wish to sway you to their favor, bow to their behest, absorb your resources into their positions of power—in essence, the Folk will jockey to claim you under their influence.” He brushed away a line of imaginary dust. “This will be cloaked in etiquette at best and intrigue at worst. My charge is to educate you on the finer points of protocol and proper behavior so that you may forge your own alliances wisely and not place yourself in any undo danger by giving offense.”
“Danger?” Joy said, looking up from the keys. “What danger? I thought you said that the Folk can’t off one another.”
“Well, certainly they can—” he said with a casual flip of one hand. “The Red Knight was an excellent case in point. By triggering fresh incarnations after the Council’s initial binding spell was cast, the new Knight was not included under the Edict and therefore was unaffected by the rule, free to hunt without recrimination. In essence, the spell did not call him by his True Name, and therefore, he was not bound to obey it. A neat little loophole you closed up nicely.” The Bailiwick tapped the basin’s edge. “But do not make the same mistake that many mortals do—just because you cannot be killed outright does not mean that you cannot die due to injury, foolishness or being maneuvered into a less-than-desirable position.” He smiled, all teeth. “It is one of the finer diversions of a prolonged existence, the subtle art of abiding by the rules that govern our world whilst applying a deft hand to their creative interpretation.” He raised one manicured claw. “If you were to change an enemy into a tree or a fly or bury them a thousand feet underground, then, technically, you would not have killed them, but it can make life considerably inconvenient for the offender, not to mention quite brief.” Joy stared at the giant toad’s beatific smile. He noticed her expression and lowered his head to hers. “Therefore, the most prudent thing to do is not to offend.” They locked eyes for a long moment. Graus Claude tapped her screen. “Write that down.”
She did.
For the next several hours, she dutifully typed everything that the Bailiwick dictated about the Council, its representatives, the Hall and Under the Hill, the Glen—the First Forest, which was how the town of Glendale got its name—as well as outlining several key Houses and Courts that divided the Folk into categories based on their origins or common alliances. Some of them were familiar, like Water, Earth, Forest and Aether, others had strange names like the Middle Kingdom, the Fortunate Isles or the Silver Ley Axis, but whenever she tried asking about them, she was immediately shushed and ordered to keep typing.
“When you are greeted by your given name, you must respond with grace, with thanks and in kind,” he said. “If you do not know a person’s given name, then they have you at a disadvantage and have asserted themselves into the superior position. This can be counteracted if you know their proper title, address or that of their superiors...” Graus Claude paced the room as he orated, recollecting details and nuances and innumerable ways one could possibly offend someone or attempt to avoid domination, sometimes mumbling vague complaints under his breath.
“By the swells, this is going to take forever...”
“Sounds painful,” Joy muttered as she typed.
Graus Claude stopped. “What was that?”
“Sorry,” Joy said and cracked her knuckles over the keyboard. “I know this is serious. I’m just getting punchy staring at the screen.”
“No.” The hunchbacked frog drew closer. “What did you say?”
Joy swallowed, wondering if she had already given some offense. Graus Claude hadn’t covered Folk swearing. “Um... I said, ‘Sounds painful’ having the swells.” She tucked her hands under her lap. “‘By the swells’? Get it?”
The Bailiwick examined her face, staring into one eye, then the next. “You should not have heard that,” he said, grimacing, eyes narrowing to icy slits. “He said you were not Water, but then how...?”
Joy was growing increasingly uncomfortable under his close scrutiny and the proximity of his many teeth. “Who said?”
Graus Claude made a sound like waves crashing together, driving flotsam into the undertow. Joy was surprised that she recognized it.
“The hippocamp?” Joy said. “Oh. He said I had an eelet.”
“An eelet?” Graus Claude said, surprised. “Where did you get an eelet?”
“From Dennis Thomas,” she said. “Before he turned me over to Aniseed, back when he’d asked me to deliver a message to Ink. He tipped me a seashell, which evidently had a thing inside it that went into my ear—” Even talking about it made Joy want to stick a finger in her ear and fish it out. “It lets me hear Water Folk.” She debated trying to pronounce the water horse’s name but quickly ditched the idea. “The hippocamp told me that this eelet was some royal, deep-water breed.”
Graus Claude rose up, nearing his full height, and stared down on her.
“You always bring me the most unusual surprises, Miss Malone,” he said. “As your sponsor, I imagine that I shall grow to expect them over the years.” Joy wasn’t certain if this was meant to be a compliment. He reached one claw out and tapped the tablet. “Keep typing.”
Joy’s hands were stiff and the pads of her fingers pink and swollen by the time Kurt entered with a rolling tea tray and a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice. Joy inhaled a tall glass in several gulps. She had begun to feel the effects of going too long without food, but hadn’t wanted to risk annoying Graus Claude despite the growing headache and winking lights on the edge of her vision. Kurt was both aware of her blood sugar and possessed excellent timing.
She poured herself another glass. “If having the Sight means that I am part-Folk, then why haven’t any others been found out before now?” Joy asked her question while the Bailiwick sipped his tea so that she could not possibly be accused of interrupting him again. It was sneaky, but she was desperate for answers.
“Well,” Graus Claude said, warming to the topic, “I must admit that I do not know how many humans born with the Sight were ever marked, let alone had experienced prolonged involvement with the Twixt or were otherwise affected by such a wide variety of individuals from our community as have you.” He wiped his lips with several napkins.
Joy scoffed, “That’s because you blinded them first.”
“Which, logically, would place them under Sol Leander’s auspice,” Graus Claude mused. “They would be survivors of an unprovoked attack.”
“Ugh! I couldn’t stand being under his auspice,” Joy said and tried not to think too hard about how Monica, her best friend, had Sol Leander’s mark—a mark she’d all but put there and one that she could have erased...but hadn’t. Guilt still burned like a slow coal in her gut. The idea of Sol Leander watching over her made her ill.
“Fortunately, this was a fate you were spared by becoming lehman to Master Ink,” the giant toad said. “Still, if those with the Sight are, indeed, descendants of our bloodlines, then one would think that, as survivors of an unmitigated assault, they would have been claimed by Sol Leander and discovered for what they were. And, if not, why not?” He pursed his olive lips. “It would be a closed loop to both abide by the rules and yet refuse to acknowledge claims. Hmm. Perhaps the base theory is flawed...” The Bailiwick settled himself back into his chair. “There are a great number of Houses that account for all the denizens of the Courts, as well as old families, oath societies, political factions and formal alliances that make up the modern Accords. Any one of them
