Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘Foolish he may be, and disruptive, but I could not wish ill upon him.’

  Tafferty’s tail lashed. ‘Thou art thinkin’ too big,’ she said. ‘Just a wee, tiny calamity will do.’

  Isabel set her lips and shook her head. ‘I wish calamities upon no one,’ she said, mildly but firmly. ‘No matter how minor it may be, nor how foolish the target.’

  Tafferty growled. ‘All right, I will do it.’

  Isabel reached out to stop her, but Tafferty was too quick. As Isabel watched, the pipe flew out of Pinch’s grip as though propelled by some unseen force, and — to her horror — something began sewing shut his mouth. Silken stitches blossomed rapidly around his lips, until his mouth was firmly closed and he could not possibly utter another word. Pinket, hovering near to Sir Guntifer’s left ear, awoke and began weaving about in the air in a silent display of alarm.

  ‘Now then,’ Tafferty said in a placid tone, wholly unaffected by the desperate antics of the horrified pixie and wisp. ‘A Curse must come wi’ an out, see? As must an Enchantment — the positive kind. Thou canst not expect the target o’ thy wishes or curses t’ suffer under ‘em forever, especially when they’s the harmful sort o’ kind. Hence the Ferryman: His freedom is won if the condition is met, that o’ findin’ his name. In this case, I ‘ave imposed a simple condition fer a simple offence: Pinch must be sorry fer his irritatin’ behaviour, an’ then he may have his mouth back.’

  ‘But,’ Isabel cried in horror, ‘how is he to express his contrition if he cannot speak?’

  There was silence for a moment, then Tafferty said, ‘Ah. Yes, I ‘ave contrived this on purpose-like, so thou mayst see the importance o’ thinkin’ carefully through thy wishes an’ curses.’

  Isabel was by no means convinced it had been deliberate, and her heart ached for Pinch. The pixie was by turns furious and terrified, and his writhings and stampings finally attracted Sir Guntifer’s attention. The tree-giant stopped, and stared with amazement at the gyrations of the previously placid pixie. ‘What manner of trickery is this?’ he said in his booming voice.

  ‘Naught for thee t’ worry thyself over, Gunty,’ Tafferty said. ‘Thy passenger is receivin’ a lesson in courtesy, that is all.’

  Sir Guntifer eyed Pinch and then Tafferty in turn, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I cannot blame thee, but I would beg thee to draw thy teaching to a close,’ he said. ‘Methinks he is moments from tumbling to the ground, and doing himself great harm.’

  Tafferty grumbled to herself, then raised her voice to shout over the inarticulate noises Pinch was making in his distress. ‘Pinch, thou reeky mammet! Stop thy yowlin’ an’ listen!’

  Pinch subsided, staring at Tafferty with wide eyes.

  ‘Art thou sorry fer thine infernal noise?’

  Pinch nodded frantically.

  ‘Truly? Thou must mean it.’

  Pinch nodded so hard that his head flopped about on his neck, and he shook himself violently. As he did so, the stitches began to unwind themselves, and half a minute later they were gone. Pinch gulped in several huge breaths of air, staring at Tafferty in abject horror.

  ‘That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,’ he said at last.

  Tafferty curled up upon the mare’s neck once more, tucking her tail around herself with an air of satisfaction. ‘Very good,’ she said, and closed her eyes.

  Pinch exchanged a wide-eyed look with Isabel, before turning his back upon the company and facing forwards into the trees. His manner was unmistakeable: he would think twice before getting on Tafferty’s bad side again.

  So would Isabel. She swallowed, trying to calm the unsettled fluttering of her heart. Were these the powers she had gained? If so, she certainly did not want them!

  The site of the Teapot Society proved to be less than a day’s travel from Grenlowe, albeit only slightly less. Isabel was not used to riding for such long hours together, and by the time late afternoon drew in, she was feeling sore and deeply uncomfortable. Further, the beauty of the Outwoods delighted her only for a time; as the day wore on, the tall trees with the broad trunks, hanging vines and multi-coloured leaves began to be familiar, and as such lost her attention. A combination of discomfort and boredom led her to feel a sensation of relief when Sir Guntifer came to a halt at the head of their party, and held up a hand.

  ‘Mark ye that clearing ahead?’ he said. ‘Methinks that is the Society.’

  Sophy spurred her mount forward at once, though at a cautious pace. Isabel followed, feeling less confident than Sophy appeared to be. She had been caught in the Society’s enchantment herself, for a short time, and she had not forgotten the experience: the burning and irresistible compulsion to consume as much as she could from the contents of the teapots set before her, and their accompanying delicacies. She well remembered how delicious they had been, and how very much she had enjoyed herself; so much so that she had not felt the smallest desire ever to leave. If it had not been for the presence of mind of Sophy and her friends, Isabel might still be there.

  But she felt nothing but doubt upon drawing closer to the glade amidst the trees. There was the table, as she remembered. One end was visible, but the table was so long that its other end was lost somewhere amongst the trees. Tall-backed chairs were lined up along either side of it, and a particularly large, ornate chair stood at the head.

  And that was all. The pristine white cloth that covered the table was bare; not a single teapot sat upon its surface. The chairs were all empty — even the one at the head of the table, the seat of the host or hostess. The glade should have been filled with the sounds of consumption and merriment; instead, it was silent.

  Isabel exchanged an uncertain look with Sophy. ‘Can this be the right place?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘I believe it must be,’ Sophy said, albeit in a doubtful tone. ‘I cannot imagine two such tables should happen to be arranged in just this fashion, and in the midst of the Outwoods. Besides, my own recollections suggest that we have been travelling in exactly the right direction to encounter it just here.’

  Both ladies dismounted, and cautiously stepped closer. Not only was the table unoccupied, but it felt different to Isabel. Previously, the clearing had been so heavy with magic she had felt it as a prickling upon her skin. Now, there was nothing. It was only a table.

  ‘Where, then, is Hidenory?’ said Sophy at last. ‘How can she have accomplished this?’

  ‘I wonder if she knew, when she volunteered herself?’ said Isabel. ‘That she would be able to break the enchantment.’

  ‘That is possible,’ agreed Sophy.

  Tafferty stretched and jumped down from the mare’s back. ‘Rightly she oughtn’t t’ have any such power,’ she commented. ‘Though the prodigious power o’ Hidenory th’ Witch is well-enough known in these parts. But this is an Everlasting Enchantment. There be ways t’ free people from it, but not t’ dissolve it altogether.’ The catterdandy stalked closer to the table and sniffed at it, her tail twitching. ‘An’ it be dead as a proverbial.’ Tafferty demonstrated this point by jumping onto one of the chairs and then onto the table. Isabel tensed, waiting for the table to suddenly set itself for tea, but nothing happened.

  ‘Two ways t’ manage it,’ Tafferty announced. ‘Either she ‘as tricked it, or she ‘as dissolved it ‘erself because she were the one who ‘ad set it in th’ first place.’

  Isabel glanced at Sophy. Her friend was clearly troubled by this latter notion; her usually sunny smile was absent, replaced by a deep frown. ‘That would break Lihyaen’s heart,’ Sophy said softly. ‘I cannot believe that Hidenory could have done such a thing.’

  ‘I said she were the one who ‘ad set up the table,’ Tafferty said. ‘Not that she also put thy girl here. The two may o’ been different peoples altogether.’

  Sophy looked a little relieved at this reflection. ‘But surely, if somebody else had used her enchantment to entrap Lihyaen, she must have known of it? And she left the girl here for year
s.’

  ‘She may not ‘ave known,’ Tafferty said. ‘Then again, she may.’

  The whole realm had believed the princess to have died, Isabel knew. When the princess had been taken, a stock had been left in her place — a kind of enchanted doll, which seemed to live for a little while, and then apparently died. The princess had been buried, and no one had known that she had instead been taken away and trapped within the Teapot Society. No one save for her abductor, of course.

  If Hidenory had not been her abductor, perhaps she, too, had believed Lihyaen to have died. Supposing that she paid any attention to her creation at all, could she have realised that the girl at the head of the table was Lihyaen?

  But perhaps she had not created the Teapot Society at all. Isabel knew little of Hidenory, but by Sophy’s accounts she was fully wily enough to trick her way out of it.

  ‘I wonder where she is,’ Sophy said again, with a sigh. ‘I should dearly like to ask her a question or two.’

  Isabel agreed to it. ‘I think it altogether unlikely that she had any hand in this,’ she said to Sophy, hoping to soothe away the shadow of concern in her friend’s eyes. ‘Perhaps she was helped to escape.’

  Sophy nodded. ‘I wish she had informed Lihyaen of her escape, either way. The poor girl has been suffering a great deal over Hidenory’s fate.’

  ‘Perhaps she could not,’ Isabel said reasonably.

  Sophy smiled ruefully. ‘It is impossible for us to know, and so it is useless to speculate. Let us go on.’

  Sir Guntifer gallantly assisted the ladies to mount once more, and the party resumed its progress through the Outwoods.

  Isabel had expected to encounter the discomfort of sleeping out-of-doors on her journey to Mirramay, but to her relief, she was obliged to endure no such ordeal. The Outwoods was a vast forest covering more space than she could easily imagine; they had travelled within it for two days without once stepping out from beneath the canopy of its over-arching trees, and they had but once passed anything which could be called a settlement. In spite of this, Isabel found that the way was clearly marked. Wide, well-tended roads wound through the trees, some of them paved with honey-coloured stone, and the way was sign-posted. Even better, the larger roads featured wayside inns at intervals, perfectly spaced to allow for one full day’s travel in between. Thus, her adventure was of precisely the refined sort to appeal to her, for she slept in a proper bed each night, in a room of her own which bore, together with its other comforts, a lockable door. She dined very well upon the best of Aylfenhame’s produce, and suffered no other trials save for a lamentable degree of saddle-soreness after so many hours of riding. Sir Guntifer stood guard outside her window and Sophy’s, slumbering peacefully in his tree form, and Isabel knew few worries.

  On the third day, the atmosphere began to change. Hitherto, the Outwoods had been airy, spacious and well-lit, in spite of the thick canopy. The leaves were vibrantly coloured, the floor carpeted in bright green, fragrant moss, and there were berries aplenty growing in bushes by every roadside.

  As the morning wore on upon the third day, the light began, gradually but noticeably, to dim. The trees grew closer together, and the vegetation thicker. Pinket, who had adopted the role of scout for the party and sailed dreamily someway ahead, began to slow, and reduced the distance between itself and Sir Guntifer. It looked, to Isabel’s mildly concerned eye, as though the wisp was uncomfortable and preferred to remain closer to the giant.

  She could not blame Pinket, if so, for she began to feel less at ease herself. The road was growing narrower, and the trees crowded in ever closer on either side. The wind turned cool, and a chilling breeze plucked at the gown and spencer she had chosen for warm weather. She shivered, and tried not to turn her eyes upon the thickening undergrowth that lined the road. Too many shadows lurked there, and she began to wonder what else might be lurking besides.

  How foolish, she reprimanded herself. Just because it had grown darker did not mean that monsters hid between the trees! She was behaving with all the absurdity of a child of five!

  But even as she formed the thought, Sir Guntifer slowed his pace and finally stopped, his great head swivelling upon his mighty neck as he searched among the trees.

  ‘What is it, Sir Guntifer?’ asked Sophy, reining in her mount alongside the giant.

  ‘This is not as it was,’ he said tersely. ‘I do not know what has chanced to happen here while I slumbered, but—’ He broke off, holding up one large hand. ‘Hark,’ he said softly.

  Isabel listened. At first she heard nothing at all, but after a few moments some faint sounds reached her ears. It was a kind of horn, she realised, and no pleasant sound either, though it seemed intended as a kind of music. The flaring notes were not without melody, though they were harsh sounds, and she resisted a temptation to cover her ears.

  She could not tell where the music was coming from. She could swear that it was but a single instrument being played, but the notes seemed to emanate from everywhere around them all at once. The effect was disturbing, and Isabel shivered.

  Sophy drew her pony up alongside and grasped the bridle of Isabel’s pony, directing a smile at her friend which was perhaps intended to be reassuring. Isabel found the whole of her behaviour to be more alarming than comforting, and shivered harder.

  ‘Do not be alarmed!’ said Sophy. ‘Something strange is afoot, but it will soon be sorted out. Sir Guntifer will know what is to be done, and you may perhaps see Pinch come into his own.’

  Isabel nodded nervously. In spite of her discomfort, Sophy’s words soothed her a little. Sophy had spent a year living in Aylfenhame, in addition to her prior adventures, and she must know of what she spoke.

  ‘Pixie,’ said Sir Guntifer, shrugging the huge shoulder upon which Pinch still reclined. ‘Wisp. Methinks we have need of ye.’

  Pinch sighed and clambered down to the ground, muttering darkly. Isabel caught the word ‘trow’ in the midst of his grumblings, though it made little sense to her.

  ‘What is a trow?’ she whispered to Sophy.

  ‘Darkling things,’ said Sophy in response. ‘They will try to cause mischief, but Pinch is a match for them. Pinket, too. Watch!’

  Isabel watched. Pinch marched off into the trees, bristling with indignation. A stream of cinnamon-coloured smoke billowed out behind him, in the midst of which floated Pinket. The pair halted a few feet off the road, and Pinch adopted an uncompromising stance with his legs apart and hands upon his hips. Pinket hovered a few feet above his head and swelled in size, until the tiny bubble of light became as a small sun; so bright that Isabel was obliged to look away from him.

  Dark figures approached through the trees, some of them as small as Pinch, others rather larger. At first they appeared as mere shadows, but as they grew closer Isabel discerned spindly frames with gnarled limbs and overlarge hands, feet and ears. They wore ragged clothing, shoes with pointed toes and black caps upon their heads, from underneath which their wispy hair protruded. They were odd creatures, gangly and ungainly, though not ugly; only the expressions of their faces deserved that term. They glared at the travellers with chilling malevolence, and more than one bore weapons: long, jagged knives and stout sticks. Isabel saw no piper among them, but nonetheless the music continued, growing in eeriness and volume as time passed.

  ‘Ho!’ shouted Pinch as the nearest came within earshot. ‘Trow party, is it? We decline your kind invitation! Be off.’

  These words had no effect upon the trows, but Pinch did not appear to be concerned. He made some kind of signal to Pinket, and then abruptly vanished. In his place hovered a second wisp, which grew in size and brilliance until two miniature suns hung there. Isabel blinked, sun-spots dancing before her eyes. She lost track of what happened next, so blinded was she by the dancing and weaving of the two wisps as they darted among the trows. She could not understand what they were doing, but its effects were clear. The trows halted, some of their truculence fading into confusion. Some few of them beg
an to retreat, step by step, into the trees.

  Then the wisps vanished. Pinch reappeared in his pixie form, his green jacket somewhat askew. In his hands he held a little golden pipe, which he began to play at a dizzying speed, the notes rippling over the glade like tumbling water.

  To Isabel’s surprise, he was not alone. Pinket had also disappeared. Where he had previously floated there now stood a second pixie, slightly shorter than Pinch, and dressed in a red jacket and trousers. This pixie — Pinket? — held a tiny fiddle, and this he began to play with a speed to match the pipe. The melody clashed horribly with that of the trows’ horn, and Isabel winced and clapped her hands over her ears. This did little to exclude the sounds, and she gritted her teeth, waiting in intolerable discomfort as the fae’s strange musical battle proceeded.

  It did not seem to her at all likely that Pinch and Pinket could win, for they were sorely outnumbered. But that they were gaining ground against the trows soon became obvious, for the dark figures began to retreat further. At length, the horn faltered and fell silent, and the trows broke and fled.

  Pinch and Pinket maintained their exhaustingly lively music for some minutes longer, and finally ceased only when every last hint of the trows’ presence had faded. Even the light had returned to the forest, to some degree, though it remained shadowed, and darker than it had been before.

  The pixies shook themselves mightily, and then packed away their instruments. They directed matching grins back at Isabel and Sophy, though Pinch’s bore more of mischief; Pinket appeared simply pleased with himself. Then Pinket resumed his wisp shape, while Pinch swaggered over to Sir Guntifer and held up his arms to be lifted. ‘Gunty!’ he bellowed. ‘I am tired!’

  ‘Did you know he could do that?’ Isabel asked of Sophy.

  Sophy shook her head. ‘Pinket! No, indeed. I thought he was a wisp only.’