A Sliver of Shadow (24 page)

“Ab—” I hesitated. Names were power here. Yet if the others came looking for me I would have to give them a trail they could follow. For a moment I almost said Bacon-hag, but given the porcine demeanor of my present company I decided against that.

“Ab?” His mouth bristles twitched.

“—sinthe. Call me Absinthe.” It was lame, but maybe someone would figure out that Absinthe could maybe be short for Abby Sinclair. Probably not, though.

“Not much of a green Faery, are ye?” The pig-man chortled, ears flopping forward. “Ye can call me Jimmy. Jimmy
Squarefoot if ye like them proper sorts of manners. I can see ye have bloodies on yer hand.”

I glanced down, surprised to see the dried blood on my palm. As though recognizing it made it more real, it suddenly began to sting. “Yes. I hurt it. When I … fell. Hurt my knee too.” I lifted my pants leg to show the already bruising leg.

“Ach well. Ye are welcome to the back of the wagon there. We’re headed to the Barras, if that interests ye.”

I frowned. “Like the one in Glasgow?” I’d vaguely remembered hearing Melanie talk about it once when she’d done a musical tour of Europe, but other than that I didn’t know much about it.

“Aye.” Jimmy gave me a sly smile. “It’s on the move, ye ken. Never in the same place twa’, but all signs point in this direction.” He craned his head behind him. “Now, hop on, Absinthe. We’ve a ways ta go, and ’tis not safe to remain in one spot long. Not with the daemons on the move.”

I shivered. “Daemons?”

“Aye,” he said cheerfully. “A whole damned army of them. They will nae bother us at the Barras, but better not to tempt fate, aye?” Something in his face made me wonder how much of that was true, but I wasn’t going to get anywhere on my own with my leg the way it was. Besides, I didn’t doubt Tresa was long gone—and if she decided to get reinforcements I wouldn’t have a chance. Waiting for Talivar might be a better option, but if I could get to the Barras, I might even be able to get a message through to Moira.

I limped behind Jimmy to the wagon. He said something to the driver in a language I didn’t recognize and the woman clucked at the elephants. Jimmy nimbly leaped into the bed of the cart to help pull me up. It was full of small mushrooms.

“Truffles.” Jimmy snuffled them with a contented air.
I gently carved a place for myself, trying not to squash the spongy things. My eyes drifted past the white deer, and I shuddered at its rapidly stiffening form, great black stains on the snowy hide growing from where the arrows sprouted. Like some sort of evil plant. What sort of fruit would these bear? I half expected to see the body explode with maggots. I said as much to Jimmy.

He popped a truffle into his mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction as he slurped. “It’s quite a deadly poison, that swamp oil, but nothing so vulgar as all that. There aren’t many as would use it.” He shook his head at me, giving me a sympathetic eye. “Bad business, this CrossRoad shite, that I can tell ye. Did ye get caught up in it, ye being a half-breed and all?”

I blinked at him. “A half-breed?”

Jimmy grinned, tapping his snout. “Finest nose in six counties,” he said proudly. “I can smell the Glamourie on ye, sure enough … and yet, there’s iron in yer blood. What else could ye possibly be?”

I schooled the frown on my face. Glamourie? Must be the necklace, I decided. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense its magic. And there may well have been iron in my blood, but I wasn’t going to enlighten him to the dagger in my pocket either. Omission didn’t count as lying directly—Phin had taught me that much.

He grunted and offered me a truffle, which I quickly pocketed.

“For later,” I told him. In truth I was ravenous, but I wasn’t eating jack shit from anyone here unless Talivar said it was cool. I’d read Rossetti, after all. “I uh … don’t suppose you know the way to Faerie?”

“Suit yourself.” He popped another mushroom. “They lets me eat them as I like, since I’m the one what finds them for the trade. Not much of a wage, but it does well enough,
especially these days. And aye, I know the way to Faerie. Not going there, I’m afraid.”

“Is it very far?” I made a few mental calculations, though seeing as I didn’t know how far I’d gotten being carried on the stag, it was a bit of a moot point. If I could get to some central location, maybe I’d be able to meet up with the others there. Maybe.

“Depends on how ye go. Shortest if ye take direct to the rough country, but there’s boggles and Unseelie wights aplenty that way.” He snorted at me. “And ye don’t seem the type to be able to take care of yourself out there, begging yer pardon. Besides, the road to Faerie is damn near tight as a cork up a barrel bung these days.”

I chuckled and Jimmy flushed. “I’ve got … family there.”

He eyed me appraisingly. “Aye, I suppose ye might. Mayhap they’ll let ye in.” His gaze roamed over my clothes. “Though ye might want to consider a different type o’ dress. The purists do not always take kindly to mortal trappings.” His nose twitched. “And they willna like that bit o’ iron on your person, whatever it be.” I blushed and he laughed. “I may be old, but I’m no’ daft, lass. Iron in yer blood ye may have, but not to that extent.”

I pulled it out of the sheath, displaying it hilt down. Discretion might be the better part of valor, but I didn’t need my newfound guide turning on me.

He whistled low when he saw the blade. “Me and the Tipperaries here don’t mind it so much. We’re of stronger stuff than those high Sidhe sorts, but if ye tries to enter Faerie carrying a weapon likes that, ye willna be making it back out again, if ye catch my drift.” My dismay must have shown on my face, for he laughed again. “No worries, lass. The Barras are a good place to lose somewhat, and if ye let me do the bargaining for ye, we might turn enough of a pretty penny to buy ye rags worthy of your station.”

I nodded at him. Not like I had much choice at the moment, and anything that would make moving through the CrossRoads easier would be a good thing. I yawned into my hand. “How long until we get to the Barras?”

“Ye’ve got time for a wee nap, if ye like. There’s a bit of setup of the stall when we gets there, but that willna take too long.”

“Good enough,” I sighed, my head tilting down onto my backpack. Might as well catch a few moments of quiet while I had the chance. I watched the CrossRoads spill out behind us like a silver river of light, sparkles churned up by the wagon wheels until I couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Wake me up when we get there,” I muttered, my eyes drifting shut despite the creak of the wagon.

Dreamless, I slept.

D
ozing in a wagon full of fungi must have been more restful than I thought, as the next thing I remembered was a hand on my shoulder gently shaking me awake. I blinked into consciousness, only to see Jimmy’s snout quivering with an expectant twitch. “Aye, then, Absinthe. We’ve arrived at the Barras. Best watch your wee step, like. It’s right barmy outside.”

I poked my head out of the wagon, blinking at the mad rush of beings clattering by us. I’d thought the Midnight Marketplace was chaos, but this … this was pure anarchy. Tents of various shades sprawled haphazardly in every direction like a Renaissance Faire on crack, interspersed with wooden stalls and roving food vendors. Smoke billowed up in small pockets, advertising cook fires or blacksmiths, perhaps. Someone was playing a hurdy-gurdy nearby, and the music swelled through the roiling cacophony of conversation and laughter, creating a din of monstrous proportions. I gaped for a moment, trying to take it all in and quickly gave up. “‘You’ll not find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy in all the galaxy,’” I quoted softly.

Jimmy clucked at me. “Aye, it’s a bit much if ye’ve never
seen it before, but if we can get ye dressed proper, ye’ll fit in just fine. Though ‘hive’ is probably a good enough word for it, especially this part here.”

“How long will you be here for?” A nervous tickle pulsed its way down my spine, a sudden longing to lose myself in the hustling crowd outside mixed with the need to find Talivar and Melanie.

“Some leave when they sells out. Some stay. I canna give ye a better answer than that, lass. What I can tell ye is ye’ve got to get your wee arse out of the cart.” He winked at me. “We’ve ’shrooms to sell.”

I slid out of the wagon, brushing a squashed truffle from my backside. My knee buckled and I propped myself against a wheel, frowning at my leg. “Betrayer,” I accused it, swinging it in and out to test it, nearly kicking the little old wagon driver who had chosen to come around the corner at that moment.

His beetle eyes darkened and I apologized quickly, though I was pretty sure he didn’t speak English. I sure as hell didn’t speak bug, though, so I suppose that made us even. He clicked his mini-mandibles rapidly and made a shooing gesture.

Jimmy looked up from where he was tying up a cloth overhang above the lip of the wagon bed. “He thinks ye will attract the wrong sorts of attention standing there like at. Any chance ye can look a bit more … natural?”

“It’s been a bit of an odd day,” I said sourly, staring openly at a hefty gnome leading a string of clockwork chickens.

“Aye, well ye look like a bloody tourist. It makes ye stand out. Even more than your garb. Have ye got a hat? Mayhap if we covered your face up a bit …”

“I get it, I get it. And no, I don’t.” Scowling, I limped to the front where the elephants were tied up. They were certainly cute enough. Of course, they also stunk like the backside
of an elephant, so it didn’t take me too long to realize I didn’t really need to hang around there either.

“I’m going to take a look around,” I said to Jimmy. “Maybe I can find someone to trade that blade to.”

“Dinna wander far, Absinthe. There’s slavers about as well, ye ken? If ye look like easy pickins, they’ll pluck ye right up. Of course, ye are taller than most,” he admitted. “Should not be too hard tae pick ye out o’ a crowd o’ crows. I’ll catch up with ye in a moment.”

“Lovely. I’ll stay in this main row, then.” Not that it was a row so much as a series of gutters, loosely linked by mud and horseshit, scattered tents and awnings perched in a multihued riot of colors. It was as though someone had vomited a bag of Skittles into a cow pie and then tossed a bouquet of roses on top of it to cover the smell.

Wary of what would surely be an excellent place for pickpockets, I gripped my backpack tightly and limped down the first row. Now that I’d gotten my bearings I could see that although there was quite the mishmash of OtherFolk here, they tended to cluster themselves by type. Jimmy and his fellow compatriots were squarely centered in what appeared to be bug central.

Bulbous eyes, chitinous shells, segmented antennae—everything from boy-size cockroach men to ladybug girls to pixies with butterfly wings. And Jimmy was right. I did pretty much tower over everyone. Of course, I also had to quash the urge to crush half of them underfoot. Humanoid or not, my first instinct was to stomp the unholy bejesus out of anything with more than two legs.

That or scream like a little girl.

Neither of which was going to get me anywhere. I browsed the various clothing vendors, watching with fascination as silkworm women spun their thread directly onto the looms. A maggot shyly held out a fragment of the silk
so that I could touch it. I rubbed it between my fingers, strangely tempted. What would such a dress be like? Would Talivar like it?

I flushed as the thought crept through my mind.
Foolishness,
I thought.
Plus
s
ilk is a bitch to get the wrinkles out of
.

“If ye had the time and the money, ye could buy a bolt of it,” Jimmy observed from behind me. “And then we could take it up to where the high folks do their buyin’ and get them to make ye something nice. Seein as ye have neither, I’m afraid we’re stuck with something more practical.”

“Practical means boring.” I sighed, my hopes of a real princess dress dashed. “And I don’t really have time for this anyway.”

The pig-man squealed with laughter. “Practical means sturdy and well made, lass. Ye dinna need glass slippers to prance in shite.”

I glanced down at my mud-spattered Chucks. “No, I guess not. Where to, then?”

Jimmy snuffled into his sleeve. “We best heads down to the Lower Crescent. There’s them what might take that wee dagger off ye, and won’t tell tales about it neither.”

An uneasy feeling threaded its way through my gut. “And what to people do with these types of weapons? I don’t want to be providing ways to … kill.”

“‘Tis your call, of course, lass, but looking as ye do, it’s quite probable someone’s going to challenge ye and takes it. Might as well get somewhat for it, aye?” He eyed my leg with a worried frown. “And I think we might get ye a bit of a stick too. Ye can use it to walk and to bash someone over the head with.”

He slowed his gait so that I could keep up with him, pausing here and there to wave at various vendors, friendly greetings passing back and forth with ease. Regardless of the language, bargaining was pretty much the same no
matter what. I even found that I recognized some of the merchandise. At least if I got stuck trying to buy something here, I might actually have a clue about what a fair price would be.