by Adam Bennett
People greeted her with smiles, asking her for money she did not have for food she could not eat. But she passed them, nodding politely.
Tock.
She waded through the dense streets, listening to the chatter of those who drifted by. Her body shook and groaned, but she walked on.
Tick.
She stepped through a running stream of rain water and heard the gentle tapping on the umbrellas overhead.
Tock.
“Oi!” someone called across the denizens of the street. Pedestrians stopped and turned, and Kello saw the stranger from Master Pennifold’s office. “Stop that puppet!”
Kello turned and looked around, searching for the puppet, but saw nothing but confused fleshy faces. There was not a single string tied to anyone.
The stranger stormed down the street, his eyes locked on her.
Tick tock.
She turned away, her body groaning.
“Don’t move!” she heard the stranger call.
Tick.
She stood shaking, watching as he barged through the crowded street towards her. Her hands moved towards her chest, and she tried to step away.
Tock.
Her feet creaked, and her legs trembled as she stepped—and the stranger dragged her back into his gaze.
Tick…
The stranger tried grabbing at her plates, but another pulled him away. People gasped, and a woman approached Kello with a look that reminded her of Serina.
“Are you okay?” asked the lady, but Kello turned away.
Against the screeches and the groans of her failing body, Kello pulled Serina’s card from her arm plate and placed it in the lady’s palm. She ignored the calls of the stranger, and the shouts of everyone else.
…tock.
The lady looked confused, and then sad, but lit up as she took a closer look at the card in her hand. She pointed and told Kello to walk up some stone stairs, cross an iron bridge, and then turn into the street with overhanging willows and grapevines.
As she walked, Kello wondered what Serina’s office looked like, and why Master Pennifold loathed it so much. It was, after all, only light and water that a plant needed.
Tick…
She found the stone staircase, and her knees almost stopped twice on the climb. She wobbled across the cobbled streets and braced under the streetlamps before willing herself towards the city’s river. Out from under the umbrellas, the rain pinged from her body and, with the streetlamps, the cobblestones glistened. The bridge was wreathed in lantern light and swarming with merchants.
Tick…
The river glided beneath her, and she clung to the iron railings as she crossed the bridge.
…tock.
The sky was finally dark. The city across the waterways bloomed with light. A clocktower rung its bells and a large airship drifted overhead. It seemed bigger here than when she had seen it from Master Pennifold’s window.
Tick...
Even in the dark, Kello saw the hanging leaves of the willow trees. The grapes on the vines that intertwined them were lit up like fireflies. She used their glow to find her way along the cramped street and match the drawing on the card to the paintings that hung over the shop doors.
The workshops were closed. In the dim grape-light, Kello only saw the counters of Serina’s workshop, the silhouettes of her plants and an ethereal reflection of herself in the windowpane.
…tock.
Kello felt the rain fall on her face again, and trickle down her back. It dripped from the leaves and travelled the length of her inner parts before pooling at her feet—but she could not see it. She did not want to fail here, in the dark.
She did not want to fail at all, but her feet refused to move, and her wrists refused to knock. She tried clicking her fingers, but they rang a tinny echo and nothing more.
Tick…
She tried again, this time wondering what using magic felt like, and how Master Pennifold brought it up from his mind and out into the air. She liked the threads he made, and spells he wove. They were like fireworks with maps and tapestries burning inside. Copper shine was her favourite in the mornings, and the rainbows she saw under the umbrellas made her want to stop and stare forever. There were stars above the clouds, tiny and distant, and she saw herself travelling between them, carrying her tiny leafy friend.
Clink!
Light sparked from her copper fingers, and it danced between the creaking joints of her knuckles and wrist. She felt warmth where she always wished it would be, beneath the rusty wash of metal, between her chest plate and the metronome of her clockwork heart.
…tock.
If she had cheeks, she knew, she’d feel warmth there too. Instead the light shimmered across the golden scars on her porcelain face and illuminated the pain-stricken detail of her painted eyes.
Tick...
What wonder.
…tock.
What joy.
Tick…
For magic to find her.
…tock.
Tick…
The light vanished.
Kello stood in the darkness, staring up into the beads of grape-green light. Rain fell and washed the dirt from her gold and porcelain face. Insects landed and crawled across her copper body, and rodents sniffed around her.
Silence followed, and stillness. Owls disturbed the moments, or drunkards from the opulent bars nearby. They sang and picked grapes from the vines. When they grinned, their white teeth shone, and they laughed so loud it spooked a resident fox.
The calm returned, and the night bled into the morning. At dawn, birds woke and sang and whistled but startled from the willow trees that hung from the willows as Master Pennifold raced around the corner.
“I knew it.” He grabbed Kello and pulled her chest plate open. It tore into his fingers, and he cursed as he wiped sweat from his bleeding brow. “You stupid machine!”
Kello did not move.
He pulled the clock from her chest and wrenched it open, but there was no seed inside. Master Pennifold swore and spat, and shoved the mechanical heart back into place.
“Where is it? Where’s the seed? Where’s the key?” He shook her, but all her joints refused to bend to his will—or his strings. He checked the small of her back, but the key was gone. He checked the floor, kicked up cobbles stones and used his strings to reach for fallen bronze, finding nothing but stray coins.
***
“Emery?” Serina stood at the entrance to the street. “What’s happening?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” Serina said slowly. “What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s too late now, I’ll have to make another one.” He waved dismissively. “Just like you wanted. But just in case, you can keep it. It’s just like you. A thief.”
Serina did not argue, instead she watched him wander up the street, occasionally stopping to search for something between the cobblestones. She pressed her hand against the chest plate again and searched for the gap in Kello’s back to wind her—but now there was no keyhole to be found. She tried using small spells instead, but the strings resisted, and cogs and coils shuddered out groans.
Sighing, Serina tried again. She used little magics known only to her, and big spells from books within her desk. Fellows from her workshop came and went, offering ideas and warm drinks as the day grew livelier, and life continued.
In small, quiet moments, Serina cried and felt the golden scars that lined the copper doll’s face, and she attempted to bring Kello’s fingers to her own. The doll was a statue; still, silent and cold.
“Please wake up,” she whispered. “I have so many things to show you. I found a flower you’d like. I potted it for you. If you wind, I’ll show you. We’ll go inside, and I’ll let you see the whole shop, I promise.”
Serina tried again, and a single cog moved.
…tock.
Tick…
…
…
Tick-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
A Breath of Fresh Air
Jean Frost
“This can’t be happening!”
The King paced the floor of the royal chambers floor while the object of his ire, a royal messenger, grovelled at his feet.
“Sire, I’m truly sorry. I don’t know how it was forgotten. Surely, one missed invitation to the baby prince’s naming day won’t be a problem?”
The king’s red face appeared in the messenger’s vision. “Won’t be a problem? Won’t be a problem? See the name on this envelope? That’s only the name of the most cantankerous, ornery, bad-tempered fairy in the whole kingdom! She’s not someone you upset with impunity! Look what happened to the kingdom next door. They upset one seemingly insignificant fairy, and now their daughter won’t wake up, and you can’t get near the castle for thorns and briars!”
The Queen entered the chambers. “Dearest Dwayne, don’t fret so. What’s the problem?”
“Don’t ‘dearest’ me! Look who won’t be getting an invite to Ken’s naming, thanks to this idiot!”
The queen peered at the envelope. She gasped and fainted.
The king returned his attention to the messenger. “Get out of my sight, you miserable turd! You’d better hope this afternoon goes without a hitch, or the Royal Torturers will have a fresh victim!”
***
The banqueting hall was full, the food delightful and plentiful. Prince Ken, now officially named, lay in his decorated crib, gurgling happily. The king was still a little ruddy, the queen deathly pale, but nothing untoward had yet occurred.
The time came for the traditional fairy blessings. Fairies from town, country, and woodland gathered around the crib.
The stunningly beautiful Titania stepped forward first. Clad only in a diaphanous gown of shimmering rainbows, and watched avidly by all the menfolk, she bestowed upon the prince good looks to last his lifetime.
Second was the Amazonian wood nymph, Melouza. She cast a spell to give him prowess in fighting, strength for the battle, and wisdom.
Third was the townie, Urbania—and the first hitch. Living in a busy town had made the old dear a bit deaf. She had been asked to grant him an enormous manhood, despite the king thinking his son wouldn’t need any help in that department. When Urbania conjured a twelve-inch pianist, complete with miniature grand piano, King Dwayne just had to hope that he would be good company for the growing prince.
All the guests started to relax. Beer and wine flowed, they consumed the dainty food, and even the queen’s colour improved.
Everyone jumped when the heavy oaken door crashed open, as if a giant of enormous strength had pushed it. In walked the forgotten fairy. That bow-legged walk could not be mistaken, nor the vile-smelling cheroot, or the hairy poncho and the greasy cowboy hat.
Queen Tracy fainted again.
Titania broke the awkward silence that descended. “Why, Clintoria, dear—we didn’t think you were coming.”
Clintoria snarled. “Wasn’t invited, was I?”
The overbuilt fairy waddled to the cradle. She drew her magic wand—her case housed a small whip. Legend said the leather was the skin of her first husband, not seen in a hundred years. Peeling back the babe’s blanket, she lifted the scourge.
Every person gasped in horror—even Queen Tracy, who had recovered just in time to see the horrifying tableau in front of her and fainted for a third time.
Clintoria turned to the august gathering, a lopsided, creepy smile gathering around the half-burned cheroot.
“Ha! Don’t worry, I won’t harm him. It’s not his fault his parents are incompetent idiots who couldn’t organise a party in a brewery. But I will make sure you all suffer!”
She returned her gaze to the babe.
“Prince Ken, from the moment you are weaned, you will be unable to eat any food except for boiled onions and Brussels sprouts. You will drink nothing except the black fermented brew that flows from the Stout Spring in the Emerald Isle. This, I decree!”
And with that, Clintoria vanished, never to be seen within the kingdom again.
***
The first few months of Ken’s life were normal. He took his milk, he babbled, and the nursemaids wiped his backside. But milk alone doesn’t sustain a growing baby, and the time came for weaning.
First, they tried baby rice. Then rusks. Mashed banana. Pureed carrot.
His mouth remained shut, and if they forced it on him, he spat it out. Finally, the nursemaids relented and gave him pureed onion. He loved it, and likewise a bowl of green sludge from mashed sprouts. His milk was switched to Irish stout, and after a few misadventures with the drunken baby, his metabolism adjusted. Unfortunately, the nursemaids couldn’t adjust to the ripe smells emanating from his royal derrière, and each, one by one, submitted their resignations, until only Old Esme remained—and she took to snuff to help her endure. Even the miniature pianist packed his tiny piano and left to seek his fortune in sweeter-smelling climes.
The castle became a colder, smellier place. The hangers-on stopped hanging. The servants left. No child could be induced to play with Prince Ken, so his was a lonely childhood, but his mother and father took turns keeping him company and educating him. He mostly learned to always sit with his back to an open window.
The king announced grants to try and solve the problem. The great, the good, and a fair few chancers tried to help. Nothing. The curse could not be budged.
Then one day, a travelling merchant stopped and asked permission to demonstrate his newest import. The royal guards ushered him into the receiving hall. After bowing to the king and queen, he produced a small metal cylinder with a little button on top.
King Dwayne started to worry—after all, it looked very similar to the bombs the royal armouries had produced in his father’s day.
“What is it?” the king nervously asked.
“Sire, do not be alarmed. It is merely a canister of concentrated nature, ready to relieve the distress you are enduring.”
He pressed the little button. Psssttt …
“See! The wondrous scent of pine forests!”
And so, the air freshener import business was born.
***
Fast forward to the eighteenth anniversary of that fateful naming day. The royal coffers were empty; all had been spent on the fake pine trees. Despite Ken’s stunning good looks, no marriage enquiries had been made—what princess would want to be both poor and suffer the wafts and eddies of outrageous stench?
“Tracy, dear heart, he can’t stay here forever,” the king said to his queen when they were alone in their private chambers. “Our funds have gone. Most of the servants we can’t afford to pay have run off, so I’ve been using prisoners to keep the castle operational. All we’ve managed is to accelerate our decline.”
“I know my love, but he’s so young, so vulnerable, so…”
“Smelly?”
“That isn’t what I was going to say, and you know it! But, you are right—and also right about sending him on a quest to find a solution to his problems. It will be nice to breathe untainted air again. So, yes, call for the royal window opener, and we’ll put the proposition to Ken.”
A ten-foot-tall monstrous being shambled into the chambers. Its hide was grizzled and deformed. Huge, sinewy arms ended in claws.
“Grendel, would you be a dear and open all the windows?” the king asked. “Even the high ones in the domed roof.”
“Wyrd.”
“Thank you, Grendel. That will be all.”
“Wyrd.”
“Dwayne, dear. What language is that?”
A frown crossed the king’s face. “I’m not sure, Tracy. It’s a very ancient one, to be sure… Ahh, here’s Ken.”
***
Dawn, and the first fingers of light, illuminated a young man striding down the cobbled road, whistling as he walked. He was happy to be out and about, but mostly, he whistled to conceal the frequent buttock burps that punctuated his strides. Not
many folk were around, but those who were pointed their air-freshener canisters in his direction, so the psssttt of propellant was added to the overture.
The hours turned to days, the days to weeks, and still Ken could find no answers to his predicament. He ventured over hill and dale, from village to city, but found nothing. Quacks sold him hokey potions, wise women read his palm, and the gypsies gave him lucky heather. All failed to help. At last, weary and despondent, in an outlying village in the kingdom, Ken saw an amazing spectacle.
There, set back from the road, sat a cottage. The cottage itself wasn’t anything special, but from the chimney soared glittering sparkles, ethereal lights, and shimmering rainbows. With a display like that, the sign saying WIZARD seemed almost superfluous.
As he got nearer, he could read the rest of the sign.
University-trained wizard. Spells cancelled, hexes deflected, and curses ameliorated. Knock twice and ask for Adora.
Ken had no idea what ‘ameliorated’ meant, but in the context of the rest of the sign, it seemed to be encouraging, and Adora sounded like a sexy name. Trying not to get his hopes up, he knocked on the door. Twice, of course.
A muffled voice sounded from inside. “Just a minute!”
The door opened, and Ken saw the most un-wizardly wizard. Just four feet high and stout, the ancient, wrinkled woman wore a basket on her head, and instead of shoes, she wore mismatched buckets. Her dress was constructed of rags, and she had no eyes at all.
A raven perched on the witch’s shoulder and spoke raucously. “It’s a very attractive, hunky lad, but he looks pi—”
The strange woman clamped the raven’s beak between her finger and thumb. “Bran, I’ve told you before, not in polite company!” She leaned forward and ran her hands over Ken’s torso. “Hunky indeed, my pet.” Then she addressed Ken. “And why is such a gorgeous specimen of manhood so down in the dumps?”