My Name is Not Peaseblossom Read online

  Her Majesty’s going to love this, I thought. Half the Amazons would be marrying Athenian men too, if I was any judge of the looks they were giving each other. Nothing like getting ready for a battle to get the hormones revved.

  ‘Satisfied?’ I enquired, handing the potion jar back to Puck.

  ‘Quite satisfactory,’ he said, making a note, then stuffing his quill and parchment and the jar under the belt of his breeches.

  Some fairies would take credit for a stunt like this, but I knew Puck wouldn’t. He’d make sure both King Oberon and Queen Titania knew that I’d been the one to plan it and then to pull it off.

  Below us, Hippolyta and Theseus still embraced. The first of the Athenians and Amazons were slapping each other’s backs in friendship. They’d be getting much closer than that soon enough.

  ‘I’m off then,’ I told Puck, and stretched myself back to full size. No one in either army would bother to look upwards just now, not with all those hormones, not to mention controlling war horses who couldn’t understand why there’d been no battle.

  Puck, still tiny, peered up at me. His wings were a bright satisfied purple now the job was done. ‘Where are you off to, boy?’

  ‘Dinner.’

  ‘There’s roast gryphon at the court tonight. Sweet Pea and Peach Fuzz and I thought we’d have a Dew Brew or two. Like to join us?’

  There was always roast gryphon and Dew Brew at the Fairy Court. Fairies are conservative. And Sweet Pea and Peach Fuzz were as old as Puck.

  ‘I was thinking of something a bit . . . wilder,’ I said.

  Puck grinned. ‘Maybe after dinner we could get some travellers lost in the wood, or sour a cow’s milk or something.’

  That would be a real rambling rose of an evening, I thought. But I didn’t say it aloud. I wanted that promotion.

  Besides, I’d had enough of roast gryphon, dandelion salad and candied violets, not to mention fairy bread. There probably hadn’t been a menu change at the Fairy Court for ten thousand years.

  ‘Sorry. Got to go,’ I told Puck.

  I clicked my fingers and instantly I was wearing jeans and a jacket loose enough to hide my wings.

  I had a date with a pizza.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was useful being able to TAP forward in time ten thousand years and across half the planet before you could say, ‘House Special, no anchovies.’ Which was just what I intended to say. My mouth watered as I pictured the lovely gooey pizza, crisp crust light enough to fly without fairy wings, melting cheese oozing off the edges, a few basil leaves floating on top and the best chunky tomato sauce since . . . since forever.

  Lousy-looking pizza shop though. I emerged outside it in a cloud of cocoa vapour (TAPing always comes with the scent of chocolate). It stood on the corner of a busy ocean highway, with sandhills at its back and cheap motels as neighbours. Wooden blinds sagged at the dusty windows and there was rust on the roof. The Leaning Tower of Pizza had been a deli once. Aside from the new name painted in wobbly words on the door, nothing had changed since those days. The two cats washing their paws on the window ledge looked battered enough to have grown up begging for smoked salmon leftovers.

  I ignored the long line of hopeful customers outside waiting for a table, opened the door and pushed inside. I’d been smart enough to stop on the way, twist time back to three weeks ago and book a table for tonight.

  The café was nothing special inside either. A worn wooden floor — the best you could say of it was that it was clean, as if washed by the waves twice a day. It even smelled slightly salty. The chairs and tables might have been made of driftwood, but every one of them was occupied — except the best one in the corner. I twirled the couple that occupied it into an alternative universe just long enough for them to finish their pizzas and wipe their mouths, then hurled them back again . . . and sat down in their spot the moment they got up to pay.

  ‘So you’re back again,’ the owner said to me. ‘Hope your taste in pizza has improved.’

  She was short and a bit stocky, with broad shoulders and long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were the colour of a tropical lagoon, neither blue nor green but as deep as both, and she had a tattoo of seaweed around her neck and wore a dress that looked like it was made of old sailcloth. Her teeth were small and very white and slightly pointed.

  ‘Tomato, cheese, capers and black olives,’ I said. ‘No anchovies.’

  She glared at me with those sea-coloured eyes. ‘Who’s the chef here? The anchovies are the best bit.’

  ‘Who’s the customer here? Haven’t you ever heard that the customer is always right?’

  ‘No.’ She looked puzzled, as if no one had ever argued with her before, then shrugged as if it wasn’t worth arguing about.

  Every male in the café sighed in adoration. And there were a lot of them. Every table was occupied by a man, all staring at her with lovesick eyes even while they bit into their pizzas. The few women in the room glared at the men they’d thought were their boyfriends till they came in here — with the exception of one or two who looked as lovelorn as the men.

  The owner vanished into the kitchen. The customers sighed and went back to eating or glaring at their boyfriends. She was the reason why the pizza shop was always full of course, not to mention the line of customers waiting outside. And everyone but me had anchovies on their pizza.

  I sat back and picked up the menu to choose dessert. Apple pizza with ice cream, peach pizza with ice cream, apricot pizza with ice cream . . . I sensed a theme.

  Three minutes later, the owner was back, my pizza in her hands. They were small muscular hands, I noticed, with pearl pink nails that were extremely clean.

  I tried a smile. ‘That was quick.’ I checked to see there were no anchovies. Excellent.

  No smile back. ‘You need a hot oven for good pizza. If the temperature’s too low, you get a tough crust and slop on the top.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said sincerely. ‘I’ve always wondered how to make the perfect pizza crust.’

  I took a bite and sighed. Rude waitress/chef/owner or whatever else she was, her attitude was worth it. This pizza was the best food in ten thousand years.

  ‘Anything else you want to know?’ she asked.

  I met her eyes. Her green-blue eyes. They had a strange sparkle, like dew on new grass at sunrise, and her lashes looked as thick and soft as the hair on a baby unicorn’s mane. Not that I was interested. I was getting married in three days’ time.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘How come every man here is in love with you?’

  That was why I’d come here the first time — I hadn’t even known about the pizza then. The scent of love in this place was so thick you could spread it on a hunk of pizza crust and watch it drip off the sides. But it wasn’t the same scent as our heartsease love potion. What was going on here? Puck had sent me to find out whether someone was smuggling love potion — it was a major problem we fairies tried to keep on top of. You could control whole armies with a few drops of love potion, as I’d done just this morning. And if I uncovered an illegal potion operation here, Oberon would make me Puck’s partner at midsummer, not just his chief assistant.

  I took another bite of my pizza and tried not to drool. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ I asked, wiping tomato sauce off my chin.

  She glared at me. ‘I make great pizza.’

  ‘Sure, you do.’ I’d have come back for the pizza even without the chance to catch some potion-smugglers. ‘But what else brings all these customers here?’

  We were a long way out of town here. And most of the customers were regulars.

  The owner slowly sat down in the seat opposite me and stared at me thoughtfully.

  Every lovelorn customer sighed in envy, then glared at me.

  ‘Fair exchange,’ she said at last. ‘How come you’re not in love with me? You tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.’

  Trust me: try telling a girl ‘I’m actually a fairy’ and she’ll laugh and demand to see you
r wings. And I wasn’t taking my jacket off to show them to her, not where everyone could see me.

  ‘Let’s just say I’m different.’

  She shrugged. ‘I can deal with different.’ She gazed at me a bit more, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘I officially close at ten but there’s a . . . special sitting at midnight. Think you can handle it?’

  ‘How special?’

  ‘Very special.’

  Was the potion-smuggling happening at this midnight sitting? I imagined a whole bunch of potion-pushers setting out from different places across the city to converge on the Leaning Tower of Pizza.

  ‘Special is my middle name,’ I said. ‘Count me in.’

  She smiled. It was a bit like sunlight on early morning waves. ‘It’s a deal. You tell me your secret then, and you’ll find out mine. Want to book a table?’

  ‘As long as I don’t have to eat anchovies.’

  ‘Your loss. What name should I use for the booking?’

  No way was I going to tell her my name was Peaseblossom. ‘Pete,’ I said.

  ‘Interesting to meet you, Pete. My name’s Gaela.’

  She went to collect the money from some customers who’d finally stopped pretending they were still drinking their coffee and had got up to pay. They left with a sad, lovesick glance back at Gaela — and the next customers in line outside pushed through the door.

  I turned back to my pizza and took a mouthful of melting cheese. It was just the right amount so it didn’t swamp the crust, and Gaela had managed to get the taste of sunlight into it somehow. And no anchovies.

  Yes, I’d be back at midnight.

  CHAPTER 3

  Things were buzzing back in Fairyland, ten thousand pairs of wings flapping through the palace glades — every spot for two kilometres upwards seemed full of fairies gossiping in whispers. I changed back into my official rose-petal kilt and daisy garland and settled at my desk in the office glade where Titania’s staff were based.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked Mustardseed quietly.

  Mustardseed lowered his voice discreetly. ‘His Majesty spent the morning yelling because Her Majesty won’t give up the boy.’

  I sighed. ‘Nothing new then.’

  Queen Titania had found herself a new pet — a human child she’d taken from his family. The King was jealous of the affection she lavished on the boy and had demanded she hand him over to join his own retinue. We common fairies got the heartsease potion when we married: no jealousy, no quarrels. Royalty didn’t. Oberon and Titania were always bickering about something. The Fairy Godmothers’ Regimental Advice Bureau had put out a bulletin warning everyone to be careful not to comment too loudly. No one wanted to spend the next century as a toad or sweeping up butterfly droppings.

  ‘Good work on the Theseus wedding by the way,’ Mustardseed added in his normal tone. ‘Everyone’s talking about it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. I lowered my voice again. ‘What does the boy say about being here?’

  Mustardseed shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘Every time he opens his mouth, Her Majesty shoves a sugarplum into it.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ I said.

  Mustardseed stared at me. ‘That boy has everything. The Queen dotes on him. King Oberon wants to train him as one of his attendants. Either way, the kid’s got it made.’

  ‘Yeah — everything except what he really wants,’ I said softly.

  ‘What else should he want?’

  Pizza (no anchovies) instead of sugarplums perhaps? But I didn’t say anything. In the Fairy Court you did what you were told and felt what you were told to feel, and if you didn’t it was cockroach time. I got stuck into work instead, allocating tasks to my team so we’d be ready for the Midsummer’s Eve revels.

  ‘Mustardseed, could you see if the new potion flasks are ready yet?’

  Potion flasks are harvested from unicorn horn and, trust me, unicorns are very attached to their horns, which means you can only buy them from their descendants, and every one of them costs at least a tonne of moss scraped from Arctic rocks at midnight in mid-autumn. But flasks are fragile and an apprentice potion-maker goes through a tray of flasks like a whirlwind in a dustbunny factory.

  ‘Moth, we need more heartsease, and get the right flower this time.’

  Last time Moth had picked heliotrope, which sharpens the appetite. A mob of hungry unicorns battling for the last carrot when you’re trying to negotiate a price for their ancestors’ horns isn’t something you want to see again. No way Moth was going to be making Fairy Class 1 any time this millennium.

  ‘Cobweb, check the nectar supply for the feast. You know the vintage the Queen likes? Not too sweet.

  ‘Marshmallow, the last lot of rose petals weren’t fragrant enough. You need to go to Bulgaria, nineteenth century, spring time. Go for the rich pink floppy roses and make sure you bring at least ten baskets full.

  ‘Right, who has the list of possible mortal lovers for next midsummer’s wedding? And check their family backgrounds this time. You all remember the Romeo and Juliet disaster.’ The midsummer wedding planner before me was still scuttling around the dustbins.

  I was in the middle of balancing the weather patterns for Midsummer’s Eve — you can’t just click your fingers to get a balmy moonlit night — when ping! I found myself on the grass at Queen Titania’s feet. The Fairy Queen didn’t bother with any kind of advance warning or summoning — if she wanted you, you were there. Four hundred years of practice had me bowing the moment my feet touched the grass. I had a quick glance around. We weren’t in Fairyland, but in a glade that looked pretty much like the country I’d just been in with Puck in Theseus’s time. Yes, there was the fortress of Athens in the distance.

  ‘Your Majesty’s pleasure?’ I asked quickly.

  I hoped she might congratulate me on the Athenian job, say something like ‘Jolly good work, Peaseblossom’. I should have known better. Fairy royalty didn’t do congratulations.

  ‘Foot massage,’ she said, and extended ten perfect bare toes. When you were Queen of the Fairies, you didn’t need to bother with shoes, though she did wear flowers or silver lacing about her ankles sometimes.

  I clicked my fingers. Puck’s Massage Potion 59, heavy on the orange blossom with just a hint of mint, appeared in my hand. I opened the flask and began to rub the Queen’s feet. Her Majesty ignored me as usual, staring instead at the magical image of the great hall of the Athenian court that was hovering above the glade. She was watching events the day after I’d enchanted Theseus and Hippolyta. I kept my eyes on my work. One pinched toe and Titania might have me polishing mushrooms for a decade.

  Moth appeared next to me. He began to brush her hair, twining moonbeams between her locks to make them shine.

  Queen Titania was beautiful. You got used to beauty at the Fairy Court — it’s number one on the requirements to work there — but no one was as glorious as the Queen. She was neither tall nor short, slim nor plump, but as soon as you looked at her you knew that everything about her — her height, her hair colour, whether sunrise red or moonrise gold — was exactly as beauty should be. Even her toenails were like pearls; or, rather, pearls were a dim reflection of Her Majesty’s toenails.

  I began on her other foot, into the swing of it now, and felt safe enough to look at what the Queen was watching.

  Up in vision of the Athenian palace Theseus was smiling lovingly at Hippolyta, who was dressed in conventional women’s clothes today. She looked a bit awkward, as if she was still learning not to trip over the long skirt. Even the way she walked was different — small steps in sandals instead of long strides in soft leather boots.

  Theseus wore a leather kilt (a definite improvement on rose petals) and a crown had replaced his war helmet. He smiled at Hippolyta as he said, ‘Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace; two happy days bring in another moon. But, O, methinks, how slow this old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, like to a step-dame or a dowager long withering out a young man’
s revenue.’

  I sighed. Kings, queens and aristocrats — they all love to declaim, mostly because no one dares tell them, ‘Enough!’ At least Theseus’d had the sense not to make a long speech on the battlefield. You should have heard Henry V, not to mention Caesar, Julius.

  Hippolyta, however, seemed enchanted by the speech. I wondered what she would have thought of it without the heartsease potion. Amazon warriors weren’t noted for their love of flowery declamations.

  Titania laughed. ‘Poor butterfly humans. Their lives are so short, and yet their flutterings can be amusing while they last.’

  Three men entered the Athenian great hall to join the group of petitioners: a young man in a finely woven cream tunic who looked around as if he was interested in the whole court, not just the King; another about the same age whose robe was rich with embroidery and magnificence; and an older man who looked vain enough to believe himself still a fine figure of a gentleman, ignoring his discontented wrinkles every time he looked into his polished bronze mirror. A girl followed the three men. She was quite pretty, and kept her eyes lowered meekly as a virtuous daughter should, but I detected a hint of steel in her — even though this scene was taking place a few millennia before steel was invented.

  ‘Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!’ said the older man obsequiously, bowing stiffly with a courtier’s flourish.

  A fellow declaimer. He must be rich then.

  Theseus smiled at him graciously. ‘Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?’

  The old man’s frown lines deepened. ‘Full of vexation come I, with complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia.’ He waved an age-spotted hand towards the young woman.

  Hermia kept her eyes on her feet. I suspected she’d probably perfected foot-watching over many years so she didn’t have to look at her father.