Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

Chapter Ten-2

They wound their way through several long streets, turning so often that Isabel wondered how Pinch and Pinket could remember the way. As they rode, they saw increasing signs of habitation: some of the buildings were littered with rubbish, fires burned, and the smells of cooking rose into the morning air. Isabel began to glimpse movement here and there out of the corners of her eyes, though whenever she turned to look she saw nothing but an empty street, or an open gate swinging slightly in the breeze.

That changed, so abruptly as to draw a gasp from her. They turned a corner and found themselves riding into the midst of a crowd of fae creatures. Ogres even taller than Balligumph leaned against the walls, imps as tall as their kneecaps wandering around among them. Hobs and goblins fought over morsels of food and sparkling jewellery, and a troll sat by himself in a corner between two buildings, playing a horn which sounded eerily similar to the one the trows had used to lure their party into the trees. Over the crowd floated several wisps; Isabel could not tell if any of them were Pinch and Pinket.

In the middle of this ragged array of the fae there stood an enormous throne. Its seat was wide enough to accommodate four people sitting side-by-side, and its back was easily ten feet tall. The throne was made out of pure gold, or so it appeared; remembering Tafferty’s comments about Glamour, Isabel wondered whether it might look altogether different somewhere underneath the illusion. An enormous, deliciously soft-looking cushion of purple velvet covered the seat, atop which sat the Goblin King.

He looked just as Isabel remembered him. He even still wore the clothes of a gentleman of England, though the precision of his attire had deteriorated somewhat: his coat was missing, his shirt-sleeves were rolled up in a most improper fashion, and he was hatless. But it was unmistakeably the same man: he who had called himself Mr. Green, and occupied Hyde Place near Tilby for several months. He had departed the neighbourhood only recently, to the dismay of its residents, for the persona he had adopted had borne all the virtues of good looks, wealth and charm; more than a few young ladies had fixed their hopes and their affections upon him. None save Sophy Landon and Isabel herself had known his true identity.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Isabel with a smile, and made him the best bow she could from atop her pony.

‘Good morning, Grunewald,’ said Sophy drily as she reined in her mount before him.

Grunewald stared at them both in horror. ‘Just what do you think you are doing in Mirramay?’ he demanded. ‘It isn’t safe for a party of ladies! I would think that Aubranael would die of shock if he knew!’

‘How kind of you to feel concerned for our welfare!’ said Isabel warmly. ‘But I assure you, we have come very well-attended.’

‘He is not serious!’ said Sophy. ‘Now, are you, Grunewald? What a mother-hen speech! You would not care if the worst imaginable fate were to befall the both of us.’

Grunewald grinned lazily. ‘Miss Ellerby credits me with far too much attention, as always. But you, my dear Miss Landon, credit me with far too little. The truth lies somewhere in between, I assure you.’ He rose from his oversized throne and solicitously helped both ladies down from their mounts. Isabel thought that he pressed her hand as he did so, and her cheeks coloured a little. ‘But my question stands, you know. What are you doing in these parts? And without Aubranael!’

‘I may very well direct the same enquiry at you,’ retorted Sophy.

Grunewald’s smile widened. ‘Much as I appreciate Aubranael’s company, I often travel without him.’

Sophy made an exasperated noise. ‘You understand very well what I mean!’

Grunewald adopted a tragic air, looking around among his gathered followers for support. ‘You see with what a lack of respect I am treated by the ladies of England! It is very shocking.’

Isabel thought that there was a dangerous look in his eye as he said this, however light-hearted his tone might have been. She suppressed an urge to caution her friend. Sophy had known Grunewald longer than she had; she knew how far she could presume upon his good nature.

‘There are a number of things I could possibly be doing here,’ Grunewald said in a more serious tone, though a glint of mischief sparkled in his eye. ‘I might be here to investigate the lamentably ongoing absence of our glorious monarchs — with, I need hardly add, the most selfless of motives! I might simply be passing through, with my aides-de-camp.’ He gestured carelessly at the ragtag band of darkling fae that surrounded his throne, his mouth twisting with self-mockery. ‘Or I might be planning to move in. After all, no one has been using Mirramay in quite some years now.’

‘Using it for what?’ Sophy retorted. ‘I can hardly imagine that Aubranael would approve of any such plan!’

Something between amusement and anger flickered across Grunewald’s eyes. ‘I note that you assume the worst, and with no conceivable reason to do so,’ he retorted. ‘Have I ever given cause to imagine I might be harbouring dreams of conquest?’ With this said, he sprawled once more upon his glittering throne and cast his long legs over one arm.

Sophy considered the vision of Grunewald, the Goblin King, lounging lazily upon a gaudy and stupendously oversized throne and smiled. It was one of her special smiles, full of a mixture of mischief and amusement, and not unleavened with affection. ‘I leave that to your own conscience to answer,’ she said lightly.

To Isabel’s surprise — and relief — Grunewald laughed at that. ‘I would tell you that I care nothing for your Aubranael’s good opinion, my dear Miss Landon, but to do so would be to wound you — perhaps past recovery. And I am far too much a gentleman.’ He made an odd seated bow in Sophy’s direction, somehow imbuing the gesture with a sinuous grace in spite of its awkwardness.

‘You are not too much the gentleman to lie,’ Sophy said with a laugh. ‘You would prefer not to care for Aubranael’s opinion, of that I have no doubt. Nonetheless, you do. He is your moral guide, of a sorts; now, is he not? Your own internal guide is a little broken, and you have made liberal use of his in the past.’

Grunewald grimaced. ‘What a detestable idea.’ Isabel noted with interest that he did not deny it. ‘Now we return to the topic of your most unexpected appearance in these parts. My good Miss Landon, do not toy with my curiosity any further, I beg of you. I am positively expiring with the need to know how you come to be wandering in Fair Mirramay, and in such company.’ His eyes flicked over Sir Guntifer, who drew himself up to his full, impressive height and eyed the Goblin King with distrust.

‘It is Isabel’s errand,’ Sophy replied. Isabel hoped that her friend might go on to explain the rest, but she did not. She looked instead at Isabel herself, and informed her by way of an encouraging smile that she expected her to explain her own motive.

Isabel sighed inwardly. She had always felt a peculiar reticence in addressing Grunewald, for his station combined with his odd manners confused her. There was also the question of what he was, behind the Glamour that shrouded his form. Was he human indeed? Was he Aylir? Was he a goblin himself?

Furthermore, she had more than once suspected him of flirting with her. Given the circumstances, she could only view this as most impertinent, and rather uncomfortable.

And now she must contend with the additional obstacle of an audience; composed, too, of such an odd assortment of creatures! And so universally questionable in character! But speak she must. She thrust away the part of her mind that continued to marvel, disbelieving, at the situations she was lately finding herself in, and proceeded to relate her errand to the Goblin King. She spoke quietly, as ever, but it appeared that Grunewald’s presence proved sufficient to quell the more mischievous impulses of his followers; no one interrupted her, or spoke over her. Grunewald himself paid her the courtesy of close attention, only the faintest hint of amusement lurking in his bright green eyes.

When she had finished, he shifted uncomfortably upon his throne — throwing himself into a still more indecorous posture in the process — and sighed. ‘The Ferryman, eh?’ he said moodily. ‘I see how it is.’ He glanced sharply at Isabel as he spoke, though as she could not fathom the direction of his thoughts nor the intended meaning of this remark, she failed to decipher his expression. ‘I would tell you that he is no fit company for a pair of gentle English ladies, but if I did I would have to disqualify my own self from your fair company, and that would never do.’ He smiled, just at Isabel, and to her annoyance she felt herself blush. This was exactly the worst of him! If only he would stop smiling at her in quite that way, she would be able to feel much more comfortable in his presence.

‘Stop flirting, Grunewald,’ Sophy said without ceremony. ‘Poor Isabel does not know how to receive your attentions.’

Grunewald laughed, a disconcertingly wicked sound. ‘But that is why it is so enjoyable. Such a pretty blush! It is a refreshing change.’

Sophy waved this away with an impatient gesture. ‘The Chronicler!’ she prompted. ‘Have you seen anyone of that sort around Mirramay? I hardly dare hope that you might have, as it seems to be very much abandoned.’

‘Oh, it is,’ Grunewald agreed. ‘Or was, until we arrived.’ He accompanied this reflection with a wicked grin. ‘However, there were some oddities about the Chronicler’s Tower, if my memory does not betray me. If any part of the city has survived the decay of the rest, it might be the Chronicler’s Library. It was protected, you know.’

Hope flickered to life in Isabel’s heart. ‘Indeed!’ she cried. ‘That is encouraging news. But if it is protected, I suppose it will not be easy to get inside?’

‘Very good, Miss Ellerby,’ said Grunewald, in the teasing tone he apparently reserved for her. ‘It will not be easy at all.’ The Goblin King smiled comfortably at Sir Guntifer. ‘What of it, Tree-giant? Do you possess the means to pass the Chronicler’s tests?’

‘My purpose is to serve as guide and protector,’ replied Sir Guntifer stiffly.

‘In other words, no! I congratulate you all. A more ill-advised plan I have scarcely heard of, and to arrive ill-equipped for the challenges of the adventure as well! It is positively reckless! I had not thought it possible.’ His delighted smile proclaimed that he spoke the truth, and Isabel frowned. Why should he applaud recklessness? To behave without due thought and caution could only be considered foolish, and she blushed with mortification to realise how correct he was in accusing them of it. The venture had been foolish indeed! But the fault was hers, in having acted impulsively to begin with. Was it allowable if she had done so out of a desire to help another?

Grunewald’s laughter interrupted these reflections. ‘I see I have disconcerted Miss Ellerby yet again, for how she blushes! But rest assured, my dear: a little recklessness is perfectly necessary, once in a great while. How are you to have any adventures, otherwise?’

‘I did not seek to have adventures, sir, I assure you!’ said Isabel with great indignation.

‘I can well believe it. I might hazard a guess that your life has been a dull one, thus far? Excepting, of course, the temporary excitement of Miss Landon’s adventure of last year.’

Isabel opened her mouth to protest against this characterisation of her life, but she was obliged to close it again without speaking. When she called to mind the pattern of her days, she remembered peace and tranquillity, which were by no means bad; common sense and responsibility, which were admirable traits; but she could not help remembering a great deal of dullness as well.

‘You are too wise to deny it, I see,’ said Grunewald. His mocking tone had gone; in its place was something that sounded almost sympathetic. ‘These hide-bound Englishfolk! With your customs and your courtesies, your age-old habits and your etiquette! So stifling to the spirit! It amuses me greatly to play in your world from time to time, but only for the pleasure of turning all of your absurd customs upside-down. To watch the blossoming of a spirit, once it throws off the shackles of duty, expectation, and sound good sense! It is a liberating process. Miss Landon has discovered that for herself, to some degree, for here she stands: a proper young lady of England no more, but a citizen of Aylfenhame! A tradeswoman, a crafts-mistress, and (I would wager) happier by far than she would ever have been if she had married some dullard out of England.’ He looked hard at Sophy as she said this, but his gaze soon returned to Isabel. ‘How I wish you could be persuaded to attempt the same, Miss Ellerby! I see a dull future in store for you, and it pains me. To waste such a flower upon such a future would be the greatest of misfortunes.’