Page 33 of Disenchanted
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, burying his face against the top of my head and I could feel the splash of his tears…
My own eyes stung as the memory faded and I recollected where I was and who I was with. I had already disconcerted Commander Crushington enough by weeping. I could not do so again, so I blinked hard to stem my tears although the resurrected memory of my father touched me deeply.
I understood now what I had not as a child. My father had not just been trying to explain the effect grief could have on fairies, but on a man as well. The death of my mother had turned him into a gleaner of books, seeking to bury his aching heart within their pages.
I now felt anxious to return home. I wanted to findThe Quaint Customs and Ways of the Fey Folkand read it again, as though by doing so I could forge a connection with my father andfind answers to my questions. If not about Julius Upton, then at least about Withypole Fugitate.
Yet I suspected many of the things my father had known about fairies had not come from the book, but from Withypole himself. Withypole had seemed quite familiar with my father’s history. Had my father likewise been acquainted with Withypole’s past, whatever tragedy had turned the fairy into an outcast? At the very least, my father must have known enough to recognize Fugitate for what he was, a gleaner.
My father was not the only one to do so. I tensed as I recalled the words that had provided the spark to my recovered memory.
I fear you must have paid another visit to the gleaner, Crushington had said.
I sat bolt upright, twisting around to stare at him. “You know!”
The commander must have thought I was in danger of falling because he tightened his arms around me. “I beg your pardon, Ella. I know what?”
“About Mr. Fugitate. You called him a gleaner.”
“Did I? I don’t recall saying—”
“You did! You know you did! Just as you know Withypole is a fairy.”
“And it would seem, so do you. The reckless fool! I warned him to be careful about concealing his identity.”
“You warned him? But aren’t you obliged to arrest him for being an unregistered fairy or wing tax evasion?”
“Yes, well, ordinarily that would be true. But there are times when enforcing a minor law can be overlooked. Fugitate is of far more use to me where he is than locked up in a cell.”
“What use could that poor fairy possibly be—” I gasped as the realization hit me square between the eyes. “Fugitate is your informant. You are using him as a spy, aren’t you?”
“I have already said more than I should, Ella,” the commander replied. “You need to be still. You are making Loyal uneasy.”
It was not the horse I was making uncomfortable. It was his master. I lowered my voice as I continued, “How did you persuade Fugitate to spy for you? Are you paying him? Or is he simply too terrified of being arrested to refuse?”
Crushington compressed his lips, not answering me. He did not have to, not when I remembered how terrified the fairy had been when he realized I knew his secret. I imagined that his deal with the commander hinged upon Withypole never exposing his identity.
“How can you!” I choked. “How can you bully that poor creature this way? Do you have any idea how miserable Withypole is already, having to keep his beautiful wings compressed and hidden? It must be heartbreaking enough for him to be cast out from his own people.”
“That is none of my doing,” Crushington said tersely. “I am not responsible for Fugitate becoming a gleaner.”
“But you are certainly taking advantage of his plight.”
“The Bottoms are a lawless place. I must gather information however I can. Now, I am sorry, but I cannot discuss my arrangement with Master Fugitate any further.”
Crushington’s voice was stern, with perhaps even a hint of warning. I should have held my tongue, but I could not, especially when something else struck me.
“You said that you feared I had paid another visit to the gleaner. You must know about the previous times I was at Fugitate’s shop. Are you keeping some sort of record of my activities?” I demanded.
“Not yours.”
“Then whose?” But I already knew the answer to that.
“Mal,” I said softly. “You are using Fugitate to gather information about Mal.”
“Among others. I did warn you that Malcolm Hawkridge’s activities are of great interest to me when I advised you to stay away from him.”
“Mal is my dearest friend and I have no intention of avoiding him.”
