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?”
“Yes…”
“Well! What is the use of ruling Fairyland if one cannot make little children happy? There is a place, September, oh, very far from Pandemonium. A place where it is always autumn, where there is always cider and pumpkin pie, where leaves are always orange and fresh-cut wood is always burning, and it is always, just always Halloween. Doesn’t that sound splendid, September?”
“Yes…”
“And in that place is a thing I need, closed up in a glass casket in the heart of the Worsted Wood.”
“But the Green Wind said the Worsted Wood was forbidden-”
“Government has its little privileges.”
“He said it was dangerous-”
“Posh! What does he know? He is not allowed here. And never will be, whatever he told you. The Worsted Wood is just wood. No more or less dangerous than any other wood. If there are ravening beasts, well, they have every right to live and eat, don’t they? If there are spells, they have a right to weave. All you must do is go there and eat candy and have a wonderful time with the spriggans and jump in leaf piles and dance in the moonlight-and before you leave, with a full belly and the first whisper of snow blowing through your hair, open the casket and bring me whatever it is you find there. Even if it is ridiculous, even if it seems useless and small. That isn’t so much to ask, is it? In exchange for a Spoon that tells the future?”
“What… what is in the casket?”
“That’s none of your worry, beautiful child. Your pretty head needn’t trouble itself with that.”
September bit the inside of her cheek, but the Marquess was so close. She tried to think of the Green Wind, of his pleasant green smell and the clouds whisking by as they flew over Westerly. She felt calmer-a little calmer. Not terribly much calmer.
“Why can’t you get it yourself? You can go anywhere…”
The Marquess rolled her bright blue eyes. “If you must know, it’s a cranky casket, and if I were to go… well, let us say, it would not give me the same gift it would give you, who are innocent and sweet and gentle of spirit.”
“I’m not… I’m ill-tempered and irascible…”
“Now, who told you that?” The Marquess caressed September’s face softly. Her hand was hot, like fire. September flinched beneath her blazing touch. “How rude of them. You are quite the sweetest child I’ve ever met.”
“I can’t. I just can’t do what you want unless I know what it is. Everyone is afraid of you, and when folk are afraid of a person, it usually means the person is cruel in some way, and I think you are cruel, Miss Marquess, but please don’t punish me for saying it. I think you know you’re cruel. I think you like being cruel. I think calling you cruel is the same as calling someone else kind. And I don’t want to run errands for someone cruel.”
“I will never be cruel to you, September. You remind me so much of myself.”
“I don’t know why you would say something like that when you are a Marquess and I am a nobody, and no one anywhere is afraid of me,” September said, and really, it was quite brave of her. “Still, I can’t.” September blinked several times, trying to clear her head. In her pocket, she clutched the glass ball the Green Wind had given her. “Unless you tell me the truth,” she said as firmly as she could. “And give me the Spoon now, not later, when I’ve returned.”
The Marquess looked at September appraisingly. Her blood-colored hair was slowly lightening to a gentle pink, like candy floss.
“How strong you are, child. You must have eaten your spinach and brussel sprouts all up and drunk all your milk, once upon a time. Now, let us think! What would a beautiful monarch send you for? Oh, I know! The glass casket contains a magical sword. It is so powerful that it doesn’t have a name. It is no spoiled, painted dilettante like Excalibur or Durendal. Naming a sword like this one would only cheapen it and make it tawdry. But the casket is also old, and also opinionated, and were I to stand in the forest and cut its fastenings… well, it would not give me the true sword.”
“But you would use it… to kill more witches’ brothers, I think…”
“September, I swear to you, here and now, in the presence of Iago, Queen Mallow, and your single, solitary shoe, that I will never use that sword to harm a soul. Little unpleasantries are necessary when one rules wicked, trickstery folk. But I would not soil such a sword by using it for simple, everyday murdering. I intend something much grander.”
September wanted to ask. She burned to ask.
“Ah, but that I will not tell you, little one. You are not ready to know. And loose lips sink glorious new worlds. Fairyland is still so beautiful for you. You would not believe me if I told you how sour it can go. Suffice it to say that I shall find the source of this sourness, and with the blade of the sword you bring me, I will cut it out. Will you get it for me? Will you take Goodbye’s Spoon and go to the Autumn Provinces in my name?”
September thought of the poor, angry, lost witches, peering into their cauldron while the sea pounded away. She thought of the wairwulf and his kindness to her. She thought of her Wyverary and his chafed, locked wings.