I
Sarah had Monty meet her at the shop late Monday morning. She wanted to run one of her theories by him: whether or not her boss could possibly be a fae spy. They stood outside away from the glass front door. "I do have work to do," said Monty rubbing his hands together.
There had been a light dusting of snow the night before. Even with gloves on Sarah's fingers were tingling in the cold and she put them in her coat pockets, though she would rather have held Monty's hand again. He had stepped out of the shop in only his sweater to keep him warm. "This won't take long. I'm going back up to the library today," she said when he asked if they could talk inside. "That and I'm kind of avoiding Mr. Proodle at the moment."
Monty raised an eye brow. "I was always under the impression that you two were quite close."
It felt wrong to think that Mr. Proodle could be something more than what he appeared to be. The hours she had spent in his company, comfortable and safe, learning from him, and taking his advice to heart. But Sarah couldn't shake the suspicion. "We are. But current circumstances over rule any current or past feelings," she said. "My time keeps growing shorter. It's time I consider some possible hard truths."
"Alright," said Monty. "Such as?"
"It has almost been two and a half years since my father left his wife and was allowed to keep me. I am a marked woman; a payment to a super natural king. Any responsible monarch wouldn't just let his wealth wander about without an honor guard or some sort of insurance on it."
"Sounds reasonable."
She eyed the book shop pointedly.
Monty pointed a finger back at the shop door. "You think that, Proodle is working for the king?"
"I've only known him for two years. He easily keeps on eye on me, he keeps me close to home."
"Sarah, I've known Alistair Proodle for years. He's just as eccentric and dedicated to his craft now as he ever was."
"But he never took on an apprentice before me. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
"No. It doesn't. What would be odd is for a fae or some other mythical creature to want to live among humans for an extended time. Sarah I'm talking about years, ten plus that I've known him."
How could she get him to understand? She could tell him that Mr. Proodle was the one who had suggested Rossetti to her, had led her to viewing the illustration of the young woman and the peach, but then she would also have to explain the significance of that piece of fruit. She realized Monty was watching her expression.
"Sarah you know you can tell me anything, right?" he asked.
She scoffed. "I've told you that some magical king owns a contract on my life and that I suspect my boss might be a faun working for said king like some twisted Narnia drama. Yes, I know I can tell you just about anything."
"Even things that might make us both uncomfortable," he added. "Is there some finer detail you're leaving out?" he pressed gently.
Some distant clock tower tolled the hour. "It's already ten o'clock," she said stepping back from him. "I need to get over to the library. Maybe you're right about Mr. Proodle, and you're also right about there being some finer details that I should probably tell you. Just not right now."
"Sarah, I would trust Alistair Proodle with my life," said Monty. "As well as yours."
"So you're thinking weird coincidence then?"
Monty blew air out his nose. "I think," he began carefully. "that you are under a good deal of stress and are behaving accordingly. I wonder what your father would say if I asked you to come away with me." He grinned. "Just for a weekend."
Sarah felt too warm under her coat. For a man who hadn't even kissed her yet, this was certainly a forward invitation. A trait she had come to enjoy about him. "I think you're a shameless flirt and that I should be getting to the library," she said. She mumbled something about seeing him later and turned to leave.
"You wouldn't have me any other way," he called after her.
Sarah shook her head and laughed to herself.
II
"Finally putting your assets to good use," observed Tori as Sarah came out of the fitting room.
The two young women were at a local department store trying on varying dresses for the Inklings Ball. Sarah had informed Tori that she was attending and that it would be the mysterious Mr. Elias Brown accompanying her. Sarah had never seen her best friend's eyes bulge so wide before.
"I have to admit Sarah," said Tori as her friend observed herself in the mirror. "As excited as I am that you're living a bit of the fairy tale dream right now, I would feel better knowing that you weren't going to be alone with this Elias Brown."
The little black dress was simple and flattering. The front was cut in a low sweet heart. "I'm going to be in a room full of people," she said to Tori's reflection. Besides, she thought to herself, the king can't touch me until I'm eighteen. For added protection she planned on securing a bag of salt some where on her body. Plus she had been reading up on the use of vervain as protection against the fae as well.
"Yeah, I know," said Tori. "But he's also sending a car for you. I know I talk and read a lot about sex, but that doesn't mean I find it cheap. I just want you to be careful, okay?"
"I get it," she said to appease her friend. "And I appreciate your concern. You are the best girl friend I could have ever hoped for."
Sarah turned away from the mirror and went back into the fitting room. There was a panic rising: her chest was tightening and she couldn't seem to draw a deep breath. Tori. Her best friend. All the times they had gone shopping together; the books they had discussed; the movies they had watched late at night together; and all the bike rides- all of them were coming to an end.
The smaller mirror in the fitting room showed her a woman who was too young, too ordinary, too powerless to fight this. In a sudden hot rage she slammed a fist against her reflection.
"Hey girl, you okay?" came Tori's voice.
She stared back at her own green eyes. You ran a freakin' Labyrinth, she told herself. There were goblins, fairies that bit, and crazy red creatures that tried to rip your head off. There had been a bog that smelt like a backed up sewer, and a magical king who threatened to keep you and your brother. You get yourself together and you fight back, she ordered herself.
She straightened her back. "I'm fine," she called back, and took another good look at herself in the black dress. It accentuated her waist. Complimented her pale skin. And yes, her boobs did look amazing. "I'm going to get this one," she said wiggling out of it. "I've got some black pumps that will go great with it. I'm going to need some new hosiery though."
Sarah paid for the dress cringing a bit at the price, but confident that it would be worth it. She threw the garment bag over her shoulder, told Tori she'd see her for their next bike ride, and headed home. Clouds were thick and low- it was probably going to snow again. Bike riding was going to be quite difficult actually. At least the weather promised several fun activities to have with Toby. If this cold front held they could make snowman and snow angles together this weekend.
She stopped at the communal mail boxes and opened her father's metal box. There was the usual junk fliers plus a large manilla envelope.
Provided her brother came to stay with them this next weekend. Twice now he had missed and her father hadn't said much about it. She knew he was upset, but he refused to talk about it. She hoped Karen wasn't doing something to hinder him from coming over.
Inside the apartment she went to her room and hung up her dress trying hard not to smash it or wrinkle it. The ball was still a month off. Then she hung up her warm things near the front door. It was only four o'clock. Her father wouldn't be home for dinner for at least another two hours. Sarah decided she needed a snack and went to the kitchen. A knock on the front door though moved her back into the living room. It was one of their neighbors. "Oh hello," said Sarah. "How are you Mrs. Nesbit?"
Mrs. Nesbit was an elderly woman who was very fond of Hawaiian print shirts. "Hi there my dear. This," she paused and hefted a large basket filled with fruit. "was delivered to your door early this afternoon, but since no one was home I took it for the delivery man."
Sarah took the basket in surprise and confusion. It wasn't the holiday season any more. Who would be sending them a basket of fruit? "Thank you," she said. Her eyes scanned the contents: apples, lemons, oranges, and peaches. Numbly she nodded at her neighbor and shut the door. All orchard fruit that were mentioned in the opening stanzas of Christina Rossetti's poem.
Sarah was uncertain whether she wanted to throw up or toss the basket out the window. She swallowed and took a deep breath. There was a note affixed to the cellophane wrapping. She sat down at the table cradling the basket in her lap as read the note:
"Sarah, the orchard fruit has come between us. It is upsetting that such simple foods would disrupt our relationship and cause you such discomfort. Quite frankly I miss you around the shop. These fruits from me to you are an offering of friendship and peace. Please call or drop in soon. Your faithful friend, Alistair Proodle."
Sarah sat the basket on the table. This wasn't right. She shouldn't be suspicious of her mentor, master, and friend. Not after all he had done for her. Yes, her work with him kept her close to home and yes, it meant always having someone watching over her, but it also meant so much more. She had learned a craft that made her a unique commodity. She had been exposed to beautiful works of art that filled her soul with wonder. She had read passages that had broadened her horizons and made known to her information that she would otherwise have remained ignorant of. Like Rossetti's 'Goblin Market', she thought.
But how do I make this right without sounding like a lunatic? She thought.
Her eyes caught sight of the manilla envelope under the rim of the basket. The return address was for a lawyer's office. There hadn't been any correspondence with a lawyer since her father's divorce from Karen had been finalized. Odd that now there should be a document showing up.
Odd. You're whole life is odd Sarah, she thought. You really shouldn't expect anything less than odd.
Her eyes went back to the basket with all of its fruit. She had told Monty the truth and she had only known him about two months. Mr. Proodle she had known for almost two years and he had never betrayed her confidence or done any harm to her. Other than her own suspicions, she had no evidence. Even Monty had told her to continue to trust the man. She could either keep holding this in and let it harm one of the best friendships she could ever hope for, or she could tell him and deal with the repercussions. There was a possibility he would understand.
And what if he was an informant for the king- what had he hoped to gain by showing her the poem? She already had her memories back. She was well aware of her contract.
Sarah set her teeth, grabbed the basket, fumbled with her coat, and rushed out the door. She secured the basket to her bike.
It was a slippery ride, but she was rewarded with the interior light still on and her master sitting at the front desk. He rose to his feet at the sight of her rushing in. "Sarah, my dear," he said his eyes taking her in. "I see you received my basket."
Said basket was dropped on the desk. "You want to know why reading about goblin fruit upset me?" she asked directly. "Because I've had one."
She began to struggle with the tie on the cellophane. Calmly Mr. Proodle offered her a pair of scissors. "You've tasted goblin fruit?" he asked for clarification.
With a vicious rip she managed to mangle an opening. "Several years back I had a bite of fae peach and I experienced the must lucid, sensual, tempting hallucination." She paused as she felt her pulse quicken and her breathing grow shallow. The little shop was bathed in a glimmering light and the scent of sandalwood grew pungent. Focus, she told her self blinking it all away. She reached into the basket. "A fae king tricked me into eating a bite of one of his peaches and I nearly lost something I loved dearly."
Mr. Proodle hooked a thumb into one of the little pockets on his waist coat. "I see now," he said with a nod. "How are you still here then? You should be mad with desire for more."
She took out one of the peaches. "I can't answer that because I don't know," she replied. The peach was firm with just the hint of give: it was perfectly ripe.
For a few quiet moments Mr. Proodle considered the top of his desk. Sarah felt her pulse slow again and she breathed deeper, relaxing. Her master reached into the basket and took out one of the apples. "Thank you for explaining," he finally said. "I apologize for causing you any discomfort. Are you sure it was a peach?"
"Absolutely."
"Well." He hefted the fruit in his own hand. "I assure you this is not goblin fruit. What did you see when you took the bite? Forgive me," he hastened to add. "It's just such a fantastical thing to happen. I've never been able to ask anyone what they saw."
Sarah's eyes went far away. "I was at a dance. Everything from the women's dresses to the decorations was lush. It was decadent and so powerfully alluring. And when I danced with him…" her voice trailed. She caught Mr. Proodle's eyes.
"It was like nothing else matter." He nodded. "Or so the stories say."
"There are times when I think it was more than a trick, more than a ploy. But… there is more to this story and I am not ready to share all of that with you. Just yet."
"Would it be safe to assume you have shared a fair amount with Monty?" he asked.
Sarah nodded.
"It is good," her master said with a smile. "I hope that in the end Rossetti's poem shed some light on your situation."
"It has. Funny I rushed down here and brought the basket with me ready to assume the worst; that you had done something on purpose," she laughed nervously. "But you have been nothing but supportive of me. I am grateful for you, Alistair. Forgive me my paranoid fancies?"
"Done. Provided you forgive an old man's carelessness."
She smiled. "Done." She picked up the basket and said she needed to get back home. Her father was going to be there soon and he would worry.
"Oh Sarah," said Mr. Proodle before she exited. "I heard rumor among the bibliophiles that you are indeed attending the Inklings Ball." When she bit her lip and her cheeks deepened in color, he said, "You're not attending with Monty, are you?"
She shook her head. "Actually Mr. Brown, you know the gentleman who caught me, he sort of asked me."
Mr. Proodle nodded and wished her a good evening.
Sarah left the shop feeling as if she had two wonderful allies on her side. Mr. Proodle and Monty both believed her and were both only concerned for her safety.
III
Mr. Proodle watched his young charge leave and then stood staring at the apple he had taken from the basket. Apples had always had a mixed rap throughout history. Some times an offering of poison, others a symbol of happiness. The Bible's story of the downfall of man was often depicted with the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil as an apple. Of course he knew that the kind of fruit never mattered, but that the flesh had been pierced and the meat ingested.
He took a bite.
Behind him he heard movement. "Well, what did we learn tonight?" Mr. Proodle asked the new comer.
No response.
Mr. Proodle took another bite. "She's going to the ball with this Mr. Brown."
Finally the new comer spoke, "I heard."
"And?"
"It is for the best."
Mr. Proodle humphed. "I don't like the way he smells," he declared. He took another bite.
"Your taste in aromatics has always been questionable."
The sound of movement again as if foot steps were retreating. Mr. Proodle called out, "You have a responsibility to the young woman."
"I have my job," the other corrected. "As you have yours."
"And the chance at a happy existence cannot be part of our jobs?" asked Mr. Proodle. Silence again. Mr. Proodler glanced behind him and found the other gone. Alone again, Mr. Proodle once more considered the fruit in his hand. "Fool," he said and took a bite.
Author's Notes: and since everyone has been so patient, chapter 11 is almost done. Things got a bit wonky around here: one kid was down sick and thought I had broken my foot. Fun times. Thank goodness for compression wraps and Tylenol.