Laura Schlitz - The Night Fairy

Never had the garden seemed so large. Flory’s legs were scratched and aching, and the rough brick of the patio scraped the soles of her feet. Nevertheless, she set a good pace, sprinting and leaping over the cracks between the bricks.

It was growing dark. A pale star winked in the sky, and the colors of the garden were fading. The white roses glowed in the dimness like the star overhead. By the time Flory reached the juniper bush, she had a stitch in her side, but her footsteps never slowed. She must cut the web and free the hummingbird before the bats came out to hunt.

She had forgotten about the spider. While Flory had been warming the eggs, the spider had returned and found the hummingbird trapped in its web. Now the spider was wrapping its prey, creeping around and around the open wings, wet silk dripping from its spinnerets.

Flory stood stock-still, gazing upward. The spider was a large creature — a female, no doubt, as male spiders are puny. Her black-and-yellow body was as long as Flory was tall, and a good deal fatter. She was beautiful, in a scary, black-and-yellow sort of way, but she was deadly. Flory thought of the spider’s fangs digging into her and shivered. Nevertheless, she spat on her hands and caught hold of the bottom strand of the spiderweb.

The spider’s head jerked up. Although she had eight eyes, her eyesight was poor. She couldn’t see Flory, but she felt the web move under the fairy’s weight. The spider swung downward, hanging from a thread. She grumbled something that sounded like “feast or famine” and “always the way.” The hairy forelegs twitched, testing the air. “Why, it’s a fairy!” cried the spider. “What’s a fairy doing in my web? Are you stuck?”

She did not sound unfriendly. It took Flory a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m not stuck,” she answered. She took care to speak more politely than usual; she had an idea that spiders must be treated with respect. “I came to free the hummingbird. Don’t you think she’s a bit big for you to eat?”

“I can eat her,” said the spider. “I’ve never caught anything I couldn’t eat. For that matter, I could eat you.” She gave a low chuckle. “Mind you, I don’t want to. They say it’s bad luck to kill a fairy, and I don’t fancy bad luck. But I could eat you, missy — if I wanted to.”

Flory didn’t doubt it. Seeing the spider up close, she was tempted to leap down from the web and shriek for Skuggle. She cast a nervous glance at the hummingbird. The bird hung limp, eyes closed. “You’ve poisoned her!” Flory said accusingly.

“Not yet,” answered the spider. “I like to wrap ’em before I bite ’em. That way you don’t waste so much juice.”

Flory’s thoughts raced. If the hummingbird hadn’t been bitten yet, there was still hope. “If you haven’t bitten her, why isn’t she moving?”

“She’s gone into torpor,” the spider explained. “Hummingbirds do that. When they run out of strength, they slow their bodies down. That’s why she looks dead — but she’s not. A good thing, too. I don’t like dead meat. I like it hot and juicy.” She nodded toward a grayish bundle on the other side of the web. “Take that wasp. He’s still alive and kicking. What I say is, a dead wasp is nasty, but —”

Flory forgot about being polite. “Why not eat the wasp?” she interrupted. “You don’t need a whole big bird to eat. Why don’t you eat the wasp and let the hummingbird go?”

The spider looked affronted. “Who do you think you are?” she asked. “Telling me what to eat! I’ll eat what I choose, missy! It’s no business of yours.”

“It is my business,” Flory said rashly. “The hummingbird’s my friend. If you try to bite her, I’ll sting you. And I’ll stick you with my dagger.” She drew her knife and brandished it fiercely. “Let her go!”

The spider’s eyes gleamed faintly red. All at once, she swung downward, heading for Flory. The black-and-yellow legs swung into action, moving with incredible speed.

Flory panicked. She shouted her stinging spell so fast that she mixed up the magic words. The spider danced closer. Flory closed her eyes. She thought of the spell she used when making cobweb ropes. She imagined a vine spiraling toward the sun, twisting, twisting. The words spilled from her lips.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the spell had worked. The threads of the cobweb had coiled tightly, snagging the spider in her own web. Ropes of silk fettered the black-and-yellow body. Sticky threads gummed the spider’s mouth shut. Three of the eight legs were folded under themselves. The other five stuck out at queer angles, twitching helplessly.

Flory gave a little gasp. She wasn’t sorry that her spell had worked, but it was clear that the spider was in great pain. It was also clear that Flory had made an enemy. The spider’s eyes bulged with rage.

“I didn’t mean it.” Flory said hastily. “I mean, I meant it, but —” Her voice trailed off as she eyed the spider’s left foreleg. It was so bent and crooked that it made Flory feel a little sick. “Here — hold still. That leg’s going to snap in two if I don’t — Hold still, I say! I’m going to cut the ties.”

She clenched the knife and darted forward, nicking the thread that held the spider’s leg. The leg shuddered back into place.

“There!” Flory said nervously. “Is that better?”

The spider glared at her. Flory hesitated. Then she switched her knife to her other hand so that she could wipe her sweaty palm on her skirt. Her heart beat fast as she cut the threads that bound the other seven legs. When she finished, the spider was still her prisoner, but the eight legs hung straight and free, like the petals of a black daisy.

“Now!” Flory said briskly. “Don’t you feel better?”

The spider flexed her legs, making sure they still worked. Her eyes were still furious, but it was clear that she was no longer in agony.

“I have an idea,” Flory announced. “I’d like to cut the threads around your mouth so that we can talk things over. Only you mustn’t bite me. Promise me you won’t bite me.”

There was no answer. Flory took a deep breath. Then she wedged the blade of her knife under the threads around the spider’s jaw. She tried to keep her hands as far from the great fangs as she could, but she couldn’t cut the cords without getting close. The spider’s fangs were sharply pointed and curved inward, like the horns of a bull. Flory knew that the poison inside those fangs was powerful enough to turn her bones and muscles to soup. Her stomach felt queasy with terror, but her hand did not shake. She sawed carefully until she cut the thread from the spider’s jaw.

The spider opened her mouth and said a long string of bad words.

Flory couldn’t blame her. She waited until the spider had run out of things to say. Then she said, “Here’s my idea.” She pointed to the web, which was dotted with little gray bundles. “You have other good things to eat in your web. If you promise not to eat the hummingbird, I’ll set you free.”

“Why shouldn’t I eat the hummingbird?” demanded the spider. “Isn’t she my prey? Didn’t I work to weave the web that caught her? Don’t I have to eat?”

Flory’s hand dropped to her side. It was true what the spider said: every creature in the garden had to eat. That was the law. The spider had only been obeying it. But —

“You could eat wasps,” Flory said stubbornly. “Promise not to eat the bird, and I’ll set you free.”