He clung to her, shaking a little. September could not make herself let go of the long brass handlebars. Her grip tightened until she could hardly feel her hands, but she bent her head and rubbed her cheek against Saturday’s forehead, the way Ell had done with her when she’d been frightened. He seemed to calm a little. Yet still, the noise and dust blew awfully all around them. Ell ran alongside them, whooping and lolling and laughing, as little velocipedes took him for a bull and tried to roll up to ride on his shoulders.
“Excellent save, chickie-dear!” came a hollering voice over the pounding bicycle herd. September looked around and saw on a nearby highwheel a handsome woman with lovely dark-brown skin and wild curly hair. She wore something like a leather bomber jacket with a fleecy collar and a hat with big flopping earflaps. She had on big goggles to keep the dust out of her eyes and thick boots with dozens of buckles over the kind of funny riding pants September had only seen in movies, the kind that bow out on the sides and make one look like one has squirreled away watermelons in one’s pockets. Behind her were two delightful things: a pair of iridescent coppery-black wings bound up in a thin chain, and a little girl dressed just the same.
The woman deftly steered her velocipede in and out of the volery to come up alongside them.
“Calpurnia Farthing!” she hollered again over the din. “And that one’s my ward Penny!” The little girl waved cheerfully. She was much younger than September, perhaps only four or five. Her blue-black hair stuck out in tangled pigtails, and she wore a necklace of several bicycle chains which left her neck quite greasy. She wore mary janes like September’s old shoes, but the girl’s were golden-dirty and muddy, but golden all the same.
“H… hello!” answered September, barely holding on.
“You’ll get used to it! Gets to be pretty natural after a while, the banging and bedlam! That’s quite a cow you’ve lashed there; she’s an alpha and no joking! I’d have tried for one of the milking calves my first time.”
“Beggars can’t be-”
“Oh, yes, I’m just congratulating, you know! She’s a beaut!”
“Erm, right now, you understand, Miss Farthing, it’s hard to carry on a conversation…”
“Oh, well, it would be, if you’re not accustomed!” Calpurnia Farthing held out her hand. Penny spat a wad of beech-sap gum into it. Calpurnia reached down and wedged the gunk into a broken spoke. Her highwheel screeched, possibly in relief, possibly in indignation at her particular brand of field medicine. “Well,” she yelled, “they do stop to drink at night! They’ve a powerful thirst, you know. Takes hours to slurp their fill!”
“Till then?” said September politely.
“Ayup!” And Calpurnia veered off wildly, with Penny laughing all the way.
The campfire crackled and sparked, sending up smoke into a starry sky. September had never seen so many stars, and Nebraska was never poor in stars. There were so many unfamiliar constellations, spangled with milky galaxies and the occasional wispy comet.
“That’s the Lamp,” whispered Saturday, poking the fire with a long stick. He seemed to be most comfortable whispering. “Up there, with the loopy bit of stars in a circle-that’s the handle.”
“Is not,” humphed Ell. “That’s the Wolf’s Egg.”
“Wolves don’t lay eggs,” said Saturday, staring into the fire.
September looked up in surprise-Saturday had never contradicted anyone yet.
“Well, there’s a story. I read it when I was a lizard. There’s a wolf, a banshee, and a bird of prophecy, and they all make a bet-”
“And the wolf says, ‘Ain’t what’s strong, but what’s patient,’” said Calpurnia, tossing a palm frond into the fire. Penny threw a clump of grass.
“No, he says, ‘Give me that egg, or I’ll eat your mother,’” huffed A-Through-L.
“Regional folkloric differences.” Calpurnia shrugged.
The highwheel pilot opened her jacket and pulled out several long strips of dark meat. She passed them around, along with a fancy oakwood flask. Penny gnawed her jerky contentedly.
“What… is it?” asked September dubiously.
“What do you think? Dried tire. I share and share alike with fellow velocipeders. Only fair; it’s a hard life. Don’t turn up your nose at it! It’s as good as any other meat. A little gamy, sure, but they’re wild. Not all fattened up like mutton. Go on, eat. And drink-that’s good axle grease in there. Just as nice as yak blood.”
Ell chomped his and swallowed it right quick. September chewed slowly. This could hardly qualify as food at all, let alone Fairy food. But it wasn’t awful, not nearly. And not rubbery in the least. It was as though someone had found an extremely skinny, tough old turkey and burnt it thoroughly in the oven. The flask smelled rich and salty, and when she drank, she came near to spitting it out-or throwing it up-for it was indeed the closest thing to raw blood she had ever tasted. But she felt strength in her afterward, sinewy and springy and warm. Saturday ventured a little tire and a sip of grease but could not stomach it. He nursed a bit of stone he had dug up from the earth instead. Penny stuck out her tongue in disgust.
“That’s not nice, love,” admonished Calpurnia. “Changelings, you know? No manners at all.”
“Is she? Really?”
Penny picked at her golden shoes. All changelings must wear identifying footwear, September remembered, as though from a hundred years ago. “Didn’t like the ’chestra,” Penny mumbled. “Can’t play nothin’.”
“She’s right. I went to a recital-the poor thing was playing her grummellphone upside down. Fortunate-like, I keep my pockets full of oilcan candy in case I’m in need of bait. I offered her a handful, and she jumped right into my arms. Took to the velos much better-practically born to it, you might say!”
“But a changeling,” said September, “that’s when a Fairy takes a baby and leaves a Fairy in the crib.”
“It’s more like… a cultural-exchange program,” Calpurnia said, ripping off a chunk of tire in her teeth. Her eyes were wild and golden, and the starlight was all caught up in her wings. September tried not to stare. “Well, unless they leave a poppet. That’s just a bit of a joke. But usually, we swap them out again when they grow up, and everyone’s the wiser for solid communication between realms. It’s nice. Well, not nice, but fun. I’m not having that for my Penny, though! Princess of the Highwheels, I’ll have her up to be!”
“I talk to the little velos,” whispered the child. “They say, ‘Penny, where’s your seat?’”
“I don’t approve of the changeling orchestra. It’s not pretty; it’s just a zoo, really. For rich Fairies-who are in good with Miss Fancy Curls herself-to peer at. Couldn’t bear that for such a sweet thing as Penny. Time was, changelings were the toast of the town, fed with biscuits and new cream and got to dance at the Thistle-Balls in the spring, dance until their shoes wore through and then dance some more-”
“That doesn’t sound quite nice either…,” said September uncertainly.
“Well, it’s a certain sight better than being strapped to a grummellphone until your spine grows W-shaped!”
“Grum’phone sounds like a cow chucking, anyway,” Penny groused.
“That’s right, chickie-love. And you never have to play one again. Anyway, I don’t approve of chamber music in general. It’s stuck-up on itself. Much prefer the velo horns.”
“What was her name before?” asked September.
“That’s private. No one needs to know that but her.”
“Molly!” piped Penny. “I was a Molly! And I had a Sarah and a Donald, and they were a sister and a brother. And I had a velo of my own! Only it wasn’t wild, and it didn’t talk. It was pink, and it had a little bell and three wheels instead of two. But I didn’t have a Calpurnia, so I must have been sad. I don’t remember, really.”