‘Then ye may have seen someone else, a matter o’ three or four days ago,’ said Balligumph. ‘A lady, Ayliri, an’ in no way dressed fer t’ weather. Passin’ this way in somethin’ of a hurry, and wi’ Phineas in pursuit.’ Balligumph winked at Phineas.
‘I saw her,’ said Mr. Tibs. ‘Ilsevellian, was it not? I almost fell off the wall in surprise.’
‘Just Ilsevel,’ said Phineas uncertainly.
Mr. Tibs merely looked at him. ‘Ah,’ he said, though what it was he had drawn from Phineas’s comment was unclear.
‘Chasin’ Wodebean?’ put in Balligumph.
‘I did see the Trader,’ confirmed Tibs. ‘But a glimpse, in truth, and I was no less surprised. I thought him long gone.’
‘Tis long since he has shown his face,’ Balligumph agreed. ‘Somethin’ has drawn him out, an’ mayhap it was our Ilsevel. She’s eager enough t’ get hold of him, leastwise, an’ me an’ Phineas scarcely less so by now. T’other lady — Tyllanthine, you’d know her as — she says as you may know somethin’.’
Mr. Tibs’s dark eyebrows sailed up at that, and he whistled. ‘Both of them, is it? Well, now. I would like to know what she is after, getting involved.’
‘Have ye no inkling?’
Silence for a time, as Mr. Tibs apparently thought that through. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘You know about Thieves’ Hollow already?’
‘Aye. ‘Tis where we saw Tyllanthine.’
‘Was it now?’ That news was of interest to Mr. Tibs, too, for he fell silent again, with the air of a man mulling over a variety of reflections. ‘I have seen Wodebean twice,’ he said then. ‘Once on the occasion you mentioned. And two weeks before that. And on that occasion, he was not alone. I saw them pass under the Arch on Newport.’
‘Who was he with?’ said Balligumph quickly.
Mr. Tibs shook his head. ‘No one I recognised. A tall figure in a white cloak.’
The troll’s head tilted, his great eyes narrowing. ‘More an’ more interestin’.’
Mr. Tibs put his gnarled hands into his pockets, and stared at the troll.
Balligumph shook his head. ‘I have an inklin’, thas all. And, there may be more than one fellow with a white cloak, after all.’
Mr. Tibs digested that. ‘And why have you come asking questions of me, old friend?’
‘The lady Tyllanthine says as you know somethin’ about Wodebean.’
With a great, windy sigh, Mr. Tibs looked sourly up at the soaring building he had so long watched over. ‘I tell you frankly, my friend, I would not wish to be drawn into any scheme of Wodebean’s. And I would not like to see you so.’
‘I think it’s important,’ said Balligumph seriously. ‘I don’t know yet what Wodebean may be up to, but Ilsevel’s after a favour from him. Somethin’ t’ do with Anthelaena.’
Mr. Tibs’s eyes widened. ‘I see.’
‘And Wodebean hisself, well. I find it mighty interestin’ that he’s been gone fer more’n twenty year an’ then all on a sudden he’s back. Thas happenin’ to a lot of folk lately, an’ I am makin’ it my business t’ keep tabs on ‘em. Will ye help me?’
The sun was coming up, and in the wan, greying light of dawn Mr. Tibs’s face resembled that of a gargoyle more than a little, especially when screwed up in thought. ‘All I know about Wodebean, then,’ he said with a sigh. ‘He is almost as old as I am, though he’s been known by several names over the years. He used to be attached to the Royal Court-at-Mirramay, many years ago. I do not know what were the circumstances surrounding his departure, but after that he… changed. He had been something of a procurer for the royal family — rare artefacts, lost heirlooms, unusual magical ingredients, that manner of thing. He took that expertise and began working for himself.
‘He is said to have aided both sides during the recent conflicts. This, as you may imagine, made him unpopular, but he must have profited enormously. I do not know what became of him afterwards, but since his disappearance more or less coincided with that of the royal family, their opponent the Kostigern, and many of the supporters of both, it is widely supposed that someone punished his duplicity — either by killing him, or sending him into the Torpor.
‘I first heard of his reappearance at the beginning of the autumn. It was rumoured that he was trading again, and indeed, a number of rareties long thought lost to the world began to appear in certain underground markets. Then came the opening of Thieves’ Hollow and the gatherings there. If I had to guess, I would say he is cultivating a new circle of customers and suppliers, but for some reason he is no longer concentrating his efforts solely upon Aylfenhame. He is expanding into England.
‘Where he lives, I do not know, save that it cannot be far from here. Always I am hearing some whisper or other of him. And since he was able to throw open the Hollow now known as the Thieves’ Court of Lincoln, I suspect him of having unprecedented access to the Hollow Hills beneath this city.’
‘Thas my own conclusion,’ Balligumph agreed. ‘Tell me ye know how to get in, Tibs.’
‘There was once an entrance part way down the Greestone Stairs,’ said Mr. Tibs promptly. ‘Which Wodebean has clearly been using, but the key is lost to all but him. There was another under the Arch at Newport, which he also appears to have revived.’ He thought a moment. ‘I know of no more, and no way to utilise those two without the knowledge only Wodebean seems to have. But… there is one more thing I can tell you.’
‘Anythin’ could be of use,’ said Balligumph.
Mr. Tibs nodded. ‘Missing persons,’ he said incomprehensibly. ‘I hear tell, now and then, of a human woman or child vanishing without trace, for the most part never to be seen again. Five times it has happened in the past ten years, that I know of, and always they were last seen in the same part of the city — out near the castle. It may be nothing, Balligumph, or it may be mere human shenanigans.’
‘You said “for the most part”,’ put in Phineas.
Tibs’s black gaze rested upon Phineas. ‘I did, at that,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘Most were never heard from again, but there was one who came back. She reappeared as suddenly as she had vanished, wearing clothes of a fashion dating to some twenty or thirty years ago, and talking wildly of a place where it is always summer. She had not aged a day, Balligumph. As you may imagine, these circumstances proved alarming to her bereaved loved ones, and she was not much attended to.’
‘What became of her?’
Mr. Tibs shrugged. ‘I do not know. She ceased to wander the streets after a day or two, and I have not heard her spoken of since. But her name, in case you would like to find her, was Eleanor Phelps. She lived on Drury Lane.’ With this, Mr. Tibs nodded to Balligumph and to Phineas and swarmed up the cathedral wall, like a darting shadow. Phineas thought he saw the Grim’s withered face looking down upon them from far overhead, now merely one of many grotesque carvings adorning the ancient stonework.
‘Phelps,’ mused Balligumph. ‘Ye know that family, Phineas?’
Phineas had already indulged in his own reflections upon that point. ‘No, I never heard the name. But I know someone who will certainly be able to tell us more.’
Mrs. Batts was at home, together with her daughter and two of that damsel’s closest cronies. Their snug house was crammed full of holly and evergreen, and so liberally decked with colourful ribbons that Phineas’s eyes were quite dazzled upon entry. He smelled roasting meat, probably left over from last night’s repast, and the more promising aromas of chocolate and new bread, heralding breakfast.
‘Why, Phineas!’ said Mrs. Batts. Her face lit up at sight of him, which caused him some guilt. He had never taken up her kind invitation to partake of her family’s festivities, and had not come to do so now.
‘Er, good morning, Mrs. Batts,’ he said awkwardly, and nodded his head to Miss Batts. ‘Lizzie.’
‘Come in, come in,’ said Mrs. Batts. ‘Is your father with you?’
‘I’m afraid not, though I… er, I have brought another v
isitor with me, if I may introduce you.’
‘Any friend of yours, my dear,’ said she, and Phineas’s heart sank a little, for when she saw Mr. Balligumph she could only—
—screech in surprise, if not horror, which was exactly what she did upon her first glimpse of the troll’s great blue face, his tusks twitching as he smiled. ‘Mornin’, Mrs. Batts!’ he said jovially, ignoring her reaction with admirable grace. ‘Apologies fer breakin’ in upon yer breakfast. My name’s Balligumph, an’ yer young friend here’s kind enough t’ be helpin’ me wi’ a small problem I have on me hands just now. Ye don’t mind givin’ us yer assistance fer a minute or two, I hope?’
Mrs. Batts, white-faced, only stared. Lizzie and her companions had rushed up at sound of her scream, and now all four of them stood crowded around the door, goggling at poor Balligumph.
‘He is a good fellow,’ said Phineas. ‘You need not be afraid.’
Mrs. Batts gazed next upon him, and with an expression of such flabbergasted wonder that he knew not what to say. ‘Does your father know of this?’ she said at last, in strident tones.
‘He does. Mr. Balligumph made his acquaintance earlier this morning.’
Mrs. Batts threw up her hands, and retreated to the relative safety of her parlour. ‘As you will, then,’ she said. ‘Come along, girls.’
Phineas entered the house, and found himself obliged to duck his head to avoid tangling his hat in the profusion of evergreens wreathed around the door. The troll fared rather worse, and arrived in the parlour at last with a new, if haphazard, garland of festive shrubbery around his hat.
‘Tea?’ said Mrs. Batts weakly.
‘Oh, no, thank you,’ Balligumph smiled. ‘We won’t intrude on yer peace fer very long.’
Phineas did not decline. He was shivering with cold, and knowing that he must soon venture back out into the chilly streets he was not loath to avail himself of anything warming that might be going. Mrs. Batts’ hand shook only slightly as she poured out a cup for him, and she contrived not to spill a drop.
‘Thank you,’ he said with real gratitude, and wrapped his hands around the cup.
‘Phineas,’ hissed Lizzie. Her round, pretty face was dead white. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I will explain,’ he replied wearily. ‘Someday.’
Balligumph removed his hat, and set it upon the table-top. ‘Thing is, we are lookin’ fer someone.’
Phineas waited for him to continue, but realised after a moment that Balligumph had quietly passed the conversation to him, for the troll sat looking at him expectantly, and with an encouraging smile. ‘Oh,’ said Phineas. Yes, after all they were his friends. ‘Um, there was a story about a girl called Eleanor Phelps that we heard from… well, from somebody just now, and we were wondering if you might know anything about her.’
Mrs. Batts dropped her tea cup. The sudden shattering sound rent the air, making Phineas jump. She took up a handkerchief and began mopping hastily at the spilled mess, casting one brief, fierce glance at Phineas. ‘What do you want to go stirrin’ all that up for?’ she demanded.
Phineas blinked. ‘I, um, apologise if it causes you any pain, Mrs. Batts.’
She poured herself tea into a fresh cup, the tremor in her hands more pronounced. ‘Eleanor Phelps,’ she said heavily. ‘Maud’s girl. Went off to market nigh on eleven years ago, an’ never came back. Broke Maud’s heart, an’ mine too, if you must know. We thought she was dead.
‘Then, ten years later, when at last Maud had finished grievin’, back she came. Mad as anythin’, she was, kitted out in them dresses my mother used to wear when I was but a child, and sayin’ the strangest things… broke Maud’s heart all over again.’ She shook her head sadly, and fell into a maudlin reverie over her new cup.
‘Er,’ said Phineas. ‘What became of her after that, Mrs. Batts?’
Mrs. Batts blinked at him, her brows going up. ‘Oh, she was sent off to live with a cousin in the country. What else do you do wi’ mad relatives? Maud visits her every week, but she says as there’s no change. She’s still ramblin’ on about them friends she says she made under the ground someplace, where, if you please, the sun is always shinin’ and the roses are always in bloom.’ She pursed her lips, then, and looked consideringly at Balligumph. ‘Don’t think it never occurred to us that she might ha’ strayed into Aylfenhame, Mr. Baldigot, for it did. She swears as that isn’t what happened to her, and besides, she ain’t aged one bit. Nearin’ thirty, an’ still looks like a girl o’ eighteen. How do you explain that?’
‘I cannot, indeed,’ Balligumph said thoughtfully. ‘Tis quite the mystery, an’ one I would like t’ get t’ the bottom of right away. If’n ye could give us the girl’s address in the country, we’ll be on our way, an’ thank ye very much.’
Mrs. Batts sighed, and set down her cup. ‘I shan’t tell Maud,’ she decided. ‘The poor lady’s had enough to worry her. But if you can find out what really happened wi’ Eleanor, and somehow mend whatever it was, I shall be grateful to you.’
‘We will do our best,’ promised Phineas earnestly, for his heart was much moved by the tale.
Mrs. Batts smiled at him. ‘You’re a good lad, Phineas. She’s livin’ on the edge of some town o’ no consequence up in the Wolds, cousin’s name is Marjorie Bamber.’ She frowned fiercely in thought, and finally pronounced: ‘Tilby! That’s the name o’ the town.’
Balligumph went still. ‘Are ye quite sure, ma’am?’
‘Yes,’ she said with unanswerable certainty. ‘That’s the place.’
They were out on the street again moments later, Phineas having gulped what was left of his tea in a hurry, for the troll seemed suddenly in great haste to leave. ‘What is the matter, sir?’ said Phineas, quickly donning his hat.
‘Tilby,’ said the troll grimly, ‘is where I live, an’ I ain’t never heard o’ no Eleanor Phelps livin’ there.’
Chapter Eleven
Well, what a turn up fer the books! Mysteries upon mysteries, an’ a maddenin’ mess it were becomin’. Eleanor Phelps, o’ Tilby? Marjorie Bamber? I knew no such folk.
Thas not t’ say they weren’t there, mind. I make it me business t’ learn as much as I can about the folk o’ Tilby, but I can’t know everythin’ — especially if someone’s going’ t’ some trouble t’ pass unnoticed. An’ mayhap they had good enough reason t’ do that.
Well, I took Phineas wi’ me an’ off we went t’ catch a coach, straightaway-like. In the meanwhile, unbeknownst t’ us at the time, poor Ilsevel were still lost in Winter’s Hollow — an’ learnin’ a deal of interestin’ things, herself.
Gloswise, to Ilsevel’s amazement, turned out to be human, or perhaps half human. She was a small woman with faded red hair and an attitude of weariness, though there hung about her the unmistakeable sparkle of magic. She lived in a wood-framed cottage on the edge of the trows’ knowes, a place fancifully decked about inside with flowers beyond counting — all real, and all blooming, despite the harsh winter’s chill. Peech walked in without knocking, a comfortable action proclaiming her close friendship with the inhabitant.
‘Glos!’ she called. ‘Got you a visitor.’
Gloswise sat in the window with a pile of roses and violets in her lap. She did not appear to be much engaged by them, for she stared listlessly out at the snowy trees beyond the glass. But her head turned swiftly at Peech’s words, and when she saw Ilsevel she leapt to her feet. ‘But… but you are a stranger!’ she cried.
‘I am but just arrived,’ Ilsevel agreed, and added drily, ‘Somehow.’
Gloswise crossed the room and took hold of Ilsevel’s hands. Her grip was tight, rather desperate. ‘Then you are no voluntary traveller either!’
‘Tis a lady of eminence, Glos,’ Peech warned.
Ilsevel looked upon the trow with interest. ‘How did you contrive to find that out?’
Peech made a derisive noise. ‘Tis all over you. I’ve need only to use me eyes.’
‘You are perceptive.’<
br />
‘I flatter meself I am.’
Gloswise released Ilsevel’s hands and stepped back. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured, subjecting Ilsevel to a keener scrutiny. ‘A lady of eminence? And yet, I feel that I have seen you before.’ She looked particularly at Ilsevel’s silvery eyes, and her own widened. ‘I was once at the Court of Mirramay, and I could almost swear that I saw—’
Ilsevel sighed. ‘You may call me My Lady Silver, if you wish.’
Gloswise took hold of the back of a chair, and gripped it tightly. ‘You were dead!’
‘Is that what they said of me?’
‘The… the palace never said so for sure, but rumour had it—’
‘Rumour tends to be notoriously ill-informed,’ Ilsevel said tartly.
Gloswise dipped her head. ‘Forgive me.’
‘I was trapped,’ said Ilsevel.
‘How came you to be released?’
‘A good lady found me, and knew me for enchanted.’
The mind of Gloswise was busy with all manner of reflections, for she scarcely attended to this speech. ‘Does that mean— what of— My Lady Gold?’
‘The queen is not dead either.’ Ilsevel spoke firmly. ‘Merely… hidden. I am trying to retrieve her, or at least I was until I found myself marooned in this place of wretched cold.’
‘Someone is trying to prevent you?’ said Gloswise. She had recovered her composure, and spoke with more self-possession. In her keen gaze, Ilsevel detected a clever mind.
‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘I do not know.’ She certainly preferred the notion to the possibility that Tyllanthine had dispensed with her. But if Gloswise was right, who could Ilsevel have encountered recently who might have recognised her, sought to do away with her, and found such peculiar means of doing so?
Unless Wodebean had heard of her pursuit of him. That hobgoblin really had a very great deal to answer for.
Which brought her purpose in seeking Gloswise back to her mind. ‘You know the name Wodebean?’ she asked.
Mr Drake and My Lady Silver Page 9
