hundred years ago. I doubt Smith convinced your queen to change her mind.”
Aine had to agree. “Her Ladyship has very little use for mortals.”
“ It didn’t use to be so. She used to have a very special soft spot for humankind. She preferred to keep them in her bed.” Winter sighed, rubbing his temples. “If Richard doesn’t fix our power problem soon I’ll we'll run out of kerosene.”
“ He’s very handy, isn’t he? With mortal things?”
“ Generally.” He smiled. “Although Richard has no appreciation for modern improvements. Still, he is mortal and more at home with the idiosyncrasies of this place than I am.”
“ Did he draw this? The map?”
“ Most of it. I added some, here and there. How quickly do they grow back?”
Aine blinked. “Grow back?”
“ Your fingernails. If you’re that hungry, I can find you something to eat, you know. Do they grow back overnight, like the flesh on your feet?”
“ Nay.” Aine regarded her fingernails. “Nay, they don't.”
He grunted again.
“I’m not hungry,” she decided.
“ Oh? Afraid of the dark? Best get used to it. Even with electricity, underground living is more gloomy than not.”
She bristled. “I’m not afraid. I’m bored. And I want to go home.”
“ The song’s getting old, princess. I can keep you fed, and I can light you candles in the dark, but I can’t help you get back.”
“ But Smith might. And sitting here, like a lump, like two lumps, we’re doing nothing when we should be, could be doing something.”
Winter regarded her in silence. Then he spread open the tome on his knees, and smoothed the page.
“‘On wrongs swift vengeance waits’,” he said. “Even on your pretty lips the words sounded dour and familiar. And I was right.” Winter tapped the pages. “Smith was quoting, from Alexander Pope.”
Aine stood up. “Then perhaps this Alexander Pope knows where we might find him.”
“ Doubtful. Alexander Pope was a human poet, now long dead. Very proficient three centuries ago, mostly forgotten now, except in places where scholars congregate. Strange that a part-time grocery clerk would find the fellow sufficiently of interest to memorize his dried up words.”
“ Not so strange as wandering through D.C. with a possibly magical fairy sword.” Richard slipped into the library, a smaller, more brightly burning lantern swinging from one hand. “Even those of us born without a silver ladle in our mouth enjoy a little book learning. So please, do, dismount that high horse of yours before it trips up and does you damage.”
Richard’s coat was dusty, his hair matted. He wore a pair of heavy spectacles propped on the bridge of his nose. He appeared distinctly irritated. Even so, Aine noticed that he was careful not to startle Winter.
She thought it might take some getting used to, living with a companion who could hear your words but not your footsteps.
“Something gnawed through my cable.” He set his lamp on the floor, and folded onto the rug with a sigh. “Not a sluagh , I think. More like a particularly odious but unremarkable sewer rat. Easily fixed, once I find the right size of replacement cable. That’s the difficult part. “ He sighed and stretched. “Manager at Harris Teeter said Smith used to quote a lot of poetry, kept a little book with him, in his pocket. Quoted from it over and over again.”
Winter shrugged at Aine’s puzzled frown. “The interns didn’t pan out so Richard popped across the street to the grocery and asked a few questions. Richard’s good at asking questions. He’s also good at stealing bits of cable, or anything else, really, though we generally don’t say so in polite company.”
“ Piss off,” Richard returned without real heat. “The little book had its title stamped in gold: Argus .”
“ It wasn’t in his apartment. He must have taken it with him. Is it Pope?”
“ I don’t know. You’re the educated gentleman. Is it in your tome?”
“
Aine had to agree. “Her Ladyship has very little use for mortals.”
“ It didn’t use to be so. She used to have a very special soft spot for humankind. She preferred to keep them in her bed.” Winter sighed, rubbing his temples. “If Richard doesn’t fix our power problem soon I’ll we'll run out of kerosene.”
“ He’s very handy, isn’t he? With mortal things?”
“ Generally.” He smiled. “Although Richard has no appreciation for modern improvements. Still, he is mortal and more at home with the idiosyncrasies of this place than I am.”
“ Did he draw this? The map?”
“ Most of it. I added some, here and there. How quickly do they grow back?”
Aine blinked. “Grow back?”
“ Your fingernails. If you’re that hungry, I can find you something to eat, you know. Do they grow back overnight, like the flesh on your feet?”
“ Nay.” Aine regarded her fingernails. “Nay, they don't.”
He grunted again.
“I’m not hungry,” she decided.
“ Oh? Afraid of the dark? Best get used to it. Even with electricity, underground living is more gloomy than not.”
She bristled. “I’m not afraid. I’m bored. And I want to go home.”
“ The song’s getting old, princess. I can keep you fed, and I can light you candles in the dark, but I can’t help you get back.”
“ But Smith might. And sitting here, like a lump, like two lumps, we’re doing nothing when we should be, could be doing something.”
Winter regarded her in silence. Then he spread open the tome on his knees, and smoothed the page.
“‘On wrongs swift vengeance waits’,” he said. “Even on your pretty lips the words sounded dour and familiar. And I was right.” Winter tapped the pages. “Smith was quoting, from Alexander Pope.”
Aine stood up. “Then perhaps this Alexander Pope knows where we might find him.”
“ Doubtful. Alexander Pope was a human poet, now long dead. Very proficient three centuries ago, mostly forgotten now, except in places where scholars congregate. Strange that a part-time grocery clerk would find the fellow sufficiently of interest to memorize his dried up words.”
“ Not so strange as wandering through D.C. with a possibly magical fairy sword.” Richard slipped into the library, a smaller, more brightly burning lantern swinging from one hand. “Even those of us born without a silver ladle in our mouth enjoy a little book learning. So please, do, dismount that high horse of yours before it trips up and does you damage.”
Richard’s coat was dusty, his hair matted. He wore a pair of heavy spectacles propped on the bridge of his nose. He appeared distinctly irritated. Even so, Aine noticed that he was careful not to startle Winter.
She thought it might take some getting used to, living with a companion who could hear your words but not your footsteps.
“Something gnawed through my cable.” He set his lamp on the floor, and folded onto the rug with a sigh. “Not a sluagh , I think. More like a particularly odious but unremarkable sewer rat. Easily fixed, once I find the right size of replacement cable. That’s the difficult part. “ He sighed and stretched. “Manager at Harris Teeter said Smith used to quote a lot of poetry, kept a little book with him, in his pocket. Quoted from it over and over again.”
Winter shrugged at Aine’s puzzled frown. “The interns didn’t pan out so Richard popped across the street to the grocery and asked a few questions. Richard’s good at asking questions. He’s also good at stealing bits of cable, or anything else, really, though we generally don’t say so in polite company.”
“ Piss off,” Richard returned without real heat. “The little book had its title stamped in gold: Argus .”
“ It wasn’t in his apartment. He must have taken it with him. Is it Pope?”
“ I don’t know. You’re the educated gentleman. Is it in your tome?”
“
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