Clemency Pogue Read online

  And certainly, horribly, around the world, the pleasant buzz of winged wishbringers was brought to a stop.

  On an icy tundra in the heart of Siberia, the Fairy of Noninvasive Surgery was removing a pea from the ear of a little girl who should have known better. The pea, after the fourth of Clemency’s seven-time proclamation, had company.

  In Salt Lake City, Utah, young Jeffrey woke to discover that not only did his tooth remain and he was no richer, but also that a dead fairy lay on the pillow beside him.

  In Brazil a fairy prying open a book to teach a boy with love-dimmed wits how to write poetry fell dead and was crushed by words, her tiny fingers sticking out of the pages like twin rooster combs.

  Good fairies far outnumber the bad, so the massacre was a mostly horrible thing. But a little good was done.

  In jolly old England, for example, a Fire Fairy was playfully relighting the candle on a birthday cake over and over again, denying the birthday wishes of a little girl who had just turned five and was a little blue with her great expulsion of breath. The blue little girl had stopped wishing for a pony with a sidecar, and started wishing only that the candles on her cake would yield to her huffing and puffing. Thanks to Clemency’s long-distance disbelief, the fairy was snuffed, and the candles soon to follow.

  In Texas the stars shone a little brighter on a herd of cows who were being tormented by the Fairy of Random Prodding. When the fairy fell to the ground and was eaten by a mighty heifer named Sippy, the cows were so happy that they danced a jig. Passersby were convinced i was a miracle, and in many respects it was, for nobody had ever taught those cows anything but samba.

  In Hobololi, Mississippi, a fairy fell dead in midair and dropped into the afternoon tea of a horrid little boy. A minute later the boy mistook her for a lemon pip, as that is what she felt like on her way down his gullet.

  Around the world death had been scattered to fairies like seeds to pigeons.

  “Oh.” A tiny sound of infinite sorrow fell from Clemency’s barely parted lips.

  The hobgoblin had crossed his arms and begun tapping his foot. He looked down the length of his enormous nose at Clem with narrowed eyes that said For shame, young lady, for shame.

  “I didn’t mean…,” Clem began. “I was being attacked, and—”

  “And you didn’t stop to think that maybe an intricate bureaucracy of make-believe creatures were working full-time to not only stay beyond the edges of human eyes but also maintain a balance between the dark and light, so that the world never grows so overwhelmingly bad as to be evil or so overwhelmingly good as to be boring,” said the ugly little messenger. “A balance that was nicely combobulated until your misbelieving banter threw a pixie-grieving spanner into the works and guaranteed twice the work for us survivors.”

  “I guess not,” said Clemency. “I didn’t think about that at all.” She was at fault completely, helpless. She was quiet for a moment. “Can I fix it?”

  “Oh, now she wants to fix it.” It seemed like the hobgoblin had his answer ready, and had been simply waiting for the prompt. “Now the murderess wants to wrap a Band-Aid across the globe and leave town before it’s time to pull it off, taking all the hair with it.”

  Quick-witted Clemency, however, realized that there was just such a solution. She had not forgotten the story of Peter Pan. Her voice had been the worldwide poison, perhaps it could be the balm. She clapped her hands and said in a trembling voice:

  “I do believe in fairies. I do.”

  In Texas, a very unhappy fairy was restored to life, and a jigging cow named Sippy became suddenly much, much sadder. After Sippy found temporary relief in the release of a fairy-bearing belch, the whole herd had reason to nix their jig.

  “Whoa, there,” said the hobgoblin. “Shut your trap before you get caught in it. What about your best and only friend in yonder gorge? What about the Fairy of Frequent and Painful Pointless Antagonism? Every one of your ‘believe in fairies I do’ is a game of craps that could become a similar exclamation. Seven fairies nixed, now left six, any one of which, their misbeliever risks, from death’s reach awoken, by her belief spoken. There’s the rub, rube.” He motioned with his thumb past Clem, and down to the gorge’s bottom where the cruel fairy lay. “Fairies go bad like jarred fruit goes botulistic. Like wrath in death you’ll envy after; when that fairy comes back, she’ll come hunting for you sure as Sherlock’s shrunken shanks. You would be good as dead, and luckier if you were.”

  “Oh.” That little sound of infinite sorrow again. But that sorrow did not last. The thought of the Fairy of Frequent and Painful Pointless Antagonism stoked the fires of Clem’s reserve. That fairy had forced her into this, and she would not let herself be whupped by a mean-spirited pixie. It is times like this when all good children come to the aid of themselves, and Clem was good.

  “There has to be something I can do to fix it,” she said.

  “Conceivably,” said the hobgoblin dully. “But gobs of notions are conceivable. Clot your imagination with kind wasps and rational adults, but you’ll sooner find flying monkeys nestled between your toes. Conceivably—and pay attention—conceivably, if you knew the Fairy of Frequent and Painful Pointless Antagonism’s name, then you would gain power over her and you’d be safe. Conceivably.”

  “If I knew her name?”

  “Rumpelstiltskin.” The hobgoblin seemed tired, stretched his back. “If a human knows an imaginary creature’s name, that human becomes master. That’s why we let the humans run the show, mostly. You and your words are big dangerous animals.”

  Clemency knew the story of Rumpelstiltskin. Here was hope. Clemency narrowed her eyes and rubbed the palms of her clasped hands together in front of her.

  “So what’s her name?” Clemency asked.

  “Nothing worth a life is that easy. We’re very secretive about our names. That fairy’s never told anybody what to call her; we just know her by her position: Frequent and Painful Pointless Antagonism. That’s her job, that’s all I need to know. Anyway, my time falls out of my hands like an egg without a shell; you’ve made me very busy and very late. If you’ll just promise me that you won’t kill any more fairies, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Where are you going?” Clem was suddenly nervous. She began to pace, the burlap at her knees swishing.

  “Java,” said the hobgoblin.

  “Where’s that?” Clem asked.

  “Halfway to where we are now, the long way around.”

  “Sorry?” Clem asked.

  “The far side of the globe. But I travel quick. Straight lines and no potty stops, I could make it there in three beats of a mouse’s heart.”

  “Wow.” Clem was honestly impressed.

  “So, good day and life and whatever follows. By the by, nice pants.”

  “Thanks, I made them myself. Though they’re burlap,” Clem said.

  “Good, strong fabric. I have some potato friends who will wear nothing less.” The hobgoblin gave a reassuring nod.

  “That’s true. But they chafe me so.”

  The hobgoblin’s jaw dropped. He stared in wonder at Clem, his fists clenching and spreading like a lung diagram.

  “Drad nastit.” He shook his head, dumb-founded, defeated. “You wickedly clever child.”

  Chapter 4

  “NOW THE WHOLE WORLD might as well know. I’ll be a laughingstock. Add some potatoes, I’ll be a laughing soup. Reduced to a servant to the whims of every child on this once good earth. Oh, pity, cruel world, poor Chaphesmeeso, he wanted only to save a few fairies. But no. Now, every little bluebird in every big tree, every mole in the ground, every breeze, has overheard this burlap-clad mastermind, and will whisper through the world like an infinitely whistlable, unforgettable song: Chaphesmeeso…Chaphesmeeso…Chaphesmeeso.” Chaphesmeeso sank his large bottom onto the moss. He sighed a deep, deep sigh. He looked up at Clemency. “Killer of fairies, enslaver of hobgoblins. You don’t like me much, do you?”

  “I…” Clemency paused. “I jus
t don’t know you very well.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I want to get to know you. You’ve got a handshake like a lobster.” Chaphesmeeso looked down at the ground and shook his head sadly.

  “My name’s Clemency,” she said.

  “Ha,” said the hobgoblin, not with a whole lot of humor. “Well, self-pity enough.” He rocked backward on his great behind and then sprang up onto his feet. “Now that you’ve got my name, you’ve got my leash with an option to buy. You wish, I do.”

  Clemency stopped feeling sorry for the hobgoblin and started planning her solution to all the horrors she had caused. She clasped her hands in front of her and rubbed them together craftily. She narrowed her eyes at Chaphesmeeso.

  “How did you know I was killing all those fairies?”

  “Everything travels fast underground. Information, too. When you’re down in the dirt, you hear things,” Chaphesmeeso reported quickly.

  “Ah. So you know where all the children are whose lives I’ve ruined with my fairy slaughter?” she asked.

  “Sure, suretainly. There’s a little girl in the heart of Russia who was being visited by the Fairy of Noninvasive Surgery. It seems (though even good stories fall apart at the “seems”) that this little girl was the victim of a malicious pea. She was innocently supping at her lunch when the lecherous legume fell into her ear. It nestled there and was content to stay, so the girl was visited by our little fairy, who just as she was getting her arms around the pea, was struck dead by Clemency. Ha.” Chaphesmeeso lifted his eyes to heaven, satisfied at the last joke, if maybe a little embarrassed.

  “Okay.” Clemency continued to rub her hands together. “Let’s go fix some unhappy children. Line ’em up, I’ll knock ’em down. Line ’em up.”

  “To Russia then?” Chaphesmeeso asked.

  “To the heart of it,” said Clem.

  Chaphesmeeso fastened the chinstrap on his pointed metal hat. “Grab hold of my ears, Clemency.”

  Chapter 5

  “NOW LIFT ME UP,” he said.

  “Won’t that hurt?” Clem asked.

  “My ears, my dear, have held wild buffaloes at bay. They have tossed the boulder of Sisyphus about like a beach ball. They have tussled with crocodiles, wrestled rabid whales, handcuffed thunder, put lightning in jail.” Chaphesmeeso jogged from foot to foot, shadow-boxing with his ears. “Lift me up.”

  Clemency grabbed hold of his rabbitlike ears and pulled him off the ground. Only then did she realize how heavy his metal hat must have been, for he immediately flipped over, the point aimed directly down.

  “Ready?” he asked, his upside down mouth a bizarre lemon-wedge shape.

  “Ready.” Clem had barely pronounced reh when the light disappeared in an earthy fwump that engulfed her with a great explosion of dirt. There was a sound of great rushing and a fltftftffltftftftfltftftftfltfftftft like a skinny flag in a fat hurricane. She had no sense of direction, but for the feeling of gravity changing around her. When they had begun, it was pulling her down, headward. Eight seconds into the journey, the gravity was pulling her from every direction. The center of the earth? she wondered correctly. After that the gravity grew steadily stronger, pulling at her ankles, but she clutched tightly to Chaphesmeeso’s ears, as they plowed upward through the dirt like conjoined supermoles.

  Pufwump! A geyser of dirt exploded around Clem as she was pulled upward through the ground on the far side of the world. She landed solidly on snow that packed under her feet. Soil scattered like a tiny rain shower, revealing a glaring white expanse. The last of the black dirt pattered down in white snow, and Clem and Chaphesmeeso were surrounded by the silence of big, fat, softly falling snowflakes.

  “That was fantastic,” Clem said.

  “I do well,” said Chaphesmeeso with quiet pride.

  “Okay, where’s this sad child?” Clem asked.

  “There.” Chaphesmeeso’s finger pointed at a barely visible window that glowed fireplace orange in the dark blue daylight of falling snow. Clem saw it dimly through the fog of her breath.

  “Let’s go.” The girl and hobgoblin trudged through the snow, Clemency’s footsteps teardrop-shaped indentations behind her, Chaphesmeeso’s a steady trench behind his stubby legs.

  The cottage projected a feeling of intense miniature warmth, like a sleeping kitten. Smoke drifted in lazy puffs from the chimney and disappeared into the thick snow. Clemency opened the door a crack and peeked in. The one-room cottage appeared unoccupied, except for a small form, a child, nestled in a quilted bed under the window.

  Clem opened the creaking door and stepped softly in, followed quickly by Chaphesmeeso. They crossed the rough wooden floor and stood over the bed.

  The child lay sleeping peacefully. Her skin was very pale, her hair short, coarse, and black. Tucked snugly beneath her chin was a great patchwork quilt. The quilt, each square taken from a different worn-out garment donated by family member or friend, was like a map of the many people who had produced and cared for the little girl.

  Clemency glanced up and saw that Chaphesmeeso was smiling sweetly. He noticed Clem’s attention and looked away gruffly.

  “I was smiling at the pea, not the girl,” he said.

  “Which ear do you think it is?” Clem asked.

  “Peas in ears are all the same to me,” said Chaphesmeeso, still embarrassed.

  Clem leaned down over the sleeping girl and looked closely at her left ear. It seemed fine. The right ear had a very faint, but angry, pink rim.

  “Ah,” said Clem.

  She leaned her head close to the ear and peered in. It was very dark in there. She could not see the pea or the fairy who was stuck with it.

  “Hmm,” she said. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “No pea charmer, you, hmm?” Chaphesmeeso said.

  Clem needed some tools, something to help her see, and some tweezers. She looked around the room. There was a clay stove, and a large wooden table covered with cooking utensils, knives, wooden spoons, tongs. None of it was useful to her. By the front door there were a few coats hung from pegs, and a hat. There was a chair on the other side of the door with a large old woman sitting in it, watching the girl and the hobgoblin with large, hopeful eyes. Next, there was a desk with some scattered papers, pens, an inkwell, and…a magnifying glass.

  A magnifying glass. Clem walked purposefully over and picked up the glass, when she became conscious of an item lingering in her short-term memory—an old woman with large hopeful eyes.

  Clem looked over; the old woman was watching her. She was shaped like a head balanced on top of a heap of grain sacks. She had the appearance of wearing many dresses, and indeed, Clem could see several skirts underneath the outer. Her lips shrank back where teeth should have been, but her teeth had moved out long ago and perhaps retired to a warmer climate. Her eyes twinkled with hope.

  “Oh,” said Clem. “Hi.”

  The woman nodded encouragingly and then looked over at Chaphesmeeso. She nodded at her granddaughter, as if to say, Fix her. She said something in Russian.

  Clem walked over next to Chaphesmeeso, next to the sick child. “Do you speak that language?” she asked.

  “I speak human,” Chaphesmeeso said.

  “What did she say?” Clem asked.

  Chaphesmeeso repeated the Russian phrase.

  “I mean in my language.”

  “My job would be so much easier if more humans spoke human,” the hobgoblin lamented. “In your little branch of human, she said ‘Thank you for coming. I was very frightened.’”

  “She knows about hobgoblins,” Clemency asked.

  “Probably not,” said Chaphesmeeso, “but after so many years on the earth a creature gets to expect just about anything.”

  “Oh.” Clem looked over at the grandmother and nodded, as if to say, I’ll do my best.

  The grandmother said something else in Russian.

  “She likes your pants,” said Chaphesmeeso.

  “Thank you,” said Clem, smilin
g smugly. She turned and looked at the child, and lowered herself over the ear, peering into it with the magnifying glass. Nothing. But under the glass, the pink rim of the ear seemed that much more infected, that much angrier. Clem shifted slightly, and there, deep inside the ear, she could see a tiny glint, light reflected off the dead fairy’s wing or wand.

  She slowly moved her finger toward the ear. As the tip of her finger brushed against the angry pink rim, the child moaned softly in her sleep and turned. Clemency withdrew her finger as if bitten.

  “Oh.” Clem looked at Chaphesmeeso. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Not quite the fairy you thought you were?”

  “No.” She pronounced the word as if she deflated slightly with its saying.

  The child, stirred by pain, opened her eyes ever so slightly, and focused on Chaphesmeeso, whose bizarre gourd-skinned face was directly level with hers. Her eyes snapped open, frightened and frozen. Chaphesmeeso grinned evilly and leaned closer to the child. In a harsh whisper, he said:

  “Bats and rats

  hide in your hats,

  and bite and carry rabies.

  We hungry trolls,

  we wait in holes,

  and eat up sleeping babies.”

  He made a scary face. The child drew back quickly.

  “Chaphesmeeso! Stop that,” Clem hissed, hoping the grandmother had not seen.

  “Fine.” Chaphesmeeso obeyed.

  “How could you?” Clem was miffed.

  “I’m not gonna apologize for spoiling the air I breathe or letting a few nightmares out to pasture.” Chaphesmeeso shrugged. “I’m a hobgoblin. What do you want?”

  “Well, Chaphesmeeso, with the authority of your name I command you not to scare any more children.”