Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (22 page)

The
Keeper hovered some way above Isabel’s head for a few minutes, and
Isabel watched as scrolls detached themselves from the shelves and
began to hover alongside him. At last he seemed satisfied, and
drifted back down to Isabel’s level once more. The scrolls
descended along with him.

‘These are not to be removed from the library,’ the Keeper
said sternly, as the scrolls laid themselves in Isabel’s hands. ‘If
the answer to your question is in my library at all, it will be
found in these documents.’

Isabel thanked
the Keeper-dragon with her best smile, hoping to soothe his
irritated feelings with courtesy and congeniality. He did perhaps
deflate a little, though his friendly demeanour did not
return.

‘You
will find tables to your left,’ the dragon said crisply.
‘And—’

The
Keeper broke off abruptly, staring hard at something over Isabel’s
shoulder. She turned, but could see nothing save for more shelves
and tables. When she turned back to the Keeper, she discovered that
he had swollen to five times his previous size and was still
expanding. Worse, the mists that made up his ethereal form were
turning dark, angry red.

‘TRESPASS!’ the Keeper bellowed. ‘GUARDS!’

The library, so
empty and tranquil before, was suddenly awash with dragons. More
solid than the Keeper, these were coloured in various shades of red
and orange and snarling with aggression. Isabel whirled, confused,
as the whole pack of them streamed in the direction the Keeper had
been staring.

The
lead dragon’s jaws snapped shut upon empty air — at least, so it
appeared. But Isabel could see that it had captured something in
its jaws — something fairly small and presumably solid, though
invisible.

‘SHOW
YOURSELF AT ONCE!’ bellowed the Keeper.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, slowly, a figure
materialised. It was less than three feet tall, dark of skin and
hair, with an enormous hat and equally oversized shoes. It carried
a horn in one hand.

A
trow, Isabel realised, and an instant later: Palchis. One of
Grunewald’s entourage.

‘The
library will CLOSE!’ screamed the Keeper. ‘Instantly! Expelled,
every one of you!’

Chapter Eleven

The
Keeper began to spin in his rage, and within moments a fine
whirlwind was sailing around the library, sending scrolls flying
wildly through the air. Isabel barely ducked in time to avoid
receiving two particularly large, heavy-looking scrolls in the
face. Heart pounding, she clutched her saffron scrolls closely to
her chest and looked around desperately for a way out. There was no
door that she could see, nor any other means of egress. There
wasn’t even a window.

The
Keeper howled something inarticulate, and a red fog enveloped
Isabel. Panicking, she gripped her scrolls all the tighter and shut
her eyes, gasping for breath as she was caught up in a swirling
wind. It stopped abruptly moments later, and she opened her eyes to
find herself restored to the Keeper’s chamber.

Sophy was staring
at her in amazed concern, but Grunewald, Ertof and Yangveld did not
look at all surprised at her sudden reappearance.

‘Are
you well?’ Sophy said, approaching with hands outstretched. Isabel
could well imagine the picture she presented: her hair and bonnet
disordered by the wild winds of the Keeper’s fury, her face a mask
of shock and dismay, her arms full of tumbled scrolls.

‘Oh,
Grunewald!’ Isabel gasped, casting him a look of strong reproach.
‘How could you!’

‘Palchis?’ was all that he said in response.

‘Still inside,’ Isabel said, and turned her back on
him.

Grunewald cursed. He added as an aside, ‘I am sorry, Miss
Ellerby, but it is more important than you can know.’

Isabel made no answer. It had occurred to her that the
Keeper, highly paranoid about unauthorised entrance to his precious
library, would suspect a collaboration between the two English
women and the Goblin King. ‘We must depart at once,’ she said to
Sophy, and immediately darted towards the staircase. Tafferty
bounded before her as she ran down the stairs, and she heard
Sophy’s footsteps behind.

To
Isabel’s relief, the Ferryman was still awaiting her outside the
palace. Better still, he had possessed the forethought to lead her
mount and Sophy’s into the boat. ‘Sir Guntifer!’ Isabel called. ‘To
the boat, and quickly!’ She looked behind herself, fervently
praying not to see the Keeper streaming after her — or any of his
frightening tower-guards. She was absconding with some of his
precious scrolls! She could hardly believe it of herself, but after
all the trouble of gaining access to the library, she could not
bear to leave behind the information which might save the Ferryman.
Particularly since Palchis’s intrusion had not been either of her
choice or her making!

She
saw no sign of pursuit, but she did not slow her pace as she ran
towards the boat. She tipped her armful of scrolls into the
Ferryman’s hands and stumbled aboard, drawing Sophy after her. Sir
Guntifer was close behind, Pinch and Pinket streaming after him in
matching wisp-shape. For a moment she was worried that the giant
would not fit in the boat at all, and indeed, the Ferryman stared
at him in open consternation. But Sir Guntifer turned himself into
his giant’s shape entirely, shedding his bark and branches, and
somehow contrived to squeeze himself aboard.

‘Go!’
said Isabel breathlessly.

The Ferryman
nodded, paused only to drop the scrolls into the bottom of the
boat, and then set about the process of departure. Banks of cloud
rolled in, quickly obscuring everything that lay outside the boat,
and the craft began to rise.

‘I
take it,’ said the Ferryman as he sat wearily down, ‘that all did
not proceed as ye had planned?’

Isabel realised that her knees were shaking, and quickly sat
down herself. ‘The Goblin King,’ she said tightly, ‘ruined our
venture.’ She recounted what had happened, and the Ferryman
listened with arms folded.

‘No
doubt he has some purpose,’ said the Ferryman once Isabel had
finished.

‘How
wretched of him,’ Sophy sighed. ‘Tiresome man. But you retrieved
something!’ She bent down to the mass of ageing paper and saffron
ribbons, and extracted the nearest scroll. ‘It is very delicate,’
she said, clearly changing her mind about unrolling it. ‘They had
better not be opened here, I think.’

‘Aye,
an’ ye cannot leave them wi’ me anyhow,’ said the Ferryman. ‘I have
no place t’ hide ‘em.’ He cocked his head at Isabel, and added,
‘Fer that matter: where are we goin’?’

‘To
Grenlowe, I suppose.’ Isabel felt as tired as the Ferryman looked,
worn out by travel and care. Though she knew that the ruckus in the
Tower had been none of her doing, and had come to pass without her
advance knowledge, she felt a vague sense of guilt at having been
the unwitting cause of the mess. She did not know why the Keeper
had reacted so violently, but she supposed that the Tower must
contain a great deal of important and sensitive information. What
Grunewald precisely wanted, and whether it would pose any danger to
anyone were he to acquire it, she could not say. But she knew that
the Goblin King was not always the congenial, if sarcastic,
gentleman she usually found him to be. Whatever his purpose was, it
might be harmless — or it might be dark indeed.

‘Yes,
let us return home,’ agreed Sophy. ‘No more may be done abroad
today, I think.’

The
journey from Mirramay to Grenlowe was surprisingly short. Isabel
was struck, and realised anew how lengthy was the delay the
Ferryman had wilfully imposed upon her passage from England. He
appeared to recollect it too, for he winked at her as the boat
descended into the meadow on the edge of the town, and smiled. ‘I
‘ad a desire t’ detain ye as before, but I must not, must I? Ye
‘ave done enough fer me as it is, an’ I must release ye t’ yer
business elsewhere.’

Isabel smiled, and blushed a little. How odd, that he should
be so desirous of her company! For it did not seem that he felt the
same temptation in Sophy’s case. ‘I wish I might stay, sir,’ she
said seriously. ‘But I must not, indeed.’

He
nodded gravely, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers,
and heaved a great, exaggerated sigh. ‘Aye, then, ‘tis back t’ my
loneliness.’

Isabel winced, and attempted to conceal her distress by
fidgeting with her reticule. ‘I would stay if I could,’ she said,
without looking at him.

‘Would ye?’ said the Ferryman softly. ‘An’ why is
that?’

‘I do
not like to think of you… of anyone, adrift in the world without
companionship. And without the freedom to go in search of it,
either.’ She kept her gaze fixed upon the ribbon of her bag as she
spoke, her fingers working to loosen a knot which had unaccountably
become ensnarled within it. But a gentle touch upon her chin
compelled her to raise her face, and she found the Ferryman looking
closely at her.

‘Ye
are a mite unusual,’ he said in a thoughtful tone, his gaze taking
in every part of her face. ‘Are all the ladies of England like
ye?’

‘They
are not, sir,’ said Sophy. Isabel could hear the smile in her
voice. ‘I can take it upon myself to assure you that Isabel is
unique. There is no other heart like hers.’

The
Ferryman glanced Sophy’s way, then returned to his scrutiny of
Isabel’s face. She was growing uncomfortable with both his
attention and his proximity, and took a step backwards. He smiled
down at her. ‘We are embarrassin’ the lady wi’ such talk.
Fortunately, it is time t’ expel ye all from my keepin’, an’ let ye
go home.’

Isabel said nothing, torn between relief and disappointment.
Moments later Isabel was being handed out, Sophy directly behind
her. Sir Guntifer, silent and stoic, had already descended, the two
pixies ensconced upon his shoulders. Both ladies curtseyed politely
to the Ferryman, who doffed his hat in response. It seemed to
Isabel that he smiled particularly at her before he turned
away.

They
watched as the boat rose into the skies and disappeared into a bank
of clouds. Then Sophy took Isabel’s arm and turned her in the
direction of her home.

‘Ye
must stay safely behind me, ladies, I pray,’ said Sir
Guntifer.

‘Aye!’ cried Pinch. ‘For we are in the wildest of wilds, you
know, and there is no telling what catastrophes could befall us
here!’ He looked around at the serene meadow as he spoke,
brandishing an imaginary rapier and twirling the feather of an
imaginary hat.

‘It
is kind of you to escort us, Sir Guntifer,’ said Sophy firmly,
ignoring Pinch. ‘You have performed your task kindly indeed;
particularly so, considering that it was not of your
choosing.’

Sir
Guntifer bowed to her. ‘Balligumph was a rogue to so force me from
my sloth, but it was not misguided in him. I am truly awake, and it
has been a century since I last swept the cobwebs from my
eyes.’

‘I am
delighted if it has been of some service to you,’ said Sophy with a
smile. ‘Never have I felt so safe as under your kind care! We will
be glad of your escort to Silverling, and I hope you will accept
some refreshment once we arrive.’

Sir
Guntifer inclined his head with utmost politeness, but Pinch gave a
horrified gasp. ‘Refreshments!’ he repeated. ‘And not to be offered
to us! For shame! We are hardly used indeed. And after we ran off
the trows, too!’ He shot a dark look at Pinket, who merely smiled
gently back.

‘How
wretchedly rude!’ Sophy protested. ‘I had not forgotten the two of
you, though I am minded to do so after such a speech as
that.’

Pinch
slumped down upon Sir Guntifer’s shoulder and crossed his tiny
arms, sullen. ‘All right, I apologise.’

He
was prevented from making any further comments as Sir Guntifer
strode away, and at no inconsiderable pace. Isabel was left to the
peace of Sophy’s company, and immediately took her friend’s
arm.

Sophy
smiled at her. ‘I do believe you have impressed the good Ferryman,’
she said conversationally as they walked towards
Grenlowe.

‘I
imagine he is very lonely,’ said Isabel.

‘Undoubtedly, poor fellow. However, he has most assuredly not
developed the same degree of interest in me. It might simply be
because you are by far the prettier of the two of us, but I will do
him the justice to assume that he has discerned the merits of your
character.’

‘Merits which you do not possess?’ Isabel protested. ‘The
greatest nonsense, Sophy! You are the kindest person I
know.’

‘Besides your own self, you mean. And you are certainly the
most modest. Consider! You no sooner meet him and hear his story
than you are sorely afflicted with compassion for his plight, and
promise to help him. That alone is far more than anyone else has
ever done, I would wager. But that is not all! For it was no empty
promise. You went as far as Mirramay in search of his name, faced
down the mighty Keeper of the Chronicles and emerged with a
promising armful of scrolls which you abstracted from right under
that worthy’s nose. Which, by the by, is the greatest transgression
I have ever known you to make, and I am proud of you!’ She squeezed
Isabel’s arm, and continued, ‘I might even be inclined to conclude
that the Ferryman has impressed you as well.’