Work Text:
15th August 1910
My pen can hardly keep pace with my thoughts after today’s events. Since gaining tenure, I have had to gradually adjust to the new privileges granted to me. This, of course, includes a seat at the dryadology department's regular faculty meetings.
Unfortunately, I experienced a great amount of anxiety regarding my first meeting. This led to great irritation, as there was no logical explanation for these sentiments. After all, I had worked with most of my fellow faculty members for years.
I suppose it stemmed from the swift change of it all. I spent years chasing tenure and it is finally here. For so long, I had settled in my role as adjunct faculty after repeatedly stumbling into the invisible wall that separated me from my superiors. Following the presentation Wendell and I gave at ICODEF, things moved in a whirlwind. I experienced recognition and appreciation that I had never come close to knowing before. A small part of me holds on to the indignation at it taking his involvement. Though, I cannot say that I am not grateful for his support.
Shadow received a great deal of head rubs as I worked to calm my nerves before settling into bed. I kept envisioning myself committing some elusive faux pas that I had no way of anticipating. I thought of all the times where I had blundered in the past; at times I was “too cold,” and at others I was “excessive.”
Shortly after the midnight chimes from the long-case clock, I noticed a comforting smell drift into the room. Every so often, always in the later hours of the evening, the unmistakable scent of lush green wafts through the hallway. It fills me with visions of a tranquil forest, the like of which I often find myself in during field work. I know where it comes from, the only feasible explanation for such a phenomenon within Cambridge’s oak-paneled apartments. As with every other occasion where I have found myself unable to rest, the enchanting sensation lulled me to sleep. The logical, dominant part of my brain scolded my foolishness, begging me to beware the supernatural.[1] And yet, with whispers of bird song and a gentle breeze throughout the room, I could not bring myself to care.
I woke with Shadow peacefully snoring at my side. I do not normally pay much attention to my appearance, but I did attempt to restrain my hair as much as it would allow. I also wore one of the dresses Wendell had tailored while I had been held prisoner as wife to the Winter King of Ljosland (Good God). With that, I stepped out and made my way to the main conference room.
I arrived exactly fifteen minutes in advance and found myself in the company of Professor Fairbanks and Professor Eddington. I was not particularly thrilled about this.
I have no issues with Eddington. He fiercely guards his title of oldest faculty member, still teaching at the ripe age of ninety-four. I have always respected his dedication to scholarship.[2]
Fairbanks, on the other hand, is well known for his opinionated and curmudgeonly nature. He and I have always been minimally cordial with one another, as I am not known to be very amiable myself. However, we have had quite a few spats over the years regarding various academic theories and texts. This is to be expected, though, especially within our field. Fairbanks sat with his usual cup of black coffee, while Eddington looked just about ready to take one of his open-eyed naps. I gave them both a brief wave before taking a seat at the central table. We sat in silence for a few moments before Fairbanks spoke.
"Well, it seems you've finally joined the rest of us." He gave me a cryptic look while he took a sip of his coffee.
"Ah, yes. I am very grateful to be tenured." I responded with a small smile.
There was a short pause. "I take it your findings from the expedition to Ljosland was particularly compelling to Rose and the rest of them.”
There was something in his tone that did not sit well with me. "...Yes, in addition to my otheraccomplishments in the field, of course."
He gave me another enigmatic look as he sipped his drink. "One may find it a bit peculiar how such groundbreaking discoveries could come out of just a three month span in the locale."
Another sip. "One could even call it a bit suspicious."
I had known, despite the wide array of praise that had come our way, that Wendell and I could very likely be met with doubt regarding our reports on the Hidden Ones. Nonetheless, it still hurt to hear such an accusation from a colleague.
I hesitated, steadying myself. "I understand that our expedition was...unconventional in the scope of current dryadology standards. However, I do believe that we were able to produce satisfactory publications on our findings."
I was making a great effort to not seem overly defensive. I have had many prior interactions where I have been scolded for my "overzealousness."
Fairbanks seemed unimpressed. "I can understand ‘unconventionality,’ as you put it, from Bambleby, considering his innovative methods. From you, however..." He trailed off, taking yet another sip from his coffee.
"I mean no personal offense by this, Emily, but I am of the belief your tenure may be largely owed to his involvement as well as the recent trends that have seemingly taken over this department."
I sat, stunned. There I was, at my first official meeting as a tenured professor, hoping to finally be able to more closely connect with my fellow scholars. Instead, I am immediately met with doubt and suspicion regarding my promotion. As if my contributions to the field have meant absolutely nothing. To my immense frustration, I felt a stinging lump develop in my throat. I took a few breaths and did my best to focus on a response instead of the hurt.
Finally, I spoke, my voice wavering far more than I would've liked, "And what, exactly, do you mean by recent trends?"
He put down his coffee.
"What I mean is the tarnishing of not only ICODEF's academic integrity, but the principle of our entire discipline. The more we loosen our peer-review and publication standards, the more we lower the threshold for tenure, the more we reward scientists for their attributes over their scholarship, we dissolve the credibility of dryadology’s status as a legitimate science. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but I simply do not believe you have garnered enough experience for full tenure. Even Walters did not earn her current faculty position until she was at least thirty-five."
I noticed, then, that I was breathing rather heavily. I could feel an overwhelming heat as Fairbanks’ words cut through me. To make things somehow even worse, Eddington had seemingly gained consciousness and was gawking at the two of us in a terribly un-subtle way.
For a moment, I was frozen, overcome by the feelings that rushed through me. I knew that I belonged at that table, that I had earned my tenure after many years of valuable work. And yet, a small sense of doubt began to seep in, which only made me more furious.
I looked up at him, "Is this all really just about my experience level, Professor?”
Fairbanks made no reply, gazing at the bay window beside us.
“Good morning.” A bright voice chimed.
The three of us startled at the voice of the figure who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. Wendell stood there in one of his pristine suits. He looked calm, with a small, alluring smile on his face. However, I could have sworn I spotted an ember of bright green flicker in his eyes, something that only occurs in moments of intense emotion. However, this was quickly forgotten as a surge of relief ran through me at his presence.
Each of us muttered a greeting in response as he gracefully swept into the room. I looked up at him and he gave me a bright grin. I could feel the tension dissipate from my body and I couldn’t help but smile in response. He assembled his mug of coffee, complete with a concerning amount of sugar.
He walked over to the table and, of course, took the seat directly to the left of mine. He took a swig of his drink. It was still boiling hot, and yet, he sipped with vigor.
Once the mug was nearly drained, he turned to me, speaking in his usual jovial way, "Well, Em, it's lovely to finally have you here! Truly, your tenure was due years ago, why they waited so long is beyond me." The sincerity in his voice was quite touching.
"Thank you, Wendell, I appreciate you saying that." I was admittedly quite smug at the way Fairbanks stared intently at the floor, shrinking into himself.
At this point, other faculty members had begun to spill into the room. Wendell greeted each of them and they all perked up in response. Everyone began to pour their beverages of choice and mingle.
Wendell turned back to me, "Already a new term, hm? I'm just glad we'll be able to experience some sunlight this time around. I will never miss that bloody frosted wasteland." He shuddered dramatically, which drew a quiet laugh from me.
I could sense he knew I had been upset and appreciated his efforts to comfort me. I could not help but notice that Fairbanks appeared slightly pale at that moment, almost sickly.
Before I could comment on this, Dr. Farris Rose, Department Head, entered hurriedly. He was, as always, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of his clothing's numerous sewn-in coins. The chatter around us began to die down and everyone settled into their seats around the table.
Rose finished shuffling through his documents before clearing his throat. "Yes, well, welcome back everyone. I trust you are all rested and prepared to begin the new term. There is quite a bit to get through, so I will begin right away. As you all likely know by now, the department has received a very generous donation from a Dr. J. Edward Crowley. The funding has been allocated for continued research in linkages between Abrahamic mythology and the faerie folklore of the United Kingdom and Ireland."
There was some scattered applause and chattering. There has been heightened interest in ties between folklore and Abrahamic myths, primarily regarding the rumors of the Folk being descended from fallen angels. I have adopted a neutral stance on this as I have not given these theories much thought, but I will always appreciate funding for our research, no matter the cause.
Someone muttered, "Nothing for river troll research, once again." They were promptly ignored.
As Rose flipped through his numerous documents, I could see Wendell lean forward in his seat. I felt a jolt of anxiety as I saw a wide grin spread across his face.
"Pardon me, Farris, but I think proper congratulations are due for our very own Professor Wilde, who has finally been given her much deserved place among our faculty. We are all in agreement, yes?" He spoke, snatching all attention from Rose.
For a moment, the Head sat blinking before he smiled in my direction, "Ah, yes, I do believe Professor Wilde is due for an official welcoming. Much congratulations on your tenure.” Wendell then began to applaud, which, to my absolute horror, spread throughout the entire group. I sat with my best attempt at a pleasant expression plastered on my face, waiting for this all to end so I could quickly retreat to my office. That is not to say I did not appreciate Wendell’s efforts. I just simply abhor when all eyes are on me. Of course, this is something he still struggles to comprehend, being that he seems to survive on attention.
Finally, everything died down and Rose seemed to remember we had a meeting to finish. He began to go through his papers once again and took notice of something he had written.
“Ah, Professor Fairbanks, you had some concerns you wished to address today?” He looked over at the man in question who now looked very ill. Having been caught up with our eventful opening, I had not noticed Fairbanks’ condition worsen. He was sweating profusely, his skin ghost white.
“Peter, is everything alright?” Rose looked genuinely concerned, as did everyone once they observed him.
Fairbanks opened his mouth several times, appearing to be making an immense effort to respond. He managed to utter some kind of primal vocalization before he began to cough profusely. My opinion on Fairbanks is certainly not favorable, but I could not help my anxiety as his coughing rapidly gained intensity. Professor Reid, who was sat to his right, began to firmly pat Fairbanks’ back, hoping to dislodge whatever seemed to be causing his choking. Unfortunately, this did little to help.
The room began to dissolve into chaos as more attendees attempted to assist Fairbanks, looking alarmed. Wendell rose from his seat and elegantly made his way over to the struggling professor. Fairbanks stood up in a panic. He appeared to be trying to find something else that could help when Wendell took him by the shoulders and steered him back towards the table. He proceeded to give the professor’s back three sharp strikes and, immediately, a wild rose flew from his mouth, thorns and all.
For a moment, everyone simply stared at the flower, dumbfounded. It laid limp on the table, slightly bloodied. Fairbanks looked down at it in horror, still incredibly pale. Wendell moved forward and grabbed the rose, carefully avoiding the blood. He looked over it intently. “Hm, it seems to be of the Irish variety, perhaps he has scorned one of the leannán sídhe?”
Fairbanks’ quickly spun towards Wendell and appeared to try to respond in protest, but all that came out was another series of coughs. Wendell paid him no mind and put the flower down.
After more silence, he continued, “Well, no matter the cause, he should be seen by a physician. Rose, perhaps you should escort him, as Department Head.”
Rose snapped out of whatever state of shock he was in and muttered a quick "Right, yes," before rushing towards Fairbanks. The two of them soon exited the room, the sound of wet coughs and jingling coins echoing throughout the hallway.
The rest of us remained still, attempting to process what had just taken place. Eventually, Professor Reid broke the silence, "Well, he is known for lacking...delicacy in many of his encounters with the Folk. I would not be surprised if this was a case of an encounter gone wrong. It has all the makings of a deliberate curse.”
I could not help but join in on her theorizing, "Yes, I do remember a tale from France where there are two daughters of a widow. One is treated well by her mother but displays cruel behaviour. The other is kind but is abused by her family. Later, the kind daughter shows a fairy compassion and, following this, precious gems spill from her mouth whenever she speaks. The other daughter scorns the same figure and, afterwards, snakes crawl from her mouth in a similar fashion. Of course, the kind daughter later marries a prince and lives happily while the cruel daughter dies alone."[3]
“Intriguing. Yes, I can see the obvious parallels,” said Professor Thornthwaite, who was eyeing the rose with much trepidation.
Reid nodded, “Yes, it is likely this was the result of some conflict during one of his research expeditions. I hope his recovery is swift, some faerie curses, especially those of the Courtly Folk, are known to last for months on end.”
This last comment gave me pause. I suddenly remembered the intensity in Wendell's eyes as he had entered earlier. I turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had taken to furiously scrubbing at the blood on the table, his oíche sídhe ancestry on full display. He looked my way after a few moments, clearly sensing the shift in my demeanor, and proceeded to give me a sheepish grin.
I fear I would be dishonest if I said that the event was not at all frightening. In that moment, Wendell had taken on a role similar to his literary counterparts, enacting vengeance upon the poor mortal sap who had dared to offend him. Yet, I must grudgingly admit that I could not find myself all that upset. Fairbanks had long ago made himself a blister within the department with his endless critiques and snobbery. Not to mention, he had all but physically spat upon my status and accomplishments within our field. I don't believe that he deserved to have a barbed flower erupt from his throat, but I can certainly see how it would seem an appropriate punishment according to Wendell's faerie logic.
The faerie in question had abandoned his cleaning efforts and had made his way over to me. "Is something the matter, Em?" he asked.
Of course, he knew exactly what I was thinking about. I could see the telltale hint of mischief in his eyes.
My lip curled upwards as I gazed back at the table. "I think you missed a spot."
[1] There are numerous tales depicting young women being lured to their demise via such magic. One significant example is found in Murphy’s Collection of Faerie Folklore, 1900. In “The Princess and the Footman,” the eponymous protagonist is led away from her chambers as she follows what she believes to be the voice of her secret lover.
[2] Eddington is known for his extraordinary achievement of publishing over 700 articles in various publications over his seventy five years at Cambridge.
[3] “Snakes and Pearls” by Charles Dubois, 1635