The Fairy Gift

by J. K. Pendragon

  I might have remembered better to put the sheets onto the beds after washing them, however, if I hadn't always been allowing my mind to wander. I was always wondering about that male prostitute and where he was hiding. I certainly hadn't been into all the rooms in the Parlour, but I had been in most of them. And, anyway, what did he eat? Perhaps he was like Titiana, taking a dinner of roast beef or stewed chicken with mashed, garlic potatoes in her study every day, while the girls and I had gruel. In any case, it was very strange, and I wasted many hours looking around for and wondering about him when I should have been doing laundry.

  In any case, I was under no illusions that the letter to Rell would take at least two weeks to arrive, and any letter or messenger back would take another two weeks. However, we were only an hour's walk away from the palace. Surely Dante had gotten and read my letter by now. The knowledge that he must have been purposely ignoring me irked me to no end, and after about a week, I could stand it no longer. I decided to go to the palace and force my way in, using any means needed to get past the guards.

  I got dressed in my finest clothes—a pair of soft brown leather pants and a flowing blue shirt, which I buttoned up to my collarbone like a proper gentleman. I pulled on the high, shiny leather boots, with which Hailey had provided me, and meticulously pulled my hair back and tied it with a navy blue ribbon. Then, satisfied with my reflection, I went out, ignoring the whistles of several of the girls who saw me leave.

  The walk to the palace took far longer than it had with Muse—mostly due to the fact that I got lost several times—and the sun was high in the sky before I arrived at the wrought iron gates. The same two guards were there (at least, I thought; it was hard to tell through the moustaches), and I steeled myself before walking up to them.

  "Hello," I greeted politely. "I need to see the Wizard Dante right away."

  "Oh?" said the taller of the two. "And who are you?"

  This was beginning to seem very familiar. I thought about telling them my name, and that I was a noble, but there was no telling whether or not they would believe me, and then they would know who I was and that would make this next part rather awkward …

  No, there was only one thing to do, and I wasn't helping anything putting it off.

  I sighed and looked up at the guard, subconsciously biting my lip as I drew up those feelings in me which I usually tried to shut off. He was a man, after all, a big, strong one, and he probably wouldn't look half bad without the moustache. I imagined him doing unspeakable things to me, imagined the feelings it would give him, and then, with all the force I could muster, I pushed that image into his head.

  He staggered, falling backward into the metal fence, but I refused to look at him, knowing what I would see, thanks to the ridiculously tight uniform pants that he wore. Instead, I turned to the guard next to him, who was staring at his partner with concern.

  "Hello," I said. "Look at me."

  He did, his small eyes snapping to my face. I walked closer to him, until our faces were an inch apart. "You want me," I said, "like you've never wanted anything in your life."

  I turned to the first guard, who was hunched over now, his fingers twitching lightly. "You both do."

  "Yes," he gasped, moving to stagger toward me. I stopped him with a finger.

  "But you can't have me," I continued. "At least, not until you let me into the palace and help me find someone."

  They both straightened, seeming to take my statement as absolute truth.

  "Of course," said the first guard. "Come with me right away."

  They led me into the palace through a wooden side door and into a high, marble hallway. No one seemed to question our presence there.

  "Who are you looking for?" asked the second guard, who was shorter and stockier, with lighter hair.

  "A wizard," I repeated. "Dante is his name."

  "Ah," said the dark-haired guard. "I believe you'll find him in the East Corridor, around the common area."

  The blond guard nodded. "It's where he usually is."

  "Perfect," I said. "Thank you both very much."

  They looked at me expectantly.

  "Oh." I felt a little guilty. "I'm afraid you two are just going to have to show restraint on this one. But," I continued, noting the crestfallen looks on their faces, "both you and your wives will enjoy yourselves very much tonight. Understand?"

  They both nodded, as if this was a perfectly satisfactory gift, and left me to my own devices.

  Still feeling a little guilty over having used the poor men, I proceeded down what I hoped was the East Corridor. The common area seemed to be a large sitting room, with spindly tables and chairs set all about, and bookshelves reaching to the high ceiling. I tried my best to conceal myself behind pillars as I searched the faces for a familiar bearded one.

  Finally, I saw him. He was wearing those same gaudy robes and sitting on a spindly couch with two women who looked much more like whores than the ones I was cleaning sheets for daily. In any case, he had one arm draped over each of them and looked quite pleased to be in their company.

  Angry, I stalked up, intending to demand information from him. When he saw me, a look of pure terror covered his face, and he jumped up and ran faster than I would have ever given him credit. The two ladies gasped at my appearance, but I ignored them, stalking after Dante.

  "Hey!" I yelled, and then, with more force and what felt like some of my powers, "Hey! Come back here!"

  He immediately turned and guiltily surveyed me as I walked up to him.

  "Marcus," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet, "you're alive! I thought you were dead!"

  "I wrote you a letter!" I said angrily. "You must have gotten it! Plus, I know for a fact that you didn't even try to look for me!"

  "Marcus … " he began again, but I cut him off.

  "No! Explain yourself. Right. Now."

  Dante's face changed in an instant, from sweet and surprised to cruel and menacing. "You, boy," he said, advancing on me, "are an incredible nuisance. Talking like that to me? You're nothing but a whore. Your family is useless, your estate is crumbling. All the serfdoms are. You nobles who live off of mud are nothing but peasants. The king has no need of you anymore."

  "What are you saying?" I sputtered at him. "How dare you insult my family, you pig!"

  He laughed, a high, tittering noise. "Call me a pig! You can't fool me with your pretty clothes and city manners! You and your family are nothing but pigs to be sold! Get out of here before I call the guards and have you arrested for trespassing!"

  He was doing something—some magic, and I forgot that I had the guards under my control, and that he had insulted me and my family. All I could think was how terrifying he was and how I had to get away as fast as possible.

  I turned and ran, his high, keening laugh following me down the hallway, following me out of the palace and through the metal gates. It didn't stop until I was several blocks away from the palace.

  Luckily, I had managed to keep my wits about me enough to know where I was going. I leaned against an old cart for a few moments, until my breathing became less heavy, and then, thoroughly depressed and confused, I headed back to the Parlour.

  When I returned, there was a flurry of activity when several of the girls ran up to me at once and informed me that Hailey had gone into my room without my permission.

  "What?" I said, not nearly as concerned as they seemed to be. "Why?"

  "Something about a pen," replied Ellie.

  Muse nodded. "I know. She has a customer coming later today and she needs him to see it. You know, because he gave it to her."

  Ah, I thought. I knew she shouldn't have offered it to me without expecting it back. A little amused, but annoyed that she couldn't have waited until I had gotten home, I climbed the stairs to my room and threw the door open, intending to scare her.

  "Hailey, what are you—" I began, and then stopped when I saw the occupant. It was a man—the male prostitute from before. He was bent over my desk,
and looked up with a shocked expression when I entered. Then he relaxed and smiled at me, holding up something in his hand.

  "My pen," he explained. "Sorry, I needed it."

  He swept past me, and for a moment, I was in shock. Of course, there had to be a logical explanation. He was Hailey's customer—that was it. It wasn't Hailey who had gone into my room, it was him. But … Hailey had that same blonde hair and those wide blue eyes …

  I turned after a moment and stalked after him. He was already halfway down the hallway when I finally caught up.

  "Wait." I reached for his arm, and he turned to look up at me. He was shorter than me, I noticed, shorter than I remembered him being. But then, I had been lying down when I had seen him last. He was looking up at me expectantly, but there was apprehension in his deep blue eyes. I knew him. I had seen those eyes many times before, laughing at me or observing me with interest. I thought about how Hailey always wore clothing that covered her shoulders and breasts, and how she wore so much more makeup than all the other girls.

  "Hailey?" I whispered. It was her. It had to be.

  He bowed his head, and after a moment, said in his low voice, "Yes. I'm sorry, Marcus."

  "What?" My voice was hollow with shock. "How?!"

  "I—" He sighed, looking pointedly away from me. "I should have told you before. We weren't sure if we could trust you so … "

  "I don't understand," I said. "Why?" I was having extreme difficulty forming simple words. But he seemed to understand.

  "I service men, Marcus," he said seriously, backing up a little and spreading his arms, so I could see his body clearly. "It's illegal for male prostitutes to service other men. If someone found out … "

  "You could get arrested," I finished for him, suddenly understanding. "But … why … With Mrs Edwards?"

  "Saving your skin," he said with a small, rueful smile. "I can service women, too, if I need to. I've been doing it more now since it became legal." His aristocratic features shifted into an expression of mild dislike. "I don't enjoy it, though."

  I was staring at him, unable to believe that this handsome young man with the soft, masculine voice was really her. He was really Hailey.

  "I'm sorry," he said again.

  I looked away.

  He sighed, seeming a little annoyed. "Look, Marcus." He stepped closer to me again. "I'm really sorry it had to be this way. I wanted you to find out. I trust you."

  I couldn't help it. I looked up, met his eyes. He smiled at me and held out a slim hand. "Let's try this again," he said. "I'm Hale. I work here, although you may not have seen me much. It's nice to meet you, Marcus."

  Woodenly, I shook his hand, and then, with a flash of that little coy smile which I was so used to, he returned to his room.

  At first, I was in shock, unsure of what to think. But as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, I was surprised to find that I was becoming angrier.

  "Emie!" I yelled, stalking into the kitchen.

  Emie looked up from his current pot of gruel. "Yah?" he asked, seemingly surprised by my appearance.

  "Emie … " I repeated, panting a little from anger. "Hailey … is … a man."

  Emie blinked. "Yah," he said again. "I know. He used to work here as a servant." He seemed a little confused. "You didn't know?"

  "No!" I cried, unsure why exactly I was so upset. "Who else knows?"

  "Knows what?" Muse had come into the room, disruptive as usual with her flurry of dark skirts and clacking, high-heeled boots. With more energy than I could ever hope to have, she ran over to where Emie was cooking, and exclaimed, "Ooh, raisins!"

  "About Hailey!" I exclaimed, refusing to be distracted. "Who else knows?"

  "Oh, I do," replied Muse, attempting to sample some gruel and getting slapped away by Emie. "Actually, everyone does. She never told you?"

  "No!" I yelled, even more distraught now. Had they really all assumed that I knew? "Why are you saying ''she'?!"

  Muse looked around, and then leaned in, apparently not put off by my anger. "There could be customers," she said. "Hailey did explain to you, right? How no one can know?"

  Exasperated, I said, "Yes, but … How does anyone know, then?"

  "Oh, just word of mouth," said Muse unconcernedly. "I wouldn't worry about it. I'm told it's quite common. Although not common enough to stop being very expensive." She smiled. "That's why we take care of Hailey. She was just little when she came here, you know. Now, she's the biggest earner of the whole Parlour." She sounded immensely proud of him.

  "Hey, yeah, if you see her, tell her there's raisin gruel," said Emie. I jumped, having forgotten he was there. "It's her favourite. Come here, have some. You're still too thin." He frowned at me.

  "Um … No, thank you, I'm not hungry. I think I'll … go to bed."

  I was still used to going to bed without supper from my time with Dante, and I ignored the hunger I felt as I rolled around in my bed, thinking about all of the events that had transpired that day.

  Dante … what the hell had he been saying to me? And what had he done to make me so afraid of him? My stomach still churned at the thought of going back to the palace and facing him again. I didn't ever want to go back there or see the wretched old man again. I hoped my letter reached my parents soon, and that they came for me as soon as possible.

  And Hailey … Hailey was a man! Well, at least that explained the strange attraction I had felt toward her. I supposed I had no right to be angry, but it smarted that she … he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me before now. What did they think I was going to do, run and tell the police? I didn't know why I cared so much about them trusting me. I didn't know why I cared at all—but I did. Consequently, I spent several hours tossing and turning before I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  I awoke the next morning feeling, surprisingly, a lot better. The chill of Dante's frightening magic had lifted somewhat, and I found I didn't have the conviction to be mad at Hailey (Hale, I reminded myself grimly). If I were secretly a man, I thought, I would be wary of whom I revealed it to, as well. Then I remembered that I was a man, albeit not secretly, and felt very odd about the whole affair.

  I slumped into the backyard, deciding to get a head start on the laundry. That was when Titiana showed up and ordered me to go get Hailey's sheets and wash them.

  Excellent, I thought as I stomped upstairs to Hale's room. Twice the staining!

  I immediately berated myself for having such vulgar thoughts. After all, I didn't even know what Hale did with his customers. Perhaps they just talked. Or kissed. Or …

  I shook my head, banishing such thoughts, and knocked tentatively on Hailey's door.

  "Ah!" came Hailey's voice from within (a woman's voice, I realized—he was very good at it. Although I supposed that being around women for years would help). "Who is it?"

  "It's, um, Marcus," I replied awkwardly. "Titiana sent me to get your laundry."

  There was a rustling from inside, and then the door opened, revealing Hale. He was dressed like a woman, his silk robes loose and his hair piled hastily on his head, but he wore no makeup. He looked completely androgynous, and also, I noticed, hoping I wasn't blushing, very beautiful.

  "Oh, you can come in," he said in his masculine voice, tipping the scale from androgyne to beautiful man. He stepped aside and allowed me to pass.

  Hale's room was beautiful, decorated with pink and yellow silks, and scattered with lovely embroidered cushions and chairs. The bed was a large four-poster with a sumptuous-looking bedspread, and dull golden paint covered the intricately carved wood of the frame.

  "It's a lot," Hale admitted, watching me stare around the room in awe. "Titiana paid for it all. I guess it's needed … rich customers expect … you know … " He laughed a little guiltily as I made my way to the bed. "Ah … I suppose I am a little behind on my washing. Sorry."

  "It's alright," I said grimly. I was used to getting stains out by now.

  I realized it sounded like I was being short with him. What
was I to say, though? Did he expect for me to talk to him as if we were old friends?

  Hale was very different as a man, I thought, as I stripped the soft silk sheets off the bed, struggling a little with the corners as I always did. Quieter, but more intimidating at the same time. He watched me for a few moments, not saying a word, and then went and sat down at the vanity.

  "I have another customer coming today," he said, picking up a brush and expertly mixing a concoction of several of the bottles and jars strewn over the table. "He's nice. Confident. Doesn't mind thinking of me as a man."

  "Do some of them?" I asked, unable to control my curiosity.

  He nodded. "Yes. I suppose they feel guilty making love to a man. They prefer to leave my clothes on and think of me as … a sort of strange woman, I suppose." He grimaced ruefully, and then began to apply the powder to his face.

  "Ah." I struggled to fold the sheets into a manageable pile. "How do you … " I stopped myself, suddenly realizing what I had been about to ask. I could feel a blush spreading to my cheeks and lowered my head, hoping he didn't notice. He did.

  "You don't know?" he said, holding his face perfectly still as he applied the powder, so I was unable to catch any expression. "It's alright; a lot of men don't when they come to me." Hale lowered his brush and, looking into the mirror, caught my eye. "My offer still stands," he added, "if you want to find out." I dropped the sheets. Almost grateful for the excuse to duck down and hide my furious blush, I bent down and gathered them back up into my arms. "Um," I began, my voice constricted, "Hale, I couldn't possibly … "

  "Hm." He picked up what looked like a gold-filled pen, and then gestured at me. "Put those on the bed for a minute. Come sit with me."

  "Ah … " I thought of refusing, but I found I couldn't. Slowly, I dropped the semi-folded sheets onto the bed and went to sit in one of the soft-looking chairs next to Hale.

  "Where are you from, Marcus?" he asked, smiling at me, and then turning back to the mirror. "You never told me."

  "Oh. Rell."