Charles

  Elestrine looks shockingly small as she sleeps: fragile without her glamour and, paradoxically, both less and more human.

  And peaceful, I reflect as I reach absentmindedly into the bowl on the night table and pop a couple of the small red fruits that I can’t help but think of as “fairy cherries” into my mouth. It’s difficult to believe that she’s the same woman who crushed the life out of Byron McFeely a week ago.

  I try not to prejudge people—not even the “Gentry”. Throughout this occupation, I’ve done my best to keep an eye out for occasional glimpses of goodness, and I’ve even found some (albeit mostly from Awyrel). I’ve even risked Stockholm Syndrome by trying to keep an open mind about Elestrine herself. I know she’s using me, and yet…

  She did save my life; she restored Cloutier; and—while this is a subterranean bar to clear—she hasn’t forced herself on me, although she easily could. If you turn your head at the right angle and squint, her attitude almost resembles genuine affection. And that, more than anything else, disturbs me.

  Gradually, I become aware of light and colour returning to Elestrine’s face. Her skin clears, her hair shines, and her eyes groggily open.

  “Waiting by my bedside, dear Charles?” she asks as her sight falls upon me. “One might almost imagine that you cared.”

  “Dream on, Excellency.”

  “We do not dream,” Elestrine replies.

  I pass her the folder I’ve had sitting on my lap.

  “Oh, what is this, then?”

  “Petitions from MPs and their constituents.”

  “Pray, not the same nonsensical yearning for the old order.”

  “No, actually.”

  Elestrine flips through the pages. “Oh, these are mostly practical concerns!” she exclaims with surprise. “Complaints about revenants, wishes to contact friends or family, issues with the behaviour of my knights—all so impudently phrased and yet…actually feasible! I shall take this as evidence that the people are gradually reconciling themselves to their new reality. How delightful!”

  “Either that or everyone has figured out that you’re not going to help with the big problems,” I deadpan.

  “Such a cynic, Charles!” she replies, returning to the papers.

  “Your Excellency,” I say not willing to let it rest, “with all due respect, the people of the country want a return to normalcy. Now…it doesn’t have to be the same sort of ‘normal’ that existed before the Shift…but some sort of normal! Something that at least lets them return to their homes.”

  “All in good time,” she replies in a madness-inducing sing-song voice.

  “Not ‘in good time’, your Excellency. Now.”

  Elestrine looks up sharply. “I do hope, husband, that you are not presuming to order me about.”

  “No, Excellency,” I back down. “You’re the Viceroy; I’m just the Prime Minister.”

  “Hm. Quite.”

  “But as your Prime Minister,” I add, “and as a human being, I’m advising you: beyond just food and a place to sleep, there are certain things that humans need. Comfort, stability, recreation, structure in their lives.”

  “They shall have those things soon enough.”

  “Tell them that!” I exclaim. “Let them have some idea when ‘soon enough’ will be! Let them know what to expect—and what you expect of them, beyond eating their rations on schedule!

  “Or at least,” I add, “that’s what I would advise.”

  “I shall take your opinion under advisement,” Elestrine replies crisply. She takes up her folder once again.

  I watch her silently for a few minutes, unsure of what to say—or even what to think.

  “Is there something else?” she asks.

  “You know, you really piss me off.”

  “Excuse me!” she exclaims with a shocked laugh.

  I immediately regret my outburst, but it’s too late to back down now. “How is it possible”—I stammer—“for you to be so…completely indifferent to the suffering all around you?”

  Elestrine gives me a look. “I am not indifferent.”

  “Do you enjoy it then? Do you get off on it?”

  She sits upright. “I would advise you, Charles, to be careful with your words—”

  “Have you ever even been inside one of the emergency shelters?” I demand. “Have you seen how the people there live? There are no toilets! There’s no heat! People are chopping down fucking telephone poles just for wood to burn, and that’s just here! What’s going on in Toronto? In Montreal? In Winnipeg, Halifax, Calgary, Vancouver? Or in the rest of the goddamn world, for that matter? How many tens of millions of people are living like animals while you sit here in your fancy mansion, living it up, unwilling to even tell them what’s in store?”

  “I regret the suffering of my subjects, Charles! Of course I do! It grieves me deeply that they should live like that! And I am taking steps—”

  “What steps? What are the steps you’re taking?”

  “I cannot tell you, Charles. Just as a mother’s actions may often seem incomprehensible, even cruel, to her child—”

  “We are not children!”

  “Perhaps not,” she relents, “but can you understand that you occupy the position of children, here and now? And surely you must have faith that I have your people’s best interests at heart, Charles? After everything that I have done for them?”

  “Everything you’ve done!?” I echo, flabbergasted. “What!? What have you done for us?”

  “Rescuing your culture from extinction, of course,” she replies. “You would certainly have starved were it not for our aid.”

  “We were only starving because of your early winter! And you were planning to just let us die!”

  “Yes, but then I changed my plan,” she dismisses. “And really, the Shift took your country so entirely by surprise that you would not have been better prepared had winter come later. Do you see, Charles? What seems at first an act of cruelty can turn out to be one of kindness.”

  “Are you seriously telling me,” I sputter, “that the conquest was a humanitarian exercise? Just something your people did out of the goodness of your hearts, no personal benefit at all?”

  “Well of course we benefit!” she insists. “But what should that matter? Only the most extreme of cynics would believe that helping another must needs accrue no benefit for oneself. And so, you may rest assured that your suffering is temporary, that I fully intend to help both our peoples.”

  “How?”

  She looks at me meaningfully. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “I know that you won’t.”

  “Hm.” She sniffs.

  “Excellency—”

  “Charles, whilst I do enjoy our contretemps, I must see to these petitions.”

  I’m about to say something cutting in reply, but a little voice in my head shuts me down. There’s no point.

  I close my mouth and leave the room.

  *

  I storm onto the grounds of Rideau Hall, kicking a snowdrift in frustration. Then I wander off behind the nearest bush for some privacy. I’m not prepared to say the lack of flush toilets is the worst thing about the Shift, but it’s definitely the most obnoxious. Oh well. That’s what God invented the pure driven snow for.

  Just as I’m finishing up, I feel a hand fall firmly against my shoulder. I spin around to see Audan staring directly into my eyes.

  I use zipping up my pants as an opportunity to regain my composure. “Jesus, Audan, this is the second time I’ve run into you out here! Do you just loiter around the grounds 24/7 waiting to grab people while they’re peeing or—”

  “You are a very funny man, Mr. Oakes,” Audan says with the charm and sincerity of a film noir gangster.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yeah, well, I try. Come to ‘arrest’ me again?”

  He smiles unpleasantly and extends a hand. “I feel that you and I got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Oakes; we have no reason to be enemies.”

  “Oh yeah?” I reply, not accepting his hand. After a moment, he lets it fall by his side.

  “Indeed. I feel that you and I are a lot alike.”

  “Oh really?”

  “We are both low-born men who have ridden the waves of circumstance to find ourselves in positions of power. Myself, of course, as Duke of Ottawa; and you as Prime Minister of the Canadians and, ah, future King of Everglace.”

  “Oh, I suppose I am the future King!” I say. “Isn’t that something? I guess I’ll be your boss, eh?”

  Audan’s smile becomes an awful rictus. “Yes, well, such are the vagaries of fortune.”

  “Yeah, well. Vagaries.”

  “Indeed,” Audan agrees. “They can turn triumph to tragedy within the space of a single breath.”

  “Oh, can they? Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for them.”

  The Duke finally lets his grin drop. “May I be perfectly frank, Mr. Oakes?”

  “’Course you can, slugger!” I reply with an emphatic arm pump.

  Audan ignores my apparent enthusiasm. “Very well then, Mr. Oakes. This isn’t going to end well for you.”

  “Oh dear, really?”

  “Right now, no matter what power you might think you wield, you are but the Princess’s plaything. She has elevated you, and married you, only because it is convenient. She does not love you.”

  “Oh my gosh, really?”

  “I’m afraid not. You, Mr. Oakes, are but a means to an end—to further Elestrine’s infantile aims of rebelling against her mother and slighting me.”

  “Slighting you,” I repeat.

  “Yes. You see it is I the Princess is supposed to wed, as ordered by the Winter Queen.”

  This actually does come as news to me, but I don’t show it. “I see.”

  “Indeed. And you may also be interested to learn that the Winter Queen will be coming here, personally, in three days’ time to sort out this matter. When that time comes, Mr. Oakes: you will not survive.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Audan says coldly, “The Winter Queen will take her daughter’s toys away—yourself included.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, Mr. Oakes, it may surprise you to learn that I abhor bloodshed.”

  “That…certainly would surprise me.”

  “And while I don’t particularly like you, I see no reason why you should die for Elestrine’s game. You need but say the word and my knights will carry you to safety in America. I can provide you with comfortable accommodations, luxury beyond the dreams of mortal minds. It can all be yours—simply annul your marriage and I will personally guarantee your safety, on my honour as a Fairy and a knight.”

  “My marriage has been consummated,” I lie, recognizing a trap when I see it.

  “Now, Mr. Oakes, we both know that’s not true. Her Excellency may be many things, but never a pervert.”

  I let the insult slide. “Suppose I were to accept your terms. You swear no harm would come to me?”

  “On my honour,” he replies. “You will live in luxury and comfort in America until the end of your natural life.”

  “And the people?”

  “What people?”

  “The ones here,” I say. “The ones I represent.”

  “What about them?”

  “Will you, Elestrine’s husband and future King of Everglace, do all you can to protect them? Will you ensure they stay fed, offer them education on their own terms, offer them self-government, and respect Parliamentary supremacy and the rule of law?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because those are my terms,” I say firmly.

  He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  He really doesn’t, I realize. “Those are my terms,” I repeat. “I don’t even need luxury accommodations; you think I want to be King? You think I like being married to Elestrine? I’d be just as happy walking to the US, so long as the people were being looked after. Can you swear that you will do the things I’ve just named? On your honour?”

  Audan sighs. “I’m trying to save your life, Mr. Oakes.”

  “That’s one interpretation,” I reply. “Here’s another: you don’t trust the Winter Queen to decide in your favour, so you want me out of the picture. Hence this incredibly half-assed attempt at bribery.”

  Audan draws himself up proudly. “Mr. Oakes, were it my intention to ‘remove you from the picture’, I would simply kill you like the wretch you are and nail your lying tongue to the door of my lady’s chamber!”

  I look him in the eye. “Why don’t you then? If the Winter Queen is going to kill me, anyways?”

  Audan stares at me with pure hatred and, for just a second, I worry I may have miscalculated. Then, his face breaks back into an awful smile. “I’ve misjudged you, Mr. Oakes. I assumed that you were a reasonable gentleman. Now I see that you are quite insane.” He bows slightly. “I do hope you enjoy your date with the Winter Queen. Good day.”

  “You know, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to marry you!” I shout after his retreating form. “You seem like an absolute barrel of laughs!”

  *

  Once again, I become aware of how little I understand what’s going on around me. The news that Elestrine only married me to get out of marrying Audan shouldn’t come as a surprise, but I’m still a bit annoyed she didn’t even bother to tell me. Not that it would have made a difference, under the circumstances. And not that it would make a difference if I confronted her about it now. She would just laugh in her maddening way and act like I was being silly for even bringing it up: “Oh Charles, surely the end effects are the same regardless of my motives! And as you flat-out refuse to believe that I love you in any case, why—I hardly see why you would take offence.”

  That’s the worst thing about her. After a while, she starts making sense.

  Absentmindedly, I run my fingers over the photograph of Meaghan in my pocket. What would she think if she could see me now? I wonder. That radical that she’d met all those years ago. Would she even recognize me now that I’ve turned collaborator?

  Is she even really still alive out there?

  I put these questions out of my mind. Right now, the only relevant one is: what is Elestrine’s plan? And the likely follow-up: how can it be stopped?

  And if she’s not going to tell me, maybe there’s someone who will.

  *

  Awyrel has been off on some errand or other for the past several days, but I heard she’d returned that very morning. I find Elestrine’s doctor, Calamyr, tending to Awyrel in her room. Evidently, her trip had left her worse for the wear.

  Calamyr is another one of those odds and ends in Fairy society that I don’t quite understand. I suppose that any culture needs a few people to dedicate themselves to medicine, and yet, while I’ve certainly met doctors who are complete assholes, the very nature of the profession seems to imply a moral base. But here he is, a medic from a race that, as far as I can tell, has no particular respect for life at all. And he isn’t even an asshole! Unlike the other Gentry in Ottawa, he doesn’t even bother with glamour, but instead walks about unashamedly in his natural pale, Goblin-like form—he was, in fact, the very “Goblin” I saw at Elestrine’s installation ceremony. He’s a bit strange, perhaps, but easily one of the friendliest people in Rideau Hall.

  “Hello, Mr. Prime Minister,” he greets with a disconcertingly wide smile as I knock on the door. Behind him, Awyrel seems startled to see me.

  “…Is this a bad time?”

  “A bad time for what?”

  I pause. “For speaking to Awyrel?”

  The two Fairies exchange words in Everglacii—Calamyr seeming concerned and she seeming to reassure him.

  “She will speak to you, Mr. Prime Minister,” the doctor informs me. “Are you desirous of a moment alone?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Oh, no trouble at all,” he insists, rising to his feet. “And do stop by my office when you get a chance; I would dearly love to see that human physiology of yours in operation.”

  “Umm…my physiology thanks you from the bottom of its heart.”

  He laughs and steps outside.

  Awyrel does not turn to look at me but lies on her bed facing the wall. “Why are you here, Mr. Oakes?”

  Her manner surprises me; she’s a far cry from the friendly, outgoing girl I interacted with a few days ago. She’s probably just tired from her flight, I reason. Dragon-lag.

  I ease into the chair by her bedside. “I’d like to ask you a question. It’s—well. Fairly important. See, I was…wondering whether you might be privy to the Governor General’s long-term plans—”

  “Even if I was, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “‘Couldn’t’ or ‘wouldn’t’?”

  “…Both,” she replies. “I’m sworn to the office of the Governor General. But even if I wasn’t, I’m loyal to Elestrine personally; not by oath, but by choice.”

  “And she’s loyal to you?”

  Awyrel turns to face me. “Her Excellency is loyal to her friends—as, I suspect, you know.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  She grants me a faint smile.

  “But there must be…some occasions when basic morality—”

  “Morality is a human chimera,” she retorts. “You would do well to learn this.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I intone. “But…that was you, wasn’t it? Who talked Elestrine out of starving us? Convinced her to feed the people?”

  “I recognized the policy as counterproductive.”

  “That may be so,” I reply. “But…I think you also recognized it as being wrong.”

  She makes no response.

  “And what about the new policy?” I ask. “Is it also ‘counterproductive’, in your humble opinion?”

  “It is…in the best interests of your people,” she says after a pause. “And ours.”

  “Would really be nice if I could judge that for myself.”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “Well,” I say, considering my situation. “If you can’t tell me yourself, maybe you could speak with Elestrine on my behalf? Ask her—”

  “May I offer you a word of advice?” interrupts Awyrel.

  “Of course.”

  “You will never convince her Excellency of anything by appealing to her conscience. We Fairies do not have them, and she in particular considers them something between silly and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Take yourself for example,” she says, sitting up. “To us, Mr. Oakes, you seem uncanny. You speak; you think; you love; you hate—in all these regards, you are very much like one of us. And yet, lurking below the surface is this complex of contradictory compulsions that you call a conscience, motivating you to act in unpredictable, nonsensical ways. You hated Senator McFeely, yet his death enraged you. You would give your very life for ‘your people’, yet you scarcely even seem to like them; and I can tell for certain that you’re attracted to her Excellency, and yet—”

  “You’ve made your point.”

  “Could you trust such a person?” she asks. “If you honestly couldn’t understand why they did anything?”

  “No,” I say, from experience.

  “And if that same person tried to convince you to reveal your secrets by appealing to the strength of their own compulsions, would you be any more likely to trust them?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And therein lies the resolution,” Awyrel concludes. “She will share her secret once she believes that you have transcended conscience.”

  “Once I demonstrate that I won’t object, you mean.”

  “Not on moral grounds, at any rate,” she agrees.

  I clasp my hands together. “I can’t do that.”

  Despite herself, Awyrel laughs. “Nothing could be easier, Mr. Oakes. Simply do what pleases you! It’s being ‘good’ that is hard.”

  I grunt and start to rise to my feet when a thought hits me. Maybe I need be more unpredictable. I freeze, standing in an awkward half-squat as a plan starts to formulate in my mind.

  “Was there something else?”

  “Actually yes,” I say, trying to sound natural as I ease back into my seat. “You were right.”

  She looks at me expectantly.

  “I am…a bit…attracted to Elestrine.”

  Awyrel smiles. “Hardly shameful; you are her husband.”

  “Do you suppose…if I were to give in to her on this…issue of consummation…”

  “She would certainly take it as a token of good faith.”

  I shift uncomfortably. “It’s just…” I bury my face in my hands. “Oh God, this is embarrassing.”

  “What?”

  “That…magic you Fairies use to change your appearance—”

  “Glamour,” Awyrel says. “The art of weaving illusions.”

  “Yes. I was just wondering whether it might be possible to…”

  “Yes?”

  “Teach it to me.”

  Awyrel laughs, recapturing some of her old friendliness. “Are you a touch self-conscious about your appearance, Mr. Oakes?”

  I smile embarrassedly. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  *

  A few hours later, I find Rupi Dhaliwal in the evacuation shelter.

  “Get everyone together,” I tell her. “We need an emergency meeting of Parliament.”

  Her brow furrows behind her glasses. “Sorry…who are you?”

  I’m momentarily confused by her question until I remember that, to her, I look thirty years younger and fitter than I’ve ever actually been. “It’s me,” I say, dropping my glamour to reveal my old old self.

  “Chuck!?” she exclaims. “How did you—”

  “I’ll explain at the meeting, but we need to get everyone together ASAP.”

  Rupi is already rising into action as she asks, “What should I tell everyone?”

  “Tell them—” I pause to consider. “Tell them I have a plan to end this occupation once and for all!”