The most active nobles of Snipsnort were playing “Mother, May I” in a clear area beside the boulder that had been carved to look like a toad with a crown. I looked up at the face of the toad and the resemblance to me was making me worried that I really did look like a toad.
I asked Lord Mousedeer, “Do I really look like a toad?”
Mousedeer felt one of his fangs between a thumb and finger. “Only a little, sire. Don’t worry, a lot of preadolescent boys look like toads and they usually grow out of it. In another two hundred years, you will be fine, I am almost certain. You are slim so it is really just your face, sire.”
Lord Mousedeer gestured to the two artists who carved the boulder to look like me. “Shall we cut off their heads or draw and quarter them?”
I looked at the girls. “Do I really look like a toad?”
One of the wobbled her hand. “Not really and we think toads are really cute, your majesty.”
I said, “Well, there is nothing for it, then. Since I’m quite impressed with your work and everyone insists that as king I have to execute you, I’m afraid that I have to grant thee executive pardon and abdicate.”
Lord Mousedeer said, “You can not abdicate, you are a King of Fairy.”
I changed into me with a backpack and took out a sausage and a steel knife. “Oh look, I’m touching steel. Clearly not a Fairy and therefore not a Fairy King. And I’m clearly not a king among men because I’m not sharing any of this and eating right in front of you.”
From where the nobles were playing, someone was shouting, “You can’t just quit in the middle of “Mother, May I!” I was about to win!”
Dutchess Byebye shouted, “My brother just took out some sausage! Game over, I’m hungry!”
I climbed up on the toad statue and sat inside the crown. Since Byebye was a small, perpetual five-year-old girl, she fit in the crown with me. I cut off some sausage for her. “Do I look like a toad?”
Byebye said, “Nope. Toads are cuter. You are my old horsie that should have been put out to pasture years ago.”
I asked, “Do I really have a horse face?”
Lord Mousedeer cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, we really need to resolve this in a mature way. You can not just threaten to abdicate all the time.”
I said, “No, I mean, Yes, you are right. This time it is real.”
Lord Mousedeer asked, “What about your castles and all the material power you have?”
I smiled at him. “It is all mine. As a private citizen, I keep my stuff. It isn’t like there was ever a constitution or a parliament that said I was just borrowing it. So now I’m just a wealthy toad. The protest these girls made accusing me is entirely true.
“The only way I can make up for it is to abdicate. Tell the old ladies that made my life as miserable as they possibly could that they won and drove off the irresponsible embarrassment of a king. I could never please them, so really they will be better off managing the realm without me.”
Lord Mousedeer said, “There are still two more lighthouses that you need to make.”
I gave Byebye another slice of sausage and took out some cheese and a bottle of root beer to share with her. “As king, I never got paid for any of my work. Have someone make an offer, and I will decide if I want to take it.”
Dutchess Byebye said, “They don’t pay me either.”
I said, “’Cause you don’t do any work.”
She said, “I fight off all the invaders that come to take over the Fairyland.”
I shook my head. “You do that for fun, and you didn’t do it when I took over. That would be falling down on the job.”
She smiled up at me with her gap-toothed grin so I had to hug her. “Besides if they paid you, you’d have to pay for things and not just take whatever you wanted.”
She nodded and took the chunk of cheese I offered her.
Lord Mousedeer said, “Well, if no one is going to be mature about this, I am leaving.”
One of the girls asked, “Are we really spared?”
I nodded. “More than that. Since I appreciate good art, you are going to be rewarded. Do you want a slice of sausage?”
Both of the girls nodded.
#
I was sitting at the back of the church with a nearly tone-deaf old man sharing a hymnal. The old man had sort of latched on to me since I started coming to the church. I was the only white boy in church, and Deacon Dan had spread the word that I was uncomfortable talking. I think the old man was watching out for me. I didn’t know his name, but like most Goblins, I am always looking for some sort of family attachment. I looked up at him and decided he was the grandfather I never had.
A little girl kept looking over the back of her pew at me. She was really cute, but it was clear her family loved her, so I had no urge to steal her and make her a Goblin. Kind of sad, that. She would look even cuter with pointed ears. Not that I’d kept the points on mine.
I reached up and touched one of the rounded ears that Fats, the psychic surgeon, had given me. So far, it was staying round, so I didn’t have to wear a hat or worry about having the tips trimmed. I used to hate having the tips of my ears trimmed.
The service ended. The old man and I sat in the pew until the crowd had cleared. It was nice weather outside, perfect really. Ideal for the jam session I was planning to go to this afternoon, but that was in Louisiana, and the weather in Chicago wasn’t an indication of what the weather would be like down south.
When the crowd cleared, I went with the old man until we reached the turn where we parted ways. I started walking and just before I was going to turn off into an alley and go to Fairy, Deacon Dan came out beside me.
I asked, “Don’t people notice when you suddenly appear?”
He smiled down at me. “Not the uninitiated. I can gift you.”
I smiled back. “You’re mighty generous today.”
He asked, “Are you the one that left twelve pounds of gold in the collection box?”
I smiled. “That’s horrible that you would even ask. It takes away all meaning if you try and take credit for that sort of thing.”
He knelt down and kissed my forehead. The way he did it, it seemed like an ancient church ritual. Considering his history, it probably was.
I asked, “You were one of the first Deacons?”
He said, “Not one of the seven mentioned in Acts. But it was my calling.”
I nodded. “I don’t know if I could hold onto a job that long. I just quit being a Fairy King.”
Deacon Dan gave me a concerned look. “I have had issues with the church since early on. I stopped arguing when I realized it didn’t convince people. As a deacon, my obligation was to the people and not the hierarchy, so I mostly got by ignoring the church leaders. They didn’t see it the same way, but that’s a long, long story. Here is the real truth. Angels don’t come down to Earth to split hairs or straighten out theology. Compassion and sharing are the basics of church. Just like they try to teach children in nursery school.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Just how do you quit being a Fairy King?”
I considered his question. “Well, I'm still me, whatever that means, but I abdicated and since they got along without me being king for ages, I think they will get along fine without me now.”
Deacon Dan asked, “How long were you a fisherman? Did becoming a king stop you from fishing?”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Where is this set of questions leading?”
He shook his head. “Nowhere, really. Just concerned. See you next Sunday?”
I nodded. “The old man I sit with would miss me if I were gone.”
Deacon Dan said, “Yes, I think he would.”
#
Passing through an unnamed Fairyland, I stepped into shadow and went through the gateway to a tree-covered area in Real outside Hubert’s mansion. I stayed in shadow because I didn’t want any chance of the neighbors across the street seeing me. Caerwyn was a good friend, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by being obvious and going places he couldn’t go. As an immortal, a striking appearance like his was not a good thing. He was a well muscled youth with albino hair and skin. His brown eyes were a striking contrast that did him no good since he didn’t want to stand out or have people remember how he looked. If they saw him again in twenty years, they would remember and realize he hadn’t aged.
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I was fortunate. I just looked like another nine-year-old kid. Thinking about it, I realized that I had three bottles of pills that would allow me to age three years in three years time. For me, that would be about fifty times as fast as I normally aged, so I could look twelve in three years instead of having to wait a hundred and fifty. That might take a hundred and fifty years off my life, but considering the events of the last two years, if I were another person, I would not bet on my living the next three years and would consider a hundred and fifty very unlikely.
I shadow stepped to a tree in a swamp close to the old private airport I was heading for. I balanced on a limb and turned into myself with the backpack with the pills. I took one out and swallowed it before polymorphing into me with my cajon in a large bag. I shadow stepped down to the edge of the swamp and near the clearing and caught a whiff of barbecue.
I walked out of the woods and onto the cracked cement of the old runway. Jake was sitting on one of the cement benches near a barbecue grill and taking his guitar out of its case.
I waved to him but he didn’t see me. The wind was blowing my way so there was no point in shouting so I just kept walking.
Jake was playing his guitar when he noticed me and nodded. I got close and took my cajon out of its bag and sat on it.
As he picked complex music, I added a simple beat.
He said, “You just came out of the swamp. Aren’t you scared of the Rougarou?”
I smiled. The Rougarou is a creature who steals children who don’t obey their parents. As a Goblin, my strong urge is to steal unloved children and take care of them. Rougarou might have the body of a man and the head of a wolf or it might turn into a wolf or even a rabbit. I could turn into an otter, owl, rook, or monster rooster.
“Jake, what makes you think I’m not a Rougarou?”
Jake said, “I haven’t observed Lent since I stopped being an altar boy. A Rougarou would get me for sure.”
I asked, “Should I call you Overkill Jones or Jake?”
Jake looked at his guitar as he picked out a complex pattern. “I forgot what we decided to call you. We were worried that might not come back, you missed the last two Sundays.”
I asked, “Am I still welcome?”
Jake smiled. “Mr. Gibbs was worried. He really likes the rhythms you come up with, but he got busy and never paid you. He was scared you might have decided he was a deadbeat. According to Vic you never came back to the shop, so we figured you were one of those legends that show up once and disappear back into the swamps.”
I asked, “He pays everyone?”
Jake said, “Mr. Gibbs has this thought that the real music rarely gets on the airwaves. So when he hears a musician who plays things that no one knows, he gets excited. His hero is Charles Seeger, Pete Seeger’s dad. Charles Seeger recorded folk music. Mr. Gibbs records old or original music that he fears might be lost.”
I asked, “You don’t agree?”
He winced. “Music evolves and grows. I play licks I heard others play. I like to think I improved them. Sometimes I come up with a twist or a new pattern. In turn others listen and it spreads. I listen to old bits, but a lot of the old bits are the same songs. Right now there are laws against writing music so all you can do is steal from really old music if you want to make it.”
I shook my head. “I thought it was just me that had a hard time. Are there really laws against writing music?”
Jake started playing another tune. “You play percussion, so for the most part anything you come up with is free. Doesn’t mean someone rich won’t try to sue you, but bass lines are almost safe. If you have money, you can do what you want. If I play anything that isn’t clearly and obviously a tune made before the twenties, someone can find three notes in it and sue me.”
I asked, “So how does that disagree with Mr. Gibbs?”
“Mr. Gibbs’s recordings, if they ever get out, are gonna stomp on a lot of feet, far as I can tell. A lot of it is really and truly modifications on copyrighted music by folk that can’t afford to pay for the right to play it. By the time it is legal to be heard, if it ever becomes legal to hear it, no one will remember Mr. Gibbs and his recordings will all be forgotten bits of digital data on corroded disk drives deep in a landfill. If your music is your soul, unless you have money, or the person you sold your soul to has money, your soul can never be heard apart from small dives that may or may not have paid a fee for the right to play music.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
He nodded. “Venues have to pay fees to companies so that live music or even recorded music can be played out loud. This way, I can go into a dive and play what I want. If you record it, then you can probably listen to it later, but it gets weird if you put it on the net. Suddenly, you and I are stealing from someone, but really that someone is probably being stolen from by the same someone who can legally take your money and make your life hell. If I claim no ownership of the recording, maybe I am okay. But if I try to make a profit on the recording of my music, I may end up with less money than I started with.”
“So I just play like a troubadour. I get money for gigs and let everyone else make the recordings. I’m never going to make it big, but then no one owns me, so I do okay.”
I nearly laughed. “I have similar feelings about my playing. Not the same, but as long as there are no videos, I’m good.”
Jake asked, “You’re friends with Vic and Gumbo Dan right?”
I shook my head. “Dan, for sure. Vic and I jammed but we barely know each other.”
Jake said, “You jammed with Vic? I didn’t know that was possible. I have got to hear it. I mean, Vic is a brilliant musician and all, but he plays it exactly how he heard it and doesn’t have any flex in his work. You are all over the place weaving in with rhythms that in hindsight were perfect, but it’s kind of scary playing with you.”
I didn’t reply to what Jake said. Clearly, it was praise and he meant it, but I was going to have to figure out what he meant.
I just nodded in agreement. “I can’t tell you how much fun it is playing music with you, Jake. Seriously, you and Dan are crazy good.”
A car drove up to the front of the old hangar. Vic and Mr. Gibbs got out of the car. Mr. Gibbs started taking sound equipment out of the car and putting it on the stage just inside the hanger. Vic came over to us and handed me two envelopes.
“You got the coals going. Thanks, Jake. Phil, take this, it’s for the last time you played and your playing today.”
I opened an envelope and counted, there were ten twenties inside. I checked the other. This was no longer a lot of money to me but not long ago it would have been. “Does playing music pay this well?”
Jake said, “For a pleasant Sunday afternoon jamming with friends, this is amazing pay. It’s on the level for what most of us get for a recording gig, but all of us take gigs that pay a lot less. I’ve made more money busking, but I have also had cops decide to destroy my guitar as a public service.”
Vic said, “Bad week, Jake?”
Jake said, “Could have been better. Still getting to jam with Rougarou Phil is a pretty nice end of the week.”
Mr. Gibbs came over to us. “I thought you were calling Phil ‘Wild Boy.’”
Jake said, “No wonder I forgot his nickname. Nah, Rougarou Phil sounds legendary.”
I smiled. “So, Overkill Jones and Rougarou Phil. Sounds good to me.”
A few more players showed up, and then a fiddle player drove up with Dan riding shotgun.
Mr. Gibbs asked, “Can we try the mix with Jake, Phil, and Dan again?”
Jake and I nodded. I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and picked up my cajon. Jake and I sat on stage improvising as Mr. Gibbs walked over to the newly arrived car and spoke with Dan. Dan smiled and waved to us.
I got up. “Jake, you want a lemonade?”
Jake nodded so I went down to where Vic was setting up a drinks table. The rest of the musicians were sitting at the cement tables and from the stage.
Mr. Gibbs was saying “Testing, Testing,” into a microphone. I hurried up with the lemonade and Vic carried a third one to the edge of the stage.
Jake took a sip and said, “What do you say we call this one ‘The Lemonade Blues?’”
Dan started playing on his double bass and creating a pattern that evoked the feeling of walking on an easy afternoon.
I added some bright splash to the sounds with fingernail strikes on the upper edges of the cajon, and Jake came in with a lonely walk sort of feeling. It was a bittersweet exploration of a few chords, but mostly I just kept to sounds that echoed the steps of someone walking aimlessly while the occasional car drove by and made splashes in puddles from a recent rain.
Dan added a feel of clouds overhead, and I added a distant rumble, like faraway thunder. Jake stopped first and I stopped playing a few measures after. Dan added a touch like a bird song that felt like a shaft of light coming through the clouds and ended the piece.
It was nice. The players on the concrete benches applauded, but I wanted more so I started in on a lively rhythm that Dan and I had explored together in Hubert’s music room.
Dan nodded to me and took off with it. Jake waited until I was wondering if he would ever join and then came in and twisted it into a number I wanted to dance to. Like old times, I started moving and dropping into the groove like I used to do with my Goblin family.
Dan and Jake didn’t know the music of my family, but they had music of their own to add. We finished at the same time. I think we each thought it was time to let the others fade out, but it ended up a sudden stop in a riot of music.
The audience applauded and Jake took a long sip of lemonade and coughed.
I said, “Too much, too fast?”
Dan said, “Good name for it. I was thinking of calling it, ‘Too Much Lemonade,’” but ‘Too Much to Fast’ is better.”
The rest of the music, with all the musicians playing went a lot better than the last time I was here, so when it wound down I was feeling pretty happy. I helped Mr. Gibbs take down the sound equipment, and he put it all in the car. “Do you want a ride back into town?”
I nodded since my disappearing into the swamp was probably a bit odd.
Vic got in the back seat, so I got in the front beside Mr. Gibbs.
As we drove Vic asked, “Do you need a ride on rainy days?”
I nodded. “Probably. But my place is pretty far from here.”
Mr Gibbs said, “Is there a problem with us knowing where?”
I said, “You know about Goblins, right?”
Mr. Gibbs adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Not a lot, but I read up on them. I figure most of what I have read is just stories. I had a friend that disappeared when I was little. I was spying on his house ‘cause I was certain his dad killed him. My friend appeared in the tree beside me and told me to go home. A couple of times I think he got me out of trouble. I left things in my tree house for him, but he stopped coming by.
“I saw him once when his back was turned. It was about fifteen years after he had disappeared, and he had pointed ears but apart from that he was only a few years older. Three years ago I spotted him again. His clothing told me he was down on his luck. I was lucky enough to be born rich. Well, both of us were, but Goblins don’t usually get to keep it. So I offered him a job. Vic is a childhood friend and the person I trust most in the world.”
I said, “So you and Vic have talked a bit.”
Vic said, “I’ve pretty much shared it all with Jaxon. Sorry, Mr. Gibbs.”
I nodded. “Okay, how much do you know about Fairy?”
Vic made a coughing sound. “Dan was asking me what I knew about Fairy. He didn’t say anything that quite linked you to anything like that, but I think he was worried about you and was more that a bit scared that you had faded to Fairy.”
I glanced back at him. “Yeah, he was probably right to be worried. So far I am okay, but if I disappear, best not come looking for me. Next Sunday after church though, if things work out and you don’t mind, I would like to summon you and have you bring me through. That way I could ride in with you.”
Mr. Gibbs asked, “You go to church?”
I answered, “Yep, up in Chicago.
Vic asked, “Can you really do a summons?”
I said, “Yeah. I would summon my way home right now to show you, but I am not sure if it is safe doing it from a moving car.”
Mr. Gibbs said, “I kind of want to get your opinion on some cajons to put in the shop. Can you stay a bit longer?”
#
At the music store, Mr. Gibbs brought out a few catalogs and fliers that had cajons for sale.
I looked at the fliers and shrugged. “Watching videos is going to be better and even then the sound can be off. The man that made mine is local and the only one I know. Wait. Sorry, I am being summoned.”
Lord Loadstone was calling. “King Snipsnort, canst thou spare some time?”
I didn’t want to have a one way argument over my being a king in front of Vic and Mr. Gibbs so I waved to them and went to Snipsnort.