89. Mediterranean Moon Bath

In the summer, fairies enjoy bathing beneath the estival moon. My sisters had joined my mum that evening and all three were cavorting in the dark blue, star covered Mediterranean Sea.

“Mummy,” Heather said to Mum, “guess who tried to kidnap us today? Remember the man who was with the chicken-snake woman who kidnapped Arley? Yes, when we had dinner at The Poultice. He was under a look better spell and was looking better every minute.”

                                   

                  

“Ah! The filthy pirate who has spent a fortune on becoming handsome. I told him he didn’t need to pay a plastic surgeon. All a fairy has to do to look good is sleep for a while. A fifty year nap or so in his case, of course. He was a ruin. He told me he couldn’t afford to sleep. He has a lot of enemies who might come for him if he dares to shut an eye. I don’t want you anywhere near that man, girls. No matter how good he looks now, he’s not to be trusted.”

                           

“You bet!” said Thistle. “He wanted to stick us in his kitchen and make us cook for him and his cannibal friends.”

“Are you serious?” said Mum. “Maybe your daddy ought to speak to him. Well, no, because your father is capable of staying to dinner with those people. He thinks everybody is good at heart. He’s so dreadfully innocent and gullible.”

“He never got to attack us because Heather made him go away, but I was hiding a fallen branch behind my back and ready to hit him with it at the first sign of violence on his part.”

“Oh, what a horrible story!” cried my mum, holding her hands over her ears. “I can’t bear to hear it!”

“I sent him to Alpin’s sister’s house because everybody thinks twice before messing with that family.”

“Yes,” said Thistle, “there is no messing with the Dullahans. They always land on their feet.”

“It’s not just how terrible they are,” said Mum nodding and shaking her head at the same time. “It’s that if all else fails they can always count on Darcy to restore order and replace the broken dishes.”

“What’s that about my family?” said Alpin.

He and I appeared rowing a little boat. It was watermelon green on the outside and watermelon pink on the inside. We got close to Mum and the girls in time to hear their comments on the Dullahans.

“Hi, Alpin,” said Heather. “Your sister Fiona is very brave and today she has saved us from becoming kitchen slaves.”

“Drudges, I think that’s the word. Kitchen drudges,” said Mum.

“Is that worse than slaves?” asked Alpin.

“I suppose it depends on the kind of a slave you are,” said Mum. “There are very spoilt and pampered slaves, but the life of a drudge is always dull and menial.”

Thistle nodded. “They’re always forced to do hard work.”

                        

I interrupted the conversation to tell Mum I had come to kiss her goodbye.

“What? Why? A goodbye kiss? You’re never at home. Where are you going that requires so solemn a goodbye?”

                      

“We’re only going to London, Queenie,” said Alpin before I could answer, a lump in my throat having slowed me down. “I want to participate in the Fayolympics and Arley has to do something like visiting homes that are now museums. Rest assured that as a standard bearer I will fly our flag well high. I mean to win every game I play at. Don’t worry about our safety either, because we’re taking a bodyguardess along. And she is one tough beast. Today is her off day. That’s why she isn’t with us. But she’ll be back at the break of dawn. Or I’ll discount it from her salary. Except I don’t think she is paid one. Does that mean she is a drudge or a slave?”