She was once again surprised by her surroundings, though this time she experienced less of horror and more of wonder. They had emerged in a room of small proportions, but it was sumptuous in all its particulars. The floor was of dark marble, and low benches piled with richly-upholstered cushions were fitted against every wall. Those walls appeared to be made from glass, or perhaps some kind of semi-translucent crystal; they gleamed with an odd iridescence, a rainbow of purplish colour which only partially obscured the vast hall which lay beyond. Bess glimpsed soaring crystal columns and an extravagantly high ceiling.
‘This is Aviel?’ she asked.
‘Pretty, no?’ said Drig. He took off the party hat and flicked it up into the air, whereupon it rose by three or four feet and promptly disappeared. Drig drew a new hat out of nowhere, and set it onto his head. This one featured a peaked crown and a narrow brim, and was covered in ebon-black velvet.
‘Very fine,’ Bess commented.
Drig grinned at her, swept off the hat again and made her a flourishing bow. Revealed underneath was a tiny ball of glowing light, which contrived to remain floating an inch or two above Drig’s head even as he bowed. A will-o-the-wyke, Bess realised as Drig replaced his hat, concealing the wisp from sight.
‘You have contrived to keep your insides on the inside,’ said Grunewald, looking Bess over. ‘I congratulate you.’
Bess beamed. ‘Indeed, and I have scarcely ever been prouder of meself.’
Grunewald’s white teeth flashed in a grin, but he did not pause to converse further. He strode away at once, disappearing through a high archway into the vast hall beyond. Drig fell in beside Bess as she followed.
‘This place may seem strange after the Darkways,’ he said.
‘They could hardly be more different.’
‘Mm. Wasn’t built by goblins, this bit. Ayliri construct. There’s no one to beat them for beauty, has to be said.’
The hall was larger even than Bess had imagined, and well-lit with a white light turned faintly purple by the prismatic crystal. The chamber was filled with a vast assortment of people: goblins of many tribes, judging from their differing heights and skin colour, mingling with hobs, trows, a scattering of Ayliri and the occasional vast bulk of a troll or even a giant. There were other creatures aplenty for which Bess knew no name. All were fabulously dressed, and the array of colour dazzled Bess’s eyes.
‘How is it that the King’s Court is Ayliri-built?’ said Bess in confusion, as she trotted to keep up with Grunewald.
Drig, unexpectedly, laughed. ‘Tis a matter of some debate, that. Most folk would have it that the place was taken by conquest – by his grandfather.’ He nodded at Grunewald. ‘And to be sure, that particular Gaustin was of a blood-thirsty tendency – as you might guess from the Darkways. But –’
‘But it was a gift,’ interrupted Grunewald, without either slowing his pace or turning his head. He spoke with the emphasis of strong irritation, and received startled bows in response from several courtiers. ‘People enjoy the narrative of Darklings versus Aylir, but in truth there is no such thing as a “Darkling” – it is merely that some fae are blessed with excellent night vision and are, by consequence, frequently nocturnal. This apparently unsettles those with inferior vision, for some unaccountable reason I have never been able to grasp. Meanwhile, there has never been any real rivalry between the Goblin Court and the Queens-at-Mirramay. On the contrary, we have always been allies and excellent friends – yes, this was true even of my grandfather. His supposed blood-thirstiness was more for show. He always said it deterred those who might be inclined to howl for his head. He may well have had a point.’
Grunewald strode heedlessly through the throng of courtiers, talking on in the same irritable manner and ignoring every attempt to catch his attention. A trio of trows lifted their dark pipes as Grunewald approached and began to play a kind of fanfare, but their Gaustin cut this off with a dismissive wave of his hand. His relentless stride did not cease until he arrived beside an unassuming woman, her back stooped with advanced age. She wore shapeless, ragged black robes, with the hood pulled up to cover most of her wispy white hair. ‘I have brightened the place in recent years,’ he continued without pause. ‘King of the “Darklands” I may be, but I grow tired of gloom. Hello, Hidenory. I need hardly tell you that I have missed you with a fervour beyond telling.’
The old woman looked up at him with a sour expression. Her face was remarkably ugly, Bess could not help observing; her skin was spotted and mapped with a thousand wrinkles, and her bulging nose sprouted multiple boils. Her teeth were crooked and discoloured, like a collection of ancient gravestones knocked askew. ‘Grunewald,’ she said flatly. ‘Thank goodness. I could not have borne your absence an instant longer.’
Grunewald smiled beatifically. ‘I felt it instinctively. You will also be delighted to learn that I have discovered a means by which you may repay me for my infinite kindness in releasing you.’
Hidenory’s sourness increased tenfold. ‘How wonderful, for I have nothing at all pressing to do.’
Grunewald waved a hand with an odd, twisting gesture, and the purplish light which bathed the walls developed instead a yellowish tinge. As an approximation of sunlight, it was close enough, though the quality of the light was odd. There was, Bess thought, something faintly sickly about it. ‘Of course,’ he continued without pause, ‘One must consider just how many delightful refreshments I deprived you of by removing you from the tea table. I can only imagine how much you were enjoying the party! My interference was the very heights of boorishness!’
Hidenory’s lip curled. ‘Your point is made, I assure you. In what way may I be of service?’ She gave an ironic little curtsey as she spoke. Then her eye strayed to Bess, and she seemed to notice Grunewald’s companions for the first time. ‘What have we here? I cannot remember the last time I saw a human in the Halls of Aviel.’
‘I found one in a ditch,’ said Grunewald, smiling. ‘I thought it a presentable example, and made free to bring it along. Make your curtsey, baggage.’
Bess did so, but Hidenory paid no attention. ‘Found in a ditch?’ she repeated. ‘When? You have been gone but half an hour.’
Grunewald went very still. ‘Half an hour?’
‘It is certainly not much more.’
Grunewald said nothing for a moment. His face had hardened, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Are you certain that it was me?’
Hidenory blinked, and stepped back. She looked Grunewald over from head to toe, and her brows rose. ‘Mm. Have you also changed clothes in the last half an hour?’
‘I have not.’
‘If that was not you, I must say he was a more convincing example of His Majesty than you are. That waistcoat. What possessed you?’
Grunewald glanced at the vibrant peridot-green silk confection he was wearing, and his face twisted with annoyance. ‘This is serious, Hidey.’
She shrugged. ‘A prankster. A disturbingly convincing one, I grant you, but—’ Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped back. ‘Unless you are the prankster.’
Grunewald sighed deeply, and rubbed at his eyes. ‘The waistcoat is not so very uncharacteristic as all that, is it?’
Hidenory said nothing, but her posture and expression were expressive of suspicion.
‘Oh, confound it.’ He took Hidenory’s elbow and steered her away from the clusters of courtiers, into a secluded nook in between two vast pillars. Bess and Drig followed. ‘You owe me,’ Grunewald continued, ‘because I released you from the Teapot Society, where you had been acting as host for several months. It took us many attempts to discover a way to liberate you, do you not recall? For being a contrary and stubborn woman you would not settle merely for being replaced; nothing but the disintegration of the entire enchantment would do.
‘In the end it took a volunteer host and a dose of fast-acting poison. One of my retainers took your place at the head of the table – I cannot, at this moment, remember which servant it was – an
d seeing as he (or she, I can scarce recall) had taken a lethal dose of spear-root only moments before, he promptly died, and so ended the enchantment. Is that sufficient in detail? I can hardly imagine any prankster would be apprised of all of that.’
Hidenory looked convinced. ‘Then who did I see?’ she demanded.
‘I do not know, but there is more to this,’ Grunewald said grimly. ‘And I require your help in uncovering the imposter.’
‘Perhaps that was who we passed!’ said Drig in sudden enlightenment. ‘In the Darkways.’
‘What was he doing here?’ Grunewald said sharply. His question was directed at Hidenory, who had fallen into a thoughtful – and suspicious – silence.
‘You invited me to return to England with you,’ she said.
‘He invited you, not me! I suppose he did not happen to mention why he required your presence?’
‘Nothing so direct, no. But he did question me as to my familiarity with the county of Lincolnshire. He did it in that infernal “casual” way that you have, when you do not wish me to suspect that the answer to your question is important. I tell you, Grunewald, he was most convincing.’
Grunewald’s nostrils flared with anger. ‘He knows me.’
‘Oh, assuredly. He has studied you. He has all your mannerisms, your speech, your posture, your manner of walking. It is a consummate performance.’
Grunewald fell into deep reflection, his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat. His face was grim. ‘I cannot catch him,’ he finally said. ‘I must know who it is! More and more, I receive the sense that if I could but glimpse his true face then I would know. I must know! If he knows me so well, I must surely know him.’
Hidenory examined her yellowed, splintered nails. ‘I perceive we are returning to the question of what I am to do for you.’
‘I need fairy ointment.’
Hidenory sighed. ‘An obvious course of action, certainly, but more difficult than you know.’
Grunewald made an exasperated sound. ‘I know that it is hard to make, and that the ingredients are well-nigh impossible to assemble besides! How much more difficult can it be?’ His eyes strayed to Bess and lingered on her face, though he neither spoke nor made any obvious sign of what was passing through his mind.
‘I have attempted seventy-seven times to make fairy ointment,’ said Hidenory flatly. ‘You may imagine how many velvet queen parasols I wasted in the process. Do you wish me to waste all of yours as well? I achieved nothing but a foul-smelling mess.’
Grunewald’s eyes flickered. He opened his mouth; nothing came out, and he closed it again with a faint croak.
Hidenory looked amused. ‘You fully expected that I could but turn around twice and produce a whole cauldron-full, I suppose? Your faith in my skills is flattering, but misplaced. My abilities at Glamour know no equal, I flatter myself, but as a crafter I fall sadly short.’
She received no response to this sally, which told Bess more than anything else how hard he had taken the news. He merely rubbed at his eyes, looking weary beyond words, and when he finally spoke his voice was strained. ‘Hidenory. I feel the gravest trepidation about this business. Tell me! Do you know of anyone else who could brew it? Or any conceivable way I could contrive to buy some?’
‘I fear the art is fading,’ said Hidenory, with what sounded like sincere regret. ‘Perhaps it is because the Queen is gone, and it is now all but impossible to acquire the materials. Whatever the reason, I would be surprised to learn that any such thing still exists in Aylfenhame.’
Grunewald’s shoulders sagged, and he gave a growl of frustration. ‘I cannot catch the devil while he rides my Tatterfoal. I cannot seem to prevent him from taking the wretched nag either, and if I am not to see what lies behind the Glamour then tell me, Hidey! What is to be done?’
Bess cleared her throat, earning the startled and slightly irritated attention of both Grunewald and Hidenory. ‘I can’t help thinkin’ that the number of candidates must be small,’ she said. ‘Someone as knows my Gent particularly well; has the wherewithal to get hold of Tatterfoal, and ride such a beast besides; and, if you are right about who we passed in the Darkways, someone as can use the Goblin-roads as well. Cannot be too many people like that, surely.’
‘And,’ added Drig, ‘those are considerable powers of Glamour at work. There are not so many Glamourists who can boast of such skill.’
Silence followed these remarks. Judging from the matching blank expressions on Hidenory and Grunewald’s faces, they were casting about in their minds for a person who matched this list of specifications – without much success. ‘I can think of no one now living,’ Hidenory pronounced.
‘Nor I,’ said Grunewald heavily, ‘but I shall enquire.’ He nodded at Bessie. ‘Sound thinking, baggage. I have permitted alarm to disorder my thoughts.’
It did not seem characteristic of Grunewald to become alarmed. The theft of Tatterfoal was no small matter, to be sure, and the use of his visage must be disconcerting; but thus far, she had not heard that the imposter had inflicted any harm, or caused any real mischief. What was it that Grunewald feared?
‘I would also like to know what he wanted with you,’ Grunewald said to Hidenory. ‘And, indeed, what he wants with Lincolnshire.’
‘Seems like he is looking for something,’ Drig offered. ‘Riding around half the night in the Wolds, and questioning Hidey about Lincolnshire?’
‘Indeed, but with such scant information it is perfectly impossible to imagine what he could be after. If he appears again, Hidey, I charge you to find out from him.’ She opened her mouth to speak, but he waved a hand to cut her off. ‘Yes, how will you know that he is not me? The moment I see any of you, I shall say something perfectly absurd, and you will suffer no doubts.’
‘Shadowfire mushroom beetles,’ suggested Drig. ‘Heather-snouted newt eyebrows.’
‘You are a font of ideas.’
Bess said nothing. What is to be done? Grunewald’s question echoed in her mind, and she turned all her lively intellect upon that pressing matter. She was intrigued, and she felt all the force of Grunewald’s urgency, even if she could not precisely understand its source. What could she, Bessie Bell, do to help? The conversation among her companions turned to mild levity as Drig continued to suggest ideas for Grunewald’s inspiration, but Bess let it all pass by, her mind fully occupied in turning over an idea.
Bess was given a chamber of her own, among the sprawling maze of corridors dug deeply into the earth below the palace of Aviel. The room was small and comfortable, which was much to her taste. It lacked the dazzling splendour of the court rooms, displaying instead a plush, colourful cosiness that she found delightful. Nothing could be more in contrast to her former garret room at Hapworth; that chamber had been much the same size, but it had been stark and sparsely furnished, and shared with another girl. This snug little hollow was all hers, and it cost her some regret that she would be enjoying it but briefly.
Bess was served refreshment in her rooms soon afterwards, but she was not long left to the solitary enjoyment of it. A sharp tap sounded upon her door, and Hidenory entered without waiting for an invitation.
‘Do come in,’ said Bessie, without troubling to rise from her comfortable arm-chair. She might have offered more courtesy to a friend of Grunewald’s, but she sensed at once that Hidenory’s purpose was not friendly.
Hidenory shut the door behind herself, and looked down upon Bessie with amusement tinged with disdain. ‘And what of you?’ she said. ‘What a charming surprise. His Majesty returns from England with a rag in his keeping! How unlike him! And this rag has lost no time in settling herself in all due comfort at his court. What can she mean by it, I wonder?’
Bessie nodded. ‘Sound questions all, for what can the rag have in mind save somethin’ proper shady?’
Hidenory merely raised her eyebrows.
Bessie’s lips curved into a grin. ‘What is it that you’re suspectin’, particular-like? If you’re thinkin’ I might
be a confederate of that Grunewaldery-fakery, you are behind the fair. That has already been suspicioned, and dismissed.’
‘That had crossed my thoughts, but perhaps it is nothing so complex; I daresay you are merely out for your own benefit, as indeed most persons are.’
‘Hangin’ onto the coat-tails of royalty, hm? Tis but a temporary state. I remain wi’ Grunewald only until I have repaid the favour Drig asked of me. Once done, it’s out into Gadrahst for me, and swift to makin’ my own fortune.’
‘Unless he should happen to want to detain you.’
Bessie swiftly saw the direction of Hidenory’s thoughts, and was unable to suppress the bubble of laughter that rose up in her at the idea. ‘Do you know what His Majesty calls me? Baggage. Tis not a name expressive of much affection, is it now? And as for me, well! He might ha’ fished me out of a ditch, which is true enough, and I am grateful for it. But he has done little since but try to get rid o’ me – exceptin’ that memorable bit where he dragged me to the very feet o’ Tatterfoal and scared me half to death. He makes use of his retainers wi’ no thought for their comfort at all, and if he looks at me wi’ some manner of interest, well; I would say it’s the kind of interest a person might feel in some crawlin’ creature never before encountered, and soon forgotten. I have no ambitions to become Queen o’ this mad Court, and the notion would never cross his mind; not if I spent a century hauntin’ these walls.’
Hidenory listened to this speech without comment, and at its end her expression changed not one whit. Bessie felt that her interrogator was unmoved, but she dismissed the thought with a mental shrug. It mattered naught to her what Hidenory thought.
‘I will be watching you,’ said Hidenory, with an intensity which inspired an odd reaction in Bessie; rather than feeling in any way cowed by this threat, she felt an inexplicable urge to laugh. She suppressed the impulse, and merely watched in silence as Hidenory swept out of the room again in a swirl of ragged cloth.
Bessie Bell and the Goblin King Page 12
