N. Fairy Wings - Part 4

This was not turning out to be a good day. Wallace had been up all
night sitting in the cold and had managed less than two hours of sleep
before just making it to work on time, where Jim had reluctantly
informed him that he had neither the cash nor the contacts to move a
set of Fairy wings, especially when he could not prove they weren't
hot. Wallace had secured the briefcase in his locker but did not like
leaving it at all. Now, as if working Sunday morning were not bad
enough, he had to deal with this sodding Dryad.

She was maybe an inch taller than him but a lot thinner, Nymphs were
built like almost perfectly scaled down humans while gnomes had a far
stockier, squat frame. When she moved it was with a dangerous, feline
grace that betrayed her predatory nature, lithe, sinuous muscles
shifted with consummate ease beneath her clear, emerald skin. What
really unnerved Wallace though was the fact that, other than a knee
length mane of thick black hair, she was completely naked.

He forced his gaze upwards to be faced with two jet-black pupilless
eyes staring straight into his.

"Don't I know you garden gnome?" She said, less a question than an
accusation.

"Possibly." Replied Wallace raising one hand to smooth his pointy
hat.

"I've got it." She exclaimed. "Waldo Cocksucker."

"Wallace Clockwinder."

"Yeah, yeah." She said dismissively. "Son of Goosefucker son of
Stoatfucker son of King Goosefucker the stoat fucker."

"Dragonswort." Muttered Wallace, unable to let the slur on his
ancestor stand.

"Oh." Adrielle said, turning on one heel. "Dragonfucker."

Wallace chose to let it rest. "Where's the problem?" He asked.

"Just over here garden gnome."

*****

Herr Manfred Bert Schmitt sat at his desk gazing in absent minded
distraction at the framed picture of his wife in his hand without
really focusing on the photograph at all. The picture was a
professionally taken black and white portrait of a Wagnerian soprano in
full Valkrie getup, belting out some tune or other with all her might.
A close observer might notice that the background to the picture showed
a distinctly small and shabby set, that the silver paint was peeling
off the subjects breastplate, that her helmet was a little too large
for her head, and that the horns were not quite symmetrical. Schmitt
had better pictures of his wife, more recent and more forgiving of her
figure, but it was this one he always came back to.

The problem was the same one he faced every year, what do you get
the woman who has everything. She had one large, sensible car and
another, smaller, sportier one, she had the house in the city, the
house in the country and the apartment in New York, she had a walk in
wardrobe full to capacity and she had four different rectangles of
plastic to help ensure a healthy turn around, she had her free time,
her singing lessons, her amateur dramatics, her sports club, her
friends, her two children in successful careers and happy marriages,
two or three foreign holidays a year and the complete and undying love
of her husband. A husband who had had absolutely no idea what to buy
her for her fiftieth birthday.

It was Carla, his full time PA, who had put the thought into his
head.

"You're thinking about it all wrong." She had answered when he tried
her for advice. "Don't ask yourself what you can buy her, ask yourself
what she would like."

He had done his research, talked to her friends, their children and
her mother, and had arrived very swiftly at one conclusion, jewellery.
Not just any jewellery mind, she already owned a sizeable and very
valuable collection. He had to find her something special, an antique
perhaps, or something otherwise unique. It had dawned on him whilst
sitting in the bath with a bottle of beer one Saturday night, a
matching set made from fairy wings, a pair of earrings and a necklace.
It was absolutely perfect, it was absolutely impossible.

Fairies could not be farmed. He had been reading up on it, no matter
how huge the enclosure a fairy would always head straight for the
boundary and try for all it was worth to break out. If the damn things
could not escape they would die trying, they would stop eating and
devote all their energy to escaping the barrier, they would shred
themselves on razor wire, fry themselves on electric fences and even
pull themselves apart and post the pieces through the gaps in the wall,
wings first. There was no way they could be viably bred in captivity,
billions had been spent researching the subject.

So he was left with the thorny problem of obtaining a set of wild
fairy wings in two weeks flat. Fairy wings were remarkable in a number
of ways other than their resplendent beauty, they were incredibly
durable for such delicate structures and, extraordinarily, were so
light they actually had a negative weight. When a fairy died in the
wild its body was soon eaten or decomposed but the wings floated free,
upwards and into outer space, they were not just lighter than air, they
were lighter than gravity, a phenomenon that made the things extremely
rare.

He had contacted every serious dealer on the planet, both of whom
had put him at the bottom of an estimated two year waiting list, what
bribes and favours he could offer had meant absolutely nothing. They
had advised him that enthusiasts or those simply seeking the fortunate
intervention of fate sometimes flew skyhooks where they very
occasionally intercepted a shed wing floating its way up out of the
atmosphere. Had he not been working so near the tower he would not have
even bothered but he had always had a hankering to try the things and
had set his heart on the gift. It had been worth the shot.

He replaced the framed photograph and opened the small box that
Carla had left sitting on his desk. It was an elegant golden broach
encrusted with precious and semiprecious stones that the (very
reputable) jeweller had ensured him was exactly one hundred years old,
it was a beautiful gift and his wife would love it but to him it would
always be a compromise.

"Carla". He said, placing one chubby finger on the intercom.

"Yes Herr Schmitt."

"Cancel my appointment at Schwarzwald Tower please."

"Very well."

"Danke." He replied absent-mindedly.