‘Call that girl back here and undo what you did,’ I said again, softly so that only he and his assistant could hear me. ‘Do it now or you’re dead. Don’t think I care what happens to you.’
‘Aaaah …’ the Master gasped again, rolling his eyes towards his assistant. The serpent shifted its grip, and its tail slid off the perch to curl neatly around the Master’s arm. Now he was bearing its full weight. The small, triangular head was poised just in front of his eyes.
The assistant moved, called out. ‘You! You there! Bring her back!’
The crowd parted for the man and the girl. Terror held folk away from the cart; fascination kept them close enough, for this fair’s entertainment would be the stuff of fireside tales for many a long winter to come. The assistant grabbed the girl’s other arm and wrenched her away from the leering Ross. He didn’t have to pull very hard. Ross had blanched at the sight of the serpent’s wicked little eyes. He faded back into the crowd.
The girl was led up close. Her expression was quite blank; the terrifying creature might just as well have been a hedgehog or a sheep.
‘Undo it,’ I hissed. ‘Hurry up. Or I’ll make it bite.’ I was not at all sure I could do this, but it sounded good. The Master raised a shaking hand, and clicked his fingers once before the girl’s blank face. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Then she saw the snake, and screamed.
‘It’s all right,’ I told her, under cover of the crowd’s excited response. ‘Go home. Go on. Find your family, and go home.’
‘Dad,’ she said in a panicky voice, as if remembering something. ‘Dad’ll kill me.’ She looked around wildly, spotted someone away towards the horse lines, and was off at a run.
‘Erggh …’ came a strangled sound. I had not forgotten the Master. Not entirely. And I must act fast, and then disappear, for I caught a glimpse of Roisin on the edge of the crowd, and knew the others must be there, and would be searching for me.
I looked the serpent in its small, bright eye. I’d been quite pleased with this creation. But a serpent could not fly, after all. I spoke the word, and it changed. The Master gave a yelp of pain as the rainbow bird clamped its claws momentarily on his shoulder, and then it spread its gaudy wings and rose somewhat unevenly into the air, circling the crowd with a scream of derision before it flew off eastwards. Everyone was looking up, craning to see the phenomenon. I hadn’t long, but I was good at this sort of thing. Cage doors sprang open, latches fell apart, bolts dropped from their fastenings. Not all could be safe; some I had to change. The hare became a fine, healthy little pony, which I slapped on the rump and sent in the general direction of the horse lines. He’d do well enough. The clawed, furry creature transformed into a squirrel, that streaked across the open ground and straight up into the oaks, where it proceeded to make itself quite at home. The finches, the doves, they would be all right. Perhaps they had not been captive long, for they flew off quickly to take their chances with the winter, and the trapper, and the hawk. But there was one captive left. The little owl, whose cage was open, whose path to freedom lay before it, stood quivering on its perch, lifting one foot and then the other, unable somehow to make that first move. And now folk were noticing, pointing, staring, and the Master and his henchman were advancing on me where I stood willing the creature to move its wings and fly. I fancied I heard Peg’s voice somewhere beyond the oaks, calling my name.
Fly, stupid, I told the bird. I could not transform this one; it was too fragile and too terrified to survive that. A quick decision was required. I turned to the Master.
‘Give me this owl. Or I’ll tell all these people what a fraud you are. How all your remedies are fakes. I can do it.’
He looked down his nose at me. ‘You?’ he hissed, quiet enough for folk not to hear. ‘A farmer’s wife? I don’t think so. Now clear off, or I’ll have you whipped for ruining my performance and stealing my animals. Go on, off with –’ He stopped abruptly as I fixed my gaze on his neck and applied another little spell.
‘Ah … aaagh …’
‘You see?’ I said sweetly. ‘The serpent is just a fancy touch. I’ve no need of that, to kill you gradually from strangulation. Give me the bird.’
He gestured wildly with one hand and clutched his throat with the other. The assistant lifted down the small cage and its inhabitant, and I took it.
‘Good,’ I said calmly, and released the spell. The Master staggered back, chalk-faced, as his assistant was besieged by gesticulating, confused spectators. Now that they were sure the serpent was gone, they had questions they wanted answered.
The Master was staring at me.
‘Who are you?’ he breathed with real fear in his eyes.
‘I am a sorcerer’s daughter, and more of a master than you will ever be, with your cheap tricks,’ I told him. ‘Don’t try that again, fooling a little girl into behaving like some wanton for hire. Don’t even think of it.’ I gestured towards my own neck, as if to warn him of the consequences. Then I caught sight of Molly, and beside her Roisin, and I made myself vanish into the crowd, where I was just another farmer’s wife out for a day of amusement.
I retreated to a quiet corner behind an empty cart, and sat down on the grass. I spoke the words in silence, and was myself again, a little traveller girl, striped dress, blue-bordered kerchief, long red plait, limping foot. A girl wearing the most beautiful shawl at the Cross, a shawl with a proud pattern of wonderful creatures of all kinds. A girl bearing a broken cage, with a crazy owl in it. Clearly, that part would not do.
I spoke to the creature very quietly. It seemed near-stupefied with fear, its only movement the strange, mechanical lifting of its feet, left and right, left and right.
‘Don’t be scared,’ I told it, quite unsure of whether it could even hear me, let alone understand. ‘You can go now. Fly. Fly away free.’ I reached very slowly into the cage, expecting at the least some serious damage to my fingers. The bird made no move but its mindless pacing. Perhaps it really was mad. Maybe it would be kinder to wring its neck. I could hear Peg’s voice again, over the noise of the crowd.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Give me a bit of help, can’t you?’ I put my hand around the creature, pinning the wings so it could not hurt itself with flapping, and lifted it out carefully, head first. I could feel the frantic drumming of its heart, and the fragility of its body, all little bones and feathers. I used both hands to hold the bird more or less upright on the ground before me, facing the open.
‘Trees,’ I said. ‘Oaks. That’s what those are. Fly. Use those wings. Off you go.’ I took my hands away. The bird stood there, trembling. At least it had stopped its pacing. ‘Go on,’ I said, giving it the tiniest push away.
It turned its head and looked at me.
‘By all the powers!’ I whispered in exasperation. ‘What am I supposed to do? I can’t keep you, I’ve got to go, and besides –’
The bird stared at me with its big, round, mad eyes.
‘Haven’t I got enough to worry about?’ I asked it. ‘Oh, come on, then.’ The pathetic bundle of feathers could not sustain a transformation, that I knew from bitter experience. More than one rat or beetle had been sacrificed to Grandmother’s quest for perfection in the art. But a lesser change might be possible. And my gown had deep pockets, since a traveller girl might need to carry a needle and thread, or a handy knife, or a spare kerchief or two. I reached out and passed my hand over the creature’s ragged form. ‘There,’ I said, picking it up in my hand. Now it was around the size of a mouse: the claws like the little thorns of a wild rose, the eyes tiny, dark and solemn. It blinked at me.
‘I hope you’re not hungry,’ I said in an undertone. ‘I hope you understand keep still and keep quiet.’ And I slipped the very small bird into my pocket, and went out into the fair.
‘Fainne!’ yelled Roisin, before I had gone five paces across the grass. ‘Where were you?