Wayfarer (7 page)

“So why don't you find this Jasmine and get her to undo the spell, then?” said Timothy around another mouthful of chips. Linden had tried one but didn't like it, so he was finishing off the box by himself—though how he could eat so much and still be so thin, she couldn't imagine.

“Because we can't,” Linden replied. “It's been nearly two hundred years since Queen Amaryllis turned Jasmine into a human and exiled her from the Oak, so she's long dead by now. And anyway, she'd never have done it. If she was crazed enough to think it worth using up all our magic just
to keep us away from humans, do you really think she'd be likely to change her mind?”

“Fair enough,” said Timothy. “So you think the faeries here will help you?”

“I don't know,” Linden said. “I'd hoped so, but after the way Veronica behaved to you, tricking you into seeing her as someone you trusted, and then trying to take your music…” The memory of the other faery bending over Timothy, that hungry light in her eyes, still made Linden shudder.

“I still don't get that part.” Timothy swirled his drink around with the straw. “How could she steal music from me? Why would she want to?”

Linden sighed. “You have to understand. We faeries aren't creative, like you humans are. On our own, we can't make art or music, or come up with new ideas—we have to learn all those things from you. But at the same time, having faeries close by makes humans more creative, so it works both ways. Or at least it's supposed to.”

“But…?” prompted Timothy.

“Well, it's also supposed to happen gradually. But last night, when Veronica dragged you off to play for her…it didn't. Even shut up in that locker, I could hear. I could tell.”

Timothy looked down at his reddened fingers. “So she did that,” he said. “She made me—”

“She
pushed
you,” said Linden. “Forced all your musical ability to the surface, so she could take it for herself. I didn't
even know that was possible.”

“I've never played like that in my whole life.”

She touched his arm, trying to reassure him. “I won't let her do it again.”

Timothy did not reply. He sat back against the bench, his eyes unreadable. “So now what?” he said.

“I have to try and find some
good
faeries,” Linden said. “Ones who will listen to what I have to say, and care enough to want to help—or at least be willing to bargain.”

Timothy studied her a moment. Then he said, “Well, good luck with that, I guess,” and began to slide out from behind the table.

“Wait!” she said. “Where are you going?”

“To find another hostel. I'm tired.”

“But what if Veronica finds you again? And I need your help!”

“I don't know what for,” he said. “I gave you a ride here, and you got me away from Veronica, so it looks like we're even. If you need to get back to the Oak, just buy a train ticket to Aynsbridge.”

“But I haven't any money—”

“Why would you need it? You've got this ‘glamour' thing: You can probably conjure up a few pounds.”

“I can't do that,” protested Linden. “It would be stealing.”
Use your gifts wisely and in good conscience,
Amaryllis had told her,
not for selfish gain.
“And anyway, I don't want to go back, not until I've found the help I need.” She clutched at
Timothy's sleeve. “Please don't go. There's so much I still don't know about your world. And I can help you, too, if you give me the chance.”

For a moment Timothy still hesitated. Then he heaved a sigh and slumped back down onto the bench. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Sure you don't want some chips?”

 

“Closing up,” announced the boy with the mop, and quickly Timothy drained the rest of his Coke, willing the sugar and caffeine to spark through his exhaustion, keep him going just a little while longer.

“Come on,” he said to Linden. “We'd better find somewhere to sleep.”

“Let me go first,” she said, springing up from the booth. She peered out the window into the street, then said, “I think it's clear.”

“Of course it is,” said Timothy, shoving the door open and dragging his guitar case through. “She must have given up ages ago. I'm not
that
special.” But then a new thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Linden with a frown. “But if she was looking for a musician…why didn't she take Rob instead?”

“Rob?” said Linden, and Timothy remembered: She'd never met Rob, she'd only heard him play at a distance.

“There was another guitar player at the hostel,” he said. “Older than me, but still pretty young—and he was good. Excellent, even. Why me, and not him?”

“I don't know,” said Linden. “I don't even know why she felt she had to—ow!” She hopped to one side and turned her foot over to look at it, wincing. Timothy was about to ask what was wrong when he saw that the slippers she'd been wearing in the restaurant had vanished, and that a chip of glass was sticking out of her heel.

“What happened to your shoes?” he asked.

Linden picked the shard out gingerly and rubbed her thumb across the wound. “They were just glamour,” she said as a dark bead of blood welled out. “I don't have the right kind of magic to make real shoes, and keeping up the illusion was giving me a headache. Besides, I usually go barefoot at home—and how was I to know I'd be walking all over London tonight?”

Timothy swung his backpack down onto the pavement and rummaged through it until he'd found the old T-shirt he usually slept in. “Here,” he said, tearing a strip off the bottom and wrapping it around her foot. “This should help—but watch where you're walking from now on.”

“That's kind of you,” said Linden, limping a few steps experimentally, “but I have a better idea.” She gave herself a little shake and suddenly she was tiny again, wings unfolding from the deep
V
at the back of her jacket. “Ah yes,” she sighed as she hummed into the air, “that's much better.”

Timothy watched, amazed, as she hovered around him. So small, and she darted so quickly—no wonder he'd mistaken her for a little brown bird….

The night breeze nipped at him, forcing him back to attention. He pulled an extra sweatshirt out of his backpack and tugged it on. It wasn't as warm as the jacket he'd left behind at Sanctuary, but the extra layer definitely helped. “Right,” he said, picking up his guitar again. “Let's go.”

Linden flitted to land on his shoulder and sat down, her faery form fitting easily into the space between his collarbone and his jaw. She was so small he hardly noticed the weight, but he could feel her solid warmth against his skin, undeniably real. Timothy let out a short laugh.

“What is it?” Her voice was a breath in his ear.

“It's just…my cousin's wife is a faery. I'm talking to a faery right now. And here I thought I was having a hard time just believing in God.”

“God?” Linden sounded curious. “You mean the Great Gardener?”

The Lord God planted a garden eastward, in Eden….
“Yeah.”

“But you believe in me, don't you?”

Timothy snorted out another laugh, this one more genuine. “It's not like I have a choice! How can I not believe when I can see you right there?”

“Oh,” said Linden, and was silent. Then she said, “So you have to be able to see something to know it exists?”

Her puzzlement seemed genuine, but Timothy didn't feel like getting into a lecture on the scientific method just now. “No,” he said, “of course there's more to it than
that. It's just that I thought I knew what was real and what wasn't, and now I don't know what to think any—”

Linden gasped, but the warning came too late. All at once the air thickened around Timothy and he stopped in mid-stride, unable to move. He could only watch helplessly as a familiar figure spun itself out of the shadows and walked down the street toward him, smiling.

“Hello, my sweet,” said Veronica.

In the glare of the streetlamp Veronica's hair was pale as tallow, her skin the color of ashes. “You kept me searching a long time for you, human boy,” she remarked. “And yet, somehow…the look on your face makes it all worthwhile.”

Linden slid down behind Timothy's shoulder and crouched on the top of his pack, willing herself not to panic. Veronica's spell had bound Timothy but left her free to move: Perhaps that meant the other faery hadn't seen her. So, if she stayed very still, maybe she'd have time to think of a plan….

“That drab little creature has left you unattended, has
she?” said Veronica, trailing a finger down Timothy's cheek. Linden expected him to flinch, but he only stared past her unblinking: Veronica's spell had bound him so fast that he could not even speak. “I would call that a foolish mistake…though she was a fool to begin with, thinking she could steal you away from me.”

She brought her other hand to Timothy's cheek, leaned forward—and her gaze fell on Linden. With a hiss she jerked back. “You! So tiny, and with wings, no less—what in the Empress's name—?”

Stiffly Linden pulled herself upright, trying not to put too much weight on her injured foot. “Timothy is under my protection,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. “You cannot have him.”

Veronica breathed a laugh. “Little one, you amaze me. When I believed you had stolen the boy so you could take his music for yourself, I admired your impudence even as I swore to make you pay for it. But now you ask me to believe you were trying to protect him? A mere human, with nothing in his head but music and ignorance?” Her lips compressed. “Come now, tell me the truth and I may yet spare your life.”

The menace in the other faery's voice made Linden tremble, but her outrage was stronger than her fear. “I mean what I say,” she retorted, and then, summoning up all her courage and her faith in Knife's example, she added, “I will fight you if I have to.”

Veronica's skeptical look shaded into contempt. “Then
you must have lost what little wits you ever possessed. To blatantly display your faery nature by taking this ridiculous little form, and to ally yourself with a human in defiance of the Empress's decree—”

“Empress?” Linden interrupted. “Who is this Empress you keep talking about?”

“Not know the Empress?” Veronica's eyes narrowed. “Do you mock me? Or are you testing my loyalty? If you think I could ever be tempted to show mercy to rebels and humans, then be assured that I will prove you wrong—right now.”

With a flick of her fingers she knocked Linden from Timothy's shoulder, sending her tumbling backward into the air. Then she seized Timothy's face between her hands—

Linden cried out and flung herself forward, but there was no need. Something like a small bird flashed out from the darkness and struck Veronica across the back of the head; her eyes glazed over, and she slid to the pavement.

“Veronica?” whispered Linden, hovering above the fallen faery. The bird thing had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Timothy still hadn't moved; she had no idea how to free him from the spell. But then a hooded figure stepped out from between the buildings, and she caught the unmistakable scent of another faery. With surprisingly powerful-looking hands the stranger tore Veronica's spell to glittering tatters until Timothy gasped and stumbled forward, free.

Linden's heart leaped. “Don't go!” she called out as the
stranger backed away. “Please, I need to talk to you!”

The other faery hesitated, then made a beckoning gesture and vanished back into the darkness. Linden was about to follow—then noticed that Timothy was still standing there, apparently too dazed to walk. She gritted her teeth and willed herself large again, then grabbed Timothy's wrist and pulled him along with her.

The strange faery led them through the alley, past a row of metal bins overflowing with rubbish and walls scrawled with painted symbols Linden didn't recognize. All she could do was limp along with Timothy in tow, wincing as cold grime crunched beneath her feet, and praying she didn't step on anything else sharp.

The passageway led them onto another street, where they walked a few more paces before stopping in front of a wall covered with colorful scraps of paper and yet more scribbles of paint. Linden was just about to ask what they were looking at when the other faery raised a hand, and a hidden door opened in the wall.

Stepping inside, they climbed a narrow, creaking staircase to its very top, emerging at last into a single tiny room. The air inside smelled musty, and the ceiling bowed over their heads, cracked and stained from years of slow leaking. The wallpaper had peeled away in strips, the carpet was black with mildew, and when their guide pressed the light switch the naked bulb sizzled fitfully in its socket.

“All right,” said Timothy, shaking himself free of Linden. He looked tired, but now his eyes were clear.
“So now that you've rescued us, do you mind telling us who you are?”

The stranger turned, pushing back the concealing hood. Linden stepped forward eagerly—and her throat closed up with shock.

The faery who had rescued them was a
male.

 

Timothy was still so dizzy from the aftereffects of Veronica's spell, it was an effort at first to tell who he was looking at. But gradually his rescuer's features came into focus, and he knew. “Rob!” he exclaimed.

Linden whirled on him. “Rob?
This
is the musician you were talking about? But he's…” Words seemed to fail her as she looked back at the other faery, her gaze traveling up his figure to linger on his broad shoulders and the spare, angular bones of his face. “I don't understand,” she faltered.

“I thought you were a friend of Veronica's,” said Timothy, unable to keep the accusation from his voice.

Rob seemed unfazed. “Our people make no friends,” he said, “only allies and enemies. But for now, I am your ally, and not hers. She won't find you here.”

For now.
That didn't sound too reassuring to Timothy, especially after the way he'd seen Rob play his guitar back at Sanctuary. What if he'd rescued them from Veronica just to steal Timothy's music for himself?

“You mistrust me,” said Rob. His voice had fallen into formal cadences, with a rich, rolling accent that sounded centuries older than he looked. “I do not blame you for it.
But I give you my pledge—I mean you no harm.”

“But you're a
faery
,” said Linden in a plaintive voice. “And you're male. How can that be?”

“I am as real as you,” Rob told her. “But enough idle talk. Tell me, who are you and where have you come from?”

His eyes were on Linden now, so intent that she might have been the only other person in the room, and Timothy felt a flicker of irritation. “What about giving us a chance to rest a bit first?” he said. “Linden's hurt, and I want to look at her foot before—”

He broke off as Rob swung around and gave him a hard look. All at once Timothy became aware that there was a bed just a few feet behind him, and that he was even more tired than he'd thought. He backed up slowly until the mattress bumped against his legs, and then sat down.

“Timothy?” said Linden, sounding anxious, but her voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. And the bed felt so soft, the springs trembling invitingly beneath his weight…. It wouldn't hurt to lie down just a moment, would it?

He slumped over, his head dropping onto the pillow. The world around him faded, and Timothy sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

“You put a spell on him,” Linden accused Rob as Timothy began to snore. It was all she could do to speak firmly, and not betray the nervousness she felt inside.

“Not quite,” said Rob, looking amused. “I merely took away the chemicals in his body that were keeping him awake. You might even call it a healing.”

“Healing?” She was taken aback. “But you did it so easily…. I thought that healing spells were the very hardest magics to perform.” Or at least, that was what Valerian had told her, and surely the Oak's Healer ought to know about such things.

Rob shrugged. “For you they would be, no doubt. Just as the glamours that you and Veronica create would be all but impossible to a male such as myself. But you should know that without me telling you. Sit down.”

Linden tensed. Was he going to put her to sleep the way he had Timothy?

“Or not, if you prefer,” Rob said with a touch of exasperation. “But it will be difficult for me to heal your foot if you insist on standing on it.”

Embarrassed, Linden sidled over and sat down on the end of the bed where Timothy slept, lifting her bandaged foot for Rob's inspection. The male faery knelt and cupped her heel in one hand, deftly unwinding the bandage with the other. He considered her injury a moment, then laid his fingers against the wound and said, “Done.”

She could feel a tingling warmth where his hands rested, but no pain. Wondering, Linden pulled her foot back and turned it over. There was no sign of blood or bruising, only a tiny white scar.

“And now,” said Rob, “you are in my debt twice over.”

“I am,” Linden admitted, coloring at the directness of his gaze. “What would you ask of me in return?”

“Knowledge, no more. But I warn you, I have a great many questions—and if you lie to me, I will know.”

His tone was mild, but the warning in it was unmistakable. Linden took a deep breath. “I accept your bargain.”

“Why did you save the human boy from Veronica?”

An odd question, considering he'd just rescued the two of them from Veronica himself. “She was going to take his music. What else could I have done?”

Rob stooped and lifted Timothy's guitar from its case. He ducked his head under the strap, sat down in the room's only chair, and began to play, fingers wandering over the strings. “You could have taken his music for yourself,” he said. “Or let Veronica take it, and escaped from Sanctuary unharmed. Instead you defied the Empress's decree, and risked your own life, to rescue him. Why?”

Linden sat back a little, moving carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping Timothy. “I never even thought of doing anything else,” she admitted. “I mean…his music means so much to him. And what Veronica was doing—tried to do—was wrong.”

Rob's left hand slid down the guitar's neck, his right plucking soft chords as he spoke. “Wrong?” he said. “How so? He would never have known what she took from him, or remembered how it was done. When he awoke, he would
only find that his skill at making music was not what it had been, and in time he would give it up and move on. Where is the harm?”

“But it's stealing,” protested Linden, shocked. “You don't take from people without giving them something in return.”

“People?” said Rob. “Faeries, perhaps. But humans? What do we owe them? They have abilities we lack and envy, but they would say the same of us. We could kill them or herd them like cattle if we chose, but instead we allow most of them to live without even suspecting our existence. Having granted the humans so great a favor already, why should we give them more? It is not as though they are our equals.”

He spoke without hesitation, but his tone was colorless, as though he were reciting a speech he had given too many times. Still, hearing him say those words made Linden feel queasy.

“Like cattle…” she echoed, and then with sudden passion, “No. No, I don't believe that. The Great Gardener—”

She stopped, unsure. Did these city faeries even believe as she did? Or were they like Timothy, certain of nothing but doubt?

“Go on,” said Rob.

“When the Great Gardener planted the world,” Linden went on carefully, trying to remember the story just as Queen Amaryllis had told it to her years ago, “the humans
were appointed to rule it and tend it and look after all the other creatures. And the first faery, Lily—she was supposed to help them by watching over the garden and letting them know when the plants or animals needed care.

“The Great Gardener promised Lily that if she did her work faithfully, she would in time receive a mate of her own. But as the days passed, Lily grew impatient. She left the humans and flew off to see if there were any others like herself, and when she returned, the garden was in chaos and the humans were gone. So the Great Gardener punished her by taking away her creativity.”

“That hardly seems fair,” said Rob dryly. “What about the humans?”

“I don't know their part of the story,” admitted Linden. “But I'm sure they were punished too. The point is, humans and faeries were meant to work together. We need each other.”

Rob gave her a pitying look. “A child's tale,” he said, “left over from a time when our people were too ignorant to know better. I would not be surprised to find that the humans made it up themselves, to keep us in our place. But you are a young woman now, and surely, you are too intelligent to believe such fables?”

Linden was flustered. To be treated as an adult was flattering, even more so when the speaker was a male of her own kind. And to be called intelligent pleased her as well. But the contempt in Rob's voice when he dismissed the
beliefs that she had been raised with, things she felt in her heart to be true…

“If being intelligent means agreeing that faeries are the only people who matter,” she said, “then no, I suppose I'm not. But if that's what you really believe, then why did you help us?”

Instead of answering, Rob bent his head over the guitar and began a lilting, mournful melody. Linden watched his averted face a moment, then added more quietly, “And who taught you to play?”

Rob's hands fell away from the strings. “Enough,” he said in a harsh voice as he took off the instrument and laid it back in its case. “It is my business to ask questions, not to answer them. Or have you already forgotten the terms of our bargain?”