The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [63]
No! cried September. But only leaves fell out of her mouth, and she could not move. No!
But even if she could have spoken loud and true, it would have been no help. The lions’ eyes were shut. The Marquess’s lions slept, and dreamed, even as they did their work, and carried off their prizes into the bright, clear day.
September screamed without a sound and cried bitterly and beat her twig-hands against the ground. Her heart ached as though a knife had quietly slipped between her ribs. She looked up to the cheerful sun, as ever unimpressed by little girls’ sorrows, and tears of amber maple-sap squeezed out of her eyes.
September finally fell backwards, quite out of herself, and the world slid away, for a little while.
September dreamed. She knew she was dreaming, but she could not help it. She was quite well and whole and sitting at a very fine table with a lace tablecloth draped over it. On the table lay several greasy, grimy iron gears and a great number of mismatched nuts and bolts. September did not know what they were for, but she felt certain that if she could fit them together as they were meant to go, everything would suddenly become clear.
“Shall I serve?” said Saturday. He sat primly across from her, dressed in a fine Sunday suit, with a high collar and cufflinks. His hair was neatly combed, his face scrubbed clean. The Marid took up one of the gears and scraped it with a butter knife. He handed it back to her.
“It’s getting very late, November,” said a young man. He sat very near to her and held her hand. September felt certain she had never seen him before. He had dark red hair and oddly golden skin. His eyes were big and blue. They swam with turquoise tears.
“My name is September…” she said softly. Her voice was weak, as it often is in dreams.
“Of course, October,” said the young man. “You must speak twice as loudly just to be heard in the land of dreams. It is something to do with physicks. But then, what isn’t? Dreams begin with D, and therefore I can help you. To be heard.”
“Ell? Where is your tail? Your wings?”
“It is mating season,” the Wyverary said, straightening his lapels. “We must all look our best, January.”
“She wouldn’t know a thing about that,” said Saturday reproachfully. September saw suddenly that he had a cat in his lap, purring. The cat’s fur was blue, and in his bushy tail was a single, glowing star. “Such a lazy girl. Lax in her studies. If only she’d kept up with her physicks homework, we’d all be safe and sound and eating pound cake.”
“I’m not lazy! I tried!”
September looked down at the buttered gear in her hand. It was smeared with Marid-blood, like seawater.
“Mary, Mary, Morning Bell,” sang a third voice. September turned to see a little girl sitting next to her, swinging her legs under her chair. The girl looked terribly familiar, but September could not think where she could have met her before. She had dull blondish hair bobbed short around her chin, and her face was a bit muddy. She had on a farmer’s daughter kind of dress, gray and dusty, with a yellowish lace at the hem. She rubbed at her nose.
“All praise and glory to the Marquess,” said Saturday reverentially, passing a thick iron gear to the girl. The child accepted it and allowed him to kiss her dusty hand.
“Dances in her garden dell!” she sang. The blonde child giggled and swung her legs harder.
“Please, oh, please, start making sense!” cried September.
“I always make perfect sense,