Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html by Lisa Read Free Book Online Page B

but we have not seen your two fairies, or their friends.'
    Magris frowned. He was annoyed, but knew better than to criticise the albatrosses.
    'Please continue your search.'
    The bird nodded and flew off. Albatrosses are not given to idle chatter, as a rule. Nor was Magris. He was too furious about the rebel Aelric and his economic sabotage. Warehouses and factories were burning all over the
    kingdom.
    It was being whispered by the rebels that if Petal and Tulip were to rule instead of Tala, things would be well in the kingdom.
    Petal and Tulip were resting in a peaceful little clearing surrounded by the thick undergrowth of Central Park, listening to Maeve and Padraig playing their tin whistles. They played 'Ballydesmond' and 'Maggie in the Woods', and Petal and Tulip tapped their feet to the cheerful polka rhythm.
    'And when will we see Doolin again, I wonder? !' said Maeve. Doolin in Ireland was famous for its tin whistlers and the two fairies had spent much time there, listening and playing. They thought for a little while about the good times they had had in County Clare.
    Magenta had never been keen on the twentieth century. When her father died, electrocuted by his word processor after washing his hands and not drying them properly, she had gone off it entirely. She was not too keen on
    washing either.
    The Xenophon fantasy she sank into was a pleasant escape and a good way of keeping her spirits up while hiding from Joshua. She and Joshua had been lovers once, before Magenta caught him with another bag lady and stole his cocktail recipe in retaliation, knowing that he could not live without it.
    Now, however, prowling along the sidewalk, she considered giving it up. The fierce alcoholic potion was wearing off and she was blearily aware that she actually bore little resemblance to the legendary Greek hero.
    A fairy shape flickered in the distance.
    'Must still be hallucinating.'
    Heather was looking sadly at another corpse, another old tramp who had died of illness, exhaustion and
    hopelessness. That made three in three days. She hated the way these people just expired on the streets and stayed there. People would walk right past and not even look. This would never have happened in Cruickshank.
    A fairy will put a flower on a corpse as a sign of respect, and Heather went to look for one. Inside the theatre, next to Cal's guitar, she found a glorious poppy with red, yellow and orange blooms and scooped it up to lay on the corpse.
    She played a sad lament, then departed.
    Magenta reached the corpse and was appalled to see that it was someone she knew well, a woman Magenta had
    begged with and been friends with for fifteen years.
    She sat down gloomily and took a long drink from her Fitzroy cocktail. The city seemed like an unpleasant place to be.
    'To hell with this,' muttered Magenta's subconscious. She rose to her feet majestically.
    'Cyrus is dead,' she announced to the waiting troops. 'My dear friend and benefactor, killed in battle. Now how file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html
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    will we Greeks ever find our way home across thousands of miles of hostile territory?'
    She picked up the flower that Heather had left and marched away purposefully.
    The albatross made a heavy landing on the Cornish beach.
    'We have found them,' she told Magris.
    'Where?'
    'One of them was spotted by a sparrow in New York, talking to an old woman.'
    'Thank you,' said Magris, and gave the albatross a golden reward.

EIGHT
    The loss of Kerry's triple-headed Welsh poppy was a mind-numbing blow.
    Kerry stared at the space where it should have been, trembling with shock and fury. Morag, perched on top of a speaker and listening to Suicide, flew over to ask her what was the matter.
    'My poppy is gone.'
    In Kerry's book of Celtic myths the Welsh poppy was the centre-piece of the mystic alphabet. Furthermore, it