They skirted the bridge and all the activity there but as they crossed the broad levee toward the river Theo's attention was arrested by one of the Flower women, part of a group of nearly a dozen standing on a flatbed truck as they handed down sacks of something or other. It took a moment to be certain it was her: she was dressed in something a great deal less fashionable than the dress she had been wearing when he last saw her.
"Oh my G . . ." He grabbed Cumber's arm. "It's Poppy." "Who?" Cumber had to let go of Streedy, whom he had been helping. The tall fairy wavered like a radio tower in a high wind, but stopped before tipping over.
"Poppy. This girl I met on my way to the City." She was a good twenty yards away and her raven-black hair was confined under a scarf, but he felt sure he wasn't mistaken. She had on a sort of shimmery, earth-colored jumpsuit which he guessed might be the Flower equivalent of worker's clothes; with her headscarf, she resembled some idealized Rosie the Riveter off a Second World War propaganda poster. Actually, even in his miserable mood he had to admit she looked quite fetching. "Poppy Thornapple."
"Poppy Thorn . . . Y-You mean the First Councillor's daughter?" Cumber sounded like he'd just tried to swallow a hedgehog. Theo stared at her, full of revulsion for what she represented, but also a surprising longing. The Thornapple name had not meant much to him when they had first met — an intellectual rather than a visceral understanding that she was one of the enemy, if not herself personally guilty. Now it was hard to separate her from the smirk Hellebore had worn as the dragon swept down on Daffodil House with a belly full of murder.
Still, it was impossible to watch her and not feel a twinge of regret for what might have been. He remembered her pushing herself up against him, warm and soft and trusting . . .
And her father helped murder a thousand people in Daffodil House. An image of the scatter of charred bodies on the comb floor swam up to him. He was at war with himself, that's what it felt like. Even if it wasn't her fault, she's part of that, right? Like one of those pretty little frauleins that went to Hitler's parties and never wanted to know what was really going on. He turned his back on her and gestured to Cumber that he was ready to continue. After all, that's what her daddy does so she can go to her private school and hang out in clubs snorting pixie dust with the other rich Flower kids. While her daddy's partner Hellebore keeps my friend in a jar on his desk . . .
Oh sweet Jesus, of course — Applecore! Maybe she can help me get to Applecore! "Hang on," he said, and turned back again. Cumber sighed wearily but snagged the back of Streedy's shirt. The tall young fairy stopped again without comment or evident curiosity, like a toy whose battery had run down.
Theo examined the scene more carefully. Not only was Poppy in the middle of around a dozen other Flower women, but even if he wanted to dare it and could elbow his way through the crowd of refugees until he was close enough to make her hear him, the truck itself was surrounded by huge ogre guards and a few almost equally tough-looking doonie drivers. Even if they hadn't seen Hellebore's little version of Fairyland's Most Wanted, (or didn't just beat the bejesus out of him on principle) they might still remember his face when they eventually did see it on the local equivalent of the nightly news. He had no right to risk bringing parliamentary troops down on the camp. Even if he happened to be gone by then, it would probably land Button and Primrose and the rest in a dungeon somewhere and destroy the little goblin's plans.
So much for the sudden idea that Poppy might be some use to him getting to Applecore. He couldn't reach her without too much of a risk and in a little while she'd be gone. He obviously couldn't go to her house and ring the doorbell: "Hi, Mr. Thornapple, I'm the guy you wanted to torture — can Poppy come out and play?"
Unless . . . It was a ridiculous idea, but so was being a fugitive in Fairyland, not to mention dragons and goblins and every other damn thing that had happened to him; he turned to the gangly figure beside him. "Streedy, you said you know Poppy, right? Poppy Thornapple?"
"Theo, what are you doing?" Cumber looked worried. But Cumber always looked worried.
"I'm asking him a question. Streedy? Did you hear me?" It was like watching a piece of an iceberg crack, break loose, and tumble into the sea, a process so achingly slow that you could only sit back and wait. After what seemed half a minute, the tall fairy blinked and said, "Poppy. She's nice. I like her voice."
"Because you hear her talking sometimes, right? I want to talk to her now. Is there some way you can make that happen?" He looked at the long, puzzled face and his heart sank. It was ridiculous, of course. Most of Streedy's strange abilities seemed to be involuntary. Just because he seemed to be able to hear Thornapple House communications didn't mean . . .
"But Theo," Streedy Nettle said slowly. "You don't have a shell." Shit. He'd just assumed something magical could be done — that Streedy could somehow connect him directly to Poppy. But Fairyland magic seemed to work in a much more mechanical way than that, or at least it did in this modern era. Of course he didn't have a shell.
"So I can talk to her, I guess," said Streedy. "But how can you talk to her?" "I know, I know, it was a stupid idea." He scuffed his toe in the dirt. She was standing up now, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, staring off across the fens. He wondered what she was thinking. "Whoa, hang on," he said as the fairy's words caught up with him. "You can talk to her?"
Streedy nodded. Cumber's worried look grew by a brow-furrow or two. "What in the name of the Trees are you trying to do?"
Theo ignored the ferisher. "Then will you talk to her? Will you tell her what I tell you to say?"
"I'll try, Theo. But my head . . . it hurts a bit."
"I know, and I'm sorry. I'll keep it short. Go ahead — see if you can reach her." He was surprised to see Streedy lower his long chin to his chest and close his eyes instead of facing the truck where Poppy and the other women stood, then realized that unless he had been paying a lot more attention than he usually did, Streedy probably did not even know she was a few yards away. He thought about telling him, but across the camp Poppy was already reaching her hand into the pocket of her garment. She took out a slim object that Theo felt sure must be the same silvery wand she had used in Starlightshire Station and lifted it up, listening.
"Have you ever talked to her before, Streedy?" Theo asked suddenly.
Streedy started to repeat his words, then shook his head. "Then don't bother to tell her who you are. Just tell her that Theo wants to see her — no, meet with her. That you're a friend of his and it's important Theo gets to meet with her."
Streedy spoke the words into midair, paraphrasing awkwardly. Theo watched Poppy. He could not quite make out her expression from such a distance, but she turned away from her companions and walked a few steps up the bed of the truck as though seeking privacy.
After a pause of some seconds Streedy Nettle opened his eyes and looked at Theo, face full of distress. "She says how does she know I'm a friend of yours. How does she know, Theo?" He was shivering a little; Theo felt a pang of guilt at putting him through what was clearly a difficult task after the heavy lifting he'd been doing at Elysium House.
"Ask her if she remembers the songs I sang to her." But she probably wouldn't recognize the words to "New York, New York" even if he could coach Streedy through singing it. "And tell her that I still remember how old she is, but I don't care."
Jesus, what are you thinking, Vilmos? he asked himself as Streedy haltingly relayed the message. You had to pick two things that are all wrapped up with romance. What are you doing, messing with this girl's feelings? He took a breath. Saving Applecore, of course. And it wasn't entirely false, either. He did like Poppy Thornapple. He had been confused, and he was even more confused now, after what had happened at Daffodil House, but there was still something there. Yeah, but she's a schoolgirl, he told himself. A schoolgirl old enough to be your greatgrandmother, came the predictable rebuttal from somewhere deep in his hindbrain. He looked up and saw that Streedy was waiting for him
patiently. "What does she say?"
"She says she has to finish doing something this afternoon, but she'll meet you this evening. Where?" "Tell her to pick a place and a time." He was pleased with the success of using Streedy as a conduit, feeling a little of the ebullience he had felt that first night, rolling into the City despite all that had gone so disastrously wrong. "And tell her to make it close to where she is now. I know what she's doing today."
Streedy dutifully recited Theo's words, then listened to the reply.
"She wants to know how you know what she's doing."
"Tell her to look just east of the bridge." "Theo!" Cumber's worried look had taken a turn into real fear but Theo ignored him. As Poppy turned from side to side, staring out from the back of the truck, Theo took a few steps away from Streedy and Cumber Sedge and waved. Again, he couldn't quite see the look on her face, but this time he could guess. "Tell her that's to show I trust her."
Streedy listened to her reply for a long time. Cumber was pacing. "She says she'll meet you at a place called The Chamber of Congregation, on Glaistig Haven Road between Twilight district and Eastwater. When the Queen's Ring rises."
Theo had no idea what that meant — a star, he guessed — but he figured someone could explain it to him. "Tell her that's great. I'll come alone. I hope she will too."
"Theo!"
"Shut up, Cumber. Tell her that, Streedy, then we're finished. You can hang up or whatever you do." She was still staring in his direction. He waved again, a little less broadly this time, then turned away. He had a feeling he couldn't quite explain, a certain faith that she wouldn't immediately call in her father's bodyguards or the constables, but there was no sense standing out in public in case he was wrong — and no sense getting Streedy and Cumber into trouble too if he had let himself get overconfident. "Come on, Cumber. I want to think. And someone has to tell me what time it is when the Queen's Ring rises."
————— It rose at what would be about eight o'clock, mortal time, a fat yellow star near the western horizon. Theo saw it gleaming bright against the black sky as he found the restaurant and ducked in through the low door.
The Chamber of Congregation was a kobold place, a small, windowless, self-consciously hip establishment in an alley just off Glaistig Haven Road, which was at the center of a sort of raffish shopping district near the Eastwater docks. Kobolds were cavern-creatures and the lobby was very dark, but Theo still felt unpleasantly conspicuous. He wedged himself into a corner behind the maitre d's table, next to a glass tank full of blind white cave salamanders, and hoped Poppy would show up soon. It was the kind of place where every customer who came through the door gave him at least a quick inspection — not because they recognized him, he realized after some panicky moments, but because they were hoping he was someone worth recognizing. It was just the kind of place where everybody checked out everybody else just as a matter of principle.
Trying to look natural, Theo turned away from the front door and examined the slate walls that gave the restaurant the look of having been carved directly into solid rock. All around the lobby strange pictures of what he guessed were kobolds and various underground animals had been incised into the dark surface and then lightly brushed with some phosphorescent chemical so that they seemed to float a few inches out from the walls. Theo had no idea if they were purely decorative or based on actual kobold folk-art. In fact, he didn't even know if there was such a thing as kobold folk-art, and even if there was, he couldn't guess whether it was ultra-cool, just respectable — sort of "last year"— or tacky as bullfight pictures and card-playing dogs. Of course, even a black velvet bullfight picture, in the proper context, could be cool again . . .
I just don't know how any of it works here, from the most important stuff to the least important. I should make a note to myself: under no circumstances try to pretend you're someone who actually grew up in Fairyland . . .
"Theo?" He turned and felt his insides lurch just a little. Even in the dim light she didn't look like an enemy, but like a friend. At the least. "Hi. Thanks for coming." He paused, uncertain of what to do, then took her hand and held it for a moment before letting go. Oh, that's smooth, he told himself. Maybe after you finish shaking her hand you could give her a free sample of floor wax or something.
"I didn't think you'd really be here." Poppy was still not quite making eye contact. She was dressed up a little more than when he had seen her at the bridge, black coat and long skirt and a simple gray sweater, yet somehow there was a determinedly bohemian air to the outfit. Perhaps it was the flat sandals, or the gleaming strand around her neck of something that looked like silver but glinted in colors of firelight. Theo knew enough about women and their clothes to recognize she was trying to strike an appropriate balance between . . . what? Between liking him and hating him? Between wanting to look good and not wanting to look too available? Just because he knew a mixed message when he saw one didn't mean he knew exactly which messages were being mixed.
After an awkward pause, he said, "Could we sit down? I'm feeling a bit . . . conspicuous today."
"Who called me?" she asked as a little kobold in a decorative hooded jacket led them to a table. "He was very strange." "Stranger than you know. I'll explain later." The table was along one of the back walls, out of the direct line of the firelight. As he relaxed, he realized he was extremely hungry. "What do they serve here? Is the food good?"
"It's lovely, although I've only been here a couple of times." She looked around. "You know, my brother was killed in a tavern just down the street."
"Oh my . . . ! Poppy, that's terrible. Are you sure you want to eat here?" She shrugged. "I know you think I'm ghastly, but we were never close. In fact, I didn't like him at all. He was a nasty, cruel boy." Clearly uncomfortable, she opened up her menu, which glowed with a thin ivory light of its own. "What are you going to have? It's almost all fungus but they do amazing things with it."
Mushrooms, he reminded himself after a slight flinch. Mushrooms are fungus. Lots of fungus in Chinese food, too. Still, it was hard to get too enthusiastic. "You order for me." The ethereal light from the menu bathed her face as though she were a portrait by Vermeer. It was seductive — all of it, not just the pretty young woman across the table from him. It was wonderful to be sitting in a restaurant again, just as though he had returned to normal life. If he squinted his eyes so he didn't notice the bird-headed woman in a booth nearby, if he pretended another customer's aggressive display of wings was a costuming affectation rather than living appendages, he could imagine he was back in his own world.
In fact, it was too seductive. A kobold waiter stood by the table. Theo had not even noticed him approach. He was not the most attractive type Theo had seen in Fairyland — kobolds, although humanoid, had a bit of the look of hairless rodents, their noses large and prominent so that the rest of their faces seemed to lag behind, their almost translucent pale pink skin wrinkled like someone's toes who had been in the bath too long. But despite the underslung jaw, the waiter had a shy, sweet smile, and Theo suddenly wondered if he were like Cumber — a student working in a restaurant to pay his way through university, determined to make a life among those who thought themselves his superiors. Had he fought his way up from someplace like that midnight-dark kobold village under the railroad line . . . ?
Yeah, everybody's got a story, he thought, and looked at Poppy. Do I know hers as well as I think I do?
"Did the masters want anything to drink?" the waiter asked. Exhausted and overwhelmed, Theo asked for water. Poppy, perhaps being cautious for reasons of her own, ordered a glass of wine instead of a Wingbender.
"Look," he said when the little waiter had retreated, "there are some things I really need to talk to you about . . ."
"Oh, me too. I've run away from home."
"What?" "I've had a terrible fight with my father. The real kind, not just the shouting-a-lot kind. He wants me to marry Lord Hellebore's son, Anton. It's impossible. He's completely mad — disgustin
g. And that stepbrother of his, or whatever he is . . ." She shuddered. It wasn't a theatrical gesture. "It would have happened anyway. I just can't live with those people anymore. And after what they did to Daffodil House and the Hollyhocks and the Lilies . . . Theo, I saw you with Zirus Jonquil, you must have heard what happened to his family's house — to his whole family."
He looked at her, stunned. She had run away. Good for her, of course, but for him . . .
"What's wrong, Theo? You must know about Daffodil House, even if you are from out of town."
"I . . . I was there. I was in it. When it happened." "Bleeding black iron! Were you really?" She stared. "I wondered why you didn't call when I practically . . . Oh, Theo, that's . . . I'm sorry." To his chagrin, she began to cry. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault." What had happened to the careless schoolgirl who dismissed her own brother's death as an inconvenience? He tried to hand her his napkin but she had already found a handkerchief and was halfheartedly wiping her nose. "It wasn't your fault, Poppy."
"It was my family. My horrible family."
"Have you really run away? Could you go back?" She shook her head and then blew her nose again. "My father has the household guards looking for me all over the city. That's why I couldn't meet you at one of the places I usually go. He doesn't like being defied, the old monster."
Theo took a deep breath. Not only wasn't he going to be able to use her to get to Hellebore as he had half-hoped, he now had the added danger that he might be picked up by her father's troops if they happened to find him with her. Well, there it is — I'm fucked. That's it. Period. End of story.
He supposed it didn't really matter, anyway: even if she could have got him into Hellebore House, he hadn't had even the ghost of an idea where to go from there. In a way, it was liberating. He still had to think of something to do about Applecore, but he didn't have to manipulate Poppy to do it. He hadn't felt very good about that.