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Authors: Katharine Kerr
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sort of tunic instead of a shirt. His hair was unfashionably
OUT OF THE WOODS 51
long, but he was clean-shaven—or rather, he had no beard; he
was a few days past clean-shaven.
The overall effect was vaguely medieval.
"Are you an actor?" she asked. "Is there some local festival or
something?"
"Nay," he said, "I'm no player, but an honest workman."
She started the engine, and he started at the sound.
"Where are you headed?" she asked.
"Eh?"
"Where should I drop you?"
He simply looked baffled, and she gave up. She would just
drop him at the first pub she came to and let the locals deal with
him. She put the car in gear.
He grabbed at his seat—he hadn't put on his seatbelt, she saw.
She drove slowly and carefully. The fog still lingered, and
night was falling, and one scare on these roads was quite enough-
Besides, she wanted to be able to stop quickly and jump out
if the man started to act even weirder. Now that she was over her
initial concern about sending him into the ditch, she was having
second thoughts about giving him a ride at all. Back home in the
States she wouldn't have picked up a stranger, so why should she
here? Sure, England had less violent crime, but there were still
nuts here and there.
Maybe if she talked to him, he'd reassure her—or maybe
she'd know he was a dangerous loonie.
"So what were you doing in the woods?" she asked.
He hesitated, then said, "Feasting with Queen Mab."
Jenny had trouble at first understanding what he said, but the
words did eventually register.
He was a loonie, she realized, though not necessarily a danger-
ous one. She wished she hadn't offered him a ride.
"Oh?" she said-
"Aye. I'd followed a fairy light, and found myself at the
Queen's table, whereupon I was bid join the feast, which I did
with a will. I passed many a long year there in pleasant company,
and but today did I at last depart,"
"Oh," Jenny said.
For a moment they drove on in silence; then Jenny asked, just
to break that silence, "You said years ?'
"Aye, I'd say so," the man said. "Surely, years it must have
been, for the world to have changed as it has—your garb, your
speech, and this carriage are all strange to me."
Jenny blinked, trying to decide whether this was as completely
52 Lawrence ^%tt Kvans
nonsensical as it sounded. "Just when did you follow the fairy
into the forest?" she asked, and immediately wished she
hadn't—it sounded so stupid.
" 'Twas May Eve, in the Year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and
ninety-five."
For a moment Jenny didn't respond.
"That was four hundred years ago," she said eventually.
"Four hundred, you say?" The man's eyes widened in wonder.
"Zounds, so long as that?"
"Yeah," Jenny said.
They were nearing a village—not much of one, but she
thought it would do to get rid of her passenger. She slowed still
further and began looking for a sign that would indicate a pub or
inn.
"You doubt me," the man said. "Perchance you think me mad.
No wonder on it, I'd think the same were I you."
That was the most reassuring thing he'd said yet; she threw
him a quick glance.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"William Tinker."
"I'm Jenny Gifford. Look, is there anywhere in particular I
can drop you? Anyone who'd know what to do with you? Do
you have any money or anything?"
"I've no coin, nay. As for one who'd know to aid me—a
priest, perhaps, who knows the ways of fairies?"
"I don't think modem priests know much about fairies," Jenny
said, though she admitted to herself that British priests might
well know more than the American ones she'd met.
William Tinker hesitated, then ventured, very cautiously, "A
witch, perhaps? I'm a good Christian, and would not consort
with such, but ..."
"A witch." Jenny grimaced. A psychiatrist would probably be
better.
But then she spotted the pub on the corner and pulled over to
the curb.
"Here," she said. "Go in there and ask if
OUT OF THE WOODS 51
long, but he was clean-shaven—or rather, he had no beard; he
was a few days past clean-shaven.
The overall effect was vaguely medieval.
"Are you an actor?" she asked. "Is there some local festival or
something?"
"Nay," he said, "I'm no player, but an honest workman."
She started the engine, and he started at the sound.
"Where are you headed?" she asked.
"Eh?"
"Where should I drop you?"
He simply looked baffled, and she gave up. She would just
drop him at the first pub she came to and let the locals deal with
him. She put the car in gear.
He grabbed at his seat—he hadn't put on his seatbelt, she saw.
She drove slowly and carefully. The fog still lingered, and
night was falling, and one scare on these roads was quite enough-
Besides, she wanted to be able to stop quickly and jump out
if the man started to act even weirder. Now that she was over her
initial concern about sending him into the ditch, she was having
second thoughts about giving him a ride at all. Back home in the
States she wouldn't have picked up a stranger, so why should she
here? Sure, England had less violent crime, but there were still
nuts here and there.
Maybe if she talked to him, he'd reassure her—or maybe
she'd know he was a dangerous loonie.
"So what were you doing in the woods?" she asked.
He hesitated, then said, "Feasting with Queen Mab."
Jenny had trouble at first understanding what he said, but the
words did eventually register.
He was a loonie, she realized, though not necessarily a danger-
ous one. She wished she hadn't offered him a ride.
"Oh?" she said-
"Aye. I'd followed a fairy light, and found myself at the
Queen's table, whereupon I was bid join the feast, which I did
with a will. I passed many a long year there in pleasant company,
and but today did I at last depart,"
"Oh," Jenny said.
For a moment they drove on in silence; then Jenny asked, just
to break that silence, "You said years ?'
"Aye, I'd say so," the man said. "Surely, years it must have
been, for the world to have changed as it has—your garb, your
speech, and this carriage are all strange to me."
Jenny blinked, trying to decide whether this was as completely
52 Lawrence ^%tt Kvans
nonsensical as it sounded. "Just when did you follow the fairy
into the forest?" she asked, and immediately wished she
hadn't—it sounded so stupid.
" 'Twas May Eve, in the Year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and
ninety-five."
For a moment Jenny didn't respond.
"That was four hundred years ago," she said eventually.
"Four hundred, you say?" The man's eyes widened in wonder.
"Zounds, so long as that?"
"Yeah," Jenny said.
They were nearing a village—not much of one, but she
thought it would do to get rid of her passenger. She slowed still
further and began looking for a sign that would indicate a pub or
inn.
"You doubt me," the man said. "Perchance you think me mad.
No wonder on it, I'd think the same were I you."
That was the most reassuring thing he'd said yet; she threw
him a quick glance.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"William Tinker."
"I'm Jenny Gifford. Look, is there anywhere in particular I
can drop you? Anyone who'd know what to do with you? Do
you have any money or anything?"
"I've no coin, nay. As for one who'd know to aid me—a
priest, perhaps, who knows the ways of fairies?"
"I don't think modem priests know much about fairies," Jenny
said, though she admitted to herself that British priests might
well know more than the American ones she'd met.
William Tinker hesitated, then ventured, very cautiously, "A
witch, perhaps? I'm a good Christian, and would not consort
with such, but ..."
"A witch." Jenny grimaced. A psychiatrist would probably be
better.
But then she spotted the pub on the corner and pulled over to
the curb.
"Here," she said. "Go in there and ask if
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