Free Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon by Lisa Goldstein Page A

stools and yawned hugely, then curled up on a cushion and went to sleep again. Margery set the flowers in a pewter jug and lit fat candles from the fire. She moved a dish caked with what looked like the remnants of a failed experiment but was probably only her supper, and sat down heavily on the bench she had cleared. Alice brushed tobacco crumbs and fur off a stool and sat near her.
    Margery said nothing. How do you ask someone if she’d attended the faeries’ revels without her thinking you belonged in Bedlam? But just then Margery brushed back her tangle of black hair, and for a moment her face seemed to shine like the queen’s. Alice closed her left eye and the light disappeared. “Did you—Were you—Was that you I saw last night, talking to the Queen of Faerie?”
    â€œAye,” Margery said. She picked up her tobacco-pipe from a pile of books and drew on it. Though Alice hadn’t seen her light it a wreath of smoke soon covered her face. If the faerie-light had truly been there it was gone now.
    â€œHow long have you known her?”
    â€œOh, a long time.”
    Alice had forgotten how difficult conversation with her friend could be. She rarely talked about the thing you most wanted to know but would lead you around it, through overgrown and twisting roads. And by the time you emerged into the light of day you had learned many things, each one stranger than the next, but never what you wanted to know. For the first time Alice wondered what sights Margery saw with her left eye, and if that was why she seemed so distracted so much of the time. When the people of Faerie crowded your vision you had little time for the rest of the world.
    â€œWhat did you talk about?”
    â€œShe asked for my aid in something.”
    â€œYour—aid? In what?”
    â€œAh, that I can’t tell you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause many things are told to me in confidence. But be patient—I think you will learn more of this later.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œSoon, I think. Things hurry toward their conclusions.”
    â€œDoes it have something to do with the brownie in my house?”
    Margery laughed. “Do you truly have a brownie? I’ve always wanted one.” She turned to look at the confusion around her. “Aye, it might have something to do with him, after all. Does he bring you luck? Would you like some mulled wine?”
    â€œI would, thank you.” Alice looked on as Margery set out tarnished silver goblets and poured wine in a pot to heat it. Then she gave thought to the woman’s other question, remembering the number of orders she had left at the printshop just an hour before. “I think he does. My business prospers, anyway. But why did he come to me?”
    â€œWhy do they come to anyone? But you must do all you can to keep him.”
    â€œHow do I do that?”
    â€œNever thank him for his labors. Set aside a bowl of milk for him every night, but give him nothing else, or he may consider his wages paid in full and do no more work. Never offend him in any way.”
    â€œCan you tell me anything more about the—these—”
    â€œAbout the Fair Folk? They have not been in London long. An urgent errand brought them here.”
    Alice nearly asked Margery what that errand was, but she felt certain the other woman would not tell her. “But what are they?” she asked. “They are not angels …”
    Margery laughed. “Nay, not angels. But they are very old. The uncovenanted powers, folks call them now.”
    â€œThen they are not—not godly—”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know what you mean by godly.”
    Alice felt a small shock. How could Margery not understand a thing like that? She knew that Margery didn’t go to church, and the knowledge worried her. In the small town where Alice had grown up the other woman would have been fined for her lack of attendance, might