Mr Drake and My Lady Silver

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Oh, no, no, no!’ said the goblin, beaming at her. ‘He is not at all wretched, my lady, not at all!’

  She sighed and gave up the point, wondering vaguely what Wodebean was feeding this absurd creature. Before she had had more than two minutes to ponder the hobgoblin’s absence, however, and to wonder if he was coming back, he reappeared — and he was not alone.

  Phineas Drake, coatless but with his ever-present cap stuck into a pocket of his waistcoat, appeared in the chest beside Wodebean, his arm clamped in a firm grip. ‘I have found a sneak,’ said Wodebean, shaking him. ‘A sneak with remarkable skill in a kitchen, but a sneak nonetheless.’

  Ilsevel folded her arms, and took a moment to survey the picture they made: Wodebean, eyes fiercely alight, no doubt plotting what terrible things he would do to the intruder he had intercepted; and Phineas looking simultaneously elated and hang-dog, the former expression coming to the fore when he set eyes upon her. ‘Ilsevel!’ he said exultantly, though his eyes shifted guiltily to Wodebean as he spoke. Then, to her surprise and annoyance, he appeared to recollect something and made a hasty, awkward bow in her direction.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

  Wodebean looked from Phineas to Ilsevel, his brows lifting. ‘I see you are not unacquainted,’ he surmised.

  Ilsevel waved a hand, indicating that Phineas should be released. ‘Congratulations, Wodebean,’ she said drily. ‘You have captured my favourite baker.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Phineas offered the lady a cake.

  He had been toying idly with a leftover one (astonishing that there had been any left uneaten at all, for Bix was voracious in the extreme). Though it was undoubtedly a fine cake, as well as an intriguing one, he had been too nervous to eat even a morsel of it, and had merely been passing it from hand to hand as he waited. And then had come Wodebean, in a whirl of unexpected and unaccountable wrath; he had scarcely paused to question Phineas but had got hold of him by the arm, and snatched him away.

  Disappearing from one chest and reappearing in another had been much as Phineas had supposed would happen. But finding Ilsevellian waiting on the other side — My Lady Silver, She of Disconcertingly Towering Eminence and Woefully Satirical Eye — had taken him entirely by surprise. Delighted to see her but uncertain as well, afeared of Wodebean and confused as to his destination, Phineas was temporarily bereft of words. All he could find to do to express his relief at finding her safe was to extend the hand in which he held that one, uneaten cake. Only belatedly did he realise that he had fidgeted with it to the point that it was no longer quite presentable.

  Ilsevel raised one, speaking brow.

  ‘I should accept it, if I were you,’ said Wodebean gravely. ‘It is very good.’

  Heartened by these words, Phineas risked a glance at the hobgoblin. Wodebean did not appear any less displeased. ‘I was looking for Ilse— for My Lady Silver,’ he explained. ‘She vanished abruptly from Thieves’ Hollow, and we were concerned—’

  ‘We?’ interposed Ilsevel.

  ‘Mr. Balligumph as well as me.’

  ‘Of course she vanished,’ said Wodebean coldly. ‘I arranged that she should.’

  ‘You,’ said Ilsevel, levelling a finger at Wodebean, ‘are altogether too interfering!’

  He appeared faintly amused by that, and made Ilsevel a tiny bow. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘Tyllanthine asked it of me.’

  ‘But…’ said Phineas, frowning. ‘But Tyllanthine said nothing about it.’

  ‘Of course she did not.’

  Ilsevel was looking wrathful, all white about the mouth. ‘Am I to know why I was so ruthlessly hustled out of the way?’

  Wodebean sighed. ‘That she did not tell me.’ He retrieved a slightly squashed example of Phineas’s sun cakes from a pocket somewhere in his mantle, and took a big bite. ‘I did remonstrate with her,’ he said thickly. ‘For what it is worth. She does not listen to me.’

  ‘But you do all her bidding.’

  He looked faintly abashed at that. ‘We have been… assisting one another for a long time.’

  ‘No more of it as it applies to me, if you please,’ said Ilsevel.

  ‘It appears to be quite useless, anyway,’ Wodebean agreed. ‘We ought to have anticipated that the Hollows would obey you.’

  That interested Ilsevel enough to dispel her anger, for though she maintained her arms-folded posture of displeasure she said with considerable curiosity: ‘Oh? And why ought you?’

  ‘They are in Torpor,’ said Wodebean, with a grin that struck Phineas as faintly mischievous. ‘Nothing changes there. To the lands of the Hollow Hills, My Lady Gold still reigns at Mirramay, and all her family are to be obeyed without question.’ He paused in momentary thought, and added: ‘This may not have occurred to me, but I suspect that Tyllanthine knew it.’

  This made little sense to Phineas, but Ilsevel appreciated it. She let the reference to her sister pass — though the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face suggested she was not untouched by it. ‘A clever use of the Torpor,’ she commended him. ‘Yours is a mind I would not like to cross swords with, Wodebean.’

  ‘Despite all appearances to the contrary, you never have, My Lady.’ He bowed and added, ‘Nor shall you ever.’

  Ilsevel returned his bow with a slight curtsey of her own, and in her eyes was grudging respect. ‘That said,’ she murmured, ‘if you ever dispose of me again, I shall not rest until I have ruined you, heart and soul.’

  He smiled, a genuine smile, and nodded. But instead of answering directly, he said, incomprehensibly to Phineas’s ear: ‘There are velvet queen parasols at Autumn’s Hollow.’

  And she laughed, throwing up her hands. ‘Of course there are. How convenient.’

  ‘Carefully planned, Lady Silver,’ he corrected. ‘Not convenient.’

  Phineas, silenced, directed a questioning look at Ilsevel.

  ‘Velvet queen parasols,’ she repeated. ‘It is a type of mushroom, vital to a variety of potent enchantments, concoctions and spells. They grow only where the Queen-at-Mirramay has lately stepped, which is difficult just at present since she has been absent from her throne for a long time.’

  ‘I did hope that the effect would hold in spite of her alteration in shape,’ said Wodebean. ‘But no.’

  ‘Since when may a cat hold the throne of Aylfenhame?’ said Ilsevel.

  ‘When the cat in question is the reigning monarch in an altered shape, I thought it not absolutely impossible. But I made other arrangements, just in case. And the roses of Summer’s Hollow are kin to those that used to wreathe the throne-at-Mirramay.’

  ‘These mushrooms are needed for turning the queen back into a person?’ Phineas ventured, wondering at the words that were coming out of his mouth. ‘And the roses?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ilsevel, but she was staring at him, narrow-eyed.

  Phineas flushed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You were looking for me?’ she said abruptly.

  He nodded warily.

  ‘You went into Summer’s Hollow to find me?’

  His flush darkened, until his cheeks felt warm. ‘I did not then know that you were in Winter’s Hollow. Mr. Balligumph had a notion there were other Hollows, you see, and it did not seem unlikely that you had gone from one to another. So we went looking for a way into one or another of them, and—’ He stopped, because her narrowed eyes had melted into a soft smile, and she was staring at him with an altogether different demeanour.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Phineas, disconcerted, fell to stammering. ‘Um, y-you’re welcome. My Lady.’

  She blinked, and stopped smiling. ‘I did not need to be retrieved, as must be perfectly apparent, and you put yourself in sad danger of becoming a permanent resident of Summer. Which could be termed foolhardy, Mr. Drake. But I am nonetheless grateful for your efforts on my behalf.’ All this was said in a much colder tone, an alteration in manner which puzzled Phineas. But he remem
bered the smile, and was content.

  ‘You are welcome,’ he said again, this time without stammering.

  Wodebean watched this exchange with a faint, wintry smile. ‘Mr. Drake has proved quite capable of manipulating me. It is an unusual achievement.’

  Phineas had ceased to find the hobgoblin alarming, but he could by no means follow the trader’s train of thought, so he merely waited.

  ‘I should like to talk to you about it sometime,’ added Wodebean. ‘It is a long time since I have been beaten at my own tricks.’ He looked Phineas over, and his eye alighted upon the glittering rose still sticking out of Phineas’s pocket. Before Phineas could react, he put out a hand and snatched it up.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said, looking intently at each of its frosted petals. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Phineas, and sighed. Was he now to catch trouble over the rose as well?

  But Wodebean merely handed back the rose. ‘A natural-born counterfeiter,’ he pronounced. ‘When you grow tired of baking, Mr. Drake, apply to me.’

  ‘I-I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I should like to employ you.’

  ‘As a counterfeiter?’

  Wodebean’s black eyes twinkled. ‘Among other things.’

  ‘Stop that,’ said Ilsevel crossly. ‘That is my favourite baker, as I have already told you, and I shall not permit you to turn him into a crook.’

  Wodebean inclined his head, gracious in defeat — but the twinkle never left his eyes. ‘As you say, My Lady Silver.’

  A counterfeiter. Phineas, thinking confusedly of his father, of the Thieves’ Markets and of Gabriel Winters, felt numb. Counterfeit-work! What he had done to the rose had been intended to enhance, not to deceive. But did that matter?

  He had lost the thread of the conversation for a little while, in his dismay. But Ilsevel’s voice recalled him from his unhappy thoughts, when she said, loud and incredulous: ‘Her belt buckle?’

  ‘It does not have to be a belt buckle,’ said Wodebean. ‘Any personal items will suffice, provided they were hers for some time, and often used or worn when she was in her natural shape.’

  ‘Belt buckles,’ said Ilsevel with a long sigh. ‘Ear-jewels, shoes, books, brooches, hair ornaments, rings, pens, the royal crown—’

  ‘Not the crown,’ interjected Wodebean. ‘Too many others have worn it before her.’

  Ilsevel conceded this point with a nod. ‘Her gowns, perhaps. The Queen-at-Mirramay’s pocket watch — Anthelaena began that tradition, you know, so the thing is hers entirely. My Lady Gold’s Lyre. That band of stars she used to wear around her arm. The shoe-roses she wore to the last Court Festival, the ones with the butterflies. Would any of those be of use?’

  ‘All of them,’ said Wodebean.

  ‘All? I am not sure I could find half!’

  ‘All,’ said Wodebean again. ‘She has been a cat for many years, Lady Silver. It will take a great deal to remind her of who she used to be.’

  Ilsevel gave him a flat stare. ‘Have you been to Mirramay lately, Wodebean?’

  ‘Ah… no. I have not been welcome there in some time.’

  ‘It is empty.’

  He blinked. ‘Empty?’

  ‘It is the royal city, and the Court was its heart. Take all of that away, and what is left? Those who once lived there have drifted away, the place is now swarming with Grunewald’s folk, and the city has been looted so thoroughly that scarcely a trinket remains.’

  ‘But your gowns were still there?’

  ‘I had a large wardrobe of garments, Wodebean, and I found only three gowns remaining. And those I was able to retrieve only because I had sent them out for mending. I found them under the bed in one of the maids’ rooms. Apparently no one thought it worth their while to ransack the servants’ quarters.’

  Wodebean looked nonplussed. ‘Then what has become of Lady Gold’s personal things?’

  ‘I imagine my sister’s jewellery is now adorning some looter.’

  ‘The Thieves’ Market,’ interjected Phineas.

  Ilsevel blinked at him.

  ‘Do you remember what we found there? Lady— Lady Somebody’s shoe-rose, and a Herald’s Harp.’

  ‘Lady Galdrin’s shoe ornaments! Yes, she was a devotee of the Court, and the Harp was from the palace itself. He is right, Wodebean. Some of these things are surfacing in the shadow markets, and you are the king of all unsanctioned trade, are you not?’

  ‘Ah…’ For the first time since Phineas had arrived, Wodebean looked uncomfortable.

  ‘They must be found,’ said Ilsevel relentlessly. ‘And quickly.’

  ‘It will not be easy.’

  ‘And the velvet queen parasols must be brought from Autumn’s Hollow. What else is required? You did not happen to bring any of those roses with you from Summer, Phineas?’

  Phineas shook his head.

  ‘I need your sister,’ said Wodebean. ‘The enchantment was of her devising, and we must create its cure together. Where is she?’

  ‘If you do not know where she is, you cannot think I have better information.’ There was a trace of bitterness in Ilsevel’s voice.

  My sister is fallen through time. The words echoed in Phineas’s mind. ‘Your sister is Hidenory?’ he asked Ilsevel.

  ‘That is one of the many names she has used,’ she said. ‘Tyllanthine is her true name.’

  ‘She went looking for you,’ he told her.

  Ilsevel blinked at him. ‘But she cannot have, for it is through her machinations that I fell into Winter’s Hollow to begin with.’

  ‘I…’ Phineas was silenced, for she had sounded so sincere. ‘I thought that she would search for you. If not, then I do not know where she can have gone to.’

  ‘She will not be found until she wishes to be. In the meantime! The parasols, Wodebean, and the jewellery.’

  ‘I will need help,’ said the hobgoblin.

  ‘Any assistance I may render is yours.’

  Phineas said, before he had time to reflect, ‘And mine, too. If… if I can be of use.’

  Wodebean only looked at him in silence, impassive and unreadable. But Ilsevel rewarded him with a smile — even if it was a scheming, somewhat gloatful one. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said with great satisfaction. ‘You shall be very useful indeed, dear Phineas.’

  Phineas tried not to feel too badly out of his depth, and failed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Them gates! Whisked Phineas off, an’ me right behind him — but it weren’t Summer’s Hollow I got into! Don’t rightly know where it was. Some other path o’ the Hollows, most like, but long abandoned. Empty patch o’ forest. I wandered around in there fer some time before I realised Phineas weren’t wi’ me, and then my wisps got me out. But Phineas! It were a while before I learned what had become o’ him.

  Tyllanthine, now. I did a hear word o’ her. Dancin’ about in the city, she was, always askin’ and askin’ — but not fer Wodebean, this time. Fer a gown made o’ gold tissue, or some such. Fer shoe-buckles an’ a hair-comb all covered in jewels, an’ above all fer a doll. Shabby thing, this doll, or so she said, wi’ all its fur long since gone, an’ in the shape of a cat.

  This puzzled me right enough, ‘til I learned the details o’ the curse. Do ye know much about curses? There’s ways to rid yerself of one, but either ye must trick it, as the Goblin King did wi’ the Teapot Society, or ye must meet the conditions laid down by the one who set the curse in the first place.

  Well, Wodebean an’ Tyllanthine wanted nobody takin’ that curse off Lady Gold who wasn’t equipped t’ deal wi’ the consequences. The poison, see? No one knew if it would still affect her, once she was her normal self again. Would the passage o’ time wear away its effects, or would she be changed back t’ her usual self only to snuff it on the spot? Risky business. An’ nobody wanted Her Majesty fallin’ into the wrong hands altogether, if someone on the side o’ the Traitor were t’ discover their ruse. So they built in a lot o’ conditions. No one’s turnin’ My Lad
y Gold back into herself unless they’s got hold of plenty o’ the bits an’ pieces she used t’ call her own — reminders, like, o’ the person she once was. But many years have passed, and time has scattered them far an’ wide…

  ‘Butterflies?’ repeated Gabriel Winters, with a look of blank incomprehension. ‘Shoe-roses with butterflies?’

  ‘They are not just shoe-roses,’ said Ilsevel, with as much patience as she could muster. ‘They are roses, which my sister was wont to wear upon her shoes. And alighted atop these roses are butterflies, of the miniature variety, with wings of star-dusted gossamer. I believe they are white.’

  ‘The roses?’ said Gabriel, with a curl to his lips that she did not know how to interpret. ‘Or the star-dusted gossamer butterflies?’

  ‘The roses. The butterflies have wings of gold.’

  ‘Of course.’ Gabriel looked at Phineas. ‘Is she altogether well, yer friend here?’

  Phineas sighed. ‘I told you, these are things out of the common way. From Aylfenhame.’

  ‘Even things out of Aylfenhame ain’t that improbable.’

  ‘Yes, but these belonged to the queen!’ said Ilsevel, stifling with difficulty an impulse to beat him about the head with one of her shoes.

  They had gone to Gabriel out of mild desperation, for Wodebean had said: I used to be the king of unlicensed trade, but do please recall that I have been in Torpor these many years. He denied having ever seen such articles as Ilsevel described pass through any Thieves’ Market he had ever called, nor had he or his agents been offered anything nearly so interesting.

  Ilsevel, alas, could well believe it. Whatever had become of those trinkets, it had probably happened some time ago, while Wodebean lay aslumber. Indeed, most of the folk of Aylfenhame who might be able to claim any connection with the Court of Mirramay had either fallen into the Torpor likewise, or died in the conflict, or had vanished without trace. Where, then, could they expect to find help?

  Perhaps in England, Phineas had said. Where in Aylfenhame could you expect to sell anything known to belong to the queen?