The Iron Raven Read online

  With a grin, I ducked my head and melted into the crowd. As fun as pissing off a troll could be, the aftermath would probably cut my visit to the market short. For once, I was just browsing, not on any official business, and I wasn’t ready to leave.

  The ground under my boots became packed and hard as I walked down the center fairway. Vendors called to the crowd, hawking their wares: herbs and crystals, weapons and trinkets, dragons’ blood, hens’ teeth, hairpins made of sculpted ice, potions, magic beans, faery dust, and everything in between. I hesitated at a table selling beads that would turn into mice if they got wet, my brain spinning with hilarious ideas, but I shook my head with a frown.

  Stop it, Goodfellow. You’re already in pretty hot water with Titania, I reminded myself. Making her tub explode with rodents while she’s taking a bath would get the hounds and the knights and those creepy spriggan assassins sent after you. It’s probably not worth it.

  Pause.

  Nah, it’s totally worth it.

  “Robin Goodfellow?”

  I winced and turned. Across the aisle, a crinkle-faced gnome whose white hair looked like a miniature sheep was sleeping on her head peered at me over a long, low table. The counter before her was lined with green, longneck bottles that, even from several paces away, let off a heady sweet smell that could make a lesser faery slightly dizzy.

  I grinned and stepped up to the table, putting my fingers to my lips. “Shh, Marla. Don’t say my name too loudly. I’m incognito tonight.”

  “Incognito.” The ancient gnome scowled, making her eyes nearly disappear into the folds of her face. “In a heap of trouble, more likely. What are you doing here, you terrible thing? And get away from my bottles. The last thing I need is for my wine to somehow make its way into the livestock tents. I can just see the nobles’ carriages veering into ditches and trees because their horses are all suddenly very drunk.”

  “What?” I blinked at her, wide-eyed. “That happened at only one Elysium, and no one could prove what went wrong.” The biannual event where the faery courts came together to discuss politics and review treaties while parading around in fancy clothes was just as boring as it sounded. For my own sanity, I made it a point to spice things up every once in a while. “Though come on, admit that watching Mab’s carriage walk in circles the whole way out was hilarious.”

  “I will admit no such thing,” the wine vendor snapped, and jabbed a withered finger in my direction. “Only that you are an incorrigible troublemaker and always up to no good. I don’t know why Lord Oberon hasn’t banished you permanently.”

  “Well, he keeps trying.” I shrugged, grinning at her. “But never sticks. I guess I’m just too charming. I’ve been banished from the Nevernever...what, three times now? Or, is it four? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Eventually, he always orders me to come back. Funny how that happens.”

  It happened because I was far too useful to keep away for long, and Oberon knew it. And while it was comforting, in its own twisted way, that the Summer King would never truly get rid of me, there were times when I wished I could be free, even if that would leave me homeless.

  The gnome shot me a dark look, and I gave her a dreamy, overexaggerated smile. “Between us, I think Titania secretly misses me too much.”

  Marla snorted. “If the Summer Queen heard you say that, there’d be lightning storms for a month,” she muttered, then straightened in alarm. “Wait, you were looking at Ugfrig’s wares a moment ago,” she exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you were contemplating the mouse beads.”

  “Well...”

  A snuffle interrupted us. I looked down to see a small, brown-and-white dog gazing up at me, stub tail wagging. It was cute, in a scraggly, ankle-biter kind of way. But I could see the copper gears, cogs, and pistons poking through its fur that marked it as a creature of the Iron Court. A clockwork hound. Or terrier, I supposed. A pair of flight goggles on its head glittered in the moonlight as the dog gazed up at me and whined.

  I smiled. “Hey, pooch,” I greeted. “Where did you come from?” It gave a small, hopeful yap, and I shrugged. “I don’t have any gears you can munch on, sorry.”

  Marla gazed over the edge of the table and recoiled like I was talking to a giant cockroach. “Abomination!” she spat, and the clockwork terrier cringed at the sound of her voice. “Get out of here, monster! Shoo!”

  The small creature fled, gears and pistons squeaking as it scurried away and vanished around a booth.

  I frowned. “Well, it’s a good thing you scared it off. It looked terribly vicious.”

  “It was of the Iron Realm,” the gnome muttered, wrinkling her nose. “It belongs to the Iron faery that set up shop in the goblin market. Horrible creature. They shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “Wait, there’s an Iron faery here? In the market?” I was surprised. Though there was no law that barred the Iron fey from the goblin market, in the early days most of the traditional fey would not have tolerated their presence. Recently, however, it had been officially decreed that the goblin market was open to all fey, including the faeries of the Iron Realm. This was at the Iron Queen’s insistence, because the faeries of Summer and Winter welcomed change as well as an old cat welcomed a new puppy. But this was the first I’d heard of one setting up shop.

  “Where is this Iron faery?” I asked.

  The gnome gave a disapproving sniff. “In a tent on the far edge of the market,” she replied, stabbing a finger in that direction. “Beneath the old Ferris wheel. At least it has the good sense to keep away from the rest of us.” She eyed me in a critical manner. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would want to associate with those abominations.”

  “Nope, that’s me. I love hanging around abominations.” I grinned at her sour expression, though truthfully, I was surprised at the venom coming from the tiny gnome. Though the Iron fey still faced fear and distrust from the rest of the Nevernever, most residents of Faery had accepted they were here to stay. “But, uh, you are aware that we’ve been at peace with the Iron Court for years now, right? And that their queen is kind of a good friend of mine?”

  She snorted. “I don’t mind the Iron Queen,” she stated. “Or the rest of them, as long as they stay within their own borders. But I don’t want to have to worry about Iron fey when I’m in the goblin market. Or anywhere that isn’t the Iron Realm.” Marla shook a finger at me. “The next time you see the Iron Queen, you should tell her to keep her subjects within her own territory, not allow them to wander where they please, terrorizing normal fey.”

  “Well, this has been a riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have to go.” I stepped back from the counter, smoothly avoiding a collision with a dwarf, who grumbled at me under his beard. Tugging my hood up farther, I glanced at Marla over the bottles of wine and offered my best disarming smile. “I’m off to find this Iron vendor and send them your well wishes.”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “This will be ignored I’m sure, but be careful, Robin. You might be in the good graces of the Iron Queen, but none of those things can be trusted.”

  “Careful?” I grinned. “I’m Robin Goodfellow. When am I not careful?”

  She rolled her eyes, and I left, melting back into the crowds of the goblin market.

  Well, that was weird. I wonder what’s up? Did a gremlin spit in her wine or something?

  I wasn’t naive. I knew there were those in the Nevernever that still hated and feared Meghan’s subjects; I just hadn’t expected to run into such blatant hostility here. In the market, you left all grudges, feuds, and personal vendettas behind. It was how a Summer sidhe and a Winter gentry could browse side by side without killing each other. Or why a halfling could walk past a motley of redcaps without fear of having their limbs ripped off. One did not tamper with the sanctity of the market, especially since many of the vendors sold some of the most dangerous, rare, and questionable items in the entire world of Faery.
Make trouble here, and the least that could happen was being banned for life. Not even I would risk pissing off the goblin market.

  Regardless, that seemed a bit extreme. It’s not like the Iron fey have threatened anyone since the war with Ferrum.

  I made my way through scattered booths and tents, ignoring the vendors that called to me. A persistent kobold latched on to my sleeve, squawking something about his fine tools; I turned my head and grinned at him beneath my hood, and he let go like he’d grabbed a scorpion.

  Finally, the crowds thinned, and the booths and tents fell away until I stood beneath the rusted hulk of the Ferris wheel, which groaned softly as the wind blew through the metal frame.

  Straight ahead, in the shadow of the derelict ride, stood a strange setup that was part carnival stall, part wagon, part junkyard. The booth sat on four rusty wheels and looked like it had been slapped together with corrugated metal and duct tape. Boxes, crates, and flimsy metal shelves surrounded it, blinking with strands of Christmas lights, and a neon pink sign flashed OPEN against the wall of the booth. Another sign, this one made of wood and iron, had been jammed into the ground near the entrance. Cricket’s Collectables, it read in bold copper letters. Trinkets, Gadgets, Oddities.

  A low growl echoed from the shadows as I approached the booth, and a pair of clockwork hounds, these much bigger than the brown-and-white terrier from earlier, slid from between crates and boxes to stare at me. They looked like rottweilers, the gears and cogs in their fur spinning lazily as they came forward.

  “Oh hey, guys.” I stopped, raising a hand to the dogs, who eyed me with flat, unfriendly gazes. “I come in peace. I’m not going to snitch your stuff.” They continued to shoot me baleful looks, and I offered a weak smile. “Um... I’ll trade you safe passage for a squeaky bone.”

  “Ooh, a customer.” The door of the stall opened, and a figure emerged, the small brown-and-white dog at her heels. The two clockwork hounds immediately turned and trotted back into the shadows, becoming one with the piles of junk surrounding the stall.

  “Howdy, stranger.” The figure strode toward me, beaming a bright, toothy smile. She was small and willowy, with long pointed ears and bright copper hair that seemed metallic. She wore a brown leather corset, leather gloves, and knee-high leather boots, all trimmed in gold, iron, and copper gears. Her skin was circuit-board green, and the pair of leather-and-gold goggles perched on her head were almost identical to the dog’s.

  Yep, this was definitely an Iron faery. Just the amount of metal studs and loops in her long ears would be enough to give a traditional faery heart palpitations.

  “Welcome, welcome!” the Iron faery said. “What can Cricket find for you this fine evening? Have you come to browse my wares, or are you looking for something in particular? Waaaaaaait a second,” she added before I could answer, and shiny black eyes peered at me beneath the goggles. “I’ve seen you before. You’re Robin Goodfellow, aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Oh wow.” The faery grinned back with excitement. “I hear the stories they tell. You’re famous! Is it true you stormed Ferrum’s moving fortress with Queen Meghan and helped her defeat the false king? And went to the End of the World with the prince consort? And ventured into the Between to fight the entire army of Forgotten by yourself?”

  “All true.” I smiled. “Well, most of it, more or less.” She sighed dreamily, and I gestured to the booth behind us. “But what about you? Can’t imagine you get many customers, even in the goblin market.”

  “Not yet,” Cricket admitted cheerfully. “But setting up shop in the Iron Realm sounded so boring. There’s huge potential to be had in the market! Just think of the profit that will come from being the first Iron faery to run a successful trade alongside the other courts.”

  “Right,” I said. “But there is that small, nagging problem of regular fey being deathly allergic to iron. Kinda hard to sell someone a product that melts their fingers off.”

  Cricket shrugged. “All great treasures come with a certain amount of risk,” she said. “And not all of my wares are from the Iron Realm. Some come from the mortal realm, from the places I’ve seen and traveled to.” She waved an airy hand. “Besides, I’m confident that the regular fey will find a way to deal with their iron intolerance. They’ll adapt and evolve, I’m sure of it. It might take a while, but hey, I’ve got time. Eventually, Cricket’s Collectables will be a household name through all of Faery.”

  “Yeah...sure,” I said, because I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. “Well...good luck with that.”

  She gave me an appraising look. “And what about you? Do you need anything special tonight, Robin Goodfellow? A pocket watch with a heartbeat? A mechanical bird that sings? A handkerchief embroidered with the fur of a silver-metal fox?”

  “Um...”

  Deep, low growls cut through our conversation. Both clockwork hounds had stepped forward again, only this time, their hackles were raised and their iron teeth were bared to the gums.

  Cricket turned on them with a frown. “Ballpeen! Springtrap! That’s not nice. I’m with a customer.”

  “Excuse me.”

  The quiet voice echoed behind us, and my stomach lurched. Even before we turned around, I knew who it was.

  A figure stood at the edge of the yard, cloaked and nearly invisible, blending seamlessly into the night. The cloak was ragged at the edges, fraying into wisps of shadow that writhed into the air like a formless black cloud. The hood was drawn up, hiding the face, but I caught the flash of an ice-blue eye in the darkness of the cowl, the only spot of color I could see.

  Ballpeen and Springtrap exploded into a chorus of loud warning barks. I was going to say something, but my voice was drowned out in the cacophony of doggy fury.

  Cricket whirled around, clapping her hands sharply. “Boys! Stop that right now!” she ordered, and amazingly, the hounds ceased their frenzied barking, giving her betrayed looks, which she ignored. “Bad doggos, what is wrong with you? We don’t bark at customers. If I lose this transaction, I will be very cross.” She stamped her foot and pointed dramatically. “Go to your beds.”

  The hounds slunk off, melting back into the junk piles surrounding the stall. Cricket took a deep breath, smoothed back her coppery hair, and turned, beaming smile in place once more.

  “Hello there!” she greeted the cloaked figure, still hovering silently at the edge of the yard. “Please excuse my security—they can be overambitious at times. What can Cricket’s Collectables find you today? I have a fantastic deal on living spark plugs, if you’re looking for something truly useful.”

  “I’m not looking for anything.” The mysterious figure edged into the dim light. “I would like a message delivered,” he went, his voice low and soft. “To Mag Tuiredh, please. To the court of the Iron Queen herself.”

  Cricket blinked. “That’s...not really a service I provide,” she said uncertainly. “I wasn’t planning on returning to the Iron Realm anytime soon, sorry.” She chewed her lip, then brightened. “Perhaps you would like a lovely mechanical pigeon to carry a note where it needs to go?”

  I stepped forward. “Since when do you have to rely on the goblin market to send messages to the Iron Realm, kid?” I asked loudly. “Did something happen that we don’t know about? Or are you in trouble again? Or both?” I shrugged. “Both is always an option, I’ve learned.”

  The cowl moved, the hood lifting slightly, as if its wearer had just realized I was there. His icy blue gaze seemed dangerous for a split second, hard and cold, just like another faery I knew, before recognition dawned and he relaxed.

  “Puck? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you know. Mostly looking for trouble.” I waggled my brows. “But I could ask you the same. What are you doing in the goblin market? Don’t you have more important places to be?”

  Cricket gazed at both of
us, lips pursed in a puzzled frown.

  The figure hesitated, giving the vendor a brief glance before turning back to me. He didn’t want the Iron faery to know who he was. “Perhaps we can talk somewhere in private,” he suggested, taking a smooth step back. “I will wait for you on the other side of the Ferris wheel. Please find me when your business here is complete.”

  With that he spun gracefully and walked away, vanishing into the darkness as silently as he’d appeared. When he was gone, Cricket turned on me. “Who was that?” she wanted to know. “He seemed...familiar, for some reason.”

  “Just the kid of a friend of mine.” I shrugged, very casually. “Tends to get himself into trouble if we don’t keep an eye on him. Speaking of which, this has all been very interesting, but I should really be going.”

  “Hold on, Robin Goodfellow.” The Iron faery held up a hand. “You cannot leave Cricket’s Collectables empty-handed. There must be something here that you’d find interesting. Hmm, let me think, let me think...”

  “I don’t really need—”

  “Oh, I got it!” She snapped her fingers, then pulled something from a leather satchel and thrust it at me.

  It was a playing card—the Joker, to be exact—with a grinning black-and-white jester in the center. Ordinary looking at first glance. But a glamour aura clung to it, pulsing with magic and making my brows shoot up. A Token. A mortal object that had been so loved, cherished, feared, or hated by its owner that it had developed a magic all its own. Like a never-ending glamour battery. Tokens were rare, and the magic coming off this one was strange. It felt almost defiant, like it was daring the world to do its worst.

  “This,” Cricket announced, waving the card back and forth in my face, “was a famous gambler’s lucky Joker. He believed that as long as he had this card up his sleeve, he could never lose a poker game. Apparently, it was lucky in other ways, too. According to the stories, lots of mortals tried to kill the gambler by shooting, hanging, even burying him alive, but it never took. Somehow, the bullets missed anything vital, the ropes snapped, or he miraculously escaped.” She pulled the card back, watching me over the rim with a smile. “That luck could be yours, if you just do me once teensy-tiny itty-bitty favor.”