The Girl Who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home Read Online Free Page B

from one another. Please proceed in as orderly a fashion as you are capable of to the Second-Best Parlor, where you will find the Scuttler, who keeps the running of the Briary. He will show you to your room and present you with a schedule of meal times, exercise hours, and social activities divided by who is least likely to eat one another before Thursday. Are we understood?”
    A murmur of mixed doubt, eagerness, muffled outrage, and longing for lunch passed through the gathered court.
    â€œBut I am Queen of Fairyland,” September said softly. She nervously touched the crown of jeweled keys upon her head. Now that it was about to be whisked away from her, suddenly September did not feel quite so sure she wanted nothing to do with Queenery. “Why can’t it be me?”
    The Stoat of Arms turned toward her with several haughty gazes—which is the same thing as apologizing to somebody who has been in government as long as the Stoat. “Indeed you are, madam. For three days. And Fairyland is very glad to have you. But please—such things are to be discussed in private, Your Majesty. You and I will adjourn to the Royal Closet, which I have already certified as ruffian-free. As for the rest of you, go! It’ll take the poor Zinnias weeks to make the grand hall livable again!”
    The Zinnias, since our Stoat will certainly not deign to tell you a thing about them, are the Royal Guard of the Briary, a platoon of very stern armored emu-birds with zinnia flowers blooming all over their breastplates and their helmets. This might make them look silly to you or I, but Pandemonians know that each of those flowers can fly free like an assassin’s throwing star, and they are sharper than they seem. Flowers are always more serious than they appear.
    You would not think a room could empty so quickly, but given the chance at a bit of cake and a place to plot in private, few creatures will dawdle. Half the Kings and Queens of Fairyland vanished in the space of a hiccup, blinking out of the grand hall and appearing in the Second-Best Parlor before anyone could tell them not to drink all the brandy. A quarter flew or hopped or bolted straight to the Helledoors, the blooming doors of the Briary proper, each violet petal etched with scenes from reigns long forgotten—though perhaps not quite so forgotten today as they were yesterday. The stragglers slipped through halls and secret nooks and trapdoors they knew like their own best beloved brothers and sisters. And the Stoat of Arms, with all its many and varied limbs, pushed, prodded, nudged, and jostled September away from her friends toward a long, slender hallway with no splendid flowers or decorated door. It looked dark and lonely. September protested loudly, but Stoats have won several prizes for stubbornness over the centuries, and you would have better luck protesting the sun.
    â€œI want them to come with me!” she cried.
    â€œYou haven’t any right,” snarled Saturday.
    â€œI’m not afraid to roast a stoat or a unicorn,” warned A-Through-L.
    Hawthorn and Tamburlaine exchanged looks, not at all sure what they ought to do or say, having only met September a few hours before. Perhaps they were not included in her protests. Perhaps they ought to have slipped away with the rest.
    â€œThey absolutely may not come with you,” insisted the Stoat of Arms. “And thank you for encouraging them, young lady! A coronation is a private affair! You might as well ask to watch her dressing in the morning! It’s shameful! Go to your rooms, sit down, be quiet, have a bath or play a bit of pooka poker, do try not to turn anyone into kangaroos, and I’m certain Her Majesty will attend you as soon as she is able!”
    September disappeared down the dark and lonely hall, pursued by a Stoat. Saturday, A-Through-L and Blunderbuss, Hawthorn and Tamburlaine and Scratch were left suddenly alone to find their own way. The Briary was