Boots for the Gentleman

by Augusta Li

  “What was that thing?” Querry asked.

  The fey held the bottle out to Querry, who took it. He studied the tiny lizard twisting and turning through the ether within.

  “Elemental salamander,” the gentleman said. “The very spirit of fire.”

  “Two out of four, yes?”

  “Indeed! And the worst is over. If you feel well enough to continue on, we can collect the rest of what we need with ease. What do you say?”

  “Actually, I feel incredible,” Querry said.

  “Jolly good!” The faerie got to his feet and extended his hand, helping Querry to stand. “You and I, then. What an excellent match we’ve made!”

  “DON’T fidget, Querrilous,” the gentleman scolded. “I’ve assured you we’re perfectly safe. They cannot see us nor hear us. Calm down before I take offense at your lack of faith in me.”

  “No, sir,” Querry said. “You’ve been perfect, and I thank you. This place is just so mournful. I can feel the sickness and despair.”

  “Yes, now that I’ve given you my sight, you’ll sense such things much more acutely. For what it’s worth, it is worse for me.”

  “Sorry.” Querry reached out and took his hand, squeezing the delicate bones as they moved between the closely packed, narrow cots. The faerie squeezed back with his smooth, cool hand. Querry wondered if it was wrong to love him, to want him. He wondered if his feelings were authentic, if he could trust himself. He decided to concentrate on the task at hand. He looked at the sick and dying around him. The religious order of women who cared for them had retired for the night. A few hanging lanterns lit the faces of the factory workers, orphans, and vagrants who’d come here because they had nowhere else to go. Querry knew most of them would never leave; the sisters would feed them and dress their wounds, but they could do little more than keep them comfortable until the end came. In the shadowed corners of the long, narrow room, Querry could almost feel Death waiting to claim his due.

  Eager to leave, he approached the foot of one of the beds. A middle-aged man lay upon it, his left leg missing from the knee down and a foul smell wafting from the dressing. Querry knew the wound was likely infected, and caused the man to thrash and perspire in his sleep. “What about this fellow?” Querry asked, drawing his gentleman closer by the hand. “Looks like a fever dream to me.”

  The faerie smiled coldly as he watched the injured man’s glistening face. “Yes, he is dreaming of hell. He left his wife and young daughter in the countryside, and promised to return for them as soon as he’d found work in the city. Instead, he squandered his meager wages on gambling, whores, and gin. His family starved to death. They’re pointing at him with their bony fingers while demons gnaw on his leg.”

  “Won’t you gather it up so we can be off?” Querry said, sweating himself now.

  “This will never do,” the gentleman told Querry. “The structure of the dream I choose to weave into the spell will have a profound effect on your companion. A horrible thing like this could turn him quite dark. Let’s check some of these others. This little girl is dreaming of the night her father beat her mother to death, and this poor bastard is being chased by circus bears.” He chuckled. “Many of them are dreaming about sex. Or eating.”

  His statement raised a question in Querry’s mind. “If the dream we choose is so important, I can only assume the love oaths are just as significant. I mean, the squeals of back alley whores probably won’t do.”

  “You’re correct,” the fey said as he continued to inspect the sleepers, bending close to some of their faces as if doing so gave him a better view inside their heads. “The words themselves are not important. It’s the passion behind them that the spell requires. We’ll need to find lovers with a strong desire for one another. But first, the dream! We may need to look elsewhere. There is nothing but misery within these walls.”

  Querry passed baskets holding babies covered in the sores that resulted from diseases that went best unmentioned. He saw a poor woman with lumps deforming her face, and some lepers mummy-wrapped in filthy rags. “What about this one?” he asked, motioning his companion toward an elderly woman who’d probably once been quite handsome. Though she sweated and writhed, a smile twisted her lips and now and then she giggled like a girl.

  “She’s very sick,” the gentleman said gravely. “The fever will take her soon. Tonight or tomorrow. Let’s see.” He held his long fingers above the gray, creased brow. “Ah! She’s dreaming of her childhood tending sheep in the northern mountains. Her dogs are licking her face and the lambs are frolicking about her feet. What’s this? Memories of my people? It seems she had some of my kind as friends and playmates, and she’s recalling fondly their games of hide and seek among the heather fields and forests. She’s lifting her skirts to run across a small stream—” He rubbed his thumbs against the tips of his fingers and his tongue worked against his upper lip as he concentrated. Querry noticed a round, glowing patch form at the center of the woman’s forehead. The gentleman snatched the end between his thumb and finger and slowly brought forth a long strand of shimmering greens and golds. It twisted in his grasp like a garden snake caught by the tail. He uncorked another of his bottles and stowed it away in his jacket pocket.

  Just as the two of them turned to leave, the woman opened her eyes. A wide grin broke across her ancient face when she saw the faerie gentleman. “It’s you! You’ve come for me at last!” Then confusion stole her joy, and she shook her head despondently. “No, I’m mistaken, aren’t I? I thought you were somebody else.”

  “I am sorry, Madam,” he said with no real compassion.

  “Could you help me?” she pleaded, reaching for him with an age-stiffened hand. He stepped back to avoid being touched.

  “I don’t know what I could possibly do for you,” he said, “or what you could offer me in exchange.”

  “Oh, sir!” Querry said, but a dangerous glare silenced him.

  “Aye,” she said bitterly. “You’ve already taken the only good thing I had left.”

  Sighing with impatience, the gentleman made a quick, complex gesture in the air. When his hand stilled, it held a sprig of mountain heather. He placed it beside the old woman’s head. She nestled closer to it, breathed deeply of its fragrance and fell back to sleep. “I simply didn’t want her resentment tainting the dream,” he explained. Querry lowered his head to hide his smile. “Now if we could please take our leave of this ghastly place!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Querry said, hurrying to keep up with him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “UGH, the stench,” the gentleman hissed, pulling a lace-trimmed handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose. “Why have you brought me here, Querrilous?”

  “For the oath,” Querry said gingerly, looking around the abandoned factory.

  “In this desolate place?”

  “This is the place where Reg and I… where we first—Could that energy still be here? Here in the stones and supports?”

  Though the faerie looked violently annoyed, he closed his eyes and reached his hands out in front of him. A quarter of an hour passed before he finally said, “Yes, I can feel great love here, but it’s all buried beneath and tangled up with scores of other things. Hopelessness, fear, and death. It’s going to take me forever to unwind all of this mess and isolate it. Is there nowhere else we can look? Couldn’t we simply go back to them, and you could have him again?”

  Querry chuckled. “What, while you watch with your jar at the ready? I don’t think he’d be able to, um, accomplish it. Besides, even though I still love him, I’ve never felt anything like that first time. Both of us were so overcome that we wept. It would mean a great deal to me if we could make that night part of Frolic too.”

  “I could make you hate the sight of him,” the fey said, raising his voice. “I could make you to be sick whenever you touched his skin. Why, I could turn him into a toad with the head of a jackass! Why shouldn’t I? Why should I continue to suffer this insult?”


  “I mean no offense to you,” Querry said, “but you could never make me feel that way.”

  “I could kill him!”

  Squaring his shoulders, Querry looked deep into the gentleman’s eyes and said, “I would never forgive you. For all of your power, you could never make me forget him.”

  “And that is the only reason I spare him,” the faerie sighed, “because I value our friendship so highly. I couldn’t bear for your love of me to diminish over such a triviality. Honestly, it’s not as though I could feel threatened by such a person. I suppose I must get to work.”

  Querry took a seat on a pile of rubble and watched as the gentleman searched around with his hands in much the same way Frolic’s quick fingers had moved among the gears in the clock tower. But the things the faerie sifted and sorted remained invisible to Querry. He closed his eyes and reached out with his newly found faerie sight, trying to locate some remnant of the passion he’d shared with Reg. After a few moments of hard concentration, he detected faint screams, the pop and hiss of fire, and the thick, suffocating stench of smoke. His eyes sprung open, and he saw shadowy figures at the corners of his vision, running for the single exit, trampling one another to save themselves. He shook his head, but the vision remained, the tragic events playing out over and over again as Querry shook and whimpered. He was about to collapse when a graceful hand wiped the scene from his eyes, the way one might wipe dust from a tabletop.

  “Do you see?” the gentleman asked. “The psychic energy left by those who died in the fire is burying everything else. I cannot untangle anything from it, and besides, I—” He slumped down and took a seat beside the thief on the heap of scrap. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his palms together in such an inelegant way that it frightened Querry. He’d never seen the other man lose his regal bearing.

  “Sir, what is it?”

  “I feel very weak. This place feels desolate with the lack of magic. Dead.”

  The horrible memories the factory contained had exhausted Querry; he couldn’t imagine the toll they’d taken on the gentleman with his finer perception. It was no wonder he felt strained. With a great effort, Querry got to his feet and took the other’s man’s elbow, urging him to stand. “Let’s get out of here, sir. I’m sorry I ever asked you to come. Some fresh air will fix us right up.” He escorted the faerie out of the factory and into the night, troubled by the sluggish way he dragged his feet. Querry thought it wise to put some distance between them and the ghosts of the burned-out bottling plant, so he urged his companion through the alleys until they reached the great, rusted pipe that had once spewed the factory’s waste into the river. They continued to walk beside the water, away from the factory district and toward Neroche.

  “This is wrong,” the gentleman said in a frightened whisper. “The stars are so dull.”

  “Pollution, I’d wager,” Querry said.

  “No. Where are the voices of the trees? The song of the ocean and the wind? What has happened here?”

  “I don’t know,” Querry admitted. He couldn’t name the change he sensed in the world. He supposed everything felt washed-out, muted. He moved as fast as he could toward the nearest bridge, toward the west side of Halcyon. “Let’s get home.”

  “Home,” the gentleman moaned. “This place is… sucking… the life… out of me. I don’t understand how this can be.”

  “My people are poisoning the sea and sky,” Querry said. “I’m sure that’s what you’re feeling.” The faerie had slowed and taken hold of the bridge railing. They inched their way over the great expanse of fetid river water as Querry tried to reassure his companion.

  “No,” the gentleman began, but a loud voice interrupted him.

  “You there! Stop where you are.”

  Querry looked to his left and saw three patrolmen headed their way. He swore under his breath. Then he forced a laughed, indicated the gentleman with his chin and said, “He’s had a few too many.”

  “Bring out your papers,” one of them said, “both of you. Now!”

  “This is a misunderstanding,” Querry began.

  “Nonsense,” the gentleman said, reaching into his pocket. “The papers you require are right here.” He handed the burly officer a stack of yellow leaves.

  “You think you’re funny, you faerie son of a bitch?” He unbuckled the club from his belt and lifted his arm to strike the gentleman.

  The fey laughed and pointed his fingers toward the cudgel. Querry would never know his intention, because the thick wood smacked the side of his head with a hollow thud, and he sprawled on the ground. The other two officers joined their comrade, encircling the faerie, vicious grins beneath their moustaches.

  Querry had no time to ponder what had just happened. He had to act. He pulled his pistol, took a few steps back, and fired three times, striking each of the constables once in the leg. As they crumpled, he holstered his gun and drew his sword, holding it to each of their throats as he removed their firearms and flung them into the water.

  “You’ll hang for this,” one of them said.

  “Treason!”

  The third man reached for a whistle around his neck and gave it a deafening blow. Ears ringing, Querry knelt beside his gentleman and tried desperately to rouse him. When he failed, he scooped him into his arms. They had to escape before the rest of the city guards arrived. Luckily the gentleman was surprisingly light despite his stature. Querry couldn’t exactly run, but he made his way briskly toward Hawthorne Street. He heard shouts and more whistles behind him. They had to reach Neroche; Querry couldn’t hope to overcome the dozen or so men he heard gathering. He needed the gentleman’s magic, but his stamina waned with each step he took. Finally he resolved to rest in a sewer pipe down an embankment from the street.

  Querry lay the gentleman against the semicircular wall of stone and crouched in the trickle of cold water, rubbing his biceps and thighs. He heard a groan and the gentleman’s eyes opened, glowing like a cat’s.

  “Oh thank God,” Querry breathed. “Get us out of here. We’re in heaps of trouble.”

  “I- I can’t,” the fey whimpered.

  “What? Do what you did on the cliff! Swirl us back to your manor house, or we’re dead!” He could hear the guards shouting to one another as they searched for “the faerie-loving little bastard and the goddamned sprite.” They were maybe half a block away. Querry and the gentleman wouldn’t be able to emerge from the sewer pipe, or they’d be shot on sight. Querry wouldn’t have thought a bullet would harm the fey, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Sir, please,” Querry said, taking his hand.

  “My head,” he grumbled. “What a strange sensation….”

  “Sir, we’ve got to go!”

  “I’ve told you there’s nothing I can do,” he snarled, growing irritated.

  “Then we crawl for it,” Querry said, pointing into the dark depths of the pipe. He expected strong protests from his companion, but none came, and Querry began to lead the way through the fetid tunnel. They made their way slowly. Querry’s knees cracked and bled under the combination of frigid water and coarse cement. Even through his armored gloves, his palms scraped raw and broke open. The gentleman would be hurting worse in nothing but his fancy suit, but he didn’t complain. Querry heard his labored breathing. He looked over his shoulders and found the chartreuse eyes markedly dimmed.

  They reached a grate and Querry tried to estimate how far they’d come and in what direction. He felt fairly certain they’d come out only a block or two from Neroche. Unfortunately, if the guards had any sense, Neroche would be the first place they’d look. Querry cocked his head but didn’t hear anything. He turned to the faerie. “How are you feeling? Will you be able to run?”

  “I’m going to make these plebeians pay for what they’ve done to me,” he hissed. “I’ll curse their families for seven generations!”

  “Yes, sir,” Querry said. “Just as soon as we make it out of here. Is there anything you can do to help me?”

&
nbsp; “Give me that sword. I know how to use it.”

  “All right then.” Querry unsheathed his blade and handed it over. With a few kicks he dislodged the rusty grate from the stone, and he pushed it aside so that they could crawl out. He offered his hand to the gentleman as he scanned around. Ivy and moss covered the empty houses, a good sign. “We shouldn’t have far to go.”

  “I don’t know,” the faerie said, a shiver in his voice. “I can’t feel it.”

  “It’s just through here.” Querry held his wrist, and they sprinted down the street, turning left at the end. The two trees marking the entrance appeared, but leafless and dead. The gentleman said a word in his language that expressed so much anger and fear that Querry’s stomach clenched at the sound of it.

  “We thought you rascals might come this way,” said a voice. Before Querry could even turn toward it, a shot rang out. The gentleman yelled as the bullet grazed his upper thigh, drawing a font of blood. Querry pulled his pistol and spun on his heel, firing indiscriminately at the source of the shot.

  “Run!” he told the faerie.

  “I’m bleeding,” he said, more taken by the peculiarity than the pain.

  “Sir, just go!” Querry reloaded his weapon as he backed toward the trees and carpeted the area in front of him with bullets. He heard the faerie’s boots on the cobblestone as he frantically fed bullets into his gun, resolving to find some way to increase its ammunition capacity in the future. “Get behind something!” he instructed. “Get back to the Other World!”

  “Querrilous—”

  “Go!” A bullet whizzed by Querry’s waist, but he tucked and rolled to the side to avoid it. With another leap he made it to the shelter of one of the desiccated faerie trees. He crouched behind the trunk and yelled, “Come and get me, you sons of whores!” Predictably, the guards’ fear of Neroche held them at bay. Querry emptied his gun in the direction of the incoming shots, and looked at the handful of bullets he had remaining before reloading for the last time. Instead of firing haphazardly, he squinted into the darkness. He noticed a fleeting gleam of metal around the side of a crumbling wall and took the shot. He grinned when he heard a hollered curse, but he only had another four bullets. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to retreat deeper into Neroche, scanning around for something to cover his escape. Neroche was not only abandoned, though, it was gone. Where the streetlights and manor houses had once stood, only piles of dust and rubble remained, as if the quarter had been deserted for a thousand years. Winding between the piles of debris, Querry discerned a narrow path. It led up a hill and into an eerily familiar, gray wood. At the point where the trail disappeared into the trees, he saw a bright, white, circular gateway. If he could make it there, he knew he’d cross the veil, but it meant almost half a mile of running out in the open. Querry swore with uncertainty. While glad his dear gentleman had made it to safety, he missed the faerie’s reassuring presence.