They watched in trepidation and wonder as the boat glided, propelled by no obvious means, and bumped against the dock. The tall man placed one foot on the planking of the dock to secure the vessel before addressing them.
“The Ferry is here,” he rasped. “I am the Ferryman, Brother of the Ways. What payment shall you offer?”
“Payment,” Harold squeaked. “What kind of payment?”
“You must pay the fare. Gold. Silver or precious stones.”
Delia was the only one of them who seemed nonplussed by the situation. She dug in her jacket pocket and came out with a handful of change. She held it out for the Ferryman to see. “How much is it?”
The Ferryman shook his head. “Gold. Silver or precious stones.”
“But this is money!” Delia insisted.
He merely shook his head.
“I get it!” Dmitri said suddenly. “There’s no silver in coinage anymore. It’s mostly nickel and other alloys.”
“So it has to be real? Okay.” Delia fumbled at her wrist. She was wearing a charm bracelet. With a little effort, she managed to detach a silver snowflake charm. She held it out to the Ferryman, who plucked it from her palm with nimble fingers. He held it up under the brim of his hat. He sniffed the metal and nodded. “Board.”
“Great,” Delia said. “I have charms for everybody.”
The Ferryman raised a palm. “No. Each one must pay his way with his own coin. That is the Law.”
“What Law?” Delia demanded.
“The Law of the Brotherhood of the Ways. There are no exceptions. Each must pay the fare.”
Delia opened her mouth to argue but closed it again as if she suddenly realized whom she was talking to. She stepped off the wharf into the boat.
Harold reached into his backpack. After a bit of digging, he pulled out an old-fashioned fountain pen. Unscrewing the cap, he revealed a shiny metal nib. He held out the pen to the Ferryman. “It’s gold.”
The man took the pen, held it up, and sniffed. He nodded once. “Board.”
Harold sidled warily past him. Dmitri reached into his jacket and drew out a silver chain. He tugged gently, snapping the chain from his neck and holding it out. “My Saint Christopher medal.”^ 59
The Ferryman’s head tilted slightly to one side as he took the chain and held it up glittering before his face. “A Brother of the Ways. Board.”
Dmitri scuttled over to join Delia and Harold in the craft. Only Chester stood on the dock. Chester just stared evenly at the tall figure without making any attempt to search for payment.
“I haven’t got anything to pay you.”
“A Boon then,” the Ferryman rasped. “A Boon in exchange for passage.”
“Boon?” Chester frowned. “What’s a Boon?”
“A bargain,” the voice intoned. “A promise. I will ask for a service in the future and you must do what I will or thy life is forfeit.”
Chester didn’t say a word. He just stood on the wharf, thinking it over.
“Don’t do it,” Harold urged him. “Are you crazy?”
“It isn’t wise,” Dmitri agreed. “You have no idea what he’ll ask of you.”
Delia didn’t speak. She just stared at Chester, waiting. Chester returned her gaze. Something in her face made him decide.
“I agree,” Chester announced.
“Board!” The Ferryman instructed in his cavernous voice. Was there a hint of satisfaction in his tone? It was impossible to tell. Chester stepped past him onto the boat with his companions, and the Ferryman pushed away from the wharf into the fog.
“I was expecting more,” Brendan said as he walked along the path. He and Charlie were heading to the Community Centre where the Swan was hidden. So far, there had been a few stalls selling food, the kind of thing you’d see at a county fair, with sandwiches and cider, hot drinks and sweets.
“Just wait.” Charlie smiled. “We aren’t at the Faerground yet.”
“Fairground? There are rides and stuff?”
“Not fair with an i. Faer with an e.”
“What’s the difference?”
They emerged from the trees into a clearing. Brendan caught his breath. They had crossed some kind of invisible barrier. The island had been grey and bare the last time he’d been here. The park surrounding the Community Centre had been utterly transformed. A city of magnificent tents and pavilions crowded around the white clapboard building. The entire space was ablaze with torchlight. Multicoloured flames sprouted from torches planted in the ground on long poles. The tents were a riot of different cultural designs: wigwams, yurts, teepees, brocaded silks, and billowing Arabian fantasies, all in bright and festive hues. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout. It was as though a caravan of insane nomads had fallen from the sky and decided to set up camp.
“Wow,” Brendan breathed. Then he had a thought. “What do the Humans who live on the island think of all this stuff?”
“They won’t see any of it.” Charlie laughed. “They’ve been convinced to stay in their homes by glamours.”
The variety of tents was exceeded by the variety of Fair Folk frolicking among them. Every imaginable national costume was represented, and every historical era. Each Faerie had dressed extravagantly in order to stick out, and the result was jarring to the eye. Brendan had never seen so many Fair Folk in one place. The effect was overwhelming.
He looked up and gasped again. Faeries had strung cables from tree branches and stretched a maze of colourful high wires across the entire open space. Faeries dashed and somersaulted along the tightropes performing amazing feats of agility. Everywhere, Lesser Faeries swarmed and chased one another at dizzying speeds.
Brendan noticed something else. “Hey… Am I crazy, or is it suddenly warm?”
“As balmy as a spring day,” Charlie agreed. “Part of the glamours. We don’t feel the cold, but why not just have a bit of spring in the heart of winter?”
Brendan couldn’t argue with that. Still, he was dumbfounded and his expression must have been goofy because Charlie laughed again. “Come on,” she said, tugging him back into motion. “Let’s go to the market.”
They plunged into the heaving throng, shouldering their way through the press. Brendan’s ears rang with a barrage of languages: English, French, German, Chinese, and others that he couldn’t place. Musicians added to the din, playing impromptu concerts on a bizarre array of traditional and incomprehensible instruments. DJs were spinning club mixes in tents filled with gyrating dancers. In the alleyways between the pavilions, Faeries blocked the way in knots, pausing to dance whenever they felt inspired.
Brendan’s worries melted away. He had been concentrating on the Proving so fiercely, he hadn’t given a thought to what a Faerie Clan Gathering might actually be like. He found himself caught up in the insanely joyful mood of the Faerground. As they made their way through the chaotic maze of cloth tunnels, he found himself dancing with a number of partners, singing songs he’d never heard before, and being embraced by total strangers. He was only slightly aware that people were pointing at him and whispering. He tried not to feel self-conscious. By the time they reached the lawn-bowling green beside the clubhouse in the centre of the tent village, he was feeling a lightness of heart that he’d never realized he’d been missing these last few weeks.
When the Faerie convention wasn’t in town, the bowling green was a flat, manicured lawn bordering the Community Centre. Now it had been appropriated as a marketplace. Stalls had been set up all around the perimeter, selling a bewildering variety of wares. Toys, clothes, jewellery, hats, books, and antiques with indecipherable purposes were laid out on velvet pillows to be pawed by potential buyers. Potion sellers hawked their wares, professing the beneficial health effects of their herbal infusions and ointments. Souvenirs were on offer just as they would have been in a Human flea market. Faeries haggled with merchants. Coins were exchanged along with insults and jokes.
Everywhere Faeries wandered, singly or in raucous groups. In the centre of the green, a large tent sheltered a temporary extension of the Swan of Liir. Huge wooden kegs were suspended on sawhorses, and the ale flowed liberally. Charlie led Brendan into the tent. As they arrived, Og was just topping off a foaming mug. He turned, slopping the amber contents of his tankard as he raised it to his lips. He saw Brendan and his heavy face split open
