Snotty Saves the Day

by Tod Davies

  “No, Star,” he said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “She’s due back in her own world,” Star said, and her voice was sweet and sharp. “That’s where she has to live.”

  “Will we... will we ever see each other again?” Tuxton asked. The Dog and Snowflake asked the same question with their eyes. “I mean, of course, in these forms. The way we’ve been together. It has been, for me, one of the best...” But here the Bear’s voice trailed off, and he raised a plush paw to his eyes.

  Star didn’t wait for the end of the question. She knew she had no answer for it—even Angels can’t know the Future, which no one knows but One—and she thought it best to take a little step, spring up, and then, before Tuxton had finished, to carry Lily well up into the night time sky.

  As Star carried Lily away, the Dog and Snowflake looked after them, and Tuxton Ted waved one last farewell, until the Angel and the little girl were no more than specks in the dimly lit distance.

  Star and Lily disappeared into the night sky.

  “Mush!” he called as he disappeared into the night.

  Chapter XXIV

  DESPAIR, A BLOODY STUMP, AND A GLIMMER OF HOPE

  Holding Lily in her arms, Star flew silently through the stars.

  There was the sound of jingling bells. A white-bearded man dressed in red velvet and white fur flew past, steering his reindeerdrawn sled into another part of the sky. Star nodded a greeting.

  “Mush!” he called as he disappeared into the night. “Mush!”77

  It began to snow.

  The snow came down in slanting fat flakes, some in flurries swirled so forcefully by the wind that they looked like fat balls. There was so much snow that when Star turned toward Megalopolis she could only just see a faint flicker of the city lights.

  Her wings flapped on. Star had flown through every kind of weather, on every kind of mission, to every kind of star, and to every kind of world. She was an Angel in her prime, the hope of the future, and when she had chosen to be guardian to Lily, her mentors had despaired.

  “What!” they exclaimed. “A mean, nasty, ugly little brat like that?” There was anguish in heaven at the idea that she would throw herself away. For that was what it was to the older Angels: throwing herself away.

  There had been a time, of course, when every human in Megalopolis had an Angel to guide it. But that time was now long past. There were no Guardian Angels left on what was once called Earth—none, that is, until Lily was born. With her, the Angel made her plans. “That child’s the Future,” she said, serene. Of course this made her look foolish among her fellows. Over Lily, there was not much in the way of angelic competition.78

  Star’s thoughts were mysteriously her own, as she flew on and on, her wings beating steadily against the snow and the wind. She dipped down into the lower reaches of the atmosphere where the poisons of Megalopolis had accumulated and wrecked the sky. Through wisps of brown clouds she could see the vast city stretch out ahead. Star frowned.

  But then, surprisingly, she smiled.

  As she flew with the sleeping Lily in her arms, the brown clouds shriveled under an onslaught of snow falling from clouds even higher above. One by one, each was replaced by an eager white cloud. The harsh acquisitive lights that meant Megalopolis smoothed out and dimmed and mellowed, and then turned gold and warm.

  Star smiled again and then, as if reminded of a nearly forgotten errand, she pulled up in her flight, her feet standing tiptoe on a cloud. She pivoted and turned. She flew past the lights of the great city until she was over the darkness of what was left of the planet’s once vast ocean. She flew and flew until she could barely see the shore and then, judging she had flown far enough, she gave the sleeping Lily a gentle shake. Then another. Then another. And the Rose Gold Key tumbled out from Lily’s pocket. Shining in the reflected light of Star’s wings, it fell and fell and fell. Finally it reached the water below and with a quiet splash, disappeared.

  At this, Lily stirred and frowned in her sleep. But Star reached down and brushed the child’s forehead with her lips. At this, two things happened: Lily settled into a deeper sleep than before. And Star had bound herself to Lily forever. Because that is the way it is with Angels.

  Humming with pleasure now, Star made her way back to the shore. This time, she greeted the sight of Megalopolis without a wince, even as she dipped lower, searching for the filth of Hamercy Street. It might have been a trick of the winter light, but it seemed as if everywhere before her had changed.

  And why shouldn’t Star see Megalopolis as if it were a brand new place? Why shouldn’t she see clusters of snug houses, separated by groves of trees and clear water, with people walking arm in arm through quiet streets, with good smells from brightly lit kitchens everywhere filling the air?79

  Why not?

  Even an Angel can dream.

  And this was Christmas Eve.

  Spotting Hamercy Street, Star circled over the alley where Lily—or Snotty, as she had been—had hidden her treasure in the skip. A vast white blanket of unmarked snow covered that ugly thing, and everything else on the street as well.

  Lightly she touched down next to the white mound that was the skip. Tenderly she laid Lily in the powdery snow.

  And then she disappeared back up into the sky.

  “Huh? Hunh? WHAT?”

  Lily, flailing at her face where the unfamiliar fat white flakes of snow fell, woke with a start.

  To her surprise, she found she was almost covered with snow. Snow this deep and lasting was a rarity in Megalopolis. Lily shook it off. As she did, she called out, without thinking, “Tuxton? Snowflake? Melia!”

  But there was no answer.

  There was a pause. Lily’s eyes, which looked more and more like Snotty’s every minute that passed, snaked back and forth. She was still half asleep. She didn’t know where she was. Or who she was, either.

  “Tuxton! Snowflake!” she called out anxiously. “Where are you?” And then, doubtfully, “Melia? Are you there?”

  Now Lily was awake. Her eyes widened. Slowly and horribly she realized where she was. She recognized the alley behind Hamercy Street. She recognized the skip, even under its cover of snow.

  Lily’s hand went to her mouth. She whimpered.

  Suddenly she was up off the ground and running heavily through thick drifts of snow down the alley toward the Seventh Garden.

  As she went she counted: One garden. Two gardens. Three. Four. Five...

  Six.

  There were only six gardens.

  The Seventh Garden was gone. In its place was an empty, snow-covered lot.

  Lily looked at this blankly. All of the events that led to Snotty’s entering the Seventh Garden and falling down the Rabbit Hole, all of that came slowly back to her. Then she remembered Snotty’s money.

  “My money!” Lily gasped, looking more like Snotty than ever. Turning back, she ran to the skip. She burrowed frantically in the snow for Snotty’s strongbox.

  She found it there, lying on the ground, smashed. As she held it, its lid swung back creakily on its remaining hinge. It was empty.

  “Oh no,” Lily moaned. She shook the box, but it was no use. Snotty’s money was gone.

  Lily hurled the box face down in the snow and herself after it. She choked back a sob. “It must have been a dream,” she told herself sternly. “The money, that’s the important part.” She hugged herself. “Only a dream,” she repeated. But she still wanted to cry. Sniffling, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Then she stopped.

  There was blood trickling down the side of her hand. Slowly she turned it so the palm faced up.

  Where her little finger had been, only a bloody stump remained.

  When she saw this, she said to herself, “I must have knocked it on the skip. Opened it up again.”

  But opened up what?

  Lily sucked on the stump, trying to stop the blood. At this, all the memories of that other world down the Rabbit Hole came back. For a m
oment, warmed, she forgot the snow.

  “Maybe,” she muttered—and in that mutter was a gleam of hope—“maybe it wasn’t a dream.”

  A glimmer of hope.

  Lily furrowed her forehead and tried to make a plan.

  Once again it began to snow.

  Best was, she decided, to get on home. Then she could figure out how to find her way back through the Rabbit Hole.

  Heartened by this thought, she began the trudge uphill through the high drifts of new fallen snow, back to the cold, mean little house where she had grown up.

  That was when she remembered. It wasn’t Lily who’d grown there. It was Snotty.

  At this, she choked back another frightened sob.

  How had she become Lily? She couldn’t remember. But she knew that was who she was now. How was Lily to live in Snotty’s place? There was no way. She knew that much. There was only one hope: she had to find her way back to the Seventh Garden.

  But looking behind her, she knew the Seventh Garden was gone. And somehow—she didn’t know how—Lily knew it was gone forever. It would never come back.

  Lily thought that there was no way out. But she couldn’t give up her hope just yet.

  She couldn’t give up hope because she didn’t think she could bear it.

  And there had to be a way. Otherwise, where was her little finger? Where had that gone?

  There had to be hope. Lily believed that.

  But as she struggled on through the snow, the glimmer of hope flickered, sputtered, and went out.

  It was almost dawn when Lily turned up the steps of the house where she had grown up, and the porch light, shining through the lightly falling snow, was murky and dim. Lily remembered what life was like in that house, in Widdleshift, a neighborhood of Makewater, in the district of Hackendosh, part of the ancient county of Queerspittle, in the far northwest of East New York. She shuddered when she thought of it.

  Letting herself in the front door, Lily crept up the stairs toward what had been her room—Snotty’s room. She remembered how mean and cold it had been and, shivering, she pushed open its door. She fumbled for the greasy light switch she remembered well.

  The light clicked on in Snotty’s room.

  Only—it wasn’t Snotty’s room now. It was Lily’s. Where Snotty’s room had mold clinging to its drab and peeling walls, Lily’s room was bright and clean. The walls were a deep gold and the ceiling a pale sky blue covered with little golden stars. Instead of a cracked linoleum floor there was a warm rug, dark blue with a green sprig print, and on it there was a comfortable old chair. There was no broken electric fire lying in an empty grate. Instead a real fire burned cheerfully in a small white porcelain stove.

  Next to the stove, in a snug corner of the room, there was a big brass bed, covered with a rose-colored quilt and a mound of pillows. And in the middle of the mound of pillows rested an enormous black and yellow teddy bear.80

  “Big Teddy,” she breathed. “Big Teddy!” And it really was the Noble Bear. Running to the bed, Lily grabbed Big Teddy up and hugged her, over and over, to her small chest.

  “Big Teddy!” she exclaimed again. And, still clutching the Bear, she ran to the room’s one dormer window.

  She looked out. The sun had come out now, pushing through the clouds and lighting a pale blue sky. Lily looked at this and then looked down at the street below.

  It was different, too. The dingy, horrible, mean little street where Snotty had grown up was gone.

  Trees were everywhere now, growing along a nice wide pavement covered with snow. Lily saw neighbors greet each other as they came out of their homes. And there were benches on the street where they could sit. Lily saw her neighbors sitting on those benches, and others—these holding steaming mugs of something or other—coming out to join them. Lily saw the steam rise from the mugs. She opened the window and heard the neighbors exchange cheerful greetings. She felt the crisp, fresh air.

  Shouts and laughter floated up toward Lily, and she looked down, astonished, over the schoolyard, to see her old friends playing there. Mick, Keef, and Dodger passed the time of day on a bench under a tall cedar tree, drinking mugs of cocoa and looking on.81

  Lily shook her head in wonder. “Imagine that!” she murmured to Big Teddy. Then she stuck her head out farther into the clear, cold air, and looked down into the alley behind Hamercy Street.

  The gardens there, now covered with snow, looked like the gardens in a winter fairy tale. But there was no Seventh Garden. Lily had hoped against hope that she would find it again. But she didn’t. And she never did.

  Chapter XXV

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  It was Christmas Day on Hamercy Street, which is in the village of Cockaigne, which is part of the necklace of towns known as Arcadia. Arcadia, as is well known throughout the worlds, is a happy place, and Christmas Day is one of the happiest of its year.82

  In the house at the top of Hamercy Street, Lily’s mother Mae served Christmas breakfast to Lily and to Alan. He and Mae were going to be married, so it was a very jolly breakfast, even for Christmas Day.83 There were dried cherry scones dripping with butter. There were fat sausages sizzling on the griddle. There were sweet oranges and crisp apples and walnuts in their shells. And for the pudding there was chocolate covered marzipan.

  Afterwards, Alan did the washing up while he and Mae talked, and Lily knelt down to play with her Christmas gift from Alan. This was a shaggy gray and black puppy, and Lily, the moment she saw him, knew who he was.

  “Dog?” she said, looking into his brown eyes. The puppy squirmed and licked her on the end of her nose.

  It was the Dog. Lily was sure. She looked at him in wonder, setting him carefully down on the floor. He waddled there contentedly and then, sitting down, he yawned. She looked at him (as Alan and Mae looked on, pleased at the success of the gift), and she looked at Big Teddy who sat propped up on the stairs. And she thought, “Yes. It was real. It wasn’t a dream.” There would be a way back. The Dog and Big Teddy would help her to find it. She was sure of that now.

  The puppy barked.

  “Rex,” Lily said. “Your name is Rex.” She was sure of this, too.

  Lily didn’t know it, but the Dog’s name had been Rex.84

  So she went out to play, with Rex at her heels, into the crisp air of Hamercy Street. Outside there was the smell of a hundred Christmas breakfasts, of hot cocoa and cream, of evergreen wreaths and oranges and cloves. The breeze brushed her face. She turned toward the new, bright schoolyard, from where she could hear the laughing voices of her friends as they played.

  But Lily didn’t go there, not just yet. First she went to the row of houses in front of the gardens of Back Hamercy Street. They were neat and comfortable now, and in front of each one was a little smiling plaster Gnome.

  “BBBBBBZZZZZZTTTTTTT.”

  It was still there. She had known it would be. But she wanted to see it for herself. The phone mast.

  “BBBBZZZZZTTTTTT.”

  Lily looked at the tower. It stood there, mean looking and shabby, its base wrapped with barbed wire and glass coated string.

  “BBBBZZZZTTTTTT.”

  Rex whined and pushed up against Lily’s ankle. He gave a guttural little growl.

  The stump of Lily’s little finger began to throb.

  “BBBBZZZZTTTTT,” went the phone mast, and there was a shower from it of blue sparks. They fell in a graceful arc from the top down to the snowy pavement beneath. And when they landed, standing there where they had been was the most beautiful young man in the world. He looked up. His turquoise blue eyes looked deep into Lily’s own.

  “You’re still here,” she whispered. And he nodded, amused. In the next moment he was gone.

  A chill wind swept down the street. Lily shivered and, picking up a quivering Rex, hugged him to her coat. Still holding the puppy, she slowly turned toward the playground.

  Her friends ran to meet her and, exclaiming over Rex, showed off their own gifts, too. Lily, chattering, bac
k where she belonged, told herself she could worry about that other little matter tomorrow.

  Today was Christmas. She would worry about the Enemy another day.

  So Lily and a barking Rex j oined in the game. And Star, flying back to the heavens overhead, saw this and was glad. The Angel flew over the changed city and saw, not the sterile magnificence of Megalopolis, but Arcadia, its villages divided prettily by fields and trees. But she saw farther than that—farther than Lily, from her window at the top of Hamercy Street, could.

  She saw that Megalopolis had been beaten back, but not beaten, and that the ground won by the green and healthy strand of towns was this much and no more. Megalopolis still surrounded Arcadia, grim and menacing, and angry at the challenge that the villages presented to its cold grandeur.85

  Star, as she flew on, was troubled by the idea that there would come a time—and that very soon—when the Battle would have to be fought all over again. There would, at that time, be this change: that she and her allies would start with an inch or two more ground, just a little more advantage, than when she had last set out. No more. With this, the Angel was forced to be content.

  What Lily felt, Star knew: that the fight would come again.

  For now, though, it was Christmas Day in Arcadia. And Star allowed herself, for the moment, to be pleased.

  THE END

  A Note from Dr. Alan Fallaize

  Professor Vale’s notes stop there, incomplete. The afterword she had planned as a formal analysis of the material was never written.

  I have attached a short bibliography of works mentioned in the text, for use by the casual reader. Scholars will find complete records at the Archives, Eisler Hall, Amaurote. Contact Professor Daisy Fallaize, Chief Archivist.

  In this year of Sophia the Wise, 83 AE

  The Tower By The Pond