"Who is making that racket?" said a very feeble voice. "We're trying to become fungus over here."

"Someone else is in here?" Cliff called out: "Hey! Who else is here?"

Killory woke up with a snort. "Did you say something?"

"Turn on your light! There is someone else here."

Killory did so, and they saw a figure in the barred doorway. Ghostly pale, with a large head and thin body, it was female, alien, and beautiful. Cliff felt a deep infatuation with her, as though her sadness was his. And she was quite miserable at first, until a sense of recognition slowly opened her eyes wide.

"Uncle Killory!"

"Do I know you, lass? Let me get a closer look. Well, if it isn't my 11th favorite neice Zelly, how're yeh?"

"Oh Uncle Killory, I thought I would never see you again. When you stomped away so angry that night 300 years ago, we thought you'd walked off the cliffs of Maher."

"Well, I was trying to become a plant. It was dead peaceful. And the chlorophil agreed with my complexion, I think."

"Myself, I have been trying to become a lichen."

"Aye, that would explain the tendrils. But you are so young, only 800. Why would you want to do something so daft as that?"

"I know, but my sentence is a long one. I got 5000 years. In this place it might as well be a million."

"But the bugs are so tasty, are they not?"

"Tell me, who is your big friend?"

"Friend? I don't have a... oh, you mean the human here? He's nobody important. I think his name is Clive or something like that."

"Cliff," corrected Cliff.

"Human, did you say?" She looked him up and down, incredulously. "But where are the fangs? The huge tufts of fur? The heavy browlines? Granted, he is ungainly, but hardly a monster."

Cliff started to thank her, but then he wasn't sure if it was a compliment after all.

"Well, I guess the humans these days are softer," explained Killory. "Like bread pudding."

"What are you in for, uncle?"

"Oh, disturbing the peace, threatening violence. Nothing new. But the human here, he was caught trying to address a snake."

All the inmates in hearing distance gasped.

"Speaking to a snake out of turn? But that is punishable by inking."

"You mean I get a tattoo?" asked Cliff.

"No, you are drowned in ink and your corpse used as a paint brush. Of course, they may not get around to it for a few weeks. In that time you may well be devoured by the bugs."

+++++++++

"And who are all these... people?"

"Oh, these are my fellow jailmates you helped escape. Let me introduce you. The grogoch peering in through the window is Buckley."

A pebbled face pushing through a porthole window over the table grinned.

"Danku for gitting us out!" his low voice rumbled.

"He was doing time for seditious behavior, but they were trumped-up charges. Really all he did was step on a snake's tail. He has bad eyesight, you see, and though he needs glasses, the Snakes refuse to give us any medical care."

"I don' see no good!" bellowed the grogoch, a greasy tear sliding down his cheek.

"This will-o-wisp here is Elsie."

A ball of light bobbed up and down to say, "hi."

"She was arrested for stealing state secrets. Well, really she was just waiting tables and took too long. The Snakes don't like to be made to wait."

"Mimi is a banshee. She was once a great operatic singer, but she once sang a note flat and for this she was imprisoned for life. The Snakes, with their hyper-evolved aesthetic sensibilities cannot forgive a mistake like that."

"Bryce is the gnome sitting next to me."

"Hi Cliff!" The little man with the huge nose waved. "It's an honor to meet you."

"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What did they charge him with?" asked Cliff.

"Just that: being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is a law against it on the books."

"But what does it mean? It's ambiguous."

"Exactly. It means whatever the Snakes want it to. In the end, it doesn't really matter. If you get on the wrong side of the Snakes, even by accident, you'll suffer for it the rest of your life, however short that may be. All of these faeries are innocent if you ask me. I am the only one here who really committed a crime."

"Aye?" Killory was fascinated. "Tell us what that is, lass."

She donned a berret and struck a classic Che Guevera pose. "I'm a guerilla fighter!"

"Have ye killed anyone?"

"Well, no. Actually, my crime was to wear revolutionary clothing when it was out of style. And I stole a piece of bread. But stealing only carries a penalty of 30 days in the tank, whereas Gross Violation of Fashion Codes is a life term."

"That's insane," said Cliff. "How did the Snakes get all these ambiguous, arbitrary laws? Is there some crazy despot sitting on a throne making up random rules every day as his whims tickle him?"

The faeries laughed ruefully.

"We wish it were that simple," said Zelfia. "The Snakes have no leader. Or, if you like, every snake is the leader. You understand?"

"No."

"Snakes are beings of pure arrogance. No snake can stand to take orders from anyone, not even another snake. They tried everything from monarchy to democracy, but it always ended in a bloody biting match. Finally, the only system that stuck was mass-delusion. Every snake firmly believes he or she is the leader of all the other Snakes."

"Ah. Like a lunatic assylum," mused Cliff, "where every inmate is Napoleon."

"Every snake has the title of Grand Visier, Holy Emperor, God, Her Omnipotence, His Ass-kissiness, or whatever is in vogue on a given day. Just walk down the street and you'll hear snakes issuing proclamations, making up laws, passing judgements. And all of it is legally binding."

"What? You can't be serious. If that were true, there would have to be..."

"Millions of laws, yes. It's true. On last count there were seven million, eight hundred and twenty one thousand, five hundred and sixty two laws. I know this because I was a scribe elf. My caste is responsible for following the Snakes around and taking notes. When a law dribbles out of a snake mouth, no matter how stupid it is, it becomes law. Then we have to bring it to the central office and the constitution elves pencils it in."

"What happens if there is a contradiction? You know, if one snake contradicts another's edict?"

"It happens. We take it in chronological order. But inscribing the laws is only part of the problem. The enforcement is a nightmare. I remember a day in which two snakes were having an argument in which one said that faeries shorter than 20 inches ought to be put to death, and the other contradicted his rulings. They had to install a revolving door in death row so those poor short faeries could walk in and out all day long."

Bryce the gnome, who was 19 inches tall, shuddered. "I remember that. I needed counseling for years."

Zelfia patted his hand sympathetically.

"The problem," she went on, "is that snakes cannot ever be punished for anything. It is always one of us who takes the blame for a snake's misdeed. One time last year, a snake decided to issue a proclamation that burning the snake seal was illegal. So we made an ammendment to the constitution. the next day, all the snakes were so incensed by that dumb law that they all started burning snake emblems out of spite. The law had been broken. Who took the blame? We did. The faeries who gave them the matches to light the fires were hung from the ceilings upsidedown for months."

Cliff sagged. "I never wanted to be here. I was conned into doing a stupid job for the cats and birds. Is there any justice?"

"Nope, afraid not. And yes, yer probably gonna die here. Want some poteen?"

Killory handed the flask over.

The other faeries murmered, "You have drink? But it is forbidden here."

Giving sweet oblivion in the form of poisoned alcohol was the most generous thing Cliff could have hoped for from the cluricaun. He accepted the offer gratefully. Unscrewing the cap, he was about the take a sip when he stopped to smell it first. He nearly gagged. It probably would have excelled as a rocket fuel. Good thing there weren't any open flames around, he thought.

Then his mind shook. He looked at Killory and smiled. The cluricaun smiled back, thinking one less human in the world was a wonderful thing. Cliff kicked off a shoe and took off his sock. He stuffed it into the mouth of the flask.

Killory's rage was so quick his hands were already around Cliff's throat before the human interrupted his own murder with a strange request.

"Fire? Anybody have some fire? You know, flint, or matches or..."

"We have some flint," said Zelfia. We use it to build a fire in the morning to thaw out our legs.

"Great! Start a fire for me and then find a place to hide."

Killory's face contorted in deep confusion. Trying to reckon what the human was babbling about was the only thing saving Cliff's life at that moment. Zelfia passed a smoldering twig through the bars, which Cliff touched to the end of the poteen-soaked sock stuffed in the flask. Only then did Killory understand. He dove into a pile of bones.

Cliff held onto the flask as the sock crackled and slowly shrank. He was relieved finally to be doing something useful. He knew he could not survive a night in this place. It was just not an option. He believed strongly in the sanctity of life, and the importance of not dying in horrible ways. Now, thanks to his ingenuity, he would live, perhaps the rest of his days.

But if the flask exploded while he was holding it...

He screamed and tossed it away, giving himself just enough time to bound to the other side of the cell before the flash.

From the outside the prison break was quite a sight to see. First, there was the scene of a giant rock golem lying on its back, sleeping its forever sleep, full of hundreds of moaning, despairing bad little faeries. Then, the moaning stopped, and a few seconds later the golem opened its eyes. This was followed by an intense wave of light and heat, a cloud of dust that filled tunnels for miles.

And Killory, sailing through the air with a face of pure joy. He burst from the smoke cloud like a dolphin breaching the sea, his arms spread out and his feet together. He flew a long way screaming, "yeeeehaaa!"

There was a rain of rubble, then quiet, then coughing. And finally Cliff emerged, staggering, smoldering, dressed in tatters.

The last thing he said before collapsing on the ground was, "now aren't you glad you didn't become a plant?"

Before he even opened his eyes, Cliff knew he was in a good place. The warmth, the smells, the raucus strains—these put him at ease as he slowly returned to consciousness. At first, he mistakenly assumed he was in his grandmother's house. As a little boy, he loved the crushing love of his extended family getting together each year for holidays. He would wake up on the sofa by the fireplace as his aunts and uncles laughed over stories.

"Did you see me flying? It was brilliant! Right through the air like a birdie."

"That Puck man was spot on, if you ask me, using the poteen as munitions. What chutzpah, that was."

"I can't believe we're free. Really free. All the smoke made a perfect screen to get away."

"Aye, I think we'll be safe here for a long time. This hollowed-out toadstool in the mushroom farms is completely unknown to the Snakes."

Cliff opened his eyes and saw the interior of a small, homely cottage with unpainted wood panelling, well-fashioned cabinetry, little round windows. He was lying on the floor, a few patches of blanket thrown over him. With pained effort, he managed to sit up. The ceiling was not much higher than his head.

The crowd on the other side of the room went quiet, whispering about him like a king. "Shh! Quiet. We're waking the man-creature." They were seated around a wooden table on stools, mugs of some frothy beverage in their hands. Cliff squinted and could see there were a variety of different supernatural species represented there.

Killory hopped off his stool and trotted over. "My lad, I have to say that in spite of the fact that you're a human, you're all right with me. That was spunky thinking back there in the jail. I was going to turn your skull into a candy dish when you fouled my canteen with your stocking, but it soon sunk in what you were onto. And then I was soaring through the air. They'll be talking about me, Killory the flying cluricaun, for centuries!"

"Like Gidget the Flying Nun?"

Blank stare.

"You know, the television show... You do know what television is? Little plays put on in a box, interrupted frequently by merchants hawking their wares?"

"Aye, that's all right." Killory patted him on the shoulder. "It will be a while before yer wee human brain recovers from the shock. That is, if his puny mind ever worked."

"Mr. Puck," said Zelfia, "We all owe you a debt for getting us out of prison. It is that sort of creative thinking we are lacking now in faerie society. We are so pleased to have you leading us now."

"Leading? You?" Cliff's forhead was a stormy sea of furroughs.

"Yes! We had a vote and we want you to lead the Revolution."

"Oh." Cliff desperately wanted some aspirin.

"You look like you could use a nice hot mug of cocoa. Would you like that? Let me get the kettle going."

The elf reached over to a little firepit, snapped her fingers, and a cozy little fire began to crackle on top of nothing at all. She hung a kettle on a hook over the fire. The hook didn't seem to be attached to anything.

"So," said Cliff, massaging his temples. "Did I hear you right? We are in a big, hollowed-out toadstool?"

"That's right," said Zelfia. "This used to be my great-great-aunt's barn. Now we use it as a safe house for the Resistance."

++++++++++

"This is outrageous! But I don't understand why you put up with it? Why don't you just get up and leave?"

The kettle started to whistle. Zelfia lifted it off the hook and set it down. She reached into the dusty earth and pulled out two perfect little china cups. She scooped up some dirt, sprinkled it into each cup, then poured the water over it. She stirred the near-boiling water with her finger and handed the cup to Cliff.

Cliff, who just watched her pour hot water over dirt, took a skeptical sniff of the concoction. It smelled delicious, more chocolatey than the foamiest, richest cocoa in memory. He simply had to take a sip. And then he spat it out.

"Ug! That's mud in that cup." He tried in vain to wipe the taste off his tongue with his sleeve.

Zelfia shrugged. "Sorry. I only have enough magic to make it taste like cocoa or smell like it. So we just sniff our cocoa here."

Killory took a deep snort from his mug. "Smells great, lass! Of course, I would really appreciate a spot of poteen." He stared at Cliff with eyes of burning hatred for a moment before breaking into a smile again.

Cliff sniffed his mug and had to agree it smelled exactly like a fine, frothy mug of cocoa.

Sitting down again, Zelfia began to tell the story of the Faerie downfall. All the faeries had heard this story a thousand times, but they never tired of it, and their anger never cooled.

"Thousands of years ago things were going fine in the Faerie kingdom. We got along with the snakes, cats, birds, and you newcomers, the humans. We had a vital role to fill, being the tenders of chi power grid. Chi is the life energy that permeates everyhing, you may have heard of it?"

"In kung fu movies, yes."

"Well-tended chi is important because it keeps nature humming along smoothly. Think of us as the coal-tenders in a locomotive. Stop shovelling and the thing eventually comes to a halt. Nature goes amok. Demons immigrate. Life goes out of balance.

"About 1200 years ago, Christianity was sweeping Europe. There was no room for the old ways. Humans were consecrating this, blessing that, sprinkling holy water here, banishing dark magic from there. This religious stuff is powerful magic, and very harmful to us. It robs us of our health, damages our bodies, gives us strange ailments."

"Like smog," agreed Cliff.

"But that was only the beginning. When the priests failed to get rid of us, they invented a story about hell and cast us as the villains. They hunted us, rounded us up for expulsion. We had to go into hiding. Fortunately, we already had our homes underground. It was just a matter of hiding ourselves better. We developed a form of magic for creating illusions to hide our homes from nosy humans.

"About this time, the Snakes were also villified. They had a great little civilization going on across Europe. But the humans decided they were evil and drove them out. Their homes were burned, their palaces smashed, their antiquities looted. They were driven westward on and on until they ended up here on the west coast of Eyre, where they could go no further.

"We made an offer to them. Since they were going through the same turmoil we ourselves had suffered, we opened our homes to them. They could stay with us until everything blew over and then they would return to their former cities and rebuild. We underestimated the fervor of the new religious movement. It went on and on for centuries. The Snakes, never ones for being humble, started to take over, giving orders.

"Now our queen stepped in. She addressed an assembly of the Snakes in a polite forum, explaining that we not in a position to be hoteliers for the Snakes forever. But they were not in a mood to be lectured. They were refugees, had nowhere else to go, and they were not going to be kicked out. We said, 'what about that land across the atlantic ocean? Don't you have hypertransport tunnels going underneath the sea?'

"This must have triggered a collective mental snap. The tunnels belonged to the birds. There was a jealousy thing going on there we were not aware of. The Snakes rushed the stage and captured our queen. Before she could teleport away they trapped her in an inertial containment capsule. Some of us think that this was all planned in advance, because it happened so quickly.

"What do you think the end result of her imprisonment was? All order broke down. The Faeries were once a powerful kingdom, but there were always complex rivalries. This tribe bickered with that one, just like in human society. Only the queen held everything together. Our love for her is... well, it is unsurpassed. And without her, we have no will of our own, our morale suffers, our magic is reduced..."

"So, to summarize," Cliff said, "the Snakes used 'divide and conquer' strategy on you, playing the factions against each other to keep you always destabilized."

"We were blackmailed. If we refused to be their slaves, they would kick us out and leave us at the mercy of the humans. If we stayed, we would have to give up our proud and independant way of life. Meanwhile, the chi grid was eroding and we were steadily losing power. We picked the lesser of two evils and stayed because survival was better than extinction."

"Death to the Snakes!" shouted Mimi in a voice that made one or two glass panes crack. For someone with a hoarse voice, she still could scream when she wanted to.

"No, no," corrected Buckley, "Shame to snakes. Not death."

"This is an argument they've been having for a while now," explained Zelfia. "Buckley is a pacifist. He's been telling everyone that civil disobediance is the answer. Get everyone to stop working and the Snakes will listen. Mimi, on the otherhand, is obsessed with the idea of Marxist revolution."

"Let the workers march over the corpses of the imperialists!" Mimi sang out.

"Dere be no blood spilled in Revolution," growled Buckley. "Peaceful resistance is da way."

"Shut up already!" Zelfia bellowed. "You've been going back and forth on this for the last 50 years. Before we overthrow the imperialist masters, we need to have a constitutional republic in place with a government in absentia. Now, I favor a parliamentary system with..."

"Personally," said Bryce in an aside to Cliff, "I'd go for a fanatical theocracy. We just need to locate the Chosen One who has been blessed by the sixteen Gods of Zuctonia to lead us to glorious salvation."

"Right," said Cliff. "Me too."

The situation had broken down into an argument over whose philosophy was correct. Even Killory, an avowed nihilist, managed to get riled up with the rest of them. Cliff listened until he was sure one of them was going to grab a pointy kitchen implement.

"Stop it!" he shouted. Having their full attention, he took the conceptual lecturn. "This is exactly the problem that keeps you enslaved and lets the Snakes have their way with you. You are like bickering siblings unable to agree on anything. You need a leader to pull you together."

"Yes, right! Thank you Cliff, for volunteering."

"Eh, well, I don't... Anyway, listen, what is the one thing you all have in common, all faeries everywhere?"

"Um," thought Bryce, "we can't eat chocolate. No, wait, I can have chocolate. It's the almonds I can't have."

"We can all do magic," declared Zelfia.

"Me no can do magic," said Buckley, shedding another tear.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Buckley. Thoughtless of me."

"I know!" shouted Mimi. "We like dogs. I love little puppies. Don't you?"

"Can't stand the mangy curs," muttered Killory. "Unless you mean kicking them. That I can get into."

Elsie the Will-o-wisp emitted a high-pitch whistle.

"My goodness!" Zelfia cupped her hands over her mouth. "Elsie is right. It is our love for our queen. That is what we all have in common."

"Aye!" Killory's eyes filled with water. He stood up and started to sing a patriotic song about the queen. One by one, the other faeries stood up (if they weren't already standing or floating) and joined him.

"Titania, Fair Titania, Robed in beams of moonlight..."

"Very nice, but can we—OOF!" Cliff tried to say, but Killory punched him hard in the gut to teach him that you don't interrupt the Song Of The Queen.

"How lovely are your tresses, how shimmering your dresses..."

Cliff sat down for a very, very long rendition of the patriotic faerie song. He would learn that there were 28 mandatory verses, three different cycling choruses, two bridges, 85 optional verses of which they chose 15, and four intervals with five minutes of silence. And this was the "short" version. The long one took a whole season to sing.

So he listened. And waited. And when they were done, they would work on a plan.