Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  After that, it was the work of moments to encourage the plate to likewise restore its contents. Staring at the steaming pot and the small mound of delicate pastries upon the plate, Isabel was stunned — and delighted.

  And also disturbed, for the exercise brought to mind the enchanted teapots and plates that she had supped from during the strange half-hour she had spent as a guest at the Teapot Society. The comparison chilled her a little, but it also enlightened her. Was this how the magical table had been contrived? Someone had woven enchantment into the very fabric of the table, constructing it, in all likelihood, for the purpose. And the pots and plates had likewise been carefully crafted: To react firstly to each new guest and fill themselves accordingly, and afterwards to keep themselves filled no matter how much their owners ate or drank.

  She was awed, and a little frightened, by her own power. Tafferty observed her in silence as Isabel cautiously poured a cup of tea from the newly-enchanted teapot, and took a pastry.

  ‘Thou art not at all likely t’ turn thy hand t’ the likes o’ that,’ the catterdandy said, and hoisted a pastry from the plate with her claws. ‘I can see it in thy face. Thy fears. The Teapot Society, it is a corruption o’ these kinds of arts. Now, why was it made? I cannot answer that, no more’n I know who it was that brought it into bein’.’

  Isabel nodded, and bit into her pastry. It was perfect, crisp and still warm from the oven. There was nothing about it to suggest that someone had caused it to waft up out of a mere plate all by itself.

  Eliza smiled at Isabel. ‘Vershibat tried for years to teach me that art,’ she said wistfully. ‘Alas, it was beyond my skill.’

  ‘Thou art more gifted at the Glamour side o’ things,’ said Tafferty, and Eliza nodded.

  ‘Though it is long since I much employed the Glamour.’ She frowned as she spoke, and her tone was dissatisfied. ‘Ah, to leave such powers unused! It is a terrible waste.’

  Isabel frowned and looked down at her scroll, unwilling to venture a reply. To waste her powers was precisely what she had wished to do. Indeed, some hidden corner of her heart still preferred the idea of slipping back into her old, familiar life, and forgetting the colour, the chaos and the confusion of Aylfenhame altogether.

  When she looked up again, she discovered that her aunt had vanished. In her place sat another woman entirely: younger by twenty years at least, and dressed according to the fashions of Aylfenhame. Her hair was prettily bound up under a coronet of flowers, and she wore a shimmering, full-sleeved gown of rose-pink and gold velvet.

  Isabel gasped, and stared wildly around the room. She had not heard her aunt leave, nor anybody else enter! Surprise clouded her thoughts, and some moments passed before the truth occurred to her.

  The lady opposite was her aunt, only restored to youth. Youth, and something else. For her hair was no longer the familiar shade of brown threaded with grey, but had developed a coppery sheen. Stranger still, the hazel hue of her eyes had vanished in favour of a pale green colour, like polished jade. They were not quite human eyes.

  ‘Is this… Glamour?’ Isabel said in a faint voice.

  Eliza laughed, and smoothed the front of her velvet gown with a loving hand. ‘You see me as I was, when I last went into Aylfenhame.’ Which did not precisely answer Isabel’s question, but Eliza fell silent, pensive. At last she added in a quieter voice, ‘As I was when I might have stayed.’

  Eliza had been a beauty. This did not surprise Isabel, for she was a handsome woman in her middle years. What did surprise her was how well she suited the Ayliri garb she wore. She could almost be Aylir herself. ‘Why did you return to England?’

  ‘Because I had already accepted a proposal of marriage from Mr. Grey, who loved me. The life he offered was laid before my feet, and I knew — I could predict — every step of it. But the life I might have led in Aylfenhame was by no means so clear. I had nowhere to go, no one to help me, and no notion as to how to keep myself.’

  ‘Those were very sensible objections to the plan, aunt,’ said Isabel gravely.

  Eliza looked at her. ‘Sensible,’ she repeated. ‘Yes, they were. And because I had so much good sense — and so little courage — I chose the simplest path, and turned my back on everything else.’

  So little courage. Those words repeated in Isabel’s mind. Did she lack courage? Was that why she clung to the familiarity of England, and tried so hard to reject everything that fitted poorly alongside it? She did not like to think so. She had always been praised for her good sense.

  ‘Something occurs to me, my love,’ said Eliza, disrupting Isabel’s train of thought. ‘In all my reading, I have not learnt what became of the Kostigern.’

  Isabel blinked, and fought to turn her thoughts away from her aunt’s surprising appearance and back to their shared study. ‘Why, no. Nor have I. I had hoped to discover something of it in this passage, but there is nothing. It discusses what became of his followers, but says nothing of him. And now it has diverted into talk of the Royal Guards of Mirramay.’ She tapped the scroll she held as she spoke, which had been unfurled almost to its fullest extent. Soon she would finish reading it. It was the last of the three she had studied, and Eliza had almost completed her share. Yet, so many questions remained unanswered, and they had not learned the Ferryman’s name.

  ‘It occurs to me,’ continued Eliza, ‘that there is one person who must remember the Ferryman’s name.’ She paused and regarded Isabel with a significant air, as though waiting for a similar idea to enter her niece’s brain.

  ‘Who do you mean?’ Isabel was obliged to ask.

  Eliza sat back in her chair, adjusting the floral coronet she still wore. ‘Somebody laid the curse upon our poor friend, the Ferryman. I am inclined to agree with you: it is unlikely that this punishment was laid upon him by the Queen at Mirramay. For she had already dispensed her judgement, and sent all his compatriots into the Torpor — and very likely him, as well. Who, then, cursed him, and why?

  ‘Let us speculate. We know that he had a Master, who bound him by oath to serve. The Ferryman, moreover, condemns himself for not having tried harder. He did not say that he did not even attempt to resist his Master.’

  The pieces came together in Isabel’s mind. ‘Oh, no!’ she cried. ‘My dear aunt, you are not suggesting…?’

  ‘I am. There are two who might remember what the Ferryman’s name once was: his former Master, and the person who laid the curse upon him. It is my belief that these two are the same; that, in short, the Kostigern laid the curse upon his oath-bound apprentice. I think that our Ferryman attempted some manner of resistance.’

  ‘But that means he was punished by both sides!’ Isabel exclaimed, horrified. ‘He was punished by the Queen for supporting the Kostigern when he could not help it, and cursed by the Kostigern for trying to support the Queen! That is a terrible fate.’

  ‘It is. The Torpor appears to have released him, at long last, and we may be grateful for that. I believe we must to go all possible lengths to free him from the second, harsher punishment.’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Isabel agreed. ‘But… but, aunt. If you are correct, then — then we must —’

  ‘Find the Kostigern. Yes.’

  ‘Find the Kostigern. And somehow compel him to tell us what his former, despised apprentice’s name was.’

  Eliza nodded. ‘It will be no easy task, that I know.’

  ‘Can it even be possible? We have found no word of the Kostigern at all. We know that he was defeated, but not what became of him afterwards. Perhaps he was killed!’

  ‘If he was known to be slain, I believe that would have been recorded.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but what else may have become of him? If he was sent into the Torpor, like the rest, then there he probably remains. I do not have the first idea how to rouse him, and besides, I do not think we should! For once woken, do you not think that he would instantly revive his ambitions and take Mirramay? There is no one to oppose him!’

  ‘Calm down, my
love,’ said Eliza in a soothing tone. Isabel became aware that she was growing upset, and endeavoured to do as her aunt bid, and calm herself. If the only way to fulfil her promise was to undertake so impossible, and ill-advised, a quest, then she did not know how to proceed — or whether she should. But she could not leave the Ferryman unaided!

  ‘I do not propose that we attempt to find the Kostigern himself. You are perfectly right: to do so would be highly dangerous to more than ourselves, and at any rate I am convinced that it would not answer. He is unlikely to simply tell us his disgraced apprentice’s name, after all.

  ‘But he must have lived somewhere. There must have been some manner of — of headquarters, or something of the kind. Do you not think? And perhaps there we might find records of his apprentices. Contracts. I do not know how such things are managed in Aylfenhame, but I have some hopes that we may not be disappointed if we search there.’

  Isabel nodded, turning the idea over in her mind. ‘I think you are right, aunt, but how are we to proceed? We know nothing of the Kostigern’s background, nor where he might have lived either during, or before, the conflict in Aylfenhame.’ She frowned as another idea occurred to her, and added, ‘Though I do not think that necessarily means that no one knows. Is such information likely to be written down, even by the Chronicler? The Tower may be guarded by the Keeper, but it is by no means inviolate.’

  ‘I agree. I think the Chronicler knows a great deal more than he has recorded in these scrolls.’

  ‘Then we must find him. He may, perhaps, know the Ferryman’s name himself, in which case our task is complete. And if not…’

  ‘If not,’ said Eliza, ‘then we must make him tell us where to seek the Kostigern. And then, my love, we must have courage enough to follow the trail. Have we, do you think?’

  Isabel could not but hesitate. To return to Aylfenhame so soon, and with such a quest! To seek the Kostigern’s domain must be to venture into the darkest, wildest and most dangerous parts of the realm, for she could hardly suppose such a person to have lived in a charming house in a town such as Grenlowe, or Avarindle.

  ‘We must make the attempt,’ she said, concealing her sinking heart as best she could. She was a little heartened by her aunt’s manner of speaking, for she had said we.

  Eliza beamed. ‘Yes, I believe we must! I confess, I am ready for an adventure. I have had peace and tranquillity enough to last me full a lifetime.’

  Isabel did not feel nearly so ready, but she left those thoughts unvoiced. Courage enough. She could have courage. The journey would not, in all likelihood, take very long.

  ‘But my mother and father!’ she cried, struck by a recollection of their inevitable disapproval of the plan. ‘How may it be kept from them?’

  Eliza looked strangely at her. ‘Must it be?’

  ‘They will be certain to forbid it.’

  ‘I imagine it very likely.’

  Isabel stared. ‘You do not mean that I should directly disobey them?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Eliza with a strange smile, ‘the very best things in life come about when one misbehaves. Just a very little.’

  To leave her father’s house without his approval, venture into the depths of Aylfenhame with no companion save her aunt and all in order to go in search of the greatest villain in the history of the fae realm did not strike Isabel as misbehaving a very little at all. She stared at her aunt in consternation. ‘They will condemn me, utterly. Society will condemn me. My father may cast me out entirely.’

  ‘He will not cast you out,’ said Eliza scornfully. ‘And some tale may be concocted to explain your absence as far as Society is concerned.’ Isabel was not convinced. Her dismay must have been clearly visible upon her face, for her aunt continued, ‘Will you permit two things?’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Firstly, to consult Mr. Balligumph. He is a person of information, and may be able to shed some light on the questions we are grappling with.’

  Isabel inclined her head. ‘I can have no objection to that.’

  ‘Secondly, to talk to your mother and father about our venture.’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  Eliza reached across the table and grasped Isabel’s hand. ‘Truly, Isabel, you might trust me in this. They may surprise you. And I will support you in everything! Can you doubt it?’

  ‘I do not doubt you at all,’ Isabel said in confusion.

  ‘I say again, your mother and father may surprise you.’

  Isabel said nothing. Eliza released her hand, and sat back with a sigh. ‘We may begin with Mr. Balligumph, regardless.’

  Her manner was expressive of disappointment, and Isabel endured a stab of guilt — and shame, in herself. But her father! Eliza may choose to disdain a parental influence she would not feel, but Isabel could not lightly do so.

  ‘I am always happy to see Mr. Balligumph,’ she said quietly. ‘Will you, then, accompany me home?’

  Eliza grinned, and touched her coronet again. ‘I believe I will.’

  Isabel looked long at her aunt. She was astonished, not merely by the peculiarity of seeing a much younger woman seated opposite, but also by the perfection of the Glamour. Nothing was out of place, nothing amiss; Isabel could swear that the person sitting opposite was Eliza as she was meant to appear. Her powers of Glamour far outstripped Isabel’s own! Her aptitude rivalled that of Hidenory and the Goblin King, both of whose Glamours had deceived Isabel in the past.

  ‘Shall you come with me as your own self?’

  Eliza raised an eyebrow. ‘My real self? No. I do not think that I will.’

  Isabel nodded, but with doubt. There was a glint in her aunt’s eye which suggested some hidden meaning to her words. ‘Aunt,’ Isabel said slowly, as a strange thought occurred to her. ‘Which one of these visions is your real self?’

  Eliza laughed delightedly. ‘You have a bright mind, my dearest girl. It is an intriguing question, is it not? Which of my utterly convincing selves is the true one?’

  ‘Surely, it must be the one that I know.’ Isabel hesitated. ‘Otherwise —’

  ‘Because the one that you know shows the appropriate signs of age? That would make the most sense, would it not?’

  ‘Are… are the Ayliri particularly long-lived?’

  Eliza smiled. ‘Very good. Given everything that we have read, I believe we must assume that they are.’

  ‘In that case —’ Isabel could not finish her sentence, and left the rest unsaid.

  ‘In that case, Aylir blood does have the effect of lengthening one’s lifespan.’ She smiled, and touched her lustrous, curling hair. ‘We are nowhere near so long-lived as one of pure blood, naturally.’

  Isabel stared.

  ‘I was obliged to manufacture the process of aging,’ Eliza continued. ‘Or my youthfulness would certainly have aroused comment and speculation by now.’

  ‘But then —’

  ‘Yes, you too must expect to experience aging at an unusually slow rate.’ Her amusement faded, and she leaned forward, speaking in an earnest tone. ‘My dear Isabel. I have not been urging you out of an idle desire to see you succeed in Aylfenhame where I did not. There are aspects of your blood which will make it very difficult for you to lead a normal life in England. It may be done, through use of the Glamour and your other powers. But it will not be easy for you to conceal the fact that you do not age as you should — not from your husband, nor from your children.’

  Isabel absorbed this news in silence. At first thought, the idea that her youth would be prolonged was delightful. Who truly wished to leave their liveliest years behind after a mere decade or two?

  But she did not need her aunt to raise the idea of her future husband and children. Thither her thoughts had instantly flown. How long would she live? And how far would she outlive those she would love the most?

  Eliza saw the pain in her face, and took her hand once more. ‘I am sorry, Isa. I have been trying for weeks to find a gentle way to break it to you, and I
think I have not succeeded. But it was important for you to know.’

  Important to know before she accepted a proposal from Mr. Thompson. Yes. ‘Did Mr. Grey never know?’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘I never told him. I wanted to, but he was… a creature of convention. He would not have understood.’

  Isabel sighed. If she decided to marry, should she expect to tell her husband of her heritage, and its connotations? Or try to keep it a secret, as her aunt had done?

  ‘I have given you much to think about,’ Eliza said. ‘Know this: If it is your decision to stay, and it is of all things most likely to make you happy, then it may be managed. I am proof of that. But you must bear in mind the difficulties.’

  The difficulties worked both ways, Isabel thought with a little sourness. She was too long-lived for an English husband, and presumably too short-lived for an Aylir one. Her mind reeled. In mere weeks, she had gone from an Englishwoman of modest prosperity and prospects to a part-Aylir witch of unusually long life. Where was she now? Who was the real Isabel, in the midst of these mismatched things?

  Eliza squeezed her hand and stood up. ‘We are bidden to the Thompsons this evening. It is the last time we will encounter them here, but I believe it is your mother’s intention to invite the family to a ball at Ferndeane soon.’

  ‘Indeed, Mama wrote to me of it. Do we depart for Tilby tomorrow?’

  ‘If that is agreeable to you.’

  It was, and it was not. Isabel longed for the familiarity and the comforts of home, but it would be the first meeting with her parents since the whole truth of her heritage had burst upon her. She felt utterly, irrevocably changed. How would she contrive to behave as though she was the same Isabel she had been when last at Ferndeane?

  Chapter Fifteen

  While Miss Isabel was swannin’ about in York an’ hobnobbing wi’ the Thompsons, I ‘ad not been idle. When I need to know sommat fast, I can usually rustle up somethin’ o’ use sharpish-like. It ain’t cheap, mind, but fer Miss Isabel — sweetest lass ye could wish to meet, an’ a friend o’ Miss Sophy’s besides — there ain’t much I wouldn’t do.