Read Online The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne M. Valente - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherynne M. Valente
Tags: Fiction, Juvenile Fiction
Ads: Link
you call Mallow back then, if you know her name?”
Lye sobbed a little, a terribly awkward noise at the back of her throat, like snapping a bar of soap in half. “I’ve tried! I’ve tried! I’ve called and called and she won’t come so she must be dead! And I don’t know what to do except keep the baths full.”
September took a step back from the force of the golem’s grief. She slowly pulled off her orange dress--which to tell the truth had become rather filthy--and her precious remaining shoe. In the cooling evening, she stood naked before the impassive golem, uncomplaining. “The baths smell very nice,” she whispered. She only wanted the golem to stop being sad.
A breeze came sighing along the courtyard and picked up her clothes and her shoe, shaking them and soaking them in the fountain water to get the seawater and beach-grime out of it. The green smoking jacket spluttered and wrinkled, most upset.
Lye lifted September up suddenly and put her down in the first tub, which was really more like an oak barrel, the kind you store wine in, if you need to store rather a lot of wine, for it was enormous. September’s head ducked immediately under the thick, bright gold water. When she bobbed up again, the smell of it wrapped her up like a warm scarf: the scent of fireplaces crackling and warm cinnamon and autumn leaves crunching underfoot. She smelled cider and a rainstorm coming. The gold water clung to her in streaks and clumps, and she laughed. It tasted like butterscotch.
“This is the tub for washing your courage,” Lye said, her voice as even and calm as ever, performing her allotted task, grief packed away for the duration of a bath.
“I didn’t know one’s courage needed washing!” gasped September as Lye poured a pitcher of water over her head. Or that one needs to be naked for that sort of washing , she thought to herself.
Lye poured a bucketful of golden water over September's head. “When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk, and crusty things, and dirt, and fear, and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going, or else you’ll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world who provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true.”
Lye broke off one of her deep blue fingers and dropped it into the tub. Immediately, a creamy froth bubbled up, clinging to September’s skin and tickling.
“Your finger!” she cried.
“Don’t fear, little one. It doesn’t hurt. My mistress said: give of yourself and it will return to you as new as new can be. And so my fingers do, when the bathers have gone.”
September looked inside herself to see if her courage was shining up. She didn’t feel any different, besides the pleasure of a hot bath and clean skin. A little lighter, maybe, but she could not be sure.
“Next tub!” said Lye and lifted her up, still covered with golden foam, out of the oak barrel and into a shallow, sloping bronze tub like noble ladies in films used. September loved the movies, though they could not afford to go often, and in her most private moments she thought her mother was prettier than any of the girls on the screen.
The water of the bronze tub gleamed icy and green, redolent of mint and forest nights and sweet cakes, hot tea and very cold starlight.
“This is for washing your wishes, September,” said Lye, breaking off another of her fingers
Lye sobbed a little, a terribly awkward noise at the back of her throat, like snapping a bar of soap in half. “I’ve tried! I’ve tried! I’ve called and called and she won’t come so she must be dead! And I don’t know what to do except keep the baths full.”
September took a step back from the force of the golem’s grief. She slowly pulled off her orange dress--which to tell the truth had become rather filthy--and her precious remaining shoe. In the cooling evening, she stood naked before the impassive golem, uncomplaining. “The baths smell very nice,” she whispered. She only wanted the golem to stop being sad.
A breeze came sighing along the courtyard and picked up her clothes and her shoe, shaking them and soaking them in the fountain water to get the seawater and beach-grime out of it. The green smoking jacket spluttered and wrinkled, most upset.
Lye lifted September up suddenly and put her down in the first tub, which was really more like an oak barrel, the kind you store wine in, if you need to store rather a lot of wine, for it was enormous. September’s head ducked immediately under the thick, bright gold water. When she bobbed up again, the smell of it wrapped her up like a warm scarf: the scent of fireplaces crackling and warm cinnamon and autumn leaves crunching underfoot. She smelled cider and a rainstorm coming. The gold water clung to her in streaks and clumps, and she laughed. It tasted like butterscotch.
“This is the tub for washing your courage,” Lye said, her voice as even and calm as ever, performing her allotted task, grief packed away for the duration of a bath.
“I didn’t know one’s courage needed washing!” gasped September as Lye poured a pitcher of water over her head. Or that one needs to be naked for that sort of washing , she thought to herself.
Lye poured a bucketful of golden water over September's head. “When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk, and crusty things, and dirt, and fear, and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going, or else you’ll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world who provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true.”
Lye broke off one of her deep blue fingers and dropped it into the tub. Immediately, a creamy froth bubbled up, clinging to September’s skin and tickling.
“Your finger!” she cried.
“Don’t fear, little one. It doesn’t hurt. My mistress said: give of yourself and it will return to you as new as new can be. And so my fingers do, when the bathers have gone.”
September looked inside herself to see if her courage was shining up. She didn’t feel any different, besides the pleasure of a hot bath and clean skin. A little lighter, maybe, but she could not be sure.
“Next tub!” said Lye and lifted her up, still covered with golden foam, out of the oak barrel and into a shallow, sloping bronze tub like noble ladies in films used. September loved the movies, though they could not afford to go often, and in her most private moments she thought her mother was prettier than any of the girls on the screen.
The water of the bronze tub gleamed icy and green, redolent of mint and forest nights and sweet cakes, hot tea and very cold starlight.
“This is for washing your wishes, September,” said Lye, breaking off another of her fingers
Similar Books
