The last time she’d come to Fairyland, she had seen trouble right away and no mistaking. From the moment her foot landed everything was wrong and required mending. And in that glass forest, the wrongness came from her own fault and by her own hand. Until this moment September had not realized how wound up her heart had got, how prepared she had been to see some other wretched consequence of her adventure come to bite her in the dark. But she was simply here, and could go somewhere, see something marvelous. She could spin around three times and dash off in whatever direction she faced, if she wanted to! And deliver the long, tooth-colored box, yes. But that was quickly done and quickly forgotten. Hand it off and find A-Through-L and Saturday and then-Anything Magic. Possible Magic. And how many other sorts she could not think of right now, in the delicious moment when it was all still in front of her and not in the midst nor behind. Boomer was wrong. What gladness dwelt in prepositions!
September drank in the starry sky with a longing and a tugging and a sigh. All the way up, to that enormous crescent in the black.
“You can see the prongs of Almanack from here. And the Sea of Restlessness all couched in dragonfly beaches! I shall have to remember to make off with a few of those marvelous cabanas come my next Moon twister.” She retracted her icy spyglass with a snap. “Well,” the Blue Wind said cheerfully, “that’s me then!”
“You’re not coming?”
When the Green Wind had taken September away, he had not been allowed to come with her. The Marquess had banned Harsh Airs from Fairyland. But no longer-the ban had vanished with the old regime. September had planned to ask the Blue Wind along. One does so like to be asked, she’d said. September wanted to be the kind of girl that would invite her, even if the Wind had been nasty to her and she still felt sore on it. The best way to be the kind of girl you want to be is to do what that girl would do. Truthfully, September had been looking forward to showing off how gallant and gracious she could be.
“I’m very busy,” sneered the Wind, who wore a sneer beautifully, dashingly, better than September ever could. She tossed her long blue hair as if it mattered not at all. “I’ve baskets of hail to deliver to Broceliande and a truly spectacular bout of thunder-snow overdue in Maine. And you! You’ve got work to do, my little postal service! You be sure to go straight to Almanack, now. No dawdling or stopping for strawberries on the side of the road. You’re on the clock.”
“But I don’t know how to get there!”
“Look, you sour gimlet of a girl. I think I’ve done more than my part. I don’t know why the other Winds make such a to-do over this hauling-off business. It seems very unsatisfying to me. And if it’s unsatisfying at the start, it’s sure to be unsatisfying at the stop. I don’t think we’d be the best of traveling companions, anyhow. I am certainly intrepid and splendid and sordid and strong; I can see why you’d want me! But I’m afraid I’ve left the kettle on or whatever it is people say when they’re bored.” The Blue Wind pushed her moonglasses up onto her head and winked one dazzling dark eye. “And while they do make a smashing cocktail, the Moon really is awfully provincial if you ask me, but you didn’t, so I do hope you all fall off of it. Ta!”
The Blue Wind put her fingers in her mouth and whistled as high and sharp as metal tearing. A great puffin, bigger than any of the others but encased in the icy, thorny Spanish armor, soared into view. The black comet of his body hurtled down to the Wind’s side. She gave a little pirouette on the ice of the summit, leapt into the air, turned a double flip, and landed on the puffin’s back. In half a moment they had become no more than another blue star against the black.
CHAPTER VII
THE ROAD TO THE MOON
In Which September Suffers the Following: An Ascent into the Heavens, the Attentions of a Somewhat Surly Otter, a Lack of Fuel, and a Sudden Earthquake Which Is Not an Earthquake
Ice ground like glass under Aroostook’s wheels. September felt sure they would spring a flat at any moment, but somehow the Model A soldiered on. The long, blue-white highway soared up ahead of them, arching and falling, a diamond roller coaster tick-tick-ticking up into the night. Soft shadows flickered on the corkscrewing rails.
The road to the Moon ran on quietly except for September and Aroostook. The Model A made her old, familiar, frightful noises. She wasn’t about to stop now, just because she had sprung a sunflower. After a little while, September began to see creatures traveling in the other direction, back down to Fairyland proper. Which, she supposed, was Fairyland-Below from where she stood now. A motley troupe clattered by in a covered wagon-but the cover was all of stained glass and the wagon floated in the air on a thatch of ragwort stalks puffing green pollen behind it. September thought she saw a witch with her face pressed to the glass. At least the face behind the ruby-colored pane wore a great pointy leather hat with a buckle on it. An enormous, upside-down paper umbrella drifted by, pasted together from the funny pages of some very expensive newspaper, for ever so many more than four colors gleamed on the umbrella tines. A family of bright red raccoons peered out from the bowl of the umbrella, their striped tails quite on fire and quivering like rattlesnakes. The papers did not seem to be any worse for it. They must have brought along drums on their journey, for September could hear a wobbling beat grow nearer and then pass them by as the umbrella slipped down the slope of the road, eight pairs of bandit eyes regarding her suspiciously.
But for long, luxurious stretches, September had the road to herself. The giant crescent Moon sailed closer steadily but slowly, for it is a very long way from earth to the Moon. She looked nervously backward at the long, white box in the backseat. What could be in it? How she would have loved to crack that carved lid and look inside! But it was locked good and tight. She had brought parcels from one farm to another so many times. Aroostook’s seats were quite accustomed to boxes and baskets and barrels. And though she knew she oughtn’t, she always peeked inside. Just pulled up a bit of the paper so she could see what Mrs. Tucker had ordered from Sears and Roebuck. Perhaps, if everyone meant to call her a Criminal, she ought to learn to pick a lock. September was reaching back to see if she could work her fingers under the ivory corner of the box when a clatter of bells and moaning startled her out of it-a Spriggan in a sturdy suit of blue clovers was driving his cow herd down the road from the Moon. The cows’ hides shone clear as glass-and inside, September saw moonshine stills bubbling away where their guts ought to be. The cattle lowed, begging for milking. The Spriggan touched the side of his long, skinny nose in greeting as Aroostook stopped to let them pass.
“I should have thought there would be a fearsome traffic jam all the way there and back!” exclaimed September. The hard green sunflower of Aroostook’s steering wheel turned gently under her hands, keeping them in their glowing lane. She patted the dash, talking to the car as she often had. But now she felt as though she ought to wait for an answer, which was out of the question, of course. She hurried on. “Who would not want to visit the Moon? I believe if anyone back home had a choice between California and the Moon for visiting, they would choose the Moon every time!”
A great black road sign reared up, blazing with silver letters: FALLING FORTUNES: EXPECT DELAYS.
September laughed a little. It had seemed harder and longer to get into Fairyland this time. Like a door that has always swung smoothly suddenly sticking. Perhaps Boomer and Beatrice had got the Line sturdy again. Another sign drifted by: CAUTION: YETI CROSSING. This alarmed September, and she held tighter to the green sunflower of the wheel. She could not tell if she was doing the driving or Aroostook or the road itself, but she held on anyhow.