The Seven Tales of Trinket (14 page)

“I want ye to take it.”

“I cannot.” Orla shook her head as she tried to pull away from the old man.

“Ye must!” he commanded. “Worse than losing the family money was losing my dancing.” His voice caught and I looked out the window awkwardly. I would have left altogether, but Orla was between me and the door. “Money is just for buying things.” He sniffed. “Dancing is life itself. I’ll not have ye meet the same fate.”

I could hear Orla swallow. Her eyes glassed over, but she did not cry. The full weight of her bargain landed upon us both as we stood in her great-grandfather’s bedroom. I felt the cold finger of fear tracing circles on my spine. I wondered if she felt it, too.

“Do not be afraid, child,” the old man said gently. “You, harp girl, take her out to practice.” He waved us off.

“That is what ye must do,” he called after us. “Practice, practice, practice!”

A COIN AND A HOLE

Outside, Orla tried without luck to balance her steps on the small circle of gold. Good as she was, she was not good enough to land each leap on the coin. Not only that, she practiced so hard that she wore holes in the soles of both of her shoes.

“These will need mending,” she sighed as she unlaced the ghillies from her feet. “Have you a hand for sewing, Trinket?”

As if I could sew with my fingers so bruised and blistered from playing the harp hour after hour!

I shook my head. “I’ve no skill. And stitching through leather is no easy task. Have you a needle strong enough?”

“Nay,” sighed Orla. “If I were to break one of mother’s bone needles on my shoe, she’d be more angry with me than if I lost this match.”

“Perhaps the cobbler?”

“’Tis worth a try,” said Orla. “Mayhap he can help me.”

The cobbler was not at his shop. As a matter of fact, the shops were all closed. The streets were deserted and our voices echoed in the emptiness. The excitement of the competition that night must have caused everyone to go home and rest up for the big event.

“I bet the Faerie Queen herself wears enchanted shoes made by leprechauns,” Orla complained as we walked through the empty streets of the village. “And here I am, the afternoon of the match with nothing but ruined ghillies and a gold coin.”

Orla was beginning to lose hope. I could not let that happen. There had to be a way to repair the shoes.

And there had to be a way to thwart the Faerie Queen.

If she was planning on changing the rules, we must plan as well.

*   *   *

Our steps echoed through the streets of the small village. The only torch still burning was at the blacksmith’s shop. We had nothing to lose, so in we went.

The blacksmith’s apprentice was a friendly young man with hair as dark as a crow’s wing and eyes to match.

“Can you help me?” Orla asked as she slowly pulled the gold coin from her pocket. “I’ve holes in both of my shoes and this is all I have. I’ve been practicing my dancing on this coin, for that is what the Faerie Queen will ask of me. If I cannot do it, I must never dance again.”

“Orla, ye wee fool,” said the apprentice. “Why did ye go and do a crazy thing like that?” He looked at me accusingly, as if it had been my idea.

“The fault is my own,” said Orla. “I was too proud of my dancing. And now I’ll never get to dance—” A small sob escaped her.

“Now, don’t despair.” He took the gold coin from her and flipped it into the air. “’Tis about time someone beat the faerie folk at their own game.” He winked at us both. “Give me the shoes.”

Orla untied the laces and handed the ghillies over. The smith began to measure the tips of the soles.
Was he planning on patching her shoes with iron?

“Will it cost all of the gold?” Orla whispered. “My great-grandfather wanted me to practice dancing on the coin…”

“Nay, I’ll not charge ye at all, Orla. ’Twould be accursed money if I did.”

He flipped the coin back to Orla, who caught it with one hand. The sight of the coin twirling through the air gave me an idea.

“Orla, may I see the coin?” I asked.

It was not very large, but it was thick. If the fire was still hot enough, it just might work.

THE CHALLENGE

At supper, Orla hummed a reel quietly to herself as she sipped her soup and chewed her bread.

“Are ye not nervous, dearie?” asked her mother.

Orla simply smiled, tapping her feet under the table. Her mother moved her gaze in my direction.

“Trinket, has she been practicing too hard? She looks soft in the head this evening.”

“Nay, she’s been practicing a great deal, but not over much. She’ll be ready.”

I winked at Orla and she winked at me. We looked down at our bowls so as not to giggle.
Was this what it was like to have a sister?

I heard a snort from Thomas. He gave me a
what have you gotten yourself into this time, Trinket?
look.

Orla’s mother sighed and glanced up to the heavens, muttering something under her breath.

*   *   *

When the sun went down, people began to gather on the hillside. And by moonrise, the crowd covered all of the green. The faeries were in attendance as well. Oh yes, they can be invisible when they choose, but when they gather in such a great number, well, they sparkle and shimmer most visibly. The queen wanted them there, of course, to witness her victory over the mortal girl who was fool enough to bargain with the fey.

Thomas and Mr. McGill carried Great-grandfather, bed and all, out to witness the contest. He smiled, but his old eyes held the worry we all felt.

Just as the moon found its place in the center of the sky, the Faerie Queen arrived in a carriage drawn by six tiny white ponies. The wagon stopped in front of Orla and the queen stepped out. She pulled herself up to her full height and asked, “Are ye ready for the challenge?”

“Aye,” Orla said, bending down to adjust a lace on her ghillie.

“And ye agree that the loser of the battle shall never dance again?”

Orla’s father made a move as if to protest the terms, but though his lips formed words, no sound came out. Bewitched most likely, as I had been when we last met the Faerie Queen.

“Aye,” said Orla, “and the winner shall have your gold?”

“Aye,” laughed the Faerie Queen, and she clapped three times. Musicians appeared on either side of her, one with a flute and one with a fiddle. “You have your own musician, do ye not?” She pointed disdainfully at me, though I saw her look at my harp with envy. ’Twas, after all, a most unique harp.

“Trinket is the finest harper in the land,” Orla bragged. I stood tall as those around, human and fey alike, whispered and mumbled.

“Indeed?” said the Faerie Queen. “Then ’tis only fair that she play for me as well as for you. I would not want anyone to say that the contest is not a fair one.”

I swallowed hard.

“Of course, the harper must have some stake in this as well.” She turned her beautiful face. “The harp, of course, should you make a mistake in playing, will be forfeit,” she said.

A boy’s voice piped up from the crowd. “What does she get, then, if she plays without error?”

Thomas.

The queen glared at him, but quickly replaced her nasty look with a sweet smile. “She can have her choice of reward, of course.”

I only nodded. I had no idea what I might ask for because I did not expect to be able to play without a slip. My hands shook, causing my harp to quiver, as the queen motioned for me to sit on the chair the McGills had brought for me from their house.

“So, we begin.” The queen stood on one side of the wooden plank floor Orla’s father had laid for the competition. Orla took her place opposite the queen. My fingers were poised over the harp strings.

“Oh wait, I forgot one small detail.”
Ah, here it was.
She pulled from the pocket in her cape a gold coin. “All dancing must take place upon a gold coin. Each step, each leap, each twirl must land upon the gold!”

Orla’s mother gasped and I thought she might faint, but Orla’s father and Thomas fanned her with large leaves and held her upright. Murmurs, mumbles, and grumbles wove through the crowd, laced with the occasional cries of “Unfair!” and “Cheat!”

The queen might have expected to see Orla crumple in disappointment. If so, then she herself was the disappointed one.

“You first.” There was the slightest bit of cheek in Orla’s request. But perhaps I was the only one to notice.

The queen rose as Orla stepped back from the floor. The coin flipped into the air and landed smack in the middle of the planks. She snapped her fingers and I played.

The Faerie Queen began her dance. The village folk could not help but
ooh
and
aah
as she leaped gracefully about, the tip of her toe never touching anything but gold. My fingers raced along the strings, desperately trying to keep up with the queen’s wickedly fast feet. My hands started to sweat, but never once did the queen look tired. Never once did she look anything but fresh and strong. And amazing. The villagers clapped as she finished her dance, pointed her toes one final time, and bowed. She nodded her head the slightest bit in my direction. I had made no mistakes.

“Your turn.” She looked Orla up and down, her mouth smiling, her eyes not. “I hope you enjoy your last dance ever.” As Orla took her place on the dance floor, her eyes twinkled mischievously. She motioned for me to begin. The queen caught the glimmer. “Remember, you must dance upon a gold coin! Every step!”

ORLA’S GAMBLE

My fingers sprang to life again and I played. ’Twas harder this time, for I could feel fatigue rolling in like the fog on a fall evening. I’d no doubt the queen would count a fault against me even if I botched Orla’s tunes instead of her own.

Not too fast, at first.
Give Orla time to ease in.

Orla danced in a way that no one had ever seen before. Instead of leaping and prancing, as a lady should when she dances a reel, Orla’s feet rallied and trebled, creating an intricate, pulsating beat. If you listened, you could hear her shoes click slightly each time she touched the wood. But the queen was too busy savoring her soon-to-be victory to listen. “Look how her feet do not even touch the gold!” she jeered. “She has lost the bargain already.”

Orla’s mother began to weep. She hid her head in her husband’s red beard.
“Never even had a chance,”
she sobbed. Orla heard nothing but the music and continued to create the most amazing dance ever danced. My fingers, inspired by her feet, leaped over the strings, never missing a note. The villagers clapped in time with the tune.

“You’re not following the rules!” the Faerie Queen shrieked.

Orla’s feet hammered out a crisp rhythm, more musical, more graceful, and more entrancing than the Faerie Queen’s performance. When she clicked her heels together for the last time, both faerie folk and townsfolk stood, clapping and yelling wildly. Orla pointed her toes and bowed regally.

“You lost! You lost!” cried the queen. “Now you’ll never dance again! You stupid, foolish girl! You did not even try! It doesn’t matter that your dancing was the finest, for even the fey cannot deny it.” She gestured to the faeries on the hill, who were all leaping about and clicking their heels, imitating Orla’s spectacular performance. “But your foot never touched the gold!” she roared.

All were silent then.

Orla was out of breath and still smiling. She nodded at me to rise, which I did. “If you’ll permit me, your highness.” I bowed to the queen, then bent down and unlaced Orla’s ghillie. I flipped the shoe over, revealing its sole. “You never said she had to dance on
that
particular coin.” Nailed to the bottom of Orla’s shoe with horseshoe nails was half of her great-grandfather’s coin, pounded flat and covering the hole that had been there. The other half was nailed neatly to the shoe’s mate.

“As you can see”—I held the shoes high, visible to all—“Orla completed all of her steps upon a coin of gold.”

The queen was furious. Some even said they saw lightning behind her eyes, and many of the villagers, fearing her wrath, escaped down the hillside. Angry words in a language I did not understand spewed from her lips.

But she did not combust there, under the moon that night. Nay. She simply took in a deep breath and disregarded Orla altogether.

Instead, she turned to face me.

She tried to hide her ire, but faeries are of a passionate nature. I knew I would have to watch my step, and my words, very carefully.

“Come forward,” she said, pointing to me. “Bring your harp.”

I picked up my harp and held it close to me, lest she try to grab it away. I walked two paces forward, then stood my ground. If that was not close enough, then she could come to me.

“’Tis exquisite,” she said. “Perhaps you would let me try?”

I knew I was foolish to refuse, but I could not bring myself to allow it. I wrapped my arms tighter around my harp and shook my head slightly.

“Very well,” she said. “I did not expect that you would. We have other matters to discuss, do we not? Your payment. Have you thought about what you might ask of me? I could come back another day, when you have had time to consider your options.”

I could see Orla’s great-grandfather out in the crowd, shaking his head. Yes, indeed she might come back … in a hundred years or so!

“I would prefer my reward now.”

“Would you really?” Her voice, the quietest of whispers, was still so fierce that gooseflesh rose on my arm.

“Aye.”

REWARD

Before you think too hard about what you might have wished for yourself, consider my situation. I was but a young storytelling lass accompanied by a pig boy, traveling through the land, attempting to find my father and learn enough stories so I could make a living for myself one day.

’Twas a hard enough path I had chosen for myself.

I did not need an enemy.

“I would like…” My voice was small, even to my own ears. I cleared my throat and started again. “I
demand
as my reward…”

The heat from the queen’s glare was burning my own eyes. I felt them water and blinked twice. Oh, she was angry, but smart as well. I was certain that, at this moment, she was in her mind thinking of the things I might ask for and finding a way to turn my request into a curse.