Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html (24 page)

'You were meant to be introducing us to the Italians and Chinese.'

A hideous noise emanated from across the street.

'Ha, ha,' chortled Morag. 'Dinnie's got his old fiddle out. There's MacKintosh-playing for you.'

'Nothing to do with me,' replied Heather, hotly. 'I don't believe he really is a MacKintosh at all.'

Upstairs, Dinnie had dredged up the old fiddle he had played at school, and was trying to remember the tunes he'd learned.

I'll show that ignorant bitch of a fairy, he thought to himself. I'll earn my rent busking. No one is going to evict Dinnie MacKintosh without a struggle.

'What an amazing upturn in business,' said one of the young prostitutes to her friend, back on 14th Street. 'I never file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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saw so many eager clients before.'

Both she and her friends were doing a roaring trade, and had been ever since the fairies had perched behind them, because there is nothing like the aura of a group of fairies for spreading sexual desire.

THIRTY-FIVE

It was dusk and in Central Park Padraig and Maeve were just warming up on the pipes and fiddle, running gently through 'The Queen of the Fairies', an air which the famous blind harpist O'Carolan learned from the Irish fairies.

They moved through some sedate renditions of hornpipes and slip jigs before breaking into a fierce version of

'McMahon's Reel', and 'Trim the Velvet'.

While Maeve took a brief break to tune her pipes Padraig played his customary version of 'Banish Misfortune'.

'Now what misfortune would you be suffering from, over here on a fine adventure in a new country?' called a

voice from far above.

Out of a thin cloud a moonbow in seven shades of green was falling to the ground. On it, marching cheerfully, were around two hundred fairies.

'Well, here are the O'Briens, and some others,' said the female fairy at their head, stepping on to the ground. 'We got your letter. What trouble have you been getting yourself into now, Maeve O'Brien?'

'It is truly wonderful what reasonable creatures we fairies are,' Morag informed Kerry. 'Only the other day three tribes were fighting and battling on the street outside and now, thanks to a few honest words from Petal and Tulip, everything is all right again. Peace reigns everywhere.'

'Apart,' Kerry pointed out, 'from the vast and well-armed Cornish army which is heading our way.'

'Yes, apart from that. Although I'm sure most of them are reasonable too. They are just under the thrall of an evil King.'

'Much like the United States.'

'And now that the streets are safe, I am off to see Cesare. I will be back with your flower in no time.'

Kerry was tired. In the privacy of her toilet she had discovered that some blood had trickled from her anus. This always happened when she overdid things and roused the disease in her intestines into activity. It was a frequent and distressing reminder of her illness which always made her depressed, no matter how often it happened. With the strain of the Community Arts Prize coming up, Kerry had been feeling unwell more and more frequently. She lay down to sleep, leaving the MacLeods to have words with Heather.

'Mairi tells me that you two do not in fact have the ability to make a moonbow between here and Scotland.'

'And how does she know that?' demanded Heather.

'She has the sight.'

Heather sighed. Mairi's powerful second sight was a terrible nuisance. It was practically impossible to deceive her in any way.

'And this lie is a further insult by you to the MacLeods,' continued Ailsa, her black eyes boring into Heather. 'But I shall overlook that for the moment because there are other matters more important. We are of the opinion that all Scottish fairy-dom is in danger from the Cornish King. If he succeeds in dominating this place there will be no stopping him. Mairi had a vision of his army marching through the borders and right up to the Highlands. This we cannot allow.' Ailsa tilted her spiked hair towards her sister. 'Mairi has sent a message to Scotland for help.'

'How?'

'She has sent a vision of our plight over the water. The Scots will march over a moonbow of their own, and you will guide them down in the correct place by playing "Tullochgorum" at the appropriate moment.'

Morag crawled wearily up the fire escape, worn out by recent events. She was pleased to find Kerry sleeping,

although it only delayed telling her the bad news about Cesare being so hospitable to Petal and Tulip that he was file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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moved to give them the poppy as a present, and Petal and Tulip subsequently feeling sorry for a miserable woman they met on the sidewalk that they in turn were moved to give it to her.

'It is such a powerful and beautiful flower,' explained Petal.

'We knew it would cheer her up. And we are good fairies,' explained Tulip.

'You are morons,' growled Morag.

THIRTY-SIX

Aelric and his followers swam for their lives down a secret well in Merlin's Cave and into a cold underground stream, emerging on Bodmin Moor only half alive, but safe.

'Good plan, Aelric' Aelis weakly tried to shake water from her sodden wings.

188

A damp breeze blew over the moor.

'What's that?'

Nearby was a circle of standing stones. Rising from the stones was a series of moonbows, and behind them was

gathered the full host of Tala's army.

Dinnie did not know what to do about Kerry. He could understand that she would not have been pleased to find

him having sex with a casual acquaintance but, never having been in this position before, he was at a loss as to how to rectify things.

'So who gives a shit anyway?' he demanded out loud to his empty room. 'I never liked her anyway. She is a

bimbo. Almost as stupid as that dumb asshole of a fairy.'

He was finished with fairies. He did not ever want to see one again. He did not need them to run his love life. Nor did he need them to pay his rent. He would busk. Armed with his old fiddle and his new repertoire of tunes, he was confident of success.

Outside it was hot and clammy, which made Dinnie desire an immediate beer. He headed for the deli. By the

theatre steps a tramp's dead body was being loaded into an ambulance. Dinnie was so used to this by now he

hardly glanced at it.

'Don't you shithead fairies have anything better to do than hang around on doorsteps all day?' he said loudly, and strode past.

'Aren't you going to visit Kerry?' asked Morag.

Dinnie snorted derisively.

'Who needs her? Plenty of women got their eye on me these days, I can tell you.'

'Well, he seems to be returning to normal,' said Morag, and Heather agreed.

'Bit of a relief really. A polite Dinnie was hard to take.'

'Is Kerry sad about it?'

'I don't know.'

Dinnie made his way to Washington Square and made ready to play. After two beers and a packet of cookies he

was full of confidence. When a stray dog ran up to him he had no hesitation in dealing it a sound kick in the ribs, sending it away hurt and confused. He tucked his fiddle under his now finely contoured chin and started to play.

On this hot day the park was full, an ideal opportunity to earn his rent.

Just then a girl who very much looked like Kerry walked past and he found himself severely distracted. His arm shook a little. A slight pain gnawed at his heart.

He lowered his fiddle and hurried away for more beer.

'Where is this moonbow taking us?'

Sheilagh MacPherson, Chief of the Clan, shrugged her shoulders. It was crossing the Atlantic but what was on the file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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other side of the Atlantic, she was unsure. Unlike some of her clan she never spent time in public libraries looking at human books.

'Wherever it is taking us, we will know when we get there, because the MacLeod sisters will guide us in with a version of "Tullochgorum".

'And wherever we end up, I am sure Morag MacPherson will be on the end of it. I will be pleased to have her back safe, providing she refrains from starting any more trouble with the MacLeods. It is a wonder we are all marching here together at all, and only a sign of how serious things are.'

Behind the MacPherson clan came the MacKintoshes and behind them came the MacLeods and their confederates.

The message from Mairi, Scotland's most powerful seer and sender, had come not only to them in Skye but had

travelled on past the Western Isles into the heartland of Scotland. Now the whole of the Clan Chattan

confederation had joined the MacLeods on the march to New York.

It was no surprise to any of the clan chiefs that trouble was brewing with King Tala. According to the wise among them, it had only ever been a matter of time before this happened.

'As his industrial society expands, he will have to seek new markets abroad,' said Glenn MacPherson, a studious young fairy who did spend a fair amount of his time in libraries. 'What's more, to gather in the raw materials he needs at suitably low prices, he will have to conquer these markets by force. A policy of imperialist expansion is inevitable.'

'And what does that mean?' asked Sheilagh MacPherson.

'It means he'll attack us.'

Sheilagh snorted.

'We need not worry about that. Once we have the MacPherson Fiddle in our hands, no one can attack us.'

Agnes MacKintosh, Clan Chief, carried the famous MacKintosh Sword, a renowned weapon made by the fairies

for Viscount Dundee. With the prospect of the recovery of the MacPherson Fiddle and the repair of the MacLeod Banner, there was good reason for optimism, for any army carrying these three powerful icons could not be

defeated.

Underneath, the Atlantic was vast and grey but over the moonbow progress was swift.

Three beers later, Dinnie felt he was ready to play. The strange feeling inside had subsided. This was just as well.

It was ruinous to his finances.

Deciding that toniake some quick money an impressive tune was called for, Dinnie once more levelled his violin.

To his great dissatisfaction he noticed that none of the crowd in Washington Square was actually looking his way, being busy either sleeping in the sun or shouting encouragement to the numerous junior baseballers who were

pitching, hitting and striking out in various parts of the park. A complete waste of time, as far as Dinnie could see.

A young woman who looked remarkably like Kerry walked her dog right in front of him and his bow made a

painful scraping noise as it slid down the neck of his violin.

'Go walk your dog somewhere else,' he bawled. 'I'm trying to play some music here.'

'Is that what it was?' answered the girl brightly, and strolled off. From behind she still looked like Kerry.

Dinnie found his arm was shaking again. He hurried off for more beer.

Heather, Morag and the MacLeods sat on top of the theatre.

'Right,' called Mairi. 'I can sense the Scots are approaching. Guide them in.'

'No problem,' answered Heather, scooping her fiddle out of its bag and under her chin. 'One expert version of

"Tulloch-gorum" coming up.'

Morag gaped.

'What? You are going to play it? Your playing of "Tulloch-gorum" will probably send them into the Hudson River. I'll do it.' Morag whipped out her own fiddle.

Heather was outraged.

'You stupid besom, you can't play "Tullochgorum" to save your life. I'll play it.'

'No, I'll play it.'

Ailsa had a strong desire to strangle them both.

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'Will one of you just hurry up and play the damned thing before the Scots army overshoots.'

'Well,' said Heather, rounding on her. 'If you MacLeods spent a bit less time practising with claymores and a bit more learning the fiddle, maybe you could play it. But you can't, so there. I'm going to do it.'

'You are not. I'll do it.'

Morag started up playing, Heather grabbed her fiddle and they started to fight.

Rhona, Seonaid and Mairi tried to separate the screaming pair. Ailsa just hung her head and wished she was back on the Isle of Skye, where the fairies were neither psychedelically dressed nor feeble brained.

Kerry, finding her apartment unusually empty of fairies, took the opportunity to lay out her flower alphabet, staring lovingly at her latest addition, a bright-yellow bloom of
Rhododendron campylocarpum.
This completed the alphabet, apart from the Welsh poppy.

On display, the thirty-two blooms, preserved as if fresh with loving care, were a soothing and beautiful sight.

Kerry was pleased to have got so far, although the lack of the poppy meant it was incomplete and she could not win the prize. She could not enter her alphabet incomplete. It would offend her artistic sensibilities too much.

Botticelli would not have painted half a fresco in the Sistine Chapel. Neither would Johnny Thunders have put down half a guitar solo on record.

It seemed unfair though. A man who had deserted her after promising to teach her how to play guitar did not

deserve to win public acclaim.

Cal deserves a punch in the mouth, thought Kerry. And if I ever get strong I will give him one.

She sighed, and made ready for a trip to the drugstore. Every few weeks she had to pick up a large prescription of colostomy bags and the assorted bits and pieces that held them on, cleaned the hole in her side, and so forth, along with a supply of steroids to suppress the disease.