After breakfast, Emily wandered down the village’s only paved lane. The houses were a mixed bunch: some had gardens, some didn’t even have doors, and there was at least one wedding-cake Victorian with wild-looking gables. Now that she was in it, the village had the stage-set feel of an amusement park—as though everybody really lived elsewhere and the interiors of the buildings were just storage rooms and engines.
Even so, all the sprites seemed busy and light-hearted. A few were weeding tiny vegetables and harvesting miniature produce, while down the street there was a bigger building with open windows where great swaths of fabric were being dyed, everyone chatting pleasantly and giving Emily a wave as she walked by.
A cart of grain trundled past, followed by someone flying low, guiding the horseless vehicle by unseen means. As it crossed the bridge to the mill, Emily saw a shape soar up from one of the clockwork towers and wave a hand. She expected the sprite managing the cart to wave back, but instead they cursed and the wagon reared on its hind wheels as though alive.
With a rumble that was felt more than heard, the mill imploded, bits disintegrating into dust, larger blocks tumbling fast, smashing delicate machinery on their rush to the ground. The cart driver kicked the wagon over, spilling grain into the river.
Emily must have looked shocked. A child running past called out to her. “S’okay, lady, we’ll just build a new one!”
Dry-Eyes looked up at the woven grass roof of the gazebo they sat in. Emily had sought her out to ask about the mill collapse, hoping for a better explanation than the shrugs and laughter she’d received from everyone else. The sprite wasn’t laughing at her, but she wasn’t explaining it much more clearly, either. She tried again.
“It’s not like we don’t have all the time in the world to build a new one.”
Emily blinked. “Um, okay.”
“I’m trying to explain it to you.” Dry-Eyes sighed. “We don’t need the mill. So we might as well build a new mill.” Considering the explanation done, she answered a question Emily hadn’t thought of. “You’ll be your regular size on the journey, of course.”
“Oh!” Emily had forgotten the change. Remembering it brought back the punched-in-the-stomach feeling applied magic had given her. “I guess it would be faster, huh? Longer strides, or whatever?”
“I can fly faster than you can walk, girl.” There wasn’t derision in Dry-Eye’s voice, but Emily felt chided. “However, the King’s castle is very, very far from here, so yes, any advantage in speed will be helpful.”
“How far?” Emily realised she had no conception of the scope of the Sidhe, if it was the size of a continent, a world, or something bigger. She waited, toying with the compass, which seemed to be pointing in a different direction than it had in the fields, though it was hard to be sure.
“Far is maybe not the right word, or it doesn’t have the correct definition in this context.” Dry-Eyes turned to look at Emily. “It is not a matter of distance but place. The King’s castle is in a different place from here. So to walk there directly will take considerable time and therefore planning.”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “Like, it’s not on the same plane of existence as here? But isn’t this all the Sidhe? Is the castle not in the Sidhe?”
Dry-Eyes began to answer, but stopped herself, holding up a hand. “It doesn’t really matter and I’m not the person to explain it.” Her wings fluttered irritably. “What I am trying to say is that to go there directly will take longer than to go there indirectly.”
“Like a shortcut?”
“If that explains it for you, then sure. A shortcut.”
“So why not just take the shortcut, why even worry about planning for the long way?”
“Because you may not like it.”
Emily felt like she was in a script again. She played along, knowing what she was supposed to say. “What could be so bad about a shortcut?”
“You.” Dry-Eyes looked at Emily from the corner of her eye. “What we encounter could be—unsettling to you, not being one of the Folk. Some of the things in shortcuts are unsettling even to those of us used to this place.” She looked back up at the roof for answers. “It will involve jumping to other places, sort of hopping from stepping-stone to stepping-stone. Some of the places we’d jump to won’t be very enjoyable.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “But it will get us there faster?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do it!” Emily grinned. “Couldn’t be worse than waking up in the middle of nowhere or being threatened by self-important insects.”
Dry-Eyes grabbed Emily by the chin, turning her head to meet her gaze. “It could be a lot worse. What you’ve so far encountered is nothing. That dryad sent you to the fields, only a couple days’ walk from here, where you could gain assistance. It was helping you. And the grasshoppers were less than nothing. I do hope what we encounter is trivial, but it is not something I can predict. Do not take your mission lightly.”
Jerking herself free, Emily narrowed her eyes. “I don’t. I know what I’ve encountered has been nothing and that scares me. Like I said, I don’t know a damn thing about this place. I’m just waiting for the other big, bad, magical shoe to drop and laughing at the dark until then.”
They sat silently for a while, Emily rolling a cigarette. When they returned to planning, it turned out that they wouldn’t need much for the jumps that Emily didn’t already have in her backpack. Dry-Eyes was certain there would be water at regular points and Emily had to trust the sprite knew what she was talking about.
“You have a weapon?” She gestured to the knife at Emily’s belt.
“Yeah, but I haven’t used it before.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to.”
Emily thought of the court, remembering the gift party. She touched the handle of the knife, half-smiling. “That’s what the woman who gave it to me said too.”
This post is part of The Audacity Gambit – Serialised. Learn more about when the book was first published here, see the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you: