The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [27]
“I can swim,” said September with mild indignation, recalling her adventure in the ocean.
“Sure and you can. But the Glashtyn have run of the Barleybroom, and they swim better.”
September wanted to ask about the Glashtyn, but her mouth ran away from her.
“Are you a Fairy, Sir?”
The ferryman gave her a withering look.
“Well, I mean, I think you are one, but I’d rather ask. I wouldn’t like someone to assume I’m something I’m not! And what I mean to say is, if you are a Fairy, then could you tell me what a Fairy is, taxonomically speaking, and why you’re the only one I’ve seen?” September was glad for her pronunciation of taxonomically, which she had had as a spelling word not terribly far back.
“Scientifick’ly speaking, a Fairy, what I am, is not much different’n a human. Your lot evolved from monkeys. We evolved…well, it’s not talked on in polite circles, but there never was a polite circle with a human in it. Fairies started out as frogs. Amphibianderous, right? Well, being frogs was no kind of fun, so we went about and stole better bits--wings from dragonflies and faces from people and hearts from birds and horns from various goats and antelope-ish things and souls from ifrits and tails from cows and we evolved, over a million million minutes, just like you.”
“I…I don’t think that’s how evolution works…” said September softly.
“Oh? Your name Charlie Darwin all sudden-true?”
“No, it’s just--”
“It’s Survival of Them Who’s Best at Nicking Things, girl!
“I mean to say, humans didn’t evolve like that--”
“That’s your trouble, then. Don’t you go striping my facts with your daft babbling. I say: let them as wants to evolve do it, and soak the rest. As for why we’re not exactly thick on the ground, that’s none of yours and I’ll thank you not to pry into family business.” The ferryman fished a corncob pipe out of his pocket and snapped his fingers. Smoke began to trail out of the basket, smelling mostly like a wet cornfield. “Course, if you want to keep evolving your own self, I’d advise you get stowing away, down below.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not supposed to say. Whole point is your’n don’t know what day the tithe comes calling.” The ferryman winked, his eyes twinkling with a sudden, dim glee, rather more like September expected from a Fairy. “Now, look there,” he grinned. “I’ve gone and spilt it.”
September might well have run, but she cold not abandon her scaley red friend, and despite being quite able to use the word taxonomically in a sentence, was somewhat fuzzy on the meaning of tithe. Thus it was that September was caught with her mouth hanging open when the ferry ground splashily to a halt in the middle of the roaring river.
“Told you, but ears like a cow, you’ve got,” sighed the ferryman, and stuck his pole to meet the six tall men climbing six ropes, pirate-like, over the top of the deck.
Each of the men stood naked but for silver gauntlets and greaves, and had black, regal horses’s heads where their boys’ heads ought to have been. The leader, a big brass ring in his silky nose as if he were a bull, called out in a deep, echoing voice:
“Charlie Crunchcrab, the Glashtyn come to claim our tithe by Law and Right of Fair Trade!”
“I hear ya, old nag,” grumbled the ferryman. “Not so dense as all that. Got the summons this morning and everything. Needn’t be so formal.”
The Fairy folk gathered on the top deck quailed and clung together in silent terror. They stared fixedly at the floor, trying desperately not to look the horse-men in the eye. September looked across the throng at Ell, who shook his great head and tried to hunker down and become, improbably, invisible.
“Bring the children up!” bellowed the horse-man.
Rough hands grabbed September’s arms and dragged her, along with dozens of other small ones, to stand before the Glashtyn, whose eyes flashed blue and green fire. September looked down and saw the little Pooka girl beside her, trembling, her jackal-ears kept appearing and disappearing nervously. September took the child’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
“Not me,” the girl whispered.