“Arrrrrrrgh!”
We all turned to see who had screamed. Behind us was Mrs. Parry, white and shaking and pointing an accusing finger at the word “Garage.”
“Gracious, Mrs. Parry! Are you well?” asked Michael.
“Nobody told me the sale would be in a garage!”
“Actually, it seems to be in a parking lot,” said Alpin. “Isn’t that worse?”
The parking lot before Magpie’s Nest was crowded with booths loaded with many kinds of merchandise. Half a dozen cars were parked close together in the left, back corner of the lot.
“Hush, Alpin!” chided Michael. “I don’t think any of the cars parked here will move,” he assured Mrs. Parry. “There’s no room for them to do that. Magpie’s wares are taking up most of the space. Why don’t you join us?”
“Yes, there’s safety in numbers,” added Alpin, pretending to be helpful. And then he asked, “Why is there a mortal police car parked here?”
“It’s mortal. It’s none of our business,” said Michael.
“What will you do if it turns on its siren, Mrs. Parry?” Alpin asked the quaking venerable dame. “Will you screech louder than it? We could take bets on that and win money to buy stuff with here.”
I saw it took all Michael could do to keep from smacking Alpin. I thought I could help and began to make small talk, encouraging Mrs. Parry to participate. I asked her how Henny was, and if we could go gather herbs together on St. John’s Eve, like he had once said we could.
“Seven kinds of plants we must gather, and water from seven fountains too, to have good luck all summer. I know one must gather wild roses, mint, fern, lavender, rosemary, lemongrass and, of course, St. John’s wort. But if we can’t find one of these will another plant do? Laurel, for instance.”
“You have to pluck these plants by their roots. Laurel won’t do unless you pluck out the whole tree,” said Mrs. Parry, distracted as I hoped she would be. “Try clover. Or sage. Or rue.”
“Why, Moth!”
Magpie, Merchant of Mauve Moor herself came to the fore. She was a birdlike fairy with long, blue-black hair and icy eyes that stared at you with intention. This time her eyes were fixed on Moth.
“How clever of you to wear your everyday butterflies to my sale so my vendors won’t take advantage of you thinking you are rich!”
Moth was ready to answer pertly but, before she could, Magpie transferred her attention to venerable Mrs. Parry. Squinting at the old lady, she gave her what was supposed to be professional advice.
“Mrs. Parry, check out the make-up booth. You’ll look so much better if you cover your face with some of that. Most old insomiacs do. And remember winter is coming. I’ve loads of woolen knits for your seven times great grandchildren. I imagine your hands aren’t up to knitting for them anymore. In truth, it’s always winter for you now, isn’t it?”
And then she was back at Moth.
“What is your boyfriend going to buy for you, Moth? If he’s a big spender, I have a forty carat emerald rumored to be from Oz. It would be perfect for an oversized engagement ring, if he is serious. It goes with a free rose.”
“We’ve heard you’re selling men’s shoes. Where are they?”
“Hmm. So it’s you who are buying for your boyfriend. Perhaps he’ll like these cowboy boots to fly home to Kansas in.”
“I’m not from Kansas,” said Michael.
“Oh. You don’t say! You were eyeing the hick CDs.”
“I do enjoy country music,” said Michael.
“Perhaps Moth should buy you another guitar then.”
Before Michael could say he didn’t play the guitar, Magpie pointed at a counter loaded with musical instruments. There was a pretty, talking harp on it.
“Buy me,” it begged. “Pretty please, buy me.”
“Oh, I will!” cried Mrs. Parry, anxious to rescue it. “For Taffy, my son’s dragon.”
“There’s lots of things you can do aside from spoiling dragons even at your age, dear,” Magpie said to Mrs. Parry. “Buy some paint brushes, if your hands don’t tremble too much. Or an umbrella to dance in the rain with, if your bones allow.Or a yacuzzi, if you can crawl out of it after use.”
Mrs. Parry bought the harp. Magpie said she was glad Mrs. Parry had announced her intentions before asking for the price.That’s what her favorite customers did. And then her eyes lit on us, the young ones present. And then they lit up in recognition.
“Two quiet boys. How old are you? Just turned seven?” Magpie asked smiling mischievously. “I know what you want. Furniture for your homes.”
“My mum buys that,” said Alpin. He had been unusually silent because he didn’t want to miss any of the rude things Magpie was saying.
“No, no! Not for her house. For your own homes in Apple Island. Are they made of brick or granite stone? Look at this cool sofa. Or this wicked TV set.”
“I have a house?” asked Alpin in surprise.
“How dare you!” exclaimed Mrs. Parry. For Magpie had gone too far. She had just revealed a secret that had been carefuly kept from Alpin, the Unchangedling.
No comments:
Post a Comment