Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

‘The trick to it,’ said Pinch, removing his pipe from his mouth, ‘is to be a natural genius, like me. Then you will find everything easy.’ He stuck the pipe back into his mouth, took a long drag upon it, and grinned.

Isabel eyed the little wretch, and wondered in the privacy of her own mind whether it would be acceptable for her to smack him. He sorely deserved it, and she felt tolerably certain that Sophy would agree. They had been two days upon the road, and Pinch had scarcely stopped talking — which would not be so very bad, had he been more amusing a companion. As it was, such self-aggrandising witticisms as he had just shared were all that could be expected from him.

‘Pinch,’ said Sophy gravely. ‘If you cannot mind your tongue, there will be consequences.’

Pinch’s grin merely grew wider. He was sitting on Sir Guntifer’s shoulder, facing backwards so that he could see Sophy and Isabel riding behind. He looked the picture of comfort and contentment from this vantage point, and since his steed had long ago adopted the policy of ignoring everything that was going on behind him, he suffered no consequences for the crime of filling the tree-giant’s ears with his nonsense. Isabel wondered whether Sir Guntifer had somehow arrived at a state where he genuinely did not hear the wretched little pixie, and envied him.

‘Consequences!’ carolled Pinch. ‘The lady is severe! Pray, what could you find to do to me?’

‘I will take your pipe.’ Sophy’s voice was deceptively serene. ‘And then, Pinch, I will probably drop it. I will not be able to help myself. I am very clumsy, you know.’

Pinch’s smile faded and his eyes grew wide. ‘Aye, yes! Clumsiest wench I ever saw! That’s a threat.’ He sucked furiously upon the pipe as though to reassure himself.

Isabel privately thought it would be a shame to smash such a thing. The pipe appeared to be made from glass, though in all likelihood it was wrought from some Aylfish thing of a different character. It was a delicate object, too big for the pixie who carried it, and intriguingly coiled. A constant stream of smoke curled lazily through the long, twisting tube, and by some magic it ever changed its hue. As Isabel watched, somewhat mesmerised — a pursuit she had been engaging in a great deal in the past days — the smoke drifted from a sea-blue colour into a delicate violet.

‘It is no empty threat, Mr. Pinch!’ said Sophy. ‘I am a danger to all delicately-made things, and I will not hesitate to exercise my talents upon your treasure!’

To Isabel’s surprise, Pinch actually fell silent for a little while.

Tafferty shifted and turned about. She was enthroned once again on the neck of Isabel’s mare, and had passed most of the journey so far in a sound sleep. Isabel envied that, too. But now the catterdandy woke and directed a considering look at Isabel.

‘Happen it be time fer thy first lesson,’ said Tafferty. Her voice was pitched so low, Isabel imagined no one heard it but herself. ‘The pixie needs teachin’, an’ he is meant t’ be teachin’ thee. Happen thou must teach him a lesson first, an’ then his mind will be brought t’ a proper way o’ thinkin’.’

Isabel nodded, for she was not at all averse to the notion of teaching the smug pixie a lesson. ‘But what could I do? I do not share Sophy’s talent for breaking things by chance, and I could not destroy such a pretty pipe deliberately.’

Tafferty’s tail twitched. ‘Thou takest a distressin’ delight in bein’ obtuse,’ she said with deep dissatisfaction.

Isabel coloured. ‘What, then, do you wish me to do?’

‘Thou hast shown an extraordinary lack of interest in yer witchin’ powers, up till now,’ said Tafferty with a growl. ‘A more lack-a-dais-i-cal apprentice I could scarce have asked fer.’ She drew the word “lackadaisical” out long and thin, with great relish, and Isabel felt a twinge of guilt.

‘I am sorry,’ she said; aware, as she spoke, that those three words had passed her lips a great many times in the past few days of her life. ‘So much has happened! I can scarce keep up. And besides that, I…’ she fell silent as a wave of shame engulfed her.

‘What?’ Tafferty prompted.

‘I am unsure if I… wish to be a witch at all,’ said Isabel in a miserable half-whisper. ‘It is very inconvenient. I do not at all think I will be able to be a witch in York, when I am married to Mr. Thompson — or someone else like him. It will not be thought respectable. And so I will have to hide it, as does my aunt Grey, and if that is all I am destined to do, there is little purpose in learning. Is there not?’

Tafferty’s growl deepened. ‘I will set tha’ piece o’ fatuosity firmly t’ one side. What dost thou think thy aunt had in mind in sendin’ thee here if not t’ learn thee somethin’ o’ use? If thou wert a wittier bean o’ humanity thou wouldst consider that thy aunt Grey maybe bears a regret or two in ‘er mind.’

Isabel frowned, for that thought had not occurred to her. Mrs. Grey had existed in Isabel’s life as a model of respectability and contentment. As such it had been a particular shock to her to discover her aunt’s secret nature, and the little green companion of whom Isabel had never previously seen so much as a hair. She could not doubt that it had been a source of considerable strain to her aunt to conceal these things from York society; nor did she doubt the necessity. Household brownies may be common enough in some parts of England, and the people were by no means unfamiliar with the fae of Aylfenhame; but for a lady of quality to openly practice witchery, and keep with her such a peculiar animal as her aunt’s Vershibat, could not be considered respectable. As tolerant as most folk were of the fae, there remained strict notions in most minds: the fae were other. It would not do for one of their own to become too deeply entangled with them.

If her aunt had discovered the peculiarities of her heritage at Isabel’s own age, well, she had made the only choice Isabel would have expected her to consider: she had stayed in England, married suitably, and concealed her witchery. Isabel herself had consented — barely — to visiting Aylfenhame, but she had no expectation but that her visit would soon come to an end, home she would go, and proceed to follow much the same path in life as her aunt. What else could possibly make any sense?

But Tafferty spoke truly. Isabel remembered a passing comment of her aunt’s, which had faded from her mind in the confusion that had followed: I have had my fill of duty.

Perhaps she did regret some part of her decision. But what did that mean for Isabel?

‘What did you wish to teach me?’ Isabel said at last.

Tafferty’s growling stopped, and her tail flicked once — a gesture Isabel was learning to interpret as one of approval. ‘Good. Thy aunt said thou would’st make a suitable choice, but I was beginnin’ t’ doubt.’

Isabel was momentarily tempted to protest that she had but asked a question, and had not intended to grant permission. But she held her peace. It could do her no harm to learn a little.

‘Now then,’ said Tafferty, settling herself comfortably before Isabel. ‘A witch has a number o’ Powers t’ choose from. There’s Glamour, the art o’ Seemin’, which we have talked of before. Thou mayst make any one thing seem like another — or hide it away entire. Watch.’ Tafferty slowly disappeared from sight, bit by bit, until only her tail remained. Then she faded back into view — and changed, abruptly, into the semblance of an ordinary house cat, a fat creature with black fur and white patches.

‘All manner o’ fine uses fer that, but not what we need now,’ she decided, changing back into herself.

Isabel thought, with an inward sigh, of her only previous lesson in witchery, and her utter failure to entice one fruit to resemble another. ‘I have seen something of Glamour before,’ Isabel offered. ‘When I first met Aubranael, it was in England, and he was wearing the semblance of a human man. But it was not of his making.’

Tafferty licked her lips. ‘Aye. Thou mayst impose a Glamour upon another, but I advise thee to do that only wi’ their permission.’

Isabel flushed at the very idea of changing someone’s appearance without their consent! ‘Of course, I could not think of anything else.’

‘The time may come,’ said Tafferty cryptically. ‘Anyroad, the second Power, which has no right-an’-proper name, may be called Craftin’ fer our purposes. Wi’ that, thou mayst concoct all manner o’ useful odds an’ ends. The most difficult an’ rare o’ these would be what thy folk call fairy ointment. Wi’ such a magic in thy hands, thou mayst see through any form o’ Glamour, on thy own self or others. But that… eh. Thou mayst live thy whole life through without discoverin’ the secret o’ that. Tis a rarity indeed.’

Isabel nodded, intrigued. Fairy ointment! She had heard of such a thing in stories, but had not previously imagined that it might exist in truth — nor that she might, someday, possess the power to make it.

‘An’ the third Power,’ Tafferty continued, ‘is what I will today call… Cursin’. Rightly Enchantin’. Bestowin’ somethin’ good or somethin’ bad upon a person as ‘as pleased or vexed thee, as thou wishest. Since today we are dealin’ wi’ a tiny bein’ as ‘as vexed us both, we are goin’ t’ start wi’ a Curse.’

Isabel glanced at Pinch, troubled. Irritating he may be, but a Curse? She had experience of Curses. Lihyaen had been afflicted with a terrible one, and so was the Ferryman. Could she be responsible for laying such an appalling punishment upon Pinch — or any living thing? She opened her mouth to say some of this, but Tafferty forestalled her.

‘I know what’s goin’ through thy mind,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘The Curses thou art thinkin’ of are somethin’ far out o’ the ordinary way. Strong magics indeed, an’ Evil. I very much doubt it is within thy power t’ lay such a Curse, nor will it ever be — even if thou hadst the desire t’ do so, which of course thou dost not. All we are thinkin’ of today is a whisper of a Curse, easily laid and easily dispelled.’

Isabel nodded doubtfully. ‘Very well. What must I do?’

‘Fix thy attention upon yonder green-clad pigeon-egg an’ think of somethin’ bad thou would’st like t’ see happen t’ him.’

Isabel looked up at Pinch. He was still ensconced upon Sir Guntifer’s shoulder, riding up there like a little king, and flatly ignoring the beauty of the tall trees on either side. His arms were crossed, his face set in a scowl, and his pipe stuck firmly in his mouth as he puffed madly upon it. The odd, spicy scent of the smoke drifted down to tease Isabel’s nose.

‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘Foolish he may be, and disruptive, but I could not wish ill upon him.’

Tafferty’s tail lashed. ‘Thou art thinkin’ too big,’ she said. ‘Just a wee, tiny calamity will do.’

Isabel set her lips and shook her head. ‘I wish calamities upon no one,’ she said, mildly but firmly. ‘No matter how minor it may be, nor how foolish the target.’

Tafferty growled. ‘All right, I will do it.’

Isabel reached out to stop her, but Tafferty was too quick. As Isabel watched, the pipe flew out of Pinch’s grip as though propelled by some unseen force, and — to her horror — something began sewing shut his mouth. Silken stitches blossomed rapidly around his lips, until his mouth was firmly closed and he could not possibly utter another word. Pinket, hovering near to Sir Guntifer’s left ear, awoke and began weaving about in the air in a silent display of alarm.

‘Now then,’ Tafferty said in a placid tone, wholly unaffected by the desperate antics of the horrified pixie and wisp. ‘A Curse must come wi’ an out, see? As must an Enchantment — the positive kind. Thou canst not expect the target o’ thy wishes or curses t’ suffer under ‘em forever, especially when they’s the harmful sort o’ kind. Hence the Ferryman: His freedom is won if the condition is met, that o’ findin’ his name. In this case, I ‘ave imposed a simple condition fer a simple offence: Pinch must be sorry fer his irritatin’ behaviour, an’ then he may have his mouth back.’

‘But,’ Isabel cried in horror, ‘how is he to express his contrition if he cannot speak?’

There was silence for a moment, then Tafferty said, ‘Ah. Yes, I ‘ave contrived this on purpose-like, so thou mayst see the importance o’ thinkin’ carefully through thy wishes an’ curses.’

Isabel was by no means convinced it had been deliberate, and her heart ached for Pinch. The pixie was by turns furious and terrified, and his writhings and stampings finally attracted Sir Guntifer’s attention. The tree-giant stopped, and stared with amazement at the gyrations of the previously placid pixie. ‘What manner of trickery is this?’ he said in his booming voice.