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The Gentleman narrowed his eyes and cocked his head first one way, then the other. He closed one eye and took a step backward to better survey the scene before him. "I am not at all certain what it is you hope to accomplish in this endeavor, Stephen," he said at last. "That tree is quite dead."
Stephen, currently struggling under the weight of the evergreen, could only grunt in acknowledgement.
The Gentleman nudged at the sack of decorations with a toe. “It… will not be able to accept your offerings,” he said carefully, clearly fearing to upset Stephen after he’d gone to so much work. Then he narrowed his eyes again. "You say the most powerful Englishmen do this every year?"
"For the past several years, sir, yes," Stephen answered breathlessly, easing the base of the tree trunk into the large pot he'd had the Gentleman conjure for the purpose. "Queen Charlotte introduced the idea of a whole tree at court, and —"
"Yes, yes. And you say the common folk are quite enchanted? If it is enchantment you wish for, there are other ways, you know. We might simply cast spells upon them and force them to do as you wish."
Stephen smiled to himself. "That is not the point, sir. You will simply have to trust me. Wait and see."
"Well," the Gentleman declared, "of course I can do that, my dear Stephen! You have never steered me wrong. I shall leave you to it."
Stephen laughed a little to himself as he caught the Gentleman casting sudden, sly looks over his shoulder as he departed, as if he thought the tree were only pretending at being ordinary, and it would give up the ruse and become fantastical if it believed no one was looking.
Stephen thought it a splendid tree. For all his shortcuts and makings-do, he imagined the fairy Christmas tree must be every bit as splendid as the grandest tree to grace the halls at Windsor. The ribbons were all outlandish colors. Not a red or a blue or a pink to be found. Instead, they were such colors as nostalgia, homesickness, whimsy, and delight. The candles, too, burned with a multitude of colored flames, and some, when they tired of glowing one color, would switch without warning to another color entirely. Some only burned in the corner of one’s eye, but when given one’s full attention, became shy and went out. There were no oranges or almonds in Lost Hope, but there was a great profusion of golden berries in a garden beyond the ballroom, and Stephen picked several handfuls to scatter about the limbs. The Christmas tree was no match in size for the great, gnarled tree that grew right out of the center of the ballroom floor, and yet, with all its vibrant colors and flickering brightness, it seemed to reign over the space with ease.
Stephen startled at a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to the Gentleman, who was regarding the tree intently. He seemed to be impressed in spite of himself. “I must say, Stephen,” he murmured without taking his eyes off the glimmering evergreen boughs, “it does seem to cut through the gloom like a knife. And, oh!” He straightened and fixed Stephen with a sly look. “I see it now — the lingering greenery upon the dead tree, the bright lights and little gifts and poison fruits to entice one closer… But, my dear Stephen, it is rather an obvious trap. I daresay it may suffice for catching Englishmen, but I can teach you better. We fairies are devious creatures, and it takes a most devious trap to ensnare one of our kind.”
“It is no trap, sir,” protested Stephen in alarm. “I did not know the berries were poison. I simply thought them a pretty bit of decoration. The whole tree is only meant to be pretty.”
“Oh.” The Gentleman waved away his objection. “Well, of course it is that! But why should it be so? What is the purpose, if not to ensnare the unwary? The tree no longer cares about such things as beauty.”
“But we do, sir,” Stephen explained. “And your subjects—“
“Ah!” His face lit up as comprehension dawned. “I had forgotten! Oh, Stephen — how foolish I am for doubting you! Of course your spell does nothing for the likes of us, with all our combined power! I will summon my household at once, that you might test it out on the lowly and common creatures!”
And before Stephen could protest, the ballroom was full of the usual crowd of revelers, as well as harassed-looking fairy servants in drab dress, and a handful of hollow-eyed humans in tattered clothes. Some of them still had dirty dishes or brooms in their hands. There was a long moment of heavy silence that spanned the range from polite confusion to outright alarm, and then one of the human thralls gasped and dropped the broom she was holding. She stepped forward with an expression of wonder on her filthy face, and the Gentleman backed away as if burned.
“H-her face! Oh, Stephen!” He waved impatiently at another human, a young man with hair that might once have been golden but was now greasy and caked with dirt. “You there — come closer! Look at Stephen’s tree.”
The young man obliged, and after a moment, his face, too, transformed. The Gentleman clapped in delight as his face went from tense and wary to soft and almost beautiful in its unguardedness. The flickering fairy lights cast odd shadows across his features, one moment highlighting the strength of his jaw, the next, a curious glimmer in one eye.
The fairy servants came next, wary but curious as to what could be delighting their master so. They eyed the towering tree skeptically, but then one found a little corn husk doll Stephen had tucked into its branches, and let out a chiming laugh. More and more fairies came then, all eager for a share of this new wonder, and Stephen and the Gentleman were forced backward, away from the tree, to make way for them all.
In the early hours of the morning, as the last of the revelers faded away down dim corridors, Stephen stood with the Gentleman before the Christmas tree, staring down at the base of it in dismay. Amid fallen ribbons and droplets of candle wax, two fairies and the human girl lay upon the floor. They might have been only sleeping, but for the bluish tinge at their fingertips and the utter stillness in which they lay. The lips of all three were stained gold.
“I hope you will accept my apology, my dearest Stephen,” said the Gentleman.
“Sir?”
“It was devious enough, after all. I should know by now not to doubt your cleverness. I apologize for it and promise to do better in future.”
“But, sir,” Stephen protested. “It is I who should be apologizing to you! I had not meant to cause… this… when I suggested putting up a Christmas tree.”
“Oh,” declared the Gentleman with a laugh. “I still say it is an utterly foolish tradition, Stephen, and as it turns out, quite gruesome, but I find I enjoy its effects immensely!”