The Crepuscular
“O MOST EXALTED, Highly Honoured, and Elegant Mistress; I humble myself at your feet, which allows me to appreciate your exquisite slippers. As always, you outdo all others in taste.”
The fox, his tail quivering and his eyes brilliant, tilted his head at an angle precisely calculated to charm.
The lady at whose feet he sat smiled. Her slippers were indeed exquisite, embroidered all over with mermaid scales whose constantly shifting sea-shades echoed those of her eyes. The eyes themselves, at this moment, danced merrily, sunlight upon gentle waves. She was fond, in her way, of the fox, and found him a source of amusement.
“Well, little fox, what do you want?”
“Lady, I bring news.”
“I know you would not be so foolish as to come here without something to entertain me. What news?”
“Pearl divers off an island under the sway of Oro have found a great treasure. A pearl of exceptional beauty and size, dark as my lady’s hair, and nearly as lustrous. Already it is on its way to the temple, where it will be placed in a statue of laughable ugliness but great value in the eyes of the priests. And it will become an offering, and a Gift.”
“I see. And why should this concern me?”
“Because it is a Gift of some... merit, Lady. In my unworthy and no doubt mistaken opinion.”
“Some merit. How much merit?”
“A thousand hours of work by three separate craftsmen, one of whom lost his sight on the endeavour, the eldest of them dying as he set his chisel, having prayed and fasted overmuch in order that he might be inspired, and the youngest, possibly the best craftsman the island has ever produced, having cut his thumb, an injury that will eventually cripple him and prevent his ever creating so fine a piece again.”
“Ah.” In her eyes, a thin cloud veiled the sun, the sparkle faded from the sea.
“Forgive my presumption, but I thought your Ladyship would wish to know.”
“You are correct, little fox. And what, in your opinion, do you deserve in return for this information?”
“What could I ask more than your Ladyship’s pleasure?”
“Oh, you could ask many things. Some of them I might even grant.”
“Your Ladyship’s generosity is outweighed only by your Ladyship’s beauty. I ask merely the freedom to suggest something that might, if your Ladyship should deign to consider it, outweigh this Gift in value.”
“And what has my clever fox found, to overbear so weighty a Gift?”
“A pebble.”
The fox kept his eyes on her slippers, but from their darkening colours he could see that in her eyes, now, there would be the suggestion of reefs, of depths where no diver would ever find the wreckage. He was something of a gambler by nature, and rather enjoyed the shiver of risk.
“A pebble.”
“Yes, your Ladyship.”
“Explain.”
“A child has spent hundreds of hours searching for this pebble. She has collected and discarded stone after stone, to find the perfect one. She knows it must be perfect. She has built a cairn upon the grave of her little cat; this stone is to mark the apex. She has ignored calls to supper, she has searched in the rain and as darkness fell, and despite scoldings and beatings. Only if she found the perfect stone could she finish the shrine, and release her grief.” He paused, and added, “She is seven years old.”
“Hmm.” The scales on her slippers became still, the colours those of a lake beneath an empty sky. He kept his eyes lowered.
“Seven,” she said.
“Yes.”
“A significant number, even to them.”
“So I believe,” the fox said, and silently cursed himself. A misstep.
“You do not believe; you know.” But her tone was musing, not yet dismissive.
“Yes, lady.”
“At such an age, constancy of that nature is a rarity among them.”
“Indeed.”
“A pity to waste it upon a cat.” She disliked cats; those with the knack passed between the mortal and magical worlds without shame, they refused to grovel, and they could go where she could not.
“Alas.” The fox himself admired cats; they tended to be, like himself, survivors.
“Now, little fox.” She bent down and put one long, pale finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up so that he must look into her eyes. “You know that if you were wrong, on a matter of such delicacy, I would be... displeased?”
Enough to skin me alive and hang me writhing by my own pelt from the arm of your throne, to provide amusement to your guests for a hundred mortal years? He let a little of his genuine terror show, but only a little. Though, of course, she would use fear, she did not bask in it. She far preferred adoration. He narrowed his eyes as she scratched his chin, and let a small moan of pleasure escape his throat.
“Good. Then fetch it for me.” She sat up. “And when I have it, you may receive a gift of your own.”
“Ma’am.”
The fox bowed and danced his way out of the Presence, careful to display nothing but delight. Smugness was something the Court preferred to keep entirely to themselves.
The child would know something had changed, of course, when she next visited her little shrine. The heart, the soul, the intention would be gone. What was left would be just a stone. She would probably believe the change was in her, the first dulling of the gemlike passions of childhood.
With the cat, who might choose to be irritated, he would have to make other accommodation. Find something it wanted, or could be persuaded it wanted, and obtain it – or provide a means of getting it. That was what the fox did, and he was exceptionally good at it.