Page 4 of The Iron Raven

Regardless, that seemed a bit extreme. It’s not like the Iron fey have threatened anyone since the war with Ferrum.

I made my way through scattered booths and tents, ignoring the vendors that called to me. A persistent kobold latched on to my sleeve, squawking something about his fine tools; I turned my head and grinned at him beneath my hood, and he let go like he’d grabbed a scorpion.

Finally, the crowds thinned, and the booths and tents fell away until I stood beneath the rusted hulk of the Ferris wheel, which groaned softly as the wind blew through the metal frame.

Straight ahead, in the shadow of the derelict ride, stood a strange setup that was part carnival stall, part wagon, part junkyard. The booth sat on four rusty wheels and looked like it had been slapped together with corrugated metal and duct tape. Boxes, crates, and flimsy metal shelves surrounded it, blinking with strands of Christmas lights, and a neon pink sign flashed OPEN against the wall of the booth. Another sign, this one made of wood and iron, had been jammed into the ground near the entrance. Cricket’s Collectables,it read in bold copper letters.Trinkets, Gadgets, Oddities.

A low growl echoed from the shadows as I approached the booth, and a pair of clockwork hounds, these much bigger than the brown-and-white terrier from earlier, slid from between crates and boxes to stare at me. They looked like rottweilers, the gears and cogs in their fur spinning lazily as they came forward.

“Oh hey, guys.” I stopped, raising a hand to the dogs, who eyed me with flat, unfriendly gazes. “I come in peace. I’m not going to snitch your stuff.” They continued to shoot me baleful looks, and I offered a weak smile. “Um... I’ll trade you safe passage for a squeaky bone.”

“Ooh, a customer.” The door of the stall opened, and a figure emerged, the small brown-and-white dog at her heels. The two clockwork hounds immediately turned and trotted back into the shadows, becoming one with the piles of junk surrounding the stall.

“Howdy, stranger.” The figure strode toward me, beaming a bright, toothy smile. She was small and willowy, with long pointed ears and bright copper hair that seemed metallic. She wore a brown leather corset, leather gloves, and knee-high leather boots, all trimmed in gold, iron, and copper gears. Her skin was circuit-board green, and the pair of leather-and-gold goggles perched on her head were almost identical to the dog’s.

Yep, this was definitely an Iron faery. Just the amount of metal studs and loops in her long ears would be enough to give a traditional faery heart palpitations.

“Welcome, welcome!” the Iron faery said. “What can Cricket find for you this fine evening? Have you come to browse my wares, or are you looking for something in particular? Waaaaaaait a second,” she added before I could answer, and shiny black eyes peered at me beneath the goggles. “I’ve seen you before. You’re Robin Goodfellow, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh wow.” The faery grinned back with excitement. “I hear the stories they tell. You’re famous! Is it true you stormed Ferrum’s moving fortress with Queen Meghan and helped her defeat the false king? And went to the End of the World with the prince consort? And ventured into the Between to fight the entire army of Forgotten by yourself?”

“All true.” I smiled. “Well, most of it, more or less.” She sighed dreamily, and I gestured to the booth behind us. “But what about you? Can’t imagine you get many customers, even in the goblin market.”

“Not yet,” Cricket admitted cheerfully. “But setting up shop in the Iron Realm sounded so boring. There’s huge potential to be had in the market! Just think of the profit that will come from being the first Iron faery to run a successful trade alongside the other courts.”

“Right,” I said. “But there is that small, nagging problem of regular fey being deathly allergic to iron. Kinda hard to sell someone a product that melts their fingers off.”

Cricket shrugged. “All great treasures come with a certain amount of risk,” she said. “And not all of my wares are from the Iron Realm. Some come from the mortal realm, from the places I’ve seen and traveled to.” She waved an airy hand. “Besides, I’m confident that the regular fey will find a way to deal with their iron intolerance. They’ll adapt and evolve, I’m sure of it. It might take a while, but hey, I’ve got time. Eventually, Cricket’s Collectables will be a household name through all of Faery.”

“Yeah...sure,” I said, because I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. “Well...good luck with that.”

She gave me an appraising look. “And what about you? Do you need anything special tonight, Robin Goodfellow? A pocket watch with a heartbeat? A mechanical bird that sings? A handkerchief embroidered with the fur of a silver-metal fox?”

“Um...”

Deep, low growls cut through our conversation. Both clockwork hounds had stepped forward again, only this time, their hackles were raised and their iron teeth were bared to the gums.

Cricket turned on them with a frown. “Ballpeen! Springtrap! That’s not nice. I’m with a customer.”

“Excuse me.”

The quiet voice echoed behind us, and my stomach lurched. Even before we turned around, I knew who it was.

A figure stood at the edge of the yard, cloaked and nearly invisible, blending seamlessly into the night. The cloak was ragged at the edges, fraying into wisps of shadow that writhed into the air like a formless black cloud. The hood was drawn up, hiding the face, but I caught the flash of an ice-blue eye in the darkness of the cowl, the only spot of color I could see.

Ballpeen and Springtrap exploded into a chorus of loud warning barks. I was going to say something, but my voice was drowned out in the cacophony of doggy fury.

Cricket whirled around, clapping her hands sharply. “Boys! Stop that right now!” she ordered, and amazingly, the hounds ceased their frenzied barking, giving her betrayed looks, which she ignored. “Bad doggos, what is wrong with you? We don’t bark at customers. If I lose this transaction, I will be very cross.” She stamped her foot and pointed dramatically. “Go to your beds.”

The hounds slunk off, melting back into the junk piles surrounding the stall. Cricket took a deep breath, smoothed back her coppery hair, and turned, beaming smile in place once more.

“Hello there!” she greeted the cloaked figure, still hovering silently at the edge of the yard. “Please excuse my security—they can be overambitious at times. What can Cricket’s Collectables find you today? I have a fantastic deal on living spark plugs, if you’re looking for something truly useful.”

“I’m not looking for anything.” The mysterious figure edged into the dim light. “I would like a message delivered,” he went, his voice low and soft. “To Mag Tuiredh, please. To the court of the Iron Queen herself.”

Cricket blinked. “That’s...not really a service I provide,” she said uncertainly. “I wasn’t planning on returning to the Iron Realm anytime soon, sorry.” She chewed her lip, then brightened. “Perhaps you would like a lovely mechanical pigeon to carry a note where it needs to go?”

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