"Uh, I'm not sure I can do that,"

I stammered, surprised at the request.  Something was fishy about this guy.  There had to be a reason why he wasn't allowed near the circle, and he was obviously hoping that I would help him circumvent this prohibition.  No way was I going to Pook him back into Faerie!  "I've never apported a live person before, and it could be risky."

"Ah," he said after a moment, without a waver of his jovial grin.  "How admirable, to be so frankly aware of one's own limitations.  No matter - there will be plenty of time."

"You remind me of a Vulpitanian Ambassador I once knew," I blurted out, desparately trying to think of something to say.

"Vulpitania?" Ash murmured thoughtfully.  "I haven't heard that name spoken in a long time."

"Wait," I said, as something occurred to me.  "You didn't actually say that you are Ash Marten."

"And you didn't actually say that you are Lord Randall," he smirked.  "Or Ramble, or whatever you've got them calling you."

"Okay, fine," I sighed.  "Keep your pseudonym if you must, but tell me plainly:  Are you the one the Marten family refer to as 'Uncle Ash'?"

"I am," Ash explained as he casually inspected his claws.  "You see, I knew the patriarch of the Marten family when he was just starting.  Walnut Marten was the youngest  of many brothers.  As thick as thieves and the best of friends, all of them.  They jointly ran a struggling family lumber mill.  But alas, life in the lowfolk word is precarious; one by one, Walnut's siblings succumbed to tragic and completely unforeseen accidents.  Crushed by trees, mauled by wild animals ... one even managed to split himself in half head-to-groin with his own axe.  Tragic, terribly tragic, and so unexpected!  Walnut was so deep in his grief, he was on the verge of taking his own life.  I was there to console him and help him save his family business by showing him the tricks of the lumber trade; my tricks specifically, though not all of them of course. In gratitude, Walnut gave me a percentage of his profits and an honorary position in the family.  The Marten children you know, Oak and Rowan and what's-his-name, some sort of tree ... they used to have another brother.  Drowned in the river one day.  Such a tragedy.  Cut off so young.  I was there to console them too."

The way he told this story, so plainly yet with an avuncular twinkle in his eye, gave me chills.  This guy was a cold-blooded, Unseelie, murderous monster!  What horrible crimes must he have committed to get himself exiled from Faerie?  I couldn't get involved with such a person!  He was far too dangerous!

"I can guess what you're thinking," Ash stated coolly.  "It would behoove you to hear me out.  You see, I happen to have so much dirt on you, it's not even funny.  No, let me correct that; it's actually very funny.  You were unwise to tell your entire life story like that.  No no, don't blame sweet Vernier; she at least did not betray your trust.  A disappointingly honorable femme, that one.  But, you see, you spilled your guts in front of a forest of trees that I can compel to do my bidding with but a word.  So, before you do any of the foolish things you might be contemplating, like breaking off contact and going into hiding ... if you want to be able to have any influence in the world and not have every single one of your enemies pounding on your front door, I suggest you listen to what I propose."

---------------

>An Audience Member on his phone in the other room: "Yeah, he's here. That's right, hiding in a cedar chest. I know; go figure, right? Anyway, he's ready for pickup. The front  door's unlocked, or you can come down the chimney if you prefer. About my payment... Yeah, an original Oscar Meyer Wiener Whistle. Of course, Merry Christmas to you too."

Start hanging up decorations for the festive season, the classics, baubles, ornaments

Your treachery will be remembered.

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