The Clockwork Fairy Kingdom

by Leah Cutter

  It took Robert most of the afternoon to wire money, email photos, buy software for his phone, and make copies of his tapes and notes. He set up a deadman’s clause for everything: If anything happened to him, the files went to the police. Not that he thought Chris would set out to kill him. However, Chris was clearly a passionate man with a righteous anger—Robert had gotten between him and his, and men had killed for less.

  Finally, after making all his arrangements, Robert called Chris.

  Chapter Nine

  “Robert, you son of a—”

  “You’ll never find your family without my help,” Robert told Chris firmly, his hands already shaking. He brushed the sweat off his palms, rubbing them down his thighs, first with one hand, then the other. In the background, he heard a perky worker ask a new customer about upgrading their order.

  “I’ll find them on my own,” Chris said.

  “No, you won’t. I told Denise you were here. She’s already moved the kids.”

  “How did you find her already, if she’s moved?”

  Robert easily imagined Chris’ face growing red with rage. “She moved to the city I suggested. I helped her get new names, too. First and last.”

  Chris didn’t reply right away. Robert listened to the silence on the phone coming in one ear, while endless calls for burgers and fries came in the other.

  “What do you want?” Chris asked heavily.

  Robert knew better than to think he’d won. “Double my fee. In cash.”

  “Now see here—”

  “No. You see here. You can either pay me and be guaranteed success, or you can find another PI. Who may be more of a crook than me. Who may have better connections than I do, and who will go after you when you don’t pay him. Your choice.”

  In the silence, Robert could hear his own heart beating fast. This was the tipping point, where Chris either jumped onto Robert’s train or off of it.

  “How did they move so quickly?” Chris asked.

  Robert gave a silent, relieved sigh. “Your wife’s an organized little thing. I suspect she never unpacked her bags.”

  Chris grunted. “I still want proof that you aren’t just jerking me around. Lying to me, like how you did about my boy’s last day of school.”

  “Fine. I’ll email you more pictures. In the morning,” Robert added, aiming to sound petulant.

  “Just asking you to do your job, son,” Chris said, magnanimous now.

  Robert shook his head. Conversations could be just like a game. The problem was that the stakes were high this time. He said goodbye, then had to stab the screen more than once to hang up. After he wiped his sweaty hands off on his thighs again, he checked the application running in the background. When the map showed up, with a bright red pin, more relief cascaded down Robert’s shoulders. It had been worth every penny, just to know where Chris was—and now he had a way to track him.

  The urge to celebrate by placing another bet sank deep hooks into Robert when he stood up. He swayed and grabbed the red plastic bench. He would have thought the adrenaline rush of dealing with Chris would have scratched his itch, but no, he just wanted more.

  However, Robert resisted and made himself go back to his hotel instead. He told himself he could bet more in the morning. He bribed himself with an evening with the papers, checking all the games and scores and coming up with a complete schedule of things to bet on for the next day.

  In the morning, Robert waited outside Chris’ hotel. He hadn’t disguised his car. He hoped that Chris would be in too much of a hurry to see him.

  Robert’s luck appeared to be holding. Chris’ car screamed out of the parking lot and turned left, heading straight for the highway. Just to be sure, Robert tailed him from a block away. He didn’t start to breathe easier until Chris was five miles down the road.

  The photos Robert had sent Chris had been Photoshopped this time. Robert’s friend had deliberately included well-known landmarks from a nearby city, things even Chris couldn’t miss.

  Robert turned his car back toward town. Chris wouldn’t return until he’d figured out he’d been tricked. All Robert had done was to buy them some time: time for Denise to file those papers, and maybe to actually move, as well.

  ***

  Adele sat at her dressing table, looking in the mirror and putting on her “pretty” face, the mask she wore when attending court. She applied powders to her nose to make it smaller, then only highlighted the center of her mouth, to make it more ladylike. Like the other royals, she wore her hair restrained, pulled back tightly away from her face. A small brimless hat pinned to the side topped it off.

  Though Clarissa, Adele’s maid, stood at least a head shorter than Adele, she still fiercely disagreed with her lady that she was finished. “That dress needs more pressing,” she said, looking critically at the sleeves that puffed out from Adele’s shoulders, then slimmed down tightly to hug her forearms. “The skirt as well,” she said, clucking her tongue.

  “It will be fine,” Adele said, dismissively.

  Clarissa stood her ground, not moving out of the way when Adele turned toward the door. “Not today,” she said firmly.

  Adele sighed with exasperation. “Go ahead,” she said, standing still while Clarissa moved her hands over Adele’s outfit, straightening out wrinkles only she could see, then pressing sections of the skirt together with her fingers to give it more pleats.

  It occurred to Adele that Clarissa was being extra careful that morning preparing her mistress for court. “What’s wrong? What have you heard?” Adele asked.

  Clarissa shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “Nothing,” she said, not meeting Adele’s eye. “Just—a feeling around the court. Like a storm’s brewing. I know at least three of the livery who have begged off work these last two days. Other servants have found odd jobs in attics and closed-off halls, well away from everyone.”

  “You’re still here,” Adele commented.

  Clarissa finally looked up, then deliberately grinned. “My father was a warrior. And you’re better than all of ’em.”

  Adele nodded slowly. Clarissa’s mixed blood wasn’t obvious. Adele had noticed it early on but had never commented on it. However, it was one of the reasons why Clarissa was still with her. “I’ll do us proud,” she promised her maid.

  As Adele walked to the summer council rooms, she realized how isolated she was. No one walked down the long corridors with her, still decorated with endless portraits. Even her best friend didn’t know her plans. The only one who believed in her was a servant.

  The gaping hole of Thaddeus’ death overwhelmed Adele suddenly. Her breath caught and tears threatened. She could do this without him, she would, but the air grew viscous, making it harder to walk, and the lights dimmed.

  Adele would never stop mourning him. But she had to put her sorrow away for now. Battle awaited, and it was a war, no matter how genteel.

  Most of the court had already assembled by the time Adele reached the counsel room. When she crossed the threshold, she released a dozen will-o’-the-wisps up to the corners of the ceiling, adding much-needed light. Though they lived underground, it didn’t have to feel like they always met at night. The maroon and midnight-blue walls glowed darkly between the white-and-gold columns. Clusters of royals looked up at her entrance, some guiltily, others not. Adele made the long walk from the door to the dais with her head held high, her wings partially expanded, taking up more room.

  The first thing Adele noticed was that no servants attended any of the lords or ladies. She surveyed the room from her curved, white, backless throne. Her biggest supporters—the temple priests—weren’t there either.

  “What business have we today?” Adele asked, keeping her voice pleasant. “Gentlemen? Ladies?”

  Gideon stepped forward. Like the other royals, he was very tall and his wings were very large. He was also thinner than a starved sapling; fashion these days labeled it willowy, but Adele always called it weak. “Queen Adele,” he said, bowing slightly. �
�If I may address the court?”

  Adele inclined her head, letting him proceed.

  “We are curious why you deemed it appropriate to bring a human into the kingdom—indeed, into the depths of this palace itself,” Gideon said. “We’ve all sacrificed so much for that machine of yours. Why bring in a human and endanger it?”

  Before Gideon could continue, Adele replied. “The great machinery my beloved Thaddeus had been working on was unfinished at his untimely death. While he has many trained apprentices, none of them has been able to complete it. This boy—and yes, for all his great height, he is still a boy—has great potential. He understands the flow of machinery instinctively. He will be able to finish Thaddeus’ greatest work and make all your sacrifices worthwhile.”

  “Preposterous,” Gideon said, puffing himself up as he strode forward. “Why do you persist in this belief that your own people couldn’t do this work? Why did you not at least consult your court before taking this drastic step?”

  “Drastic?” Adele shot back. “What are you accusing me of? I would never endanger my kingdom or any of you. He was fully enthralled before I brought him down here. He gave me his name when we first met. He’s unable to harm us—or even speak of us. I made sure of that.”

  “What of the dwarf?” Gideon challenged. “The human was seen defending him.”

  “No, not him,” Adele said. Who had Gideon been talking with? Which warrior would risk the rage of his fellows to talk out of turn like that? “His sister. A Maker.”

  Adele realized her mistake immediately. The court grumbled and whispered. Gideon just nodded; he already knew.

  “What happens when she tries to free him?” Cornelius asked.

  “I will persuade her that it’s better to be a part of us, instead of against us,” Adele told them. “Or she’ll die by my hand.”

  “You see?” Gideon said, no longer addressing Adele, but the rest of the court. “The queen no longer consults us on things of importance. She merely carries out her will, not the will of the court or the people.”

  “The death of a human is a thing of great importance?” Adele sneered. The royals really had grown soft.

  “No, but the corruption of a Maker is,” Cornelius said quietly.

  A flush of shame washed over Adele. Cornelius was right.

  “If it goes wrong, or she turns against us later, she could destroy us,” Imogene said, dramatically shuddering.

  “But—” Adele interrupted herself. The Maker wouldn’t matter once the machine was turned on. However, Adele couldn’t tell the court that. They still didn’t know the truth of the great machine. “I see,” Adele finally replied, quietly. “Then how would my court advise me to continue?” she asked, carefully hiding any petulance from her tone.

  “I can see to the boy,” Cornelius volunteered. “I will continue his training. And his enthrallment.”

  Slowly, Adele nodded. “You may see him, and work with him. As long as you don’t hinder him,” she cautioned. She’d always trusted Cornelius.

  “And the Maker?” Gideon asked.

  “I’ve already strengthened the northern portal, so she won’t be able to enter there,” Adele told them. Most of the court looked pleased at that; only Gideon and Imogene didn’t. “I will speak to her, outside the kingdom, to determine her disposition.”

  “Then report back to us,” Gideon instructed.

  “Yes,” Adele told him deliberately, showing him her warrior teeth. “Because I listen to you.”

  Gideon, Cornelius, and a few others looked offended; however, Adele knew she was right. That was the real reason for this confrontation: The royals didn’t trust her warrior nature. So she would listen to them, carefully, completely, until she didn’t need to anymore. Until her people regained their rightful strength and rose behind her.

  ***

  Dale enjoyed watching the movie, sitting on the floor beside Nora, leaning back against the couch, sharing popcorn in the dark. It seemed normal and real. They hadn’t done this often—it was a new treat they’d discovered once they’d moved here. Yet, when his mom turned on the lamp and Nora stood up to stretch, a wave of nostalgia and longing crashed over Dale. As he said good night, he felt as though he was saying goodbye...not to his mom or his sister, but to his childhood and simple delights.

  Nora followed Dale into his room, still licking her greasy fingers instead of using a napkin like a civilized person. “So what was she like? What was the kingdom like? Spill,” she directed as she hopped up onto his bed.

  Dale eagerly turned to tell her. He opened his mouth—then closed it again when he realized no words would come out. He reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over the cool amethyst Queen Adele had given him just as he’d left. “To keep you safe,” she’d said. The smooth edges soothed and distracted Dale.

  “Come on!” Nora prodded.

  Dale sighed and shook his head, taking his hand out of his pocket. “She’s a fairy, right? She sounds like she’s from England. All proper. And she dresses like a queen. The kingdom—” Dale again found himself with a disturbing lack of words.

  “Okay, was it big or small?”

  “Both,” Dale said, frustrated. “They’re only about half our size, you know. But there are a lot of them.” He saw the kingdom again, spread out in the valley before him.

  “It’s underground?”

  “Yes,” Dale said, forcing the word out.

  “So what was the palace like?”

  “You know. A palace,” Dale answered awkwardly. He considered mentioning that he was having difficulty talking about it, but dismissed it. It was fairy stuff. That made it inherently difficult to describe. “I didn’t see much of the palace,” he finally said. “Just the Master Tinker’s workshop.”

  “Cool! What was that like?”

  To his great relief, Dale found he could describe the workbenches and all the specialized tools, the amazingly thin but resilient wire the fairies manufactured, and the multitude of gears that covered the walls. Dale didn’t try to talk about the machine itself. Queen Adele had asked for his silence on that. He wouldn’t break his word to her, even if he could.

  “So where’s Kostya?” Dale asked, finally able to turn the interrogation away.

  Nora shrugged. “He had to go get some parts. He was trying to teach me magic.”

  Unease settled along Dale’s spine. “How did that go?”

  “Not well.” Nora made a face. “It should be easier, but it isn’t.”

  Relief washed over Dale. “There’s no law that says you have to be good at everything, you know.”

  Nora rolled her eyes. “It isn’t that, stupid. There’s just—something’s not right. Either in how he’s teaching me or what he’s teaching me or something.” She sighed. “Maybe I should just help you instead. Become a Master Tinker too,” she teased.

  “You’re the one who’s stupid,” Dale told her. “Seriously, Nor. Not everything is meant for you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing,” Dale muttered. His hands itched to hold his tools again, to lose himself in the ebb and flow of gears and works. That was his space. Not hers.

  Dale was the one who was special. Finally.

  “You’re demented,” Nora told him.

  “Just get out. Leave. Now.” Dale wasn’t in the mood for trading insults.

  “Fine,” Nora said, hopping off Dale’s bed. “I was going to sneak into the kitchen to get us some ice cream, but now I’m going to have it all myself.” She flounced from the room.

  “Good riddance,” Dale said, staring angrily at the door. He knew he shouldn’t be angry—it was just Nora being the bossy sister she’d always been. That night, though, he was tired of her, tired of Mom and her illness, tired of his entire life. Everything in his room looked dull, even the pirate chest he’d made. He saw imperfections everywhere: how his dresser didn’t match his desk; how rickety his lamp was, sitting on the nightstand; how unorganized and shabby his clothes were.


  Dale longed for the cleanliness and perfection of the fairy kingdom. He couldn’t fly, no, but he felt lighter than air there, deep underground. Tiredness weighed on him. He forced himself out of his desk chair and stretched out on his bed, just for a minute or two.

  The next thing Dale knew, it was 4 A.M. and he was wide awake. His first thought was of Queen Adele: He would get to see her again, and soon. He should prepare before that.

  Dale spread the plastic down on the floor, hating how it stuck to his palms and the crackling noise he made. Then he got out the fairy machinery from his sad pirate chest, along with all the pieces he’d removed. Now that he’d seen Master Thaddeus’ machine, he had a much better idea how this one worked. It was like a prototype, a miniature version of the bigger one. The secondary system wasn’t for redundancy, but efficiency, to store extra energy.

  Like most machines, this one took energy in one form and converted it to another. However, fairy magic powered it. Dale traced how the power was stored then let out, slowly, doing—something. Queen Adele had told Dale the machine created a great barrier that would keep the fairies safe from the humans.

  Although Dale had the greatest respect for his queen, in this instance, she was wrong. Either that, or she didn’t fully understand the machine. He hadn’t tried to correct her, though, as he was still learning.

  Dale took apart the wire he’d strung, replacing the primary motion works, setting the balances and levers. He longed for Thaddeus’ tools—all the screws had those special, three-pronged heads.

  Finally, when Dale had finished reassembling the piece, he sat back on his heels and stared at it. It still wouldn’t work yet. It needed fairy power.

  Then Dale remembered the stone his queen had given him. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, then at the machine. He felt surprisingly reluctant to part with it, but his curiosity about the machine was greater. He put the stone on the opening for the mainspring, then sat back again.