The Key

“Well? What is it?” Xiao asked impatiently.

Mack sighed. “It’s my golem. He’s refusing to shower in the boys’ locker room.”

“Lotta dudes are bashful about that,” Stefan said, and no one thought he was talking about himself because Stefan was incapable of bashfulness.

“It’s not about being shy,” Mack said with a sigh. “He’s made out of mud. That much water . . .”

“Kind of busy here,” Frank interrupted impatiently. “Anyway, it’s best not to coddle golems. They just get needy.”

“I’ll just take a minute to . . .” His words faded out as he thumbed in a response:

You have got to handle these things yourself. You have got to be a big boy now.

“Sorry,” Mack said of the interruption. “You were saying?”

“We were saying you’re looking for someone who’s been gone a long time.”

“Let’s say we are,” Mack conceded. In the back of his mind he was wondering whether he’d been too harsh with the golem.

“Well, the someone you’re looking for is hidden by fairy enchantment. Been hidden for more than a thousand years.”

“Are we talking about the same man?” Jarrah asked.

“If it’s William Blisterthöng MacGuffin, then we are talking about the same man,” Frank confirmed. His eyes narrowed and his sharp little fairy teeth showed behind tightened lips. “And you’ll never find him. Never! Never . . . without our help.”

“Why would you help us?” Mack asked.

Frank shrugged. “A friend of ours wants something in return. Something you might be able to get for her. One hand washes the other. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Tit for tat.”

“Can we stop being cryptic, please, and get to the point?” Xiao asked politely. “My friend is not happy as a flower.”

Dietmar was unhappy with good reason—a pair of crows came swooping down and lit on Dietmar’s huge petals and began to pick at the seeds.

“Hey, hey, get out of here!” Jarrah waved them off, but they retreated only as far as a low tree branch and from there kept a close eye on Dietmar’s sunflower seeds.

“You tell the tale, Connie—you tell it best.” Frank indicated one of the female fairies, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, tiny little beauty in a deep-green formfitting outfit.

“How do you suppose MacGuffin came to be called Blisterthöng?” Connie asked rhetorically in an enchanting fairy voice. She kind of writhed or danced as she spoke. It was a sort of dramatic interpretation: she used sweeping hand gestures, and sometimes lowered her head in sadness, or threw open her arms to show joy. “For many long years after the Romans left, and after the druids faded, and as the new faith was coming to Scotland, the fairies lived in peace. We are a peaceable folk. No fairy has ever raised a hand in violence against another!” She made a very dramatic upraised-fist move on that last line.

Mack nodded thoughtfully because that seemed like the thing to do.

“Except for the Seventeen Year War,” Pete the fairy interjected.

“And the War of the Sweltering Cave,” Julia added helpfully. “And the Rabid Peace of Kilcannon’s Bluff.”

“With those few exceptions, no fairy had ever raised a hand in violence against another,” Connie reiterated, again with the upraised fist of forcefulness. “Unless you’re going to count the Battle of the Pretenders.”

“Or the Flaming Disagreement,” Frank said.

“Or the Pantsing of Fain’s Firth.”

“Or the Castle-Whacking Unpleasantness.”

“Or O’Toole’s Tools of Terror.”

“Or the War of the Noses.”

They went on like this for quite a while. And Mack began to wonder if the fairies were exaggerating their peacefulness.

“Or the Frightful Fruit Fight.”5 (#litres_trial_promo)

“Or Little Dora’s Comeuppance.”

Finally, after about ten minutes, they ran out of wars, skirmishes, misunderstandings, slaughters, backstabbings, and murdering peaces, and Connie got back to her main theme, which was, “Aside from those few6 (#litres_trial_promo) minor matters, no fairy has ever raised a hand in violence against another.”

Fist for emphasis.

“Until . . . ,” Frank interjected with great drama and a dramatic flourish of his wand.

“Until William MacGuffin stole the Key and used it to take sides with the fairies of clan Gorse against clan Begonia.”

A strangled sound—much like a high-pitched human voice coming from inside a flower—came from the giant sunflower. Lacking lips, tongue, or teeth, Dietmar had a hard time expressing himself clearly, but it was something like, “See! I told you so. Those are flower names!”

Mack ignored him and waited for Connie to finish her story.

The crows looked speculatively, wondering if they could make a quick in-and-out dash. Some seeds, maybe a little eyeball . . .

“MacGuffin wanted gold, and as you know, fairies have plenty of it,” Connie said. “So for thirty pieces of gold MacGuffin gave the Gorse King new and more dangerous Vargran curses. Curses that gave the Gorse King power over the Begonias and our beloved All-Mother.”

“Is there any way we can hurry this along?” Jarrah complained. “I’m beginning to regret we didn’t eat those ice-cream bars ourselves.”

“MacGuffin helped the Gorse to formulate a terrible, terrible curse.” Connie made an interesting move here, jabbing her hands forward away from her mouth, like stabbing finger-tongues. “It was a curse that caused a hideous rash in the form of rose thorns to grow in the sensitive parts of a fairy body.”

“Yeesh,” Mack said, and winced.

“Ah,” Xiao said, nodding her head almost as smugly as Dietmar sometimes did. “Hence the name Blisterthöng.”

“For a thousand years we of clan Begonia have thirsted after his blood so that we might have our revenge,” Frank said, shaking his little peace-loving fist and baring his sharp peace-loving teeth.

“Because of your peaceful nature and all,” Mack said dryly. “We thought MacGuffin was dead. It’s been a thousand years.”

“No, he’s not dead. He’s concealed by a powerful spell of the Gorse King. His castle is invisible to human eyes. Only those with the enlightened puissance—and few humans possess it—can see him or his castle.”

“That’s why you need us.”

“Yes, Mack of the Magnifica. You and these others—but not you,” Frank said, pointing out Stefan, who shuffled in embarrassment, “possess the enlightened puissance. I can make it possible for you to see the Concealed Castle of MacGuffin. And I can make it possible for you to see the All-Mother, whom only a few have seen before. And even fewer have photographed. You must take the Key from MacGuffin. And you must swear to free the All-Mother from the Gorse King’s spell.”

“Wait, I’m losing track,” Jarrah said. “This All-Mother of yours has the Blisterthöng rash?”