“You would think that new management would have the right to redecorate. But some magic never bends, not even if you tear at it with your own teeth. No matter how I tear, the portrait stays. She was never that beautiful, though. The painter must have been a loyalist.” The Marquess turned away from Queen Mallow’s sweet gaze and focused on September again. She smiled. “But she is dead, my child. I promise you that. Dead as autumn and last year’s apple jam. But we haven’t come all this way to dish gossip about ancient history. How have you been enjoying Fairyland, September?”
“How do you know my name?”
“You filed papers, of course. You have a visa. What in the world do you think all that is for, if not to make certain that I know everything?”
September didn’t say anything.
“Well, I do hope everyone has been nice to you and hospitable in every way they can think of. It’s important to me, September, that you’re treated well.”
“Oh, yes! Everyone has been terribly helpful and kind—except the Glashtyn, I suppose. I had heard that Fairies were nasty and tricky and cruel, but they’re not, not really.”
“Oh?” said the Marquess with arch amusement. She stroked the Panther with her small hands. Her fingers were covered in jeweled rings. “But they are, truly, September. Just the worst sort of folk. You’d never believe how wicked! They’re nice because I make them nice. Because I punish them if they are not nice. Because I put them on the Greenlist if they are not nice. Before I came, Fairyland was a dangerous place, full of brownies spoiling milk and giants stomping on whomever they pleased and trolls telling awful punning riddles. I fixed all that, September. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to invent bureaucracy in a world that didn’t even know what a ledger was? To earn their submission, even to the point of having their wings locked down? But I did it. I fixed it for children like you, so that you could be safe here and have lovely adventures with no one troubling you and trying to steal your soul away. I do hope you didn’t think you had charmed them all with your sparkling personality, child.”
“Why do you keep calling me a child? You’re no older than I am.”
“Really, September. You’re going to have to be a bit more discerning than that if you expect to get along here. I suppose I shouldn’t expect any better from a Midwesterner. They teach you such frightful things about the world.” The Marquess paused. The tips of her hair grew silver and shining. “Do you like my Panther? He is called Iago. I love him very much and he loves me. I used to have a Leopard, but she ran off some time ago. Could not change with the times, I suppose.” The Marquess nodded toward the portrait of Queen Mallow, whose hand still rested on a Leopard’s head. “That sort of thing is so tragic, don’t you think? I do so prize
adaptability.” The Panther Iago growled at the mention of his predecessor.
Could she mean my Leopard? thought September. The Leopard of Little Breezes? She did not like to think of the Marquess riding her Leopard, even for a little while.
“Cats are temperamental,” offered September softly. “I have heard you have lions, too.”
“Too true!” cried the Marquess, her hair wholly silver now, gleaming like true metal. “On both counts! Lions sleep a great deal, for it is from their dreams that their strength chiefly comes. They are closeted in their chambers, snoozing away on lacy coverlets. Now, I believe you wanted to steal a Spoon from me?”
September bit the inside of her lip. This was not precisely how she had thought her adventure would go. How could she be brave for the sake of the witch Goodbye if she were found out before she could even try?
“Don’t be ashamed, my love. I would not be a very good Marquess if I could not tell when troublesome little Ravished children are incoming with poor intentions toward me and my belongings. After all, the Ravished are always trouble. Any ruler of Fairyland must learn to watch out for them particularly, as they have a nasty habit of dethroning one and undoing decades of hard work.”
“But … Miss Marquess. The Spoon is not one of your belongings. You took it from the witch Goodbye. That’s stealing. So it’s not really very wicked of me at all to want to steal it back—stealing things back is hardly stealing at all.”
The Marquess cocked her head to one side and smiled. Somehow her smile was worse than her frown. The Panther licked his black paws nonchalantly. “Is that what she told you? That I stole it? What a dreadful misunderstanding! I shall have her to tea immediately to apologize. You must appreciate my position, September: I was under the impression that all things in my realm belong to me, and Goodbye was under the impression that Good Queen Mallow would arrive at any moment to save her. You can see how things got terribly confused!”
“Where…” September cleared her throat. Her hands shook. “Where I come from, if a person has a Spoon, no one can come and take it just because they’re the governor or something.”
“I think that’s very naive of you, September.” The Marquess put her finger on her delicate chin as if an extraordinary idea had just occurred to her. “Tell me, what does your father do?”
September felt her face flush. “Well, he was a teacher. But now he’s a soldier.”
“Oh! Iago, did you hear that? You mean to say that one day the governor or something came and took your father even though you were quite sure he was yours and yours alone? Well, that is certainly different. A Father is nowhere near as valuable as a Spoon! I can see why you prefer your sensible, logical world.”
“Well, they didn’t kill anyone in the process!”
“No, September. They wait until little girls like you are out of sight first. War must always be done out of sight, or it shocks people and they stop immediately.” The Marquess’s hair slowly deepened to the color of blood.
September squeezed back tears. “Why did you kill Goodbye and Hello’s brothers?” she cried wretchedly.
“Because, child. They were not nice. They defied me. But I do not wish to talk about them, or anyone else dead and, therefore, not useful. We were speaking of your parents. I do wish children could pay attention!” Her voice got very hard all of a sudden, no longer bright and full of teatime conversation, but keen and deadly interested. “What about your mother, September?”
“She … she builds engines.” September did not think she ought to mention airplanes in Fairyland—visions of fleets of bombers belonging to the Marquess flooded her mind.
The Marquess stood suddenly. She was wearing a short blackberry-colored dress with violet stockings, all lace and stiff magenta petticoats. She rushed down the stairs to stare September directly in the eye—they were precisely the same height. The Marquess’s blue eyes were full of interest. The Panther slowly descended the stairs behind her, unconcerned.
“What if I told you that I would give you the Spoon? That thievery need never be mentioned between us? You can take it back to Goodbye and her silly sister or use it to stir soups of your own, whatever you like.” The Marquess was very close, as close as kissing. She smelled like beautiful, dying flowers. “I can be nice, September,” she whispered. “It is only right that I behave as I require my people to behave. I can help you and pet you and give you lovely presents. I can be a faithful guide.”
September felt much as she had when Goodbye had tried to convince her to be a witch. But there was no glamour. The Marquess was not a witch. It was only that she was so terribly strong and so terribly close. “But not for nothing,” September whispered. “Never for nothing.”
“Never for nothing.” The Marquess wavered back and forth like a snake charmer. “But it is such a little thing, and such fun to get, that I’m sure you will leap at the chance. You want to have fun, don’t you? And marvelous adventures? That’s why you came to Fairyland, isn’t it? To have adventures?”