"Yes," said Evelyn. "But we can get her back. That's what I do."
The next night, Satterly found himself on a hill in Topanga Canyon, several miles away from anywhere. In one hand he held the changeling girl, and in the other he carried a gym bag containing three pounds of South African gold Krugerrands, forty-eight in all. Together they were worth about thirtyeight thousand dollars. He'd cleaned out his savings account to buy them. Evelyn had insisted on gold coins.
As he stood waiting, he slowly became certain that he and his sister had just fallen for the most bizarre con ever practiced. Any second now, a big guy with a gun was going to step out from behind a tree, take the gold coins, and leave Satterly with this strange little girl on a hill somewhere inland of Malibu.
What happened instead was that a pair of men in gray and gold robes appeared in front of him with a low snapping sound but no other fanfare. These, he learned later, were Masters of the Gates, a brotherhood whose members were the only ones able to travel between worlds without the assistance of a gate.
The two men both had shaved heads and the same pointed ears as the child in his arms. They were both tall, but one was burly and the other was thin, almost emaciated. The burly one looked Satterly in the eye, but the other one only looked down, kicking his feet sullenly in the dirt.
"My name is Pilest," the stout Fae said, his eyes sparkling. "You are the human named Brian Satterly, I hope?" Then he reached out and patted Satterly's shoulder. "I'm kidding, of course. My partner Jindo is never wrong." Pilest held up his hand and Satterly realized that the two men were joined together with manacles made of what appeared to be silver.
"Okay," Satterly said.
Jindo roughly took the gym bag from Satterly's hands and hefted it a few times, then unzipped it. He took one of the Krugerrands and held it up to the moonlight, bit it, then replaced it in the bag.
Jindo said nothing, but Pilest said, "Good. Then let's be on our way."
Instantly, Satterly was somewhere else. A meadow in broad daylight. The air was sweet, almost perfumed, but clear and fresh. It was as though he'd never breathed before. A feeling of deep joy rushed through him and then he remembered where he was and what he was doing and the warm feeling became a chill.
"Welcome to Faerie," said Pilest. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
With that, Pilest kicked Jindo harshly and the two of them disappeared.
The rest of it had been like a dream. Traveling to Sylvan, meeting up with Evelyn. The real Leila had already been rescued by the time Satterly arrived at Evelyn's house in the Fae city. Leila ran to him, squeezed him tight, sobbing. The changeling girl was whisked away by one of Evelyn's assistants, her eyes blank.
"What will happen to her?" asked Satterly, after Leila had fallen asleep in his arms. "The little Fae girl?"
"We'll try to find her a good home," said Evelyn. "Adoption isn't common here, but it's not unheard of, either."
"You're very lucky, you know," she said. "We got to her in time."
"In time for what?" said Satterly, pulling Leila close to his chest.
Evelyn gave him a measured stare. "You don't want to know."
Back in the meadow a few hours later, Pilest and Jindo reappeared. Pilest reached out his hands for Leila.
"Can't we go together?" said Satterly. "My sister's meeting us on the other side, but I don't know if she managed to find the place."
"Oh, no. One at a time. My partner here is no grand magus, you know."
"Stop there!" cried a voice behind him. Satterly turned to see a pair of guardsmen at the edge of the meadow, both of them holding crossbows aimed at his chest. Behind them stood a gaunt man with a flowing gray beard.
"We will see that the girl gets where she needs to go," said Pilest. He and Jindo vanished, Leila struggling in Pilest's arms.
Satterly shouted, "Wait!"
The guardsmen approached slowly. One of them spoke to the bearded man. "Is this the one?"
"That's him!" the man shouted. "That's the man who stole my little girl!"
"You are under arrest," the soldier said. He spat. "Changeling trader."
Needless to say, he'd never seen Pilest, Jindo, or his home world again. The thought of little Leila on her own out there in the wilderness had haunted him for two years.
Satterly felt a rough kick. He opened his eyes and looked around wildly. Mauritane was standing over him. "Sleep on your own time," Mauritane said. "We're leaving."
Satterly sat up; he'd dozed off next to the brazier in the stables. Silverdun, Honeywell, and Raieve were all mounted. Everyone was waiting for him.
"Great," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "The human comes up short yet again."
ruminations upon freedom!
a stool and a sturdy roof beam
Mauritane's party picked its way down the steep road to Hawthorne in the early morning light. The sky was a dozen shades of blue and pink, with a gold polish in the east, where the riders were headed, fading to indigo in the west. Purane-Es stood on a bluff overlooking the Hawthorne Road, his eyes tracing Mauritane's route across the switchbacks, through the winter-shorn trees that rose like clawed hands from the snowbound earth.
The bridle on Purane-Es's borrowed mare was loose, and one of his men was seeing to it. The delay gave Purane-Es a moment to watch Mauritane go, and he allowed himself to hope, despite his threat, that it would be the last he saw of the man. If the Queen's errand were to fail due to Mauritane's death, he would not shed a tear. If, for that matter, the Royal Guard were disbanded tomorrow, he wouldn't even frown.
It had never been his intention to join the Guard, certainly never to rise to such a prominent position there. As second son of the Lord Purane, nothing had been expected of him but to carouse with the other courtiers in the sumptuous playgrounds of the City Emerald, writing poetry and singing lays accompanied by the mandolin and balalaika. The palace grounds were majestic swirls of intrigue and artistry, each day promising new adventures. His only real worry in those days had been the nagging task of someday selecting a bride. He longed for the willowy ladies in waiting who cooed at the sound of his voice and clapped appreciatively when he sat with them by a fountain and played them tunes he'd written for someone else.
Building strong families, that was what second sons were for. Marriage to wealthy daughters, beautiful, silly Fae daughters whose only purpose in life was to smile delicate smiles and bear a first son. If a second son came out of the arrangement, it was looked upon as an insurance policy.
Some of these second, third, even fourth sons were despondent over their lot in life. They joined the priesthood, arranged sorties against the Unseelie across the Contested Lands, looking for honor and value in their fathers' eyes. Not so Purane-Es. He'd never been happier than when his father was ignoring him, never felt freer than when his elder brother had been held up again and again to his father's standards instead of him. It had been PuraneLa's place to stand out in their parents' garden, practicing at rapier and dagger from dawn until dusk, feeling the flat of Father's blade against his thigh if he slipped or let down his guard. And Purane-La had wanted it. He'd lived for Father's approval, ached and bled and led entire campaigns against the Unseelie and the rebels in Beleriand in order to make Father proud.
And look where it had gotten both of them.
Purane-Es turned at his lieutenant's signal and rechecked his bridle.
"Now it's too tight, you idiot," he said. "Get down here and fix it or I'll saddle you and ride you back to the City Emerald."
On the slope below, Mauritane let the others ride ahead while he became acquainted with his mount, a touched Arlon stallion named Streak.
"You are not the leader," said Streak in Elvish, his horse-voice strained and high pitched.
"I am the new leader," said Mauritane, putting as much authority in his voice as possible. "You will do as I say."
Streak pulled against the reins, testing him. "I want to believe you," he said.
Mauritane reined the horse in, patting his neck with his left hand. "I won't disappoint you," he said. "But you must mind me in all things."
"I shall," said Streak. "If you do prove worthy of it."
"Have no fear, beast," Mauritane said, stroking the creature's mane. "I am your master now."
"It is good to be a member of the herd once more," said Streak, shaking his mane.