Meanwhile...

14

Meanwhile…

    “I KNOW THAT!” roared Oberon terribly.

    Robin had been brimming with bravado. It vanished and he quailed. “Buh-but—”

    His Majesty took a very deep breath. Bobby Beetle, who had incautiously poked his head out from under a dock plant, hurriedly withdrew it again.

    “Very well, Robin,” he said with tremendous restraint. “Repeat that, if you would be so good.”

    “I only said isn’t it good, he’s dumped that horrible lady at las—”

    “SILENCE!” he thundered. Lightning flashed in a darkened, brooding sky, and the echoes rumbled in the distance forever…

    Robin licked his lips. “Sir,” he said in a small voice, “you’ve made Bobby Beetle cry.”

    Oberon muttered something.

    “Whuh-what?” he quavered. “I mean, I beg your pardon, sir?”

    “Get him, get him, hold his hand,” he groaned. “I am surrounded,” he said evilly, “by fools, simpletons, and rank cowards!”

    Yes. Wondering glumly which of them he himself was supposed to be, or if he fell into all three categories, a not unlikely contingency, Robin hauled Bobby Beetle out from under his dock plant, holding his hand warmly, and adding comfortingly: ‘Don’t cry, Bobby, darling. His Majesty isn’t cross with you.”

    “It shakes,” whispered the poor beetle in a trembling voice.

    Uh—what did? His legs? Robin’s certainly were, but poor little Bobby had a lot more of them to shake. “Um, yes. Um, what?”

    “Everything!” he hissed, shrinking into Robin’s side.

    How true. Robin held his chin up and gave his father an unpleasant look. “Sire, I really don’t see that there’s any need to take it out on all of your subjects.”

    “Don’t you?” he replied evilly. “But you are not—so far as my poor understanding goes—a father, I believe?”

    “Uh—nossir,” he said blankly.

    “Send that beetle away,” said Oberon impatiently. “One cannot have any sort of conversation with their continual eavesdropping!”

    It was possible that Bobby Beetle hadn’t been eavesdropping at all. On the other hand, Titania was more than capable of setting any number of beetles—or anyone else—to eavesdrop on His Majesty. Robin didn’t ask where to send him, he just quickly dispatched him to play with little Baa-Lamb. “He’s gone, Father.”

    Oberon sat down on a sofa composed largely of pale pink rose petals. It hadn't been there a split second earlier, but Robin didn’t react. “Forgive my hesitation, but it’s difficult to know where to begin.”

    “Father, I know you don’t want Isabella to get mixed up with a mort—”

    “Kindly do not interrupt me,” he said, acid-sweet.

    Ouch! Robin was silent.

    “Who told you that he’s dumped the horrible lady?” he demanded.

    Robin gaped at him. “I was watching, Sire. Father, I mean!” he added quickly as the storm clouds gathered on the brow again.

    Sighing, Oberon removed them with a careful finger. “Not that—though I would appreciate your making more of an effort—a sustained effort.”

    “I know. I’m sorry, Father.”

    “Sometimes I think you don’t love me, Robin,” he said heavily.

    “I do!” he cried loudly.

    “Yes—very well. Yes,” he sighed. “I dare say that in a hundred mortal years or so you may have made the discovery that I have feelings. –Never mind that. Did you actually see, with your own eyes, the Ben mortal dumping the horrible lady?”

    “Yes, of course.”

    “Robin, think. Did he dump her, or did she dump him?”

    “He dumped her, of course!” said Robin in surprise. “She doesn’t want to dump him, Father: she wants mortal marriage with a big house and a swimming-pool and a very modern kitchen with a special place on the bench top for a very special blender.”

    “Circumstantial,” said Oberon drily.

    “Uh—yes. Well, there were lots more pictures in her head, but I have to admit I didn’t understand them all. Mortal junk. Not like Daniello and Margot have got in their house. Um, a very fancy bed?” He showed him the picture.

    “Er—yes,” said Oberon on a limp note. “Quite a handsome bed, but—er, yes: don’t show me the mortal mattress, dear boy, I don’t need to understand about all this mortal foam stuff and, er, springs.”

    “Me, neither!” said Robin gratefully. “I always thought that foam and spring meant something else entirely!”

    “Yes, yes: all the mermaids love the sea foam, but I don’t need a picture at this juncture, Robin. Now, my boy, I want you to examine your feelings at the time you were observing the horrible lady and all the stuff in her head.”

    “I was revolted, of course, sir!” replied his son with a cheerful laugh.

    “Not that, imbecile! –No, I’m sorry, Robin. I just— Er, well, think about it. Think about how real it all felt.”

    Obediently Robin tried to think. Whilst simultaneously trying not to think that if Father had been that interested, why hadn’t he looked, at the time?

    “I’d say it was real,” he finally reported.

    “Mm.” Oberon swallowed. “Absolutely sure that she didn’t dump him? This picture you’ve got of him dumping her isn’t just wishful thinking on your part? And his, actually,” he added thoughtfully.

    “I’m positive it was him dumping her, sir! I’m pretty good at telling what’s wishful thinking, these days,” he reminded him.

    Mm. Or he thought he was. No, well, it had always seemed that way to Oberon, too. But— “Robin, dearest boy,” he said, trying not to swallow again, “have you discussed this with your mother?”

    “The dumping, you mean, Father? No, I thought you might like to be the first to kn—I mean, I thought I should tell you first!”

    “Mm. The thing is,” he said cautiously, “it’s just possible that Titania may have a had a finger in this particular mortal pie.”

    “Um… Actually, Father, I think she’s very ambivalent about the whole thing. I mean, she wants Isabella to be happy, but she doesn’t want her to go off to the mortal realm any more than you do. She’s, um, I won’t say she’s given up on the whole bit, but I’ve had the impression that she’s trying not to think about it, because she can’t make up her mind what she wants, you see, and, um, she’s concentrating on other things. Well, poor little Philly and Runcky, mainly.”

    “I thought she’d sent them to Merlin?” replied Princess Phyllida and Prince Runcorn’s father heavily.

    “Yes, to learn habits of concentration and simple sums, and a little bit of very elementary flying because they weren’t taking notice of—” Robin broke off. “Her,” he ended weakly.

    “I do know that the twins are even worse behaved than you and Isabella were at their age!” their male parent snapped.

    “Yessir!”

    “We-ell… I’m very uneasy about this whole dumping scenario, Robin,” Oberon confessed.

    That was fairly evident: the sky, which had momentarily cleared after the thunderstorm, was now a dull, mournful grey, and the flowers and bushes drooped. And all the bees and birds were silent.

    “Um, all I can say, Father,” said Robin bravely, repressing an urge to stand on one leg, “is that it seemed convincing to me. Maybe if we wait and then he tries to contact Isabella, that’ll mean— Oh, no: it won’t,” he discovered, very crestfallen.

    Oberon looked at his face, and sighed. “No, quite. Well, I can undo anything your mother does, but she’s getting more and more cunning about concealing it: it’s a matter of spotting it, you see.”

    Robin did see: he nodded, in some horror.

    “Well, we shall wait, as you suggest. And this time I’ll monitor the mortal very closely: Titania won’t slip anything past me. If he does try to contact Isabella…” The eyes narrowed.

    “Yuh-yes?” quavered Robin.

    “Oh, well,” said Oberon gaily, “I suppose she'd better have him, if she wants him! After all, what’s a mortal lifetime, in the Faerie Realm? Come along, dearest boy, we’d better go and rescue poor old Merlin from that pair of little horrors!”

    And with that the sky cleared, the sun came out, the leaves of the bushes waved perkily, all the flowers raised their faces happily as the bees began to buzz loudly, the birds burst into song, and Robin was whisked up, up and away!

    Merlin was discovered immobilised, wrapped head to toe in cobwebs.

    “It wasn’t mee-ee,” meowed Grimalkin.

    “No-one thought it was for an instant, Grimalkin, dear,” replied His Majesty genially. “Cream!”

    Astounded though she was, Grimalkin managed to get over to the bowl and start lapping.

    Oberon didn”t say “Where are they?” or anything like that, he just waved a hand negligently and the two culprits appeared, scowling pugnaciously.

    “This won’t do, Runcorn and Phyllida. Merlin is an elderly wizard, and playing this sort of trick on him is most unkind.” He paused. “Most unkind. Imagine if it was done to you.”

    Nothing.

    “I don’t think they can grasp what empathy is, Father,” offered Robin. “Not that that excuses them,” he added, giving the two culprits a baleful look. “Poor old Merlin! –I’ll do it, Father!” He waved a hand, declaiming: “Unwind, you sticky cobwebs all, Release poor Merlin from your thrall!”

    The twins watched sourly as the cobwebs unwound in a soft, smoky whirl and vanished into thin air. The old wizard shook himself, blinking.

    “Oh—Your Majesty! I beg your pardon: I must have dozed off.”

    “Something like that,” said Oberon drily. “Never mind, Merlin. I apologize for letting Titania foist these two horrors on you. Obviously they need someone younger and fitter to keep them in line.”

    “Oh, I can do an in-line spell, Sire!” he said quickly. “Fairies all, now stand in line, For this day has turned out fine. Still as stone and quiet as mice, Now you’re looking very nice. Straight as arrows in a row, Now in line, there you go!”

    Robin choked but His Majesty merely said smoothly: “Of course, but something rather more long-term is required. And some younger, more active fairies with them will mean you can get your proper rest.”

    “Dozing off,” mouthed Robin.

    “Mmm… Prrr-ye-es, prrr-rr,” agreed Grimalkin, embarking on the expected wash.

    “So,” Oberon concluded happily, “Isabella can help you teach them simple sums and elementary flying—she’s had practice with looking after mortal children in the mortal realm, so this will reinforce that nicely for her;”—Robin smirked: poor Isabella!—“and Robin can help with the habits of concentration and the simple flying, and keep them in order when Isabella’s too soft-hearted to punish them!”

    “No-oo!” cried Robin in anguish.

    “Nonsense, my darling child, it will do you good. And considering what you got up to at their age, you’ll certainly be able to second-guess them!”

    Robin eyed the twins sideways but neither raised an objection, how strange. Er… they were standing suspiciously stiff and straight: had the silly old wizard’s ridiculous spell—?

    “Yes,” said his father blandly. “I suggest you undo it, it will be good exercise for you. Though I don’t advise doing it before you’ve thought of some suitable punishment for them. –Oh: no jam or honey for them, whatever their mother may say, until I tell you so!”

    With this he vanished.

    After a moment Robin muttered: “At least he spared us the flashes of lightning.”

    “Er—yes,” Merlin agreed uncertainly. “Well, my boy, what now?”

    “Think of a punishment, I suppose,” replied Robin sourly, with a glare at the motionless twins.

    “Yes, of course! Dear me… I wonder what would work?” he quavered.

    “I can assure you that anything I do will work, Merlin, but will it have any effect?”

    “Dear, dear, dear, he sounded just like his respected father!” the old wizard twittered.

    “Didn’t mee-eean you to hear-rr-rrr that,” rumbled Grimalkin.

    Robin had to swallow a grin. “No.”

    “Something mee-ortal children get?” she ventured.

    “Uh… I really only know Daniello’s children, and they’re only half mortal. Well, no jam or honey and no puddings, really,” he concluded limply.

    “No crr-rrr-eeam,” she purred.

    “Uh—don’t think anybody was gonna offer them any, but I’ll bear it in mind, just in case!”

    “I would, purr-rrr-rrrr,” she agreed, settling herself for a nap.

    “Um, Margot once made Ronny carry some heavy shopping all the way from the, um, forget what they call it. A big shop?” he asked himself.

    “A super-shop, Robin?” offered Merlin.

    “Uh… It’ll do! –But we haven’t got any shops in the Faerie Realm.”

    Merlin then suggested—he was losing it, all right—carrying buckets of milk from Red Daisy, carrying heavy honeycombs from the friendly bees, and, possibly though not necessarily maddest of all, delivering heavy loads of freshly-made butter from Red Daisy’s milk.

    Robin vetoed these, though not as tactfully as he’d have liked. Possibly Mother could have done it, but he didn’t think anyone else could!

    Silence fell.

    Finally Merlin offered dubiously: “I did once hear a story—but I think it was a mortal story—about someone who had to push a heavy rock up a hill.”

    Robin’s jaw dropped. “But rocks aren’t heav—”

    “No, but remember yourself at that age, dear boy!” he said quickly.

    “Oh, yes… Well, I tell you what: if they can work a lighter spell, they’ll deserve to skip the punishment!”

    “Good!” the old wizard beamed. “Shall we go outside and find a nice big rock?”

    Ye-es. In fairy terms that meant magic one up, and Robin was ninety-nine percent sure the poor old creature wouldn’t be able to manage it. Um, could he help him unobtrusively, perhaps? So unobtrusively that he wouldn’t realise he was doing it? Er…

     They went outside. There were a fair few rocks about, near Merlin’s cave, but they were part of the hillside.

    “We’ve got the hill, at any rate!” the old wizard noted pleasedly.

    True. “Um, could you run your picture of that story by me— Help!” he gasped.

    “Mortal,” Merlin explained.

    Robin had to swallow. “Right.” The rock was HUGE, but then, so, in mortal terms, was the fellow pushing it. He was naked, terrifically muscular, and you could see every muscle straining as he heaved on the thing. Golly.

    “Something smaller would be more appropriate for the twins, I’d say,” Merlin noted.

    Well, yes! “Those shoulders are quite something,” Robin admitted on an envious note.

    “And his back!” said Isabella’s voice with a giggle. “And look: he’s even got muscles on his bum!”

    This was true, but should she be saying so? Merlin had gone positively pink, for an elderly wizard whose natural colour was sort of greyish. Robin attempted to give his sister a warning look as she floated down beside him.

    “What?” she asked blankly.

    Giving up on the warning look, he reminded her: “Mother prefers you to say ‘bottom,’ Isabella.”

    “Maybe. The other day,” said his sister in a detached tone, “she was singing that song. You know. ‘You’re all in mine in silks and satins and bottoms and bows!’” she carolled.

    Wincing, Robin replied: “I won’t ask who she was singing it to. And I’m quite sure she’d tell you that you’re still too young to sing it! I’m gonna magic up a rock for those two horrors to push up the hill as a punishment for immobilising poor Merlin in cobwebs.”

    “Good. Then we’ll have lunch, and after that we can start on the lessons!” she said sunnily.

    Lunch’d be good, yes. Only how long should he leave the twins to sweat over the rock? And how big should it be? Dubiously Robin produced one.

    “Isn’t it a bit small?” asked Isabella.

    Sighing, he doubled its size.

    “Ye-es… There are two of them, dear boy,” noted the wizard.

    Sighing, Robin tripled it.

    “Yes—better,” they both approved.

    “I’ll move it over to the bottom of the hill,” he decided. “There!”

    “That’s given them a fighting chance!” beamed Merlin.

    A what? Oh, never mind. “They’re in the cave. Immobilised,” he explained.

    Isabella nodded. “I know.”

    “I’ll get them out here,” he sighed. “Twins come forth, but stay immobile, Stand upright with ne’er a wobble!”

    The twins stood there, still as sticks. They were managing to glare through the immobile stuff, though.

    “Little horrors,” muttered Isabella, frowning.

    “Exactly. Uh—could leave them like that while we have our lunch?”

    “I think that’d be a bit mean. Um, thinking of us, when we were little,” she murmured.

    “Yeah. Oh, well.”

    “Let me, Robin, dear!” beamed Merlin.

     Oh, help! “Merlin, I think Father meant m—”

    Too late, the old wizard was starting.

    “Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will you sing, and bless this place, Once the in-line spell is broke. Now— Er, now… Oh, dear! I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it!”

    “I’ll do it,” said Robin quickly. “I’m sure Father meant me to, in any case.

“Hand in hand, with fairy grace,

Will you sing, and bless this place,

Once the in-line spell is broke.

Now revive, you fairy folk,

In-line spell, now undo!

Let your stiffness vanish, too.

Fairy Robin thus has spoken;

And the in-line spell is broken!”

    Immediately the twins relaxed, held hands, and danced round the other three, singing: “Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby—”

    “Yes, that’ll do, the spell’s done!” cried Robin loudly.

    They stopped singing and glared pugnaciously.

    “One of Mother’s songs,” said Isabella detachedly. “Goes nowhere.”

    “How true. –Very well, Philly and Runcky: Father has assigned me to punish you for being unkind to Merlin, and Isabella and I are both going to help give you your lessons.”

    “We been punished!” they cried indignantly.

    “‘We’ve been,’ I think you mean,” replied Robin austerely. “You haven’t. That was an acci—” He coughed. “That was by the way. See that rock?”

    They glared at it, not quite daring to say no-one could miss it.

    “Your punishment is to push it up that hill.”

    “It’s too big!” gasped Runcky in horror.

    “Yes, and the hill’s too high!” gasped Philly. “You can’t be that mean, Robin!”

    “You’re worse than Father!” shouted Runcky with tears in his eyes.

    “Good,” replied Robin meanly. “Get going. Or no lunch.”

    Promptly Philly burst into tears, wailing: “I’m only a little girl-fairy! I can’t! It’s too huh-huh-hard!”

    “Ignore it. She can turn it on and off like a mortal tap,” advised Isabella hard-heartedly.

    “You’re horrible, Isabella!” shouted Runcky. “I’m only a little boy-fairy! Look how big that rock is!”

    “Try working a lighter spell on it, then,” replied the horrible Isabella hard-heartedly.

    “Get going,” drawled Robin. “Both of you. Or do you want me to call Father?”

    The tears dried up, Runcky thought better of stamping his foot, and the twins approached the rock sulkily.

    “I think it is too big,” whispered Isabella.

    Robin shrugged.

    “They have to try, my dear,” murmured Merlin.

    Golly, it had sunk in! Robin tried not to goggle at him. “Mm,” he agreed. “Well, come on: let’s get the lunch ready, maybe that’ll encourage them.”

    At the foot of the hill the twins sweated and strained over the rock. It only came up to their waists, actually, but there was no doubt it was heavy.

    On a convenient grassy mound, Isabella set out a loaf of crusty bread and a tempting dish of yellow butter. Merlin offered to fetch some milk from Red Daisy, so Robin quickly waved a hand and produced a foaming jugful.

    “Very fresh!” the old wizard approved. “Now, let me see… Well, honeydew is always nice.” He looked at them hopefully.

    “Mm. Does that fall within the Royal definition of honey and jam?” wondered Robin drily.

    No-one knew, so they all decided discretion was the better part of valour. And Isabella decided that some blackberries and borage flowers would make a nice fresh salad to go with the bread and butter!

    It all looked so good that in spite of their best intentions all three of them began to eat. Soon a small mouse who was very fond of blackberries had joined them, not to mention a couple of pixies and several beetles.

    “No jam,” said Robin firmly.

    “But it’s today, Noble Prince!” squeaked one, Barry Beetle. “It’s always Jam Today!”

    “Only if you’re in Mother’s train, Barry Beetle, so off you go!” He waved his hand negligently.

    “Um, Robin, I think that made him giddy,” said Isabella uneasily. “That was horridly like Father’s negligent wave thing.”

    “Oops! Too late now!” Robin put a large helping of butter on a piece of bread. “Mmm! Goob!” he said through it. “’Ow ’ey uh-uh on?” he added through it, glancing over at the straining twins.

    “Not very well. –Try harder!” shouted Isabella.

    Runcky and Philly were so out of breath they couldn’t even shout back: “We are!” Though there was a definite suggestion of it on the mild air.

    By the time Robin decided the twins had had enough punishment—the rock still hadn’t moved even a fraction but they were both genuinely exhausted and tearful—there was very little lunch left, but Isabella quickly magicked up some more.

    They didn’t even need to be prompted: they both said in very small voices: “We’re sorry, Merlin.”

    Gallantly managing not to sound staggered, the wizard replied: “Thank you, my dears. That’s a very nice apology.”

    Runcky very nearly almost spoiled the effect by shouting “See?” at Robin at this point, but just stopped himself in time.

    Trying hard not to laugh, Robin acknowledged: “Yes, very good, twins, you've learned your lesson. Now you can it down and have some lunch. And perhaps,” he added as they grabbed large slices of bread and-butter, “if you work very hard at the habits of concentration, simple sums, and elementary flying, we can teach you a lighter spell.”

    They were so stunned that they actually stopped chewing. Finally Philly squeaked: “Us?”

    “Yes. Only if.”

    “I’ll work like stink!” she promised, eyes glowing.

    “Me, too!” agreed Runcky.

    “Hey,” added Philly excitedly, does it work with—” She broke off.

    “No,” said Robin with great precision. “No living beings. Rocks and similar inanimate objects only. Not trees,” he added pointedly, as Runcky was looking sideways at them.

    “Rocks and stones, really,” said Isabella thoughtfully, “Oh, and large pieces of driftwood. Or dead logs.”

    “I’ve seen Father make Puck as light as a piece of thistledown!” noted Runcky crossly.

    There was a nasty silence.

    Finally Merlin offered: “No fairy learns that until they’re grown up.”

    “Yes, and the lesson that we don’t do mean things to others,” noted Isabella pointedly, “has sunk in. Got it?”

    “Yes,” they muttered, their round cheeks very red.

    “Good. Have some of this lovely salad,” she said kindly.

    The twins would rather have finished off that dish of butter, but they ate salad obediently. Runcky kindly let Miranda Mouse have that last blackberry, but no-one was mean enough to ask whether this was in the hope that she’d also eat up those borage leaves that had somehow got in there along with the pretty little blue flowers.

    She didn’t, so with his big brother’s eye on him, he ate them himself. “Gosh! Cucumber!” he gasped. “Only not all wet and slimy! Go on, Philly, try them! I reckon they’re even nicer than the flowers!”

    Reluctantly Philly tried a very small one. “Ooh! Lovely!”

    “I say, did you magic them, Isabella?” asked Runcky.

    “No, Runcky, that’s the whole point of borage—leaves and flowers. They taste like beautiful light cucumber.” Too late, it dawned that possibly “light” wasn't tactful in this instance, but luckily it hadn’t penetrated, and the twins were both nodding fervent agreement.

    After that everyone was so full that they all had to have a little rest before lessons. the more so as Runcky had just completed his repast with the fervent remark: “That was splendid! I say, it didn’t need honey or jam, did it? Thank you very much, Noble Princess Isabella and Noble Prince Robin and Respected Merlin!”

    After the rest came the lessons. Simple sums. For instance, if you had two beetles—still hanging round hoping for jam, yes—and added one beetle, and then took away two beetles, how many would you have left? Or, contrariwise, say you had four beetles, how many would you have to add to make seven?

    At this point Grimalkin woke up and objected: “Mee-ee-ow! We-ee-ow don’t want so mee-ow-many beetles round here!” So they completed the lesson with dock leaves instead. And of course with the obligatory “Here endeth the lesson”—otherwise, as the brilliant Fairy Phyllida remarked, it wouldn’t be a real lesson, would it?

    By the end of the day both Isabella and Robin were so exhausted—even though she was much more used to teaching children than he was—that they just staggered into the cave and lay down to sleep with Merlin and the warm, purring Grimalkin.

    Next day was more of the same, though without the rock-pushing—though the rock was still there—and so it went on for a fairy week, the meals being varied only slightly by the composition of the salads.

    At the end of that time Robin gave in and vanished the rock. Though not without the remark that he could still bring it back.

    It was another lovely day, and everyone had had morning lessons—well, they’d let Merlin sleep in, and of course Grimalkin didn’t need lessons—and after a certain humiliating defeat by a lizard in the spelling test that Isabella had slipped in, even though spelling hadn’t specifically been specified as part of the curriculum, the twins had performed quite well in a little mathematics test, only one beetle and a dozen cherry laurel leaves, good for writing on, having suffered in the process. And Runcky apologised profusely to the beetle for the accident, so he cheered up, cheering up even more when Isabella gave him a spoonful of jam. Astoundingly, there was no outcry from the twins at this point.

    “Aren’t you two gonna demand jam?” drawled Robin.

    “No. That wouldn’t be fair,” said Philly simply.

    “Right. Unless someone,” said Runcky in an artless voice, “bends my leg too hard.”

    “Not gonna happen,” drawled his brother.

    “No. Then I can’t have jam,” he said simply.

    “Quite right: well said, Runcky. And you, Philly,” approved Isabella.

    “Yes,” croaked Robin. “Er—well, I suppose it is lunchtime, really.”

    “Of course it is, darlings!” came the voice with its accompaniment of tinkling faerie bells, and down she came, great wings a-flutter, sparkling thing on the head sparkling more than ever, huge great wand sparkling even more than that—

    “Hullo, Mother,” said Isabella and Robin resignedly as she handed the wand, with a casual gesture, to a bowing lizard.

    “Hullo, my darlings!” she trilled, blowing kisses to all and sundry. “And my darling twins! Working hard, I see; very good!”

    Philly gave Runcky a surreptitious kick on the ankle, and they chorused, bowing very low: “Hullo, Mother, dearest.”

    And Runcky added with another bow: “Pray be welcome to this humble spot, oh Great Faerie Queen.”

    Hurriedly Philly picked a nearby blue daisy. “And please accept this humble flower from the humblest of your loving subjects.”

    “The didn’t get that off me!” hissed Isabella to the stunned and open-mouthed Robin.

    “Uh—no!” he gulped. “Merlin?” he mouthed, raising his eyebrows.

    Isabella shrugged. “Must have been.”

    Titania had of course accepted the flower. She gave a little flick of the fingers and it immediately turned into the loveliest of blue butterflies, fluttering gently round Philly’s head.

    “Now, my darling children and darling fairies, lizards, beetles, bees, butterflies and everybody!” she trilled.

    “Cats,” put in Robin, not without malice aforethought.

    “Cats, indeed, dearest boy, but not lovely Miranda Mouse today! Come hither, Grimalkin!”

    Immediately Grimalkin was there, purring and rubbing round her.

    “Sycophantic as the lizards,” muttered Robin sourly out of the corner of his mouth.

    Isabella sighed. “Mm.”

    Sure enough, Titania then ordered merrily: “Cream!” and the cat settled down to it.

    “Now, lunch, everybody!” she cried.

    Immediately, there it was: a tremendous spread, all the prettiest salads imaginable, huge pats of butter, all set out on the bluest of flower petals, so that they looked yellower than ever, the very best bread, mixed with pollen, fern root, and just a little honeydew, jugs and jugs of cool, frothing milk, and, just for a treat, jugs of pink lemonade, too!

    “Tact,” muttered Isabella in Robin’s ear.

    He nodded hard. Not a shred of honey or jam to be seen! Incredible!

    … Er, did this mean that Mother and Father were combining against them for some horrid purpose of their own? Um… to wean Isabella off her mortal? He couldn't think of anything else that might be on their minds at the moment apart from knocking some semblance of discipline into the twins. Well, maybe that was it. Maybe.

    After the feast a rest was definitely indicated, and if they all liked to settle back comfortably, Titania would tell them a story! Robin rolled his eyes at his older sister, only to realise that the twins were rolling their eyes at each other!

The Beetle Who Went On His Travels

    Once upon a time there was a beetle who lived in the stable of a Great King. He was a very lucky beetle, for in that stable the Great King kept his favourite horse, who wore golden shoes! This was because the horse had once galloped so fast that he’d saved his Royal Master’s life in a great battle, but the humble beetle didn’t know this. One day the smith—he was a goldensmith, of course—came to re-shoe the horse. The beetle watched with interest. Then he ran up and held out his skinny leg.

    “What do you want, Beetle?” asked the goldensmith with a laugh.

    “Golden shoes, of course! After all, I live in the stable of the Great King!”

    “Go along with you,” said the smith. “Beetles don’t get golden shoes! You have a good life here: be content with that, you silly beetle!”

    “I don’t want it! I shall go out into the great world and seek my fortune!” cried the beetle crossly.

    The goldensmith just laughed, so off the beetle went!

    He flew for a short distance, till he found himself in a beautiful flower garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. The ladybirds, with red and black shells on their backs, and delicate wings, were flying about, and one of them said, “Is it not sweet and lovely here? How beautiful everything is!”

    The beetle didn’t think it was as beautiful as all that. He was accustomed to better things, in the stable of the Great King.

    He walked on, and then he met a caterpillar crawling along. “How beautiful this world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm! And soon I shall go to sleep, and wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly.”

    “I dare say it is beautiful—and I always thought it would be,” said the beetle, beginning to pout, “but you needn’t boast about flying around as a butterfly. I can do that already!” And so saying, he spread his wings and flew away. “I don’t want to be disgusted, in this wonderful outside world,” he said to himself, “and yet I can’t help it.”

    He went on his way, looking about him for things that might be better than in the Great King’s stable, until he was so tired that he fell asleep in the shadow of a convenient bluebell. Suddenly it began to rain. The beetle woke up and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, the same as he could in the Royal stable’s dung heap, but he couldn’t! Poor beetle! He was tumbled over and over by the rain, sometimes on his tummy and sometimes on his back; and as for flying, that was out of the question.

    After a while the weather cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to look about him. He saw a big dock plant gleaming with raindrops, and crept under its leaves. It wasn’t as comfortable a place to lie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing better, so he stayed there for a whole day and night, while the rain kept on. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding-place, in a very bad temper, feeling that the climate out here in the great world had really let him down!

    Two frogs were sitting on the grass nearby, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure.

    “Wonderful weather, this,” cried one of them, “and so refreshing! My hind legs quiver as if I were going to swim.”

    “What delicious moisture!” said the other. “It’s as pleasant as lying in a wet ditch!”

    “What?” cried the beetle. “Haven’t you ever been in the Royal stable? It never rains, but the moisture of the Royal dung heap is warm and refreshing; that’s the climate for me! But I could not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even a dunghill in these parts, where a person of rank, like myself, could take up his abode and feel at home?”

    But the frogs either did not or would not understand him.

    So the beetle set off on his travels again. Soon he came to a lovely garden, where everything looked well organised and peaceful. This was better! No silly frogs, just some friendly, polite earwigs!

    But lo! Suddenly a hand seized the beetle, and squeezed him, and whisked him right up in the air! And turned him round and round. “Help!” he gasped.

    It was the gardener’s little son, who wanted to have some fun with the beetle.—Yes, what a naughty boy! Most unkind and uncaring! He had not yet learned the lesson that the feelings of others are as important as one’s own!—The beetle was wrapped up in a big leaf, and put into a warm trouser-pocket. He twisted and turned about with all his might, but he got a good squeeze from the boy’s hand, as a hint to keep still. Oh, poor beetle! By now he was wondering why ever he had left the safety of the Royal stable, as you may imagine!

    The boy went down to a pond at the end of the garden, where he put the beetle into an old toy boat, tying him to its mast with a piece of mortal string. Now he was a sailor, and had to sail away! The pond was not very large, but to the beetle it seemed an ocean. The little boat sailed out from shore, but when it went too far the boy turned up his trousers, and went in after it, and brought it back. But at last, just as it went merrily out again, an angry voice called the boy, and he ran home as fast as he could, leaving the boat to its fate on the water.

    “Well, now I know the world,” said the beetle to himself. “It’s an abominable world! It pours with rain half the time, and no-one has even heard of my Royal stable! Then, one of these horrid mortal boys comes and ties me up, and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves! Now I’ll never see my Royal stable again!”

    And he gave up, and fell asleep out of pure despair.

    But all was not yet over. After a while his boat drifted to the shore, where a kindly fairy found it.

    “Why, there’s a poor little creature bound fast in this boat!” she cried. And in the blink of an eye she freed the beetle.

    Away he flew, straight through the open window of a large building. There he sank down exhausted, and looked wearily about him.

    “Oh, thank goodness!” he gasped. He was back in the stable of the Great King!

    “I shall never,” vowed the beetle, “wish to go off travelling in the great world again!”

    And the horse woke from a doze and agreed: “Nay-ay-ay! East or west, Home’s best!”

    And so it is, as all good fairies and cats, lizards, beetles, bees, and butterflies know!

    The sycophants—those who were still awake—were clapping like mad.

    “Salutary, Mother,” drawled Robin. “Quite an object lesson, indeed.”

    Isabella was very flushed. “Yes, wasn’t it! Honestly, Mother!”

    “And did one discern a certain resemblance,” drawled Robin, “to that other salutary story of yours? –Well, one of ’em,” he noted drily. “Where foolish Billy Bee goes out into the world in quest of J,A,M and regrets it.”

    Astoundingly, neither of the twins had dozed off—though they certainly should have, with the amount of bread and butter they’d put away.

    “Jam!” said Runcky scornfully. “You mean A Fairy Story About Jam, and it’s stupid, too!”

    “Yes. Heard it a million times,” agreed Philly with a horrible pout. “Anyway, we never did want to go to the mortal realm at all, did we, Runcky?”

    “No,” he agreed.

    They both glared at Titania.

    “Well, beloved children and beloved fairies all—yes, beetles, too,” she said to Bertie, who was the only one of them who’d lasted out the story without dozing off, “and lizards, Liam!”—ditto—“if the cap fits, wear it!” Delicately she adjusted a beautiful nasturtium bonnet on the head of a small, dozing fairy.

    “Mother—” began Isabella crossly.

    “Time for a little nap, darlings!” she trilled, with a casual wave of her—

    And instantly they were all fast asleep.

    “Well,” said Titania sadly to herself: “I tried. But goodness knows if it’s really sunk in. And besides, she is old enough to see it all for herself. …And the Ben mortal really is gorgeous.” Absently she took the nasturtium bloom off the small fairy’s head and ate it. “I dare say her father may be right—though I’m not conceding it,” she noted darkly, “and a mortal lifetime may well be as nothing in the Faerie Realm. But we haven’t tried getting through it without her, yet, have we?”

    A tear ran down her beautiful oval cheek, and fell to the ground, where instantly a clump of primroses sprang up.

    “Yellow,” said Titania sadly. “That just shows you!”

Next chapter:

https://isabelladowntoearth-anovel.blogspot.com/2022/11/back-at-coalface.html