The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne M. Valente Page A

moment. “Try ‘Capital’ instead. That starts with C. And Fairyland stars with F, so you could, well, cross-reference.”
    A-Through-L left off the nearly-persimmon tree and cocked his head to one side like a curious German Shepherd. “The Capital of Fairyland is surrounded by a large, circular river,” he said slowly, as if reading from a book, “called the Barleybroom. It consists of four districts: Idlelily, Seresong, Hallowgrum, and Mallowmead. Population is itinerant, but summer estimates hover around ten thousand daimonia --that means spirits--”
    “And pan means all,” whispered September, since the Wyverary could not be expected to know, on account of the P involved. In September’s world, many things began with pan. Pandemic, Pangaea, Panacea, Panoply. Those were all big words, to be sure, but as has been said, September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.
    “The highest point is Groangyre Tower, home of the Royal Inventors’ Society (Madness Prerequisite), the lowest is Janglynow Flats, where once the ondines waged their Algae Wars. Common imports: grain, wishing fish, bicycle parts, children, sandwiches, brandywine, silver bullets--”
    “Skip to the part where it says ‘I Am This Many Miles Away from a Girl Named September,’” suggested the girl helpfully.
    A-Through-L grimaced at her, curling his scarlet lips. “All books should be so accommodating, butler-wise,” he snorted. “As you might expect, the geographical location of the capital of Fairyland is fickle and has a rather short temper. I’m afraid the whole thing moves around according to the needs of narrative.”
    September put her persimmon down in the long grass. “What in the world does that mean?”
    “I…I suspect it means that if we act like the kind of folk who would find a Fairy city whilst on various adventures involving tricksters, magical shoes, and hooliganism, it will come to us.”
    September blinked. “Is that how things are done here?”
    “Isn’t that how they’re done in your world?”
    September thought for a long moment. She thought of how children who acted politely were often treated as good and trustworthy, even if they pulled your hair and made fun of your name when grown-ups weren’t around. She thought of how her father acted like a soldier, strict and plain and organized--and how the army came for him. She thought of how her mother acted strong and happy even when she was sad, and so no one offered to help her, to make casseroles or watch September after school or come over for gin rummy and tea. And she thought of how she had acted just like a child in a story about Fairyland, discontent and complaining, and how the Green Wind had come for her, too.
    “I suppose they are, in my world. It’s hard to see it, though, on the other side.”
    “That’s what gnome ointment is for,” winked the Wyvern.
    “Well, we’d better be at it, then,” said September. “At least I shall have no trouble with the shoes.” She kept a persimmon or two for a late lunch--the pockets of her smoking jacket were quite full, yet the jacket was quite sensitive about its figure, and did not bulge in the slightest. A-Through-L squirmed down to the ground to allow her to climb up onto the bronze lock, where she sat pertly, clutching the wiry red stripe of fur that ran down the Wyverary’s long neck. She drew her sceptre from the belt of the smoking jacket and extended it to the horizon like a sword. Blue mountains rose on either side of their path, shining and faceted like lumps of sapphire.
    “Onward, noble steed!” She cried loudly.
    Nothing much happened. A few birds cat-called and trilled.
     
    As the two of them travel along, I shall take a moment’s pause, as is my right. For it deserves remarking that if one is to obtain a monstrous companion, a Wyvern--or a Wyverary--is really a top-notch choice. Firstly, they