Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (21 page)

Both
of the Ferryman’s brows went up at these words, and his mouth
opened a little in shock. ‘Ye came t’ Mirramay in search o’ my
name?’ he repeated. ‘An’ wi’ the Goblin King?’

‘Not
precisely with Grunewald,’ Isabel said cautiously. ‘We discovered
that he was already here, and he has been kind enough to assist
us.’

The
Ferryman’s brows rose higher still at her use of the name
Grunewald, and he turned outright incredulous at the rest of her
sentence. ‘Kind!’ he said. ‘He is not known fer kindness, His
Majesty.’

‘I
have never known him to be anything other than kind!’ Isabel
retorted. ‘He has been Miss Landon’s acquaintance this past year,
and has been everything of the kindest to her. And to
me.’

The
Ferryman surveyed Sophy, his expression markedly sceptical. ‘I can
see there is more t’ ye than I guessed,’ he said, returning his
gaze to Isabel. ‘Still, I would warn ye t’ take some care wi’ his
Kingship. Tricky folk, goblins.’

‘I
might say the same of you,’ said Grunewald smoothly. ‘In fact, the
catterdandy there is vehemently opposed to anybody’s helping you at
all.’

The
Ferryman’s face darkened with some unnameable emotion. ‘She is
right enough,’ he said shortly.

‘She
is not,’ Isabel protested. ‘I cannot convince her of your
worthiness, but you can! That is why I have summoned you. She
possesses the answer to a question posed by the Keeper of the
Chronicles, but she will not share it; and without it, I cannot get
inside. Please, tell her that she is mistaken about you! There are
rumours abroad, but they may be easily contradicted.’

The
Ferryman merely looked at her. It struck her that he appeared
wearied, if not in body then perhaps in spirit. His dark hair was a
little disordered, coming loose from the ribbon he used to tie it
back; his golden skin looked, she thought, a little paler than when
she had seen him before; and his eyes were deeply shadowed.
‘Whatever they are,’ he said slowly, ‘they are probably naught but
the truth.’

‘They
cannot be,’ Isabel said. ‘They refer to — to —’

‘T’
the Kostigern?’ he interrupted. ‘An’ ye, little innocent, cannot
even say his name. Such a mind as ye possess could never fathom why
any soul’d consent t’ be one o’ his, considerin’ his actions. But
yer mind is a place o’ naught but light; ye cannot see the shadows
in everyone else’s.’

Isabel was
speechless with surprise and dismay. She crept closer to Sophy,
unconsciously seeking support. She was a little reassured when
Sophy took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

‘The
rumours are true?’ she said at last, in a voice barely above a
whisper.

The
Ferryman smiled sadly. ‘Ye ‘ave cast me in the role o’ some kind o’
prince in a tale, no? Afflicted wi’ some dreadful Curse all
undeservin’, an’ requirin’ only a maid pure o’ heart t’ free me
from my torment — be it wi’ a name, or a spell, or a kiss. An’ then
all is well, an’ everyone goes home dancin’. Is that how it
is?’

Isabel coloured. The construction he had placed upon her
reasoning sounded naive to the point of foolishness, and she could
not even disclaim, for he was essentially correct. She had given
him a shining character, and with no particular reason to do so.
Was it because of his amiable attitude towards her? Was it his
smile, or his handsome face? Or was it the cruelty of his fate, and
the sadness she had detected in his eyes?

It
did not matter which, for they were all foolish reasons. She bowed
her head, wishing that her cheeks were not so aflame, and searching
uselessly for something to say. Her mind reeled away from the
vision she must now consider — the congenial Ferryman, willingly
aiding such a character as the Kostigern! How could a person seem
so charming and pleasant, and yet be so very other in
character?

‘Ye
see, then,’ the Ferryman continued, after a short pause. ‘Yer
catterdandy friend is more’n right t’ distrust me, an’ I will never
be able t’ convince her that I am worthy o’ yer help. Because I am
most assuredly not worthy.’

Isabel looked up, too sad and distressed to speak, to find
that he was smiling at her. ‘I am … touched, by yer faith in me,’
he said. ‘Misplaced as it may be. It’s been many, many years since
anyone believed in me at all.’ He climbed down to capture Isabel’s
hands and laid a swift kiss upon each. ‘Ye must abandon this quest
o’ yours,’ he said softly. ‘Find somethin’ — someone — worthy o’
yer time an’ heart.’ He gently pressed her hands and then released
them, straightening. He stepped back into the Ferry, the mists
swelled around the boat, and it began to rise. He was leaving, and
Isabel merely stood, stupefied. In spite of his words, she did not
want him to depart, did not want to abandon him. But she could
think of nothing to say that would keep him with her, for he was
right: if the worst Tafferty believed of him was true, then she
would never help him. No one would. And perhaps — though it smote
Isabel sorely to think it — perhaps she was right to
refuse.

‘Sir,’ said Sophy abruptly. ‘Miss Ellerby is unusually
kind-hearted, it is true, and will never willingly think ill of
anyone. I am not nearly so generous of spirit, but still I cannot
help feeling that her faith in you may not be wholly misguided.’
She hesitated, and added, ‘Will you tell us why you were of the
Kostigern’s party in such a questionable business?’

The
boat ceased to rise, though it did not descend either. The Ferryman
looked down upon Sophy, and upon Isabel, with an unreadable
expression. ‘He was my Master,’ he said. ‘I wish I could give ye
more of an answer’n that, but I cannot. ‘Tis all I can remember o’
those days.’

Tafferty made a disgusted noise, and then appeared — to
Isabel’s shock — to spit upon the ground.

‘Tafferty,’ she said, horrified. ‘Please, try to have some
compassion! How would you have fared, in such a
situation?’

Tafferty rounded on Isabel, growling. ‘His Master! That makes
him an apprentice, no doubt in some manner o’ sorcery-like arts.
An’ that means he was very likely oath-bound,’ she said
disgustedly. ‘Which seemingly he was not plannin’ t’ mention
hisself. But ‘tis the way o’ such things. Is it not, thou
aggravatin’, troublesome witherdandy o’ nature?’ This
incomprehensible insult — for Isabel took it as such — was directed
at the Ferryman, towards whom Tafferty now turned with a whirl of
her tail. ‘If thou wert bound in blood t’ thy Master then thou wert
powerless t’ disobey. Why wouldst thou not happen t’ mention that,
hey?’

‘I
could,’ said the Ferryman slowly, with an odd glint in his eye,
‘have tried harder.’

Tafferty spat again and a strong shiver, apparently of
revulsion, made its way from her head to the tip of her tail. ‘Oh,
ye make a fine, tragic pair, that ye do! Ach! An’ now I must help
thee after all, an’ I was hopin’ that Miss-there would get ‘er head
out o’ the clouds an’ settle t’ some decent trainin’ in ‘er
neglected powers o’ witchery.’

The
Ferryman blinked, apparently as bemused as Isabel felt. But then he
smiled. ‘I won’t pretend that I won’t accept yer aid, an’ gladly,’
he said. ‘But yer point is fair. How about a bargain, then, betwixt
the three of us?’

Tafferty sat up. ‘Oh?’

‘Ye
help me, an’ in return Miss Isabel will agree t’ pay due an’ proper
attention t’ the witchy trainin’ ye’re so eager t’ give her. How’s
that?’

‘Tis
but half of a bargain,’ Tafferty said promptly. ‘Isabel has t’ get
somethin’ out o’ the deal, or ‘tis hardly fair.’

‘Why,
she wins a friend!’ replied the Ferryman, indicating with a bow
that he meant himself. ‘An’ a truer-hearted friend she is scarce
like t’ find anywhere. Besides which, she learns t’ be a most
excellent witch, which may be o’ great use t’ her in
future.’

Tafferty looked inquiringly up at Isabel. ‘Thou art mighty
quiet up there, Miss. What dost thou think o’ this?’

Isabel had indeed been quiet, for she had failed to fully
understand half of what had lately passed. Oath-bound, and in
blood? Compelled to act? But the Ferryman should have mentioned
that; why had he not? Did he truly take so much blame upon himself,
in spite of so undeniable a defence? Her heart only warmed towards
him more on account of it, which she knew to be absurd, but so it
was.

The
bargain he proposed had come when she was only halfway through this
onslaught of reflections and ideas, and for an instant she merely
stared at Tafferty as her brain worked to catch up. ‘Of course I
agree,’ she said at last. ‘I should agree whether there were no
reward in the case at all! How could I think of
refusing?’

The
Ferryman smiled at her. ‘Somehow, I had a thinkin’ ye would say
that.’

Isabel sighed inwardly, remembering her futile attempts to
compel a strawberry to resemble a raspberry. Still, it was only
effort that was required, and that she could freely give in
exchange for a man’s freedom.

‘Makin’ a note t’ me own, fine self,’ Tafferty growled. ‘If I
wishes Miss Isabel t’ do sommat o’ use in the future, all I need do
is bribe her wi’ the prospect o’ doin’ a good turn. Then she turns
sweet an’ tractable as a lamb.’

Isabel began upon an embarrassed, half-indignant response,
but Tafferty touched her nose to Isabel’s skirt in a gesture which
seemed forgiving, even a little affectionate, and she allowed her
words to die away.

‘The
answer to the Keeper’s question,’ Tafferty continued, ‘is
Celadon.’

Grunewald folded his arms and stared at the catterdandy. ‘And
how do you know that?’ he enquired.

‘Thou
wert under the impression I was lyin’ through my shiny-sharp teeth,
eh?’ said Tafferty in response, glaring up at the Goblin King with
her tail lashing. ‘Missy will test my knowledge any moment, an’
prove it sound enough.’

‘That
does not precisely answer my question,’ said Grunewald, his bright
green eyes glinting.

Tafferty merely sniffed and looked up at Isabel. ‘Wilt thou
stand an’ stare all day, or get on wi’ the business?’

Isabel looked at the Ferryman. ‘I may be able to return with
your name, soon,’ she said. ‘So I hope! But I do not know how long
it may take to find it in such a library. Will you
wait?’

The
Ferryman seated himself inside his boat, and touched his hat to
her. ‘Aye, I’ll wait. Provided I am not summoned away while ye are
busy.’

‘You
cannot ignore a summons?’

‘Never. ‘Tis a compulsion, an’ I must obey it. But as I’m
thinkin’ I mentioned before, ‘tis rare t’ receive a summons,
nowadays.’

‘I
shall make haste,’ Isabel said, and with a curtsey, turned back to
the palace.

A few
minutes later, she once again entered the Chronicler’s Tower. The
Keeper had faded away; she summoned him once more with a palm to
the glyph, and said without delay: ‘The answer is Celadon,
sir.’

The
dragon smiled toothily at her. ‘A resourceful English miss, and
very quick work! Do you know why the answer is Celadon?’

‘Why…
no, I’m afraid I do not,’ Isabel faltered. ‘Oh, dear. Was that part
of the test as well?’

‘No,
you have passed the test!’ said the Keeper enthusiastically. ‘But
it is all very interesting! You see, Greyling is so-called because
it is a colourless place; not in Aylfenhame, precisely, but
Otherwhere. Seven colonies of faeflies live there — one for each of
the Seven Shades, you understand. They are usually in hibernation,
but one colony is woken from time to time in order that they might
spin the finest and fairest of fibres for the Queen’s gowns. Beings
of purest magic, these! When their task is done they drift away,
far and far, and their wings turn in hues related to
the—’

‘My
good fellow,’ came Grunewald’s voice from behind Isabel. ‘As
interesting as all of this is, I believe the lady is in something
of a hurry.’

Isabel resisted
an urge to thank the Goblin King, for a sense of urgency was
gnawing at her, but she did not like to interrupt the
Keeper.

With
good reason, for the Keeper swelled with disgust at Grunewald’s
words, and rose higher into the air. ‘This is why you will never be
permitted inside!’ he said, his misty coils quivering with
anger.

‘Because I am impatient? Yes, yes. I dare say I shall go on
living without the scintillating experience of an hour spent
perusing your dusty scrolls. But do let the lady pass.’

The
Keeper scowled upon Isabel, and huffed cloudily. Without uttering
another word, the mist-dragon rushed at Isabel, engulfing her in a
foggy haze, and an instant later she was elsewhere. The chamber
resembled the Keeper’s room, only it was much larger. The round
walls went up and up, and the ceiling seemed impossibly distant.
Those walls were lined with shelves, each containing a neat row of
scrolls tied with ribbon. There were no ladders that Isabel could
see; no way at all of reaching the upper shelves, in
fact.

‘Now,
then,’ said the Keeper crisply, in a tone markedly less friendly
than before. ‘You will want History, Fourth Era. Third shelf,
Saffron.’ The dragon sailed airily upwards towards a shelf of
scrolls tied with saffron-coloured ribbons, which intrigued Isabel;
shades and hues was an odd way to organise a library. She received
the impression that colours were of some degree of importance to
the royal family of Aylfenhame, though she could not conceive of
how or why.