“And this one?” I asked. “Any clues on what she’s about?”
“The swordswoman. The Faerie go through trends, fashions of a sort. Mixing notions, styles, and past ideas into new forms until they’ve run completely out of ideas. Then they rebel, they overthrow the court, and a new season begins with a different foundation. Light faerie versus the dark, for example, or a court with a true king and queen and a dynasty that they’ve glamoured up to extend back through the centuries. The ‘duelist’ would be one idea that might have caught their fancy, as of late.”
“I’m not sure I get it,” I said. “They’re just playing?”
Ms. Lewis used the tools to finish the hatchet. “It’s a very serious sort of play, when you get down to it. Dress it up in the glamour of possible true death, using a rapier can kill even Faerie. Build up stories of an unbeatable duelist, fights for pride, fights for the idea of romance. See what ideas and adventures emerge. Something as brutal, violent and sudden as this is far more dramatic and interesting when the ‘death’ of one individual in a duel might throw two hundred plots into disarray. A Faerie cannot afford not to watch.”
“She’s dangerous, then,” I said. My eyes roved over the tools. Anything I could use? Crude, unrefined…
“She’s dangerous, though I should stress that she’s here. She wasn’t so good she could become part of the story they were telling in the court. It’s very possible she lost an important fight and walked away. Or she broke a rule for this particular set of games and was exiled for her trouble. It is very telling when a Faerie becomes a familiar. Going out of her way to experience mortality, to form a bond with a person for decades, doesn’t it seem like a desperate grasp at occupying herself or filling her time?”
“She’s staving off boredom?” I asked.
“She’s most likely clinging to the last few scraps available to her. It’s hard to say where this leads. Some lose their minds, others throw away their minds, carving away their personalities and memories so they might start fresh.. Some defy the court and try to change the game in another way, trying to bring about a larger change, and they get banished when they fail. The question is, why is this information important to you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“That was an awfully fast answer,” she said, sounding a touch annoyed. She handed me the hatchet, handle first. “I explained a great deal. Surely one of you two can pull something out of it.”
The pattern of the silver wire continued on with the pattern scratched into the metal. Faint, but noticeable where the light caught the rough patches versus the smooth patches. The silver wire in the grip didn’t dig into my hand.
It wasn’t nearly so cold as it had been.
“She’s trapped,” Rose said. “At the end of her rope. It’s… a weak point?”
“You’re thinking along the right lines. Beg pardon, but Mr. Thorburn, I recommend you keep your third eye open. Train that sense of yours. They’re still looking for us.”
They were? This wasn’t a hiding place?
I reached for a connection.
I couldn’t feel much at all.
“Not feeling it. Might be that she’s gone, or I’m not doing fantastic, or my power’s weaker than it was. Rose?”
“I’ll check,” Rose said.
I thought maybe I could feel her absence. Another connection? That was useful, in a way.
I could feel some connection to the Faerie. I went out of my way to avoid feeding it in any way, lest I strengthen the bond. I’d seen with the ghost June, that sympathy, saying the wrong thing, or anything of the sort could strengthen the connection in the smallest ways.
“Why did we come down here?” I asked. “You haven’t really explained. We’ve cornered ourselves.”
“Isolated places are almost always better for a practitioner. Places where people don’t tread, where delicate things like ghosts and vestiges aren’t torn apart by passing people and their perceptions, and where you can bend rules and there are less people to see and challenge it.”
“But we’ve cornered ourselves,” I said, repeating myself for emphasis.
“If it comes down to it, I will give you a name, and you can call it.”
“A name that I wouldn’t regret calling?” I asked.
“I would take on the cost,” she said. “I swore to keep you as safe as you allow me to. Subjective as ‘safe’ might be, I would take the cost.”
“And would this thing I called then go on a rampage, murdering people or setting Jacob’s Bell on fire?”
“Some could, if you were of a mood for that sort of thing,” she said.
“Right,” I said.
As if to echo my thought, Rose reappeared, saying, “The Faerie just started coming down the stairs.”
“Our next few actions will need to be decisive,” Ms. Lewis said. “I’ve told you what you need to know, I can answer questions. Have I taught you how to fish, or do you need me to give you a fish?”
“I kind of wouldn’t mind just getting the answer,” Rose said.
“It would be more accurate to say I gave you the answer, and I’m waiting to see if you need me to walk you through it as well.”
“You gave us the clue?” I asked.
“I gave you several. It’s up to you to decide what to do. Or ask me for help. Get in the habit of thinking out loud.”
“She’s faerie, she’s weak to crude things,” I said. I was aware that talking about her was increasing the strength of the connection, but she was going to find us down here anyways. To keep the ideas flowing, I threw out another comment, “She’s all dressed up in illusions. Or illusions made real, anyways.”
“She’s arrogant, dressed up like a duelist-” Rose said, as if my ideas had spurred her own.
“-And she failed,” I added. “She hooked up with this kid in a familiar deal to stave off boredom. She’s been cooped up in this bird form, and I doubt there’s a lot of opportunity to do her thing. She’ll be eager. Rushed. Impatient. She wants drama, and this is probably her best chance she’s had at it since she agreed to become a familiar.”
“Can you capitalize on it?” Ms. Lewis asked. “Or leverage it?”
“We could challenge her to a duel,” Rose said.
I could see Ms. Lewis’ eyebrows raise a fraction at that.
“You mean you want me to duel her,” I said.
“She’s going to try and kill you anyways. Might as well set some ground rules.”
I could hear the scrape of the sword against the floor. When I spoke, I whispered, “Why?”
Rose hissed her words, “It’s an idea. I don’t know why. She’s proud, she wants something interesting. Let’s give it to her and see what you get.”
We had only seconds left.
My eyes looked over the room. The tools…
No. I was looking in the wrong place. The tools were things that had been made.
I looked to the trash can. Filled with debris and broken things, yet to be hauled away and thrown out. I started to reach into it, and saw how my hand was caked in the blood that had welled out from the wound.