Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (18 page)

Sophy
made a shooing motion with her hands. ‘We know this gentleman,’ she
said briskly. ‘Take us to him.’

‘It’s
my thought that he’s dangerous,’ said Pinch dubiously. ‘I do not
think you could know him.’

‘Certainly he is! But not to us. Onward, Pinch. Let us not
waste any more time.’

Pinch
glanced at Isabel, who smiled reassuringly at him. ‘It is all
right,’ she said. ‘We do know him, indeed. He will not harm
us.’

‘He
might not, but his foul little friends might,’ muttered Pinch. As
he spoke, he shifted to wisp shape with resentful slowness, and
drifted off Sir Guntifer’s shoulder. Pinket followed.

‘Are
ye certain, gentle ladies?’ said Sir Guntifer. ‘I mislike the
scheme. Balligumph placed ye into my hands, and it falls to me to
bring ye safely home.’

‘All
will be well, sir,’ said Isabel, smiling upon him. She said it with
conviction, for though Pinch’s stories of darkling creatures had
alarmed her at first, she had felt much reassured the moment she
realised who had them in charge. Indeed, she was positively looking
forward to seeing him! She had always found him congenial, and it
had been some time since she had last encountered him.

‘Very
well, then,’ said the giant gravely. ‘Then we will follow the
tricksy pixies.’ He gestured them ahead in the wisps’ wake and fell
in behind them. Isabel felt further reassured by his presence
behind; no malicious thing could creep up upon them while Sir
Guntifer was there.

They wound their
way through several long streets, turning so often that Isabel
wondered how Pinch and Pinket could remember the way. As they rode,
they saw increasing signs of habitation: some of the buildings were
littered with rubbish, fires burned, and the smells of cooking rose
into the morning air. Isabel began to glimpse movement here and
there out of the corners of her eyes, though whenever she turned to
look she saw nothing but an empty street, or an open gate swinging
slightly in the breeze.

That
changed, so abruptly as to draw a gasp from her. They turned a
corner and found themselves riding into the midst of a crowd of fae
creatures. Ogres even taller than Balligumph leaned against the
walls, imps as tall as their kneecaps wandering around among them.
Hobs and goblins fought over morsels of food and sparkling
jewellery, and a troll sat by himself in a corner between two
buildings, playing a horn which sounded eerily similar to the one
the trows had used to lure their party into the trees. Over the
crowd floated several wisps; Isabel could not tell if any of them
were Pinch and Pinket.

In
the middle of this ragged array of the fae there stood an enormous
throne. Its seat was wide enough to accommodate four people sitting
side-by-side, and its back was easily ten feet tall. The throne was
made out of pure gold, or so it appeared; remembering Tafferty’s
comments about Glamour, Isabel wondered whether it might look
altogether different somewhere underneath the illusion. An
enormous, deliciously soft-looking cushion of purple velvet covered
the seat, atop which sat the Goblin King.

He
looked just as Isabel remembered him. He even still wore the
clothes of a gentleman of England, though the precision of his
attire had deteriorated somewhat: his coat was missing, his
shirt-sleeves were rolled up in a most improper fashion, and he was
hatless. But it was unmistakeably the same man: he who had called
himself Mr. Green, and occupied Hyde Place near Tilby for several
months. He had departed the neighbourhood only recently, to the
dismay of its residents, for the persona he had adopted had borne
all the virtues of good looks, wealth and charm; more than a few
young ladies had fixed their hopes and their affections upon him.
None save Sophy Landon and Isabel herself had known his true
identity.

‘Your
Majesty,’ said Isabel with a smile, and made him the best bow she
could from atop her pony.

‘Good
morning, Grunewald,’ said Sophy drily as she reined in her mount
before him.

Grunewald stared at them both in horror. ‘Just what do you
think you are doing in Mirramay?’ he demanded. ‘It isn’t safe for a
party of ladies! I would think that Aubranael would die of shock if
he knew!’

‘How
kind of you to feel concerned for our welfare!’ said Isabel warmly.
‘But I assure you, we have come very well-attended.’

‘He
is not serious!’ said Sophy. ‘Now, are you, Grunewald? What a
mother-hen speech! You would not care if the worst imaginable fate
were to befall the both of us.’

Grunewald grinned lazily. ‘Miss Ellerby credits me with far
too much attention, as always. But you, my dear Miss Landon, credit
me with far too little. The truth lies somewhere in between, I
assure you.’ He rose from his oversized throne and solicitously
helped both ladies down from their mounts. Isabel thought that he
pressed her hand as he did so, and her cheeks coloured a little.
‘But my question stands, you know. What are you doing in these
parts? And without Aubranael!’

‘I
may very well direct the same enquiry at you,’ retorted
Sophy.

Grunewald’s smile widened. ‘Much as I appreciate Aubranael’s
company, I often travel without him.’

Sophy
made an exasperated noise. ‘You understand very well what I
mean!’

Grunewald adopted a tragic air, looking around among his
gathered followers for support. ‘You see with what a lack of
respect I am treated by the ladies of England! It is very
shocking.’

Isabel thought
that there was a dangerous look in his eye as he said this, however
light-hearted his tone might have been. She suppressed an urge to
caution her friend. Sophy had known Grunewald longer than she had;
she knew how far she could presume upon his good nature.

‘There are a number of things I could possibly be doing here,’
Grunewald said in a more serious tone, though a glint of mischief
sparkled in his eye. ‘I might be here to investigate the lamentably
ongoing absence of our glorious monarchs — with, I need hardly add,
the most selfless of motives! I might simply be passing through,
with my aides-de-camp.’ He gestured carelessly at the ragtag band
of darkling fae that surrounded his throne, his mouth twisting with
self-mockery. ‘Or I might be planning to move in. After all, no one
has been using Mirramay in quite some years now.’

‘Using it for what?’ Sophy retorted. ‘I can hardly imagine
that Aubranael would approve of any such plan!’

Something between amusement and anger flickered across
Grunewald’s eyes. ‘I note that you assume the worst, and with no
conceivable reason to do so,’ he retorted. ‘Have I ever given cause
to imagine I might be harbouring dreams of conquest?’ With this
said, he sprawled once more upon his glittering throne and cast his
long legs over one arm.

Sophy
considered the vision of Grunewald, the Goblin King, lounging
lazily upon a gaudy and stupendously oversized throne and smiled.
It was one of her special smiles, full of a mixture of mischief and
amusement, and not unleavened with affection. ‘I leave that to your
own conscience to answer,’ she said lightly.

To
Isabel’s surprise — and relief — Grunewald laughed at that. ‘I
would tell you that I care nothing for your Aubranael’s good
opinion, my dear Miss Landon, but to do so would be to wound you —
perhaps past recovery. And I am far too much a gentleman.’ He made
an odd seated bow in Sophy’s direction, somehow imbuing the gesture
with a sinuous grace in spite of its awkwardness.

‘You
are not too much the gentleman to lie,’ Sophy said with a laugh.
‘You would prefer not to care for Aubranael’s opinion, of that I
have no doubt. Nonetheless, you do. He is your moral guide, of a
sorts; now, is he not? Your own internal guide is a little broken,
and you have made liberal use of his in the past.’

Grunewald grimaced. ‘What a detestable idea.’ Isabel noted
with interest that he did not deny it. ‘Now we return to the topic
of your most unexpected appearance in these parts. My good Miss
Landon, do not toy with my curiosity any further, I beg of you. I
am positively expiring with the need to know how you come to be
wandering in Fair Mirramay, and in such company.’ His eyes flicked
over Sir Guntifer, who drew himself up to his full, impressive
height and eyed the Goblin King with distrust.

‘It
is Isabel’s errand,’ Sophy replied. Isabel hoped that her friend
might go on to explain the rest, but she did not. She looked
instead at Isabel herself, and informed her by way of an
encouraging smile that she expected her to explain her own
motive.

Isabel sighed inwardly. She had always felt a peculiar
reticence in addressing Grunewald, for his station combined with
his odd manners confused her. There was also the question of what
he was, behind the Glamour that shrouded his form. Was he human
indeed? Was he Aylir? Was he a goblin himself?

Furthermore, she
had more than once suspected him of flirting with her. Given the
circumstances, she could only view this as most impertinent, and
rather uncomfortable.

And
now she must contend with the additional obstacle of an audience;
composed, too, of such an odd assortment of creatures! And so
universally questionable in character! But speak she must. She
thrust away the part of her mind that continued to marvel,
disbelieving, at the situations she was lately finding herself in,
and proceeded to relate her errand to the Goblin King. She spoke
quietly, as ever, but it appeared that Grunewald’s presence proved
sufficient to quell the more mischievous impulses of his followers;
no one interrupted her, or spoke over her. Grunewald himself paid
her the courtesy of close attention, only the faintest hint of
amusement lurking in his bright green eyes.

When
she had finished, he shifted uncomfortably upon his throne —
throwing himself into a still more indecorous posture in the
process — and sighed. ‘The Ferryman, eh?’ he said moodily. ‘I see
how it is.’ He glanced sharply at Isabel as he spoke, though as she
could not fathom the direction of his thoughts nor the intended
meaning of this remark, she failed to decipher his expression. ‘I
would tell you that he is no fit company for a pair of gentle
English ladies, but if I did I would have to disqualify my own self
from your fair company, and that would never do.’ He smiled, just
at Isabel, and to her annoyance she felt herself blush. This was
exactly the worst of him! If only he would stop smiling at her in
quite that way, she would be able to feel much more comfortable in
his presence.

‘Stop
flirting, Grunewald,’ Sophy said without ceremony. ‘Poor Isabel
does not know how to receive your attentions.’

Grunewald laughed, a disconcertingly wicked sound. ‘But that
is why it is so enjoyable. Such a pretty blush! It is a refreshing
change.’

Sophy
waved this away with an impatient gesture. ‘The Chronicler!’ she
prompted. ‘Have you seen anyone of that sort around Mirramay? I
hardly dare hope that you might have, as it seems to be very much
abandoned.’

‘Oh,
it is,’ Grunewald agreed. ‘Or was, until we arrived.’ He
accompanied this reflection with a wicked grin. ‘However, there
were some oddities about the Chronicler’s Tower, if my memory does
not betray me. If any part of the city has survived the decay of
the rest, it might be the Chronicler’s Library. It was protected,
you know.’

Hope
flickered to life in Isabel’s heart. ‘Indeed!’ she cried. ‘That is
encouraging news. But if it is protected, I suppose it will not be
easy to get inside?’

‘Very
good, Miss Ellerby,’ said Grunewald, in the teasing tone he
apparently reserved for her. ‘It will not be easy at all.’ The
Goblin King smiled comfortably at Sir Guntifer. ‘What of it,
Tree-giant? Do you possess the means to pass the Chronicler’s
tests?’

‘My
purpose is to serve as guide and protector,’ replied Sir Guntifer
stiffly.

‘In
other words, no! I congratulate you all. A more ill-advised plan I
have scarcely heard of, and to arrive ill-equipped for the
challenges of the adventure as well! It is positively reckless! I
had not thought it possible.’ His delighted smile proclaimed that
he spoke the truth, and Isabel frowned. Why should he applaud
recklessness? To behave without due thought and caution could only
be considered foolish, and she blushed with mortification to
realise how correct he was in accusing them of it. The venture had
been foolish indeed! But the fault was hers, in having acted
impulsively to begin with. Was it allowable if she had done so out
of a desire to help another?

Grunewald’s laughter interrupted these reflections. ‘I see I
have disconcerted Miss Ellerby yet again, for how she blushes! But
rest assured, my dear: a little recklessness is perfectly
necessary, once in a great while. How are you to have any
adventures, otherwise?’

‘I
did not seek to have adventures, sir, I assure you!’ said Isabel
with great indignation.

‘I
can well believe it. I might hazard a guess that your life has been
a dull one, thus far? Excepting, of course, the temporary
excitement of Miss Landon’s adventure of last year.’

Isabel opened her mouth to protest against this
characterisation of her life, but she was obliged to close it again
without speaking. When she called to mind the pattern of her days,
she remembered peace and tranquillity, which were by no means bad;
common sense and responsibility, which were admirable traits; but
she could not help remembering a great deal of dullness as
well.