Authors: Lisa Mantchev
“Get behind me.” He reached for a weapon not there, face drawn and ferocious as his hands curled into fists. “The brigands are comin’ back—”
But it was Waschbär who entered the scene, his perturbation manifesting in the rustle of grasses and leaves he normally would have passed through with uncanny silence. Bertie noted with a certain amount of jealousy that his mask was yet intact, that not a trace of surprise or guilt or any number of other emotions were revealed upon his face or in his dark eyes, at least until his gaze alighted upon the fire-dancer.
“And who is this?”
The newcomer answered, “My name is Varvara.”
“Never mind her!” Mustardseed, Moth, and Cobweb paused in their ministrations to Peaseblossom to hurl accusations at Waschbär. “You vile betrayer!”
“Turncoat!”
“That horrible woman squeezed Peaseblossom
to death.
”
“Her insides were nearly her outsides!”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Mustardseed’s question was the one Bertie would have asked, though she couldn’t have delivered the line with as much ire as he did. The fairy sounded two parts appalled grandmother and one part condemning judge and jury, especially when he followed that question with, “What have you to say in your defense?”
“I’ve no excuse.” Waschbär’s shoulders slumped forward under the weight of the recriminations. “I can only apologize for my baser instincts, which caused me to flee the moment I realized we were nearly surrounded. I was through the shrubbery and halfway across the field before I realized what I’d done.”
“The brigands stole the journal.” Bertie pushed the fall of her silver hair from her eyes to better fix Waschbär with her Sternest Gaze. “That cursed thing might have caused great complications and confusion thus far, but I’m sure it will be needed before the telling of this tale is done. We have to get it back.”
“An’ how d’ye propose t’ do that exactly?” Despite Varvara’s screech of protest, Nate kicked dirt on the fire and poured water over the smoking coals. Then he went to wind the mechanical horses, turning their keys with grim twists of his hand. “We’re not lingerin’ here long enough t’ ha’e our throats slit or ha’e Sedna catch up wi’ us—”
“I’ll get the journal back,” the sneak-thief interrupted. “Only when I reclaim what’s been taken will I be worthy to travel with you again.” Bertie would have protested, but he shook his shaggy head. “Don’t use your word weapons to argue with me. Every moment I linger here, my quarry draws further afield.” He reached out, squeezed her arm in unspoken farewell, then melted into the night. He took the gleaming sets of eyes that were Pip Pip and Cheerio with him, but left his bag of unwanted things for Bertie to shoulder.
Clutching it until she could feel her knuckles protest, Bertie turned troubled eyes to Nate. “He oughtn’t to go after them alone.”
“Don’t be daft. Ye want it back, an’ there’s no one else t’ spare fer th’ job.” Nate clambered onto the caravan and hauled Bertie aboard as easily as he might have lifted a pup by the neck scruff. “Everyone up who’s comin’.”
“Wait for us!” Mustardseed, Moth, and Cobweb immediately made a sling chair of their hands and carried Peaseblossom atop the caravan in a manner most unusually solicitous.
A delicate hand appeared next to Bertie’s elbow, holding the discarded scrap of silk that once bound the journal shut. “This is yours, I believe,” the fire-dancer said.
Bertie took it from her and shoved it deep into Waschbär’s bag. “Thank you.”
Without waiting for anyone’s permission, Varvara clambered up the caravan’s ladder to join them.
“And just what do you think
you
are doing?” Moth wanted to know.
“Coming with you so that I might repay the debt I incurred.” The fire-dancer folded her legs under her, looking disconcertingly comfortable even when twisted like a pretzel.
“What debt?” Cobweb took up the inquiry.
“The debt of freedom.” Varvara looked over at Bertie. “You’ll hardly even know I’m here.” Indeed, the next second she seemed to pull her crackling energy and light within her, tamping it down as one would a campfire until only her obsidian-dark eyes signaled she was anything more than another beautiful albeit mysterious performer traveling with the troupe.
“I suppose we can’t just leave her here, alone.” Bertie turned to Nate. “We’ll have to take her with us to the Distant Castle. Maybe find a way to work her into the act.”
Still ministering to Peaseblossom, Mustardseed balked at the idea. “That’s a terrible idea! She could roast us as soon as look at us!”
“You are performing for the Queen?” Subtle red sparks accompanied Varvara’s question. “If you seek to impress Her Gracious Majesty, I can surely be of some assistance during your performance. I can do more than just dance.”
“Like twirl flaming batons?” Moth wanted to know.
“Catherine cartwheels?” Cobweb asked.
“Roasting of marshmallows?” Mustardseed said, finally won over.
With a small chortle that was like liquid amber poured from a thick crystal cup, Varvara nodded. “All of the above and more, I assure you.”
Peaseblossom said nothing, merely narrowing her eyes and looking all manner of grim things. Bertie couldn’t blame her reticence, given what she’d just endured. A page turned over in Bertie’s head, and the next bit of the fire-dancer’s narrative came with a warning.
Never mistake her complacence for the illusion of control. She is like wildfire, at once utterly beguiling and wholly untamable.
* * *
This time, the cadence of the stern words was unmistakable, filled as it was with echoes of the Theater Manager’s inflections. The fire-dancer’s breath escaped with a low hiss, and Bertie hastened to extract a promise from her. “You’ll come with us, and everyone will be on their best behavior, understood?”
Fire-dancer and fairies nodded as one, so Nate signaled the horses. With a jolt that set the lanterns swaying, the caravan commenced rattling down the road, without the weight of all the luggage to steady them.
“We’ll make better time,” was his grim observation, “seein’ as how we’ve been stripped clean o’ food an’ clothes an’ everythin’ else.”
Irrepressible even in the face of potential nudity and starvation, Bertie managed a smile. “You’ll cut our time in half, at this rate.”
“More than that,” he said, “fer I’ve no plans t’ stay on th’ road. We need t’ carve our own path, away from th’ river an’ away from any chance Sedna will find ye.”
“It will make it harder for Waschbär to find us as well,” Bertie noted, not necessarily thinking of the sneak-thief when she said it.
Nate saw something about the quirk to her mouth that displeased him. “Aye, Waschbär … an’ anyone else that might be givin’ chase.”
“The brigands,” Bertie retorted. The moment Nate returned his attention to the road, she finished her thought.
And Ariel.
His absence was like a sore tooth her tongue sought over and over again, despite the ache, despite the knowledge that it hurt.
Considering the challenges ahead of them, she ought to plan their performance for the Queen instead of fretting about Ariel. Unhampered by complex affairs of the heart, the fairies huddled down inside Bertie’s hood like so many mice in a nest. Feeling at ease if not quite welcome, the fire-dancer hummed a wordless tune under her breath that caused the stars to swim and run like raindrops down a windowpane. Lulled by the noise, Bertie fell into a reluctant and uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
This Scepter’d Isle, This Earth of Majesty
The jerking halt of
their progress roused her some hours later, and Bertie was appalled to discover that not only was her nose buried in Nate’s shirtsleeve but she’d soaked the linen with drool. Worse yet, there was no surreptitious way to wipe her mouth, not with him already looking down at her, bemused.
“A little spit ne’er hurt anyone.”
“A lot of spit never hurt anyone, either!” Mustardseed said, working up something in the back of his throat that sounded potentially life threatening.
“Don’t you dare!” Peaseblossom accompanied the command with a solid thump to the back of his head, prompting him to swallow it.
“Why’d we stop?” Moth asked as Mustardseed turned green and keeled over.
“We need to scavenge some breakfast an’ find a bit o’ drinkable water,” the pirate answered, scanning the nearby fields in search of sustenance.
“He’s joking, right?” Cobweb looked about them. “There aren’t any stores or restaurants for miles!”
“I think he means we should … pick things.” Mustardseed had recovered enough to wrinkle his tiny nose. “Suppose I accidentally step in a cow pie?”
“Hooray, pie!” cheered Moth.
“Not
that
kind of pie,” Peaseblossom said, then enlightened him as to the true nature of a cow pie in disturbingly vivid detail.
“Yeeeeeeew!” Moth said with disconsolate fingers in his ears.
The others immediately began muttering to themselves about the need for pudding and wouldn’t a bit of jam tart be lovely about now, especially for poor Peaseblossom, invalid that she was. Determined to remedy the situation, the boys scattered to search the caravan for sweet survivors of the pillaging. A few minutes later, Cobweb crowed with triumph.
“They missed the case with the gold binoculars, Bertie! The box was shoved all the way under the seat!”
“Pity they aren’t gold-foil-wrapped chocolate binoculars,” Mustardseed said with the saddest sort of sniff.
A breeze gusted around them, an amused exhalation. Nate took no note of it, but Bertie’s head whipped around in search of the source. Sleeping like a salamander coiled before a glowing hearth, Varvara’s skin ember-glowed with the sudden attention, and she stretched luxuriously.
“Have we reached the Distant Castle already?”
“Not by half,” Nate told her, jumping down. “If anyone needs t’ visit th’ necessary, now’s th’ time t’ do it.”
“Of all the things that might be considered necessary at this juncture, peeing on the local foliage isn’t one of them,” Peaseblossom said, though the boys hastened to do just that.
Bertie, however, was relieved to see her little friend restored to all previous levels of vim, vigor, and vinegar. “You’re feeling all right?”
“A bit tattered about the edges,” the fairy replied with a grin, “but I’ll do.” Then, contrary to her mandate, Peaseblossom headed for the nearest set of shrubs.
The next puff of wind brought with it the whisper of her name, and Bertie scrambled down, striking out into a heavily wooded area on the opposite side of the road with a call of “I’ll be right back” to the fire-dancer yet sitting atop the caravan. Treading upon bracken and fern released a spicy reek that cleared the last of the smoke from Bertie’s sinuses. Distracted by the scents of the forest, she yelped aloud when a hand clamped down upon her elbow and dragged her behind the largest of the pine trees.
“I’ve been looking
everywhere
for you.” Ariel’s hair snapped with barely contained fury. “Whatever made you leave the main road?”
“You’re one to ask questions!” While adrenaline was not as tasty as a quad-shot cappuccino, it certainly had the same effect upon her body. “The last I saw you, you were on a rooftop at the Caravanserai, declaring your soul-wrenching need for freedom. Didn’t you relish the time to yourself?”
“Not nearly as much as I thought I would! And you shouldn’t have departed without me!”
“Then you shouldn’t have stayed upon the rooftop to sulk! I was terrified you’d never come back.” Mouth unstoppered, the truth poured out of Bertie, brighter than the sunlight that suddenly slanted between the trees. Belatedly, she remembered her mask, as yet merely the thinnest film of secrets, and could only guess at the flicker and play of emotions crossing her features.
Indeed, Ariel ducked his head to peer at her. “What have you done to yourself?”
Bertie found it impossible to voice a placating lie. “Taken out a bit of insurance to make certain Sedna can’t track me down.”
“You need to get to the Queen’s stronghold,” he said, yet staring at her face. “You’ll be safer there, surely.”
Looking up at him, Bertie didn’t give a fig about the Queen or her stronghold. “So you heard about our summons?”
“I made the necessary inquiries as to your whereabouts when I realized you were gone, yes.”
That he’d cared enough to find them, to follow, caused a bright sort of happiness to unfold inside Bertie like a paper lantern catching on fire. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“That,” Ariel answered, leaning forward to kiss her softly, “is abundantly obvious.”
He tasted like the very stars, and each movement of his lips against hers was like touching the sky.
The noise that erupted behind them was too small for a supernova but too violent for a mere throat clearing; Bertie leapt away from Ariel to spot Nate standing only a few feet away.
“Not t’ be interruptin’ anythin’, but we need t’ get back on th’ road.” Without another word, he turned and crashed through the underbrush, breaking branches with his wide shoulders and flattening small plants with his boots.
“Damn it all.” Bertie watched him go, conflicting emotions twisting her intestines into knots.
Far from looking smug, Ariel’s expression clouded. “The fact that you love us equally might have saved us in Sedna’s cavern, but one day soon, you are going to have to make a decision.” He took several steps in the opposite direction.
Bertie considered lobbing a rock at the back of his head. “Where are you going now?”
“I’ll fly to the Distant Castle. I don’t think I can stand the torture of earthbound travels, just at the moment.” Indeed, his shoulders shook, either with the effort of remaining on the ground or with temper. “Never fear, the gallant pirate lad will see to your safety.”
“Ariel, don’t—” She would have argued more, but could think of nothing to say to persuade him to stay. Left standing alone in the clearing, she contemplated climbing into the nearest tree, pulling the moss around her like a shawl, and letting the sap encapsulate her; surely then she would get some much needed peace. “Amber-trapped for a hundred years would do, for a start.”