Dear Dandi Hart, page 2
“Ah,” he says nodding. As if this wasn’t surprising to him in the least.
“So you knew?”
“There was a chance,” he said.
“What do you require of me?” I asked him. He stopped to think about this for a time.
“I am very proud of you, my boy, I am not ashamed of my past.-“ He took a deep breath, as if giving pause to think a moment “—this kingdom makes life difficult for our people and I have tried very hard to fight for many lives and for many people to live the best ways that they can.”
“What can I do for you grandfather?” I asked, kneeling before him and taking his hand in mine.
“Nothing so much as to be by my side.” He said with a soft smile.
My stomach clenched and rolled. I nodded and sat in the chair next to him. I pulled my paperwork from the drawer next to me and began to write.
...
Grandfather found pride in everything I did. We had been nearly inseparable since I had first arrived at Hart Hall, my grandfather becoming like a second father to me. So it was when a letter arrived asking me for an interview that leaving felt like a sort of betrayal.
After I had graduated from Irving University, my degree in literature served me well. I had started at the Aurora Harold almost immediately, sending in articles of whatever I could sell, but this was the first time that the editor had contacted me.
Rubus 9, 916
Dear Dan
I hope this letter finds you well. I am pleased to let you know that two new positions have opened up for both the social and political column, as well as for the advice column. It would be a great service to us if you would come in for an informal meeting on the 23rd of Rubus, around 13:00. Where I would be pleased to make your acquaintance. At that time, we might go for a business lunch, to discuss details of the contract. Please let me know if this date and time suits you. I look forward to your reply.
Your humble servant,
J. Morel
I replied at once and, a week later, guiltily left my grandfather’s estate for St. Devonshire. I had done some research on how long the journey would be for me as to minimize the amount of time that I was away. Opting instead of a 3-hour carriage ride, to go for the much faster and less fashionable route of a train from Westchester into the city.
The sky was unusually bright and clear, so I could see exactly what I was leaving behind. As if the day so beautifully laid before me was taunting me with what I would miss out on. Happy families sitting on the grassy hills and people moving about the small town lazily. The beach would be full of those late early vacationers who had come out to the country and sea for fresh air. Hoping in their futility that they might get better from the air alone.
The trains were running slow, most likely laden with passengers making their way out for what was presumably the first sunny day of the year. Ora, always the first day of the week, was the lazy day for most after Allayend. The break from the week having usually been full of prayer and church services. Even those who did not attend any church were usually at home cooking or cleaning so that they might not have to do so much during the week. I waited on the platform impatiently when I heard the train in the distance and looked out past the rail station towards the large black locomotive moving quickly towards town.
The trains had been put in four or five years ago and still had many miles of rail to stretch out to other districts. But from St. Devonshire, the main city in the west most of Kosh, it was the most direct path to the shores of Westchester. Since the train had come, it was a common Ora tradition to come out to the country for picnics and beach days. They came down for holidays and vacations, and many more people then in years previously came for lazy days. I stood alone on the platform, with no one going into the city today besides myself. I stood waiting, checking the time. The platform was a large square box with an overhanging roof. Behind it, the station house, a squat building where tickets were sold.
The behemoth of a machine pulled into the station, slowing down about 100 kilometres away. Steam spouting from the top of the engine and pouring into the station, its whistle blared a cacophony of sounds. The train finally came to a stop and the doors to the passenger coach rolled open and out poured dozens upon dozens of people in their best wears. Woman in long elegant dresses made of simple cloth wore large hats tied with bows. Men wore simple suits, mostly of cotton for the heat of the day. Though it was early in the year, there was still plenty of sun in the sky and warmth in its days. Of the children that accompanied those men and woman, the boys wore knickerbockers and suit jackets and girls in bib-skirts, with their lighter cotton shirts under that. As they poured in troves off the train, the guard helped people down or placed bags out for people to collect. I waited impatiently for the crowed to thin and then disperse.
I readied my ticket and handed it to the rail guard as I got onto the train. He stamped it and stood there while I got onto the train and found a seat in the empty compartment. The rail guard stood waiting for a time before he called out in a thick voice, “last call for St. Devonshire, last call for the train.”
No one came running and after just a moment more he climbed back onto the train himself and called to the conductor up front.
The train took off slow at first, having to circle the hillside, giving a grand view of the beaches where people were making their pilgrimage in the dewy light. I watched as people moved about and wished I could be with them enjoying the sun, perhaps having a day in the gardens with grandfather. Instead, I was on my way into St. Devonshire. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the city, it had its own kind of charm and life to it. The ebb and flow of daily life always mesmerized me a little. But I loathed to be away from my grandfather when he was so ill.
The train pulled past the cove and down the side of a mountain, through tunnels and historic lands. Kosh had once, a hundred years or so before, been made up of many different countries. The onset of war by one or the other at various points coalesced into the Great War, as the Royal Empire of Kosh absorbed various fractions and lands. Many of them are historic in one way or another, with many monuments and various people all with different languages and cultures all coming under one banner until what was known as Kosh was the whole of the eastern world. Even four generations after the Great War had ended, there still existed hostility and factions that despised one another as being different. The common language, and indeed the only official language, of Kosh was Koshnam, but still many people spoke three or four different languages or a mixture of several languages just because of the historic areas.
The train rolled through tunnels and over cresting hills which showcased the vibrant forests and fields. The rolling hills turned to valleys and then flat planes the more west you went.
The train picked up speed, rattling along the rail line towards the city, until the thoughts of histories past and the gentle swaying of the train lulled me into a nap.
I was roused when someone shouted, “St. Devonshire 100 kilometres off, ready to demount.”
And then, a time later, I was poked in the shoulder. “Mister, its last call for St. Devonshire. Is this your stop?”
“What?” I blinked blearily around the train’s interior rows of seats, all empty, and realized what he had said.
“Oh yes, thank you.” I said and hurried off of the train before they would start back with me lazily dreaming, still half asleep.
As I got off the train, I realized the rail station in St. Devonshire was much larger than I had thought it would be. With several trains coming and going and long rows of stone platforms all connected in the middle by a platform that went over the trains.
I hurried up onto a platform. Steam billowed around the large platform, filling the space. With a large box office room to the right-hand side and the left-hand side open to the city. Beyond its borders, I pulled a scrap of paper from my pocket with the address written on it and my letter from Joseph Morel.
...
The large streets opened up before me into St. Devonshire, it took me a bit to get my bearings heading around the city. The streets were packed full of people bustling to and fro, each heading to and from their destinations with a frenzy that befit the workday. I wondered where these people were going, each with their own goals and plans, each with a life that they were lost in the middle of. There I stood on the precipice of a new life. Starting over was always easy for me, but there were things I didn’t want to leave behind just yet.
Two men in the dark leather of the city guards loomed close at hand, an emblem burned into the leather with the city crest marked along the top left shoulder of their armour, marking the two men easily as guards. As they walked past me in the crowd, one of the men bumped into me and I hastily apologized taking in the large muscular man in front of me, “Sorry.”
“Better watch where you’re going, next time.” Said the guard, his large hands going to his hips he tilted his head at me inspecting me.
“Sorry,” I repeated myself and shifted uncomfortably.
“Where are you headed?” he said with a grin that made my hairs stand on end, obviously in danger. I was acutely aware of the way he watched me, as if anything I did or said he would take joy in interrogating me. There are some people like that in the world, who use what power is granted to them to make others feel uncomfortable and there is nothing less than bullying to have it done. I knew by the very nature of what kind of man I was that they could use that against me, could use any excuse to take advantage of the situation, and so I could give them no reason to suspect a single law had been broken.
I acted on impulse and told the truth, trying to breath through the pain in my chest from the constricting of my bindings. Trying not to show the anxiety in my situation, I said, “An interview, for one of the publishing houses,” standing my ground. I felt the oppression in their stares, their eyes dark and hooded watching my face for the sign of a lie.
He watched me for the beat of a second, eyes narrowing as if he suspected something. He opened his mouth just as the other guard at his side nodded and said, “better get to where you’re going then.”
I nodded as the guards turned to one another and I sensed my moment to flee would close in if I stayed there much longer. Taking my moment, I headed off into the street. I could feel eyes glued to the back of my neck all the way to my stop.
The first corner I came to I found the newsy stand. The newspapers arranged in order with The Aurora Harold on one end of the stand, almost no one had picked up a copy, not a good sign in and of it all. The Aurora Harold was on the stand with this week’s news stories written across the top about a doctor office that had been raided recently for treating fae along side humans. There among other papers, and magazines, there were other things he sold or advertised, chocolates and fruits, as well as cigars and cheap cigarettes.
“Are you buying kid? If not move along,” said the gruff little man with dark think hair on his knuckles and arms. He had a nice beard and sparkling eyes, but his head was round and bald.
“You got a map of the city?” I asked him.
“New here, yeah?” He asked his eyes looking me over once, then across the crowd. I could still feel the eyes of the city guards on my back suddenly leave me, on to something else more interesting.
“Just off the train,” I told him readily, I had no quell with him.
“Mmm,” he said, almost uninterested as a young man came up to the stand, lanky and thin with a slightly pointed ear and something fluttering under his jacket.
“Jo, you here for your weekly chocolate bar already.” I saw the movement of the long jacket and underneath the thin wings fluttered down hidden from sight. My eyes glowed a little at the impression of the thin wings that moved ever so slightly with the young man, as if he were ready to take flight.
“Hi Mr. E-E-Et-Etrye,” the young man shuddered. His eyes shifting to me a moment and then back to the stand owner. Envy sheathed in me a moment as the man was distracted with his customer and turned to the boy.
“Don’t worry kid, he won’t bother you, will you mister?” The two sensed my hunger for something I could not have, he had wings. Wings I so desperately wanted to reclaim, memories flooding me of the joy of flight and family, the sorrow of losing those beautiful, prized wings.
“I’ve no qualms with you.” I said lightly as the moment passed and I realized the state of him. Thin, a worn boy, in tattered clothing. He had wings, yes, but I had power and money and anything I really wanted, and he had nothing.
“Good, good, here you go Jo, don’t eat it all at once, okay kid?” Said Mr. Etrye, turning back to the boy and handing him the chocolate bar and recovering back a single copper penny. The boy looked half starved and smiled politely at the old man. He shifted from foot to foot nervously as Mr. Etrye turned back to me, weary.
“So, you need a map?” He asked. I watched the boy peeled back the thin paper wrapper on the chocolate bar and broke off a single corner in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the chocolate melt.
“If you don’t have one, I can go find it somewhere else.” I said with a shrug and Mr. Etrye tapped his chin, as if thinking a moment.
“You’re not really gonna find a map round here. But if you let me know where your going, I can probably give you directions.” He shrugged in turn and smiled wanly at me with a glint in his eye.
“For a price, I presume,” I said, taking another look at the young lanky man. He looked like skin and bones and was spending a copper penny on a chocolate bar. I looked back at Mr. Etrye and said, “How much for one of the boxed meals?”
The boy’s eyes opened quickly, then darted to me, then the meal, then Mr. Etrye, and back to the meal.
“2 roundings,” said the man, looking me over suspiciously, as if no one ever bought the boxed lunches.
“I’ll take three of them,” I said, and the boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“You sure about that mister?” Asked the little man.
“I’m sure,” I said pulling out my coin purse and counting out a gold sovereign. Mr. Etrye nearly had his eyes pop out of their sockets as he saw the coin and fumbled for his lock box.
The boy starred at me in wonder as Mr. Etrye put away the coin and I told him, “Keep the change.”
“You sure?” He asked, and I nodded. Then he handed over three of the boxed meals. They were plain enough, with a piece of fruit and a simple sandwich. Advertised on the sign was a coffee or tea with the meal.
“Young man, Jo, correct?”
“Yes sir?” Said the boy, swallowing hard and looking at me.
“For you,” I said and handed him the boxes, his eyes wide. He didn’t dare touch the food.
“I d-don’t need y-your sympathy.” He said, hot in the face and I frowned, still holding out the boxes.
“It’s not sympathy. I have means and I don’t know the way around the city yet. You need this more then me, paid for by you helping me find where I am going. But if you don’t like my offer…” I shrugged again.
“A trade then, my time f-f-for food?” He asked confused.
“Only if you have nothing else to do. I encourage you to think about this offer. It might be the first of many jobs I could need. A runner, a flyer maybe even?”
“I-I-I don’t,” he stammered, shifting his cloak over his wings a moment.
“Oi! you don’t know us, you don’t know this place. Who gives you the right?” Started the man named Etrye.
I put my hands up placatingly, letting him see plainly where they were and said, “I didn’t mean to offend. Might I ask what I said wrong?”
“I-It’s okay Mr. E-E-Etrye” he said then looked around the street anxiously. People were staring at us now and I felt awful.
“No Jo its not. Some fancy noblemen’s son comes in here and he don’t even know a thing. He don’t even know flying’s illegal without a permit or about your wings.” Said Mr. Etrye, angrily.
“Your wings…” My eyes darted to the boy again and then my face fell, as understanding overwhelmed me.
“Someone’s clipped you.” I said, horror written across my face. “I thought only. Of course, common folk weren’t meant to have their wings clipped, only the gentry. But, of course, people still do that, even after and I thought it’s been so long. You must have just been a baby when it all…”
The boys arms curled around himself then he looked up and met my eye as understanding passed between us.
Still, Mr. Etrye was fuming. “Shut up, just shut up.”
“Mr. E-Etrye please.” Said the boy, no longer a shudder in his voice and Mr. Etrye stopped fuming for a second as he looked surprised at the boy.
“He didn’t mean,” he swallowed hard. “I m-mean look at him. He-he’s l-like me.” The boy said. His voice stayed strong, even as he had to pause for his words to come clearly.
Mr. Etrye looked at me now and I shifted under his gaze. Then, he too, saw what the boy saw in me. Something of that familiarity.
“Ah,” he said and nodded, still looking displeased with me. Then he looked at the boy and sighed. “Fine, go with him. Show him wherever he’s got to go. Maybe he’ll learn something about keeping his trap shut.”
Jo showed me around the city. Occasionally telling me about this place or that, that he thought I might find interesting. But, mostly, I just enjoyed hearing the boy talk about this and that, things that only another fae would know.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.” I said to him as he shifted his jacket over his shoulders uncomfortably.
“It-it ain’t nothing,” he said.
“Mmm,” I nodded. “Can I ask… about it?”
“My mam, s-she cut them so t-they would sit flat, but I was a fussy b-babe and it cut the nerves.”
“I see.” I nodded, shifting slightly, then feeling I should tell him my own story.
“The queen has mine.” I shifted and looked down the street. The boy said nothing, I continued— “her collection of my whole family. I’ve heard that the princess wore them as costumes when she was a young girl.”
