“Play, Harper,” the Queen said, finally. “Let us see what you have that is truly new. Mere modifications will not suffice.”
“Very well, Queen,” I said, working my neck. “Prepare to enjoy yourself.”
Here’s the thing. Back in the old days, there were very few people who had the time and resources to play, practice and study music. Everyone was working day in and day out just to survive. That went from the greatest king, trying to hold onto his kingdom, to the lowliest field hand trying to fill his rice bowl.
The Industrial Revolution changed that by introducing other forms of work into the equation and increasing capital across the board. There started to be this thing called “leisure time” which had never existed before. And still doesn’t in most cultures.
In 1187 AD, there was no such thing as large-scale marching bands.
In 1987, every small town had one.
In 1187 one in ten thousand people had been trained in music and populations were sparse.
In 1987 there were millions of people in the United States alone trained in music. Hundreds of thousands who loved it and wanted to write it and have the music in their heads be heard. Thousands who went through the actual process of writing it down and submitting it to various groups, hoping to get it publicly performed.
Of those thousands, tens of thousands, of songs written and copyrighted every year, a bare handful ever were publicly produced and performed. And some of the stuff that was written and ended up on a shelf was a hell of a lot better than what actually made it on the radio.
For a nominal fee I was sent thousands of violin pieces submitted over the years by various musicians. I read through all of them and picked out a few hundred that stood out. For another nominal fee I was granted rights to perform six hundred pieces that had never seen the light of day. This would be the sole and only time they would ever be publicly performed for more than the author’s few friends. Virtually guaranteed that the queen had never heard any of them. And if she had, I had plenty more where those came from. I had my own pieces if nothing else because, yeah, I wrote music too when I had a chance and even if it wasn’t written down I had dozens of songs in my head to perform. I was holding those for an emergency.
Playing music, really playing it, is hard to explain to someone who has never played or never seriously played. It is an absorbing process. My mind works on dozens of different tracks. Even when I’m having sex I’ve got my mind on a half a dozen things. Is she enjoying herself? Should I try a different technique? Am I enjoying myself? Can I sneak out in the morning? Where does she keep the coffee?
About the only times when my mind settles on just one thing is in the middle of combat or when I’m seriously involved in a musical piece. It is transporting, electrifying. Combat and music are, for me, better than sex. And I like sex a lot, obviously.
Avoiding music, just to piss my mother off, had been the tough part. The last few months had been intensely enjoyable as I reentered that world and absorbed myself in it.
Now all I had to do was play. Something I loved.
The Queen was hosed.
As I played, most of the Court began to dance. Music would not stop a troll or an ogre from attacking you in most cases but they were clumping along to the tune and just as enspelled as the True Fey. Sirens were possibly either created by the Fey as entertainers or, just as possibly, were from the same universe as the Fey and evolved their innate musical abilities as protection against the Fey.
The theory on this was that the Queen was actually projecting the effect. That it was in part protection for her. Stricken’s file had said that Fey Queens controlled their Courts of unruly subjects through many means. Control of resources, internecine manipulation, but at least one way was through direct mental control. When she became ensnared by music that ensnarement translated down through the link to the rest of the Court. This might be a side effect or intentional. Some of the Court must have been tired of being eternal servants. If they were left to their own devices while she was ensnared they might take matters into their own hands.
Whatever the reason, the vast majority of the Court was caught by the music. Most danced. The Fey were extremely graceful in their dance. Trolls and Ogres not so much. Boggles mostly bounced around like little hairy ping-pong balls. Most of them, whatever the melody, formed a mosh pit and slammed into each other. The ogres followed their lead and there went the beer tent.
I wasn’t just sitting on my ass. I enjoyed dancing as much as any in shape, graceful, guy and I was dancing among them. I was also testing the limits of the brief pauses between pieces. How long it took the Court to break from the spell seemed to depend on what type. The smaller ones quickly. Then the stronger and stronger types until only the True Fey were left in stasis and they shook it off. The difference wasn’t great, the True Fey broke from the spell after about twenty seconds, but it was noticeable.
I nearly got eaten by a troll playing with it so I made sure to keep the breaks short after that.
After hours of playing with some short breaks to take a quick drink of water and wine the alarm clock went off. I had no interest in turning the Court to stone and I knew I could get so into music I wouldn’t notice the calling of birds at daybreak.
I really didn’t feel tired. I felt as if I could keep playing all day. I knew better than to push it, though.
I lowered my bow and worked my shoulders as the Court came out of their frenzy. The birds were singing in the distant trees. It was time for the Court to leave.
The Queen finally shook herself from her trance.
“You need to depart before the sun catches you, Queen,” I said, taking a sip of water and wine.
“All night without break nor let nor false note,” the Queen said.
In truth I’d had all three. The Fey weren’t as perfect at that sort of thing as they believed. I’d let her keep her illusions.
“Is the sun going to hurt the Princess?”
“No,” the Queen said. “Not as long as…No.”
Not as long as I am not enspelled I suspect she was going to say.
“Can you do it again tomorrow night?” she asked.
“I could keep going now,” I said, gesturing at her daughter. “But one Fey statue is all I can handle. Be back tonight to find out.”
The hole in the hill opened once again and in moments the Court was gone.
A few seconds later the sun peeped its way over the flanks of Mount Rainier.
* * *
“Well, this is a hell of a mess!” Agent Garrison said.
“Fey manners are like Fey Ugly,” I said, shrugging. My hands weren’t even cramped thanks to countless hours of practice over the last few months.
Agent Franks was there in armor followed by an SRT foursome. They were examining the tracks. If the mess bothered him it wasn’t obvious. He was ignoring me and I decided to do the same.
“We have people prepared to handle clean-up,” I added.
“We got some view from the distance,” Garrison said. “Was that a Hunt?”
“I’m pretty sure the Huntsman is her dad,” I added, gesturing with my chin.
“You’re playing with fire here,” Garrison said. “Fey are entirely unpredictable.”
“Not when it comes to music. They’re always curious and entirely at the mercy of it. Look, I gotta do this again tonight. Feel free to stay and analyze or pick up a trash bag and clean up. But I gotta go get some rest.”
The truth was I was still too jazzed up, pardon the pun.
I went home and played the rest of the day.
CHAPTER 22
“You appear tired, Harper,” the Queen said.
The second night had been much the same as the first. Same eruption of the Hunt as scouts, then the rest of the Court. Some of them looked the worst for wear. Dancing all night can take it out of you.
“I played all day,” I said. “I just was enjoying myself too much not to.”
“And you think you can
still play all night? This night we will not sup. You will play from nightfall.”
“Okay,” I said, and immediately started the first song on the planned list.
The Court immediately stilled as the Queen sunk into the charm of song then began to dance.
The only difference was that I was tired. I spent more time sitting down and less dancing. And there were a few more false notes. Not that the Fey noticed. They were out of it.
When the buzzer went off I stopped playing and let them get their headspace and timing back.
“One more night, Queen,” I said. “Then you must sign the contract without addition or addendum. Tomorrow night I request that you release the Princess from her enchantment before the music begins. And I will stop a short time earlier to give you time to sign.”
“If you can manage a third night,” she said, menacingly. But I could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’ll explain why it is not just possible but easy tonight,” I said. “But the sun is rising. I would suggest you flee, Fey.” I raised the bow again. “I could keep playing if you’d prefer.”
And the Court was gone.
* * *
The only real change this time was a large bonfire in honor of Litha. The Parks Department had nearly put its foot down on that one. Fires were not allowed in the parks. They’d had the argument before with the local pagan community.
They’d never tried to have the argument with MCB.
The other change was under the tent. On a wooden table in the middle of the tent was the full contract and the required five signature sheets. All the signatures and initials were complete except those for the Queen. Beside the document was a pen.
I’d slept this time. Gotten up nicely rested. Shit, shower, shave. Good meal. I’d replaced bows and strings. Tested everything out. All my weapons were ready to rock.
“Will you release your daughter now or in the morn?” I asked when the Queen was in position on her sedan couch.
This time she was looking the worst for wear and distinctly displeased. I was pretty sure she knew she was beaten. And had probably been dealing with crap all day from members of her Court. I suspect her Huntsman consort was arguing to just kill me.
Me, I was fresh as a daisy. The Doctors Nelson had been handling MCB. Worse luck for them but this was working so far. Now if MCB would just stay out. I had some serious assurances on that from the political side but MCB sometimes thought it was a law unto itself.
“Not till the dawning, Harper,” she said, harshly.
“Then release her when I stop playing, Queen. For on the morrow do you not sign the documents I shall simply continue to play. You and your Court will become new statues for this fine garden. And that,” I said, pointing at Shallala, “shall ascend as the Queen of the Western Realms. Let’s just say that neither of us wants that to happen.”
“If you can play flawlessly through one more night,” the Queen snapped.
I began to play.
I could tell this time she was trying to fight the spell. She was paying as careful attention to my playing as she could through the charm of the music. There were a few false notes. Once when a string broke. I snatched up a new violin and kept playing. She had tried to rouse but was unable before I started playing again. And the rest really didn’t seem to care.
I played like a banshee all night. I ran through rock and roll riffs. I ran through music designed for violin ranging from classical European through pieces by Japanese, Chinese and Indian, drawing from all three cultures. I did riffs on African music. I emulated a popular song from Afghanistan that is a bawdy ballad about a farmer’s hard luck life. I played songs designed for the didgeridoo, which is tough, and Peruvian flute, which isn’t. I covered the whole world in one short night.
I’d set the alarm for five minutes before sunrise. I knew the Queen was going to be a bitch about signing the contract.
When it went off I stopped playing and worked my shoulders again. But I kept my bow on the strings. This was the tough part.
“The dawn is about to break, Queen. Sign the contract.”
“The music was not flawless,” the Queen said.
“It was flawless enough to hold you and your Court.” I began to play again and she went back to being hypnotized by the music. I stopped after a minute. “Three minutes, Queen, and you’re a statue for children to climb on!”
“You ask me to put my only heir out in the wilds, Harper!” the Queen snapped, rising from her chair to her full height.
There was more than enough light to see real Fey ugly. And, damn, she was ugly. There are double baggers and then there are “can we just put her in a body bag?” ugly.
I put the bow to the strings again and played for a few moments.
“Sign!” I shouted as she struggled from the enchantment.
“This document practically makes me an ally of your stupid company of bravos!” she shouted.
“You took the Challenge!” I replied. “I have met the Challenge. You are pledged to sign! SIGN!”
“I shall not!” she shrieked.
I began to play. One of my own compositions. And sing.
As the last note trailed off, I looked at her, reared up in all her alien Fey horror and glory.
“The God of Angel Armies is by my side,” I said, calmly. “Shall I fear a mere Fey? Sign the document, Queen. Your daughter shall be safe by my word and my ‘company of bravos.’ Or be a statue. I care not. You are not of this world. You are nothing to my God. Shall I continue to play and bind all of your Court? Then I shall be the most famous, and by far the wealthiest, Hunter in the world. No bombs nor guns nor mines nor flamethrowers. All by the use of one or two violins. My mother would be so proud. Sign, Fey!”
She signed then snapped her fingers at the feynikin statue.
Shallala came to life and immediately glamoured as a skinny blonde in a bright pink dress.
“Did it work?” she asked.
“It worked,” I said.
“Be happy, daughter,” Queen Shalana snarled. “You are free of your imprisonment.”
“Oh my god!” Shallala screamed and started dancing around in a circle. “That is so totally awesome! Yay, me! I’m so me! Go me!”
“This is your fault, Harper,” Shalana said, shaking her head. She, too, had glamoured back in the business suit. She picked up her copies of the papers and waved them at me. “I can’t believe you made me sign a six hundred page contract!”
“I can’t believe you daughter signed it without reading it,” I said.
“Like I’m going to waste my time like reading!” Shallala said. “Like, where’s the nearest mall? I totally need a shoe store! Like right now!”
“Daughter, dearest,” the Queen said, snapping her fingers to get her attention. “That document you signed? It means I no longer have to keep you. You have to find your own food and your own clothing. Which means you have to find your own money. No more coming to mommy for gold.”
“What?” Shallala said. “Like seriously?”
“Like seriously,” I said.
“That is so totally bogus!” Shallala screamed. “Like no shoe shopping?”
“Not unless you find a source of income,” the Queen said. “And it also means I no longer have to put up with you! Court! We are gone from this place!”
Leaving just me and Shallala the Faerie Princess on the hilltop.
“You mean…I’m poor?” she asked, stunned.
“Gimme a break. Any idea how many ways you can earn money?”
“Several come to mind!” the Queen shouted from the hole in the ground. Which then snapped shut.
“Not that way!” I said. “First of all, you guys live approximately forever, right?”
“More or less,” Shallala said, still stunned.
“Have you ever heard of the human magic called ‘compound interest’? Oh, and, by the way, those Court members you’re going to be getting? Any of them, say, Knights or Hunt? ’Cause there’s this th
ing called the PUFF…”
And thus ends the story of how Seattle got its own fairy princess. Much to the chagrin of various club managers, the Seattle City Council, and the MCB, but much to the cheering of various shoe stores, clothing shops and high end restaurants.
’Cause, yeah, there turned out to be a lot of ways a Fey Princess can earn money. And, no, not that way. Shudder. Fey ugly.
CHAPTER 23
Might as well finish the story I started with. I don’t want to. I don’t want to return to that spider haunted dark.
But the story has to be told. Just like we’ve got to go in, nothing says we’re going to come out.
The story has to be told.
When I’d first joined the Warthogs, we’d worked the Portland area frequently. About a year after I joined there was a bi-election for Sheriff. Sheriff Greene had been in a car wreck, off duty, and got really busted up. He decided it was time to retire even if he was in midterm. So there was a bi-election. And a guy named Robert Schmidt was elected.
Robert Schmidt had a good resume. He’d been with LAPD for years, risen to the rank of captain, then moved to Portland when his wife’s father became ill and didn’t want to leave the area. Nice family touch there, Bob. He also had contacts to do the fund-raising. (That again.)
Bottom line, Sheriff Bob Schmidt got elected and immediately started cleaning house. One of his election platforms was “efficient service for the taxpayers.” Efficient meant cutting costs. One of the costs was going over all the contracts the Sheriff’s department had with various companies. He’d brought up a sycophant from LA, Kenneth Jones, who was promoted on the spot to lieutenant and had the job of negotiating all new contracts and cutting corners.
When Lieutenant Jones contacted MHI and spoke to Doctor Lucius, Lucius’ first question was “Are you read in on UF?” The lieutenant was not read in on UF. Thus Lucius had a very hard time explaining why the Multnomah County Sheriff’s department was paying us a thousand dollars a month for “twenty-four hour emergency response.”
I’m going to do an “it sort of went like this” story from someone else’s perspective. Bear with me.
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