Daisy Chain

1

Daisy Chain

    “Eye of newt, and toe of frog,” counted Robin carefully.

    “Go on,” prompted Isabella, since he seemed to have stopped.

    “Um, a daisy chain from a mortal’s neck,” said Robin in a small voice.

    His sister snorted.

    “Well, maybe one worn by a changeling?” he suggested, after some thought.

    “Maybe, but if it doesn’t say that, Robin—”

    “Hang on,” he said sheepishly, “I’ve turned over two pages at once. Um, bother.”

    Isabella came to look over his shoulder at the Book. “‘Eye of newt and toe of frog, bluebell dew gathered when fresh,’ nothing about daisy chains at all!” she cried.

    “Mm. I could swear I never turned the page, Isabella,” he said uneasily.

    “It was probably the wind,” said Isabella in a bored voice.

    “In that case, maybe it’s an omen,” said Robin fearfully.

    Isabella was just opening her mouth to say scornfully: “Of what?” when a thunderous voice boomed: “What are you children doing with the BOOK?” and it was all over bar the shouting. Well, that plus the thunder and lightning, Oberon was very good at those.

    “Sorry, Father,” said Robin at last in a very small voice.

    “Spells are dangerous when in the wrong hands, how many times do I have to tell you?” replied their father in exasperation.

    Puck had been keeping well out if it, but since the storm clouds appeared to have cleared—well, the kingly brow was no longer surrounded by shafts of lightning, one of His Faerie Majesty’s best effects—he danced up to them and squeaked: “One thousand and one, Great Majesty!”

    “Shut up,” replied his master disagreeably,

    Puck subsided. In fact he subsided very, very pointedly, winking at the two children as he did so.

    “And get out of my— No, wait.” The kingly eyes narrowed. Puck, valiant though he was, had to suppress a wince. “Put a girdle round the earth in thirty minutes,” ordered his master in an evil voice.

    “Not the girdle round the earth thing, sire!” he wailed.

    “GO!” thundered the voice.

    “I’m going!” Hastily Puck went.

    Silence fell, apart from the soft noise of assorted daisies, buttercups, hedgerow roses and the odd bluebell or two dripping in the wake of that storm. Isabella and Robin just stood there soggily. –He, of course, was fresh as a—hah-hah—daisy.

    “Have you two been listening to him?” demanded Oberon.

    “Um, Puck? No,” said Isabella in astonishment.

    “Of course not!” cried Robin, even more astonished.

    “Oh. Well, good. See you don’t. What gave you the idea you were old enough to make a spell? Even,” he said with a cursory glance at the Book, “one as feeble as this?”

    The question was, of course, unanswerable. They glared.

    “Eye of newt and toe of frog, bluebell dew gathered when fresh, a whisker culled from an old grimalkin, stir all well in cowslip wine that has aged for a year and a day, to be drunk afore bed for the hair to curl upright, as shavings from the carpenter’s blade,” recited Oberon, not bothering to look at the Book again. “What poor fool were you planning to wish that on, pray tell?”

    “It’s harmless enough,” said Isabella uneasily.

    “WHO?” he shouted.

    “Um, well, any mortal, really, Father,” admitted Robin, shuffling his feet.

    He drew a deep breath. “Setting aside the question of where the cowslip wine was to come from, how were you planning to enter the mortal realm?”

    They glared.

    “And don’t dare to tell me your mother said she’d take you!”

    There was a short silence.

    “Only for a treat,” said Robin sulkily, avoiding his eye.

    “It’s not fair! We can never do anything!” burst out Isabella.

    “I shall speak to your mother,” he said with terrible restraint.

    They quailed.

    “In the meantime... Peaseblossom! Moth!” He didn’t even have to add: “Skip hither!” they were there on the instant, wings a-quiver.

    “Take these two to Merlin’s cave and tell him that until I decree otherwise, they can learn floral lore, mathematics, logic and”—evil look—“ethics.”

    “Yes, Great Majesty!” they carolled, skipping slightly. “Floral lore, mathematics, logic and ethics! Come, faerie children! Let’s away!”

    Forthwith the luckless two were whisked up, up, and away, pursued by a kingly shout of: “Bread, water, jam on Fridays, and NO BUTTER!”

    The subsequent row between Oberon and Titania over whether she should, would or might take their younger children anywhere near the mortal realm shook the Faerie Realm to its foundations—or would have, had they not all been pretty well used to that sort of thing. Apparently it was all Oberon’s fault in the first place for having been so silly as to name their son after that rascally Robin Goodfellow. –At this point Puck, even though scarce recovered from the exhaustion induced by the girdle round the earth thing, decided that discretion was very much the better part, and crept off to Merlin’s cave, where he got under the old wizard’s bed—better safe than sorry. The children didn’t suffer too much—well, Merlin was rather good at Fridays, so they got a lot of jam. But the no butter thing was a pain. However, by the time they were adjudged fit for faerie company again they certainly knew an awful lot of floral lore, mathematics, logic and ethics.

    “Today,” said the old wizard with an uneasy look in his eye, “it’s time for you to start on spells, my dears.”

    “Huzzah!” they cried.

    “Er—not entirely with me,” he admitted, the uneasy look increasing.

    Robin glanced cautiously over his shoulder, but they certainly appeared to be alone. Well, Puck’s snores could be heard from under Merlin’s bed, and the wizard’s cat was sitting up on top of it washing her soft grey fur, but it seemed safe to speak.

    “But we never let on it was you told us that the hair curling spell was an easy one to start with, Merlin!” he hissed.

    “Don’t spit! Er—no, I know that, dear boy. Nevertheless, er, your respected father thinks that he should, er, oversee your further education.”

    Robin again looked round uneasily.

    “Nobody. Unless he’s disguised himself as Grimalkin,” suggested Isabella, reading his every thought with no difficulty whatsoever.

    “Mee-oww!” the cat objected.

    “What? No!” said the wizard on a cross note. “No, he just thinks that at my advanced age, it, er, may be easier if he—er—spells me for a little!” He gave a nervous snigger.

    “Hah, hah,” noted Robin.

    Isabella, recalling that their revered parent at one point had declared that Merlin was a silly old sod who’d long since lost it—a windy spell that had gone wrong had been the direct cause but there had been other episodes—merely said kindly: “Good, we don’t want you to wear yourself out, Merlin, dear.”

    “Don’t you? Thank you, Isabella,” replied the old wizard with a weak smile, reflecting that in some ways Isabella was growing very like her dear mother. Not as capricious, though, thank goodness.

    “What shall we start with?” asked Robin eagerly.

    “Hair curling!” squeaked Isabella, collapsing in giggles.

    “Yeah, hah, hah, that was a good one,” he acknowledged, grinning. “Can we change someone into a frog?” he asked hopefully. His eye fell on the cat.

    “Mrrr-ee-oww! Nnnn-ee-o!” howled Grimalkin, leaping off the bed and streaking for the high hills.

    “Honestly, Robin! Leave the poor old thing alone!” cried his sister.

    “I never actually said— Well, how about Puck?” he asked hopefully.

    Merlin wouldn’t have minded, actually. That fairy was a pest. But it would annoy His Majesty. And then, on the unlikely chance he couldn’t change him back— “Er, no. That’s too advanced. Some nice simple spells for standing, sitting and moving, today, children. No ingredients, just the words and the right attitudes to be memorised.”

    “Attitudes?” echoed Isabella uncertainly.

    Obligingly Robin got up and stood on one leg, cocking the other in the air.

    “No. Sit down, Robin. Mental attitudes,” said the old wizard on a weak note.

    Sniggering, Robin sat down again.

    “And you’d best not practise on Puck, your revered father wouldn’t like it. –Moth! Peaseblossom!” he called.

    Nothing. The children exchanged glances. “Losing it,” mouthed Isabella.

    Robin winced, and nodded.

    “Moth! Peaseblossom! Hither!” cried Isabella.

    Robin was just opening his mouth to say: “That didn’t work, either,” when in they fluttered.

    “You called, sweet Princess?” they carolled, fluttering like anything.

    “Um, yes. Well, it’s for Merlin, really,” admitted Isabella weakly. “Um, you can stop fluttering, thanks.”

    They sank to their feet, beaming hopefully. “What shall we do?” they chorused.

    “Just stand there like good little fairies,” said Merlin. “The children are going to learn standing, sitting and moving spells, today.”

    “Ooh! Standing, sitting and moving spells! How exciting!” they carolled.

    “Bor-ing,” mouthed Robin at his sibling, making a face.

    Isabella shrugged, but nodded.

    It was boring, all right. Especially once Moth and Peaseblossom had got the point that Merlin did not want them to pretend to do whatever it was the children were making a spell for.

    Finally, however, the long, weary session was over, the bread and water had been consumed—no jam, Merlin had forgotten to make it a Friday, but the bread itself wasn’t bad, it had plenty of apple blossom pollen mixed into it, a recipe which Isabella claimed to have had off a friendly bee—and they were free to wander outside.

    Robin immediately immobilised a butterfly, two bees and a beetle that had only been quietly minding their own business. Isabella immobilised a bluebird, rather forgetting that if not in flight the air tended not to support— “Oops!” she gasped, springing up to grab it.

    “Why can’t I fly that good?” grumbled Robin as his sister fluttered above him.

    “Because you’re a faerie boy, of course!” replied Isabella with a snigger, fluttering like anything. Sneakily she tried to revive the bluebird without being spotted by her sibling. Bother.

    “Let that poor bird go!” he cried irritably.

    She stopped fluttering and descended to her feet. “I’m trying!” she snapped.

    Robin watched sardonically as her cheeks turned very red. “Okay, that bluebird’s gonna be immobilised until the moon turns blue.”

    “I've—seen—Father—turn it—blue before—now!” she panted.

    Robin was just sticking out his tongue at her when there was the most delightful tinkling of tiny bells accompanied by great wafts of the most delicious flowery scent—

    And down she came! Wings, billows of gauzy skirt, garlands of flowers, train of attendants an’ all. Beetles wearing gold coronets, no less. Flying lizards in livery. That sort of stuff.

    “Hullo, Mother,” they chorused resignedly.

    Titania beamed and waved her hand negligently. “There you are, my darlings! –Fly away, bluebird!”

    Off it flew, what time her darling daughter scowled horribly and her darling son sniggered meanly.

     “Now, what did you learn today? –I see!” she carolled, though neither of them had actually spoken. “Isabella, darling, the release goes like this.”

    “Ow!” gasped Isabella, feeling her head.

    “Did that sink in?” asked Robin unkindly.

     “Shut up,” she growled, massaging her temples.

    “Try again. Immobilise Bertie Beetle,” suggested Titania, smiling at one of the coroneted ones.

    “Immobilise me, sweet Princess!” he urged, standing up very straight on his hindmost legs and sticking out his shiny, armoured chest.

    Isabella sighed, but immobilised him.

    “Now, the release! –You can do it, darling, it’s very like the moving spell’s shape!” her mother urged.

    “Oh, so it is,” said Isabella weakly. “There!”—as the rigid beetle suddenly came to life again.

    “Very good!” she approved. “Yes, of course: go on, darling,” she said to Robin, though he hadn’t spoken.

    Smiling weakly, he immobilised Larry Lizard, reactivated him, and made him walk across to a handy buttercup.

    “Love-ly!” fluted their mother. “Yes, bring me the buttercup, Larry, dear!”

    He brought it over, bowing, and she held it under her son’s chin with a giggle. “Loves butter!” she reported.

    “Mother, don’t be mean, we haven’t had butter for hardly forever!” he wailed.

    “Grammar, darling,” she reproved. “Goodness, that long? I think your darling father must have forgotten he ever issued that edict!” She gave a smothered giggle, and waved the wand. “There! Gone! –Cobweb! Hither!”

    “There you are, dear,” she said as a grey-clad boy fairy fluttered up. “Just fly off and fetch a dish of nice yellow farmhouse butter for Robin and Isabella, would you, dear?”

    “Nice yellow farmhouse butter! Of course, Faerie Mistress! On the instant!” he fluted, fluttering off.

    “Robin, dear, you can't fly as well as him because you don’t practise enough,” reproved Titania.

    “I never said— No, all right, I was thinking that,” he admitted sulkily.

    “Of course you were!” she fluted, with a terrific cascade of tinkles.

    “Of course you were!” fluted the entourage, giggling.

    “We’ll practise this afternoon,” she decided.

    “What about the butter?” he wailed.

    “Mm? Oh, bread and butter first, I think!” she said gaily. “Bluebell fairy! Hither!”

    Five bluebell fairies immediately fluttered before her.

    “You, I think, Fairy Bluebell, dear,” she said to the nearest one. “Just hurry and fetch a fresh crusty loaf of bread, would you?”

    “A fresh crusty loaf of bread! On the instant, Majesty!” she fluted, disappearing in a blue streak.

    “Now,” she decided, “do let’s sit down on this lovely mossy mound!”

    There hadn’t been one, but there it suddenly was, to no-one’s surprise. They all sat down, and after Titania had helped a small ladybird and a very small boy fairy with extremely curly hair onto her knee, she kindly told them a story while they waited for the bread and butter. A trifle unfortunately it was a story about jam, but then, as all present tacitly realised, even those who would not have understood the actual phrase, tact was not Titania’s forte.

A Fairy Story About Jam

    Once upon a time there was a bee, let us call him Billy Bee, who was rather tired of honey—though of course honey is delicious; still, everyone feels like a change at times, do they not? So Billy Bee set forth in search of something else delicious to eat, ignoring the Queen Bee’s warning that little bees did not ought to be out too late. Now, beloved fairies, lizards and beetles, this was in the mortal realm, not a safe place for little bees to wander. Pretty soon he espied a charming little farmhouse. Through its kitchen window he could see a table on which was set a jug of creamy milk, a big blue dish of farmhouse butter, and a loaf of crusty bread. They did not look very appetising to a bee, tho’ we, of course, would beg to differ! As he peered a woman came in with a jar of something red, which she set on the table. Then she bustled over to the window—Billy Bee hurriedly retreating as she came—and threw it wide. Then she went out again. Very bravely Billy Bee flew in. Ah-hah! The red substance smelled good! He hovered over it, sniffing. Mm! Like ripe raspberries on their canes! So he flew right down and tasted it. Ooh! It was delicious! Yes, beloved fairies, it was raspberry jam. Billy Bee was so absorbed in eating it that he didn’t take notice of what was going on around him.

 

    Suddenly an angry voice cried: “Drat! There be a blamed bee in the raspberry jam!” And a great, big, hot, sweaty mortal hand came down, SWAT!

    Well may you gasp and recoil, beloved fairies, lizards and beetles! It was very nearly almost the end of greedy Billy Bee. He was up and away with a gasp and a bzz-zzz! And only just got out of the window before it was slammed shut! Oh, dear, and it was getting dark already! Where was home? Billy Bee buzzed around frantically hither and yon: Bzz-zz! Bzz-zz! He very nearly almost gave up, in fact he was just starting to cry when a soft, warm, friendly voice said: “Why, what's this? Billy Bee crying? This will never do!” And there was the Dusk Fairy, fluttering her dim, gauzy wings. She took his hand—and up! And away! Back to his home hive, where the Queen Bee said he was a very silly bee, but all was well that ended well! And so they lived happily ever after. But you will not to this day find a beehive where raspberry jam is eaten.

    “Huzzah!” cried the small boy fairy with the extremely curly hair, as the entourage smiled and clapped politely, what time Isabella and Robin rolled their eyes at one another. “An’ they lived happily ever after! An’ they had jam to their teas every day!”

    “Er, well, not the bees, Corin, darling,” said Titania weakly, hugging him, as Isabella and Robin rolled their eyes even more frantically. “But I’m sure the little children who lived in the farmhouse did, every day!”

    “Lucky them,” noted Robin sourly, ceasing to roll his eyes.

    “At least it had a beginning, a middle and an end,” said Isabella heavily.

    “Yes, quite a change for one of her stories,” he agreed sourly.

    “Most people love my stories!” cried Titania.

    “Or pretend to,” conceded Robin, glaring sourly at the entourage in general, and in particular at one green lizard, who had clapped especially hard.

    “Liam is very fond of jam—aren’t you, Liam, dear?” cooed Titania, smiling at the lizard.

    “Yes, indeed, Faerie Mistress!” he agreed eagerly. “Greengage jam is nice, too—almost as nice as raspberry!” he added hurriedly.

    “They always like green,” muttered Robin sourly.

    “Yes,” agreed Isabella, also awarding the lizard a sour look. “They all like green and they’re all sycophants.”

    “That’s the word,” he agreed, eyeing another lizard—browner, with a yellow stripe down his back—rather hard.

    “I like honey, too, brave Prince!” this one assured him quickly.

    Robin gave up. There was nothing as thick as your average lizard, when you came right down to it. They were well-meaning, was about all you could say for them. “Yes, all right. We all like honey and jam.”

    “We all like honey and jam!” the entourage carolled happily.

    “Of course we do! And as the children’s father has not positively forbidden honey, I think we might have some with our bread and butter!” carolled Titania blithely.

    Immediately half a dozen bees offered to fetch some. The which offer being graciously accepted, off they sped.

    And as the bread and butter had now been brought they all had some. It stretched so as there was enough for everybody to eat their fill, but then with Titania there, no-one had thought it mightn’t. And those who discerned a sort of very nearly almost raspberry taste to the honey had the sense to say nothing.

    After it had had time to sink, they practised flying as threatened. Robin came several croppers, but on the whole no-one had thought he wouldn’t. He was, however, much improved by the end of the day, or so his mother declared. And as the stars were winking out, everyone was ordered off to bed.

    “Where’s she going?” muttered Robin sourly as Titania whooshed off and vanished.

    Isabella sighed. “Probably to the mortal realm to dance in the moonlight or some such. Or to make a fairy ring or something—I don’t know!” she snapped as he unwisely opened his mouth again. “Come on, that pile of fur and feathers in the cave awaits us.”

    “You could ask Grimalkin for some more fur if it’s getting a bit flat for you,” he ventured.

    “Not that, idiot,” she sighed. “How long does one have to wait before one’s permitted to go to the mortal realm and dance in the moonlight and etcetera?”

    “Make fairy rings,” he supplied helpfully. “Um, dunno!” he gasped, as the scorching glare registered. “Um, ages, I s’pose.”

    “Define ‘ages’,” replied his sister coldly, stalking into the cave.

    He couldn’t, of course, but this hardly mattered, because Merlin helpfully was. And so was Grimalkin. “Ages: a very long time, several mortal historical periods, several relatively short divisions of recent mortal geological time, shorter than epochs.”

    “As in, ‘It’s ages since I had a saucer of cream-mmm’,” added Grimalkin sourly.

    “Merlin can do that!” cried Robin in astonishment. “Go on, Merlin!”

    “Nee-ow!” mewed the cat in alarm. “No: last time he flooded the cave; well, it was good while it lasted, but your revered father had to come and reverse it.”

    “Well, um, maybe we could learn it,” offered Isabella on a weak note.

    “Who from?” retorted the cat acidly. “I'm going for a walk, I can't stand it, why did you have to mee-ention the word?” With this she stalked out, tail high.

    “Um, we didn’t, she did,” muttered Robin.

    “‘Ages’ is irrevocably associated with ‘cream’ in her mind, couldn’t you see that?” snapped the wizard. “Either of you!” he snapped as Isabella unwisely opened her mouth. “And go to bed or I’ll turn the both of you into mice for her!”

    They went to bed rather quickly. True, it was on the cards that he’d have forgotten how to make that spell. But it was also on the cards that he’d have forgotten how to unmake it. And to Grimalkin one mouse was just like another.

    “Was there any point to that story of Mother’s, do you think?” hissed Isabella as the wizard’s snores filled the cave.

    “Ssh! No!”

    “Um, well, it was cautionary, I suppose,” she murmured.

    “If you’re a bee that likes jam, yes! Go to sleep!” hissed Robin.

    Dubiously Isabella closed her eyes, We-ell... If you were a bee that liked jam or if you had a hankering to venture into the mortal realm, she’d have said. Ugh, maybe Father had managed to get Mother on his side! What an awful thought!

    Robin was feeling much brighter in the morning, the effects of the crash landings having more or less worn off on both the physical and the psychological level and the applications of dock leaf having had time to take effect on the physical.

    So he announced: “I’ve worked it out. See, Father had a go at Mother about encouraging us to want to go to the mortal realm, so that dumb fairy story was her way of—”

    “Yes!” snarled his sister.

    “I was only saying. But that’s not all. See, it started—well, not literally, I suppose. Maybe that goes back to Merlin starting to lose it—I mean, in the olden days would he ever have even mentioned how to make a spell to anyone our age, let alone suggested an easy one?”

    “Who knows?” she sighed. “You weren’t there and I wasn’t there and if you think Grimalkin’s gonna let on, think again: she’s still riled up over the saucer of you-know-what.”

    “Not literally, you ass’s head! What I’m trying to say, it’s sort of cause and effect.”

    “Us being here is, yes,” agreed his sister bitterly.

    “Yes, and Mother coming and telling that boring story—and, what’s more, her and Father ganging up against us!”

    “Well, yes, you’re not wrong there.”

    Robin looked at her gloomily. “How long will it last, do you reckon?”

    “Them ganging up against us or them actually agreeing about something?”

    “Both! It’s the same— Oh,” he said looking crestfallen. “I suppose she might— No.”

    “No,” agreed Isabella sweetly. “Let me spell it out for you, pardon the word. They may well have another of their rows about nothing in particular—well, about something she's done, probably, but whatever. One of them. But this does not mean that on the subject of us not going to the mortal realm until he says so, and us having our noses to the grindstone all day, and us not being allowed a sniff of the Book until he says—”

    “That’s three subjects,” he noted sourly.

    Ignoring this, Isabella finished superbly: “This doesn't mean that they won’t be in perfect accord, up to, during and after he next turns the moon blue!”

    “Gee, you’re right,” he discovered. “So they will.”

     Isabella threw a leaf at him without bothering to actually move, so he conceded: “That wasn’t bad. Mind you, leaves aren’t that hard. No, well, okay, they will. So what’s next?”

    “Uh—we just obey orders, Robin,” she replied weakly.

    “No, like I was saying. One thing leads to another, doesn’t it?”

    It didn’t always, in the Faerie Realm, but in this instance Isabella nodded hard.

    “Yes. So,” pursued the brilliant Robin, “what’s next?”

    Isabella thought about it. “Ugh,” she concluded.

    “This spell,” said Oberon evilly, “is one of the easiest in the Book! Now do it!”

    “I can’t, Father!” wailed Isabella.

    Robin had already had his and was feeling duly chastened. He looked at her with considerable sympathy but didn’t dare to prompt: Father could read your every thought ray. Usually before you'd realised you’d formulated it.

    “Do it or I’ll put a standing spell on you!” he snapped.

    “I cah-han’t!” she hiccupped, bursting into tears.

    Immediately he immobilised her, tears and all. Quite a trick, that. Robin came up and peered.

    “What do you want?” snarled the voice.

    “Nothing. Sorry, Father. That’s really good,” he admitted, backing off.

    “I was under the impression,” His Majesty noted evilly, “that you and your sister had both learned standing spells, quite some time back.”

    “Yuh-yes, we did!” he gulped. “Um, the tears, I meant,” he muttered.

    Oberon sniffed, but appeared slightly mollified. “Where’s the cat?” he demanded out of the blue.

    Robin gulped. “Duh-dunno, sire!”

    “I’ll fetch her, sire!” squeaked Puck, suddenly scrambling out from under the wizard’s bed. He flew out before anyone could utter.

    “How long,” said Oberon, swiping his hand across his brow, and tottering to a chair, “is he going to keep this up, may I ask?”

    The tottering was a really bad sign—really bad. It didn’t mean he was physically tired, far from it. “Whuh-what, sire?” stuttered Robin.

    “Robin,” said His Majesty with heavy patience, “you are my son. My SON!” he shouted. Robin blinked, but nodded. “Kindly refrain from addressing me as ‘sire’, if you would be so good,” said his father through his beautiful pearly teeth.

    “Yes. I’m sorry, Father,” he gulped miserably. “Um, I don’t think time—um, in any form, really—means very much to Puck,” he offered, as Oberon just sat there.

    “No,” he said dully. “No.”

    “You could order him to return to your train, Father,” he offered meekly.

    “One of these days, Robin o’ mine,” he replied heavily, “you will learn—nay, let me rephrase that last. You may perhaps learn, that there is no point in ordering beings to do one’s bidding. –No point!” he snapped as Robin opened his mouth in amazement. “Think about it!”

    Robin endeavoured to think. “Oh,” he said finally.

    “Yes. –Get me a saucer of cream,” he sighed.

    “Whuh-what, sir?” he gasped.

    “A—saucer—of—cream,” said Oberon loudly and clearly.

    “Yuh-yes, of course, Father!” he gasped, rushing out.

    Fly! came a cross order from behind him.

    Not pausing to reflect on the demonstrated contradiction between his father’s recent pronouncement and his actual conduct—though it would occur later, he was growing up—Robin flew off frantically to the nearest source of cream.

    “Of course, Robin, dear, but have you got a pail?” said Red Daisy the Cow courteously.

    “Ooh, help!” he gasped.

    “There’s a buttercup, they make good cups for butter,” she suggested kindly. “I dairy say they’d do for cream, too-ooo.”

    “Red Daisy, I—I’m not very good at bigger or smaller spells,” he gulped.

    “It’s foon-ny,” mooed the cow thoughtfully. “Boy fairies never are, it’s always the girl fairies that manage those ones easily. Let me see... Well, your cap, dear?”

    Dubiously Robin removed his cap. It was quite a nice cap, Puck had one just like it. It had originally been an acorn’s cap, but Isabella had worked a bigger or smaller spell on it.

    “It loo-ooks cream-proo-oof,” mooed the cow.

    “Okay, then. –Thanks, Red Daisy,” he said gratefully as she let down her milk for him.

    “The cream will rise to the top, Robin, dear. You just think ‘Rise, cream,’ or so they tell mmm-mmm-me.”

    “It’s for Father,” he explained, eyeing it dubiously. “I’d hate to do the wrong thing.”

    “That’s all right, then: he knows. Moo-ooo-oo-byre,” she lowed.

    “Moo-ooo-oo-byre, Red Daisy,” replied Robin, going.

    When he got back Puck and Grimalkin were both sitting with Father, looking smug.

    “I had to put it in my cap!” he gasped.

    “They do make quite good cream pails,” agreed Puck with a snigger.

    “Mm. Now put it in a saucer,” said Oberon on a dry note. “Without going to fetch it, Robin!”

    “Oh.” Was this the object of the exercise, then? He managed to make a saucer come over to them and managed to get the cream into it from the cap almost without spilling a drop. Quickly the purring Grimalkin licked the drops up. Hopefully quickly enough for Father to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

    “Better?” said Oberon kindly as the cat sat up and began to wash.

    “Purr-rrrr-rrr-aaa-therr-rrrrr,” she replied.

    “Good. –Silly old sod,” he muttered, glancing at the wizard’s bed.

    “Um, he’s out getting nettles, Father,” ventured Robin.

    “Yes, I know,” he said mildly.

    Robin sagged.

    Oberon just sat there, so he and Puck did, too. Grimalkin, being a cat, just got on with what she felt like, which was having a lovely wash and then getting onto the bed for a nap.

    After quite some time Robin ventured: “Um, shall you release Isabella now, Father?”

    “I’m leaving that to you, Robin,” he replied mildly.

    Oh, help! Was that the object of the exercise? “Sir, from one of your spells?” he gasped.

    “Mm. You are my son. Go on.”

    Robin tried. He really tried. He tried until the sweat dripped off him and he collapsed in a heap, having to be revived by the foul nettle tea that the old wizard had now made with the results of his foraging. Exhausted though he was, Robin reflected that all this had probably been part of Oberon’s plan for today, never mind the ostensible sequence of events.

    He went on trying, as the day darkened, Oberon illuminated the cave without benefit of anything, and Grimalkin woke up and went out.

    He was still trying, sweating all over, as Oberon, Puck and Merlin ate chicken scattered with rosy globules of pomegranate seeds...

    And as they followed it up with rose-petal ice cream.

    He’d collapsed in an exhausted heap again, slept for he knew not how long, and woken to try yet again, as Grimalkin came back with a very dead, dampish mouse. He went on trying while she tossed the mouse around and eventually ate it. He continued to try as she found a juicy leftover piece of chicken and ate that, too.

    Dawn was streaking the east with its rosy fingers when he fell asleep again in an exhausted heap. It was still doing so when his father kicked him in the ribs.

    “You almost had it that last time,” he said calmly. “Seize the structure of it, ass’s head.”

    “It’s like catching a mee-ouse,” agreed Grimalkin.

    Robin gave an indignant gasp. “It is not!”

    “Yes, it is,” said the cat smugly, starting in to wash yet again.

    Sweat pouring off his brow, Robin endeavoured to seize the structure of his father’s standing spell. Suddenly he remembered something Isabella had once said about—was it about the structure of unmaking a standing spell being very like the structure of a walking spell? Well, something like that. ’Cos if one was kind of the opposite spell to the other, then unmaking one must be very like making— the other!

    “Golly!” he gasped as Isabella blinked, sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her face, eliminating the tears that had begun to drip again.

    “Yes, that’s right, Robin,” she said, smiling limply at him. “It’s so for all spells that come in pairs. –Sorry, Father. I think I know how to do it, now.”

    “Mm. Go on,” he said in horribly neutral tones.

    “Wait, let me think. I don’t want to do it without being able to undo it.”

    Oberon raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. They waited.

    “Yes,” said Isabella with a little smile. “Got it.—Sorry, Grimalkin.—This is the true spell of hair curling. ‘Take eye of newt and toe of frog, bluebell dew gathered when fresh, a whisker culled from an old grimalkin, stir all well in cowslip wine that has aged for a year and a day, to be drunk afore bed for the hair to curl upright, as shavings from the carpenter’s blade,’ need not be said but must be said, when all is done the cat’s abed.”—Suddenly the cat was on the bed, apparently asleep.—“Three blinks, and curl, hair!” She blinked three times.

    Robin recoiled with a revolted gasp as Grimalkin’s soft grey pelt stood up in a mad frizz of curls.

    “Horrible!” said Oberon with a laugh. “—Not bad, my dear. Now undo it.”

    Smiling, Isabella said simply: “Uncurl, hair, no cat’s abed.”

    “Is that all there is to it?” gasped Robin as the frizz disappeared and Grimalkin woke up, purring, and came to rub round Isabella’s legs.

    “You have to think the curling and uncurling, of course,” replied his sister serenely.

    “All right, now do it to a person!” he snapped.

    “You’re volunteering, are you?”

    “Nuh—um, what about Merlin’s beard?” replied Robin on a weak note.

    Puck, who had been afraid it was going to be him, gave a loud snigger. “Aye!

“An it grows on the hedge, an it grows on the chin,

’Tis all the old man’s, and curls out and in.

Fire in the fields, or fire in the pipe,

Fetch water, Mary, for both be alight!”

    “Very weak, Robin Goodfellow,” noted Oberon drily. “Yes, very well, Isabella, my dear.”

    Promptly Isabella recited the spell, duly sending Merlin to bed, and blinked three times.

    Puck and Robin collapsed in horrible fits of the sniggers as Merlin’s long, thick beard was suddenly a mad mass of curls—so much so, indeed, that his face wasn’t even visible.

    “Leave him like that—please, Princess!” begged Puck, mopping his streaming eyes.

    Oberon smiled, just a little. “Too cruel. Undo it, Isabella.”

    “Uncurl, hair, no old man’s abed.”

    Puck and Robin watched sadly as Merlin blinked, sat up, felt his beard and smiled at Isabella.

    “Yes, well, you’ve both done quite well, children,” Oberon conceded graciously. “Come and give your father a kiss.”

    Obediently they came and pecked his cheek.

    “Now, I must fly, my dears,” he said.

    “Wait, Master!” gasped Puck.

    He paused, hovering above them. “Yes, Puck?”

    “I’ll come too! –Thank you for the hospitality, Merlin—Grimalkin. Bye-ee!”

    And with that they both disappeared into the pearly sky.

    Robin went to the entrance of the cave and peered. “Really gone, thank goodness,” he reported.

    “Mm,” agreed Isabella absently, frowning.

    “What is it? Surely you didn’t want him to stay?”

    “Which, Robin?’ she said drily.

    Robin grinned. “Puck, he eats too much, but take it any which way you please.”

    “Mm...”

    “What?” he cried.

    “What was the point of all that?”

    “Um, improving our spell making?” he groped. “Well, giving poor Grimalkin some cream, too, of course.”

    “Mmm-mmm,” purred the cat in agreement.

    “No—well, yes, obviously. But he knew we were gradually improving, anyway. No, what is the result of it all, Robin?”

    Robin stared at her, frowning.

    “I think he’s too young, my dear,” put in Merlin. “His reasoning faculty is not as developed as y—”

    “It is!” he snapped. “You mean the whole thing from start to finish was a manoeuvre to get Puck to go back to his train?”

    Isabella shrugged. “Well, that’s how it’s turned out.”

    “But— Not everything, surely!”

    His sister just shrugged.

    “Look,” he cried, “what about the nettles? That had nothing whatsoever to do with Puck going back to him! It was all about me wearing myself out over that spell!” He rounded on Merlin. “Why did you decide to gather them?”

    The old wizard cleared his throat. “Er, well, I didn’t; I just found myself doing it.”

    “Nevertheless,” said Isabella tranquilly, “it’s all tied together, Robin. Work it out.”

    Scowling, Robin began to work it out. “Um—maybe,” he conceded.

    To his annoyance they both just eyed him tolerantly.

    Isabella sighed. “I wouldn’t have minded some of that cream. Did you get any dinner?”

    “Uh—no,” Robin realised.

    “Grimalkin had the last of the chicken: I think she’s drunk the skim milk, too.” Merlin investigated. “Yes,” he reported. “Well, breakfast?”

    “Bread and water! Thank you very much!” snapped Robin.

    “HAVE BUTTER, AND SHUT UP!” boomed the voice.

    “Ooh, good,” said Isabella simply.

    “Yes, well, machinations to get Puck back or not,” admitted Robin, “it’s turned out good. –Go on, Merlin, do a butter-making spell!” he urged.

    Nothing.

    “Butter, butter, better and better—” prompted Isabella helpfully.

    Nothing.

    “Butter-rrr, butter-rrr, better-rrrr—” prompted Grimalkin, rubbing round his legs.

    “Shut up! You had cream!” said Robin crossly. “Come on Merlin, stop teasing!”

    Nothing.

    “Oh, my land, he’s forgotten!” he wailed.

    “Oh, well, bread and water,” said Isabella resignedly.

    “Ye-es. Unless you—”

    “No!” she gasped. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time I tried?”

    “That was good,” said Grimalkin, purring hopefully round her legs this time. “A butter mountain!”

    “Oh, sure!” Isabella agreed. “Really good! Who’s gonna remove it this time before it melts all over the Faerie Realm? Mother or Father?”

    “All right,” agreed Robin glumly. “Bread and water. Without a butter mountain.”

    “Bread and water, then,” said Merlin, waving his hand grandly. They appeared, but no-one evinced much excitement. Or even gratitude.

    In another part of the forest entirely, Titania frowned. “Darling, that’s really mean.”

    “Mm?” replied Oberon, yawning. “Oh—the butter thing? It’s not my fault if the old fool’s forgetting all his simplest spells.”

    “Rubbish! You did it!” she cried.

    “No, I didn't. –Didn’t need to,” he elaborated with a grimace.

    “Mistress, he forgot how to make a fire the other day, Isabella had to do it for him,” put in Puck.

    “Oh, dear!” she gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth. “That’s dreadful!”

    “In that it was a glorious summer’s day—” began Oberon.

    “What if you decided to have a blizzard?” she retorted swiftly.

    “Very well, no blizzards,” he sighed.

    Titania frowned over it. Oberon didn’t bother to check, he just waited.

    “Too much butter isn’t good for the children, anyway,” she finally produced.

    “My thought exactly,” he agreed. “Added to which, Robin could do it if he tried, but he hasn’t got the guts.”

    “Oh, dear! –What about Isabella?”

    “It’d be a butter mountain again: no grasp of spatial control, volumes, etcetera. Takes after her mother,” he noted drily.

    “That was once! And everybody loves rose-petal jam, it wasn’t wasted!”

    “Be that as it may, it certainly isn’t from my side. Are we going to have any breakfast, by the way?”

    “What? Oh!” Titania clapped her hands, and it appeared.

    “What’s this?” he gasped in dismay.

    She pointed. “Bread. Water. A nice salad of marigold and nasturtium petals and young nasturtium leaves.”

    “No butter,” noticed Puck sadly.

    “No, too much butter isn’t good for the two of you, either,” she said serenely, beginning to eat some of the bread. “Really nice, dear, it has ground hazels and briar blossom pollen in it.”

    “What’s that?” replied Oberon, not taking any bread.

    Titania looked at her slice. “This? Just a few linseeds, Oberon. They’re very good for you.”

    He drew a deep breath. “Well, may we at least have jam or honey on it?”

    “A little honey.” Forthwith it appeared. One teaspoonful. Also on Puck’s slice.

    They gave in and ate.

    “I know what you both ate last night,” she said, offering salad pointedly, “so do not speak.”

    Nobody had been going to! And what had she eaten last night? They didn’t speak, though. And they ate the salad.

    Quite some time later, Isabella having successfully magicked up a whole dinner for fourteen, well, thirteen plus a cat, a much luckier number, and Robin having managed to turn a frog into a prince and back again, Titania concluded: “They’re doing quite well, really.”

    Oberon frowned. “It’s a slow business, though.”

    “Well, yes, but all the older children were slow, too, dearest. And we do have all the time in the Faerie Realm!” she carolled happily.

    “Yes,” he said shortly.

    “If you wish for more adult company, there are the older children. Fairy Belinda—”

    “She’s visiting with Old King Cold again, he bores me stiff!”

    “It’s quite fun when he’s doing the presents. Overseeing all the busy little elves!”

    “He’s relentlessly jolly, Titania,” he reminded her grimly.

    “Well, yes, but that’s his job! And it’s better than the sulks. Well, Fairy Daniello?”

    “In the mortal realm. Chasing cursed mortal women, besotted with them. –Not literally cursed!” he shouted.

    “I’m so glad we’ve got that clear,” she said sweetly. “Well, why not give Isabella and Robin some more intensive coaching yourself, darling? I’m sure Robin would like to learn fencing!” she added brightly.

    “Uh—fencing? You don’t mean, mortal-style?” he croaked.

    “Yes, why not? You’ve said yourself it’s fun!”

    “Aye, but are they even still doing it on that side?” he croaked.

    Titania shrugged. “Who cares? They’re all ass’s heads, anyway! But you always enjoyed the fencing, dearest one!”

    “Ye-es... Look, there’s no fencing master. I sent the old one back,” he reminded her.

     “Mm, well, go over there?”

    The kingly jaw sagged. “Take Robin to the mortal realm?” he croaked.

    “He’ll have to start some time,” she said serenely, holding up a cobweb sprinkled with dew. “Quite pretty. –Rosebud! Hither!”

    Fairy Rosebud duly appeared, panting slightly.

    “Try this. –Oh, yes, very pretty,” she approved, draping it on the skirt.

    Curtseying, Fairy Rosebud carolled: “Thank you, Gracious Majesty! Will that be all?”

    “For now, dear. Off you fly! –You could take Isabella, too, Oberon,” she noted.

    “I’m not letting her anywhere near an épée!” he said in alarm.

    “No, no! Just to show her,” she smiled.

    He eyed her narrowly. “Show her what, Titania?”

    “Well, the mortal realm, dear!” She waved a hand illustratively. “How silly it all is!”

    That picture she’d conjured up was silly, all right. Especially the galligaskins. “I don’t think they’re wearing those any more, Titania.”

    She shrugged and the picture disappeared. “Well, that was just an example. It’s all silly.”

    “Uh—you mean,” he said slowly, “show her now how silly it is before she gets any older and starts fancying she might fancy a cursed mortal man?”

    “Exactly, Oberon, dear,” said Titania serenely. “They only create bother.”

    Oberon winced. They had in the past, certainly. “Very well,” he decided, “I’ll take her!”

    And that was how, beloved fairies, the Fairy Isabella first came to cross over to the mortal realm. Quite some mortal time later her father was to point out bitterly to the Faerie Queen that he should never have taken her advice, it had given Isabella a taste for cursed mortal men—but Titania, as was to be expected, only laughed.

Next chapter:

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