LITTLE PEOPLE!

by Gardner Dozois

  But the room was filled with strangers. Not one face did I recognize. A waiter passed me with a tray of champagne (this was no cheapskate party) and I lifted two glasses. Before I could touch glass to lips, a girl with blond, frizzy hair, who, at first glance, didn’t look more than thirteen or fourteen, said, “Don’t drink that!”

  “And why not?” I asked, surprised. Maybe this was a Bas Mitzvah, and it was her party, and she didn’t like strangers.

  Look again! She was no child, just childlike. She was a woman, as delicate as a spiderweb, with eyes that made me think of being nineteen again and falling in love. (And I like zoftig women! This one was positively skinny.)

  “If you drink or eat anything, you’ll never leave this place,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s fairy food, and not for you. You must leave. You have enemies here.”

  “How can I have enemies when I don’t even know anybody here?”

  “You just killed a duergar,” she said, and she told me what a duergar was, just as I told you. Of course, I didn’t believe her, even after what happened on the hill with Hub. I had to try to maintain some modicum of sanity. “Half of the Unseelie Court was watching you,” she continued. “And they’re all here.”

  “Who’re the Unseelie Court?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit claustrophobic, even in this large room, as if I really was being watched. Something else, too: I noticed that everything was wonderfully lit, as if ceiling, floor, and walls were glowing. It was like a dream.

  “You can think of the Unseelie as the duergar’s family,” and then she reached up and put something sticky into my eyes—first one eye and then the other.

  Gottenyu! What a family!

  It was all a spell—glamour, as the girl called it. (Her name, incidentally, was Asrai.) I looked around. It was like seeing with new eyes. Instead of being opulent, this place was a mess, a real dive. Everything was dirty. What had looked like a terrific meal turned out to be plates filled with yellow weeds and lumpy gruel. And the light was coming from a large fire right in the center of the room, which cast jumping shadows all over the walls.

  But even in the shadows, I saw things too ugly to be human:

  I saw men with webbed feet and goat’s hooves and noses without nostrils. I saw water bogles, called shellycoats, festooned with shells and women with squinty eyes and back-to-front feet and long hoselike breasts. (One woman-thing had such long dugs that she carried them over her shoulders.) Every humanlike form had some deformity.

  There were goblins with protruding stomachs and large cars and long slit mouths, and dirt-crusted kobolds that looked as if they had just risen up from the bowels of the earth; there were duergars with malicious grins and phookas with horns and shaggy black pelts and yellow eyes; there were shape-shifting bogles, and trows with octopoidal limbs, and fachians, which had only one eye and one arm and one leg (and one foot, of course); and there were glastig hags (part woman, part goat) with beautiful grey faces and insect-infested pubes; there was a killmoulis with a huge nose and no mouth and a fenoderee with its man-killing sickle. And there were evil-looking vampire fairies, and pretty girls with snakes instead of hair, and the dour, ugly, rock-skinned spriggans that kidnap children and burn down houses.

  This was the Host, the Unseelie Court, the evil ones . . .

  And they were all closing in on me and chanting, “Flax on the floor, death at the door.”

  Oy!

  I turned to run, but they were all around me. I screamed and closed my eyes (you thought maybe I would draw a sword and start hacking away like Douglas Fairbanks?) and dropped both of the drinks I was holding like a grand rabbi about to make a blessing.

  Then this little girl standing beside me, this mazik, who was not even five feet tall, made a noise like water on the burner and turned into a dragon, maybe nine feet high, complete with green scales, a tail, and protruding eyes. (I only closed my eyes for a second; a coward I’m not.)

  She made a terrible noise and knocked over the front rank of monsters with her tail. Then she turned around, gave the wall a swat, and I could see outside.

  The dragon didn’t wait around; she bolted through the hole. I followed. (What else?)

  I didn’t have to look behind to imagine what various monsters were shpatsing after me.

  ###

  Let’s get two things out of the way.

  First of all, the stuff my little Asrai put into my eyes was fairy ointment, which, if you haven’t guessed by now, has the power to break the spell of glamour, which, nudnik, I already explained.

  But now, you may ask, how did Asrai suddenly turn from a faunlike young thing into a ferocious—albeit relatively small—dragon?

  Remember, I gave you a clue: it only takes a drop of water to change a water fairy into a dragon. Well, I was dershrokn, as Moma would say—afraid, ready to make wee wee—and I spilled the champagne, which was really pishwater, on her feet.

  That saved my life, although I’m sure Asrai would have done something, anyway. She’s a nice girl.

  ###

  So I was running after a dragon, who was cutting quite a swath through back lawns, fields, and woods. Behind me were the Unseelie monsters, all shrieking and making unearthly noises, inspiring me to run all the faster.

  Then, pop, just like that, Asrai turned back into a girl and kept running. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. I grepsed and followed as best I could, but I felt that any second a cold hand would grab me by the neck and drag me into Hell. (Modern Jews might not believe in Hell, but then most of them aren’t chased by monsters in Kerhonkson at one o’clock in the morning, either.)

  “We’re safe now,” Asrai said, stopping at the northern edge of the woods. I looked around, still huffing for breath, and didn’t see anything strange or terrible. Even the trees looked normal, instead of like trolls.

  “Good,” I said, regaining my composure. “Thanks for making like a dragon.” No, I didn’t ask her right away how she turned into a dragon. Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.

  “Do you like me better as a dragon?”

  “No, I like you fine the way you are.” Gevalt!

  “I’m not really a dragon.”

  “What, then?”

  “A serpent—a worm, really.”

  Feh, I thought, but then I looked into those eyes, green as some primordial pond. What lovely eyes, what a child of the morning. Terrific, I didn’t have enough trouble with the family, now I was falling in love with a worm. And it wasn’t even Jewish.

  “What about all those monsters that were behind us?” I asked.

  “The Unseelie?” Asrai asked, then answered: “They won’t cross out of the woods, it isn’t their territory, it’s ours. So don’t worry.”

  Why be worried? Let the monsters take over. Maybe the killmoulis can become a comedian.

  Asrai explained that the Unseelie were originally the guardians of the gold; they were the troops, and they’ve always followed the Seelie Court, of which she was a member. But times changed, and the Unseelie became resentful and destructive. Although the Seelie Court bore humankind no great love, by comparison with the Unseelie, they were saints—you should excuse the expression.

  “But why are you here?” I asked.

  “We never live where we’re not wanted,” Asrai said, looking at me with those eyes that didn’t need light to make them shine. (Normally, I would be afraid of such eyes; tonight was not normal.) “You humans have been calling us again in your dreams. You dreamed us up.”

  “So you mean we’re stuck with you and your Unseelie friends?”

  “If you want me to leave . . .”

  “No,” I said quickly. “But I could do without the monsters.”

  “Then go tell your friends to stop dreaming terrible things and think nice thoughts.”

  “What’s happened to my friend Hub?” I asked.

  “He’s on Unseelie territory, with the others, probably in a fairy ring.”

&nb
sp; “A what?”

  “He’ll dance his life away in a few minutes,” Asrai said. “But that’s subjective time—time is different for fairyfolk, if we wish it so—but I assure you he’ll have a good time.”

  “Terrific. Can he be rescued?”

  “Only a human can help him,” Asrai said. “But he would risk falling into the ring himself. Would you be willing to take such a chance to help your friend?”

  Of course not! It’s a miracle that I’ve survived for my thirty-odd years, already. But as I stood by the edge of the forest with this lovely girl, my thoughts were pinwheels inside my head. Of course, I would risk my life for my friend and make the world a better place.

  “Can you help me?” I asked. But I was thinking libidinous thoughts.

  “Maybe, if you ask my father.” She smiled mischievously. “But, remember, you get nothing for nothing, as your mother says, Moishe.”

  “How do you know what my mother says?” I asked.

  “I read your mind.”

  Now I was in trouble!

  ###

  We made our way to Asrai’s camp, which was in the hills beyond the forest. I wasn’t afraid now—the duergars and bogles and spriggans might as well have been a thousand miles away—such is the effect safety has on me.

  The fairy hillsides, you should note, were beautiful, covered with twinkling lights, as if thousands upon thousands of fireflies were resting in the grass. And there were doorways into the hills, wherein banquets as lavish as Bar Mitzvahs in Westchester were being held. And the music . . .

  But I would not be fooled so easily now; I had seen one such banquet before.

  “Shtumie, you’ve still got ointment in your eyes,” Asrai said. “What you’re seeing now is real, no glamour.”

  Oy vay, now she speaks Yiddish by reading my mind.

  “Don’t read my mind,” I said.

  “It’s hard not to,” she replied. Again that mischievous smile.

  “A man needs some privacy, would you watch me go kacken, too?” She did not reply to that, and I felt ashamed of myself. “So what should I say to your father?” I asked.

  “What do you want to say?”

  “Okay, I want to help my friend, get rid of the Unseelie monsters, make the Graubs—dive that it was—kosher again, so my friend should live and have work.” As usual, I was getting carried away with myself.

  “So you want us to help you get rid of the Unseelie host? That’s a big order.” Two dimples she had when she smiled.

  And diarrhea of the mouth I got. Now I was taking on, almost single-handedly, all the forces of darkness. That wasn’t exactly what I had had in mind, but I nodded, anyway.

  Remember what Moma said about stupidity and bravery?

  “Who’s your father?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “He’s head of the Daoine Sidhe—that’s our family—and High King of the Hills. His name is Oberon. But he’s very short, you should note, so make sure that you’re always lower than he.”

  “I’m from the family of Mencken,” I said, and she giggled as we walked in the moonlight toward her father’s hill. Fairyfolk gave us curious stares as we passed.

  I felt a bit better now and walked tall. Moma used to say, “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.” King Moishe of Mencken the Tall.

  Not bad.

  ###

  Good-looking the great king was not (how could such an ugly man produce such a darling daughter?), but he was attended by a livery of pages dressed in scarlet and yellow, who, if such a thing was possible, were even smaller than he.

  From killmoulis to king in a matter of minutes. My head was spinning. From king to krenk I was going.

  The little king, with his bird’s nest of a beard and owl eyes sunk into sourdough skin, wore a bejeweled crown and sat on a throne atop the highest hill. He used gargoyles (I’m sure they were alive) as armrests.

  “Hello, king,” I said, forgetting the “great.” Asrai gave me a little kick and whispered, “Kneel!” I kneeled. Feh. Moishe Mencken could certainly not be doing such a thing.

  “Howdy-doo, what do you want, Jewboy?” asked the gonif king. Enraged (you see, you can’t get away from anti-Semites), I started to stand up, but Asrai rested her hand on my shoulder—a hand as light as down, and as strong as handcuffs. So I told the king that I wanted to save my friend from the Unseelie.

  “That’s all?” he asked, and Asrai explained that I had wanted to vanquish the Unseelie host myself, but she had talked me into coming here for a little help.

  So what was I to do? Admit to being a coward? They’d give me back to the Unseelie, who would bake me for bread.

  “Okay, you lead the fight,” the king said, “and, maybe, with luck, we’ll send them to New York City for a while. But they’ll be back. You’re starting a big tummel. Fighting and tsuris, that’s what’s in store for all of us.”

  “Maybe they’ll like New York,” I said. My knees were beginning to ache.

  “Nah. Too much cement.” After a considerable pause, he said, “Now, what are you going to do in return for us?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, raising my voice. “I’m supposed to be leading the Fight.”

  “Big deal.”

  “Then what do you want?”—this time I added “Great King.”

  “You like my daughter who saved you from the Unseelie, which she had no right to do.” The king glared at his daughter. “Well . . .?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I like her fine.” This meant trouble; I could feel it.

  “Then it’s all arranged. You marry my daughter, and make sure you keep her away from water when your shlepper friends are around. And if you mistreat her, I’ll turn you into a cockaroach and send you home to your mother, so she should step on you.”

  For effect, the king said a bad word, waved his hand, and suddenly I was a cockroach, complete with feelers, barf-brown chitin, everything. I was too scared to be scared, but I can tell you one thing: Kafka had it all wrong, but that’s another story.

  “Well?” asked the king, after transforming me back into a normal person. “Is it a deal?”

  What kind of a deal was that? Did he want to get rid of her so bad? Gottenyu! If I kiss her, will my saliva turn her into a worm? I told myself not to think about it. “What about this gold business?” I asked the king.

  “Don’t even think it,” the king said, as he squeezed the ear of his gargoyle. “We keep the Unseelie’s gold and maybe make a deal here and there, but you should know from the literature that gold makes trouble. If you want to make a deal, you have to live reasonably like the lower middle class, without temptation, so my daughter should have a nice life. Of course, if you don’t want to make a deal with us, I’m sure the Unseelie would be interested in such a nice boy to bake into bagels.

  “It’s a terrible thing for a father to have to let his daughter marry a mortal,” the king continued, “but you’re all that’s left.” Father gave daughter a sneer. “Fairyfolk won’t have her, you should be pleased to know.”

  “Why not?” I asked, not very pleased at all. But she certainly was pretty, and she had saved my life, and I would get out of this somehow . . .

  “Because everything’s on straight. My Asrai has no deformities, poor child. Look”—and he proudly lifted up his kirtle and showed me his chicken feet. I looked at the page standing beside him and saw that his feet were backwards.

  “All right, then,” said the king. “It’s done. One more thing, Mister Smartass. I can read your mind in Yiddish, Hebrew, Ladino, you name it. So if you even think bad thoughts about my little Asrai, it’ll be cockaroach time.”

  This was some set-up. I stood up and turned toward Asrai. I was ready with a dirty look, cockroach or not, believe me.

  Then I looked into her eyes. Who would not have fallen under such a spell? What loveliness! What perfection! (Better her spell than the bogle’s.)

  I immediately asked her to marry me.

  Such is the mystery of
love. Oy, Moma.

  ###

  I spent such a night with Asrai that I won’t even tell you about it. (The Great King was very cosmopolitan and had no objections to his daughter having premarital sex.)

  Okay, this much I’ll tell: fairyfolk are kinky. Me? I was doing a sacred duty, for it is written that whosoever does not unite with a woman in this life (providing he is a man) must return in the next and get the job done.

  This way I wouldn’t have to make a special trip later.

  ###

  No rest for the weary! I was awakened at dawn by a bunch of chattering pixies and given what looked to me like a hockey stick.

  Moma, sometimes half-wits make out, you should know. Your idealistic Moishe did not know that the Daoine Sidhe (and the whole Seelie Court) were the goody-goodies of fairydom. They weren’t hot on killing, although they had a sinful weakness for turning human beings they didn’t like into abominable things. I’m still afraid to step on a cockroach. Nu? It might be my Uncle Herman.

  Instead of killing, they hurled. Hurling, I found out, was also very popular with the Unseelie. It’s a bloody sport, a way of beating your opponent’s brains out and still living to fight another day. Something like hockey.

  It’s really just a nice excuse to start a fight.

  Which we did.

  ###

  So there I was, Moishe Mencken, riding a fairyhorse shod with silver and leading the minions of goodness. Behind me were fairy knights decked out with all manner of jewels; their greaves and helmets were made of beaten gold, and they rode huge, beautiful horses.

  Of course, I was scared. Plotzing, more like it. But Asrai was riding beside me like a queen, and I had no choice but to be a mench.

  We met the enemy in a clearing by the edge of the forest. Even in the daylight, the Unseelie host looked dark and terrible. I could hear Moma’s voice inside my head whispering, “He who runs away lives to fight another day.” But I wasn’t running. Not me. A moment such as this is a gift. Unfortunately, at that moment—I must admit—the thought that crossed my mind was that this was something right out of a Cecil B. DeMille film. And in color, too.