A blue light shimmers faintly in the center of the forest. Miss Geppetto approaches it slowly. Methodically.
The grass parts under her feet before each step, and the dirt beneath softens ever so slightly. She moves with no sound. The forest itself knows that this meeting demands complete secrecy.
It is midnight.
She passes by one particular tree - old, withered and worn, unattended and unloved. She gives him a solemn nod.
Past him - the fairy. Sitting calmly. Inspecting blades of grass under the glow of her own light.
The fairy whispers. "Welcome home, Carmela."
"Yes."
Carmela sits, and the two of them share the silence of the night together. Untouched by the noise and movement of the breathing-folk outside. Unseen even by the stars. This is a place of relief.
Usually.
"You're tense."
"You're not?"
"I've had… troublesome guests of late, I suppose. None of the sort I haven't had before."
"A boy is missing."
For just a moment, the fairy goes still. "Ah. So you know."
"Your 'troublesome guests' have bothered me often. I know what they know, more or less."
"That much is new."
Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirps weakly, only to taper back off into stillness.
The fairy taps her fingers along the side of a stone. Carmela does that when she's upset, too. She gets it from her. "His name is Pinocchio."
"I'm aware."
"He's different than the others. He ran away so soon. He's an adventurous one. Braver than his own good, with a mask as weak as yours is strong. Seems almost everyone sees him as what he is."
"So I've gathered."
"And I suppose you went out looking for him?"
"I still am."
The fairy imitates a sigh. "I didn't believe you at first, when you told me of the beast lurking outside. I didn't believe such a thing could exist. And yet, as years have gone on, more and more corners of my forest have fallen out of reach."
Carmela taps the tip of her nose. "You know, I have a fairly obvious tell for when I'm lying."
"Yes, yes, I suppose that's true." The fairy smiles weakly. "I just hope we find Pinocchio before it does, and that in the meantime, you do not fall prey to its jaws."
"That's not a worry to me. The beast and I talk, you know. I scratch its back and it scratches mine. It would give up a child for my sake."
"Carmela. Be careful how many favors you pull with something that would rather swallow you whole."
"I know, I know."
Wind hisses, slicing through the silence. Midnight must be ending soon.
Carmela glances at the two trees behind her. "Is he still alive?"
"He is not. The curious thing is, he could have been."
"Really?"
"Even as a tree, he did nothing but demand. He cried out for the creatures of the woods to die at his roots just to fertilize him. He dreamed every night of growing tall and wide enough to smother the entire forest. He grew his roots out to take water from other trees, neglecting the water given to him freely. Until one day a breaking point came, and the forest stopped providing."
Carmela smirks. "Yes, that's him, alright."
"…Darling, I love you, but you're not exactly a distant observer to greed."
"Ah. Yes." She taps her fingers involuntarily. "Well. My point was, don't you suppose a similar fate is in store for the beast?"
"I can't say. My domain only extends as far as the forest does. Your word is better than mine, there."
"I'm not sure my word is ever better than yours."
"And that's why you're my favorite eldest." The fairy squints into the distance. "Now, I do believe daybreak is coming. You should hurry, before someone sees you."
Carmela nods, and rises to her feet. "I'll find Pinocchio."
"I'm sure of it."
She turns. "Good morning, fairy."
"Good morning, Carmela. I love you always."
And the two part ways once again.
"Attention, nearby vessel. Do you copy? You are in restricted waters. Please identify yourself and stand by for further communication."
Carmela quickly surveys her control panel and weighs her options. There's no ship visible in any direction. They must be under the water.
"Attention, nearby vessel. Respond at once. You are in restricted waters. If no response is given, we will assume that you are a hostile presence. Do you copy?"
Carmela's mind races. Speed up. No, slow down, allow them to waste your time, then get back to searching when they're gone. Is there even time to waste?
"Attention, nearby vessel. This is your final warning. You have ten seconds to respond."
Carmela does not slow down. She does not speed up. There is no time to do either.
"Five seconds."
The boy is still lost. The submarine may be armed.
"Attention, nearby vessel. We are now deploying-"
Carmela activates her radio. "This is Carmela Geppetto, of Marshal, Carter & Dark, recognized associate of the Foundation. I am here on behalf of a service order from Site-322. I copy. Standing by."
Radio silence.
After a few excruciatingly long seconds, the shadow of a submarine spreads across the surface of the water. Then, the vessel itself rises, rocking Carmela' small ship and toppling her instruments to the floor. She catches the radio in her hand. The submarine is large enough to exceed her line of sight, painted in a dull dark blue that blends in near-perfectly with the ocean floor. A mechanical opening the size of a three-car garage slowly lifts from the top like an enormous jaw.
"Come aboard at once."
"Ten-four."
Two armed guards and a single impossibly-tired-looking woman stand at the entrance waiting for her. Carmela steps out into open view and casually flips a switch, extending a bridge from her ship to the submarine.
"These aren't exactly the waters for a one-person yacht," says the woman.
"Unusual circumstances, yes, I'm aware. I'm open to answering any questions you have."
"Oh, we have the answers we need. Now come aboard, Miss Geppetto."
Carmela walks down the bridge hesitantly.
"Interesting thing. A ship was reported docked at the Port of San Vincenzo around fifty hours ago. A small ship, with a description matching one of yours."
"Is that so?"
"A few local agents took the liberty of searching it. It was easy to; the ship had apparently been left abandoned in the middle of the night. Do you know what we found?"
Carmela squints. "I… honestly can't imagine you would have found anything in there."
"Almost nothing. No food, no water, and no bed, at the very least. Nothing that would accommodate human needs in any way."
"Ah."
"What we did find was a report of a 'service request' Site-322 outsourced to your company. It seems you took an unusually personal interest in it."
"…Anything for the client."
"Yes, I'm sure of it. You're clearly very committed to tracking down a hypothetical living wooden puppet."
Carmela says nothing.
"We found something similar, by complete coincidence, I'm sure, in Southwestern Tuscany. A particularly dangerous little forest. A fairy making children from pine. Turning adults to trees."
Carmela's fists clench.
"Seems a lot is happening in Tuscany, you know. You've recently visited, we've locked down that forest, and… Oh! You know, I remember hearing word of a very high-profile tragedy there, back in the eighties…"
Carmela takes another step forward. One of the guards fiddles with a pocketknife.
"The disappearance of Mr. Carlo Geppetto, one of the founding chairmen of Marshall, Carter and Dark. Unimaginable. But amazingly timed, considering he had only just adopted his only heir."
"I don't know what you're insinuating."
"Hold out your hand."
Carmela does so, and the woman nods at one of the guards. He takes the pocketknife and slices skin-deep across her hand. She does not flinch.
There is no blood.
"I thought so. Tockar, Devall, escort 'Miss Geppetto' to a holding cell."
The guards join Carmela on either side, guns at the ready. The entrance gate slowly closes as they walk her deeper into the sub.
"You're making a mistake."
"If we are, then we'll release you back to your little corporate handlers in due time." The woman holds up her radio. "First target retrieved. Detonate the ship." She leaves unceremoniously, and Carmela is guided into what appears to be a large service elevator.
One of the guards presses a button. Bottom floor. Of course it's the bottom floor. The bottom of a submarine the size of a city, in the middle of a secret ocean.
Of course, of course.
The containment cell is surprisingly small.
Fluorescent lights line the floor, scraping a harsh glow onto the metal walls yet leaving the ceiling in complete darkness. It gives the room the illusion of stretching upward into infinity. In actuality, it's barely the size of a closet, and the frame of the door, reaching from wall to wall, blends into obscurity. Carmela finds it easy to tell herself that this room is all there is. This is the world now, or at least, her world. Four metal corners and a light so bright that when she closes her eyes, she sees orange instead of black.
She cups one hand over her eyes, feeling the splintered wood across her face - not comfortable, but at least not overwhelmingly bright. She wants to scream.
For a while, she is motionless. She doesn't want to give the room motion. It doesn't deserve it. She's not sure how long she stays still for. Could be minutes, or hours. Funny how long time becomes when you have nothing to wait for.
Eventually, by pure habit, the fingers on her free hand tap alongside the metal wall. It's a sound loud enough to drown out the low rumblings of the submarine pushing past the surrounding waters, and it startles her.
Not as much as the next sound she hears startles her, though. A voice. Young, raspy, and flat. Coming from a tiny crack in a wall. "Somebody else is here," it says.
Pinocchio.
Carmela lowers her arms. Her hand continues tapping across the glass, now deliberate. "Yes. Yes, I'm here."
"I don't know who you are."
"I-" she goes still again. For only a moment, but long enough for the boy on the other side of the wall to notice. "My name is Carmela. It's very nice to meet you."
Silence.
"…Do you have a name?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Pinocchio."
Silence again, interrupted only by the sound of wood twitching, trying, but unable, to produce a tear.
"I've heard about you, Pinocchio."
"Really?"
"Really really."
Pinocchio slides over closer to the wall. "Miss Carmela, am I broken?"
Involuntarily, Carmela opens her eyes. She squints, but in the midst of the light, she can see her wrist, shattered and splintered. "Broken… how?"
"People get mad at me and I don't know why. They don't even tell me they're mad! They just think I can figure it out! And then when I can't, they just… take me somewhere else. And I don't know why."
"…Oh."
"They act like I'm stupid, but they still don't explain things to me! They get mad when I laugh, or when I don't laugh, or when I scream, or when I walk around, or when I play in the dirt! I just- I just don't understand."
"You're not broken, Pinocchio."
From the other side of the wall, Carmela can hear the sound of a wooden fist pounding into a pile of loose dirt.
"I mean it. You're not broken. You're not, you're not, you're not. And you're not missing anything. Do you want to know why those people got mad at you?"
"Yes."
"It's because it would be easier for them if you were fake. If you just went along with everything they said and danced when they pulled your strings. But you're a real boy. You just… need someone who sees you like one."
Pinocchio falls quiet. "You don't understand," he says in a hushed whisper.
"Oh, I can prove that I do."
"Okay," says Pinocchio, "prove it."
Carmela sits up straight. She hesitates, but, after only a moment of readying herself, says - "My name isn't Carmela."
Pinocchio hears a very familiar sound. A creaking, splintering sound, followed quickly by the sound of wood snapping. The sound of a nose growing.
"…You're like me."
"I'm like you."
Pinocchio laughs. First a single chuckle, sounding almost like a hiccup, then a full, loud, unstoppable laughter. "You're like me! You're like me!," he says, and then, in an instant, stops laughing. "Do you know the Blue Fairy?"
"I do."
"Is she mad at me, too?"
"She is not."
"…Oh." He falls quiet. "Why hasn't she come back for me?"
Carmela closes her eyes again. "The Blue Fairy is… limited. Her reach only goes as far as the forest does. She can do nothing but worry, I'm afraid."
There's a seeming eternity of silence. Carmela dares not say anything, but Pinocchio stays dead quiet.
When he speaks again, he does so slowly. Quietly. "Aren't… we trees of the forest?"
"Well, we were."
And then, Carmela feels something. Dirt on her lap. Being pushed through the crack in the wall.
"What are you doing?"
"Plant yourself."
Carmela feels a jolt in her chest. She stands, and spreads the dirt across the floor with her foot. There's not much of it, only enough for a thin layer, but it dampens the fluorescent lights just enough for her to open her eyes. She stands near the wall, still as can be, feeling the soil around and under her feet.
"Now, Pinocchio, I'm not sure this is going to work, but-"
And as soon as Carmela says that, the lights turn blue.
Up above, near the top of the submarine, a woman dryly observes her instrument panel, feeling a mix of abject boredom from the present moment and smug self-satisfaction from the previous, when she feels a small jolt. Then a medium-sized jolt. Then a rather large jolt. Then the submarine shakes with enough force to bring her back to the floor. She reaches for the radio, but it falls out of reach.
A vine pierces the metal hull of the submarine, bringing the walls crumpling slightly inward from the sheer volume of pressure outside. The entire vessel is bathed in blue.
"My children. Now," calls the voice of an angry fae.
"Bottom floor!," shouts the woman. "Um - you should probably bring this thing up to surface first, if you're able?"
A tangle of vines reach up from the ocean floor, pushing the submarine up, up, up, until it crashes past the surface of the water.
The fairy lifts the entrance gate with her hands, standing on the rim of the submarine, glaring bullets. The elevator dings, and Carmela and Pinocchio walk out, grinning ear to ear to ear to ear.
Carmela turns around to face the woman as she walks towards the fairy. "I'll be expecting that cancellation fee paid to my personal account, ma'am," she says with a nod. "Pleasure doing business as always."
Geppetto, Pinocchio, and the fairy float off into the sunrise, as the crumpled submarine floats away across the surface of the ocean.