The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [38]
“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 terrible 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