A man would have to stoop, but being just four feet tall, Tupp needed only to worry about his hat being knocked off his head. At the far end of the room was a mound of goose feathers that served as a bed. As tempting as it was to relax a while, he could not afford the luxury at the moment.
He moved to the wall, his fingers finding and pulling free the loose stone. In the niche was a mound of treasure, the cream secretly skimmed from the milk of Tupp's tasks over the past year. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, found the laughter he had bartered from the Dowagers and added it to the pile.
Bluebottle, that artless plume-plucked maggot-pie, would be surprised at such a lovely hoard. Tupp was especially proud of the mourning brooch containing a lock of hair from a woman with the Sight. Took quite a bit of trickery to wrest the brooch from a dreary Irish ankou. What with all that wearing black and a gaunt face pinched like eating something sour, no wonder the bloke found work as a professional mourner.
Tupp's mind was often nimbler than his fingers. Yet he was not so crafty as to have escaped servitude. He regretted again, for the thousandth time, being so impetuous when he first came to London.
He had been told there was but one source for good quality glamour, the fine powder that enabled any fey to disguise itself to humans without the Sight, a necessity to survive in London. All the iron the humans used to build and live in the city eroded a fey's natural ability. Tupp, new to the city, lacked the coin or the goods to buy from Bluebottle, so there was only one recourse. He had thought himself up to the task, sneaking into the second-hand shop after nightfall and exploring the back rooms, only to be easily caught by the spriggan. Tupp was lifted up by his shirt collar and saw that cages with frightened pixies hung from the rafters. Bluebottle would have dropped him into a massive grinder with rusty gears and teeth and made glamour out of him, if Tupp hadn't been quick with his words. He begged and flattered, promising whatever services the spriggan desired. Bluebottle listened and made the little fey swear to serve as his bagsman, for twelve years, one for every of Tupp's fingers that tried to steal from him.
He wondered how long before this thief would make the same mistake.
---
As he walked down the dingiest alley in all of creation, nearer and nearer to Bluebottle's rag-and-bottle shop, Tupp's mood darkened. The door was two planks of wood nailed together and the outside had been painted a jaundiced yellow so that even the oldest and simplest scavengers could find the shop. Bluebottle traded glamour for stolen goods that he would sell back to humans. Nearly every fey in the city owed him, some far worse than others.
Tupp walked in to find Bluebottle mending the frame of a wooden cage. The spriggan had a squat, almost lumpy body. His scruffy jowls and bald pate almost made him resemble a man, but the eyes were different, too small and shiny.
"Ah, my little coney's back." Bluebottle's voice had a rasp, one almost painful to hear.
Tupp swallowed his rage at the insult. He hefted up the sack onto the counter. "A fine haul today."
Bluebottle narrowed his eyes. "We'll see." The spriggan put down the cage and snapped his fingers. To his right on the counter rested an immense ledger. The book opened and the pages flipped on their own.
Tupp emptied the sack and Bluebottle began rummaging. He picked up a tin of tobacco and shook it near his small ear.
"One tin of Byer's Aromatic Cherry Tobacco. Full but dented along one side."
"From the glaistig," Tupp mentioned.
Along the pages of the ledger ink blossomed, adding in the entry. A faint whisper of "Seven pence," rose from the leather binding.
The spriggan reached for the young girl's clothes. "The Dowagers?" Tupp nodded. "One bonnet. One frock. One petticoat, the latter with slight tear along the shoulder."
"Six shillings," said the magic ledger.
"That's not even a bag of glamour's worth."
Bluebottle shrugged.
Tupp swallowed his worry that they'd dare tell the spriggan about his private deal with them for the laughter. He rattled off the names of the other fey who stole the goods he brought. Then he grabbed his sack and headed for the door, but was pulled back by a hand at his collar.
"A moment." Bluebottle tapped the pages of the ledger. "You filled your snuff box the other day with glamour, my coney. Are you paying for it now or shall your debt to me grow greater?"
Tupp became flushed but kept his voice calm. "All I have left is a Tuppance. You shaved my earnings down to a few pence."
The soft voice of the book spoke. "Tupp Smatterpit. Owing eighty-one pounds to date."
"Heh, might as well be your weight in gold. You'll always be bound to me."
"Not true," Tupp chirped.
"Oh?" The spriggan leaned over the counter. His breath was rank. "I'd free you from your service this very moment if you paid your tally."
Tupp left the shop with Bluebottle's coarse laughter at his back. He ran all the way to the Exchange, giddy with the notion that, thanks to his hoard and the spriggan's ignorance, he'd soon be free. But there he found the stone that hid his cache had already been moved. The niche was empty, completely gone.
Tupp choked back a sob. All his work, all his savings over the years, all gone. He'd be working for that artless clotpole forever.
In a lumpish daze, Tupp wandered until he fell into a small crowd watching a street musician playing folk tunes on his hurdy-gurdy. Nearby, a young girl sold seedcakes from a basket. Tupp found a halfpenny in his pocket, his last remaining coin, and bought one of the treats, nibbling it quickly and not leaving a single crumb on his fingerless mittens.
One of the watches began to chime, and he was tempted to throw it across the street. Why hadn't it rung for him? Every theft by a fey should ring the magic watches. Out of instinct he looked at the dial, barely caring that a tiny boggan was picking pockets. It had only been a couple of hours since he had left for Bluebottle's. There might still be time to catch the thief and recover his goods. He needed help though, and there was only one of the Folk with the necessary gift.
---
Tupp knew that the rook girl had an appetite for glamour. Though not truly thief, she needed to cover up her bird feet if she wanted to charm men into buying her drinks and meals. He had been searching for her for over an hour, dashing through the better parts of London. He finally found her gazing at herself in the reflection of a jeweler's window. Her long black tresses flowed from beneath a dark, feathered hat that had seen better days.
She looked down at him with a sad smile. "I've nothing for your master, little one." As if to prove her poverty, she lifted up her hem to show not stockinged feet but scaly claws.
Tupp reached into a pocket and withdrew his snuffbox. He opened the lid and showed her the glittering dust within. "Nearly full." Her eyes went wide and he snapped the lid shut. "Perhaps a trade is in order?"
A few moments later, her dark children, the ravens that spent their days at the Tower of London, were settling on his shoulders. Their eyes were the sharpest in the city and little escaped their notice. With raw cackles they told him the one he wanted was down on Cutler Street in the seedy neighborhood of Houndsditch.
---
When Tupp rounded the corner onto Cutler, the only figure on the street was leaving a dilapidated building. Tupp might have ignored the fellow, who seemed almost lost underneath a heavy coat, had he not flipped up a shining coin--easily recognizable as the stolen laughter--into the air a moment before catching it in his palm.
"You there," Tupp called out.
The figure turned, a face going pale with fear. Then the thief ran, not down the street, but back into the hovel. Tupp followed only a few steps behind him.
Inside was dank and smoky. The thief dashed up a rickety flight of stairs that groaned even under Tupp's light weight. He passed open doorways of rooms with people crowded around tables with cards or throwing dice. On the next floor there were cries as the humans wagered on a pair of burly men boxing in a corner. Tupp stifled
his curiosity to look further and continued chasing his quarry.
Ahead of him, the thief threw open a trapdoor to the rooftop. Tupp was almost nipping at his heels. Overhead, the London night sky was clouded from belching chimneys. The thief soon neared the edge of the roof but did not stop or slow and soon was nearing the edge. With a mad leap, arms swinging, he covered the gap to the nearest building. Tupp easily jumped after him. The thief tripped on his coat and fell onto his side. Tupp landed right on the rogue's back bearing him to the ground.
"Quite a chase," said Tupp, trying to catch his breath. "But now there's the matter of what is mine."
When Tupp turned the thief over, he expected to see the slender features of an elf or a scraggly brown-furred boggart, not the face of a scared sixteen-year-old human boy. The faery drew back in shock.
A child, a human child! How could this be? Tupp's mind whirled but not could disbelieve. It made sense, when he thought about it, explaining why his watches never chimed at any of the thefts.
The boy glared at Tupp.
"So what are you, the seventh son of a seventh son?" Tupp placed a foot on the boy's chest, keeping him down for the moment. "Have a water-bored stone?"
"What are you talking about?"
"What gives you the Sight?"
The lad gave an embarrassed smile. "Was only a bit of soot in me eyes. Back a few years I worked as a climbing boy. Served a right foul-mouthed sweep, I did, who'd threaten to burn me feet if I didn't climb chimneys fast." The boy shook his head ruefully. "One day found me in this tight bit. Something crawled above me but weren't a rat. You'd think that, well... maybe not you sir. As it left, it dropped some soot on me face and as I blinked me eyes I saw a lil' fellow scrambling out the top. Ever since then, I see things."
Brownies, Tupp knew, lurk in chimneys on cold mornings. Troublesome little ones that keep to houses. A scattering of ash from the heel in the eye was as good as any faery ointment.
Tupp looked over the boy. He was thin, almost swallowed up by the overcoat. His hair was dark and his eyes were green like wild clover. A bit cleaned up and he'd be handsome enough for a plaything. "Do you have a name?"
"Lind."
"Right then." Tupp offered a hand. The youth cautiously took it and stood up.
"So, what now? You're not going to be cursing me?"
"Now there's the problem. If it were known that a human had robbed the Folk..." Tupp grimaced at the thought. "Well, more than a few of your kind would find themselves at a horrid end." Tupp removed his hat and scratched at his head. "If you return the things you stole from me, I'd be of a mind to let you go and keep this our little secret."
"If I could, sir, I would. Honest. But everything's sold or lost to cards. Could barely keep this coat and the bauble." He pulled out the shining penny. "Seemed so pretty I didn't have the heart to bet it."
Tupp took the laughter from the boy's hand. "All that's left?" He choked out the words. It would take him years to amass enough again to buy his freedom. He was doomed to serve Bluebottle forever, running around sewers with trolls, consorting with the dregs of the city.
He turned to Lind. "You spleeny reeling-ripe fool! I wouldn't worry about magistrates after we get through with you. Dancing 'til your feet bleed. Making your belly swell, your eyes pop." He poked the boy in the stomach.
"No, sir. Please, sir, a few days and I'll repay everything. I'm a fine cracksman, a master burglar." Lind said and puffed out his thin chest. "Ask any around Houndsditch or Whitechapel. There's not a house I can't break into. A few nights' work is all I need."
Tupp considered a moment. He lacked the power to do more than annoy the boy for the rest of his days. He was surprised that Lind offered to make amends; he had always thought humans a rather dull, cowardly lot. Perhaps not all were so bad. "A fine cracksman?"
Lind grinned. "Aye. None better."
The boy's bravado amused Tupp. He must have a good measure of skill to have pulled off the thefts. Perhaps there was a way. Bluebottle had to have a small fortune in coin after selling all the stolen goods to the humans. It would be fitting revenge to have the boy break in, swipe enough coin to pay off his debt, and then be free of service before the spriggan even realized the theft!
"If you do wish to make amends, meet me here tomorrow night."
Lind nodded and grabbed hold of Tupp's hand, shaking it. "Thank you, sir. I won't be late."
Tupp watched as the boy ran off. He told himself not to worry that he put so much faith on one who wasn't even his own.
---
Tupp knew that every night, well past midnight, Bluebottle dined at the dust-yards, where the city's dust and refuse was heaped and sifted for valuables. The spriggan would devour great handfuls of grit and grime.
So late the following evening, he led Lind to the closed rag-and-bottle-shop.
"We're not going through the front door, are we?"
"No. Did that years ago. It's warded--alarmed--and brings Bluebottle fast." Tupp walked around to the side of the building. The wall facing them was crumbling brick and looked dangerous to climb. Old, closed shutters near the slanted roof blocked the only opening other than the front door.
The youth unbuttoned his great coat and withdrew his jemmy, the short crowbar made infamous by burglars. He gave the iron rod a bit of a playful spin in his hand. "An easy job."
"Maybe so. Until we're caught and ground to dust."
Lind's face grew serious. He slipped out of the coat. Beneath, he wore only a threadbare linen shirt and trousers. He thrust the jemmy into a back pocket and rubbed his hands together a moment for warmth before moving to the wall and finding a grip in the loose mortar above his head.
Tupp watched Lind climb and admired the dexterity of the boy. Even when one of Lind's hands misjudged a crack and slipped, he remained quiet and recovered in an instant, swinging his weight onto his other side. Soon he was next to the shutters and carefully prying them open.
In the shadows, Tupp leaned back against the wall and kept his eye on the street. While he waited, he idly considered how he would spend his new freedom. He might become a messenger or perhaps a guide to fey new to the city.
Then he heard the sound of muttering. He peered out from under the brim of his hat to see off in the distance an ungainly shape approaching. His ears caught the word "Hogs," being mentioned again and again.
Tupp realized then that sometimes pigs are let loose at the dust-yards to feed on anything edible. Bluebottle's meal must have been well-picked over by the hogs and he was returning home hungry and cranky.
Tupp doubted Lind had enough time to loot the dark shop. He was torn by the urge to run and leave the boy to his fate--one well-deserved, he told himself, after all, he did rob the Folk--and the urge to rescue him. The boy had been true to his word so far and that could not be forgotten. As he started to climb the wall, Tupp swore to himself that he should never ever have thought life in London among the humans would be thrilling.
He easily passed through the small window and, though he fell over ten feet, Tupp landed like a cat on a thick table in the backroom. The inside of the shop was pitch black. He whispered out to Lind and heard a quiet answer next to him.
"Hurry, Bluebottle's returned." Even as he said it, Tupp heard the sound of a key turning in the door's heavy lock.
"I haven't found a penny yet," came a whisper back.
"Damn," Tupp said under his breath. His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and he got down from the table and found himself next to Lind. "Stay absolutely still."
The floorboards creaked as the spriggan moved through the shop and a nearby door opened as Bluebottle entered the cavernous backroom. He shuffled over to the far corner, at one point passing within inches of the pair, and laid himself down on a bed built into the wall. On a shelf near the spriggan's head was a familiar chest from which Bluebottle paid out Tupp his pitiful earnings.
They waited, holding their breath, as Bluebottle shifted about on the bed, finally becoming
still and loosing the occasional snore. Tupp motioned towards the chest. Besides him, Lind nodded but then went in the opposite direction, rooting quietly through the spriggan's personal effects.
Tupp could not decide on a fitting curse for the boy as he got down from the table. He crept towards the shelf, pausing twice when Bluebottle shifted about in his sleep. Finally, he stood up on his toes to reach the shelf. As soon as his fingers touched the coffer, the robbery watch in his waistcoat pocket began to chime.
Bluebottle woke in an instant. Tupp was grabbed roughly before he had a chance to flee and shaken about so that the main watchchains he wore jingled.
"A thief! My little coney never learned." Bluebottle brought his face close to Tupp's. The spriggan's mouth opened wide, revealing many rows of dust- and grime-covered teeth. "So which grinder will it be?" He snapped his jaws in anticipation.
Tupp closed his eyes, ready for the end, when all of a sudden Bluebottle was howling into the little fey's ear. He dared a look and saw the spriggan screaming in pain and, behind him, Lind stabbing at Bluebottle's foot again with the iron jemmy.
Tupp was dropped and, as soon as his feet met the floor, Lind grabbed and pushed him towards a small door. The boy followed, shutting the door behind then and jamming the crowbar into the frame. The wood rattled as Bluebottle pounded away.
The smaller room was faintly lit from the glow of cages hanging from the ceiling beams. There were no other exits; they were trapped. Tupp remembered now where he was: the spriggan's glamour larder.
The imprisoned pixies, all no taller than Lind's forearm even with their glittery wings, were woken by the noise. Thin, sad faces peered out between the bars. A few weak hands stretched out in silent plea.
Tupp looked over at Lind, who held his chest tightly, as if hurt. "Are you all right?'
Lind gave a grin, the sort only half-crazed fool who craved excitement wore.
"Good." Tupp moved the table with the grinder beneath the nearest cage. "When I give the word, you'll let him in."
So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction Page 15