Drawtober 2025: Toad Astrologer

Dear Maggie,

It may be that this is a terrible plan. I wish I had the certainty I did when I set out from Hulspeth. I felt so convinced of myself then, and now—

No, I must slow down. You are always telling me to slow down, and I must heed that advice. Let me start over.

Of the many ways into Faerieland, the closest to Hulspeth is the road that leads through Dogmore. The little town we knew is no longer a mere byway. It has grown quite a bit, and in the growing it has become more disreputable as well. When I first stepped into town, feeling the world shimmer around me as I entered the Other Country, I found myself taken aback. The main road has been widened to accommodate larger crowds. Little carts lined the street, selling dreams and potions and charms of every variety. I saw imps and fox-fae slinking among the stalls, pilfering trinkets with sly fingers. One even tried to pry my purse from me, and I only noticed when Blue yelled out.

Oh, right. The bird.

In the end, I decided to take her with me. I know, I know—a foolish decision. You might even say it was sentimental—well, you wouldn’t, since you know better—but in the end it was the practical thing to do. I couldn’t leave her to die, nor could I let her go free, so she had to come with me. She might even be a useful bargaining chip if I need further means to enter the Queen’s palace. All I have to put up with in the meantime is her mean-spirited jabbering, which does appear to be at least somewhat multi-directional—hence why I heard her squawking curses at the imp who had his long fingers coiled around my purse.

“Get away from me, you foul-fingered fiend!” Blue yelled. “Scabs and bracken take you, may your flesh never mend from briars if you so much as touch me!”

The imp—a small, orange-and-yellow creature with tufted ears like a lion’s tail—tried to run, but I caught him by the scruff before he could. He trembled beneath my hand.

“You have tried to steal from me and been caught,” I said to him. “Would you like to earn a coin instead?”

His ears perked up, though his expression was wary. “What demand would a mortal make of a humble creature such as myself?”

“I seek Cornelius Bufo, the astrologer. Do you know where he is?”

The imp cocked his head. “What does he look like?”

And this, my dear sister, is when I felt my heart start to sink. Because I did not know what Cornelius Bufo looked like. I had only ever heard of him and that he lived in Dogmore. I never saw him in the visits we took before. I had assumed all I needed to do was ask to be pointed in the right direction. I should have known nothing in Faerie is so simple.

When it became obvious the imp did not know where Cornelius was—or had figured out a way to lie, which I find unlikely since not even the Courtly Fae can manage that—I let him go. More questions scattered around the marketplace to more reputable sources yielded the same result. No one seemed to know where this mysterious astrologer lived, or even who he was in the first place. I finally gave up when my stomach started growling and headed to the Crossroad’s Tavern. That, at least, remains much the same as it was when last we were here. It still stands a little crooked, a tall building with windows lit by witchlight instead of candles.

It was noisy inside, all kinds of folk pressed together. I took one of the few empty places at the end of the bar and ordered something to eat—the Crossroad’s Tavern is one of the few places run by a mortal proprietor, and so the food is never enchanted. I was sitting there, waiting for my food and trying to decide where next to try, when a familiar voice sounded at my ear.

“Well, well, it seems someone has dropped a shiny Penny in my path.”

Mags, it was Rook.

Unlike me, he looks just the same. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Black feathers puffed out of his sleeve cuffs and at the collar of his shirt. That strange, whitish scar along his chin stretched as he smiled at me with those golden eyes.

Honestly, I didn’t think. I simply grabbed the nearest glass and threw it at him.

It was not my proudest moment. I doubt the proprietress of Crossroads will allow me back anytime soon. Ale and glass scattered everywhere where it struck his arm, and a few brownies and redcaps squawked and startled away. Rook shook his arm off, looking more bemused than angry.

“That’s quite the greeting for an old friend,” he said.

“You’re not my friend.”

He put a hand to his chest, appearing wounded. “That’s a cruel thing to say, Pen-cap, when we’ve only just reunited. How’s your precious Arthur, by the way?”

This made me want to throw something at him all over again, but by that time everyone had moved too far away for me to grab hold of any glassware. So instead, I did what I should have done the moment he appeared. I grabbed up my things—including a loudly chattering Blue—and left. Unfortunately, he followed me.

“What brings you back here after so long?” he asked, trailing me out the door. “I thought you’d gotten what you wanted.”

“Go away Rook.”

“Ah, but my kind are drawn to shiny objects, and you’re simply glowing. Although, that might be the spilled ale—”

“Go away Rook.”

“And what’s that thing you’ve got at your hip? A bluebird, hmm? I didn’t think you liked birds.” At which point, of course, Blue began piping up to decry me and everything I stood for and weave her tale of sorrow, painting me in the blackest of terms, many of which were very unfair. I clapped my hand over the cage and turned to face him.

“Go. Away. Rook,” I said. “I did not come here to see you, I do not want to see you, and after everything you said about me last time, I can’t imagine why you would want to see me.” He must have seen how angry I was, because he took a few steps back as I spoke. And I was angry, Mags, I am angry. Rook was one of my greatest friends in Faerie. I thought that mattered to him, I thought he would stay when—well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?

His expression turned from surprised to sly as I spoke, and his eyes darted down to where Blue was still chattering beneath my hand. “Kidnapping a Queen’s messenger? I didn’t realize a mortal could change so much in two years. The Penelope I recall would never have approved. But what do you need her for?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I rather think it is, as if you don’t tell me, I will have to report you for the crime you’re carrying at your waist.” He grinned at me, his expression infuriatingly smug.

I sucked in a deep breath and tried to cool my temper. “I am attending the Queen’s All Hallows Masquerade,” I told him.

“She’s not invited!” Blue screamed from between my fingers. She pecked me then, hard, and I finally withdrew my hand with a start. Rook bent over, looking at Blue with an amused expression.

“Why don’t you hush for a moment, winged one, and let us talk?” He flickered his fingers, and I watched in mild horror as Blue’s beak sealed shut.

“That’s not permanent, is it?”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “Would you mind if it was? No, don’t answer, I know you would. And no, it’s not permanent. Why on earth would you want to go to the Masquerade? She holds them every year, you know. It will be just like last time.”

Perhaps I should not have told him what I was about. But Rook always had a way of wearing me down, and I was tired and frustrated and rather hungry, and so I told him. “I’m going to bargain for my heart back.”

“Why?”

“What kind of question is that?”

He shrugged. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Your darling Arthur survived the war and came back to you.”

“Yes, but—”

“And what do you have to trade with, anyway? The Queen seldom makes a bargain with a mortal twice. It seems to me this quest is even more foolhardy than the last one.”

“I don’t care,” I yelled at him. I felt my face flushing with anger. “I don’t care what you think, and it won’t matter anyway, because if I can’t find Cornelius Bufo, I won’t be able to get anywhere near her palace in the first place.”

Rook tilted his head in that birdlike way he so often does. He didn’t seem angry with my outburst. He just gave me his mischievous smile again.

“Cornelius values his privacy. But tonight, you are in luck. Because unlike most folk in Dogmore, I know where Cornelius Bufo lives.”

#

Mags, if I told you there was an invisible tower in the woods near Dogmore, would you believe me? Well, you should, because there is. Rook knows about it because, according to him, he flew into it once a few years ago.

“Cornelius was very apologetic,” he explained as we approached the tower. “Apparently there’s a charm he usually uses to keep birds away, but I somehow flew straight through it.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t consider you a bird,” I told him. “Will Blue be able to go through?” The little creature had been sitting silently in her cage even after Rook’s charm wore off. I believe she was pouting.

“Should do. She’s not flying.”

The tower stands in the middle of a clearing. “Invisible” is not quite the right word, as you can see it but only ever out of the corner of your eye. Like an eyelash has gotten stuck there. Rook managed to find the door and knock, and I stood staring at empty air. A minute or two passed, and then the door opened, and I found myself looking down instead of up. For you see, sister dear, Cornelius Bufo is a toad.

He is quite a large toad, but a toad nonetheless. His eyes are large and black, and he blinked up at us with a very toad-like smile.

“Why, Master Rook, how good of you to visit.”

Rook bowed. “Always a pleasure to see such an esteemed philosopher as yourself.”

“And who is your friend?”

“This is Penelope Fay. She has need of your services.”

Both of them turned to look at me, so I cleared my throat. “Master…Bufo, I need to know the nearest path to the Faerie Queen’s court on the eve of All Hallows.”

The toad nodded (Mags, if you’ve never seen a toad nod, I encourage you to do so because it is an experience) and let us in.

The tower is quite tall, with a staircase winding impossibly high. Cornelius hopped up the stairs easily enough. His deep voice resonated along the stairwell as he went, speaking of cosmic alignments and solar flares. I admit I was only half-listening, as my legs had begun aching. He seems a genial and learned fellow altogether. If I had more time, I would like to ask him how a toad came to love the stars.

At last, we reached the top of the tower. Tables and shelves fill the space, pocked in between with telescopes and astrolabes of all sorts. The whole thing is capped with a glassy dome where one can peer up into the velvet black of the night sky. I did so myself, distracted by how brilliant the stars are.

“I have a chart,” Cornelius said, hopping over to one of many tables. “The doors to the Faerie Queen’s court move around, but they are consistent, and particularly prone to Venusian influences.” He rifled through papers—another feat I would not have expected of a toad—and pulled out a long sheet that Rook helped him smooth down. “Here we are. The road will open the night before All Hallows in the ruins near Glaustone Grove.”

Relief washed through me. “Thank you. I just needed to know where the door would be.”

“Hmm, of course. You already know what it looks like, then?”

“A…door?”

Cornelius’s throat bulged out in discontent. “Not a door. The road to the Faerie Queen’s court can look like anything. A rose bush, a crack in a wall, a pair of branches oddly angled. You may be in the right place to find the door, but you must also know what it looks like.”

“Do you know?” The relief was swiftly ebbing away. Why must everything in Faerie be so complicated?

Cornelius must have seen I was getting distressed. He hopped over and placed a hand (leg?) on my shoulder. “There, there, my dear. It’s quite late for mortals like you to be up. One problem at a time.”

#

Cornelius offered to put us up for the night. So now, here I am, writing to you in one of the rooms of this strange tower. Rook came by some time ago and tried to talk to me, but I didn’t let him in. I rather hope he flies off in the night so I won’t have to deal with him again. He brought me here, for which I can be grateful, but I want nothing else to do with him.

I wish you were here, Mags. More than ever, I wish I’d asked you to come. But you are far more sensible than me and would have talked me out of it, and now I’m too far away for you to manage that.

Your sister,
Penelope