You get to your office about 9—late, but the bus got tangled up in Summer. You've hardly taken off your coat when she walks in, dressed like an aristocrat's idea of unassuming. You're no fool. She's clearly one of the nine queens.
Uh oh.
"I need your help," she says.
Uh oh.
"I need your help," she says.
She's surprised by your acquiescence, which surprises you: The queens are used to obedience. This…may have been optional. You try to match her face to the photos you've seen in papers & on posters. Dark hair & eyes, wearing blue: she must be Mab, the Queen of Night. She speaks.
[suicide mention]
"Did you see in the paper last week—the docks—"
You nod. "The human. Murdered. No suspects."
Mab is pleased. "Yes. Then yesterday, someone in my court—the police ruled it a suicide, but I know: it was murder."
Of course it was.
"I want you to look into it."
"Did you see in the paper last week—the docks—"
You nod. "The human. Murdered. No suspects."
Mab is pleased. "Yes. Then yesterday, someone in my court—the police ruled it a suicide, but I know: it was murder."
Of course it was.
"I want you to look into it."
Mab sighs and looks out the window. The Bower is visible at the moment, at least until Night drifts again; beyond the Bower are the towers of Spring.
"They were lovers," she says. "Salix was training the human for page duty, but when has a fairy ever died for love of a man?"
"They were lovers," she says. "Salix was training the human for page duty, but when has a fairy ever died for love of a man?"
Mab looks at you again. You drop your eyes so as not to meet hers.
"I knew Salix well," she says. "In the last two days, he was different. Furtive."
"Not sad," you say.
"Only you humans are sad," says Mab. "Believe me. He was murdered." She stands. "Be at the side gate at 11PM."
"I knew Salix well," she says. "In the last two days, he was different. Furtive."
"Not sad," you say.
"Only you humans are sad," says Mab. "Believe me. He was murdered." She stands. "Be at the side gate at 11PM."
Mab sighs. "Your JOB is to find out more. Do it well and you'll be paid in real gold. Do it poorly, which includes telling anyone I came here today, and you won't like your payment as much. Now come to the palace at 11 and someone will be waiting."
She leaves. You:
She leaves. You:
The Palace of Air and Darkness crouches in the center of Night. Like most people, you only know its interior from society columns, but the exterior is familiar: all granite & domes & skyways, dwarfed by modern skyscrapers but far more imposing than they.
A brownie is at the gate.
A brownie is at the gate.
You don't see anyone. Not unusual, since the palace district isn't particularly inviting. But the queens keep tabs on each other, and it's possible you're followed by something you can't see. On the other hand, Mab has played the game for centuries and is no fool.
You:
You:
The brownie opens the gate and ushers you into a back corridor.
"This is the new palace," they say, as if you'd asked. "Her Worship is in the old. The death is upstairs."
And up narrow footworn stairs you go, coming out a secret door in a high room overlooking Night.
"This is the new palace," they say, as if you'd asked. "Her Worship is in the old. The death is upstairs."
And up narrow footworn stairs you go, coming out a secret door in a high room overlooking Night.
The room is in a suite, clearly belonging to one of the queen's gentlemen-in-waiting. You're in the bedroom, but through archways you see a bathroom and a sitting room. The door shuts behind you and vanishes.
The bed is unmade. A chair is overturned. The carpet bears bootprints.
The bed is unmade. A chair is overturned. The carpet bears bootprints.
This is where Salix died. His body must be in the morgue. Those boots must be from the police.
The air has an odor you're not used to. You trace it to a small vial spilled under the vanity. A greyish powder, smelling metallic, like blood—
Iron.
Iron in the city of Elphame.
The air has an odor you're not used to. You trace it to a small vial spilled under the vanity. A greyish powder, smelling metallic, like blood—
Iron.
Iron in the city of Elphame.
You can't just FIND this amount of iron in Elphame. Oh, the aristocracy may extract a bit from human servants for recreational purposes, but at this concentration it has to come right from Earth. And only queens could do that.
Which means another queen must have had Salix killed.
Which means another queen must have had Salix killed.
And for the Night Guard not to notice this means they're either very bad at their jobs, or they're covering something up.
But they work for Mab, & Mab wouldn't call you in to investigate something she orchestrated. How she disposes of her court is her affair.
You take the iron &:
But they work for Mab, & Mab wouldn't call you in to investigate something she orchestrated. How she disposes of her court is her affair.
You take the iron &:
It's about an ounce of powdered iron.
Your office building is in Night but you live in Day, under the rule of Argante. (Most non-servant humans live there; it's closest to Earth.) Which means Mab isn't your queen, but she's still *A* queen.
Your office building is in Night but you live in Day, under the rule of Argante. (Most non-servant humans live there; it's closest to Earth.) Which means Mab isn't your queen, but she's still *A* queen.
There's nothing in the bathroom. The elegant sitting room, which opens into the palace proper, has pictures on the mantel. They mostly look like family, but one is a candid photo of a male fairy, probably Salix, & human man smiling at each other.
You hear footsteps in the hall.
You hear footsteps in the hall.
[suicide mention]
The brownie pokes its head in when you open the door.
"Her Worship wants to know how it goes," they say.
The brownie pokes its head in when you open the door.
"Her Worship wants to know how it goes," they say.
Aside from "dead guy", you don't know about the docks case. Unless the dead person was a court favorite, the fae don't spend a lot of time reporting on them. Heck, fae die all the time and nobody cares; they are not a species much acquainted with grief.
(Person here meaning "human"; didn't notice the ambiguity until too late.)
The brownie opens a door in the hall that wasn't there before and takes you down another staircase (or the same? Hard to say). The walls become rough and earthen.
"The old palace," whispers the brownie, and pushes open a heavy stone door into the heart of Night.
"The old palace," whispers the brownie, and pushes open a heavy stone door into the heart of Night.
Mab sits before a mirror in a candlelit cavelike room. The ceiling is dotted with tarnished silver stars. Dead leaves blow across the floor. She wears a blue velvet evening gown and a coat of luxurious fur.
"Well?" she says, as the door and the brownie melt away.
"Well?" she says, as the door and the brownie melt away.
"IRON?"
Mab stands with such force that Night itself trembles. She paces.
"It can only be Argante," she says. "But why? Why now? With the Teind so close? You don't start trouble at this time of year." With each footfall the silver stars shake loose from the ceiling & drift down.
Mab stands with such force that Night itself trembles. She paces.
"It can only be Argante," she says. "But why? Why now? With the Teind so close? You don't start trouble at this time of year." With each footfall the silver stars shake loose from the ceiling & drift down.
Mab puts out a hand and catches one of the stars. It glows faintly in her palm.
"It's war then," she whispers, as if to the star. The walls give a dull hollow moan. She looks at you. "Thank you."
"It's war then," she whispers, as if to the star. The walls give a dull hollow moan. She looks at you. "Thank you."
Hey while we're deciding, here is a map so you can orient yourself.
Mab considers.
“You have until Teind’s Eve,” she says. “That’s as long as I can allow this threat to stand.” She claps her hands once and the brownie appears to take you back.
“You have until Teind’s Eve,” she says. “That’s as long as I can allow this threat to stand.” She claps her hands once and the brownie appears to take you back.
Teind’s Eve is in three days unless the wind changes.
The brownie twitches when you try to speak to them.
“Not here,” they whisper, pointing at the walls. “Tomorrow night in the Tangles. The Unicorn Club. Half past witching.”
“Not here,” they whisper, pointing at the walls. “Tomorrow night in the Tangles. The Unicorn Club. Half past witching.”
The brownie lets you out the gate again and you go to catch a Dayward bus. Though you’re only a bit fae, iron in your pocket makes the city tottery and unreal, as if you’ve stayed awake too long. You consider throwing it away; it sickens you & without it Mab has no basis for war.
The night in Day is brighter than the day in Night. You go up crummy stairs to your crummy flat, which is barely real at the best of times, and less so now with the presence of iron. You wrap it in a blanket and shove it in the corner. Now you can sleep at last.
Once the world was not as it is now. Elphame was a barrow, a green wood, a stone, a place beneath the sea the earth the roots of trees. There were nine sisters: Titania, Argante, Gloriana, Mab, Maeve, Morgan, Ninianne, Una, and Viviane. There was one queen: Titania.
But change comes even to Faerie. There are eight queens: Argante, Gloriana, Mab, Maeve, Morgan, Ninianne, Una, and Viviane. There is one high queen: Titania in the Bower. And the eight permeable realms drift, and where they are less real, they stick together: the Tangles.
The city map changes from day to day, but you can always tell when you are in the Tangles. In an unreal city, this is the least real neighborhood. You can buy sex, contraband dreams, bones, eat prophecies & learn the single word at your soul’s root. Nobody reputable visits here.
And it’s here, at the dark overlap of eight realities, that you have been asked to find the Unicorn Club and learn something. Do you go?
Traffic report: Winter is between Death and Life. Use alternate route. If you’re planning on visiting the Bowery Park, be advised that Summer has ventured closer than normal and the gardens are active.
The clock strikes witching and you prepare to leave. Coat, hat, gloves, dagger, sensible shoes. You see the blanket-wrapped iron. Do you take any of this precious, dangerous substance with you into the most crime-ridden section of Elphame?
You tip a little iron into a vial of water, wrap it in an old handkerchief, & slip it into your pocket. You’re ready. You step out of your building, shut your eyes, & start walking. The warm night of Day darkens & turns odorous. When you open your eyes, you’re in the Tangles.
It’s not too hard to find the Unicorn Club as long as you don’t head straight toward it. Then it’s there in front of you, gaudy and rundown. Inside, it’s dark. A nymph on a small stage sings to the few patrons. The brownie is at a table clutching a tiny cup of milk.
You take a seat opposite the brownie. They’re trembling.
“I cannot say a word against Her Worship,” they say without greeting. “You understand.”
“Yes,” you say. A tired faun takes your order of cider. The brownie is quiet til the faun leaves.
“What do you want to know?” they say.
“I cannot say a word against Her Worship,” they say without greeting. “You understand.”
“Yes,” you say. A tired faun takes your order of cider. The brownie is quiet til the faun leaves.
“What do you want to know?” they say.
Okay everyone: you collectively get three questions. I’ll just take the first three relevant replies unless there’s a later one that I really think needs answering. Setting a timer for ten minutes. ASK AWAY.
The brownie shakes its head but croaks “Loyal enough.”
The brownie turns their cup in their long fingers. “Bad blood,” they say. “Argante has always wanted Night for herself, but that’s why we have sunset and sunrise. To keep peace.”
The brownie stares at you. “Earth,” they say. “But that bit was only a little.” They close their eyes. “There is more in Elphame than there should be. I saw an iron knife here, in the Tangles, at the Goblin Market. Stolen from whoever’s bringing it in.”
“But,” you say, but stop as the faun sets your drink down. When he leaves, you go on. “Fairies can’t transport it, and when humans make the crossing, we—“ you break off, unwilling to relive that moment.
“I don’t know,” says the brownie. “But it’s here.”
“I don’t know,” says the brownie. “But it’s here.”
The brownie cannot offer you any proof; that proof would have to be iron, which of course they can’t touch. And they fall silent, obviously fearing to say too much even this far from Night. You finish your cider and:
The Tangles always smell like rot, and the colors are always wrong. Misbegotten creatures move along the furtive streets. And you find yourself, without meaning to, in the Goblin Market. Everything here is for sale, and most of it is forbidden.
There’s Green Agnes’ stall. The kobold sits behind her array of weapons, from swords to nightmares, waiting for customers. She’s the only regular arms vendor at the Market. If anyone has the iron knife, it’s her.
The docks are in Day, which handles most interactions with Earth.
You have on occasion. She doesn’t super love you (or anyone), but for a price she’ll do or sell almost anything.
“Hello, Agnes,” you say. She scowls, which is as good as hello for her. You can’t go too big too fast, so you look at her selection for a few minutes.
“Buy or leave,” she says at last.
“Heard you had some new stock,” you say.
“Dwarfmake,” she says.
“No,” you say. “Harsher.”
“Buy or leave,” she says at last.
“Heard you had some new stock,” you say.
“Dwarfmake,” she says.
“No,” you say. “Harsher.”
“Nothing harsher than dwarfmake,” says Green Agnes, already bored.
“A trinket from Earth,” you say. “A dear trinket.”
She closes her eyes. “Too dear for you.”
“A trinket from Earth,” you say. “A dear trinket.”
She closes her eyes. “Too dear for you.”
Green Agnes turns away, her business concluded. But now you know she has the knife, and you also know she’s willing to sell for the right price.
“You don’t have the surety for it,” Agnes scoffs. “Be off with you.”
You could try to mention Mab’s name, but that might hurt more than it helps.
A commotion starts at one end of the Market. Agnes smiles.
“Ship coming in,” she says. And you can smell a breath of air from Earth
You could try to mention Mab’s name, but that might hurt more than it helps.
A commotion starts at one end of the Market. Agnes smiles.
“Ship coming in,” she says. And you can smell a breath of air from Earth
The Tangles connect to every realm, of course. They’re faster than trains or buses but far less safe and reliable. Still, you know what you’re doing, and it’s not long before you come out into Day, and there are the docks stretching out into the ether.
You’re in time to hear a faint drumbeat from within the mists at the world’s edge. Oh no.
A ship surfaces from the ether, oars moving in time to the drum. Its prow is high and crude, its hold wide: a titheship.
Dockhands rush to make it fast.
A ship surfaces from the ether, oars moving in time to the drum. Its prow is high and crude, its hold wide: a titheship.
Dockhands rush to make it fast.
Humans in general think nothing of killing a bird for food. Fairies in general think nothing of sending humans into hell. It is the tithe they pay. It is the pillar of the world. It is how things are.
You know it’s not quite hell as most humans picture it. It’s the maw of the universe. It is darker than night and brighter than day; hotter than fire, colder than ice. All Elphame teeters on its brink; the only bulwark is blood. But the fae are bloodless. Humans, however…
It’s not far to home; you can take the boat train. You can leave. You don’t have to watch. There’s nothing to be gained, you tell yourself. Titheships have no secrets.
The humans are immediately swarmed, picked clean of any belongings from earth. Naked you’re born, after all, and naked you’ll depart. After this rite is ended, their guides help them into fine carriages that depart for the Bower. You knew what would happen. You stayed.
The Bower is Titania’s palace and it’s where the Teind takes place. Until then, they’re treated excellently. Think of the Inka dressing human sacrifices in the finest wool before going up the mountain.
You don’t remember the train ride back to the office, just the titheship drums reverberating in your ears as they have for ten years now.
When you get there, you see the door is open a crack. Someone is sitting at your desk.
When you get there, you see the door is open a crack. Someone is sitting at your desk.
The door shuts behind you. The light comes on.
“Raising a weapon against a Belladonna?” says the stranger, his hand now holding the dagger, which you certainly did not give him. A Belladonna? Indeed, he has a lapel pin shaped like a dark purple berry. You straighten up.
“Raising a weapon against a Belladonna?” says the stranger, his hand now holding the dagger, which you certainly did not give him. A Belladonna? Indeed, he has a lapel pin shaped like a dark purple berry. You straighten up.
“Come along,” he says, opening a door behind him, which of course was not there before. “Her Supreme Majesty wants to see you.”
The door leads to a garden; a fragrance of night-blooming flowers drifts into the office. The Bower. He’s taking you to the Bower.
The door leads to a garden; a fragrance of night-blooming flowers drifts into the office. The Bower. He’s taking you to the Bower.
The Bower is the sun around which Elphame orbits. And the center of the Bower is the queen’s garden. And right now, at the center of the garden is the high queen herself. She is as she was ten years ago. Likely she looked the same 1000 years ago and will 1000 years from now.
Titania is shorter than most people expect. She looks like a beautiful middle-aged woman with prematurely white hair. Her gown has a large ruff and pointed shoulders but the rest is hard to see. It’s probably dreams. She smiles at you. “Good to see you again, my dear.”
You haven’t seen her this close for 10 years, only during parades or when she makes her birthday appearance on the balcony above the great square.
“How have you been?” she asks, pointing you to a marble bench, & sitting herself. She waves away her Belladonnas & ladies-in waiting.
“How have you been?” she asks, pointing you to a marble bench, & sitting herself. She waves away her Belladonnas & ladies-in waiting.
She smiles warmly but with an edge. You’re on thin ice.
“Glad to hear it. Now, my dear, will you take a little refreshment? We have much to discuss.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, my dear, will you take a little refreshment? We have much to discuss.”
Yes.
Titania conjures up a small table with tea and little cakes. She hands you a cup and plate herself. It’s almost unheard of, but that’s how it works between the two of you.
“Now, dear,” she says. “All this business with Mab and Argante. I need you to stop it.”
“Now, dear,” she says. “All this business with Mab and Argante. I need you to stop it.”
“How?” you ask.
“I believe you told Mab her courtier was murdered. Of course she thinks it’s Argante. And it may be. It’s none of my affair who’s plotting what. It’s when they act on those plots that I must intervene. I need you to tell Mab you were mistaken.”
“I believe you told Mab her courtier was murdered. Of course she thinks it’s Argante. And it may be. It’s none of my affair who’s plotting what. It’s when they act on those plots that I must intervene. I need you to tell Mab you were mistaken.”
“You see, dear,” says Titania, “this city depends on a balance of power. I can’t intervene directly without upsetting it & Night and Day in conflict would absolutely upset it. We had one war already. I for one don’t want another.” She looks very grave.
“I won’t pretend I have the moral high ground,” she says as you sip. “I AM asking you to lie. I already had the Night Guard lie. But for this, I think I’m justified. Tell Mab it was a mistake. If you like, say Salix was an iron addict who overdosed. Please, my dear. For me.”
“Don’t be so formal,” she says, which of course she can say, now that she has what she wants.
But you have to be formal. She’s the high queen, and you’re just a human she rescued once.
And just like that tea is over, and you’re home, and the sun is rising.
But you have to be formal. She’s the high queen, and you’re just a human she rescued once.
And just like that tea is over, and you’re home, and the sun is rising.
Most humans currently in the city are there independently of the Teind. Some are changelings, some are lost, etc.
Traffic report: Spring is next to Day for most of the afternoon. Expect scattered connectivity between Winter and Life for the morning, settling down by midafternoon. Until half past daydreams, the only way to Death is through Summer.
Sunrise in Night is very beautiful, but it makes the Palace of Air and Darkness dull and insubstantial. You come to the side gate. The brownie is there. Should you…actually do this? Argante is your queen. Mab is just your client.
Mab is in one of the towers, watching the sun rise over Winter. She‘s wearing sky blue silk and a spiderlace shawl. In her hair is a crown that rises like a helmet. “Well?” she says. “Do you have my proof?”
“I was wrong,” you say. “The iron wasn’t poison. Salix was a rustie. He sent the page to the docks to pick up more and something went wrong. Argante had nothing to do with it. I’m sorry.”
Mab turns to you. “I don’t believe you.”
Mab turns to you. “I don’t believe you.”
Now that you’ve started, you must finish it.
“Believe me or don’t,” you say. “But as far as I know, Argante has nothing to do with it.”
“THAT I believe,” says Mab. “Or at least that you believe it. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
But she’s done talking, and the brownie comes.
“Believe me or don’t,” you say. “But as far as I know, Argante has nothing to do with it.”
“THAT I believe,” says Mab. “Or at least that you believe it. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
But she’s done talking, and the brownie comes.
“Trust me,” says Mab. “It doesn’t matter whether it was her.”
You don’t exactly like the smile on her face, but she dismisses you.
The brownie takes you down the same stairs as always. They look worried.
You don’t exactly like the smile on her face, but she dismisses you.
The brownie takes you down the same stairs as always. They look worried.
“Iron,” the brownie whispers. “In the palace.”
“I know,” you say. “I—“
“No,” says the brownie, then turns aghast at their interruption of Her Worship’s guest.
“It’s all right,” you say.
The brownie swallows. “Since this morning. Iron weapons in the palace.”
“I know,” you say. “I—“
“No,” says the brownie, then turns aghast at their interruption of Her Worship’s guest.
“It’s all right,” you say.
The brownie swallows. “Since this morning. Iron weapons in the palace.”
You don’t quite know how to process this.
“Is someone here a traitor?” you ask.
The brownie shakes their head. “Her Worship had them in. I don’t know how. Knives mostly. And a great big vengeful sword. And they say” but they stop again.
“Is someone here a traitor?” you ask.
The brownie shakes their head. “Her Worship had them in. I don’t know how. Knives mostly. And a great big vengeful sword. And they say” but they stop again.
“The other brownies,” they say. “We—talk. And they say that today at the heart of every palace is a hoard of iron weapons.”
You’ve come to the outer door. The brownie wrings their hands.
“Their Worships want a war, we think,” they say. “Or are preparing against one, which comes to the same thing. They don’t tell us. They think we don’t see. But we do.”
“Their Worships want a war, we think,” they say. “Or are preparing against one, which comes to the same thing. They don’t tell us. They think we don’t see. But we do.”
“Her Worship had me clean his lordship’s room,” says the brownie. They stop walking. “I am Her Worship’s, but I don’t want a war, not even if it’s of her making.” They hand you a handkerchief with rusty stains. “This was the man’s. It might mean something.”
The stains are clearly blood, but something seems off about them. No time to talk more. The brownie opens the door.
“Happy Teind’s Eve,” they say.
“What?” It should be, what, not for two days? But—how long were you in the Bower?
“Happy Teind’s Eve,” and they shut the door.
“Happy Teind’s Eve,” they say.
“What?” It should be, what, not for two days? But—how long were you in the Bower?
“Happy Teind’s Eve,” and they shut the door.
The Belladonnas at the gate know you, and you say you have to talk to someone in the lab, which isn’t unusual for a private investigator. Once inside the Bowery, you:
She’s in the Teindhall supervising the decorations for the ball that happens every evening.
“Oh, my dear,” she says. “So good to see you again. I am very busy, however, and just how did you get in, anyway?”
“Oh, my dear,” she says. “So good to see you again. I am very busy, however, and just how did you get in, anyway?”
“I see,” she says when you finish. “Well, we’ll have to deal with it after the Teind, won’t we. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
And she goes back to making sure the brownies are putting up the bunting correctly.
And she goes back to making sure the brownies are putting up the bunting correctly.
Titania’s face turns icy. “My dear, I didn’t save you so you could become an insubordinate fool. Whatever you think is going on will be dealt with.”
You:
You:
Sorry, I had to stop and take care of some stuff and now it’s late, SO: we’ll resume tomorrow.
Titania recoils slightly from the handkerchief.
“Where did you get this?” she asks.
“Where did you get this?” she asks.
You open your mouth to lie and find yourself tell the truth. Not about the brownie—you manage to keep that part back. But she knows now, and you remember: tea in the Bower.
“Destroy that,” she says, pointing at the handkerchief, and you leave at once in search of fire.
“Destroy that,” she says, pointing at the handkerchief, and you leave at once in search of fire.
There’s a lamp in one of the palace rooms. You take the handkerchief and set it alight. As it burns and smells of metal, you realize what’s off about it: the blood is human, of course. But it smells too strongly.
The page had more iron in his blood than he should have.
The page had more iron in his blood than he should have.
That’s how it’s getting into Elphame. Someone on Earth is putting it into human bodies before they depart. It must have been happening for a while, if all the queens have stockpiles of iron weapons. They wouldn’t even need much: a veneer over a blade is all it might take.
But who in Elphame benefits from this? Who has most to gain from a second war? Who is at the center?
This was mentioned briefly earlier, but all humans for the Teind go to the Bower regardless; they don’t get divvied up between the queens.
Titania, yes. Of course. The High Queen, once supreme, now at best the only stable compass point.
If the eight queens come to blows, she’ll be savior, peacemaker, no longer just an old woman in a garden. Stability is crowned; chaos no longer reigns. It has to be her.
If the eight queens come to blows, she’ll be savior, peacemaker, no longer just an old woman in a garden. Stability is crowned; chaos no longer reigns. It has to be her.
If Salix discovered the iron in his lover’s blood, as it seems he did…who else could even get the Night Guard to lie to their own queen? Titania, exerting her last remaining influence to cover up her preparations. She must have changed her plans since Mab came to you.
The queens are all armed, just in the last couple days. That must be her doing, too. Is she hoping for a breaking point NOW? On Teind’s Eve? Whatever is happening, there probably isn’t much you can do now. Everything is in motion.
You:
You:
Traffic report: Intermittent connections between Summer and Life expected until witching, when we should have a fine, settled map until tomorrow afternoon. Happy Teind’s Eve!
The city is bustling with last-minute Teind’s Eve shoppers, and it takes a long time to catch a bus to Night, and even longer to get there. And when you arrive, the palace district is not much calmer: Mab’s entourage is assembling at the main gate, snarling the streets.
The brownie is not at the side gate, and the guards at the main gate don’t know you and certainly won’t let you in; the tension in the city is heavy as humidity. And anyway, there is so much coming and going that they don’t have time to be convinced.
It takes a while, actually. The sun is starting to set when the Queen of Night comes down the grand courtyard staircase toward her carriage. Her silver gown shines beneath long dark swaying furs, her neck & wrists are buried in sapphires and silver, her hair starred with diamonds
You call to her, and confused (and slightly irritated) she beckons you toward her.
“What is it now?” she says. “I thought our business was concluded.”
“What is it now?” she says. “I thought our business was concluded.”
“Titania?” Mab laughs and puts her hand on your arm. “Titania is old. Her time is past, and your argument relies on her being somehow stronger or smarter than us. None of us are that silly. It’s each other we should fear.“ She smiles like a cat. “Come to the Ball and see.”
One might think seeing a fairy queen smile would be a beautiful sight. And it is, in the way an avalanche is beautiful. One can only hope not to be in its way. Mab laughs. “This is my last Teind’s Eve as Queen of Night,” she says. “After tonight, queen of Elphame or nowhere.”
She practically drags you to the carriage. “Come to the Ball,” she says. “You might be useful, especially as Titania’s old favorite. She couldn’t even keep you happy, though, or you’d never have left. See how weak she is? How tired? Her reign is over.”
Mab is confused, but then: she is a fairy. She understands power and loyalty, but not much else.
“She saved me from the Teind,” you say. “I thought it was because she felt sorry for me. Found out later it was just because fairy blood would ruin the whole thing.”
“She saved me from the Teind,” you say. “I thought it was because she felt sorry for me. Found out later it was just because fairy blood would ruin the whole thing.”
Mab nods. “Obviously.”
“Not to me,” you say, “until later. And you try watching the Teind every year. Dozens of people sent on into agony and you’re saved only because of a quirk of ancestry. I couldn’t bear it.”
Mab shrugs. “All right.”
“Not to me,” you say, “until later. And you try watching the Teind every year. Dozens of people sent on into agony and you’re saved only because of a quirk of ancestry. I couldn’t bear it.”
Mab shrugs. “All right.”
The carriage is in motion. There is nothing grander than a queen of Elphame riding in state. So many guards, jugglers, musicians, courtiers with their own magnificent carriages, guards, and entertainers. Flags, banners, cheers, lights, only growing as you proceed to the Bower.
You never wanted to see another Teind. But here you are again, and at midnight, Faerie’s existence will be assured for another year.
You stay in the shadows as Mab disembarks from the carriage. From the other realms, other processions are arriving with their own splendors. The sun has set; the Bower is full of light. You:
Mab heads up the great sphinx-lined terrace to the Bower’s entrance hall. Trees arch overhead, full of lamps. Night-singing birds dart here and there. Below you is the courtyard, glittering with representatives of the nine realms; the other queens are arriving.
An astonishing number of the people gathered are human servants. This is unusual, especially for this event. You realize: of course. Every queen has brought iron-wielding assassins. Every queen has the same dream tonight. Every queen will try to be the last one standing.
“You only ever spent Teinds with Her Supreme Majesty, didn’t you,” says Mab. “Well, the rest of us traditionally gather alone in the antechamber to greet one another in peace.” She smiles that natural-disaster smile again. “I look forward to this being the last such meeting.”
Quick inventory check, because it’s been like 24 hours and time within the story itself has gotten a bit slippery with magic: you’ve got:
-your clothes
-your dagger
-the little vial of iron
-survivor’s guilt
-PURE CUSSEDNESS APPARENTLY
-one power-hungry Queen of Night
-your clothes
-your dagger
-the little vial of iron
-survivor’s guilt
-PURE CUSSEDNESS APPARENTLY
-one power-hungry Queen of Night
The antechamber is white marble. There are 6 divans & one chair. There’s a table with wine and delicacies. Opposite the entrance is a gold double door into the great hall. Faint music comes from within.
“A pity everyone in here will be unarmed,” says Mab. “Or we could end it now”
“A pity everyone in here will be unarmed,” says Mab. “Or we could end it now”
You do. It’s EXTREMELY toxic so you’d only need a little bit in the wine, and you’ve got about an ounce. (It’s very easy to overdose. Picture it as being about the same toxicity as what’s in fugu.)
Mab conceals you behind a pillar and goes to pour herself some wine. She dips a rod of some light wood into the glass and examines it; satisfied that it isn’t poisoned, she drinks. “When my elder sister isn’t trying to kill anyone, she sets a good table,” says Mab.
Any war, between anyone, would be ruinous and unpredictable. You spent enough time with Titania to know how delicate the city’s balance is, but after leaving her you’ve tried to keep your head down & don’t know as much abt the current political subtleties
The outer doors open and the seven other queens come in. Viviane, the eldest of the group, comes first; the others follow in birth order. This strict precedence, as ancient as the city, keeps them from squabbling.
Viviane, Queen of Life is in ruffled green and lace. Three little cardinals flutter around her, chirping.
Ninianne, Queen of Death, is barefoot in simple white, with jet and ivory jewelry.
Mab would be next, and the others look quietly furious that she is already there.
Ninianne, Queen of Death, is barefoot in simple white, with jet and ivory jewelry.
Mab would be next, and the others look quietly furious that she is already there.
Argante, Queen of Day, is in sleek cloth-of-gold trimmed with white fur. Three leaping fawns attend her.
Morgan, Queen of Autumn, is in wine-red velvet. Her jewelry is amber and gold. A raven perches on her shoulder.
Morgan, Queen of Autumn, is in wine-red velvet. Her jewelry is amber and gold. A raven perches on her shoulder.
Gloriana, Queen of Summer, is in sky-blue with a shoulder cape of quetzal feathers. She holds a bone scepter and fireflies swirl behind her.
Una, Queen of Spring, is in soft pink, her hair netted with gold. Two white hens flank her.
Una, Queen of Spring, is in soft pink, her hair netted with gold. Two white hens flank her.
And last is Maeve, Queen of Winter, in white lace and rubies. A snowy owl sits on her wrist. The door closes behind her. You feel trapped. The queens seem to take up all the air and space in the room. Even their beauty seems in conflict.
You try to remember anything you might know about the antechamber. The Bower was your home for two years, after all, and you knew its secrets. (Well, a fraction of a fraction of them.) There’s certainly a secret door here. But where?
You feel the wall behind you. There’s a join in the marble. Good. You have an escape route. Meanwhile, the queens have been exchanging stilted ritual pleasantries. How long do they stay here? An hour?
If…if Titania IS planning something…here are all her sisters in a coop.
If…if Titania IS planning something…here are all her sisters in a coop.
You get the door open and slip in just as another door opens across the hall, where there should be no door. Humans pour in. You see the dull gleam of iron knives in their hands.
Mab and Argante are closest to you. You can take one with you.
Mab and Argante are closest to you. You can take one with you.
(Please do not forget:
Argante - your queen
Mab - your client)
Argante - your queen
Mab - your client)
They’re both running at the door and Mab looks on in shock as you grab Argante’s arm and pull her in. The last thing she sees, in fact, is you closing the door, before iron shuts her immortal eyes forever.
Argante turns to you. “Who are YOU?”
Argante turns to you. “Who are YOU?”
Argante’s fawns just won’t stop leaping. They bump into everything. You don’t have space for them in this passage. But she can’t seem to understand why they’re a problem.
Once she gets herself together, she leads the way. “We’ll come out somewhere,” she reasons.
Once she gets herself together, she leads the way. “We’ll come out somewhere,” she reasons.
Brownies can control the passages of a palace, but you‘re just a queen & a private investigator. You have no idea where you’re going or what time it is. Argante treats it all as an adventure. She’s angry, but she sees this as an opportunity. “Just me & Titania now,” she smiles.
The passage ends and you come out into a colonnade along one of the Bower’s inner courtyards. The last place you want to be is where Titania is, so of course that’s where the palace has brought you. It’s crowded, too crowded even for Teind’s Eve.
The first thing you see is that all the queens’ human servants are here, grouped by court and watched by Belladonnas. Many of the servants are wounded. There is a pile of dead to one side, like unwanted lumber. Across the courtyard is a rostrum. Titania stands there.
“…and after this treason against our royal person was discovered,” Titania is saying, “we had no choice. Our sisters have been summarily executed, their illegal stockpiles confiscated. There is but one queen now. One queen, one Faerie.”
“She’s overconfident,” Argante remarks dryly. “I almost admire her. She must have been planning this ever since we first broke her power. Well, I suppose I’ll learn patience as well. Time to disappear for a bit. Coming?”
You turn back to the door but a brownie emerges from it. He points at you both. “Guards!” he shrieks. “Guards!”
If the Teind fails, hell eats Faerie.
You throw the iron in his face and he bursts. But the Belladonnas are around you in an instant. They grab Argante and pull her into the courtyard, toward Titania. They put you with the rest of Argante’s humans. The world turns toward midnight.
Even at this distance, you can tell Titania is surprised to see Argante, but she recovers and motions to a Belladonna. One, two, three, Argante’s fawns fall to the pavement.
“Well, sister,” says Titania. “My one regret that I wouldn’t see any of your faces when you died.”
“Well, sister,” says Titania. “My one regret that I wouldn’t see any of your faces when you died.”
You can’t hear Argante’s reply. Apparently, the courtyard magnifies Titania’s voice, but nobody else’s. Whatever the Queen of Day says, it seems to amuse her.
“I thought I might grieve,” she says, wiping away tears of laughter. “Thank you for demonstrating that I won’t.”
“I thought I might grieve,” she says, wiping away tears of laughter. “Thank you for demonstrating that I won’t.”
She has the Belladonnas pull Argante to one side. Somewhere deep in the Bower, a bell tolls. The doors to the Teindhall open.
Titania resumes her place in the rostrum. She’s to the left of you; directly ahead are the open doors to the Teindhall, all bright and beautifully decorated, and beyond its magnificence are the great rickety wooden gates of Hell.
The Belladonnas make you all stand and march. Cheery music comes from within the Teindhall. The court is assembling there to watch the spectacle. A few raise opera glasses to see you as you come up the stairs. All the fae clap, smiling, thinking about the splendid feast ahead.
You come into the Teindhall, where you’ve only ever been a spectator. Six large brownies take hold of the doors of hell and unlatch them. The royal party follows you in, including a bound Argante.
Argante sees you waving and shouts at Titania.
The doors to hell swing open.
The doors to hell swing open.
*tips hat to @queuelessness* 
Belladonnas push you all forward with their ritual maces. A greedy wind blows toward hell; the mouth that gnaws at the world is hungry.
The ranks ahead of you step over the threshold. There’s a salt smell as they vanish. Your foot touches the threshold of nonexistence. All Faerie trembles like a tree in a winter wind.
Titania finally listens to Argante and looks over. The people behind you are being pushed forward. You brace yourself against the door jamb; where your fingers cross into hell, you feel small sharp pains. A Belladonna raises his mace to knock you hand away.
“HALT.”
Faerie stands still. Even the eight realms stop their drifting. Only hell moves, and the High Queen of Faerie.
Faerie stands still. Even the eight realms stop their drifting. Only hell moves, and the High Queen of Faerie.
Titania’s court makes way for her, or rather, pretends that her shoving them was their idea. She grabs your free hand and pulls you back into reality. She supports you toward a seat.
“Continue,” she says over her shoulder.
“Continue,” she says over her shoulder.
And the Teind goes on. The court does not enjoy it as much as the usually do. It always falls flat when the queen takes pity on someone. Pity is for humans. And so you don’t watch, and you try not to listen.
The sun can rise again now, is what Titania would say to you.
The sun can rise again now, is what Titania would say to you.
When it’s over, the court has an impromptu surprise. It’s not every day they get to see a queen’s execution, but Titania does know how to observe a holiday.
You don’t watch this either.
You don’t watch this either.
The sun does rise. Brownies come out of the woodwork to start cleaning up. The city goes to sleep off its revelry. Titania, alone, comes up to your chair.
“Walk with me,” she says.
“Walk with me,” she says.
The Bower is a maze for you but rearranges itself for its queen. It’s but a doorway and a wish to the garden at the center, already warm in the Teind’s Day sun.
“I love this garden,” says Titania. “I’ll miss it.”
“I love this garden,” says Titania. “I’ll miss it.”
She shows you her palm. It is deeply scored with dark grey, flaking lines: iron damage.
“Wash your coat, my dear,” she says. “Before anyone else touches you.”
She tilts her face to the sun and closes her eyes. She looks suddenly old and frail. But you don’t feel sorry for her.
“Wash your coat, my dear,” she says. “Before anyone else touches you.”
She tilts her face to the sun and closes her eyes. She looks suddenly old and frail. But you don’t feel sorry for her.
There is a faint dust of iron on your sleeve. It must be from when you killed the brownie. No wonder, on top of everything else, you feel so sick. Titania folds her hands, and you notice they’re trembling.
You take off the coat and toss it to one side. Flowers wilt around it. You feel a little better.
“Did you plan it?” she says, eyes still closed. “Did you know it would happen?”
“Did you plan it?” she says, eyes still closed. “Did you know it would happen?”
Yes
She smiles slightly. “Of course. An accident. It would have to be, wouldn’t it. Where my sisters failed, my friend succeeded by chance.”
Titania seems surprised by the question. “What now? Well, I’ll need an heir, of course.”
Titania finally opens her eyes. “You? An unknown private investigator, barely fae, accomplice in treason? You, the queen?” She laughs. It turns into a cough. The damage is spreading. Even she can’t resist it. “The queen!” She rasps. “You!”
Titania is visibly aging.
“I have too much family. Nieces, nephews, maybe some children of my own left somewhere. I had intended to clean that mess up today. Now they’ll all want the throne. But I only have one bit of strength left in me. So.”
“I have too much family. Nieces, nephews, maybe some children of my own left somewhere. I had intended to clean that mess up today. Now they’ll all want the throne. But I only have one bit of strength left in me. So.”
She takes your head in her hands and brings your eyes level with hers. You’ve never looked so directly at her. It almost hurts.
“I did love you, you know,” she says. “For as long as it was possible for me to love.”
“I did love you, you know,” she says. “For as long as it was possible for me to love.”
“But that’s all over,” says Titania. “And what I do, I do because you hate me.”
She takes a shaky breath.
She takes a shaky breath.
“By the foundations of Faerie I decree that you will be the arbiter of my succession, and you can neither die nor leave this world nor love until the throne is filled.”
She kisses your forehead lightly and slumps against you as the sun goes behind a cloud.
She kisses your forehead lightly and slumps against you as the sun goes behind a cloud.
Yeah, you have to pick an heir, but you can’t BE the heir.
There’s a hush over Elphame. You smell smoke. Later you’ll learn that Titania’s coup was more widespread than the massacre in the antechamber. The great old palaces are burning and will continue to burn for days. Only the Bower is untouched, as it always is.
Her body is not quite cold before brownies come to take Titania. How do they know what happened? They aren’t telling. They look at you sadly. They handle her with reverence, but leave you alone. You:
Nobody comes to talk to you for a while. It’s only when the first claimant arrives near noon that a brownie comes to get you.
“Let me go home and freshen up first,” you say. “Please.”
The brownie opens a door in the garden wall.
“I’ll take the bus,” you say. “Back in a bit.”
“Let me go home and freshen up first,” you say. “Please.”
The brownie opens a door in the garden wall.
“I’ll take the bus,” you say. “Back in a bit.”
Traffic report: mostly settled, slight movement from Night and Death. Poor visibility in all areas except edgeward and Bowerwise. Palace officials anticipate the smoke clearing by daydream on Wednesday. And now let’s go to the news.
FIN
