‘Who are you?’ said Fay.
The young woman smiled. ‘I am many things. A woman of the travelling folk. A tailor bee. An old friend. Today I am a messenger, here to deliver a warning.’ She held up the rose to inhale its scent. The flower was slightly faded now, but the scent was still surprisingly strong, filling the dead air with sweetness. ‘Nothing is scented here,’ she said. ‘Nothing beautiful grows here. This is the Shadowless Land, a province of the Kingdom of Death. And only by leaving your shadow behind can you hope to find your daughter again.’
‘My shadow?’
The young woman nodded.
‘But wouldn’t I also lose the memory of my former life?’
The young woman shrugged. ‘Lord Death takes his toll. His rules date back to the birth of the Worlds, and memory cannot linger in the Shadowless Land, where Life is nothing but a dream, and even Love is forgotten.’
‘I could never forget Daisy,’ said Fay.
‘Then take your chance,’ said the young woman serenely.
Fay thought back to the tale of King Orfeo and the Oracle. ‘To free your lady,’ the Oracle said, ‘you must find the madcap mushroom, which grows in the caves on the shores of Dream, under the cliffs of Damnation.’
She turned once more to the dark-eyed woman. ‘To pass into the Kingdom of Death, I need the madcap mushroom,’ she said. ‘Can you show me where it grows?’
‘I can show you,’ the young woman said. ‘But to use it here is dangerous. It gives the taker the power to pass through the islands of Dream at will. But Dream is a dangerous country, my Queen. You will need all your courage and strength to cross it with your mind intact.’
‘And yet I must,’ said Fay, ‘if I am to reach the Hallowe’en King and ask him to free my daughter.’
The young woman said, ‘Very well, my Queen. I will show you the madcap mushroom, which grows in the caves deep under the cliffs. This I will do, in return for my life, which you saved in Nethermost London. But I cannot help you in Dream. There you will either cross over, or drown.’
And with those words she led Fay into the shadow that lay at the foot of the cliff that reached above them into the clouds. For a moment the darkness was so complete that Fay had to feel her way along the rough, dank walls of the passageway. But little by little, as they advanced, her vision began to adjust, and she saw that she was in a cave that was broader and higher than any Fay had ever seen or imagined. There was a lake in the distance, lit by dim phosphorescence, and in the nooks and cracks in the wall there grew small five-petalled flowers that looked like strawberry blossoms and gave off a sweet and earthy scent.
‘No, not those, my Queen,’ said her guide, as Fay stopped to smell the flowers. ‘Here is the madcap mushroom, that led King Orfeo into the Lands of Death, and which, if used correctly, will take you to the Hallowe’en King.’
She indicated a fungus that was growing out from the side of the wall. ‘A single dose,’ she said, ‘will take you into the realms of Dream. But whatever you see there, keep moving. The bubble-worlds and skerries of Dream are not for you to inhabit. And if you reach the Lord of Death, take nothing, not even a handshake from him, for if you do, you and your Daisy will stay in his kingdom for ever.’
And at that the young woman’s image dissolved into a golden blur of bees that fanned out over the shining lake like a plume of dragonfire.
‘Wait!’ called Fay. ‘How much is a dose? What is the answer to the final riddle? And’ – her voice echoed forlornly around the enormous cavern –‘tell me, how did King Orfeo come to lose his shadow?’
But there was no answer from the young woman who had guided her, except for the distant drone of bees, far away, in the darkness.
Five
Her feet were sore. Fay realized that she had left her shoes on the beach. She was feeling cold, too, so she took Daisy’s blanket from her pack, and tied it, sarong-style, around her waist. The madcap mushroom that grew from the wall gave off a faint and pallid glow. Correctly used – what did that mean? Was she supposed to smoke the thing, or swallow it? She didn’t know. And what would happen if she were to use it incorrectly?
There’s no time for this, she thought. I’m so close to reaching Daisy. The mushroom might be poison, or she might use it incorrectly, but she couldn’t know until she tried. And so she broke off one of the thin pale stems of the fungus growing out of the wall, brought it close to her face, and inhaled the scent of the madcap mushroom.
A bitter luminescence drooled out of the broken part of the stem, and a scent of something muddled and sweet – and by now, very familiar – filled the air of the cavern. It was the scent of the madcap smoke, but oily, and less volatile: the scent of something that has grown for far too long away from the sun. It made her remember how long it was since she had eaten or drunk anything. But there was nothing to be done about that until she was back in her own world – for had not the tailor bee warned her? And so she inhaled the madcap scent, and tried not to think of anything, and felt the world blossom around her, turning the dark of the cavern into an astonishing plume of sounds and scents and colours.
‘My plaid shall not be blown away,’ said Fay to herself. The meaning of the mysterious phrase might have been unclear to her, but its power was unmistakable, for the colours responded to the words, making spirals in the dark, which beckoned to her eagerly. Well, for want of a plaid, Fay thought, she could at least keep her blanket close, and wrapping it tighter about her waist, she clutched her backpack to her chest and prepared to face the onslaught of Dream.
The Hallowe’en King
≈
An first he played da notes o noy,
An dan he played da notes o joy.
An dan he played da g’od gabber reel,
Dat meicht ha made a sick hert hale.
Child Ballad no. 19: King Orfeo
One
It came to her first as memory. Memory is a bubble, thought Fay, in a river made of Time, and the river Dream took hold of that thought and shaped it into a tiny world that spun and sparkled like a bauble on a Christmas tree—
That Christmas, thought Fay. Our first one together, the three of us, when Daisy was only eight months old. Allan brought the Christmas tree home, and we hung the baubles all over it – glass baubles that were silver and scarlet and gold, and sparkled like all the worlds of Dream…
For a second, Fay could actually see herself inside the bauble. And then she was there – in London, at home, with Allan sitting beside the tree and Daisy beside him, on the floor, among the wrapping paper.
Allan was wearing a red checked shirt, a Christmas present from Fay that year, and Fay a white cashmere jumper. Daisy was in her pink sleepsuit, her stuffed tiger under one arm. And the scent was cut pine and cinnamon, and orange peel and nutmeg and clove, and Fay knew without looking that there would be Christmas cake in the kitchen, and apples baked in spices, and mince pies dusted with sugar, and wine mulled with sugar and allspice. She knew that night would bring them stars, and a new moon and a spark-ling frost, and stifled laughter, and long slow love, and a feeling that this could never end…