Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (8 page)

‘An’
ye were reluctant t’ trade the delights of England fer the stiflin’
mundanity of Aylfenhame,’ said he wisely, with an affirmative nod.
‘Tis natural enough.’

‘No,
indeed!’ Isabel protested. ‘It is only that—’ She stopped,
uncertain. It was absurd to imagine that this Aylir would feel in
the smallest degree interested in her turmoil. ‘You have not told
me your name,’ she said instead. ‘May I know whom I am
addressing?’

‘Ye
are addressin’ the Ferryman,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘Tis the
only name ye need know.’

Isabel nodded, a little stung by the rebuff. After a moment,
she asked: ‘Are we among the clouds?’

The
Ferryman laughed at that. ‘Not nearly so high. What ye’re seein’ is
but mist, not clouds. We are somewhere In Between.’

He
spoke the latter two words with a peculiar emphasis, which aroused
Isabel’s curiosity. ‘In Between?’ she repeated.

‘Betwixt my world an’ yours. We will be sailin’ that road a
while yet, so I hope ye are comfortable.’

Isabel was very comfortable, somewhat to her own surprise.
The air was cool, but not cold; a pleasure after the summer heat
she had left behind below. The wind was mild, the light moderate.
Her only discomfort came from within, for the gnawing sensation of
doubt had not left her. What madness had seized her, to send her
sailing away from everything she knew in pursuit of an unfathomable
adventure? She would be outright petrified, were it not for the
promise of Sophy’s guidance once she reached Aylfenhame.

A
sudden stab of trepidation led her to ask, ‘Where are we to
alight?’ If she was to be deposited at some unknown ferry-point in
the Aylir world, how was she to find her way to Grenlowe, and
Sophy? Would Tafferty’s guidance be sufficient? Would they be
obliged to travel a long way?

The
Ferryman grinned. ‘Fear not, for ye are to be set down in the town
o’ Grenlowe, an’ with all the care I might bestow upon some tender,
newborn thing.’

‘Oh.’
Isabel considered that.

‘Someone ‘as paid a great deal fer it,’ he added, tossing up
his hat once more before settling it back on his head. ‘Ye are a
woman o’ privilege.’

Paid?
To her shame, it had not occurred to Isabel that passage between
England and Grenlowe most likely incurred a fee. But it had been
paid already. By whom? Her aunt? What manner of currency might the
Ferryman require for his services? She had no notion, and felt too
much embarrassment to ask.

‘Whither in Grenlowe are ye bound?’ he said.

‘I am
to visit a friend, Miss Landon,’ said Isabel. Then she stopped,
frowning. ‘At least, Miss Landon is what she was called, in
England. She has married since, after the fashion of your kind, and
I do not know how she is now addressed.’

‘Married an Aylir, did she?’ said the Ferryman, one of his
dark brows lifting. ‘Uncommon.’

‘Is
it?’ faltered Isabel, conscious of her own ignorance. ‘Perhaps it
is. It came about in a strange way.’

That
grin flashed again, and Isabel once more received the impression
that he was laughing at her. ‘Such an oddity could hardly come
about in any normal kind o’ way,’ he said. ‘In point o’ fact, I
cannot remember it ever happenin’ before. To my knowledge, that
is.’

Isabel’s thoughts flew to the Aylir ancestor her aunt had
spoken of. ‘Sometimes it happens the other way around, I think?’
she ventured.

His
brows snapped down. ‘Ye mean an Aylir marryin’ one o’ your kind,
an’ settlin’ in your world. I’ve heard o’ such a time or two, but
it’s no common thing either.’ For a moment his thoughts seemed
turned inwards, as though he had forgotten her presence entirely.
Then his attention shifted to focus upon her, and his gaze grew
intent. ‘I see,’ he said.

‘You
see… what?’ Isabel said, self-conscious under his
scrutiny.

‘What
it is about ye that had me wonderin’.’ The twinkle was back in his
eyes. ‘Human — an’ yet not, entirely. There’s a flicker o’
somethin’ else there.’

Isabel nodded. ‘That is why I am bound for Grenlowe,’ she
said. ‘Sophy — Miss Landon, I mean — will assist me.’

‘Ye
just take some care,’ he said warningly. ‘A little flower like
yerself? Ye’ll attract a deal of attention in Grenlowe. Tis good
fortune that ye’ve a friend t’ go to.’

These
words disturbed Isabel. She had expected to feel disoriented, out
of place, and confused, but it had not occurred to her that she
might attract any particular attention — nor that such attention
might prove dangerous.

Her
trepidation perhaps showed upon her face, for he added, ‘Ye will be
safe enough.’ He nodded to Tafferty, who still sat upright and
alert with her back to Isabel. ‘Ye’ve the right sort o’ guide in
yon catterdandy there.’

‘Catterdandy?’ repeated Isabel. Tafferty twitched, and her
tail lashed once.

The
Ferryman grinned widely. ‘Tis what some call the likes o’ yer
friend there.’

‘I do
not think Tafferty appreciates the name,’ Isabel said with a smile.
‘But I find it charming.’

Tafferty growled something inaudible, and the Ferryman
laughed. ‘I beg yer pardon, Tafferty-tail,’ he said.

Tafferty
sniffed.

‘We
‘ave a ways t’ go, yet,’ said the Ferryman. ‘An’ I like a tale.
Tell me what manner o’ circumstance could bring yer friend t’
Grenlowe.’

Isabel told him of Sophy’s predicament as the only daughter
of a poor clergyman, and the lack of prospects which had
overshadowed her life. With Balligumph’s help, she had wandered
into Aylfenhame — to Grenlowe — and there met Aubranael, an Aylir
as lonely and beset with troubles as Sophy had been herself. Their
story had been unusual, for the involvement of a witch, a brownie
and the Goblin King had complicated matters considerably. At
length, Sophy had settled in Grenlowe and opened the shop,
Silverling, wherein she stitched and sold wondrous creations of her
own designing. Such an enterprise would have lowered her standing
to an intolerable degree, had it been undertaken in England. In
Grenlowe, her creativity exalted her.

Isabel was proud of her friend’s success, and awed by her
bravery. But she remained silent on the topic of one of Sophy’s
exploits: Lihyaen, princess of Aylfenhame, had been extricated from
a grievous curse and now resided in Grenlowe under Sophy and
Aubranael’s protection. The princess had been presumed dead for
many years, and her survival was a secret. Isabel had no intention
of sharing it with this stranger.

His
eyes, though, bored into hers with an intentness which she found
disturbing. ‘I ‘ave rarely come across such strange tales,’ he said
slowly. ‘An’ I think ye ‘ave told only some of it.’

‘There is more,’ admitted Isabel. ‘But it is not all mine to
tell.’

The
Ferryman inclined his head at that and looked away, over the prow
of the boat into the dense mist which still obscured everything
that lay beyond its confines. Colours had begun to drift into the
white expanse: the pale blue of summer skies, the golden-yellow of
sunlight, and soft pink like the wild roses which grew near
Ferndeane. Isabel watched the ebb and flow of these gentle hues for
some minutes, expecting the Ferryman to make some further remark as
to her tale. But he did not. At length she said: ‘Is it really so
strange, for an Aylir to marry an Englishwoman? You speak of it as
very far out of the common way, but to me it does not seem so very
unlikely.’

The
Ferryman blinked, as though he had been so lost in reverie as to
forget her presence — again. His head turned and he regarded her
impassively. ‘Ye are curious,’ he said.

Isabel bowed her head. ‘Forgive me, if I was
rude.’

‘Rude, no,’ he said in a livelier tone. ‘Not that. Ye ‘ave
told me a fine tale, ‘tis fair that I should tell ye somethin’ in
return. Listen, then.’ He took off his hat again, and threw it
upwards. It did not sail away into the mists to be lost forever, as
Isabel had expected. Instead it began to float, drifting dreamily
upon the soft currents of air. The Ferryman rested his head against
the side of the boat, face tipped up to watch the strange progress
of his hat.

‘Once,’ he began, ‘far back in the mists o’ time — ye know how
this part goes in a tale — there was freer passage betwixt an’
between yer own world an’ mine. Such marriages as ye describe were
not so uncommon, in those days. Many folk travelled back an’ forth,
an’ there were many ways t’ make the crossin’. This ferry was but
one o’ many, sailin’ travellers from England an’ Scotland an’ the
rest into Aylfenhame.

‘Some
folk, though, are never ‘appy with what they ‘ave. Ye’ll ‘ave
noticed that fer yer own self, I’ll wager. An’ one such was a lanky
type, name o’… well in fact, no one alive remembers what ‘is true
name was. We remember ‘im as Kostigern, which means somethin’ like
traitor in an old tongue. Betrayer. Ye get the idea.

‘Naught would do fer this paragon o’ virtue but t’ reign over
every last bit of Aylfenhame. Ye’ll recognise that well enough; yer
own world’s ‘ad its share o’ such fine folk, ‘as it
not?’

Thinking of Bonaparte, Isabel nodded her assent to this
point.

‘I
won’t bore ye with all the long, long tale. ‘Tis sufficient to tell
ye that Kostigern was overthrown an’ destroyed. Some say he came
out o’ your world, an’ perhaps that’s why the borders between our
two lands were closed. Whatever the reason fer that, they were
closed, an’ most o’ the routes between were closed likewise. Now,
gates only open on the solstices, an’ ‘tis said there is but one
ferry left. Ye’re on it.’

The
Ferryman paused, eyes upon Isabel, expression considering. She
coloured, and looked away. His close scrutiny made her
uncomfortable, and she could not account for it. None of his
thoughts were ever visible to her.

‘I do
understand the difficulty of travel,’ Isabel offered. ‘Sophy
departed for Grenlowe a year ago, or more, and I have been able to
visit her but rarely in that time.’ Her parents’ disapprobation for
the idea had also been an obstacle, but there could be no cause to
mention that. ‘I do not ever remember hearing of a
ferry.’

‘There’s sense enough in that, on account o’ there not bein’
one.’

Isabel blinked. ‘I cannot understand you.’

‘Many
long years ‘ave passed since that time, an’ travel ‘as only become
more difficult. Well, in Aylfenhame, those things which nobody
wants or needs can… fade. An’ that’s what ‘appened to the
ferry.’

He
said this with an air of finality, as though it concluded the tale.
Isabel frowned, questions awhirl in her mind. ‘The ferry was gone?’
she said.

He
nodded. ‘Fer many years.’

‘Why
has it returned?’

The
Ferryman shrugged. ‘Somethin’… called me back. An’ before ye ask, I
‘ave no notion as t’ what that was. I found meself awake, I resumed
my duty, an’ that is that. Though near as I can tell, of the lot of
us remainin’ ‘tis jest me that’s awoken. Mayhap that will
change.’

‘Us?’

He
nodded once. ‘The ferries all ‘ad a guide. More than a navigator —
their souls an’ will were bound up with the boats. ‘Tis powerful
magic t’ bring such a thing from one world t’another, on any day o’
the year, an’ at any time. ‘Tis a voluntary post.’ His mouth
twisted and he added, ‘Most of the time.’

‘You
are the last Ferry-guide, then?’

‘I
believe I am, but I cannot be certain.’

‘But
where were you, when the ferry was lost?’

‘Don’t ask me where I was, for I know naught of it. I only
know I woke as from a long slumber, an’ there I was, ferry an’ all,
an’ with passengers t’ convey. An’ off we went again.’ He ran a
hand gently over the boat’s silvery, misty wood and smiled. ‘She is
called Mirisane, if ye were wonderin’.’

‘She
is beautiful,’ said Isabel sincerely.

He
nodded, but said nothing.

A
thought flashed through Isabel’s mind, and she sat up straighter.
‘Passengers! Was this many days ago?’

The
Ferryman raised one black brow. ‘Not so very many as all that, I
reckon, no. Why do ye ask?’

‘Was
there a piper?’

‘There was.’

‘And
a fiddler, and other musicians besides? And ladies dressed very
fine.’

‘All
those, an’ more,’ said the Ferryman with a nod. ‘Mirisane ‘as
scarcely ever carried such a deal o’ people in one go. ‘Twas into
England I took ‘em.’ He cocked his head at Isabel. ‘Happen ye saw
‘em there?’

‘I
did. They attended an assembly in Alford, and…’ she hesitated. ‘It
was very strange. They played music and danced, and — and it was
like nothing we had ever seen or heard before. Did they say why
they came?’

‘Nay,’ said the Ferryman. ‘But ‘tis not the custom o’ most
folk t’ talk to me. I am but a lowly Ferryman, an’ the
circumstances of my bein’ here are such as to discourage most folk
from makin’ the attempt.’ He grinned at her. ‘Tis why I am enjoyin’
yer presence. Ye’re a different sort.’

Isabel frowned. ‘But what circumstances could produce such an
unpleasant, and unkind, result? How is it that you came to be a
Ferryman? And the last of them, too!’