‘Yes,’ said Tyllanthine.
‘You are certain.’
‘Yes. He has mobilised the Court to the search, and will call a Goblin Market. If anything of Anthelaena’s is still circulating among the folk of the Goblin Lands, some example of it should turn up.’
‘Splendid. And what are you doing in Spring’s Hollow?’
‘Something else,’ snapped Tyllanthine.
‘If you are after the moonflowers, pray do not trouble to say so,’ said Ilsevel with deceptive politeness. ‘It is not as though Phineas and I have more pressing errands to attend to, after all.’
This sally received only an irritated sideways look. ‘Quickly, now,’ said Tyllanthine, and moved off.
‘Where are we to find you?’ Phineas called after her.
Not at all to Ilsevel’s surprise, this query went unanswered.
Phineas looked nonplussed.
‘Anthelaena and I were twins,’ Ilsevel sighed. ‘Tyllanthine is much younger. She has always hated that.’
‘Ah,’ said Phineas.
Vaguely ashamed of the display she and Tyllanthine had made, and unsure why she should care for the possible disdain of someone so far removed from her life and her station as Phineas, Ilsevel knew not what more to say. So she began walking again, and Phineas once again fell in silently beside her.
The road stretched on and on.
‘This takes too long,’ Ilsevel decided after some ten minutes of walking. She stamped lightly upon the green-paved road and commanded, ‘Pray convey us to Wodebean’s garden.’ That was a safe enough request, surely; what else of the horticultural might the hobgoblin be supposed to have busied himself with at Spring’s Hollow?
The road shivered and shone, and Ilsevel’s steps sped to an impossible pace. The grassy plains either side blurred to a morass of green; trees shot past in a haze, or perhaps Ilsevel shot hazily past the trees; and then they were come to another high-walled enclosure guarded by another pair of statues, this time twin oversized stoats. Their long bodies were coiled into a resting posture, but at Ilsevel’s greeting the bronze shapes became flesh and fur, and straightened.
‘I am Lady Silver,’ said Ilsevel, keen to reach the point as quickly as possible. ‘I am here to retrieve my sister’s flowers.’
‘Lady Silver for Lady Gold!’ barked one of the stoats.
The ornate wrought-iron gates opened, and Ilsevel stepped through.
‘And who are you?’ said the other stoat, staring hard at Phineas.
‘No one,’ he said.
The gates began to creak closed again.
‘Oh, stop that,’ said Ilsevel crossly. ‘He is my boon companion and he is coming with me.’
‘Yes, Milady!’ said the stoats together, and sat as straight and tall as their counterparts, the hares.
With a suspicious glance at them both, Phineas followed in Ilsevel’s wake. ‘Boon companion?’ said he, when they were both fairly past the stoats.
‘Creatures of ceremony,’ she said dismissively. ‘Wodebean took them from the palace gardens, I imagine. They are impressed by grandeur.’
‘I suppose “friend” has less of a ring to it,’ Phineas agreed.
Perhaps the stoats might not have prized the term, but Ilsevel found that she did. Shades and shadows, when had she last had a friend? Tucking her arm through Phineas’s, Ilsevel kept him near as she made her way through Wodebean’s garden, and found herself comforted.
The garden was enough to wring her heart, for it, too, bore all the familiarity of a home she had not seen in too many years to count. Here was the carpet of starry-white snowdrops which burst joyously forth at the dawning of spring, in honour of the Queen; and there, just yonder, clambering with bright glee over a tangled trellis, the dewberry-roses and moonflowers, gleaming mauve and white and cerulean in the soft sunshine. Half expecting to see Anthelaena herself appear, Ilsevel swallowed down another lump in her throat.
Goodness, but it was growing difficult to maintain her composure.
When she felt certain of her capacity to speak sensibly, she said: ‘Pray you collect me a snowdrop or two, Phineas, and I shall gather the rest.’ Phineas bent to the task with as much reverence and care as she could wish, and it was the work of a moment to pluck a mauve dew-rose and a velvety moonflower herself. These three blossoms she tucked carefully into her sash with the roses of Summer, and they returned to the road.
A stamp of her foot and a clear cry of, ‘Onward, and farther back!’ and they were away.
Chapter Twenty
Winter bit, fierce and relentless, and Phineas bitterly regretted the loss of his coat. He and it had parted ways somewhere between Summer’s Hollow and Wodebean’s odd abode, and he had never got it back. His shirt-sleeves could offer no defence against the chill wind, and his woollen waistcoat was too worn, and too brief, to be much more use. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried his best not to shiver; Lady Silver needed no complaining, ill-equipped baker in her train, and whose fault was it that he was cold?
Ilsevel stood hesitating, looking about with palpable confusion. Her beautiful brow was creased with doubt, and she bit absently upon her perfect lip.
Phineas had never seen her at a loss before.
‘It appears I do not know where we are,’ she confessed. ‘And I ought to, for have I not spent some days in Winter’s Hollow? But then—’ and with these words the tension cleared from her brow ‘—if I have not arrived by the same means, why should I appear in the same spot? We will follow the road, Phineas.’
The landscape looked featureless to Phineas’s eye, and he did not wonder at her puzzlement. The road had not gone, but it was hard to see, for in this place it was translucent and ice-white and looked made from crystal — or perhaps, from ice itself. Much of it was so liberally dusted with snow that it had all but vanished from sight altogether.
Everything else was deep snow, a rather undulating terrain, and a profusion of dark, gnarly trees devoid of leaf or berry.
Ilsevel made her usual gesture of request: a stamp of one foot upon the road. It would, Phineas supposed, get the attention of any road in possession of ordinary good sense. ‘To—’ she began, but Phineas held up a hand, and pointed.
A little way ahead, but barely discernible around the curve of a corner, was a low, oakwood fence displaying a hand-painted sign.
Phineas went nearer.
Dizzy & Dapper’s, read the sign. Vintners to Her Majesty the Queen.
It was these latter words that had caught Phineas’s attention, and Ilsevel appeared no less arrested. They pushed open the little gate and went through together, finding themselves before a tall house built of red and brown brick, with a steep-sloping roof, a profusion of chimneys and a door painted cheerily crimson. Pine trees crowded closely around it, their branches laden with snow, but behind them Phineas caught a glimpse of low buildings of sturdy, wooden plank construction.
When Ilsevel approached the bright red door, it opened of its own accord and a merry melody split the air. Mr. Dizzy and Mr. Dapper bid you welcome! sang a sprightly voice.
An elegant hob stood waiting on the other side of this lively portal. He was half Phineas’s height, but what he lacked in inches he made up for in character. He wore a velvet jerkin as red as his front door, with matching britches, striped stockings and polished black shoes with enormous silver buckles. A kerchief of snowy white linen encircled his throat, a profuse black beard adorned his chin, and his feathery black locks sported a baggy red velvet cap. He smiled broadly at Phineas and Ilsevel, revealing three golden teeth. ‘Welcome,’ he said expansively. ‘What is it to be? The finest we have? Why, yes! Only the best for such delightful customers!’ He bowed low, mostly to Ilsevel, whose fine attire seemed to warrant the distinction.
‘You must be Mr. Dapper,’ said Phineas.
‘That I am. Mr. Dizzy is in the workshop, applying the finishing touches to what may well be our best brew yet. Ice-wine of the most delicious, my lady, the most dulce
t, the most delightful! Flavoured with dewberry and rosy-fingered dawn, is that not marvellous? Is that not genius? I am persuaded you will agree! A taste, for the lady?’
‘Rosy-fingered dawn?’ echoed Phineas.
‘Homer,’ said the hob briefly, with a look of marked distaste at Phineas’s threadbare waistcoat. Clearly he considered the shortcomings of the garments as reflective of the shortcomings of the wearer. ‘Eos, goddess of the dawn, with her slender golden arms and rose-touched fingers! Positively hauling in the light every morning, and let me tell you, that is no easy task, for there is no arguing with a winter’s night, you know. Some little glimmer of that unearthly radiance we have contrived to capture, and imbue into our most excellent beverage — and there is even,’ and here he lowered his voice, and leaned nearer to Ilsevel, ‘a touch of dew. Spring dew, my lady, borrowed from our sister Hollow at very great expense.’ He winked at Ilsevel and stood back, hands resting upon his splendid paunch as he beamed his satisfaction upon them both.
‘You say you are vintners to the queen?’ said Ilsevel, wisely declining to be drawn upon the topic of ice-wine, or rosy fingers either.
‘That we are, my lady! Suppliers to Her Majesty’s table, by special royal charter.’ He appeared to expand a full inch as he uttered these sacred words, puffing up with a pride Phineas found repellent. A proprietor ought not have to work so hard to sell his wares. If they were as superior as Mr. Dapper claimed, they would sell themselves.
‘I see,’ said Ilsevel blandly. ‘And when was the last time you heard from Her Majesty?’
‘Heard from Her Majesty!’ repeated Mr. Dapper. ‘I assure you, my lady — though indeed Her Majesty’s banquets could hardly proceed without our diligent efforts, we do not at all affect so high a degree of importance as to — that is, we should never aspire to—’
‘Let me see that charter,’ said Ilsevel crisply.
So involved was he with himself and his ice-wine, Mr. Dapper clearly had not made any close inspection of the lady standing before him. He did so now, or some quality of hers finally penetrated his cloak of self-absorption, for he looked full into her face, and words visibly died upon his lips. He swallowed, and bowed, and said something that sounded like, ‘At once, my lady,’ and then he scurried away.
‘You see,’ said Ilsevel, ‘I remember ice-wine. My sister was especially fond of it, and if this is indeed the court supplier, then I should like to procure some of it.’
‘She may remember it, too,’ Phineas concurred.
Ilsevel nodded. They had not to wait long, for Mr. Dapper was soon back, all in a flurry, and laying an exquisite document into Ilsevel’s hands. Ilsevel unrolled it rather carelessly, to the evident chagrin of Mr. Dapper, who made helpless swiping motions with his hands as though he might prefer to take it back from her, but did not dare.
‘I will take some,’ she announced, having read it through, and handed it back to its grateful owner. ‘The last wine that you sent to my sister’s table, if you please.’
‘Your— y-your sister,’ gulped Mr. Dapper.
‘My sister, the queen,’ Ilsevel confirmed, and fixed Mr. Dapper with a resolute eye.
The hob began positively to quake, and scuttled away again with so low a bow as almost to lose his cap.
‘I will also be needing a coat,’ Ilsevel said to his retreating back. ‘A warm one.’
Mr. Dapper questioned neither request. He was gone for some few minutes, and when he returned it was with a frosty glass jug in one hand and a dark woollen coat in the other. He offered both to Lady Silver, who took them with grave thanks and immediately passed the coat on to Phineas.
Oh.
Words rose to his lips, too jumbled a mixture of gratitude and objection to form a sentence. A coat of Mr. Dapper’s could only be too small? But no — it twitched in his hands and began to grow, and before long it was long enough to reach to his ankles, and broad enough at the back to comfortably match the breadth of his shoulders. Heavy in his hands, it was of thick, fine-woven wool and well lined; better by far than any coat he had ever owned before. He donned it with shivering gratitude.
Lady Silver was not finished. She took a length of fabric from her own velvet gown — he did not understand how — and draped it around Phineas’s neck. Buttoned in wool, his throat wrapped in enchanted velvet, Phineas went from half-frozen to warmer and more comfortable than he ever remembered feeling before.
Lady Silver, in that moment rather close, met his eyes briefly, and there was a smile in her own. Phineas had not the words to express his feelings at being cared for — at being remembered — but perhaps she understood, for the smile reached her lips before she moved away again.
‘Thank you, Mr. Dapper,’ she said, with a stately nod for the vintner. ‘One more question, if I may. You continue to supply Her Majesty’s table?’
‘Most faithfully, Highness!’ said Mr. Dapper, his spine very straight and his chin high. ‘Every drop of our best goes to Her Majesty’s Court.’
‘Well,’ said Ilsevel, when they had regained the road. ‘That is one way to ensure a steady supply. Wodebean’s wiles.’
Phineas, however, had been thinking. ‘Perhaps not, milady,’ he offered diffidently, loath to contradict a princess.
Receiving, however, the encouragement of a raised brow and a heartening lack of chastisement, he went on. ‘If these Hollows are indeed a way back in time, as Mr. Balligumph’s and your sister Tyllanthine’s words seem to suggest — and there is the matter of their clothes, being very old-fashioned as they are, and Wodebean has gone to a lot of trouble to keep them in the same kinds of garments — well, is it not possible that Mr. Dapper is not ignorant? It isn’t that he knows nothing about Her Majesty’s fate. It is that Her Majesty has not yet died, or appeared to, because in Winter’s Hollow the date is no later than about, say, 1786.’
Ilsevel digested that in thoughtful silence. ‘But time must pass,’ she said. ‘How else are they able to produce anything? There are flowers growing in Summer.’
‘Do you think it possible that time is not stopped, only… slowed? And circular, somehow. They are not moving forward, because they are living the same season over and over again. The season of the year before your sister’s death, perhaps.’
‘There seems a terrible cruelty to that.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Phineas with a small smile. ‘Many might choose it, if it meant never growing any older.’
‘But never to grow older is never to grow at all!’
‘I would not choose it myself,’ Phineas conceded.
‘Nor I.’
‘But,’ said Phineas, and hesitated. ‘You do not appear to grow old anyway, Highness.’
‘I do,’ she said, with a swift smile. ‘Just… slowly. Pray do not take to calling me “Highness,” Phineas, and if you should begin to consider the obsequiousness of a Mr. Dapper as any model for your behaviour then I shall be forced to do something unspeakable to you.’
A grin escaped Phineas’s self-control. ‘But, milady,’ he objected. ‘Mr. Dapper was very helpful.’ He had tucked his frozen hands into the deep pockets of his purloined coat, and they were, at last, beginning to warm.
‘It was his duty to be so,’ she said sternly, but then relented. ‘Not that I am ungrateful. It is obscurely comforting to meet with those for whom my family has never been gone.’
Phineas thought, wistfully, of his mother. What would it be like, to find a way to go back to the years before her death? It struck him that he had, in effect, for if it was 1786 or thereabouts in Winter’s Hollow, then his mother would still be a young woman, perhaps of his own age. But that was in here, and she had been out there, and there could be nobody in the Season’s Hollows who had ever known her.
He dismissed the thought.
Ilsevel linked her arm with his. ‘Road!’ she said imperiously, with that little stamp of her foot. ‘Convey us to my sister’s hellebores.’
The rushing and swooping happened again, and then they were s
tanding before another walled garden, this one blanketed under snow. A pair of snow-draped stags stood guarding the gate, but these did not speak; they merely made slow reverence to Ilsevel, their elegant heads dipping low, and remained that way as she passed.
The garden was a carpet of simple, five-petalled winter’s roses, growing proudly from the snow as though untouched by it. They were the velvet-blue of midnight, and each bore a sparkling coat of starry frost limning its petals. Ilsevel gathered three.
‘That is the way Wodebean’s rose looked,’ Phineas pointed out. ‘The frost.’
‘Gloswise has, by some trickery, learned to mimic the effect,’ Ilsevel agreed. ‘But only these are True.’ She carefully tucked the delicate flowers away. The jug she had hung from a length of ribbon over one shoulder; noticing this, Phineas quietly took it from her and hefted the burden himself, winning a nod of thanks from Lady Silver. ‘One more, Phineas, and then we will find out where Gilligold hides himself.’
‘Lead on, ma’am,’ he invited. ‘I follow.’
Upon Ilsevel’s command, the icy road rippled beneath their feet and turned to tawny brown. The dark, bare trees faded, the snow went away, and the air perceptibly warmed. Colour bloomed all around Phineas: oak and ash and elm trees decked in cinnamon-coloured leaves, and orange, and berry-red, and bright gold. The smell of wet earth and mulch met his nose, and a low mist clung close to the ground.
Something, however, was amiss. Phineas could not have said what alerted him: some quality to the shadows that ought not to be there; some detail out of place that he could not define; a twist in the air, a crack in the sky.
Ilsevel felt it, too. She stiffened, and drew Phineas nearer to herself. ‘I do not—’ she began, and then stopped, frowning. ‘The road. Where is it?’
That was it, or part of it: they stood with their feet securely upon brown-paved stones, but the road proceeded only so far before it faded, as though the rest had been swept away. And beyond the ending of the road, the landscape was palpably different: the shadows were deeper, the mist thicker, and dark shapes flitted among the gnarled trunks of ancient trees.
Mr Drake and My Lady Silver Page 19
