Faery Worlds - Six Complete Novels

by Tara Maya, Elle Casey, J L Bryan, Anthea Sharp, Jenna Elizabeth Johnson, Alexia Purdy (epub)

  “There's one very small issue,” Aoide said. “Our last instruments were stolen, so we don't exactly have the money saved up to buy new ones.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “Not much,” Aoide said.

  “It's not a big deal,” Rhodia added, giving Ladon her most cheerful smile. “We've been playing in the park near Goblin Row for a hundred years, so we get the musicians' stipend from the Queen. Plus, we get a lot of gigs.”

  “You want to buy four instruments on credit?” Ladon stopped walking and whirled around to face them. He wasn't grinning anymore. “All four?”

  “That's okay, right?” Aoide smiled widely at him. “We're Guild musicians and everything.”

  “If you weren't Guild musicians, the security spells would not have allowed you through the door,” Ladon said. “Guild musician or not, you can't buy anything without money. You'll have to talk to our finance department.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Aoide said. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

  Ladon almost glared at her. “This way,” he said.

  He led them away from the factory floor, up a spiraling staircase to a row of arched wooden doors on the second floor, each one of them a different color. A balcony ran in front of the doors, overlooking the fairy artisans below.

  Ladon knocked on the red door, then opened it.

  “Mr. Wimwinkle,” Ladon said. “We have some poor musicians trying to get instruments with no money.”

  “That's not a very nice way to put it,” Rhodia said, and Aoide elbowed her to be quiet.

  “Best of luck,” Ladon said icily, as he walked away.

  “Good fortune to you, too!” Aoide called after him. Then she turned and looked into the office.

  One wall of the office was full of pigeonholes. A gnome sat at the big desk, surrounded by stacks of scrolls, which he was sorting into the pigeonholes. From there, pigeons took the scrolls and flew up a chimney to deliver them around town.

  The gnome wore a tall, cone-shaped red hat and a blue jacket. A nameplate on his desk read DWOBKIN WIMWINKLE. He stroked his long, white beard as he looked at Aoide, Rhodia, and Neus, as well as the big, orange-haired ogre squatting behind them.

  “Well, I doubt this will take long,” the gnome said. “Come in, ladies. And gentleman. The ogre will have to stay out there, of course, there's no room.”

  Skezg grunted and hunkered low to the floor.

  Aoide, Rhodia and Neus entered and took the chairs facing the gnome. Wimwinkle arched his fingers in front of his lips and looked them over.

  “What kind of loan do you need?” he asked.

  “We need to replace our four instruments,” Aoide said. “My lute, Rhodia's harp, Neus' pipes and Skezg's drum.”

  The gnome whistled.

  “That's a lot of silver,” he said. “What do you have for collateral?”

  “Not much,” Aoide said. “The Queensguard is holding our savings for, um, security while they search for our lost instruments. But we play at parties and clubs all over the city, and during the day we have the park by Goblin Row. So we have income.”

  “And the Queen pays you the usual stipend for musicians who entrance the man-whelps?” the gnome asked.

  “Every month,” Aoide said.

  “But this month, you'll receive nothing,” the gnome said.

  “Unless we have our instruments,” Neus said, blinking his goaty eyes.

  “And would you please explain to me what happened to your last instruments?” Wimwinkle asked.

  “They were stolen!” Rhodia said. “Can you imagine? What a horrible thing for someone to do!”

  “How were they stolen?”

  “From the park,” Aoide said.

  “You saw it happen?”

  “No, we were having a drink at the cafe,” Rhodia said. “Right across the street.”

  “And you left your instruments at the park?”

  “We do it all the time!” Rhodia said. She put her face in her hands, and her pink wings wiggled. “Nobody ever bothers them.”

  “But this time, somebody stole them,” the gnome said. “So you want us to extend you a loan to buy instruments, knowing that you carelessly leave instruments out in a park near Goblin Row, where anyone who comes along might steal them?”

  “We won't do it anymore! We promise,” Aoide said, and Rhodia and Neus nodded.

  The gnome sighed and shook his head. “Given all you've told me, we couldn't possibly extend a loan for the full amount of the instruments. You'll need to come up with at least half, which I calculate to be...” He moved several beads on an abacus. “Five hundred silvers.”

  “Where are we going to get five hundred silver coins?” Rhodia gasped.

  “If we don't have instruments, then we can't earn the money to pay for them,” Aoide said.

  “It's a real conundrum,” the gnome agreed. “Happily, it is not my conundrum to solve. Have a lucky day.”

  “We're done?” Aoide asked. “Just like that?”

  “Unless you have five hundred silvers, we have nothing left to discuss,” the gnome said.

  “But...can't we just rent them?” Rhodia asked. “We have somebody searching for ours. We only need these for a little while.”

  “Instruments cannot be rented!” the gnome gave Rhodia a stern look. “You should know that is against the rules of the Musicians' Guild. Each instrument adapts to its user. They cannot simply be passed from one player to another.”

  “But some instruments can adapt to new players,” Aoide said.

  “Take it up with the Guild,” the gnome said, waving them away. “Again I say, have a lucky day.”

  “Have a lucky day,” Aoide mumbled. She stood up, her eyes stinging. She missed her lute terribly. She missed playing music. “Come on, everyone.”

  They shambled out of the factory and down Queen’s Boulevard towards Goblin Row. Nobody spoke.

  When they reached their usual park, Rhodia gasped. Another band had already moved in, fairies with flutes and bells and a banjo. A group of young humans danced inside the ring of mushrooms, their energy pouring out to recharge the magic of Faerie.

  “That's our spot!” Rhodia said.

  “We can't claim it if we don't have our gear,” Neus said. “If we stop playing there, another band can take it. That's the law.”

  “Let's get a drink,” Skezg grumbled.

  They took a table at their usual cafe. A golden-haired fairy fluttered to their table and took their orders: rose nectar for Aoide, honeysuckle dew for Rhodia, thistle tea for Neus. Skezg ordered a cup of poison ivy broth.

  “What are we going to do?” Rhodia asked. “We can't play, we lost our spot. That elf and his unicorn better come back with our instruments, or we're sunk.”

  “If I ever find that thief...” Neus made a fist. “Pop! Right in the nose holes.”

  “I have to pay rent soon,” Aoide asked. “I don't know how I can make it.”

  “Guess what? They're hiring here!” the golden-haired fairy chirped as she delivered their four drinks in bell-shaped lilies. “All you need is a great attitude and a quick pair of wings! Oh, and the ability to work your tail off all day for practically nothing! Let me know if you want refills!” She fluttered away again.

  Aoide put her elbow on the table and rested her hand in her chin.

  “We don't get to play no more,” Skezg grumbled.

  “That's right. Everything depends on that crazy old elf,” Aoide said.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Aoide stood and walked inside the cafe building, up to the front counter, where the golden-haired fairy waved cheerfully.

  “Can I have one of those job applications?” Aoide asked.

  “Certainly!” the fairy chirped. She handed over a scroll.

  “Mind if I borrow your quill-and-ink?” Aoide asked.

  “As long as you don't carry it away! I hate when people steal my pen. It makes me violent!” the golden-haired fairy giggled.

&nbs
p; “Thanks.” Aoide picked up the long plume of the feather quill pen, dipped it in the little oyster-shell inkpot, and began to fill in the blank lines on the scroll.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  On Saturday, Jason dressed in a black t-shirt and his most comfortable jeans and shoes. He spent an unusually long time checking his hair in the mirror. The largest crowd for which he'd ever performed was a crowd of one hundred, and that had been as an extra in the high school production of The Crucible. He couldn't imagine facing ten thousand people. It made him almost as nervous as the thought of seeing Erin again.

  Grizlemor appeared next to him. The goblin removed his hat and smoothed his knotty, stringy hair, then spread his mouth open and inspected his dark yellow teeth and lumpy green gums in the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” Jason asked.

  “Getting ready for the show.”

  “What show?”

  “Do you really think I'm going to let the four of you run off with those instruments unsupervised?” Grizlemor asked. “Somebody has to watch out for wicked fairies.”

  “I'm sure we'll be fine,” Jason said.

  “I'm sure you won't. If the fairies figure out what happened, they'll kill me. Then I'll haunt you.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It's not funny.” Grizlemor sniffed his own armpit. “Clearly, you've never faced a goblin ghost. We can get pretty ugly after we die. Go grab me a snack, would you? Whipped pickle juice and Spam on rye, please.”

  Jason looked the goblin over. His clothes and hat were filthy, and he gave off a smell like rotten sausages.

  “Are you sure you don't want to bathe before you go?” Jason asked. “Or wash your clothes?” He couldn't recall the goblin doing either thing in the week he'd been living under Jason's bed.

  “Nope. I'm ready.” The goblin disappeared in a green puff. A row of green puffs appeared, leading away to Jason's bed. Grizlemor reappeared on the edge of the bed, next to Jason's guitar case. “I don't see any snacks yet.” He held out an empty hand.

  “Do you really have to come? How will I explain you to everyone else?”

  “Same way you explained the magic instruments,” Grizlemor said. “They seem happy with those, don't they? Tell them I come with the instruments.”

  “Like a roadie?”

  “What's that?”

  “Someone who helps load and unload the gear.”

  “Whatever you want to tell them.” Grizlemor took off his shoes and sniffed between his green toes.

  “Change your mind about the bath?”

  “I think I'm good for another five or ten years,” the goblin said. “Food, please.”

  Jason shook his head and went downstairs. He walked into the kitchen, feeling annoyed, but then he froze when he saw who was at the kitchen table.

  Both his parents were there, having mugs of coffee. A third mug cooled on the table, untouched. Behind it sat a withered old woman with hair like a mat of gray cobwebs. Her eyes were very dark, her mouth a narrow gash. She wore a black silk scarf around her neck, and where it drooped, Jason could see that her neck was swaddled in discolored bandages under the scarf. She sat in a wheelchair that looked antique, made of dark, polished wood and brass wheels.

  Jason gaped. He could guess who she was.

  “Jason,” his mother said. “This is Mrs. Dullahan.”

  Jason gaped a little more.

  “Where are your manners?” Jason's mom asked.

  “Oh! Uh, hi, Mrs. Dullahan.” Jason's heart sank like a stone in a cold pond. She'd figured it out, he thought, and she was going to take back their instruments before they ever got to play a show.

  “She has a few things to ask you,” his dad said.

  “Okay.” Jason's throat knotted up. The lady was scary. The air felt unnaturally cold around her.

  “You are the young man who came to my house,” she said, and he recognized the harsh, scraping voice from the intercom.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes. My mom told me I should help you with yard work. But you said you didn't want me to.”

  “It was unnecessary. Mortimer handles all my gardening and caretaking needs.” Mrs. Dullahan pointed to the corner of the kitchen.

  Jason jumped when he saw the tall, wraithlike man in the corner, dressed in a black suit. A black chauffeur’s cap was pulled low, shading his eyes so they couldn't be seen. His face was gaunt, almost skeletal. Mortimer didn't move at all, just stood with his arms folded in front of him. Jason had no idea how he'd missed the man standing there. It was almost like Mortimer had been concealed by shadows, except it was a bright Saturday afternoon and the kitchen was flooded with sunlight, so there weren't any shadows.

  “But he gave you the muffin basket, at least,” Jason's mom said to Mrs. Dullahan.

  “What muffin basket?” Mrs. Dullahan asked.

  “Jason! You didn't give her the muffin basket?”

  “She told me to go away!” Jason said.

  “Nothing was said about a muffin basket,” Mrs. Dullahan hissed. “I would have liked a muffin basket.”

  “What did you do with the muffin basket?” Jason's mom snapped.

  “Uh...my friends and I ate it,” Jason said.

  “Jason!” His dad shook his head.

  “We'll get you another muffin basket, Mrs. Dullahan,” Jason's mom said.

  “Thank you. Though I would prefer an assortment of cured meats and cheeses,” Mrs. Dullahan replied. “And crackers.”

  “All right...I'm sure we can do something,” Jason's mom said.

  “The day of your uninvited visit to my home,” Mrs. Dullahan said to Jason, “Did you depart when instructed to do so? Or did you linger and snoop?”

  “I didn't snoop,” Jason said. “I left. I went to band practice with my friends.”

  “Taking the muffin basket with you,” Jason's mom added.

  “Yes! Sorry! I didn't know the muffin basket was going to be such a huge deal.”

  “It's not the muffin basket itself, it's the principle of the muffin basket,” Jason's mom said.

  “Someone has been snooping around my house,” Mrs. Dullahan said. “I returned from my trip to find some of my lawn decorations vandalized.”

  Jason thought of the little wooden squirrel he'd broken when he landed in her back yard. He kept quiet.

  “Did you have a nice trip?” Jason's mom asked. “Where did you go?”

  “It was a hunting trip.” Mrs. Dullahan's dark eyes hadn't moved from Jason.

  “Ooh, yah? What were you hunting?” Jason's dad asked her.

  “Prey.” Mrs. Dullahan's eyes continued boring into Jason, and he felt like squirming. “Did you, or did you not, enter my yard at any time?”

  “No,” Jason said, after a brief hesitation. Could she tell he was lying?

  “Are you certain?” Her mouth pulled down at the corners as she stared unblinking at Jason.

  “Yes...Yes, ma'am.”

  “You did not enter my property? Did not climb my wall?”

  “No.” Jason's voice came out quiet and squeaky.

  “Do you know of anyone who has?” Mrs. Dullahan asked. “Have other juveniles discussed such a thing? Perhaps bragging, as juveniles do?”

  Jason shook his head. “I guess I can...listen and see if I hear anything.” His gaze shifted from Mrs. Dullahan to Mortimer. The tall, gaunt man hadn't moved a bit. He was like a mannequin, or a Halloween decoration.

  “I hope that you will.” Mrs. Dullahan's voice was icy now. She seemed to be angry at him. Maybe she really did know he was lying. He felt transparent, exposed, and vulnerable.

  “The crime went beyond vandalism,” she said. “Four musical instruments were stolen. A lute. A harp. Pan pipes. A drum.”

  Jason felt very cold inside. His guts were knotting up.

  “Have you heard of anyone with such instruments?” Mrs. Dullahan asked.

  “No...”

  “I understand you are a music-maker,” she said.

  “A little bit.”


  “Jason plays the guitar,” his mom said. “We're very proud.”

  That was a little weird, too, but his parents' attitude about the band had changed drastically since the music cast its spell on them.

  “I don't really play it that much,” Jason said.

  “May I see this guitar?” Mrs. Dullahan asked.

  “Oh, sure!” his dad said. “Jason, why don't you go grab it and play a little ditty for Mrs. Dullahan here?”

  “Um...I'm sure she doesn't want to hear me play.”

  “I would be delighted,” Mrs. Dullahan said, and her words sounded cold and frosty. She stared at Jason with her coal-black eyes. She didn't sound like someone who could ever be delighted by anything.

  “Go on, don't be shy,” Jason's mom said.

  Jason sulked as he walked upstairs. Katie's door cracked open as he passed it.

  “Is Mrs. Dullahan still here?” Katie whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Katie closed her door in a hurry.

  Jason walked into his room, to see Grizlemor standing on his bed, arms crossed, impatiently tapping one rotten leather shoe.

  “Where are my snacks?” the goblin asked.

  “Sh!” Jason closed the door. “Mrs. Dullahan is here,” he whispered.

  “A dullahan?” The goblin's mouth dropped open, his eyes bugged out, and his pointy green ears jutted out at either side of his head. He bounced on the bed, then jumped to the windowsill. “There's a dullahan in your house? I have to get out of here!”

  “Quiet! It's just Mrs. Dullahan. The old lady from across town.”

  “She's the guardian of the gate, is what she is,” Grizlemor whispered. “I'm cooked if the dullahan finds me out here, wandering man-world. She's supposed to keep Folk like me in Faerie!”

  “Why do you call her the dullahan?”

  “That's what she is!”

  “She's looking for the instruments,” Jason said.

  “Oh, no, even the dullahan is searching? You can't let her see them!”

  “I wasn't planning to.” Jason brought his old Fender guitar out of the closet. “Wish me luck.”

  “May you find luck-clovers in your garden,” Grizlemor whispered.