5. The King's Wings

Fairy villages do not have names. Being that they are located in tiny fiefdoms, they're just referred to by whatever the current ruling family's name is. It was, on the whole, a rubbish system, since marriages and small land disputes could change a region's ruling family three or four times in a decade, especially in the highly contested lands south and west of the swamp. The maps were ever shifting, often updated monthly to reflect new boundaries and territories; fiefdoms that had combined or, more often, ripped apart over some minor dispute or perceived affront. 

Fairies, being a hot-tempered species on the best of days, could take kingdom-ruining offense at matters as minor as being served luke warm tomato-bisque, as occurred in the autumn of 7684AD and led to the great tomato tumult, fall and eventual restructuring of half the tiny kingdoms in the west-lands.  

The North Swamp fairies, being bordered to the South by The Great Swamp, to the North by The Ancient Forest, the East by the sea, and the West by the arid, cracked, desolation of the Abysmal Barrens, were perfectly isolated from much of the in-fighting that kept other kingdom's borders in a perpetual shimmy. The Rake family had ruled the land for countless generations. Once several decades back a historian had tried to tally exactly how many generations, gotten to 44, seen a butterfly, got distracted, and lost interest. He never published his findings.

 Hundreds and hundreds of years at least, the fairies that lived in the stumps and modest clay homes along the shore of the swamp had carried on in their own queer and quiet way. Over time their language veered away from the master tongue of the fairy world, until it was now colorfully accented, their voices and inflections rising and falling from word to word in a pleasantly paced jig. Many of their phrases were bizarre and unique just to the swamp, to the point that much of a conversation could, to an outsider, sound like one long, jumbled, inside joke... and usually it was. 

The current monarch, King Alabaster Rake XI, a tall, lean, bespectacled pale gray fairy with turquoise hair had been rolling into a gentle half retirement for some time, and his only son, The Crown Prince Finch Rake IV, oversaw much of the Kingdom's rule now. As the Kingdom was quite self -sufficient, this amounted mostly to collecting taxes, playing golf, and appearing at charity events in handsomely tailored suits, sometimes alone, sometimes with his father, step mother and half-sister, the unfortunately named Hesta-Sparkle.  The village opinion of the royal family ran somewhere between "Aye well I willna kick'em in the head but that's all I'll say, so-", and "OMG OMG OMG DID YOU SEE THE WONDERFUL GOWN HESTA-SPARKLE WORE TO THE VFFW (Veteran Fairies of Foreign Wars) BALL LAST SUNDAY??!!! IT WAS SOOOOO DELISH!!". * 

*these statements were actually both made by the same fairy, Old Tom Tanksen, on the same Thursday night, though the first statement was snarled as he took his seat at the pub and ordered a pint, and the second was squealed halfway through his seventh dram.  

The people of the Rake Kingdom/North Swamp may have tolerated their monarchs, but they had zero patience for outsiders who moved to town and, ignoring the rules of mathematics, had even less than zero patience for 'strange-folk', the hapless travelers who passed through the village on long journeys, or flew up from the big city to investigate the death of the fiancée of the Crown Prince.  

"So, do yourself a favor, and keep that blue head down and your mouth shut, or no one will tell us a damn thing." Maggie said in summation, and squinted at Jym to drive the point home. 

He'd been lolling down the track next to her, glancing around him with interest, and seeming to ignore most of her dissertation on village politics.  

"I'm serious. Look, the first three months I was here no one as much as spoke to me, so try very very hard not to ask any questions, or make eye-contact, or exist really at all...maybe you should just wait here, in fact" She considered cracking her knuckles nervously. 

Jym glanced down at her and shrugged. "Ah nope, I'm coming with you, or more precisely, you're coming with me. To be clear, YOU are assisting ME on this investigation." He ran his hand through his hair with ill temper. 

"What. Is that supposed to mean?!" Maggie said hotly, spinning to look at him. 

"It means just what it sounds like. You are a private. I'm a Captain, and from CFI. I out-rank you something like seven times over, and so far, all I've seen of your police work is you puking on a crime scene so, do yourself a favor, keep that mint green head down and your mouth shut, yah?"  

Maggie exhaled in surprise caught off guard by this sudden mood swing from apologetic to arrogant in a matter of minutes. "Jack ass." She said firmly 

"Ten, Maggie. That's number Ten."

"No it's nine, that's number nine."

"You said 'Damn' too" 

"Oh come on, what is this, a lady's afternoon tea?! 'Damn' does NOT count, and also- Fuck off. You know, I was a Captain too... in the army, you're not as high and mighty as you think." She growled, standing on tip toe to lean towards his face. 

He put a hand on her shoulder and firmly pushed her back down and out of his face. "You may have been, but you are not now... and 'damn' counts"  

Maggie felt her face flush forest green with anger. But fine, if that's the way he wanted to play, he'd soon learn a thing or two. "Just as you wish, Captain." She turned and walked quickly down the last hundred or so yards of dirt path that led to the courtyard of the village pub.  

'The King's Wings' was, in Maggie's extremely informed opinion, an excellent watering hole. The building was of the same starch colored clay as most of the non-stump structures in the village, but quite a bit larger as it also served as the inn for the road-weary traveler passing through (rare), and the drink-weary local who couldn't possibly stumble his way home at the end of the night (exceedingly common). It was a satisfying accumulation of additions, peaks, and gables all draped with blooming vines.  

The assemblage of buildings extended out across a manicured courtyard that held a few seldom used bistro tables, a cluster of lanterns, and dozens of terracotta planters that spilled over with flowers. To the rear was a superb view of the village and swamp beyond. The land sloped steeply towards the rest of the village, huddled down by the edge of the shore. Inside, the main room was large but low ceilinged, some of the taller male fairies had to duck their heads not to crack their skulls on the lowest hanging beams, a fact they tended to forget near the end of the night, much to the amusement of their shorter companions. A massive fireplace took up most of the left side of the room, and mismatched well-worn but well-built tables and chairs dotted the stone floor. Al, the owner and defacto bartender loomed behind the gleaming wood bar and watched as Maggie banged through the door, Jym hot on her heels. 

"Magpie, my love!" Al boomed, then raised his eyebrows and regarded Jym coolly. 

"And a young man that you have brought with you...?" Al stood up just a bit straighter as he watched Jym follow Maggie up to the bar. Slouched, as he usually was, Al was massive in height, girth, and presence. Now, as he sized up Jym he reached approximately the scale and mass of a medium sized mountain. Al pointedly turned away from Jym, who had just opened his mouth to speak, and glanced down at Maggie.  

"Bit earlier than you are usually, my dear. Having a bad day are ye?" He shot Jym an accusing look "What can I pour ya to make it better, now then Magpie?" 

  

Maggie considered for a long moment and then smiled, "Let's start today with a shot of tequila, I think, Al." Al nodded and then froze as Jym sputtered in indignation. Maggie rolled her eyes, "Better make that two, Al." She said evenly. 

Jym cut in, outraged, "No, NO thank you! I will not have a shot of tequila at two in the afternoon, a water, please!" He stared daggers at Maggie, who ignored him and gave Al a wink and cleared her throat.  

"Those shots are both for me. I guess he'll be having a water." Maggie smiled and waved vaguely at Jym who huffed and crossed his arms. This was off to an amusing start.  

Al bustled away and Jym kicked her sharply in the shin and muttered quietly, 'What about all that business of helping Nell. Change your mind already, did you?"  

Sighing, Maggie cut her eyes at Jym. "Have you ever tried to get information out of a bartender without ordering a drink?" She kicked him back, landing a solid blow on his knee as Al waddled back with their order, all of which he placed in front of Maggie. He'd apparently decided the best way to handle Jym's unwelcome presence was to pretend he didn't exist. Maggie was inclined to agree. 

She lifted a shot to her green lips and tipped the glass, savoring the burn as it slipped down her throat. Al placed a hot pink hand on the bar and watched as she took the second shot too, nodding in approval. 'There now, that'll ease what ails, ya!" He enthusiastically smacked his other beefy hand down too, making a loud "crack!" That made Jym jump on his stool, and several of the other patrons glance up. 

Jym reached over and took his water from Maggie. She saw him study it for a moment, then slide it slightly away from him. She wondered if Al had spit in it and grinned at the thought. 

Jym cleared his throat, "We are here investigating the death of a young lady outside the village late last night." He started, reaching into his pocket to take his pencil and notebook out. 

"So, then Magpie, what will you have next? I've a very nice dry cider you might enjoy, just up from the Eastlands. Tart and tangy as you, it is!" He rumbled with laughter.  

"Go on, then Al. Let's have it!" Maggie said pattering both hands on the bar top like a drumroll. Al rolled towards the keg and back in a flash, he was surprisingly agile for such a large man. He placed the frosty glass of amber liquid in front of her and gave a pretty bow.  

"On the house, this one." He said warmly 

"Oh no, Al absolutely not." 

"Ah, ah ah, I insist" Al rumbled. Maggie twinkled up at him and took a long pull from the glass. It was delicious.  

"This, is MAGNIFICENT!" She giggled, and Al giggled back.  

"Knew you'd like!" 

Jym coughed, started again- "We understand there may have been a patron of your establishment who was later near the crime scene at the time of the death-" 

"As soon as I tapped it, I said to myself, I said 'Now Al won't this one be a treat for our Magpie!' His peach colored eyes sparkled happily against his round bubblegum colored cheeks. 

"And you were right!" Maggie laughed. 

"-We need to find this individual, so if you could tell us anything of his movements last night", Jym tried again. Without even looking Maggie could tell her was gritting his teeth. 

"Now, let me tell you about this cider, it's a funny story it is, one I know you'll like-" 

Maggie took another sip and "mmmmmm" in appreciation 

"Crack!". Jym had slammed his notebook against the bar. Maggie hid her smug smile in her glass as Al stood up straight and with glacial purpose, turned to face Jym. He reached out, right across the bar top, and placed a gigantic hand on Jym's shoulder. "Lad." He said, his voice low, and tight. "I will thank ye to never fooking do that to my bar top again. I will also thank ye to get the fook outta my bar, right fooking now." Maggie saw Al's fingers tighten ever so slightly and knew Jym's shoulder bones must creaking under the force of the grip.  

Jym gave Maggie a scathing look, and without a word, picked up his pencil, stowed his notebook, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. 

Al crossed his arms and watched Jym closely through his entire exit routine, only relaxing from his tough guy pose when the door clicked shut. He sighed, cocked and eyebrow at Maggie, and grinned. "He's a-" he started, 

"Jack-ass, I know" Maggie smiled back, then feeling a sudden burst of fondness for said jackass, took a large gulp of cider. 

Al shook his head but didn't comment for a moment as he glanced at the front of the bar again. Jym was now pacing back and forth in the courtyard, hands in pockets, scowl on his face. 

"What's it you need to know, Magpie." Al said, more seriously now. "This is about poor Nell, I'm assuming?" 

Maggie drummed her fingers on the bar, "Maybe, maybe not. He-" she pointed towards Jym's pacing form "doesn't think it was a suicide... I guess I don't either. I am specifically looking for a Westbank pixie who was wandering around near my stump last night about the time Nell fell, I'm thinking he may have been here immediately before as he was absolutely blasted. And more generally, I would value your thoughts on the whole matter", she put her small hand on Al's giant pink one and gave it a small squeeze. Al had been one of her first friends in town, mostly because she spent nearly every night sitting alone at his bar, getting drunk while being pointedly ignored by the whole of the village population. 

He played the 'big, slow, dumb' role to great effect, but Al was sharp as cheap wine, incredibly observant, and of course, being the only barkeep in the village, privy to any and all the current gossip. 

Al ran a thoughtful hand over his giant belly, scratched at his bald head- just above his pierced left ear, and leaned in close towards Maggie, he smelled like cinnamon and rose scented soap. "Alright Mags. Specifically- the pixie you want has got to be Bagge Trembley, he's actually the one that sold me this lot" he pointed a fat finger at her cider, "And really it is a funny story..." he shook with humor, but collected himself quickly, 'Not a story for today though, I'm thinking. Bagge had quite a bit last night, QUITE A BIT, and then wandered off, found his way back about when I was feeding the chickens, say 530am? As far as I know, he's still out in the potting shed, sleeping it off." 

Maggie nodded and took another swig, a pleasant haze of booze was starting to seep through her and ease the pain in shoulder and wing.  

"In terms of your 'more generally' question-" Al looked thoughtfully around the room for a several breathes, and then leaned even closer in. "Magpie, how much do you know about our blessed royal family?" 

Maggie took a sip at the cider, flicked a long ear and whispered back "Almost nothing. Go on." 

Two glasses of cider (twenty minutes) later Maggie skipped out of the bar to find an extremely angry Jym sitting in one of the uncomfortable metal bistro chairs that Al kept around for "Namby pamby types who eat outside", (his words). Jym's arms and legs were crossed and his face could have kept a field of corn free of pests for at least two summers. 

  

Maggie sat primly in the horribly frou-frou wrought iron chair across from him, steepled her hands on the table and smiled. "How much do you know about our blessed royal family?" She asked, evenly. 

Jym's face went momentarily blank, he blinked twice, then leaned in, "What did he tell you?" He asked, his face alight. 

---------- 

The potting shed of the King's Wings was behind the building but couldn't be accessed through the neat white gate on the left due to the sharp drop off onto which the building clung. They had to climb back up the track they'd arrived on to catch the little foot path that ran back around the pub's rear perimeter wall. Maggie was smiling softly, in a pleasant haze of half-drunkenness, enjoying the bird song, how blue the sky was, how the sun kissed all the pretty pink flowers... pink.. There was a thought she should be thinking, something pink, a pink thought. She stopped in her tracks and reached to grab Jym's arm. 

Jym wasn't there. He was twenty feet lower on the path, having arrived at the same epiphany a bit sooner. He looked up at her and then put his head down and walked up to stand next to her.  

"Your bartender say anything about this?" He asked as they both stared at the whole of the previously blanched valley, now painted in shades of pink, fuchsia, magenta, and Pepto-Bismol. It must have happened in a matter of minutes, as they talked, she was sure all the blooms had been blanched white when she'd exited the pub.

"I didn't mention what had happened by my stump" Maggie said, chewing at her lip. "I just thought it was... I dunno. A thing." 

Jym's eyes didn't leave the horizon of suddenly pink blooms. "Well here's our second 'thing'. And this one's bigger." 

"It means something." Maggie said with certainty that surprised both of them.  

"I think you're right", Jym said, and started jogging along the path that eventually tumbled back onto the plateau of the pub and the potting shed beside it. Maggie starting running too, caught up with Jym, and passed him easily. She smiled quietly to herself. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed; fairies who always flew forgot how to run.