“No,” said Jackaby. “Didn’t I mention? I have hired one on a more permanent basis. Well, semipermanent. Really quite temporary—call it a trial period. I retain the right to give her the sack as soon as the world is no longer in imminent peril. For the time being, it seemed convenient to retain reliable transportation.”
I followed my employer down the spiral stairs, through the winding hallway, and out the front door. Waiting on the street was not a sleek black hansom cab, but an exceedingly battered one-horse vendor’s carriage with the words Dr. Emerson’s Enervating Elixir—also good for cats! written in peeling paint along the side.
“Who is Dr. Emerson?” I asked.
“A fellow whose tonic, it seems, did not sell well enough to merit the expense of his vehicle. He was willing to part with it for a reasonable figure.”
A tall, dark woman stepped down from the driver’s box. She was dressed in a neat black skirt and matching jacket with a prim bow at the neck of her crisp white shirtwaist, and she wore a rosy bonnet pinned up in the curls of her hair. Her shoulders were broad and her jawline hard, but she moved with all the grace of a dancer. I knew her at once. Miss Lydia Lee.
“Miss Lee!” I called out. “How delightful to see you again!”
“Likewise, Miss Rook. And very kind of you to say.” Lydia Lee smiled a little nervously, tugging at the hem of her jacket. She opened the door and stood up straight like a proper valet.
“Thank you, Miss Lee,” Jackaby said. “Up you go, Rook.”
“Have you much experience working with horses?” I asked Miss Lee, climbing up the creaking step. Within, the coach smelled strongly of garlic and peaches. Behind our seats was a storage area, where a few empty bottles of Dr. Emerson’s Elixir clinked about on the floor.
Miss Lee pursed her lips, looking less than confident as she clicked shut the door for us. “She’ll be fine,” Jackaby assured me. “The stable master taught her all about bits and bridles and all that business yesterday when we bought the old stallion off him. Miss Lee was of the opinion that she was woefully unqualified at first, but as I explained to her then, the best way to become qualified is to do. How’s it coming along, Miss Lee?”
Miss Lee shrugged. “This old plug and I are getting used to each other, I guess,” she said, giving the dappled gray a pat before she climbed back up to take the reins. “The Duke’s only nipped at me two or three times this morning.”
“Splendid progress. Seeley’s Square, please. We have a king to question.”
When we arrived at the vibrant park in the center of New Fiddleham, the clock atop the Stapleton building read five minutes to twelve. My stomach had begun to flutter with the anxious excitement that every new case with Jackaby seemed to elicit. Admittedly, the feeling may have been exacerbated by the fact that the Duke seemed unwilling to take the winding curves of New Fiddleham’s streets at anything less than a full gallop no matter how desperately Miss Lee pulled at the reins. By the time we arrived, I was more than eager to step down from the coach and into Seeley’s Square. Mr. Jackaby bade Miss Lee good-bye as I took a few deep breaths and regained my bearings.
The park before us was a beautiful expanse of green grass and healthy foliage. Butterflies fluttered about over the bushes and birds twittered in the treetops. A handful of businessmen took their lunches on park benches, and a woman pushed a stroller along the path while twin girls in bright petticoats ran circles around her.
Jackaby ambled away from all of them, heading off the path and through the less manicured brush toward a grove at the very center of Seeley’s Square. I had not noticed it at first, but in the dead center of the park stood a cluster of trees that grew in an unnaturally tight circle. Jackaby drew to a stop in front of them.
“Is this where we will be meeting the . . . er . . . them?” I asked.
“I believe we are meant to enter the ring first,” he replied.
I tried to peer between the trunks to see what might lie within, but no matter how I craned my neck, I could not seem to catch the right angle. The trees did not appear to be touching one another, but it was almost as though they kept leaning closer so that no matter where I peeked the inside of the circle was just out of view.
“How are we meant to do that?” I asked.
“Hm.” Jackaby reached out a hand and touched the nearest tree. It responded by remaining a tree. Jackaby began to rummage through his pockets. “The Jericho doorbell is no good on a living wall. Magic beans would get us over the top and then some, but it seems rather a waste.”
While he pondered, I strode around the perimeter of the grove. It was fifteen or twenty feet in diameter, growing with perfect geometric precision. “It’s no good,” I said. “They’re just the same, all the way around the—” As I finished walking the full circle I froze. Jackaby had vanished.
“Sir?” I called. I hurried back the way I had come in case he had followed behind me. “Mr. Jackaby?” As I came to the front again I jumped. Standing where I had last seen my employer was a new figure, dressed in green. Over a pale olive tunic, he wore forest green robes that just brushed the tips of the grass. He stood with confidence, although his frame was slight and he stood no taller than myself. His hair was a tawny yellow, tucked behind pointed ears and hanging straight and long down his slender back.
“You accompany the Seer?” His voice was soft.
“Erm, yes,” I said. “Yes, I am Mr. Jackaby’s assistant. Abigail Rook. A pleasure to meet you.”
“You may call me Virgule.”
“Grand. Virgule. So, you’re really a . . . ” Even in the face of one I had difficulty accepting that this was an honest-to-goodness fairy.
“A liaison,” he finished. “Your master requests your presence with him within the ring.”
“Well, good. Shall we, then?”
“No.” His expression remained flat. “You may bring no items with you that might do harm to the Fair King.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I removed the silver dagger from my pocket and presented it to Virgule.
Virgule took the knife. He slid it from its sheath and then back. He returned it to me. “This blade is of no consequence. It is not the offending item.”
“Then what?” I emptied my pockets item by item, wondering how on earth Jackaby had managed to complete this process before me. I presented the vial of holy water, my notepad, the padlock key.
“There. Iron. Place the implement in here, please. It will be returned to you in due time.” He gestured to a knothole that I was quite certain had not been there a moment before, and I deposited the key within it. “Now,” said Virgule, “you may enter.”
As I watched, he approached the wall of living wood ahead of me, took a steadfast step, and was simply and suddenly inside the circle. The nearest tree abruptly became the farthest, leaving an obvious gap directly in front of me, as though the impenetrable barrier had been nothing but a trick of the eye all along.