Rushing to Dawn

Bob stood on the kerb, shoulders hunched against the rain.  As Amanda’s cab stopped, he wrenched open the door and jumped in.
 
“Walden Road,” he barked.
 
“I don’t do fairyland,” said the cabbie into his rear-view mirror.
 
“You do now.”
 
The cabbie turned in his seat to look at Bob.  Bob stared back, his face a picture of fury.
 
“Walden Road.  Double fare if you floor it now.  More trouble than you’ll ever find in fairyland if you don’t.  Your choice.”
 
The two men stared at each other for long seconds, then the cabbie shrugged and turned forward.  “And a tip,” he said, putting the cab into gear.
 
Five minutes later they turned the corner at New Road and jerked to a stop.  A hundred metres along Walden Road a knot of Fae blocked the footpath.
 
“Out.  Not going no further,” said the cabbie.  Bob tossed a couple of notes at him and jumped from the cab.  Without waiting for Amanda, he ran through the rain.  He could feel dozens of eyes on him, as though every window held an angry Fae just waiting for him.
 
The crowd parted a little as he run up to Dawn’s tenement block.  In front of the steps to the front door stood two brown-skinned creatures, each over two metres high and biceps a boxer would envy.  Bob slid to a halt, wishing he was fitter.  The hundred metre sprint had winded him.
 
“I’m here to see Dawn,” he panted, and stepped forward.  The two didn’t budge, and Bob all but bounced off them.
 
“I’m her friend,” he explained and tried to push through them again.  With no noticeable effort one of them gave Bob a shove that sent him sprawling into the gutter.  He scrabbled to his feet, his fists bunched.  Amanda ran up, slamming into him and throwing her arms around him.
 
“Dryads,” she hissed in his ear.  “They’re dryads.  Don’t.  A tank couldn’t get past them.  They will tear you apart.  I mean, quite literally.  They will pull your arms off without breaking a sweat.  Bob, Bob.  Look around.  This isn’t the way.”
 
Bob looked around.  In amongst the fairies were a sprinkling of other Fae.  They were all staring at him.  Not one face looked friendly.  The dryads stood where they were, as immovable as the trees they’d climbed down from, staring into space somewhere above Bob’s head.  He nodded, and Amanda let go of him.
 
“Listen,” he said to one of the dryads.  “I’m Bob.  From the Lion and the Lamb, yeah?”  He raised his voice as he looked around.  “Some of you know me, right?  You’ve drunk there.”  He turned back to the dryad.  “She knows me.  She works for me.  Please.  We’re friends.”
 
“Ha!  No one here’s got friends with your sort,” called someone in the crowd.  There was a murmur of agreement,
 
The dryad Bob was talking to finally deigned to look at him, his head turning slowly until he stared down his nose at the human.  Then his hand shot out, grabbed Bob’s coat and lifted him clear of the ground.  Bob could feel the seams popping as he hung there, clothes bunched at his chest.  He swung a fist at the arm, but it was like punching a block of wood.  They dryad pulled him close until his face was centimetres from Bob’s.  He twisted his head from side to side, as if examining an insect he’d caught.
 
“Excuse me.”  Amanda tapped the dryad on his arm.  Bob closed his eyes and prayed to whatever god might be listening to get her away from there.  “Excuse me, but I am Amanda Gordon of the AETF.  Would you mind putting my friend down, please.  Please?  Gently.”
 
Bob wondered how far the giant could throw him.  He’d heard somewhere about tuck and roll.  What was that to do with?  Judo?  Motorcycle accident?  Certainly not being launched into orbit by a tree spirit.  Medieval archers had been able to put arrows through armour using the strength of an ash bow.  How much stronger was this creature?
 
And then suddenly Bob dropped.  As he hit the ground he fell backwards onto his backside.  Above him the dryad remained still, his arm still outstretched, fingers splayed where he’d released Bob.  Bob turned to Amanda, who stood straight, chin out, polite indignation on her face.
 
“Thank you,” she said, because she’d said please, so of course a woman of her upbringing would say thank you as well.  “Now, I’m Amanda Gordon.  You’ve probably heard of me.  I’ve probably helped some of you.”  She looked around at the faces.  “Probably.  Or someone you know, anyway.  The point is, we’re not with the bastards that – that hurt Dawn.  We’re here to help.  We’re here to show support.”  She sighed and shrugged.  “We’re here because we’re friends.  Please let us see her.”
 
The dryad slowly dropped his arm but didn’t move out of the way.
 
“Please?”  But apparently the magic of that word had all been used up on the first casting of it.
 
She reached down and Bob allowed the indignity of letting her help him to his feet.
 
“At least let her know we’re here,” said Amanda.  The dryads did not move.
 
A fairy stepped forward.
 
“Your sort aren’t welcome here.  Not at the moment.  Best you leave,” he said.  It sounded more of a warning than a threat, but if things kicked off Bob wondered what the difference would be.