Free Arrow (Knife) by R. J. Anderson Page A

a muse who won’t stay put?’ She strode up the aisle, seized Martin and gave him a resounding kiss on both cheeks.
    ‘I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,’ said Martin with dignity, scrubbing his lip-printed face.
    ‘No, of course he doesn’t,’ said the woman, turning to Rhosmari. ‘He only likes to hang about the smallest theatre in Cardiff because we’re cheap. As if I don’t know the Tylwyth Teg when I see one.’ And with that startling pronouncement she barked back over her shoulder, ‘Steven, I want you back. Tomorrow at seven.’
    The boy’s face blazed with a smile. He snapped his heels together and bowed, then leaped off the platform and vanished through a door at the foot of the stage.
    ‘Lyn has this delightful notion that I’m some sort of faery benefactor,’ Martin told Rhosmari, so casual it made her blink. ‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d be going senile at her age, but you never know with these theatre people – ow!’ He clutched his arm where the woman had pinched him. ‘Careful, now. If you make me angry, I might put a curse on your box office receipts.’
    ‘They couldn’t be much worse than they are already,’ retorted Lyn. ‘Just ask Toby, he’s been weeping over the books for weeks. Why do you think we’re casting Shakespeare with spotty-faced adolescents and the cleaning woman’s second cousin? We certainly can’t afford anyone better.’ She let out a sigh. ‘But a few of them show promise, and those last two had a real gift. At least we’ll have something to work with this season.’ She eyed Martin critically. ‘So how long are you going to hang about? A few days? A week?’
    ‘It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,’ said Martin. ‘Rhosmari and I are only here for the night. Do you think you could spare us a corner?’
    ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re skint again,’ said Lyn. ‘I thought your people had gold lining every pocket. You’re a very disappointing sort of faery, you know.’
    ‘Try Rhosmari,’ said Martin. ‘She’s a much better one.’
    Lyn looked Rhosmari up and down and snorted. ‘Oh, that’s likely. All right then, both of you, come with me. I’m sure we can find a bed for you somewhere.’
    ‘There you go,’ said Lyn a few minutes later, flopping a mattress onto the floor of the study. ‘Sorry about the paint stink, we’re still cleaning up after the upstairs toilet flooded last week.’
    ‘All part of our usual charming state of chaos,’ added Toby, shoving a box under one of the desks. ‘Though I’ll get this office fixed up eventually, I promise. You never know when some random bloke and his girl will come through and want to use it as a hostel.’ But he spoke cheerfully, with a nudge at Martin’s side and a wink for Rhosmari. ‘Right, Lyn, are we done for tonight? Sure these two aren’t going to murder you in your sleep?’
    ‘Reasonably,’ said Lyn, in a dry tone. ‘Off you go.’
    Toby grinned and kissed her cheek, then sidestepped the ladder and disappeared. Lyn stood a moment, surveying the room – the two desks heaped with papers, the glass-fronted machine displaying dizzying patterns in the corner, the mattress taking up most of the floor – and said, ‘Not exactly the Lanesborough, is it? But there’s sheets and blankets in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can at least offer you a fry-up in the morning, if you bestir yourselves around eight or so. Not that you’ll likely have a choice, with that fat lump crawling all over you,’ and she jerked her head at the still-sleeping cat.
    ‘Bless you, Lyn,’ said Martin, without a trace of irony; it was the closest most faeries ever came to saying thanks , and Rhosmari was startled to hear it. ‘We’re in your debt.’
    ‘That you are,’ Lyn replied. ‘I’m going upstairs to cuddle with Burbage – just knock if you need anything.’ And with that she stalked up the staircase, flicking off the corridor lights behind her.
    ‘Is Burbage the