How banks steal from afar

an excerpt from Inflationary Faeries

The sun-weary faery Brighid sought mid-morning darkness in a dank and windowless public house. Sitting at the long bar, she shut her eyes, slowing her breath. Tiny furls of nitrogen-laced air swirled out from each nostril, mingling with the airs about her head. The thin cloud her breathing created caused her hair to give off a slight glow. Finally, she spoke to the inn-keep she knew must be listening. “Prepare for me a nectar of tulip.”

A Scots knight, one of the new bride's imported gallowglass, sat next to Brighid at the bar where he nursed a jellied juniper punch. “What brings a feary in ‘ere?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and turned to face the socializer. “Thermals of pollen, Sir Knight.” She spied his Scottish sporan and pieced together his identity. “Why aren’t you cavorting at Bawn Guelph with the rest of your gallowglass? The handfast will be startin’ soon.”

“I prefer the quiet.”

“Less the reveler than the soldier?”

He sighed. “Neither, really.”

“What kind of mercenary questions the fray?”

“What do you know about it, little faery? Have you…” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and began again. “Have ya been craftin’ a battle in your spare time?”

“How did you--” Brighid stopped and studied him again. Clearly this knight, in addition to being an annoying Scot, was also a fibbernaught. She hadn’t crossed one in nearly a year, but she knew the cadences well enough. He could suss out secrets simply by uttering a sentence or a phrase. The ones that produced speech spoke truth.