Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html (25 page)

She no longer believed that she would ever get a reversal operation, and the thought of having the bag for ever was more depressing than she could bear.

She was tired. It seemed like a long time since she had been really healthy.

As the rebels watched, the English army marched from the standing stones up the moonbows. Mercenary dogs

howled in the distance.

'They're on to us ! '

The rebels' wings drooped in despair. After days of hunger and an exhausting underground swim they could not

outdistance their pursuers on Bodmin Moor.

'The moonbows ! ' cried Aelric. 'We will sneak up into the sky once the army is out of sight.'

The others stared at him, amazed by his audacity. Surely their former leader was returning to his previous brilliant ways.

Aelric had in fact noticed Marion going up the moonbow with a sword strapped to her side, and wherever she was going, he was keen to follow.

While on Heather's health regimen Dinnie had only been allowed one beer a day. Now, after nine cans of Schlitz, his emotional turmoil had quietened but his violin technique was abominable. He struggled to get his fingers round the notes but it was no use. Hearing his atrocious efforts, people's attention was drawn away from the baseball and the sleepers woke, but only to abuse him and demand that he cease immediately.

'How dare you insult me,' bawled Dinnie defiantly. 'You ought to be grateful to hear a fine rendition of

"Tullochgorum".'

'Well, is that what it was?' said Sheilagh MacPherson, Chief of the Clan, landing gently beside him. 'We weren't sure. We thought perhaps a Scottish fiddler was under attack and using her fiddle to beat off the enemy. Still, thanks for guiding us down. Where are Heather and Morag?'

Dinnie looked up and groaned. Stretching way up into the sky, and apparently visible only to him, a vast array of kilted fairies were marching groundwards.

'Why me?' he mumbled. 'I'm just a normal guy. I don't deserve this.'

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THIRTY-SEVEN

The moon shone on Central Park. A series of moonbows slid out of the sky and down the moonbows came the

English fairy host, row upon row.

The fairies below stared in horror at the enormity of Tala's force. Regiment after regiment marched swiftly to the ground, heavily armed fairies and all manner of evil-looking kindred spirits and Cu Sidth dogs by their side.

'We're done for,' whispered Tulip, and beside her Okailey, Shau-Ju and Cesare nodded agreement. It seemed like New York's fairies had made up their differences only in time to be slaughtered by a savage invasion force.

'Where are the Scots?' they enquired urgently of Rhona and Seonaid MacLeod, who had been sent up as

representatives from East 4th Street. The MacLeods did not know. Though they should have crossed the water by now, the clans had not arrived.

'Never mind,' said Maeve, and slapped the backs of a few of her Irish comrades. 'We'll see them off.'

The Irish muttered in agreement, but none of them except Maeve was convinced.

After her further argument with Morag, Heather sat on Johnny Thunders' knee on the corner of East 4th and

Bowery. They had just met, although Heather knew from Morag about the dissatisfied guitarist's hunt for his Tiger Top.

Johnny nodded down the Bowery, to where CBGB's was, and told Heather about some good times he had had

playing there.

'I guess I should be getting back to Heaven soon,' he said. 'The Festival of Hungry Ghosts must be drawing to a close, and I wouldn't want to be left out.'

Magenta strolled up to them, looking strong and fit. After her recent meetings with fairies and her large intake of Fitzroy cocktail, she had no difficulty in seeing creatures invisible to the rest of the world.

Seemingly free from Persian pursuit and jealous attacks from other Greeks, she sat down for a talk, and the many and various experiences the three of them had had recently made for a very interesting conversation indeed.

In doorways a little way down the street, down-and-outs were doing likewise, just sitting and talking, with nothing much else to do.

'Thanks, Magenta,' said Johnny, accepting a drink. 'A little strong on boot polish maybe, but not bad. He

fingered,the broken old guitar that he had mistakenly traded with the bag lady. The master artificer Hwui-Yin had fixed it up, but it was still a terrible instrument.

'Anyway, who does have the flower that my fan Kerry needs?'

The small band of English rebels hurried across the moonbow, frightened that they would be pursued by the

mercenaries and trapped between the two Cornish forces. They had no idea of where they were going or what they would find, and no notion of where their next meal might come from.

Aelis was still carrying her bag of leaflets. A complete waste of time, and very cumbersome, but after inventing printing among fairies she did not intend to just dump them in the ocean.

In the theatre Cal was directing his final late-night rehearsal. Despite a last-minute scare when Titania had walked out again, things were now running smoothly. She had returned from a long sulk on the street outside bearing a beautiful flower, a present from the fairies she claimed, a story which pleased Cal as it showed she was getting into her part. Tomorrow was their first performance, and the day of the judging.

Theseus, Duke of Athens, and Hippolyta, his betrothed, swept on-stage.

'Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour— ' began Theseus.

'What the hell is this meant to be?' demanded Magenta, sweeping in through the open stage door. 'Ancient

Athenians didn't dress like that,' she declared. 'Looks nothing like an Athenian, and I should know. Who's this?'

'Hippolyta,' said Cal, weakly.

'Hippolyta?' Magenta shrieked, placing her muscular self straight in front of the unfortunate actress. 'Well, what's file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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she doing here? Ancient Amazonian queens didn't get betrothed to Athenian nobles. Last thing they wanted to do.

Completely ridiculous. Why don't you get back to your own tribe and get on with massacring the local males?'

Hippolyta wavered on the point of fleeing. The irate Magenta was a frightening sight.

The rest of the actors crowded out from backstage to see what was going on. Cal, desperate for his sensitive cast not to be upset on the eve of the opening, tried shooing Magenta away. She immediately gave him a muscular

clout, batting him out of the way. His guitar thudded to the ground.

'Oh God, we're under attack,' wailed Titania. 'I knew I should never have got involved in this production. It's cursed.'

'Don't leave,' screamed Cal. 'I need you.'

'Well, I don't think you need her,' said Heather, materialising brightly on Magenta's shoulder. 'As a fairy queen she stinks.'

'And what's this?' demanded Magenta, grabbing Titania by one imitation wing. 'As I suspected. The triple-bloomed Welsh poppy.' She wrenched it free.

Titania panicked and fled from the theatre, along with a few minor characters.

Magenta grinned triumphantly.

'You soft Athenian dogs. No wonder Xenophon always preferred the Spartans. And what's this?'

She picked up Cal's guitar and read the name on the neck.

'Gibson,' she growled. 'Stolen no doubt from my good friend Johnny Thunders, you swine.'

The English army formed up into ranks. A small group detached itself and advanced towards the opposition. The Chinese, Italians, Ghanaians and Irish numbered around six hundred altogether. The Cornish were in countless

thousands.

'Surrender immediately,' demanded the messengers, 'and hand over Petal and Tulip. Otherwise we will cut you all to pieces.'

'How dare you make war on us?' demanded Okailey, regally. 'Have you forgotten how fairies are meant to

behave?'

The appeal had no effect. Tala's army was rigidly disciplined and ruled by fear. No one dared disobey an order, no matter how much they may have wanted to.

Ailsa and Mairi stood on Kerry's fire escape and scanned the skies for a sign of the Scottish army, but the sky was empty.

'The Goddess knows where they've got to,' grumbled Ailsa, and turned an accusing stare on Morag. 'All you had to do was play one damn tune. You couldn't even do that without arguing.'

Morag shrugged. It was too late now. After assaulting Heather with her fiddle she now had three broken strings. So had Heather, and they were both sporting bruises from vicious fiddle blows. After the fight Heather had

disappeared somewhere to sulk.

'You have destroyed everything of value around you and caused general warfare on the streets. No doubt

tomorrow you will find some spectacular new outrage to commit. On the Isle of Skye, you would have been

drowned at birth.'

'I have helped Kerry with her flower alphabet,' replied Morag.

'With no success,' countered Mairi. 'If the MacLeods had been involved the Welsh poppy would never have been

lost.'

Electronic wailing sounded from the next block.

'Why do sirens go off in this city all the time?'

'Good day's work, Heather.'

Magenta trundled powerfully down 4th Street.

'Caused chaos in Cal's play, regained the poppy for Kerry and found Johnny Thunders' lost guitar.'

But when they met Johnny it turned out not to be his guitar at all.

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'Nice Gibson,' he said, running his fingers up and down the fretboard. 'But it's a recent model, not like mine. Look, Heather.'

He showed the interested fairy exactly the way he played 'Born to Lose' so she could show Kerry, which might

help her make up with Morag. After a few more tunes, thin-sounding on the unamplified electric guitar, he played an oddly familiar air.

'How did you do that?' asked Heather as he finished a competent version of 'Tullochgorum'.

'I heard you play it enough times, sitting on top of the old theatre.'

A moonbow cut through the night to land at their feet.

'At last,' said Agnes MacKintosh, Chief of the Clan, striding into view. 'I thought we'd never find a familiar face.

Well, Heather, what's happening?'

Kerry was out making one last determined effort to find a triple-bloomed Welsh poppy. Morag, in a huff with the MacLeods, wandered out to the fire escape. She was surprised to find there Sheilagh MacPherson, Agnes

MacKintosh and Jean MacLeod, mighty Clan Chiefs, climbing towards her, with Heather trailing sheepishly

behind.

'We gave back the bits of the banner,' said Morag immediately.

'And it was all an accident,' added Heather.

'We have not come about the banner. We have come about the invasion.'

'Although I would not mind a few words about the banner later,' added Jean MacLeod.

Ailsa and Mairi gave their chief an enthusiastic welcome. Heather and Morag were not quite so enthusiastic about this turn of events. They still suspected that they were about to be dragged back to the Isle of Skye and thrown into a dungeon in Dunvegan Castle.

'The Scottish army was tricked into landing in the wrong place by a grim-tempered enemy of fairies who played an evil version of "Tullochgorum".'

'That would be Dinnie.'

'Well,' said Sheilagh MacPherson. 'We're here now, and no doubt Tala's army is as well. So let's not waste any time. The MacLeods have their banner and the MacKintoshes have their sword. Bring out the MacPherson Fiddle

and we will go and scare them back across the ocean.'

'Right,' said Morag. 'The MacPherson Fiddle.'

'The fiddle.'

'The fiddle.'

'Where is it?'

'The fiddle?'

'Yes, the fiddle!' exploded the MacPherson chief.

As it was last seen in several pieces in the gutter of East 4th Street, this was a difficult question to answer.

Dinnie fell asleep in the park, not waking till it had got dark. He trudged home disgusted with life. Instead of making money busking he had wasted what little he had on beer, after which he had been in no condition to play properly. Furthermore, he had been harassed by an army of Scottish fairies and as Dinnie firmly believed that two Scots fairies had been two too many, a whole army made him feel that moving to New York had been a mistake.

'Well, they're not staying with me. I'll hang garlic and crucifixes in the windows. That'll keep them out.'

Of course, Dinnie would not have a room to stay in before long. He could not pay the rent and was due to be

evicted.

His misery intensified. He still craved Kerry. It had been a bad mistake to have sex with the woman from the

health food shop, or at least a bad mistake to get caught.

On the theatre steps he found Cal sitting with his head propped on his hands. Cal told him gloomily that his

production of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
was ruined. Half his cast had fled, either scared by Magenta or panicked by Heather, and he did not even have a guitar to play the music. When the judges came the next day he would be laughed out of the competition.

'Kerry will win.'

Dinnie thought this was probably a good thing but was too drunk and confused to think much about it and

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slouched upstairs to watch a little television before going to bed.

'Hi, I'm Linda. For the hottest two-girl phone sex in town, phone 970 F-U-C-K. We're waiting for your call.'