The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [31]
“We could go to the Municipal Library, see your…grandfather.” September was still deeply unsure about Ell’s theory on his parentage.
A-Through-L blushed, going all orange in the face. “I…I’m not ready!” he quailed suddenly. “I haven’t had a brush-up on my studies! I haven’t had my horns waxed or my credentials calligraphed or anything! Tomorrow, we can go tomorrow, or maybe next week!”
“Oh, Ell, don’t worry,” September sighed. “I think you look fine as you are! And you’re quite the smartest beast I’ve ever known.”
“But how many beasts have you known?”
“Well, there’s you…and the Leopard, and the wairwulf. I’m only eleven! I think three is a very respectable number.”
“Not what you’d call a statistical sampling, though. But it’s no matter, today we ride on the rails of your quest, not mine. I’m not ready. I’m just not.” A-Through-L’s eyes turned pleading. Tears welled up, bright turquoise, glittering.
“Oh! It’s all right, Ell! Don’t cry!” September stroked his leathery knee. She turned to the Switchpoint and took a deep breath, speaking as loudly and sternly as she could.
“Listen, Mr. Brass-Ears! I should like to find a place that is cool and shady, somewhat near the Briary, but not too near, where we can rest and laugh and see something wonderful of Pandemonium while we wait for the sun to set.”
“And lemon ices,” whispered Ell.
“And where they serve lemon ices,” finished September firmly.
The Switchpoint exhaled with a long, high whistle, its cheeks deflating like spent balloons. Its eyes opened and its ears fluttered. All the hands of the post flexed, made fists, and relaxed again.
“Papers,” the Switchpoint said in a faint, airy voice. Its eyes were hard brass balls, glinting with judgment.
September fished the little green book Betsy Basilstalk had given her out of the inner pocket of the smoking jacket. The jacket was deeply pleased to have kept it safe for her. She held it up so the cherubic little face could examine it. It clucked imperiously.
“Ravished, eh? Haven’t seen one of you in awhile.” The Switchpoint looked dubiously at A-Through-L, who scratched at the grass with one enormous claw.
“He’s my…companion. My wyvern,” said September hurriedly. She hoped he would not be too offended at being called hers.
“Do you have a Deed for him?”
The Wyverary drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable. “True servitude,” he said gently, “can only be voluntary. Surely you know that, surely you once chose to stand here and frown at those who wish only to enter the city. Surely you once did something else, sold gloves or frightened children at festivals, and chose this instead.”
The Switchpoint squinted up at him. “Were a soldier, we were,” it grumbled.
The great goat hair gate drew back like a theatre curtain. Four of the hands at the base of the Switchpoint post began to work furiously, so fast the fingers blurred so that September could not even see them moving. Slowly, a deep scarlet scrap began to spread out from the post, weaving itself as it went, a little brass thumb sliding back and forth like a shuttle. It flowed on, raw, shimmering silk, under September’s shadowless feet and through the gate, stopping there, as if to beckon them onward.
September took a step forward. The hands blurred into industry again, and the scarlet path wove swiftly on, into Pandemonium.
“It’s all right,” said Ell confidentially as they passed through the gate. “I know you didn’t mean it, about my being yours.” The great beast flicked his red tail. “But I can be. And you can be mine! And what lovely games we shall have!”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” sighed A-Through-L happily as September gaped. “Queen Mallow built it this way, years and years ago.”
Pandemonium spread out around her a city of cloth. Bright storefronts ran ahead of them, built with violet crinoline and crimson