by Jeffrey Cook
Street Fair
Book Two of the Fair Folk Chronicles
by Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins
Cover by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs
Text Copyright © 2016 Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either imaginary or used in a fictitious manner.
All Rights Reserved
Dedicated to Mr. William Shakespeare, from whom we cannot seem to get away.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Evaluation
Chapter 2: Summer Plans
Chapter 3: Green Pills
Chapter 4: Still New
Chapter 5: Backstage
Chapter 6: The Goblin Market
Chapter 7: Collector
Chapter 8: Glitter
Chapter 9: Mag Tuired
Chapter 10: Barrow
Chapter 11: The Gray Lady
Chapter 12: Backfire
Chapter 13: Recovery
Chapter 14: Rigged
Chapter 15: Wandering
Chapter 16: Beastly and Sacred
Chapter 17: Ice Cream
Chapter 18: Bass
Chapter 19: Rushed and Real
Chapter 20: Sax & Violins
Chapter 21: Best Seats in the House
Chapter 22: The Crowd Goes Wild
Chapter 23: At Home
Chapter 24: Returning
Chapter 25: Calling In
Chapter 26: Semper Paratus
Chapter 27: Up the Storm
Chapter 28: Clearance
Chapter 29: Fal Stone
Chapter 30: Gods and Monsters
Chapter 31: Mobilizing
Chapter 32: Ready and Aimed
Chapter 33: Under Fire
Chapter 34: Princess of Power
Chapter 35: Hail
Chapter 36: Confrontation
Chapter 37: The Man Who Would Be King
Chapter 38: Nobody
Chapter 39: The Post-Carnage Brunch
Chapter 40: Someplace Like Home
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Chapter 1: Evaluation
"Conflict in Gaelic Cultures is a 400-level course, Mr. Thomas. They knew it was going to be difficult when they signed up.” Dr. Brian O'Neill paused just long enough to let the other voice on the phone utter two and a half sentences before interrupting. "Do any of them discuss all nine salient points covered in class?” This time the pause was only for two and a half syllables before he interrupted his TA again. "Then no one earned an A. I don't think the instructions could be any clearer.”
He allowed a few more words as he walked briskly through the mostly empty halls, then continued, speaking just as briskly. “All the more so for the first test of the Summer quarter. A bit of tactical advice, Mr. Thomas: always set the bar clearly high from the beginning of the term, when they still have time to do better quality work.” He began the first of three flights of stairs, his free hand clutching the duffle bag over his shoulder to keep it from jostling irritatingly. “And their electing to take the class in what could have been a vacation term is commendable, but it does not change the grading standards of the university.”
He was intent on not letting his breathing get too much heavier as he spoke. “I'm sure you'll handle those questions ably in your own office hours. Mine will not resume until the Autumn. My current research is very time-consuming. I'll see you Monday.” He hung up as he reached the third flight of stairs, then the final hallway.
Dr. O'Neill reached his office. He took a deep breath, whispered a few syllables in an old dialect of Gaelic, and shifted his foot in one shoe a little to make sure the penny he'd placed in the heel was still there, even if he'd been vaguely aware of it throughout the long walk. Caution was critical. Finally, he reached for the doorknob, turned—then paused, looking about to make sure he was actually alone, before he slipped into his office.
As he closed the door, he checked to make sure the horseshoe was still nailed perfectly above it. Over the window, he'd gone with daisy chains to complement the salt on the windowsill. He set the filthy duffel bag on the desk and opened it, removing stack after stack of damp $20 bills. His thumb brushed off some of the grime from the top bill of each stack.
He lifted one closer in the florescent light. "L-7-2..." His voice rang clear, even when just reading a serial number. "525..." Precision was important—so, so important—but it wasn't everything. "383..." He should be able to command attention if he were reading the phone book. "...B. Exactly so. For the first."
Then he replaced the bills in the bag, set it down, and took his seat at his desk.
Fifteen centuries of genealogy charts, on various qualities of paper and various things that technically were not paper at all, covered the left wall of the office. He glanced over at them, studying name after name. He looked at one of the lowest ones, printed out in a calligraphic font on multipurpose laser paper: Brian Angus Ui Niall.
He refocused. He opened drawers, taking out antique coins from one and an old book from another. He laid the coins out on his desk and stared a while, then carefully perused a few pages of the book. Frowning, he put the coins away. He rose and stepped over to the right wall of his office. Taking down a framed certificate, he studied it for a few moments as he returned to his seat.
This is to certify that BRIAN ANGUS O'NEILL, having submitted a thesis entitled The Wielding of Sacred Power in Ancient Ireland and having satisfied all the conditions prescribed by the Statutes of the University, was on 1 June 2002 admitted to the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY.
Very slowly, he took apart the frame and ran his fingers over the certificate—over the historic seal, the name, the title—with a look of regret. He stared for a while at the left wall. He took a deep breath, put the certificate into a folder, and put the folder in the book.
The resulting melancholy of the room was broken by an inordinately chipper voice. “Did you remember to check that the bills were 1969A? You try to pass on knockoffs to people like this, and…Well, actually, I'd love to see that. Don't check.”
Dr. O'Neill nearly knocked over his chair as he scrambled up. “But … how?”
The boyish figure standing there, shaking out a shaggy mane of tawny hair, smiled too big. “The daisy chains are a nice touch, but you need some along the floorboards. You've got a mouse-hole behind the mini-fridge. So, what about my retainer?”
Having regained his composure—pointedly so—Dr. O'Neill strode over and opened said mini-fridge. He removed a tall, frosty glass of milk and handed it over. Then he ventured, “Not to inquire too much, Rob, but isn't a glass of milk for a retainer in keeping with brownie protocols?”
“Them, certain dime-novel detectives, mice who also want cookies, ultraviolent dystopian thugs—don't even try to label me, Doc. I can go from milk to a nice Chianti in nothing flat.”
“Noted.” Dr. O'Neill, attempting to be ever so casual, also checked the bag of $20 bills once more, to make sure the year was right.
“Of course it is. So how's the master plan going?”
"Well enough. I'll let you know when I need you. The first part's just going to be coordination, finding the nexus point, making the initial deals, setting out, and...” He trailed off, before trying to smoothly trail into another sentence entirely. “And it doesn't trouble you?” He picked something off a far corner of his desk. “What I've done? What I may do?”
'That's just it, oh Captain, my Captain, or ...” Rob took a look at the left wall of the room, then gave him a mocking bow. “...whatever it will be. What you're doing will trouble everyone. And
that's more fun.” He smiled, again too big. “Why do you ask, Doc? Do you think I'm scared of what you chipped off of old gates?” He stepped closer than any concept of personal space—and closer than someone fidgeting with slivers of wrought iron might expect. “Do you think I'll stab you in the back?”
“Rob, buddy,” Dr. O'Neill spread his arms as much as possible while being careful with what he was holding. “No need to worry at all.” He met the yellow eyes evenly. “I know you're going to stab me in the back. Just not yet.”
Rob stepped back, still smiling. “That's why you're the smart guy. Remember, though, you're calling in a solid, not a guided tour. I'll be a distraction when you need it, but I'm not going to hold your hand. Making sure people don't get lost isn't any of my schticks.”
Dr. O'Neill nodded. "Provided I get all the information I need, triangulating the locations should not be a problem," he said as he looked to examine the tiny scraps of wing-membrane pinned to the butterfly board.
Chapter 2: Summer Plans
"Guess what's coming to town this weekend?" Lani asked, once they'd settled into the booth at the burger joint after placing their orders at the counter. Megan, Lani, and Justin no longer had to limit themselves to the park within walking distance, ever since Lani and her father had finished working on her car.
Megan spread her hands slightly. "If it's another opportunity to get your picture taken with Grant Imahara, I want to point out that I already did my part helping you the first time."
"No, no, that picture is still perfectly framed on my desk, thank you. This is bigger. You know the Fremont Solstice Fair?"
"Tales of naked bicyclists are hard to miss. Cassia's band is playing it this year, aren't they?"
"Yes, and also this year, there's going to be a path to the Goblin Market!"
Megan raised an eyebrow. "And that would be...?"
Lani was still bouncing with excitement on her side of the booth. "Well, obviously, there's some tricky fourth-dimensional stuff—“
“Obviously,” said Megan.
“—which is part of the reason they only put out so many carefully-selected paths for each event. Last time they were sort of close, Mom thought I was too little. Even this year, she said we had to wait until school was out to talk about it. But she says I can go, and I can take you."
"Which is great and all, and I get that you're excited. But what is it?"
"Okay, well, it's sort of like a fair..."
"Does it have naked bicyclists and cotton candy too?" Megan asked, amused.
"Those might be some of the more mundane things there, sure. But there's not really any comparison between it and anything you'll find here. It's, well... it's a faerie fair."
"And you want to go?"
"So do you. If nothing else, just for the magical artwork."
"There'll be magical artwork?" Megan asked, suddenly more intrigued.
"Thought that might catch your attention. Paintings that move, ancient statues, books from the Library of Alexandria, working golems, you name it. Artist's row stretches for miles."
"I've had enough golems, but the rest sounds interesting."
"Okay, so no iron golems. That wouldn't go over well. But, think of it like a carnival, bazaar, and magical strip mall rolled into one, covering about five miles in all directions, and operating in a sort of timelessness, so that as far as the mortal world goes, you step into and out of the path without going anywhere. You can go in and out like that for a few of our days, and then they pack up and take their temporal anomaly with them.”
"Seriously? It just vanishes?"
"That's how the Goblin Market works, yes. No one knows where they go between events. But while it's there, you can find anything."
"Except iron golems." Megan noted, with a grin.
"Yes, smartass, fine. Everything except iron golems. "
"All right, so they have everything, and we can check out artist's row. It sounds like fun."
"Okay, but we need to take Justin with us..." Lani exchanged nods with Justin as he looked up very briefly from perusing the menu. "And Ashling. And we need to be really careful."
"Well, of course Justin is coming with us," Megan said. She grinned, just a little sheepishly, at the quiet boy, who as usual was stalwartly sitting between Megan and passersby. "And it's Faerie stuff. We always need to be careful."
"Okay, like, extra careful. The Market has no-violence restrictions and stuff, so we're safe that way, even from all the things showing up that aren't locals. But just the Market itself is..."
"Really big and confusing, sure."
"Not just that. Yes, you need to stick with me, and especially by Ashling. Since people who are still lost in the Market when it disappears..."
Megan paled a little. "Wait, so 'poof'? No 'we'll let you wait for your ride'?"
Lani shook her head, "Poof, gone. And anyone still inside when they do are lost ‘til at least the next time it shows up. Sometimes they're never found at all."
Justin looked up from his menu at that, but seemed to think his feelings on being lost in a temporal anomaly went without saying.
"Okay,” Megan said. “So no getting lost. Thankfully, we have a pixie."
"Right. And then buying things..."
"Like I have enough money for even one moving painting. And where would I put it?"
"I'm serious, Megan. They don't really take money anyway. It's like weird barter. Some of the vendors will take almost anything. And they really do sell everything. But the price isn't always obvious."
"So, like, 'trade one or two of my paintings for something' kind of barter?" Megan looked more interested, and not at all prone to caution.
"Maybe, but also, well, like the old stories of bargains with Faeries. Some of them will take stuff like earliest memories, or the color of your eyes. And they really will take them. You need to be super careful what you bargain with."
That got Megan's attention, and a short silence followed while Megan mentally bounced back and forth between taking in Lani's intended caution and trying to figure out not only what someone with the color of their eyes taken would look like, but how one would extract that. Deciding a change of subject was needed, finally, Megan broke the silence. "So, Justin. How've the first few days of GED studying gone?"
"Well enough. Better than school did." Justin and the Kahales had come to the unanimous decision that attempting one semester as a 'foreign exchange student' had been enough of an effort. So of course, as soon as the school year had ended, he'd gotten right to work on what he was told had to happen to replace school.
"All that trying to explain math and science," Megan reflected. "And English turned out to be the worst trouble." Granted, they were lucky he could speak modern English at all, but that had been what the magical crash course was for. "It's funny—not funny ha-ha, funny peculiar—that I've kind of found Shakespeare a bit easier since all the Faerie stuff started happening."
"I apologize again for my poor handling of information."
"Hey, I totally believe you about Henry IV being a jerkface, but no one at school can know you knew the guy personally."
"Hardly personally. I was just familiar with the sort of things he did, politically. It was part of the reason I was sent on my original quest: rallying the populace against people like him. And it turns out he won. He ended up king. Plays were written about heroes fighting for his injustices. It's ... uncomfortable."
"So... are you sorry you're not back then, sorting stuff out?"
"I doubt I would have been able to, and I can't be sorry for what was out of my control. I'm proud to wear your favor.” Justin touched the Seahawks hat Megan had given him at court the previous fall. He wore it constantly most places, but set it beside them when at the table. “We are here, and it is now ..." He stared at the menu. "We are here, it is now, and cheese is an appetizer."
"They didn't have cheese in the 14th Century?"
“Of course, but you ate it last. Fruit first. Cheese last
. Basic health guideline."
"The night we met, I saw you have a hunk of cheese with an apple."
"We were working."
"It's only unhealthy if you're not working?"
"The golems were going to be more unhealthy. It's better to have a full stomach as quickly as possible when lives are at stake."
As usual, Megan found it hard to debate Justin's sensibility, and didn't have much time, anyway. Their number was called, and Justin helpfully slid out of the booth to go fetch the tray.
When he had gone for the food, Lani leaned in closer to Megan. "You really ought to ask him out, you know."
Megan blushed. "We've been over this. It's... not a good idea."
"Megan, seriously, just ask him to be your date at the fair, or something. It doesn't have to be a big deal."
"It is a big deal. He's still figuring out a lot of things about this time. And I don't want to take advantage of him or something.”
"You've seen the way he looks at you, right? And the way he calls you 'my lady,' when he can get away with it?”
“That's professional, to him, the princess and her knight thing. I don't want him saying yes out of just... uhm, an obligation thing."
“Admirable sentiment, but I think you're wrong. Ask him."
"Why don't you ask him out, if he's so perfect?"
Lani rolled her eyes. "He's like my brother. Okay, so he's nothing like my actual brother—Justin totally doesn't get LEGOs, doesn't get all excited about everything, and still doesn't see why Mack insisted on the name Space Ship! for a car. But you know what I mean. We're like the Wonder Twins of practical solutions."
Megan snorted. "Okay, now that's true. Your powers combine, and the problems line up in neat little rows."
Lani grinned. "Sorted by severity and time-crunch. Besides, Megan, aside from the whole school thing, he's doing fine. He works in the garden. He fixed Mom's pottery wheel. He's teamed up with Mack and promised my parents he'd help take care of any puppy Mack might receive... and my parents actually believe him. Seriously, just ask."