham properties, sir.”

  “It will wait. Go... go to a horse-race or whatever it is you young men do.”

  “Do you want me to come back and finish off these papers, Mr Stug?”

  “I told you it will wait!” Stug saw the boy flinch and moderated his tone. “I’m trying to give you some time off, boy. Don’t act like a beaten dog who’s not sure the chain’s off. Stand up. Take life by the throat. Now get out of here.”

  Jacobs scurried away. Stug shook his head. What a sorry creature the boy was! His son would be different. Sturdy, bold, a man. He would have a clean and untroubled life, with no need to know what his father had gone through, the things he had been forced to.

  But certain things had to be got out of the way first.

  “Sir?”

  “I thought you’d gone. What is it?”

  “That woman’s due to come back today, sir. Sparrow’s Nest Security. At three.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m quite capable of reading a calendar. Do get on, boy, the day’ll be gone.”

  “Sir.”

  Jacobs was useful, but Stug hoped he wasn’t getting too curious about things that were none of his business. Although he would be easy enough to get rid of with a word in the right ear and an offer of another higher-paying position. It was Stug’s experience that most people could be bought off. Even the Queen of the Folk. If you had something they wanted.

  The girl turned up on the dot of three, just as Stug’s watch pinged the hour.

  Stug ushered her in, glancing up and down the street.

  Simms. Simms was there, watching from the shadows. He made sure Stug saw him, tipped his hat to an even-more-insolent angle, and strolled away.

  He was definitely going to have to do something about Simms. And he couldn’t trust him with this. He was too sure of himself, too cocky – and far too obvious.

  But now, he had an alternative.

  “MR STUG.”

  “Miss... Sparrow, isn’t it? Do sit down.” Stug gestured her to the hard, narrow supplicant’s chair in front of his desk, and sat himself in the expansive and comfortable leather one behind it. “Sparrow... Sparrow...” He tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Now, that doesn’t seem right, you know.”

  The girl looked up from extracting papers from her bag. “What doesn’t seem right, Mr Stug?”

  “The name. It doesn’t quite fit. I’m sure another would suit you better. Something of French origin, perhaps?”

  The girl smiled. “I’ve never thought of myself as particularly French in appearance, Mr Stug, but if you are complimenting me on my style, then thank you.”

  “So the name Duchen means nothing to you?”

  “Duchen?” She looked mildly surprised. “It’s not a particularly common one, but I can’t recall having heard it before.”

  “Really? How about Simms?”

  She put the papers neatly together on his desk. If her hands were shaking, he couldn’t see it.

  “Should it? Are they perhaps business rivals, that you fear might be after something? I can investigate further, if you wish.”

  “Now really, miss. Let us not beat around the bush any further.”

  “I was not aware of doing any beating around any bushes, Mr Stug.”

  “You are a wanted criminal, Miss... it isn’t really Sparrow, is it? Perhaps it isn’t Duchen either, but I shall call you that. A wanted criminal, Miss Duchen.”

  She folded her hands in her lap.

  “Am I? How very exciting. What am I supposed to have done?”

  “You and I both know that you are a wanted criminal by the name of Eveline Duchen, a common thief and pickpocket.”

  “I am not aware of there being any police warrant out for anyone of that name, Mr Stug.”

  Dammit! He had not checked. He should have checked. But Simms was a criminal, and there was no outstanding warrant for him, either.

  “You are also of interest to the government.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you remember a Mr Holmforth?”

  “I can’t say I do.”

  “A most unfortunate business. There are those in government who are still wondering what happened to Mr Holmforth – and to his female companion.”

  “Really.”

  “These people might... might... be prepared to lose interest.”

  “Might they indeed.”

  “In return for certain activities which you, Miss... Sparrow, should be more than capable of performing.”

  “And what might those be?”

  “Why, nothing more than the sort of activities you have already performed. Breaking. Entering. Illegal activities.”

  “Are you suggesting Her Majesty’s Government might wish someone to become involved in illegal activities, Mr Stug?”

  “Only in the cause of the greater good.”

  “I see.”

  “The plain fact of it is that the Russian ambassador has come under suspicion. He may be, in fact, working against the interests of the British Empire. It is necessary to put him under pressure. And for this, your particular talents are required.”

  “What would you need me for? Hasn’t the government got people for that? Seems to me they’re a bit desperate if they’re dragging innocent women in off the street.”

  Stug leaned forward, searching her face. She still looked utterly calm, even mildly amused. Could Simms have been wrong? Or playing some game of his own? He felt a shudder in his stomach. If that was the case, then he would be in so deep he’d never climb out. She would know his name, his place of business.

  But he was committed. He couldn’t back off now.

  And he could deal with Simms... or have him dealt with. He could do the same with her, a sight more easily.

  “On the night of the fifteenth,” he said, “there will be a ball at the embassy. That should provide a more than sufficient distraction. It has been decided that you, Miss... Sparrow, will on that night find the ambassador’s baby daughter, remove her from the embassy, and bring her to me.”

  “What?”

  “You will take the ambassador’s daughter and bring her to me.”

  “But why?”

  “It is not your place to question that. You see, Miss Sparrow, this would be by way of... a conclusion,” Stug said.

  “A conclusion, Mr Stug?”

  “Once it is done it may allow certain past indiscretions of yours to be wiped from the record.”

  Her face went still. “I see. So, you’re a government man, Mr Stug?”

  He smiled, and said nothing.

  Nor did she.

  “Are we agreed?” he said.

  “On conditions.”

  “Oh, I hardly think you’re in a situation to make conditions.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Tell me, did they say anything about Mr Fordyce?” She was looking at him with a peculiar, anxious intensity, suddenly – her hands no longer in her lap but gripped together on the papers on the desk, crumpling the top layer.

  Fordyce, Fordyce... Delaney had not mentioned anything, but obviously the name had meaning, a distressing one, for her. It might be the other fellow who had disappeared.

  “Oh really, I don’t think you want me to go into that, do you?” he said. “R
ather unpleasant, don’t you think?”

  She sat back, and slumped. “If I’m to do this,” she said, “I’ll need details. Of the embassy.”

  “I’m sure you can find all that out. Isn’t that supposed to be your business?”

  “But it’s only two days... I’ll do my best, but... Oh, Mr Stug,” she said. “Please put in a good word for me! With whoever it is you’re dealing with, please, I never done nothing bad that I wasn’t put up to! I bin led astray, that’s what it is.”

  “Hah.” Women, Stug thought. Weak-minded, that’s what they were. “You will bring the child here, at midnight on the fifteenth. I will meet you.”

  “Yes, Mr Stug.”

  “And no mentioning this to anyone else. Government business, you know.”

  “I shan’t, Mr Stug.”

  “Be sure you don’t. You wouldn’t wish for anything to happen to... anyone, would you?” This, he told himself, was the only kind of thing a creature like this would understand. It wouldn’t be necessary, if the little beast did as she was told.

  “And the child – I shall know, if it is some street brat. I want proof. Something that shows she is who I have asked for.”

  “Yes, Mr Stug.”

  She looked, finally, cowed, when she left. Stug sat back in his chair, his chest expanding behind his waistcoat. Things were finally back under his control. He would get what he wanted, then he need never deal with the Folk – or such street-scum as Bartholomew Simms or Eveline Duchen – ever again.

  EVELINE MADE IT around the corner before her knees gave and she leant against the wall, shaking, every swearword she knew and some she’d made up on the spot running through her head. When she was sure she wasn’t going to fall, and that she wasn’t still in sight of Stug’s windows, she went straight to the nearest sausage-stall. Bags o’mystery they might be – but who cared what was in them. When she was shook up, what she wanted was sausage and bread and a cup of tea, and nothing else would do.

  She paid for her portion and went and stood in a doorway, chewing, watching the street without really seeing it, the comforting weight of greasy meat and coarse bread gradually calming her clenched stomach.