The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [53]
“Oh, you were being serious!” He tried to look solemn. “This is Fairyland, girl! There is no dragon food or witch food or dryad food. There is only Fairy food--it’s all Fairy food. This is Fairy earth that bears it, Fairy hands that carve it and cook it and serve it. I daresay you have quite the belly full of the stuff. If there’s damage to be got from it, I promise it’s quite done by now.”
September’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes filled up with tears, and now, finally, they spilled over and dropped onto the muffin-stone square. Saturday put his hand on her arm, but did not know what to do to comfort her beyond that. This may seem like a silly thing to cry over, but September had suffered so very much in such a very short time, and she was so certain that she had been circumspect with regards to food. She had been careful! Even if the Marquess was frightening and Saturday so dear and broken and Ell so devoted--at least, she had thought, she had not eaten Fairy food! At least she had managed better than most little girls in stories who are repeatedly told not to eat the food and do it anyway, being extravagantly silly and stupid!
“What will happen to me?” she wept.
A-Through-L waved his tail in distress. “We can’t say, September. We’re not Ravished.”
“But look on the bright side!” cried the little man. “Eat your fill and have no fear of it now. Fairy food is the best kind--or else no one would have to warn children off it. I think it’s very dear of you to have tried to be so…abstinent! My name is Doctor Fallow, and I am the Satrap of Autumn. We had word that guests were careening our way. ” He bowed at the waist, and caught his jacket in the act of slipping off. “This is a wedding feast for my graduate assistants, and you are most invited.”
September bowed as well. “These are my friends A-Through-L, who is a wyvern and not a dragon, and Saturday. My name is September.”
Doctor Fallow beamed. “What an excellent name,” he breathed.
A great, jubilant noise rose up from the southern end of the village, and it became clear in a moment why they had found the square so empty. Everyone who was anyone had been at the party. A throng of creatures like Doctor Fallow, with long skinny noses and dear little clothes came dancing in with crowns of leaves in their hair--for the leaves of the Autumn Provinces are brighter than any flower. Many wore glittery masks in black and gold and red and silver. Some played delicate twig pipes, some sang rude songs that greatly featured the words swelling, growing, and stretching in complicated puns.
“I…I think they must be spriggans,” said Ell, embarrassed. Naturally, he could offer no further illumination on anything that so rudely insisted on beginning with S.
At the head of the host came a pair of spriggans, looking at each other under the lashes of their eyes, blushing, smiling, laughing. One, a young man, was red from the tips of his hair to the tips of his feet, his skin glowing like an apple, his evening suit crimson from cuff to cufflink. The other, a young girl, was golden from lash to leg, her hair just the exact color of a yellow leaf, her gown butter-bright.
“The red fellow is Rubedo,” Doctor Fallow said jovially, “he specializes in the Gross Matter, quite a promising lad, a bit iffy on the mathematics, of course. The doe is Citrinitas, my star pupil. She’s at work on the highest alchemical mysteries, all of which must be solved, like a detective solves a dastardly crime. I’m so pleased for them both I could sprout!” He drew a faded orange kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes.
“Please,” called Citrinitas, her voice ringing out bright and clear as sunlight through the deepening evening, “Eat! We shall all have bad luck if a single soul goes hungry!”
Ell trodded up to the table, happy as anything. “I don’t suppose you’ve any radishes, hm?” he asked--and no sooner than he had, a little spriggan-lad held up a plate of shining red radishes, so bright they must have been polished. Saturday inched toward the table, looking apologetically back at September.