March 17-23, 2005

cover story

Dane's Geld
A Fairy Tale

by David J. Snyder

Judge's Comments

David J. Snyder's story was chosen because it contains the single most essential element in a work of imaginative fiction — imagination. You wouldn't think that needed to be said, but there are lots of fantasies out there that supply no surprises at all, that simply warm over a plot you've seen a hundred times before and plop it down before you as if it were fresh-baked.

I've read a lot of contemporary fairy tales in my time. This one was new to me.

"Dane's Geld" has a number of technical virtues: The opening is a clever bit of misdirection that deftly sends the reader haring down the wrong set of expectations, so that the revelation of what the protagonist is really up to comes as a surprise. There's an appropriate balance of tone. The gritty, tough-guy voice is a much-needed corrective to the essential silliness of the material being built upon, while the frivolity of the source mythology correspondingly lightens an otherwise dark tale. And there are some nifty bits of inventive detail. The BB gun is terrific.

Also, the plug for the City Paper classifieds made me laugh. It didn't work — I was, as presumably all the other judges were, an unpaid volunteer — but any effort to psych out an editor is worth applauding.
--Michael Swanwick

Michael Swanwick is one of the most acclaimed science fiction and fantasy writers of his generation. He has received the Nebula, Theodore Sturgeon, and World Fantasy awards, as well as Hugo Awards for short fiction in an unprecedented five out of the last six years.

---

Dane's Geld

I was still recovering from the unfortunate mix-up with the Junior Girl Scouts when the phone rang. After shaking myself from my momentary stupor, I hobbled across my Roxborough office/living room/dining room/bedroom/kitchen and managed to scoop up the receiver in the middle of the fourth ring, just in time to save it from voice mail. "Hello," I said. Simply hello. I never use my name on an open phone line. There's a power in names, and you never know who could be listening in. There was no response to my initial greeting. "Hello?" I said again, thinking perhaps I was the victim of a prank call or a momentary glitch on the part of the phone company. "Hello???" I tried a final time.

"Hello." The voice, when it finally came, was female, and barely audible. "Is this Daniel Goldcraft?"

"Yes, it is," I said.

One advantage of never giving your name (even in voice mail. My message is simply "You have reached 555, etc.") is that it allows you to respond easily to any number of aliases. Based on the one that my caller has just used, I knew she was responding to my City Paper ad.

"This is Daniel Goldcraft," I confirmed again.

I smiled. My leg was already starting to feel better.

My caller's name, it turned out, was Tiffany McDuffie. She lived about a half-hour's drive away in a part of West Philly that I would have been nervous to be in if I were the kind of person who needed to be concerned what neighborhood he's in. Tiffany was single, with two children. It was Adam, the older of the two, for whom she was responding to my notice for a "Paid Scientific Study."

Three hours after her initial call, Tiffany and I talked in the kitchen of her large but rather decrepit house. (The kitchen, I gathered, was the most presentable room in the place.) I was propped against a countertop in what I had hoped was a friendly, informal position that would encourage feelings of intimacy. Tiffany stood in front of me. Cradled in her left arm was Cora, the younger child. In her other hand was the stack of bills I had just passed to her.

Tiffany looked at the money, then at me. "Are you sure you're a scientist?" she asked.

"I'm a graduate student," I assured her.

She seemed off put by my appearance, by my long, unkempt hair, my jeans, and my slightly soiled T-shirt with the logo of the Society for Creative Anachronism. Clearly Tiffany didn't travel much in academic circles, or she would have realized how closely I approximated the look of your average Penn or Drexel enrollee.

"I'm working on my thesis," I said. "I can show you the proposal."

I grabbed the valise sitting next to me on the counter and opened it. Careful not to display the rest of its contents, I pulled out the treatise that I had hired an actual grad student to prepare some years back and attempted to hand it to Tiffany. She showed no sign of releasing her grip on either Cora or the cash, so after a moment, I just held it up in front of her so she could at least read the title: "Adolescent Sleep Behavior Under Hyper-Stimulating Conditions."

Tiffany nodded, apparently at least momentarily satisfied with my credentials.

I slipped the papers back in the case and snapped it shut. Then I looked back on Tiffany and gave her my best nonthreatening smile. Though it pained me, I let the slightest bit of my glamour shine through.

She returned my gaze and smiled, though not nearly as convincingly as I did. "And for this study, you'd have to watch him asleep alone."

She kept coming back to that.

"Yes," I said. "For the integrity of the survey."

She looked at me, then once more at the cash, then back at me again. "You're sure you're not some kind of pervert?"

"I can assure you, I'm not," I said.

She stood down, clenching both Cora and my money tighter than was absolutely necessary or even advisable. It was more money than she was likely to see in two, three months, but Adam was her son. Her son she loved.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my billfold, and counted out 10 more hundred dollar bills.

The door to Adam's room creaked as Tiffany pushed it open. "He's probably already asleep," she said to me. "If that's a problem "

She was still looking for a way out, I knew. For some outside force to seize control and make her take back her decision.

I was hoping to prevent that. As soon as the door opened enough to allow me access, I squeezed past her. Tiffany cringed at my touch, turned her body to keep it between me and Cora, but didn't try to stop me.

Adam was asleep, his body under an ancient Star Wars bedspread, his head resting atop a Scooby Doo pillow case. Even lying down, I could tell he was small for his age.

After setting my valise down near what I assumed was a closet door, I grabbed Scooby near the head and tail. I gently lifted the pillow, and Adam's head along with it. He remained firmly asleep.

Sitting under the pillow was a single tooth. An incisor, to be specific.

I lowered the pillow and turned back to Tiffany. "It's all right," I said.

She nodded, her face showing confusion, then acceptance of the inevitability of her fate.

"Close the door behind you," I added.

She made a final attempt at protest. "But you won't be able to see."

"I have excellent night vision," I told her.

Tiffany nodded, and pulled the door shut.

I listened to her rapid footsteps as she took away her remaining uncorrupted child.

The air smelled like young boys, like baseball gloves and instant lemonade stands and stray dogs.

I moved over by the closet door and opened my valise. From it, I took my pneumatic BB rifle and checked the air pressure. Ninety-five percent. Good enough. I pulled out my trench coat and draped it over my shoulders.

Then, I opened the closet door and crouched down inside. I aimed my rifle at the air above Adam's head and waited for the fairy to arrive.

Waiting is always the hardest part where the Fair Folk are concerned. You can't let yourself get too distracted, because if they get the drop on you, that's it, you're dreaming of butterflies and buttercups and various other buttery things, and they're free to do whatever they want with you.

But I've been doing this a long time. I know just how far I can let my mind wander, how to keep it active without losing touch with the situation.

Even as I crouched there among fallen coats and discarded sweat shirts and various other detritus, shifting position just enough to keep my legs from falling asleep below me, even then I knew my efforts would probably be for naught. In all likelihood, I'd be stuck in that closet until sometime after sunrise, when Adam would wake from his slumber and eagerly pull up his pillow, only to discover that his tooth had not been magically replaced in the night. He'd run off to cry in the arms of his mother, who thanks to me could provide more than adequate monetary compensation for his loss. But he'd have lost something. Adam would never be whole again, never quite believe in magic the same way he did before going to bed.

And he'd be the better for it.

But there was always the chance the fairy would actually show up, and because of that possibility, I waited, as I had so many times before.

To entertain myself, I planned out my future activities. Tiffany had exhausted most of my cash reserve, so first priority was replenishing that. Which meant rainbow tracking and pots of gold and stomping leprechauns into the dirty ground. And that pleasant image naturally enough led to further equally pleasant images. Wee fairies trapped on fly strips, brownies with cement shoes, grinding pixies into dust. I have this fantasy about being let loose on the polar ice cap with nothing but a compass, a dog sled and a nuclear warhead

And before I knew it, somehow he was there in the room, without use of door or window.

He just hovered there for a moment like a hummingbird, his wings moving so rapidly you could hardly make them out. Then gracefully, he settled on the bed. His wand shot out and touched Adam on the forehead. The boy tensed for a second, then slumped back into shallow breathing.

The fairy was both bigger than you might expect, maybe a foot tall, and also stronger than he looked. I don't know if it was magic or some kind of weird square/cubes law thing, but with no signs of exertion, he lifted up the pillow and, as I watched, pulled out the tooth and slipped it into a pouch in his belt.

That's when I stepped out of the closet. "Don't move," I said.

I could hear Adam's head thump as it and the pillow smacked back into the mattress. He let out the slightest of whimpers, but other than that didn't stir.

The fairy was facing me now, though I had no memory of him turning. "I knew you were there," he said. "I've known since the beginning."

"Then you should have left when you had the chance."

I knew that now he had taken the tooth, he was stuck here until he left something in its place. That was the rule. I had him right where I wanted him, dead center in my sights.

But for some reason, the fairy didn't seem bothered by my apparent upper hand. "It's been a long time, Dane," he said.

With my tongue, I traced the bridge in my mouth that filled in for what I'd lost when he'd had that Bugaboo smash my face into the curb. "Yes," I agreed. "A long time."

"So, now what?" he asked me.

"Now I shoot you," I said. But I didn't.

He showed no sign of fear, nor anger, nor any kind of emotion you'd expect if someone were to confront you with the intention of ending your life. If anything, he seemed slightly amused by the whole situation. "So, what are you waiting for?"

I wasn't sure. It wasn't right yet. I shrugged by way of response.

He shrugged back at me, sending little red and gold sparkles careening into the air.

It was that he was so calm, I realized. That was the problem. He wasn't acknowledging my upper hand, that I was in control of the situation.

I tightened my grip in the trigger, but I still couldn't pull it.

"So Dane " I hated that he knew my name. " could you tell me just one thing?" I said nothing.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Could you just tell me, why?"

"Why?" I said, before my brain caught up with my mouth, and clamped it firmly shut.

"Yes, why? Why do you do this? Go to all this effort? Kill my kind? There's precious few of us left as it is."

"One is more than enough," I responded. But even I could hear my lack of conviction.

"How many has it been? How many times have you killed?"

I didn't know. I just shook my head.

"So why do you do it?"

This at least I had an answer for. "My mother, on her thirteenth birthday, she pricked her finger on a sewing machine needle I was born twelve months later."

He nodded. He understood. "She never woke up?"

"We didn't get a lot of princes in our neighborhood."

"That must have been very difficult for you," he said. I could feel his sympathy wash over me.

But who was he to sympathize? It was his kind who were responsible.

He sensed my misgivings. "Dane," he said. "You can't keep blaming a whole people for the action of one individual. There are some bad apples in every bunch, but that doesn't mean you burn down the orchard, does it?"

It didn't.

"You see that now, don't you?"

I did.

"So, you're not going to shoot me now, are you?"

I wasn't.

I tried to tell him that.

That's when I discovered I no longer had control of my voice. Or use of my arms and legs, I quickly realized. In fact, I seemed to have lost all voluntary muscle control.

I was trapped. I was in thrall.

And he knew it. "Well, that was easy."

I just stood there, my legs sprawled, my arms bent, holding my rifle out like some kind of battlefield sculpture.

"I thought you might provide a little bit of difficulty, a tiny challenge. But you didn't, did you?"

Of course, I couldn't answer.

The fairy smiled, showing me a universe of teeth. His wings started flapping, like a helicopter revving up. Then he was airborne. He came toward me, slowly but surely. As he approached, he seemed to increase in size, until he filled the room, until there wasn't enough space in it for the both of us, but there was nowhere I could go. And then he was bigger than the room, even though we never left it, and I could feel the hot air from his wings, and his wand was a Sequoia, and it was reaching toward me

"You didn't really think you were going to shoot me, did you?" he asked. "I mean, I'm the fucking Tooth Fairy." That's when I fired.

I winged him. Literally. He went crashing to the ground, and he fell for what seemed like an enormously long time, his body down to his original size.

As he lay on the ground with this huge rip in his right wing, he seemed more startled than hurt. "How did you "

"BBs," I said. "Pure iron."

"No, I mean how could you " His curiosity almost seemed academic.

"You shouldn't have told me your name," I said. Then, I came closer, holding my gun by one hand now and bending down so the barrel almost touched his forehead.

Even in his current state, he still believed he could bargain his way out. "Listen, I've got lots of money. Lots of it."

"I don't care," I said.

"I know secrets. Things that you would never believe, things that would "

"I really, really don't care."

He wouldn't listen. "All you've got to do is " He tried to move his right wing and cringed. "I'll be OK, everything will be OK, if you just give me a little time. My kind heals quickly."

"I know," I said. With my free hand I pushed back the falling hair from my face, and he saw my ears for the first time.

"You're " he said.

"Not just a really big Star Trek fan." "Traitor!" he hissed out. I could see the disgust in his eyes. And that was enough. I fired. Once, twice, and a third time for good measure.

The first time would have been enough. The BB hit him squarely in that soft spot right above the nose, and he was gone. He dissolved into a cloud of multicolored smoke, which gradually spread through the room, then dissipated. With him went his clothes and his wand, until all that was left were four little pieces of metal and a young boy's tooth.

So, I set the safety back on my little rifle and put it back in the case. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and used it to gather up the BBs, careful to never let them touch my naked skin. I tied the ends off into a serviceable pouch and placed it in my case, too.

That only left Adam's tooth.

I reached down and carefully gripped on it with a thumb and forefinger. It was such a tiny thing, and I didn't want to risk losing it. Once I was sure I had it, I picked it up and walked over to where Adam was still lying, asleep, blissfully unaware of the events that had transpired there that evening.

For a long moment, I just stood there, just looking at him.

Then, I transferred the tooth to my left hand, and I thrust my right into my front jeans pocket. I fumbled around a bit until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out my billfold, and careful not to wake Adam, I slipped all that was left into the warm space where the pillow meets the mattress.