Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  But he had called her Marian.

  "Are you still you at all?" she whispered.

  He chuckled. "No more than you're still you."

  This was pointless, she thought, steeling herself. However much of him was left, it obviously wasn't in control anymore.

  The same could be said of Little Red, a part of her whispered. She balked at that, even as her hand clenched around the handle of her knife. Little Red was her grandchild. Surely there was something of her strategy and sense in the girl, of the kindness her father Rudolf had always shown, of the patience that her uncle Wolfram possessed.

  Little Red could be saved. She hadn't done anything too awful yet, surely. She could stop her.

  But it was too late for the Hatter. His crime was already committed, and he could not be allowed to roam, to wound someone else.

  Unaware of her change in mindset, he dug into the basket for another sweet. He had always loved sweets. Many years ago, she'd gathered baskets for him and snuck away from the palace where she lived under the pitifully useless watch of the King, and they'd had picnics and then he had kissed her and. . .

  She withdrew the knife, leaning forward quickly and closing the distance between them, driving the knife into his throat. His eyes opened wide, so wide in shock, locking with hers and for an instant she saw him.

  "My Robin," she whispered, edging over to cradle him as his life flowed rapidly away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I'd paid attention. . ." If she had only paid attention, perhaps she could've caught him, could've kept him at the palace and tried to find a cure of some kind. But he'd seemed happy, at least as happy as he was capable of, out here. Roaming the woods as he had when he was young.

  The light in his eyes faded, and she held him a moment more, and then withdraw two items from her cloak. His first hat, battered and worn and barely holding together, and an arrowhead from one of his arrows. He'd once been the best archer she'd ever known. He would've been so proud of Red. Though he didn't share her blood, he shared her spirit.

  One thing that wouldn't be shared was this fate. Killing this man, given what he had become, had been an act of mercy. She would find a way to spare Red.

  But first, she thought, nestling the dusty hat on top of his head and slipping the arrowhead into his pocket, she would bury the Mad Hatter as he had been, as he always should've stayed. Her Robin.

  Trying to find Mother Miriam at a vulnerable point was next to impossible.

  When she was in the room with anyone else, she was always on her guard. Most people she talked to would never know it, but by this point the Red Queen knew the signs-- the way her eyes never quite stayed on the one she was addressing, always making sure that no one else was getting too close without her knowledge; the way she never stood with her back to a door; the way her smile never fully reached her eyes and her laugh never sounded entirely genuine.

  But there was, she'd discovered, one time when she was fully-- well, she couldn't use the word 'herself'; even after all these years she wasn't sure she knew who Mother Miriam truly was-- but fully relaxed.

  She wrote to her son. The letters were never sent, but she spent at least an hour a week writing, putting the finished document in the bottom drawer of the desk in her office. The Queen came in and talked to her sometimes when she was doing this. She sat in the room's other chair, and the two of them would talk things over and Mother Miriam would keep her eyes on the words on the page.

  Finally, the Queen knew it was time.

  She talked to Mother Miriam just like always, sat in the chair just like always. And then about half an hour into their ritual, she silently got to her feet, the necklace in her hands. Before Mother Miriam could turn, she dropped the jeweled weapon around her neck.

  Mother Miriam looked down at the gold and black jewels, and then up at her. There was disappointment and anger in her face-- but no shock.

  The Queen's mind flung her back to the look on Wolfram's face when he'd seen what she was truly capable of. There had been shock then. She thought of the girl she had been, who'd barely been able to conceal the grin on her face as she'd snuck into her potions room, not to work on another experiment, but to meet with the man she hadn't pledged vows to, the man she'd--

  She shook her head, dismissing the wonderings of what she'd done to herself. She was here. Where she needed to be, where Mother Miriam's prophecy had placed her. That was what mattered.

  "My apologies, Mother Miriam," she said quietly. "But it needs to be done. I'm very, very close to creating The Potion."

  Miriam smiled thinly. "Do you really think you can make yourself immortal?"

  "I know I can. There are beings in this world who've lived for centuries upon centuries. As you well know."

  "And you're going to, what? Kill me and grind up my brain for your little elixir?"

  "No," the Red Queen said, and knew instantly that she should've kept the surprise out of her voice. She should sound like she'd be perfectly willing to kill her if necessary; that might be the only way to keep Mother Miriam in check now. "I just need a small vial of blood. And I need to be sure you won't be casting any spells until I'm safely past their influence."

  "How does an eternity of life in a frog's body sound to you?"

  The Red Queen closed her eyes. "I was hoping you'd understand."

  "You should have spoken to me, not dropped this collar around my neck!" she snapped. "Cinderella, not everyone is against you!"

  "Don't call me that."

  "It is still your name." Her face softened. "Somewhere in you is a girl who still answers to it."

  Her eyes narrowed as she tried to ignore the echo of his voice in her head, calling her Ella; the echo of her laugh as he ran a hand along her side and brushed against a ticklish spot. "Do not think that reminding me of that time will make me give up my goal now."

  "I told you that you would be Queen," Mother Miriam said gently. "I never said it would be forever. Please remember that. It may not change this action, but it might change future ones."

  "I doubt it."

  "Then take your vial," she said, holding out her arm. "And as soon as you are done I will leave. Because I do not wish to be here when the consequences you've escaped for so long finally find you."

  ***

  The dry snap of another branch, followed by a quiet mutter, signaled the end of another failed experiment. Undaunted, though her face was red and her motions were jerkier now, Catherine reached across for another branch to try again.

  She'd learned to grasp things-- mostly-- and was now utterly focused on relearning how to shake hands. The only problem was that she either had too light of a grip and the slender branches bobbed away from her, or--

  Another crunch.

  Or that happened.

  Catherine looked near tears by now, and Cybele hurried over. "Here," she said, holding out her hand.

  The other brunette started to rub at her eyes with her fingertips, then remembered and rubbed a sleeve across her eyes instead. "Have you not seen what I've done to these branches?"

  "Precisely," Cybele said. "Branches. If you're going to relearn this, you need actual practice."

  Catherine just gave her an apprehensive look, and Cybele reached out and placed her hands over the other woman's metal ones. The Seven had told her they would fashion decorative metal cuffs to make the hands seem more attached to her; right now the newly-created hands curved at the end, barely touching the stumps of her wrists. "Listen," Cybele said. "These are you now. They're magic, made for you, and you do know how to use them. Trust that."

  "I really don't want to break your hand."

  "You won't. And even if you did-- I've been a Shadow. Compared to that, I might not even notice a broken finger or two." Since that line of reasoning didn't seem to be reassuring her, Cybele quickly went on. "And if worse comes to worst, I'll just get rid of it and ask The Seven for a metal one like yours. They're really quite dashing."

  That succeeded in getting a smile out of her, however
faint, and Cybele let go of her hands, holding one out again. This time, Catherine gingerly took it.

  "There," Cybele said. "Nothing broken. Very pleased to meet you."

  Catherine laughed. "Pleased to meet you, too."

  "Oh, do you know how to embroider?"

  "No," Catherine said, raising her eyebrows. "Never learned."

  "I didn't learn either, until I moved to the palace. I'll teach you! I mean, once this whole mess is over with and we're back in a place with colorful thread. My fingers get tired but you should be able to continue for hours! Well, if you find you enjoy it, anyway, because if you don't then it can really get quite tedious.” Then she heard a quiet curse and looked over to the speaker. She saw one of the Dwarfs, casting runes in yet another attempt to learn the location of Scheherazade's Door. “Speaking of tedious,” she murmured. The poor rebels. They had tried everything, it seemed-- from runes and other Old Magic to truth-seeking potions to transportation spells. And Wendy had gone through seemingly every Door in the whole of Faerietale.

  Catherine nodded. “It's a pity Mother Miriam isn't here. Surely someone that knowledgeable--”

  “Yes, but she is the Queen's friend; I doubt that she . . . Catherine?” Cybele asked, as the other woman leapt to her feet and ran for the Prince's tent. “What's the matter?”

  “Nothing!' Catherine said. “Nothing's the matter! I think I just realized how to reach Scheherazade!”

  Her words drew the attention of everyone around, and when she came out of the Prince's tent holding the ornate Mirror, it was to the sight of most of the others gathered around, watching her expectantly.

  “Oh dear,” she whispered. She truly hoped she hadn't gotten everyone's hopes up for nothing. Turning the mirror to face her, she spoke quietly. “Mirror? Where can we find Scheherazade's Door?”

  ***

  "We will shoot you if you don't come down!"

  "I doubt you could hit the ceiling, let alone me!"

  The second voice sounded cheerful. The Queen frowned as she stalked toward the receiving room. Her Guards were supposed to inspire fear, not laughter.

  Everyone had been cleared out of the receiving room about fifteen minutes ago, when someone had entered without following the usual protocol. Normally she might've just ordered them sent to the dungeons for a day or two as a lesson, right now she was more curious as to how a second person in as many years seemed to know hidden ways into the heart of her realm.

  And then she entered the room and understood. Three of her guards were aiming their longbows at the ceiling, trying to fix on a black-haired young man who was actually flying around up there, grinning at them. No secrets here after all; merely the boy who could fly.

  "Leave us," she ordered the Guards.

  "My Queen, he--"

  "I know who this is. And I believe I gave you an order."

  He gave a small bow, and he and the other Guards quickly left.

  "Now then, are you planning to come down anytime today?"

  In answer, he dropped down in front of her, the grin of a moment before replaced by a somber expression. Given the tales she'd heard, she would've have thought him incapable of even a momentary seriousness.

  "Peter Pan," she said. "Never thought you'd come inside the palace walls. Though if you do need to speak with me, there's a request form to fill out for--"

  He rolled his eyes. "That stuff's boring," he complained. "I wanted to tell you something, so here I am."

  "All right," she said. "So what is it?"

  He opened his mouth, hesitated, looked away. "My sworn enemy's a friend of yours. What does that say?"

  "That even someone who would be fool enough to make an enemy of you can be right on occasion."

  She had to tread carefully here, she knew. He was actually pausing to think things over instead of blurting out whatever came to mind. Either the information he held scared even him-- for even the smallest child could be frightened-- or the Eternal Boy was starting to grow up a little bit.

  "And all these rules," he grumbled. "Have to fill out a form to see you. Not supposed to fly around in Her Majesty's palace. Guards look like they all have to dress a certain way. Don't like it much. I start telling you things and there'll just be more rules everywhere, huh?"

  "Not for you," she assured him. "And really, these rules are a benefit to you. Imagine if I wasn't here, if everyone behaved as you do and did exactly what they liked. It's the presence of laws and rules for others that makes your way of life so unique."

  He stared at her, considering, and then he grinned. "Yeah. Who'd want to come with me if everyone was just as lucky?"

  "Precisely. And I want to promise you that whatever news you may have for me, it will not affect you or your band of friends."

  His gaze went to the floor and she waited, knowing that there was about an equal chance of him speaking, or flying right back out the window. Finally, just when she was certain that he was about to disappear, when she was debating the merits of trying to catch hold of him and call in the Guards, he spoke.

  "You're looking for a girl with black eyes."

  She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Yes."

  Peter met her eyes, and while there was still uncertainty in his expression, rage overshadowed it. Bless anger, she thought. It made her job so much easier.

  "I know where she is."

  ***

  The Queen's soldiers came in seven ships, entering the Lagoon from the ocean and trapping Hook's ship there.

  Hook leaned on the railing, staring across at them as if such things happened every evening. "I say," he shouted to one of the crew on the closest ship. "You lot are blocking my view!"

  "Captain James Hook?"

  "Aye."

  "You've been a faithful Queen's man for years. Knowing this, I ask you loyalist to loyalist--"

  "Such fancy talk leads me to believe I'm not going to like your request."

  The man on the other ship cleared his throat. "I ask you," he repeated. "To send over the woman with the black eyes. We have good information she's on board your ship."

  "Do you, now? I thought I told you a few days' back that I hadn't seen her."

  "She's wanted by the Queen for acts of treason."

  "Mmm-hm. Haven't seen anyone like that. Good day."

  "Captain. Our source is quite clear that she's--"

  "Your 'source' is living on limited time."

  The man's shoulders straightened. "Are you threatening an ally of the Queen's?"

  "Oh, yes. I very much am."

  "If you do not turn over the traitor, we have orders to destroy your ship. Do you really wish to take a swim in these waters?"

  Hook chuckled. "Smee," he said, his voice lower, the tone almost conversational. "Do fire the cannons now, would you?"

  The cannons blasted twin holes in the closest ship, and all of the Queen's loyalists scrambled into action, firing back.

  It wouldn't have been much of a fight if not for the mermaids.

  Two of them lifted fallen cannonballs out of the water, flinging them at one of the ships at a much lower level than the cannons themselves had achieved. As the ship began taking on water, some members of the crew attempted to get across to a sister ship. Several made it. Others didn't. Those who didn't disappeared into the murky water, dragged down by unseen hands.

  On Hook's ship, everything had gone mad. One of the cannons had been taken out by the loyalists' fire; Wendy could hear the cries of those that the shrapnel had wounded.

  She was on the side of the ship that faced the shore instead of the open water. Hook had told her to stay here, that they might be able to convince the loyalists that she wasn't on board.

  That had ended well. She never should've stayed hidden for even this long.

  Throwing open the door, she ran. There would be loyalists on the shore, as well, waiting. If they had her, they might not wait around to retrieve the rest of the crew. Hopefully they would assume the mermaids had killed them--


  hopefully that assumption wouldn't be right

  -- and go, and she would . . . well, she wasn't sure what she would do after that point, but at least the situation wouldn't be this dire.

  As she came up onto the deck, the evening light changed, grew orange and red, and she stared out at the water. The lagoon itself was engulfed in flames. Through the wall of fire she could see silhouettes, loyalists pitching some kind of powder out onto the water, birthing and feeding the new danger.

  They were cut off now. The flames grew closer to the ship, and the only way out was to shore.

  She ran for the railing, stopped by a hand clutching her own.

  "Going somewhere, lass?" James asked.

  "It's the only thing to do now and we both--"

  "I will not let you go again!"

  "It is not your decision to make," she said gently. "This time I know the danger I go into." She moved closer to him, the smell of smoke tangling into her hair and keeping their kiss regretfully brief. "This is not the last time we will meet. I do not intend to lose you, either."

  Then she released his hand and spun, diving over the side.

  The fire trapped Hook's ship, but it did nothing to trap the mermaids, who simply swam under the flames and continued their attacks.

  One of them, the one Hook's crew had taken to calling Blondie, swam close to the surface, to the edge of the fire, and raised her hands. A palmful of flame was sucked down into the water, trapped in a swirling blue-green globe. Swimming to where the water was still safe, she erupted out of the lagoon and pitched the weapon she'd created. It exploded against the side of one of the Queen's ships, spreading flame everywhere an enchanted water droplet touched.

  As the flames spread, the crew dove overboard. Their fate may have been kinder had they waited for the fire to take them.

  But the ships the mermaids sank were crowded. And though the women were powerful, there were just three of them. Some loyalists made it to shore. And some stayed in the water with their weapons, using the same tactic the mermaids used, swimming under the surface fire to get closer to their target.