Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (20 page)

‘Mister Grunewald,’ said the dragon. ‘I will not be granting
you entrance to—’ The dragon broke off abruptly as its eyes focused
upon Isabel, and its forbidding air evaporated. ‘Well, now!’ it
said, visibly brightening. ‘This is most unusual. What are you?
Aylir? Goblin? Something else? It is a very good
Glamour.’

‘Neither of those, sir,’ said Isabel. ‘I am human. It is no
Glamour.’

The
dragon blinked at her, then drifted down to examine her more
closely. ‘Why, so you are! And you have brought another. Two humans
at once, in the Chronicler’s Tower? My very goodness.’ The dragon’s
gaze fell once more upon Grunewald and his darkling entourage, and
a scowl crossed its ethereal features. ‘And in company with His
Most DisRespectable Majesty! Something very odd is
afoot.’

‘Are
you the Chronicler?’ Isabel asked.

The
dragon appeared shocked by such a question. ‘Certainly not! I am
the Keeper.’

‘I
see. And… what is that?’

The
dragon-Seeming swelled in size. ‘Why, a fashioning of the
Chronicler’s! I am appointed to guard the entrance to his great
creation.’

The
Keeper spoke of the Chronicler in terms of such reverence, Isabel
began to feel unnerved. Would she ever be permitted to access the
records?

‘Is…
is he here?’ she said.

The
dragon appeared suddenly to wither, coils of mist shrinking in upon
themselves. ‘The Chronicler is not in residence,’ it intoned, its
voice odd and inflectionless — as though it had been given the line
to speak.

‘Will
he return?’

The
Keeper shrank a little further. ‘Perhaps,’ it said in a
whisper.

Isabel thought for a moment. She had hoped to consult the
Chronicler himself, for he must certainly know whether his
collection contained the information she needed, and where it was
to be found.

‘I
still seek entrance,’ Isabel said firmly. She could not turn back
without making any attempt, for the Ferryman relied upon her. Who
else would help him?

The
Keeper puffed itself back up to its former proportions, and gazed
at her. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am
Miss Isabel Ellerby, of Ferndeane, in England.’

The
Keeper mulled this over in silence for an instant, and then said
simply: ‘Why?’

‘I
seek information,’ said Isabel guardedly. Should she reveal her
full errand to this creature, or not? Would the Keeper approve, or
would it share the doubtful opinion of the Ferryman she had heard
from others?

‘To
what end?’ replied the Keeper in ringing tones. ‘Seek not the
Chronicles for the exaltation of the Self, for it shall not be
permitted. Is your errand for the good of Aylfenhame?’

‘Do
not try to lie,’ Grunewald warned from behind Isabel. ‘I tried
that, the first time. It did not go well.’ His tone was wry; Isabel
could picture the deprecating smile that he often wore.

‘I
could not think of lying,’ said Isabel with a touch of indignation.
How like Grunewald to imagine that everyone thought and acted like
him! But she suffered a moment’s doubt. Her errand had nothing to
do with exalting herself, but was it for the good of Aylfenhame? ‘I
seek to aid another,’ she said at last. ‘To gain his
freedom.’

‘Ah,
Curse-breaking,’ said the Keeper in a more normal tone of voice.
‘Though it is unusual for any to venture here in the service of
another.’

‘I
consider that unfortunate,’ said Isabel, ‘for are we not all in
need of aid, from time to time?’

‘Does
this “other” propose to cause harm to Aylfenhame?’ continued the
dragon, as though Isabel had not spoken.

‘I
have no reason to believe that he does,’ she replied, conscious all
the while of how little she knew about the Ferryman. Was he the
congenial soul she imagined him to be, or had he deserved the Curse
laid upon him?’

The
Keeper huffed a little, emitting another puff of mist from its
mouth. ‘The Test must be administered,’ it pronounced, and swelled
to a formidable size. ‘You must answer one question, Isabel of
Ferndeane, and you shall have but one attempt to answer correctly.
Do you accept?’

Isabel mustered as much confidence as she could, and nodded.
‘I accept.’

‘Very
well.’ The Keeper swelled a little more, the mists comprising its
draconic shape turning a sober shade of blue. It was now so big
that its head hovered directly beneath the ceiling, and its misty
coils had begun to spill out of the windows. ‘The question is thus:
If a faefly drifts a thousand leagues in Greyling and its wings
turn cerulean, what colour is the Queen to wear on Beltane three
summers ago?’

Isabel blinked. Her mouth opened, closed again, and she
swallowed. ‘Have you perhaps misspoken the question, sir?’ she
enquired. Something was gravely amiss with the latter part, for he
had spoken of the Queen’s attire on a future Beltane and then named
it as three summers past. And that was merely the first point of
confusion; for what was a faefly, or Greyling? What did it matter
what colours its wings were, or how far it had
travelled?

‘Of
course I did not,’ said the Keeper. ‘Will you hear it
again?’

Isabel nodded,
and waited in silence as the Keeper repeated the question. Nothing
more occurred to her upon the second speaking than the first, and
her heart sank.

‘I
cannot answer,’ she said in shame.

‘Of
course you cannot, Isabel of England,’ said the Keeper, shrinking
down somewhat from its heights. ‘You must seek aid. If those who
Know are prepared to assist you, then I will consider your
request.’

Isabel turned away from the table in despair. ‘Who could
possibly know the answer to such a question?’ she sighed. No one
answered her; the expressions upon the faces of Sophy, Grunewald,
Yangveld, Palchis and Ertof were alike in their blank
incomprehension.

Isabel felt hopelessly unequal to the task she had set
herself. In order to find the Ferryman’s name, she first had to
find someone who knew what it had been. But in order to find the
Chronicler — or at least, the books he had left behind — she now
had to find someone else who could answer the strangest question
she had ever heard in her life! And where was she to
start?

A vision of the
Ferryman passed through her thoughts, and she sighed inwardly once
more. She had made him believe that she would help him; would she
so easily give up?

‘Tafferty?’ she said softly.

The
catterdandy was sitting by the door, with her tail wrapped neatly
over her front paws. She had taken no part whatsoever in anything
that had happened since they had discovered Grunewald’s camp, and
Isabel felt uncomfortable appealing to her. But she had sensed
before that Tafferty’s knowledge of Aylfenhame was broad, perhaps
surprisingly so. Besides, she was Isabel’s companion, whether she
appreciated the idea or not.

Tafferty’s head had been drooping towards the floor; perhaps
she was asleep. But her head came up abruptly as Isabel spoke her
name, and she opened her eyes wide. ‘What?’ she said.

‘The
Keeper’s question,’ Isabel prompted. ‘Do you know who could
answer?’

Tafferty’s tail twitched and she glanced away. ‘That
Ferryman,’ she said. ‘He may help his own self! Thou art under no
obligation t’ assist him.’

‘I do
not see how he can!’ Isabel cried. ‘He cannot leave the
boat.’

‘Perhaps he may remember, if he tried a mite
harder.’

‘He
has had many years to remember, and he has not. The Curse will make
sure he does not, we may assume.’

Tafferty fixed her eyes on Isabel’s face, and narrowed them.
‘Why art thou so eager t’ help the likes of him anyhow?’

‘Would you like to find yourself in such a situation,
Tafferty?’ Isabel demanded. She was beginning to grow irritated
with the catterdandy’s ungenerous attitude. How anyone could
consent to leave a fellow being languishing under such a Curse
without even trying to help was beyond her
comprehension!

‘I
would be far too wise an’ clever t’ get myself into such a mess in
the first place!’ retorted Tafferty. ‘I would know better’n t’
tangle meself up wi’ the likes o’ the Kostigern, too, an’ the
Ferryman is his creature entire.’

‘Do
you know that to be the truth? Or is it mere rumour? Oh! Do we not
owe it to each other to be kind? How cruel it is, to condemn
another on mere gossip alone!’

‘And
if it is not gossip?’

‘If
it is not, then he has been punished enough,’ said Isabel firmly.
‘If he has transgressed in the past, I am sure he is sorry for it
now, and he ought to be given the chance to redeem
himself.’

Tafferty made a noise of disgust. ‘Thou art sure,’ she said
mockingly. ‘Sure thou art, and basin’ that opinion on what,
exactly?’

‘I
feel it to be the truth,’ said Isabel. ‘If I am wrong…’

‘If
thou art mistaken, thou wilt unleash a liability upon Aylfenhame,’
said Tafferty. ‘The Keeper is right t’ deny entrance t’
thee.’

‘Tafferty. Do you know the answer to the Keeper’s
question?’

Tafferty growled. ‘I do.’

‘Then
I beg you, share it with me! If we are to be companions, then we
must trust and help one another.’

‘Thou
art but an infant in the ways of Aylfenhame,’ Tafferty retorted.
‘Tis my duty t’ keep thee from doin’ thyself — or the rest of us —
any harm.’

Isabel,
speechless with indignation and dismay, could find no fitting
response. Stubborn creature! Could she never be persuaded to give
the Ferryman a chance? Her heart ached at the prospect of leaving
her promise unfulfilled, and the Ferryman bound to his boat
forever.

Her
mind returned to the conversation she had had with him during her
elongated journey to Grenlowe. She had liked him. It was difficult
to decide precisely why she had liked him so much, but no mere
rumour could dislodge her confidence in him! Her heart swelled with
indignation at the very idea. If only he could speak to Tafferty
himself — if only he could be given the opportunity to address
these persistent and damaging rumours!

But
he could. Isabel’s mind flew to the parting gift he had given her —
the whistle. She groped in her reticule, half in a panic lest she
had mislaid it, but she had not; there it lay, safe at the bottom
of the little bag. She drew it out.

‘We
will resolve this!’ she said. ‘Tafferty, please come with me.’ She
did not wait to allow her companion any opportunity to argue, but
turned at once and left the tower. She was halfway down the stairs
before she heard sounds of anyone following her.

‘Isabel!’ Sophy called. ‘Do, please, take care!’

Isabel paused to reassure her friend, and as she did so
Grunewald swept past, glancing sideways at her as he did so.
‘Reckless, that,’ he said with a twinkle, and not disapprovingly.
‘Allow me!’ He strode back down to the hallway, sending darkling
fae scurrying out of his path with every step. Isabel, Sophy and
Tafferty followed in his wake.

The moment Isabel
stepped out into the warm morning air, she lifted the delicate
whistle to her lips and blew. The sound that emerged was not the
high-pitched, single note she had expected. A ripple of notes
poured forth in a clear melody, which seemed to expand until it
filled all the air around her. She waited, her heart pounding.
Would he come?

She
was not obliged to wait for very long. Two or three minutes passed,
though it felt a great deal longer to Isabel, in her state of
anticipation. Then a cloud rippled upon the horizon, puffing out a
great cloud of mist, and the boat materialised in the centre of it.
It sailed swiftly down to land in between the trees outside of the
palace, hovering some little way above the ground. The Ferryman
stood tall and straight in the prow.

He considered
Isabel for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his eyes
flicked to take in her odd assortment of companions, and the palace
of Mirramay behind.

‘I
‘ad thought ye would use the whistle when ye were ready t' return
t' England,’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘I ‘ad not imagined
I would find ye in Mirramay. Nor that ye’d be keepin’ company wi’
darklin’s, an’ one o’ the tree-giants o’ myth — not t’ mention the
Goblin King his own self.’ The Ferryman made Grunewald a bow as he
spoke this last, though the gesture was ironical.

Grunewald made a far more flamboyant bow in response, his
mouth curling into a grin. ‘Ah, the Ferryman. A fine figure of
mystery, and how good of you to come. Something of a myth yourself,
are you not?’

‘Myths may live an’ breathe, that I know.’ He looked once
again at Isabel, and raised one eyebrow. ‘Is it passage ye seek? If
so, I cannot fit ye all within, I fear. Yer human friend I may, an’
His Majesty, if he so chooses. His Majesty’s entourage, an’ yer
mounts — that’s trickier. Yer giant friend? Not a chance, I do
fear.’

‘I do
not seek to travel at this time, sir,’ said Isabel. ‘We have come
here in search of your name, and have encountered an obstacle which
only you can remove.’