Page 27 of Disenchanted
Fugitate whipped around, staring at me with a horror that swiftly turned to anger.
“What are you doing here? Are you spying on me?”
“N-no.” I shrank back as he stalked closer, his brows crashing together, his wings flattening behind him. “I called out for you but when no one answered, I feared—”
“Get out!”
“I never meant to— I am so sorry.”
His face loomed within inches of mine. His eyes flashed golden fire. “I said GET OUT!”
I fled, my heart racing ahead of me. I tore down the corridor, past the curtain and through the shop, knocking over books, paintings, and drums in my scramble to escape. A gnome tumbled off the shelf and shattered, but I did not stop until I reached the door. I fumbled with the knob, glancing over my shoulder, terrified I would find Fugitate in vengeful pursuit.
He was not. I did not see or hear anything except for a peculiar noise I could not place. I listened intently, my eyes widening at the realization. The fairy was weeping, harsh wracking sobs that tore at my heart.
Still shaking from the fright Withypole had given me, I longed to go and comfort him, but I did not dare. Any solace from me would not be welcome and I dreaded provoking his wrath again, although I suspected that his fury masked his own fear. He must be terrified that I would go straight to the royal authorities and expose him. Penalties for fairies attempting to disguise their identity and avoid the wing tax were especially harsh. I had heard horrible rumors about punishments that involved stone presses and crushed wings, although I was not sure I believed them. Could even King August be that cruel?
Withypole must have believed it, hence the depth of his despair. I wondered why he had chosen to remain here in Arcady, especially in Misty Bottoms, the most wretched corner of our land. Why had he not gone with the rest of his people, traveling to a far-off kingdom where he could be free and safe?
Whatever his reason for staying, I could not leave his shop without trying to apologize and promise that his secret was safe with me. I came away from the door and waited although it was difficult to listen to those heavy sobs and do nothing. Eventually they faded to a soft snuffling and then there was silence.
I was picking up the pieces of the shattered gnome when Withypole appeared from behind the curtain. Gone was the magnificent creature I had caught a glimpse of earlier. Hisbeautiful wings were crushed beneath his brown woolen shirt. He looked like the stooped, hunchbacked shopkeeper I was accustomed to seeing. The fury was gone from his eyes as he regarded me. They had turned dull amber and were red rimmed from his weeping.
“You still here?” he muttered.
I approached him timidly. “Yes, I am sorry. I broke your gnome.” I laid the pieces on the counter. “I’ll pay for it.”
Withypole jerked his head to one side. It was an odd gesture I had seen him make before, but I had finally puzzled out what it meant. With his wings so cramped, it likely hurt him to hunch his shoulders. The head jerk was Withypole’s version of a shrug.
Mumbling something about gnomes being stupid, irritating creatures, Withypole swept the pieces off the counter and bent to drop them into a waste basket. When he straightened, I took a deep breath and plunged in, “I also want to apologize again for invading your privacy. When you didn’t answer the bell or my shouts, I feared something might have happened to you and I just wanted to check.”
“I was busy thinking, wasn’t I? And I locked the shop door. What did you do, pick the lock?”
“No, of course not. You must have forgotten to lock up or else the spring didn’t catch. But it doesn’t matter because I promise you, I would never ever betray you or tell anyone about your wings.”
“Wings?” he snapped. “What wings?”
“Why, yours. It must be so hard for you to keep them hidden away all the time. They are so dazzlingly beautiful but so delicate. Can you really fly? What does it feel like?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Miss Upton.” He scowled at me. “Are you one of those as likes to sniff pixie dust? If that is what you are after, you should take yourself off to the Winking Goblin. I don’t deal in anything like that here.”
“I am not a pixie sniffer,” I began indignantly and then faltered as I realized what Fugitate wanted to do: pretend that this incident had never happened. Upon reflection, I decided it might be best if I did likewise, although it was difficult to swallow the rest of my assurances, to say nothing of my curiosity about his wings.
“Sometimes I do let my imagination get away from me and I have not eaten much today. I was probably feeling a little giddy and— and—”
“No doubt,” he interrupted. “So did you have some reason for coming to my shop today, other than poking your nose where it didn’t belong?”
I had been so upset that I had allowed myself to forget why I had come. My spirits plummeted as I replied, “I need to sell something.”
I dug inside my reticule to retrieve the knotted handkerchief cushioning my mother’s earrings. I had never imagined parting with these beloved treasures was going to be easy, but I had not expected how hard it would be until the moment was upon me. I clutched the handkerchief, hesitating for so long, Withypole grew impatient. “Let’s see what you’ve brought then.”
I laid the handkerchief on the counter, struggling with the knot until it gave way. The emeralds sparkled against the white linen, looking as bright and entrancing as the last time my mother had worn them. I tried to tell myself they were only earrings. It was not as if I was selling my memories, the last fragments of my mother I had left.
All the same, I stepped back from the counter to keep from snatching up the earrings. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Fugitate’s valuation of the emeralds’ worth and dreading it.
I expected him to take up his jeweler’s glass and examine them more closely. Instead, he just stared at the emeralds beforefinally saying in an odd voice, “You really want to sell these twinkles?”
“These what?” I asked, startled by the fairy’s use of my childhood term for my mother’s earrings. How could Fugitate possibly know about that?
