Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (12 page)

When we halt and file out onto the side of the road, the coach driver is clearly worried.
 

“I don’t know, Miss,” he says to Frances, whose age and uniform suggest she is capable of taking charge. “I don’t trust the weather not to fog up worse.”

“Perhaps you’re—”

Gladys cuts in. “Look, there’s the path, it’s a short ramble, we have torches, and we’re not such idiots as to wander off it.” She taps an impatient foot. “We’ll be back in two hours.”
 

She strides off, and I am momentarily worried that the girls are going to continue mill around the coach and make her look a fool. “Come on, kiddies,” I say quickly, taking off after her.

The path is quite wide and well trodden. An easy walk along public footpaths, not too strenuous even in this cold. The dirt of the path crackles with ice under our feet, and frost sparkles on the trees in place of leaves. The sky is clear and blue, and it would be an ethereal scene were it not for twenty school girls in green cloaks giggling and stumbling. Well, fourteen gigglers. The Guides are marching beautifully, listening to Frances talk about the ancient woodlands to them and casting baleful looks as Kay and Erica deliberately trip over each other and dissolve into shrieks of laughter, scaring off any fauna in the vicinity.

“Can’t you do something about this racket before Gladys explodes?” Esther drawls. “You’re supposed to be a Senior Prefect, after all.”

I nudge her somewhat unkindly, especially when some of the kids look astonished at her cheeking me like that. I still see her point. “Girls! Frances, do you mind if we stop a bit?”
 

Our ramblers fan out into a clearing. Even the Guides look curious. Gladys’ brows draw together in irritation and she harrumphes ungracefully as she comes back. Really, the girl is in a shockingly bad mood.

“Seeing we came to look at nature, let’s see what we can find. Be very, very quiet, ladies.” I close my eyes and reach out, seeking among the stark bare trees.

There’s a collective gasp. I open my eyes and grin, somewhat smugly. Stupid boring fairies, did they say?

Hundreds of fairies are whirling over us and around us from all directions. Most of them are frost fairies with blue and white wings like shimmering droplets of frozen froth, a few green, brown and rainbow winged wood fairies emerging from hibernation at my call. Some drop curiously to inspect the invaders, and Rhoda, all complaints forgotten, is rapt in the sight of one perching on the cuff of her glove, looking at her with big pale eyes. Even Gladys looks impressed. Frances has tears in her eyes, bless her.

A multitude swoop around me, settling on my hat and my shoulders. I thank them, silently, and call out again, seeking among the shadows and roots this time. These are very old woodlands, with a river springing from a well said to have been made by elves. Old woodlands, with old magic and old creatures.

There, just there…

“Look.” I point from the path, to the bushes.

“Over there!” squeals Mary, forgetting all about being quiet, as a gnarled stump turns out to be a large pixie, surveying us warily, one of her wrinkled, adorable young perched on her shoulder. Some of the fairies rise up, startled at Mary’s cry. I soothe, and they return to circle around us.

Lights begin to appear among the trees, and the will o’ wisps follow. Beautiful, shimmering, golden lights, reflected in the rising mists. And finally…

I smile in triumph as a unicorn, silver as the frost, picks its way into the open.

There’s no chance of silence now. It takes all my effort to stop the creature bolting, as the girls move towards it.

“Don’t crowd it!” I warn. “And don’t touch it. It’s wild, and it’s best for it to be wary of humans.” I want to caress its smooth nose, and I’m familiar with the creatures. I keep it with me a moment, then send it springing away as I release my new friends.

“No dragons,” I say, clapping Rhoda on the back. “Disappointed, kid?”

She shakes her head violently. “Charley, you’re so lucky! All I can do is make coloured lights.”

“Some of the best people have Illusion as a Gift,” Esther says, patting her kindly on the head. “Like me, for instance.” She’s not as awed as the others. She’s visited my home and met my family too many times to be as impressed as the others by my party trick.

“Now you see why you have to be quiet?” I ask the juniors, sternly. “You don’t want to frighten the fabled beasts.” They shake their heads with flattering earnestness. The thought of becoming a schoolmistress jumps back into my head, for the moment a welcome thought.

“Thank you, Charley,” Frances says, beaming. “Now, girls, I think we should head back. The fog is coming up fast.”

She’s right. Visibility has decreased to only a few yards.

“Frances, no!” wails Ethelberta. “I want to see the well. Maybe Charley can find an elf there!”

“I doubt it,” I say, laughing.

“I know you’re disappointed,” Frances says, in a cheerful tone that brooks no opposition. She’d make a wonderful schoolmistress herself. “Just be glad that Charley gave you such a treat first. It’s been a lovely excursion after all, hasn’t it?”

There’s some pouts, and also reluctant nods, as the girls resign themselves to the situation. They’re a sensible group, after all.

Then Gladys spoils it all.

“That’s nonsense. The path is perfectly clear. You might be giving up, but I have no intention of being so weak.”

I suck my breath in sharply, hardly able to believe that Frances has slammed a fellow senior in front of a group of lower formers like that. Esther’s teasing had been affectionate in nature; there is no fondness in Gladys’ tone. Frances is bright red with indignation.

“Steady on, old girl.” Esther’s voice is sharper than usual.

“Are you a prefect?” snaps Gladys.
 

“No. Just someone with more common sense than a fairy.” There is a terrible silence. As if oblivious, Esther smiles her crooked smile, hands stuck in her pockets.

Gladys lifts her hand, and there’s a general movement away from her. Her Gift, and her lack of control over it, are well known. Then she clenches her fingers tightly and shoves her hands down my her side.

“I’m a Senior Prefect, and we’re continuing on, on my authority. Right, Charley?”

I use a curse I heard once from stable lad, saying it under my breath, obviously, so as not to be a bad influence on my audience. That’s done it. If I don’t back Gladys up now, I’m openly undermining her as a fellow prefect.

Before I can think of something to cast oil on increasingly troubled waters, Frances cuts in. “Gladys, you know perfectly well that I have the Nature Gift, and I’m telling you, we need to go back. Right now.”

“Stop behaving like a silly little girl who doesn’t know anything!” There are actual tears of fury in Gladys’ eyes, unless it’s the weather. “I say we’re going on.”

“I say I’m going back! I’ll take my Guides, and anyone else who wants to come.” Frances pauses. “Charley?”

The young ones are standing around us, silent and aghast. I wrestle with myself. Frances is my friend too, she’s probably perfectly right, and Gladys is behaving abominably.

It’s only that I can see lines of unhappiness in Gladys’ mouth. And that if I undermine her now, knowing that I’m a far more popular prefect than she is, her authority is destroyed. Not to mention her pride.

“Frances, dear, take your Guides back,” I say, gently. “We’ll split into two groups, and I promise to keep an eye on things. There’s no need for us all to stick together.” I reach out and squeeze her hand in silent apology for not backing her up.

Gladys gives a hard, triumphant smile.

Esther sighs, adjusting her hat to a more becoming angle. “Well, it’s thoroughly idiotic, but we need a Senior Prefect in each group. School rules. As Gladys has so kindly reminded us, neither Frances nor myself have achieved that exalted status. You go back with Frances, Charley, and I suppose I’m in for going with Gladys to find the Well. Or die wandering in the fog trying.”

I resist the urge to hug her. “Thanks, Es.”

She winks one of her long, dark eyes. “I live to serve.”

I have a moment of worry that all of the girls will refuse to go with Gladys, humiliating her. Fortunately, either the lure of the Well or the glamour of Esther’s beauty win out, and only a handful of my particular lot opt to return to the coach.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Charley,” Frances says in a low voice, as we begin the tramp back.

“It’s not your fault.” I daren’t say anything else, surrounded by perked little ears as we are.

It’s a dull thing, returning without having reached our destination. The girls nonetheless seem to be in high spirits. Frances and I trudge along less happily. The mist really is settling. I hope Esther can charm or otherwise prevail on Gladys to return soon, once Frances is out of the way.

We’ve only walked for ten minutes or so when a shout rises from behind us, followed by running footsteps.

“Charley!” It’s Esther, her complexion the shade of clotted cream. “Have you Mary MacConnell with you?”

I glance around the group. “No…”

Esther’s face is ghastly. “Neither have we.”

In a crisis, Frances turns out to be so much of a brick as to be a miracle. She digs in her satchel and hands Esther some chocolate. “Eat this,” she orders, more curt than I have ever heard her. “No use going into shock.”

Then she turns to the girls. “Girls, I want you to walk back to the bus with Esther. Stay calm and quiet.”

“But what about Mary?” wails Ethelberta. Patty is in tears.

“We’ve only been apart ten minutes, Bertie. Charley and I will trace back and look for her footprints, and then we’ll go collect her. She’ll be perfectly alright. In this frost, she couldn’t hide her tracks if she tried. Joan, Esther will be the only senior with you, so can I trust you to help keep order?” A Third former in Guiding uniform nods. “Now, don’t worry, girls. We’ll have the naughty little girl back soon.”

I nod. “We’re counting on you to be steadfast. Can we rely on you?”

There are serious nods, even from the tearful Patty. Esther takes her hand comfortingly.

“So long, girls, see you soon!” Frances says cheerfully. We don’t wait for Esther’s group to depart before we start tracing our way back, looking for any sign of disturbed frost.

As soon as we are out of earshot, I ask Frances, “Can we rely on your cousin not to have lost her head?”

Frances frowns. “She’ll be cross, all the more so because she’s made an idiot of herself. Even so, I think she has too much in the way of brains to abandon the path or the kiddies.”

“I hope so.” The path, hard frozen as it is, shows signs of the recent passage of many sensible shoes. On either side, the frost is undisturbed. I turn my torch slowly from side to side and think of night spirits, of monsters, of all the things that lurk and might snatch a child. It was not so long ago that I was joking with Cecily about yara-ma-yha-whos snatching my sisters; now, with a child missing, it doesn’t seem so funny.

I give myself a little shake. We’re far from Australia. This is the tame English countryside, where nothing more dangerous than a dragonling or a cait sith lurks, no matter how blinding and oppressive the fog now feels.

I send my mind out seeking again. None of the magical minds feel malicious, none feel wrong. If anything has harmed Mary, then I missed it through paying too much attention to showing off for the other girls and not to the magical minds around me.

Gladys and the other girls shimmer into existence in front of us, the fog cloaking their voices as well as their forms until we are right on top of them.

“Mary?” Gladys asks, sharply.

“No sign of her,” Frances says briefly. There are beads of moisture on Gladys’ forehead, and I don’t think it’s just the fog. Some of the young ones are crying.

I put my arm around young Rhoda, who is looking awfully soft for a hard boiled egg like her, and reach out again, touching fairy minds. They don’t have much understanding, so I don’t have much hope, but they are everywhere and see everything and… there. An impression in the fairies’ consciousness, something big and scared and noisy that might just be a schoolgirl. I seize onto it with frantic relief.

“By the river,” I say, sharply.

“Are you sure?” Frances catches my arm.

“No. It might be. The fairies think there’s something frightening there, though.”

“But we missed her tracks?” Frances’ face is pinched. “I’m well trained, you know. Even in these conditions, I should have seen.”

“Not if something covered her footprints up with frost,” I say, shortly. “My dears, I think I need you to be very brave, sensible, reliable girls.” I squeeze Rhoda’s shoulder. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Charley.” Frightened eyes, sometimes tearful, above gallant smiles from the young ones. I love them so much in that moment.

“We Sixth formers are going to go look for Mary. We should split up as little as possible, so I need you to stay here, and stay still. Don’t panic, don’t go for help, don’t even come if you here us calling. Just stand here quietly and wait.”

“Not even if you call?” Rhoda clutches my hand on her shoulder. “Why?”