Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html (13 page)

sound till they disappeared from view. Magris turned and muttered to the remaining mercenaries. They marched

off into the night on the track of the rebel Aelric.

The light wind that always followed the production of a moonbow tugged at Magris's cloak as he too left.

Magenta was tense, though not dissatisfied. She eyed the skyscrapers that stretched up First Avenue and her

soldierly instinct told her that here would be a good place for an ambush. Joshua, now merged in her mind with Tissaphernes, might be waiting round any corner. She took a drink from her cocktail, made a mental note to buy more methylated spirits and boot polish, and flicked through her copy of Xenophon.

One of the most impressive parts of the book was the Greeks' trust in the Gods. Even in the most dangerous

circumstances, when quick action was imperative, they would do nothing until they had made the proper sacrifices and consulted the omens.

Magenta looked round for a likely sacrifice. A squashed pigeon lay in the gutter. Magenta spied it and hurried over to inspect its entrails. They were a little hard to read, having been run over by numerous cars, but on the whole Magenta thought they looked favourable.

'Right, men,' she called. 'Advance.'

There were more dissatisfied fairies in Cornwall. In a corner of Bodmin Moor behind an ancient standing stone, a corner as cold and grey as the Atlantic over which the mercenaries strode, the moonbow was about to fade in the dawn. Out of the dark bushes crept four silent figures, scanning the area warily.

'Where is it leading?' whispered one, eyeing the seven bands of grey.

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'Who knows?' said another. 'But Heather MacKintosh and Morag MacPherson will be on the end of it. Let us go

before it fades.'

Without another word they began to ascend. They were four female warrior fairies from the MacLeod clan. Each

of them was tall, lithe and strong, and heavily armed. They intended to recover the stolen pieces of their banner and none of them had the manner of one to be trifled with.

A small child dropped a dime on the sidewalk. Brannoc kindly stopped to pick it up and return it.

'I don't believe it,' came a voice. 'Not content with robbing the bars, they're stealing dimes off children now.'

Brannoc was confronted by an angry group of black fairies.

'These whites are even meaner than they used to be.'

'You don't understand,' protested Brannoc.

'Someone's stolen my dime,' wailed the child.

Brannoc made a hurried departure, learning with great speed the technique, already well known to Heather and

Morag, of making an emergency exit on the fender of a speeding cab.

'What happened?' cried Tulip and Petal as he stumbled into the safety of their bushes. Brannoc refused to talk about it, although he did mention that cab drivers in New York were appallingly reckless, luckily for him.

'I saw an awful lot of police outside,' said Morag, as Kerry took her lunchtime steroids.

Kerry told her that they were probably on their way to Tomkins Square, where today there was a free festival.

'I hate to see so many police.'

'Why?' enquired Morag. 'Police are nice. In Cruickshank our village policeman, Constable MacBain, is a braw

man. Every afternoon after he has his dinner and a few drinks in the pub he comes for a sleep behind the bushes near where we live and he often leaves some tobacco for the fairies. All the children like him because he gives them rides on his bicycle. And he is not a bad piper either. Now I think about it, I'm sure I heard him say one day that he has an Irish cousin who is a policeman in America. I'm sure he is a braw man too.'

Kerry said that this did not sound like any policeman she had ever come across, and the chances of any member of the New York Police Department leaving tobacco out for the fairies were pretty slim, but Morag did not really understand what she meant.

'So, what are we going to do today?'

'The festival in Tomkins Square. Cal is playing guitar with a friend's band so we can scream abuse.'

'Sounds good to me.'

Kerry struggled into her pink and green dungarees because today she would need lots of pockets for beer. After a long and detailed discussion with Morag about what to put in their hair, involving much study of Botticelli's
Primavera
and associated works, they left.

In Chinatown the Chinese fairies were making final preparations for the Festival of Hungry Ghosts, making sure they had enough food and drink for celebration and for offerings, and the correct incense and paper money for burning. This active time would normally have been a happy one, but the community was instead gripped with

apprehension due to the loss of their prized Bhat Gwa mirror. What new and terrible dissatisfied spirit might appear among them without the mirror to reflect away bad Fung Shui?

Lu-Tang, their sage and wise woman, sent envoys all over looking for it, but where it had got to since last seen falling from the skies into Canal Street, no one could tell.

Further inspection of Kerry's apartment showed that it was no longer there, although the Chinese fairies who

staked out East 4th Street were interested to see Heather sneaking into the apartment for a good look round.

Heather was taking this opportunity to break in to Kerry's apartment and gather more information about her. The file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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more she knew about Kerry's tastes, the easier it would be to change Dinnie into the sort of person she would like.

She wondered where they had gone.

'To have fun somewhere, no doubt,' she muttered wistfully, rummaging through Kerry's huge collection of

cassettes, and wishing again that she had ended up with a human friend who liked to have fun, instead of one who sat around all day watching dubious programmes on television.

It took Kerry some time to persuade Morag that they had not actually been responsible for the riot in Tomkins Square and that it was merely a coincidence that it had erupted after they lobbed a bottle on-stage at Cal's band.

'I'm sure there would have been trouble anyway,' proclaimed Kerry, as they fled from the chaos. 'It had little or nothing to do with us drinking too much. The police were just waiting for an opportunity to wade in with their truncheons.'

Bloodied victims of the riot streamed past them, much to Morag's distress.

'These police here are very heavy-handed,' she said, wincing at the sight of the injuries. 'I will have some strong words to say to Constable MacBain when I get back to Scotland.'

As soon as they were out of the immediate area they plunged into a deli to buy beer.

'Why do they sell beer in brown bags here?' enquired Morag.

'Something to do with the law.'

'Oh. I thought it made it taste better. Still, we'd better obey the law unless we want to get a truncheon over the head.'

Magenta hurried past on the other side of the street, escaping after the vicious mêlée with the Persians. Morag spotted her and gave pursuit.

'Well,' mused Johnny Thunders, gently floating down through the Nether Worlds. 'I can hear screaming guitars and a riot going on. Sounds like New York to me.'

He was right. It was.

'Now, how am I to find my 1958 Gibson Tiger Top?'

In the mad pursuit into the mountainous regions Magenta, badly harassed by Persian mounted archers, New York

motorcycle police and a Scottish fairy, was forced to abandon some of the booty picked up on the campaign so far.

This was regrettable because, as with all mercenaries, booty was one of her main motivations. Mercenary pay was not really sufficient to justify the dangers and rigours of the life. However, they were too heavily laden and something had to go. She dropped the triple-bloomed Welsh poppy and carried on with her flight.

She was protecting the rear. Up in front Chirisophus the Spartan led the way. Xenophon did not trust Chirisophus one bit.

'That bag lady is madder than the rest of them,' Morag told Kerry. 'Younger and fitter, though. It took me fourteen blocks to catch up with her.'

'What happened?'

'I asked her for the flower. She shouted to some imaginary followers to form a square because they were under attack. Then she threw down the poppy.

'Did you get it?'

Morag shook her head.

'Three fire trucks arrived at that very minute. By the time I'd made my way round them it was gone.'

She gazed at her knee, which was red.

'When I tried running round the fire trucks I fell over and skinned my knee. I think the beer may have slightly affected my balance.'

Kerry trudged home with Morag in her pocket. She needed this flower and it was high time it stopped circulating round the city, but who could say where it was now?

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'Your waistline is definitely getting smaller,' announced Heather. 'Have you done your exercises today?'

Dinnie nodded. He had never exercised before and he ached.

'Good. Soon you will be a fine strapping MacKintosh, fit for anything. Now, who do you like best, the Velvet

Underground or Sonic Youth?'

Dinnie shook his head blankly, one of the many habits of his which annoyed the fairy.

'The Velvet Underground? Sonic Youth? What are you on about?'

'I have made an important discovery.'

'You have to leave?'

'No, I don't have to leave. To fulfil our bargain, I am prepared to hang around indefinitely. The important

discovery I made, during a daring commando raid on Kerry's, is that she is very fond of music. There are these things — what are they called — cassettes? Right? Cassettes. All over the place. She is almost as untidy as you, though not so dirty. Now, of course I had not heard of any of the bands that played on these cassettes, but I picked out the one she plays most often— '

'And how did you find that out?' said Dinnie, with some sarcasm. 'Asked a cockroach, I suppose?'

'No, I did not ask a cockroach. I asked the cassettes.'

Heather picked something out of her sporran.

'And here it is.'

Dinnie glared woefully at the tape. 'A New York Compilation', it was called: Sonic Youth, the Ramones, the New York Dolls, Lydia Lunch, Richard Hell, the Swans, Nine Inch Nails, Television and many others.

'Well, so what?'

Heather scowled in frustration.

'Dinnie, stop havering. If you want to be the sort of boyfriend Kerry will like you have to at least pretend to like the same sort of music as her. Haven't you seen her going out to hear bands at night? It is obviously important to her.'

Dinnie was appalled.

'Is there no end to these impositions?' he barked. Only yesterday Heather had lectured him for refusing to give money to a beggar and right after that she had forbidden him to call the assistant at the deli a Mexican whore, even in private.

'This is not the sort of thing Kerry will want to hear. And you are not to mutter bad things under your breath when black people come on television either.'

Heather waved aside his protests and inserted the cassette in Dinnie's tape recorder. 'Now, you listen to this and memorise it. I am away for a few drams and I'll test you when I get back.'

Dinnie, however, had not finished protesting.

'What use will it be liking the same sort of music as her when I'll probably never even get the chance to talk to her?'

Heather slapped her thigh triumphantly.

'I was hoping you'd ask that. Because I have that angle covered as well. When you make a bargain with a

MacKintosh fairy you get the full service.

'Kerry, as I have told you, is very fond of flowers. She seems to collect them, in dried form at least. And today, while having my afternoon flutter along the rooftops, I happened to spot a very unusual flower lying on the

pavement.'

She handed the triple-bloomed poppy to Dinnie.

'I feel that once you give this to her she will be very favourably disposed towards you.'

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Heather stood on the play button of Dinnie's cassette deck. Dinnie winced as Lydia Lunch began to blast through his rooms.

'But I hate this sort of stuff.'

'So what? You can pretend. You don't think you're going to win Kerry by being sincere, do you?'

Aelric's guerrilla campaign in Cornwall suffered a reverse when he fell in love with the King's stepdaughter.

He sat in a barn, musing on this misfortune.

'Are you sure you are in love with her?' asked Aelis, one of his trusted companions.

'Yes. When I saw her drawing her sword and preparing to give chase after we set fire to Tala's Royal Mint, I knew immediately.'

Aelis shook her head in sympathy. She knew that when a fairy falls in love at first sight it is practically impossible to get over it, but she also knew that as a romance it was doomed from the start. With Marion being the

stepdaughter of the King there seemed little chance of her falling for Aelric, a rebel who kept burning down the King's most important buildings.

Barn owls nestled in the shade beside them.

Aelric looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

'Of course,' he mused, 'she is his stepdaughter and for all I know she might hate her father. Stepdaughters have a notoriously bad time of it in fairy royal families.'