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of them was anything like a fairy queen,' she complained later to Dinnie, but Dinnie was too busy smearing extra peanut butter on his chocolate cookies to take much notice.
    'I followed a bag lady yesterday,' continued Heather. 'She was under the illusion that she was Xenophon, an
    Athenian mercenary in the year 401 BC, going to fight for Cyrus, the pretender to the Persian throne, against his brother Antaxerxes.'
    'I hate the way you make up these stupid stories,' said Dinnie. 'Leave me in peace.'
    Unable to sleep, Morag rose and determined to free the lobsters.
    'Poor little things.'
    She hopped on a car heading downtown, feeling adventurous.
    'Rather like James MacPherson,' she muttered. James Mac-Pherson was a famous robber and fiddler in
    seventeenth-century Scotland and a good friend to the fairies, before he was hanged.
    On the next street a firecracker went off, and a few folk were out on the sidewalk, but it was mainly quiet.
    She found the restaurant and waved a cheery hello to the lobsters. Setting them free was not difficult. Most locks are no trouble for a fairy to pick and soon she had sent them swimming to safety down the sewers.
    A spectacular success! thought Morag. A triumph in fact. A smooth operation, entirely without hitch. MacPherson the Robber himself could not have done better.
    'And what exactly do you think you're doing robbing a restaurant on our patch?' demanded a voice behind her.
    Morag whirled round, and found to her great surprise that there was a very angry-looking fairy with yellow skin and slanting eyes glowering at her.
    Morag fled.
    On the corner of Canal Street she hopped on a passing motorcycle which raced away much faster than she could
    fly and she hung on for dear life. Behind her an angry horde of Chinese fairies waved their fists at her and looked for vehicles to mount to pursue her.
    'White devil!' they screamed. 'Raiding our restaurants.'
    As the motorbike reached 4th Street Morag risked injury with a spectacular leap on to the ground, then ran for home. A quick glance over her shoulder showed no one in pursuit. She prayed that she had shaken them off.
    Fortunately for her the motorcyclist had been drunk and had driven like a madman.
    Aha! thought Magenta, creeping up Broadway and seeing the Chinese fairies in unsuccessful pursuit of Morag.
    Early skirmishes. Antaxerxes has sent out his captain Tissaphernes and a host of oriental soldiers. She realised that battle was near and, to steady her nerves, had a good pull at her bottle of Fitzroy cocktail. The boot polish stained her lips a grim purple colour but she was much heartened.
    Thinking that she should take cover she headed for East 4th Street and ducked into the theatre.
    Inside, Cal was giving instructions to the actor playing Theseus, Duke of Athens.
    'You're a duke. Be regal.'
    'Preposterous,' announced Magenta, appearing in the wings. 'Theseus was never Duke of Athens.'
    'What?'
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    Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html
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    'Theseus was never Duke of Athens. The rank of duke was unknown in Athens for one thing.'
    'Well, how the hell do you know?' demanded Cal.
    Magenta drew herself up. Magenta had not been weakened by her life on the streets. Thirty-five years old and
    muscular, with short cropped iron-grey hair, she could be an intimidating sight when roused.
    'How do I know?' I was born there.'
    'Beat it, bag lady,' said the performer.
    Magenta dealt him a dismissive blow on the ear.
    'I resign,' said the actor, from the floor. 'Serious performers cannot work in these conditions.'
    Morag sped into Kerry's room, safe home. Kerry had woken up and was sitting on a cushion making a hat to match her light blue hair, drinking beer and listening to the radio.
    'Devilish yellow fairies— ' began Morag, but Kerry interrupted her.
    'Morag, I was just thinking about you. Listen to the news.'
    The