Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  Remembering Sophy’s accounts of her own adventures in Aylfenhame, Isabel blushed. Sophy had been beset by trials of one sort or another, but she had weathered them all, and done so with cheerful good-humour. For Isabel herself to object to a mere bit of travelling seemed hopelessly feeble.

  ‘Perhaps you will wish to take Lihyaen?’ Isabel suggested, mindful of the princess’s obvious interest in the plan.

  Sophy shook her head. ‘In time, but not now. She is… that is, we are still keeping her close. It is by no means certain that she could return to the Court without endangering herself.’

  ‘Then may you safely leave her?’ Isabel said — aware as she spoke that she was reaching for excuses, but unable to help herself.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophy firmly. ‘She will have Aubranael, and Mary, and Thundigle to keep her safe, and there are others set to watch over her. Balli makes sure of that.’

  Isabel fell silent, her thoughts turned inwards. If she accepted her friends’ rationale, was there any true reason why she could not go? She was easily tired, it was true, and the journey would be demanding; but tiredness could not harm her. The errand might prove futile, but nothing could be gained if she did not go at all.

  Her mother would be disappointed in her. Her father… angry. These considerations weighed rather more with Isabel than any other, and she hesitated.

  ‘Bah!’ said Tafferty in disgust. Isabel looked down, startled, to find the catterdandy sitting close by her feet. Her companion butted her head against Isabel’s legs, not ungently, and rubbed her thick-furred body against her gown. ‘A lily-liver, an’ a sorry one! Sit in thy fancy-fine chair all the days o’ thy life, wilt thou, an’ let thy Older Ones do all thy thinkin’ for thee! Whose life is it, I ask thee?’

  My father’s, Isabel wanted to reply, for it often seemed as though his decisions ruled not only her own life but her mother’s as well. But she did not, for Tafferty was right. She saw at last why her aunt had been so eager to convey her into Aylfenhame: it represented a chance for her to change the course of her life, and make choices of her own.

  The prospect terrified her, for she had rarely in her life been permitted to make the smallest decision for herself — not even as to the colour of her gowns. But a glance at Sophy’s serene, cheerful face calmed her nerves. Sophy had strayed far from the path of convention, and thrived upon it. Perhaps she would thrive, too.

  ‘I will go,’ she said, and managed to speak without a tell-tale tremor in her voice. ‘Who will go with me?’

  ‘I will!’ said Lihyaen at once.

  Sophy exchanged a look with Aubranael, but before either of them could speak, Balligumph drew the princess aside and began to speak in a voice pitched so low that Isabel could hear nothing of his speech.

  Aubranael approached Isabel and Sophy. ‘I will take care of her,’ he said to Sophy, who nodded. Isabel marvelled at the degree of openness and understanding between the two: they had not needed to discuss what they would do or how it would be managed, each seeming to know the other’s intentions and thoughts without asking. It was vastly different from the relationship between her mother and her father.

  Sophy smiled and clasped her husband’s hand in thanks. ‘I think we will take Pinket,’ she mused. ‘And Pinch.’

  ‘Pinch!’ repeated Aubranael. ‘Anyone but! You will have not an instant’s peace.’

  Sophy laughed. ‘True, but I want Pinket with us very much, and you cannot believe that Pinch would consent to remain behind alone.’

  Aubranael rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Take something soft with which to stuff up your ears,’ he recommended.

  Isabel smiled. She was not very much acquainted with Pinket and Pinch, but she knew them a little. Pinket was a will-o-the-wyke, a wisp of fae-light with more of a mind and personality than she would ever have thought possible. Pinch was a particularly diminutive pixie fae who sometimes took the form of a wisp — usually when he wanted to perform some manner of mischief. The two were staunch friends, and inseparable.

  Balligumph’s voice, raised above a murmur, reached Isabel’s ears. ‘Ye are a good lass,’ he said in a kindly tone to Lihyaen. ‘Yer time will come, mark my words, but ye’ve a deal o’ growin’ to be done yet. Aylfenhame cannot bear to lose ye a second time.’

  Lihyaen sighed and drifted forlornly towards Sophy and Aubranael. ‘I wish I could go with you,’ she said to Isabel, with a hint of bitterness. ‘This waiting is intolerable.’

  Isabel sympathised. It was hard on the girl, but she saw the sense of Balligumph’s words. Lihyaen was not yet ready to take the throne, and until she was, her survival and her location must remain a secret — for her own safety.

  ‘I have a request,’ said Lihyaen to Isabel. She hesitated, frowning. ‘It is Hidenory,’ she continued in a rush. ‘My old nurse. The witch? You remember her?’

  Isabel nodded.

  ‘Mr. Balligumph says that she is gone from the tea-table,’ said Lihyaen. ‘But I can scarcely believe it to be true! I would like dearly to know, but I cannot bear to go near to the place…’

  ‘We will look,’ Isabel promised.

  Lihyaen smiled with relief. ‘Will you indeed? It is so kind of you! I know you will not be able to approach very nearly, but you may perhaps be able to tell whether she is still… there.’ The last word was spoken doubtfully, and accompanied by a fierce frown. Hidenory had volunteered herself in Lihyaen’s place, and had duly taken over as the hostess of the strange Teapot Society party. And there she must stay until someone else took her place — or until the enchantment was broken by some other means. If Hidenory was free, then someone else must be occupying the host’s seat. Isabel did not welcome such a thought. If they arrived at the tea-table to find someone else doomed to such a fate, Isabel did not think she could again walk away and leave them there.

  She could not but promise, and the promise was duly made.

  ‘But who shall be yer guide?’ said Balligumph with a twinkle. ‘Let me think, now. Who could possibly know enough about the wilds, an’ the Outwoods, an’ Mirramay itself, to take ye safely there an’ back?’ His eyes strayed towards Sir Guntifer as he spoke, who reacted by drawing himself up to his full height and staring down upon the troll with strong disapproval.

  ‘Methinks thou art insinuating something,’ he said.

  Balligumph beamed at him. ‘Will ye, old friend? There’s none better’n ye.’

  Sir Guntifer shook himself mightily, sending a cloud of leaves flying into the air from — apparently — nowhere. ‘Thou art a miscreant,’ he informed Balligumph. ‘There is naught of rest or slumber to be had with such friends as thee.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Balligumph. ‘That’s the idea.’

  Sir Guntifer grumbled something inaudible. ‘Very well. I will guide the maid and her band of friends.’ He glared at Balligumph. ‘But I shall do it because she is a fair maid, and kindly! Not because of thy meddling.’

  ‘I don’t care why ye do it, so long as ye do,’ Balligumph said with a chuckle. ‘Aye, very good! A fine day’s work. Off wi’ ye, then. The sooner ye get goin’, the sooner ye may return.’

  An’ so it was tha’ two fine English ladies set off to journey from Grenlowe to the city o’ Mirramay, across many leagues o’ the wilds of Aylfenhame, an’ attended only by a wisp, a pixie an’ a tree-giant. Mighty gumptious o’ them, was it not, now? An’ a merry adventure! I am proud to know the pair o’ them. An’ they managed very well wi’ the demands o’ the journey, ye’ll no be surprised to hear. But it weren’t entirely a smooth-like journey. Such a party as that cannot fail of attractin’ a mite o’ notice…

  Chapter Nine

  ‘The trick to it,’ said Pinch, removing his pipe from his mouth, ‘is to be a natural genius, like me. Then you will find everything easy.’ He stuck the pipe back into his mouth, took a long drag upon it, and grinned.

  Isabel eyed the little wretch, and wondered in the privacy of her own mind whether it would be acceptable for her to smack him. He so
rely deserved it, and she felt tolerably certain that Sophy would agree. They had been two days upon the road, and Pinch had scarcely stopped talking — which would not be so very bad, had he been more amusing a companion. As it was, such self-aggrandising witticisms as he had just shared were all that could be expected from him.

  ‘Pinch,’ said Sophy gravely. ‘If you cannot mind your tongue, there will be consequences.’

  Pinch’s grin merely grew wider. He was sitting on Sir Guntifer’s shoulder, facing backwards so that he could see Sophy and Isabel riding behind. He looked the picture of comfort and contentment from this vantage point, and since his steed had long ago adopted the policy of ignoring everything that was going on behind him, he suffered no consequences for the crime of filling the tree-giant’s ears with his nonsense. Isabel wondered whether Sir Guntifer had somehow arrived at a state where he genuinely did not hear the wretched little pixie, and envied him.

  ‘Consequences!’ carolled Pinch. ‘The lady is severe! Pray, what could you find to do to me?’

  ‘I will take your pipe.’ Sophy’s voice was deceptively serene. ‘And then, Pinch, I will probably drop it. I will not be able to help myself. I am very clumsy, you know.’

  Pinch’s smile faded and his eyes grew wide. ‘Aye, yes! Clumsiest wench I ever saw! That’s a threat.’ He sucked furiously upon the pipe as though to reassure himself.

  Isabel privately thought it would be a shame to smash such a thing. The pipe appeared to be made from glass, though in all likelihood it was wrought from some Aylfish thing of a different character. It was a delicate object, too big for the pixie who carried it, and intriguingly coiled. A constant stream of smoke curled lazily through the long, twisting tube, and by some magic it ever changed its hue. As Isabel watched, somewhat mesmerised — a pursuit she had been engaging in a great deal in the past days — the smoke drifted from a sea-blue colour into a delicate violet.

  ‘It is no empty threat, Mr. Pinch!’ said Sophy. ‘I am a danger to all delicately-made things, and I will not hesitate to exercise my talents upon your treasure!’

  To Isabel’s surprise, Pinch actually fell silent for a little while.

  Tafferty shifted and turned about. She was enthroned once again on the neck of Isabel’s mare, and had passed most of the journey so far in a sound sleep. Isabel envied that, too. But now the catterdandy woke and directed a considering look at Isabel.

  ‘Happen it be time fer thy first lesson,’ said Tafferty. Her voice was pitched so low, Isabel imagined no one heard it but herself. ‘The pixie needs teachin’, an’ he is meant t’ be teachin’ thee. Happen thou must teach him a lesson first, an’ then his mind will be brought t’ a proper way o’ thinkin’.’

  Isabel nodded, for she was not at all averse to the notion of teaching the smug pixie a lesson. ‘But what could I do? I do not share Sophy’s talent for breaking things by chance, and I could not destroy such a pretty pipe deliberately.’

  Tafferty’s tail twitched. ‘Thou takest a distressin’ delight in bein’ obtuse,’ she said with deep dissatisfaction.

  Isabel coloured. ‘What, then, do you wish me to do?’

  ‘Thou hast shown an extraordinary lack of interest in yer witchin’ powers, up till now,’ said Tafferty with a growl. ‘A more lack-a-dais-i-cal apprentice I could scarce have asked fer.’ She drew the word “lackadaisical” out long and thin, with great relish, and Isabel felt a twinge of guilt.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said; aware, as she spoke, that those three words had passed her lips a great many times in the past few days of her life. ‘So much has happened! I can scarce keep up. And besides that, I…’ she fell silent as a wave of shame engulfed her.

  ‘What?’ Tafferty prompted.

  ‘I am unsure if I… wish to be a witch at all,’ said Isabel in a miserable half-whisper. ‘It is very inconvenient. I do not at all think I will be able to be a witch in York, when I am married to Mr. Thompson — or someone else like him. It will not be thought respectable. And so I will have to hide it, as does my aunt Grey, and if that is all I am destined to do, there is little purpose in learning. Is there not?’

  Tafferty’s growl deepened. ‘I will set tha’ piece o’ fatuosity firmly t’ one side. What dost thou think thy aunt had in mind in sendin’ thee here if not t’ learn thee somethin’ o’ use? If thou wert a wittier bean o’ humanity thou wouldst consider that thy aunt Grey maybe bears a regret or two in ‘er mind.’

  Isabel frowned, for that thought had not occurred to her. Mrs. Grey had existed in Isabel’s life as a model of respectability and contentment. As such it had been a particular shock to her to discover her aunt’s secret nature, and the little green companion of whom Isabel had never previously seen so much as a hair. She could not doubt that it had been a source of considerable strain to her aunt to conceal these things from York society; nor did she doubt the necessity. Household brownies may be common enough in some parts of England, and the people were by no means unfamiliar with the fae of Aylfenhame; but for a lady of quality to openly practice witchery, and keep with her such a peculiar animal as her aunt’s Vershibat, could not be considered respectable. As tolerant as most folk were of the fae, there remained strict notions in most minds: the fae were other. It would not do for one of their own to become too deeply entangled with them.

  If her aunt had discovered the peculiarities of her heritage at Isabel’s own age, well, she had made the only choice Isabel would have expected her to consider: she had stayed in England, married suitably, and concealed her witchery. Isabel herself had consented — barely — to visiting Aylfenhame, but she had no expectation but that her visit would soon come to an end, home she would go, and proceed to follow much the same path in life as her aunt. What else could possibly make any sense?

  But Tafferty spoke truly. Isabel remembered a passing comment of her aunt’s, which had faded from her mind in the confusion that had followed: I have had my fill of duty.

  Perhaps she did regret some part of her decision. But what did that mean for Isabel?

  ‘What did you wish to teach me?’ Isabel said at last.

  Tafferty’s growling stopped, and her tail flicked once — a gesture Isabel was learning to interpret as one of approval. ‘Good. Thy aunt said thou would’st make a suitable choice, but I was beginnin’ t’ doubt.’

  Isabel was momentarily tempted to protest that she had but asked a question, and had not intended to grant permission. But she held her peace. It could do her no harm to learn a little.

  ‘Now then,’ said Tafferty, settling herself comfortably before Isabel. ‘A witch has a number o’ Powers t’ choose from. There’s Glamour, the art o’ Seemin’, which we have talked of before. Thou mayst make any one thing seem like another — or hide it away entire. Watch.’ Tafferty slowly disappeared from sight, bit by bit, until only her tail remained. Then she faded back into view — and changed, abruptly, into the semblance of an ordinary house cat, a fat creature with black fur and white patches.

  ‘All manner o’ fine uses fer that, but not what we need now,’ she decided, changing back into herself.

  Isabel thought, with an inward sigh, of her only previous lesson in witchery, and her utter failure to entice one fruit to resemble another. ‘I have seen something of Glamour before,’ Isabel offered. ‘When I first met Aubranael, it was in England, and he was wearing the semblance of a human man. But it was not of his making.’

  Tafferty licked her lips. ‘Aye. Thou mayst impose a Glamour upon another, but I advise thee to do that only wi’ their permission.’

  Isabel flushed at the very idea of changing someone’s appearance without their consent! ‘Of course, I could not think of anything else.’

  ‘The time may come,’ said Tafferty cryptically. ‘Anyroad, the second Power, which has no right-an’-proper name, may be called Craftin’ fer our purposes. Wi’ that, thou mayst concoct all manner o’ useful odds an’ ends. The most difficult an’ rare o’ these would be what thy folk call fairy ointment. Wi’ suc
h a magic in thy hands, thou mayst see through any form o’ Glamour, on thy own self or others. But that… eh. Thou mayst live thy whole life through without discoverin’ the secret o’ that. Tis a rarity indeed.’

  Isabel nodded, intrigued. Fairy ointment! She had heard of such a thing in stories, but had not previously imagined that it might exist in truth — nor that she might, someday, possess the power to make it.

  ‘An’ the third Power,’ Tafferty continued, ‘is what I will today call… Cursin’. Rightly Enchantin’. Bestowin’ somethin’ good or somethin’ bad upon a person as ‘as pleased or vexed thee, as thou wishest. Since today we are dealin’ wi’ a tiny bein’ as ‘as vexed us both, we are goin’ t’ start wi’ a Curse.’

  Isabel glanced at Pinch, troubled. Irritating he may be, but a Curse? She had experience of Curses. Lihyaen had been afflicted with a terrible one, and so was the Ferryman. Could she be responsible for laying such an appalling punishment upon Pinch — or any living thing? She opened her mouth to say some of this, but Tafferty forestalled her.

  ‘I know what’s goin’ through thy mind,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘The Curses thou art thinkin’ of are somethin’ far out o’ the ordinary way. Strong magics indeed, an’ Evil. I very much doubt it is within thy power t’ lay such a Curse, nor will it ever be — even if thou hadst the desire t’ do so, which of course thou dost not. All we are thinkin’ of today is a whisper of a Curse, easily laid and easily dispelled.’

  Isabel nodded doubtfully. ‘Very well. What must I do?’

  ‘Fix thy attention upon yonder green-clad pigeon-egg an’ think of somethin’ bad thou would’st like t’ see happen t’ him.’

  Isabel looked up at Pinch. He was still ensconced upon Sir Guntifer’s shoulder, riding up there like a little king, and flatly ignoring the beauty of the tall trees on either side. His arms were crossed, his face set in a scowl, and his pipe stuck firmly in his mouth as he puffed madly upon it. The odd, spicy scent of the smoke drifted down to tease Isabel’s nose.