“That is a lot of rules,” Saturday said with a frown.
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more! She’ll need to braid her hair in a Titan’s Knot to keep down the infinite furious kobolds that dwell beneath Lake Hobble-on, that sort of thing. You’ll find a diagram on your bedside table, September. Oh, my sweetest of scalawags, I’m afraid it’s ever so much more complicated to run Fairyland than to run off to it. I have never sought after power, myself. You’ve got to set an alarm clock to be a powerful man and I won’t have it. I never even meant to be a Wind! I thought I’d marry a girl named Jenny Chicory, and that was all my ambition in the world. But I tripped and fell into the sky instead, ring-o the bluebells! Do you know how your friend Blue got to be the Blue Wind in the first place? She stole the old Wind’s skates! That’s how it’s done for Blues. Single combat for Reds. I think the Goldens have singing competitions. But not a one of us went seeking our lots.”
“I didn’t seek after anything! The Crown just … well, it ran me over like a squirrel in the road. I shall be glad when the Derby’s done with and I can braid my hair as I like!”
The Green Wind put his head to one side. “Will you? I have kept an eye or six on you. It seems to me that wherever you’ve landed, you’ve gone straight at whoever was in charge like a bull at a matador and knocked them right off their particular chair. Not that I’m not proud! I could fairly burst. But you do have your little habits, my autumnal acquisition. I think you like bossing around a world or two. You’ve been doing it all along, only now you’ve got a very fine hat. Of course, it is always easier to fight the powerful than to wield power yourself.”
And that is the last lesson of childhood: You spend all your years fighting against the injustice of big folk and their big rules until you are ready to rule yourself.
September finished her meal. She felt quite sore from eating, and her belly let it be known that it wanted nothing more to do with her. She stared out into the soft, breezy night. Perhaps she wouldn’t be glad when the Derby was over and she lost—for of course she would lose, that wasn’t even a question. She liked folk talking to her as though her answers mattered as much as anything ever had. She liked her crown. But her heart felt very still. “Green, if you’ve kept all those eyes on me, you must have seen all the things I’ve done. In Fairyland-Below and on the Moon and … just everything. You saw my father become the Alleyman and how lonely I was sometimes and how often I spoilt things when I was trying so hard to do well. You must have seen me with the Yeti. You must have seen me grow from fourteen to forty in the space of an hour. You must have seen us all locked away with the Redcaps and their rum. Green, why didn’t you help me? I got so lost and you didn’t help me.”
As if in answer, the gramophone spun his handle gleefully. A black and bright record slid out from its friends. It was called Siren Sings the Greens. On the cover danced a real siren, kicking her long heron-legs, spreading her great blue-green wings round a lovely lady’s face, with long red hair full of starfish and sapphires. Beside her howled a dark, curly-haired hound, which, if September had been the one choosing music, she might have recognized, for she met that very dog on the Moon not so long ago. The Black Cosmic Dog has a surprising number of hobbies.
Scratch had played hundreds of records in his life, for he needed them to speak, having no mouth or tongue or lungs of his own. But this one was different. This was a Fairy record. No one would call anybody baby on this record. No one would forget to hire a bass player. Maybe Fairies had never even heard of those blasted C, F, and G chords that humans loved so well. (All gramophones have strong opinions on popular music, though they cannot tell anyone what they think of jazz.) Tamburlaine laid Siren Sings the Greens carefully onto Scratch’s turntable. He spun his crank and an achingly beautiful voice poured out of his brass bell, a voice both deep and sweet, raspy with loneliness and late nights and seaside air, but bottomed in bronze and moonlight.
The greens ain’t nothin’ but a fire in your heart
A spark in the dark when you and your song have to part
I know I ain’t nothin’ but a hawk without a home
But I got the greens on my side so I’m never alone