Eddie made a strange whimpering sort of sound and sat down hard on the ground, staring. “It’s a pixie.” He looked ready to crab-crawl away at any moment.
Charlie had closed his eyes.
Abe’s mouth fell open. “Well, I’ll be hog-tied.”
The creature put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Gentlemen,” said another of the tiny beings, flying in lazy circles around Charlie’s head. “Your presence is required in the palace.”
Abe backed into the garden.
Charlie bleated like a sheep and, with his hands over his rump, took several running steps to catch up to Abe. “What sort of treachery is this?”
“The biting kind,” answered Abe, still watching the creatures as he walked. There were three of them, and all three had converged on Eddie. “C’mon, Eddie,” Abe called.
But Eddie had curled into a ball and was waving his arms to keep the pixies away from his head. They flew faster and faster around him, pinching and biting exposed flesh. When he could take it no more, he fought to get to his feet and ran at full speed toward the other two boys.
“They’re killing me!” he cried as he passed them. He had a rivulet of blood running down from his hairline to his chin, and smears of it on his nose and shirt collar.
Behind them the creatures laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a breeze.
“I’ve lost my mind,” said Charlie, focused on the path ahead of him. “None of this is real.”
“I ain’t so sure o’ that.”
Charlie waved his hands as if he could push away the conversation. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not real either. I’ll wake up any minute now, in my bed at school, and Erasmus will tell me I’d better hurry or I’ll miss porridge, and I’ll get dressed and tie up my books, and I’ll go down to breakfast. I’ll sit with Erasmus and his friends. We’ll eat. They’ll talk about their games and their studies, and I’ll read, and—”
“Careful there,” Abe said. “Watch your step.” They had reached the brook. A bridge arched over it, made of fat slats of hardwood, carved with bas-relief roses and leaves designed to stream away rainwater and provide traction for those crossing. The bridge was wide enough for five people to walk side-by-side across it. It had low railings of the same wood.
As Abe and Charlie crossed, Abe paused to look over the edge. He had just enough time to note the water’s clarity and the variety of fish swimming in it before one of the flying creatures pinched the tender skin under his arm. “Ow!” he cried and, taking the hint, continued across the bridge.
“I’m beginning to think,” said Charlie, “Eddie may have been right. Perhaps this is Purgatory, and we’re surrounded by devils.” Beads of sweat ran down his temples, and the whites of his eyes showed. “I’m too young to be dead.”
Abe took note of the topiary creatures placed around the garden. An emerald dragon looked at him with a gleam in its eye. A pair of mermaids draped themselves along the edge of a lagoon, their tails entwined, ruby flowers blooming in their hair. An ogre twice as tall as Abe had dagger-like thorns that rimmed his gaping maw; and a genie rose from three trunks twisted together, the branches spreading upward into a masterwork of misty leaves with the wish-granter at their core. The topiary creatures all moved with the breeze, swaying, leaves shimmering.
Eddie arrived at the White Pope’s side, and the flying creatures had stopped dogging him.
People continued to pour out of the palace and linger on the lawn. They surrounded Eddie, garbed as was currently popular in Emperor Napoleon’s Paris—empire dresses, tippets, and pelisses for the women and frock coats, redingotes and breeches for the men—and yet whimsy had painted their attire with a heavy hand. Some wore masks, animal faces, or dripping lace, to hide their visages. Their clothes were cut from bright cloth, mixed with no particular rationale, in a mockery of modern style. Napoleonic fashion was taken to a new level with the integration of plaids, stripes, and colors put together with no mind to what matched. Lavender, chartreuse, cobalt, amber, aqua, indigo, aubergine, rose and azure had swallowed any sign of beige, brown or black. Even the White Pope stood out in his white and silver. The whole resembled a painting that might have been entitled, “Afternoon on the Lawn,” but the florid cacophony of color and pattern implied that the painter had been either drunk or insane.
As the boys approached, the crowd converged on them, like pins and needles to a magnet. They touched the boys’ hair and cheeks, and patted their backs and behinds.
“Hey!” protested Charlie, slapping away hands.
Abe dropped his head like a bull. “Let’s go!” He grabbed Charlie’s hand and charged ahead.
The throng followed, but it parted enough to let the boys pass.
“There you are,” said the White Pope as the boys crashed into Eddie and huddled with him. “No time to waste.” He climbed the wide, stone stairs that led to a row of French doors. “Come.” The child he carried wrenched its head around to peer at the boys, out of its shroud, with its black, blinking eyes.
Once beyond the French doors and inside the palace, the boys were alone with their captor. The White Pope shut the doors behind him, cutting off access to the minglers on the lawn.
Abe lifted his gaze to the ceiling. As much to himself as anyone else, he said, “Who in God’s good graces paints a ceiling like that?”
Charlie and Eddie looked up as well. They had no answer for the question. The creatures inhabiting the ceiling weren’t found anywhere in nature. Bird mixed with human mixed with mammal, and it all came out morbid. They were eating men and women, but they were eating one another as well. Their eyes gleamed with wicked intent, and the blood they spilled stained their beaks, mouths, hands, and claws.
The blood drained from the ceiling as scarlet drapes hung against a backdrop of snowy white walls. It pooled in the floor as a thick, sanguine carpet. Several enormous fireplaces of veined marble served as centerpieces to swooning couches, fan-back chairs and smoking tables.
Abe crossed his arms on his chest. He said, “Mr. Pope. You do realize, I’m sure, that you cain’t hold us here against our will. I think the law might have something to say about that.”
Much to the boys’ surprise, the White Pope tilted back his head and laughed. “It is not my-,” he began, but had to stop for laughing again. “It is not my-” he tried again, “-intention to seem rude, but you boys should see your faces.”
“Well, sir,” said Abe, “I’m fit to be tied and god-darn tired of this game. I insist that you tell us what’s going on.”
Charlie and Eddie closed ranks with Abe.
Chuckling, but attempting to regain his composure, the White Pope gestured the boys to a circle of couches and armchairs. “Come,” he said. “We haven’t much time, but I will explain the situation to you.” He set his black-eyed bundle in an armchair and removed his cloak with a flourish. The material gave a sharp crack at the end of its sweep. He draped it over the back of the chair. His tunic was belted with a thick, white holster that draped low on one hip, weighted down with an ivory-handled pistol of elaborate design that included strange switches, double hammers, and an additional barrel.
Eddie spoke for the first time since the pixie attack had ended. His question spilled out of him as if he’d been struggling to keep it in for some while. “Why do you have a monkey?”
Silence fell like a rock. Everyone looked at Eddie. He had blood drying on his ear, neck and collar. He indicated the black-eyed bundle in the armchair.
The White Pope’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a monkey. That is my son, Rufus.”
“Oh,” said Eddie, disappointed.
The White Pope peeled the layers of scarf off the child.
Rufus was little more than two or three years old. Charlie could see how Eddie had gotten the impression that the child was a monkey. Rufus had auburn hair of a boar-like nature, stiff and dry, cut short and bristly. His prominent brow hung over his eyes, shadowing them. He wore a white
skeleton suit like those Charlie had worn as a small boy. It consisted of high-wasted pants connected to a short-sleeved jacket by a double line of silver buttons. A lace collar encircled his neck. He had tucked his pants into miniature Hessian boots with tassels at the tops. The boots added a touch of eccentricity to the otherwise immaculate suit.
The moment Rufus was freed from his swaddling, he turned onto his belly and slid off the chair.
The White Pope sat down and lifted Rufus onto his lap.
The child leaned against his father’s chest and popped his thumb into his mouth.
Charlie, Abe and Eddie took seats as well.
“So?” prompted Abe.
The White Pope reached into his tunic and pulled out a pocket watch. He consulted it, then replaced it. “I will answer three questions,” he said. “Choose wisely. What is it you want to know?”
That took the boys aback. They looked at each other, and then Charlie said, “Let us confer.”
When the White Pope showed no objection, the boys put their heads together and, whispering, discussed what they should ask. Without much argument, they decided upon three critical questions. It was further determined that Charlie would be the speaker for the group, as he had the best ‘enun- and pronun-ciation’. No one wanted to waste a question on a misunderstanding.
The boys leaned away from one another.
Eddie folded his hands, tipped his head to one side and watched the White Pope through squinted eyes.
Abe propped an ankle on the opposite knee and leaned forward, gaze intense.
Charlie sat upright and crossed his arms. “We’re ready,” he said.
The White Pope waved a hand with a gesture that combined regal grace and Prussian impatience. “Speak. We have little time.”
Charlie sniffed and cleared his throat. “Where are we?”
“We are in Avalon, otherwise known as Fantasy, also called the Castle in the Sky, the Otherworld, the Isle of Apples, Fae, Fairyland, and sometimes, quite unfortunately, Purgatory.”
∞
No one spoke for a long moment, until Abe said, “You ain’t allowed to lie.”
That brought the White Pope’s eyebrows up into two sharp arcs, and Eddie thought of convulsing fox corpses.
The White Pope said, “Why would I lie? If I am lying, may all my teeth fall out.” Everyone waited, but his teeth stayed in his mouth. He clacked them together to prove it was so.
Abe frowned and scratched his head. “We’re gonna need to do some more conferring,” he said, signaling the other two boys to move in close. They whispered to one another for a full minute, voices rising on emotional notes.
Abe: “…Johnny Appleseed!”
Charlie: “…the Holy Bible says…”
Eddie: “…an odd angel!”
The White Pope cleared his throat and held up his pocket watch.
The boys resumed their positions.
Charlie said, “Our second question is: why are we here?”
The White Pope tucked the watch back in his pocket as he answered, not looking at the boys. “That is a question with a complex answer, but I will boil it down to its most critical parts. You three are here because, nine years ago, you were all replaced by changelings. A changeling, in case you do not know, is a type of doppelganger that is switched out for a human baby. The human baby grows up in Fantasy, while the changeling takes his place in Reality. You are changelings. You were switched into that world shortly after your births. I have brought you home at the request of Princess Lenore, who is your guardian here. She wishes to meet you and hear your stories.”
“Now, hold your horses!” cried Abe, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. “Are you tellin’ me—” A hand clamped over his mouth.
“Shhhh,” Eddie hissed. “Only three questions, remember? The fae mean it when they say things like that.”
Abe frowned and flung Eddie’s hand away, but he said nothing more. He resumed his seat, crossed his arms on his chest, and glared at the White Pope.
The White Pope gazed mildly back at him. “You have a third question, or do you need to confer again?”
The boys all looked at one another, but no one seemed eager to put their heads together. Charlie lifted his gaze to the White Pope and shook his head. “No. We’re ready. Here’s our last question. When can we go home?”
The White Pope had anticipated that question. With a flip of his hand, he said, “Nevermore.”
The boys gasped in unison and exchanged glances.
The White Pope rose to tower over the boys. “Do not worry. You will find life here far more pleasant than it ever was in that colorless, tasteless world you call home.” He let Rufus slide to the floor.
“But why?” cried Eddie, “Why me?”
The White Pope lifted his hand to reject the question. “It is almost time. There is a wash basin in the water closet. I recommend you make yourselves presentable for the princess.” He walked away. “You too, son. Your hands are filthy.”
Abe hung his head. “This fella’s got more than one worm in his cob.”
Charlie pulled a small, golden crucifix from inside his collar. He rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, which art in Heaven…”
Eddie used both hands to smooth back his hair. “We’re caught in a dream within a dream,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
∞
Abe opened the wash closet door and looked inside. Over his shoulder, the boys saw a small room with blue tiles, a commode, a wash basin, towels and soap. Gas lanterns flickered. The aroma of roses bloomed outward.
Abe loomed over Rufus and pushed him through the doorway. “You git to go first.” He closed the door on the child. “Well, we’re in a pickle, ain’t we?”
Charlie raised his index finger. “So,” he said, “Was he suggesting that we’re not human, not God’s children?”
“It would seem so,” replied Abe.
“In many cultures,” said Eddie, “there are stories of fairy creatures that are left in the place of real children. The real children are carried away to the land of the fae, while the fairy child grows up in the real child’s place.”
“So,” said Charlie, “he’s suggesting that we’re fairies?”
Eddie and Abe nodded.
Charlie huffed a single short laugh, then cried, “Balderdash!”
“Shhhhh.”
“Not so loud.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Charlie. “The Bible says nothing about fairies or changelings.”
“Look around you, Charlie,” said Eddie. “There are many things under Heaven that we know nothing about. I read about it all the time. Scientific discoveries challenge our view of life almost daily. The supernatural sits at our doorsteps and upon our window sills, and sometimes, it creeps into our homes and our minds. What ignorance we reveal when we imply that God has less imagination than man.”
“I’m not ignorant!” said Charlie, suddenly angry.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were ignorant.” Eddie lifted his eyes to the devils cavorting on the ceiling. “I only meant that great scientists keep the doors of their minds open to whatever might walk through, as do great poets.”
“Where’d you pick that up?” asked Abe.
Eddie shrugged. “I read it in a book.”
Charlie huffed.
“Well,” said Abe, “if we make it out of here, I swear, I’m gonna read more books. But, for now, we got to figure a way back home. I don’t care what that red-headed ass says, I am who I am, and I don’t belong here.”
“But how?” Eddie asked. “We don’t even know in which direction home lies.”
The boys’ speculations went around and around in circles, but none of the answers anyone suggested made any sense to them. They kept their voices low and took their turns in the wash closet.
Eddie was the last to go into the blue tiled room, and he found himself grateful for a mote of peace. He washed
with a cloth, cleaning away the blood, and the water in the basin turned pink. The scratches and bite wounds were tiny, though they had bled with enthusiasm. At least the pain had subsided.
Eddie emptied the wash basin’s contents and wiped it out. He was in no hurry to leave the solitude of the room, and so he decided to spend some time on the commode. He unbuttoned his pants, and to his surprise, he felt something move near his hip. Startled, he looked down.
One of the flying creatures, its wings plastered to its back crawled out of his pocket and leapt into the air. Eddie waved his arms at the creature. “Pixie! Go away!”
Charlie Darwin, or The Trine of 1809 (Stories in the Ether) Page 2