‘I went back,’ said Tiltager. ‘They did not see Small Me! And I heard. And then I came back.’
‘She knew not where to find ye, but she found me quick enough.’ Balligumph’s face was unusually grim as he spoke, with no trace of his amiable smile. ‘Ye’ve still time to catch up wi’ them, if ye can be fast.’
‘I am coming this moment,’ said Isabel at once.
‘And I shall also go,’ said Eliza. She came up beside Isabel, and together they all but ran from the room and out of the front door of Ferndeane. None tried to impede them, and their progress was as rapid even as Isabel could wish. She was aware, however, that more than a few of the ball guests followed along behind.
It was only once she was outside in the driveway that she realised she did not have her reticule with her. She was obliged to turn about, but the crowd had closed in behind her. ‘Pray excuse me!’ she cried, exasperated and half-despairing.
‘MOVE yerselves out o’ the way, my fine ladies an’ gents,’ hollered Balligumph. ‘Tis a matter o’ grave importance to the young lady! There we go! Very good, now.’ The mighty troll did not stop at words; he used his great arms and hands to push people aside, gently but firmly, in order to clear a path. Isabel instantly took advantage of it, caring nothing either for the grumbles of discontent or the excited speculation that she heard taking place among those she passed. She darted upstairs to her bedroom, where she snatched up her reticule. Abandoning propriety and dignity both, she picked up her skirts in her hands, drawing them out of the way of her feet, and ran downstairs.
‘Here,’ she said, breathless, as she reached the driveway once more. She took the little whistle from her reticule, thrusting the latter heedlessly at Eliza, and blew a quick, sharp blast upon it.
‘Oh, dear. I hope he is not far away!’ She could only wait and pace and hope as the moments passed, expecting any second to see some sign that the Ferryman approached, and fearing that he could not arrive in time.
But there. The light of a lantern blossomed in the sky and swiftly drew closer. She felt a familiar rush of wind as the boat approached, though she could see little of it in the dark night sky.
‘Ferryman!’ she cried as soon as she judged the vessel had drawn close enough. ‘I beg you, make haste!’
‘I am here,’ he replied, though his voice was still a little distant. Then the boat landed. A great, shining lantern hung at its prow, illuminating the Ferryman’s tall figure standing beneath the main sail. He stood still for a moment, and Isabel realised he was startled. And well he might be! For she stood in her evening finery with Eliza at hand, Balligumph nearby and a host of ball attendees at her back, all of whom must inevitably be staring at him.
He soon recovered himself. ‘Up, then, an’ fast,’ he said. A gangplank came down and Isabel hastened up it, accepting the Ferryman’s hand and assistance as soon as she was close enough to do so. Eliza followed directly behind, carrying Tiltager, and with Tafferty close on her heels.
Some few of the assembled ball-guests surged forward, and Isabel realised the more curious among them intended to follow her. ‘Do not let any others embark!’ Isabel cautioned.
The Ferryman smiled down upon his audience, and quickly withdrew the gangplank. The boat rose up at the same instant, and at speed. The crowd of people below rapidly dwindled into miniature as Isabel soared upwards, a high summer wind whipping at her hair. She was left with an impression of Mr. Thompson’s face as he watched his hoped-for bride vanish into the night skies, and then an influx of cloaking mists obscured everything below.
‘Where is it that we’re goin’?’ said the Ferryman.
Isabel explained, as best she could, but it fell to Tiltager to recount the tale in more detail. Isabel was relieved to find that she was able to do so, as the little fae’s communications could sometimes lack clarity.
‘But if you did not take Lyrriant’s folk into Aylfenhame, how came they there?’ she thought to ask.
‘I did take them,’ the Ferryman replied. ‘And now I will take ye all t’ exactly the point where I left ‘em.’
‘Oh! That is very convenient, to be sure. You arrived so promptly that I thought you could not have also conveyed them.’
The Ferryman looked, remarkably, a little embarrassed. ‘Aye, well. I ‘ave been in the habit of stayin’ in yer vicinity, fer the most part. I was already on my way back t’ the environs o’ Tilby when I heard yer call.’
Isabel could find no words to frame the questions aroused by this remark, but her face must have spoken for her, for he added, ‘In case ye should need me fer somethin’.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, which was inadequate, but she had not time for more.
‘Ye’d best hang on,’ he said. ‘Time bein’ a little short, we are goin’ to speed up more’n a little.’
Isabel quickly sat down and tucked herself against the side of the boat, gripping her seat as best she could. And not an instant too soon, for the boat surged forward, and the circling winds strengthened accordingly. She clung to her perch as the howling currents tore at the bindings of her hair, amazed and a little sickened by the unaccustomed sensation of violent speed. Abruptly the alarming pace slackened, and the boat began to descend.
‘An’ we are here. Not far from Mirramay, ye’ll be interested t’ know.’ He looked at Isabel, his brow darkening with a frown. ‘I don’t strictly like the notion o’ ye fine ladies dashin’ into such a place on my account, an’ wi’ naught but a leafling an’ a catterdandy t’ attend ye.’
‘There is no time for such qualms, sir!’ Isabel cried. ‘The attempt must be made, or I fear you will never be set at liberty.’
‘Ye put me in a difficult quandry.’
‘Not at all, for it is not your decision to make.’
He bowed his head at that. The boat settled onto solid land, and the gangplank materialised. Eliza hastened to disembark at once, but the Ferryman briefly detained Isabel. ‘If ye’re in luck, ye should find Sir Guntifer somewhere below. He ‘as been standin’ watch around Mirramay these past several days, an’ the instant I dropped that likely lot below I sent fer ‘im. Seemed t’ me that someone should be keepin’ an eye on them.’ The moment he had completed this speech, he lifted a small bone-wrought horn to his lips and blew upon it.
‘Ho, the Ferryman!’ came Sir Guntifer’s great voice from below.
‘An’ now I need not worry so much for ye ladies,’ said the Ferryman with a smile.
Isabel did not wait for more. She followed her friends down the gangplank to the ground below, unsure what she would encounter when she arrived there. The ferry-boat’s lantern illuminated a patch of open grassland, at the edges of which she detected the dark, looming shadows suggestive of trees.
One of those shadows stepped forward, and bowed to her. ‘Gentle lady, an it please thee, I will serve as thy guide.’
‘I would be honoured, Sir Guntifer.’ Isabel curtseyed in return, hoping privately that the exchange of courtesies would not be excessively drawn out.
‘Then let us away,’ said the tree-giant, pausing only to bow to Eliza before he turned. ‘I know well wither they have gone,’ he said grimly, as he shed the bark of his tree shape and became a giant complete. ‘Friends aloft have marked their passage well.’
Isabel did not immediately reply, for a strange — but not unfamiliar — sensation afflicted her at that instant. She felt, in some obscure fashion, that the close attention of some hidden being lay heavily upon her; that she was observed by someone, or something, that she could not see. She had felt it before, after her encounter with the trows as she had travelled to Mirramay with Sophy. She looked about, but in the darkness she could detect nothing that might explain the feeling.
She had not time to dwell upon it, for her errand was too urgent. She must trust to Sir Guntifer’s care to keep her safe, if indeed a menace lurked in the shadows. ‘Can he have dwelt so close to Mirramay?’ Isabel asked, as she hastened to keep pace with the giant.
�
��It is strange indeed, but it doth appear so. Where better, in sooth, to prey upon Their Majesties than from close by? If a man hath the nerve for such effrontery, and such risk, then much may be won by it.’
Isabel was doubtful, not least because it did not appear possible to her that the Kostigern’s dwelling-place could have been so well-hidden if it lay within such a short distance of Mirramay. She did not know how far from that city they were, precisely, for everything seemed strange to her in the dark; she did not even know if she had passed this way before. They arrived at a road, and followed it for a few scant minutes. An occasional lantern hung by the wayside, casting a bright light over the road, but everything upon either side of it remained shrouded in darkness.
Sir Guntifer swerved abruptly left, and Isabel hurried to follow. A narrow path led away from the main thoroughfare and into a small wood. They left the lights of the road-lanterns behind, and for a few suffocating moments all was darkness. But Sir Guntifer whistled a lively little melody, and motes of golden light began to wink into being over her head. Fireflies, she realised.
Their aid was not long required, for soon the silence of the wood was broken by the sounds of raised voices coming from somewhere up ahead. Lights bobbed among the trees, growing larger and brighter as Isabel drew nearer. They came from lamps held in Ayliri hands, she soon realised, as she discerned the shadowy figures of tall, graceful forms darting amongst the trees ahead.
Then a stronger light blazed into being; not white and clear like the lanterns, but fierce and orange.
Fire.
‘We are too late!’ she cried in dismay.
‘Stay a moment,’ cautioned Sir Guntifer, as they came to the edge of a clearing amongst the trees. Isabel could barely make out the looming shape of a house up ahead. She could discern little of its details in the darkness, but it did not appear to her that it was a dwelling much out of the ordinary. It was not especially large, and perhaps only three storeys high. It bore an air of neglect, but it was neither an interesting ruin nor a building of unusual character. This, then, was how the Kostigern had contrived to live within such easy reach of the Royal City: He had hidden himself in ordinariness.
The orange light of the fire shone through one of the windows upon the ground floor. As Isabel watched, the fire spread; soon two, and then three and four windows blazed with the fierce light.
She was seized by a sudden wild urge to run forward; to find a way into those parts of the building left unburned, and somehow wrest from it the secret of the Ferryman’s name. But she was not so mad. She did not require the restraining influence of her aunt’s hand laid upon her arm.
‘It is a great pity, indeed,’ said Eliza, ‘but you must not endanger yourself! The Ferryman could not wish it of you.’
Isabel could not answer. Her own helplessness choked her, and a sense of despair robbed her of words. She had no other means of determining his name. Every endeavour had failed, and where could she now turn? She felt a surge of anger at Lyrriant and all his folk, they who flitted here and there in the night, burning away the last hope she had of setting her friend at liberty.
Then Lyrriant appeared out of the darkness. His hair was a wild mess, and his face was smudged with something that could have been soot. ‘You need not have come,’ he said. His tone lacked warmth, though it also lacked the anger Isabel might have expected him to feel upon finding her there. ‘I have searched this foul place. No trace of the name you seek did I find.’
‘Did you?’ Isabel demanded. She did not know that she could trust him to search at all, or to search thoroughly if he had. What, after all, was the Ferryman’s fate to him?
‘I did,’ he said, a hint of ice creeping into his tone. ‘I have no love for the Ferryman, but nor do I bear him any ill-will. If his name had been here, I would have discovered it.’ He did not pause to hear her reply, but melted away into the night.
Tears pricked at Isabel’s eyes. The Ferryman’s manner had been calm enough, but she did not think she had imagined the sense of contained excitement — and hope — that she had sensed from him. Now she must return to him with the news that she had once again failed.
Then the sensation of close scrutiny deepened, and she knew she was watched indeed — she had not imagined it. A presence materialised at her back, so silently that she had heard no one approach. A voice whispered in her ear, or perhaps in her mind. I admire your perseverance, my lady.
Isabel whirled around, and saw no one. ‘Who is that?’ she demanded.
She was answered by a soft chuckle. I have been watching you.
Isabel’s skin prickled, and her heart beat faster. Someone had been following her? ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
I know the name you seek.
She took two seconds to absorb that statement, her heart beating quicker still with excitement and hope — and fear. ‘I do not know who you are,’ she said warily. ‘But if you can help me, I beg that you will.’
Why should I do so?
Eliza was staring at her, as was Sir Guntifer. Could they, then, not hear the words that sounded so clearly in Isabel’s ears? She had not time to explain. ‘Oh, because the Ferryman’s fate is so cruel!’ she said desperately. ‘Any who know him must know that he suffers unfairly! And he has suffered long indeed!’
Are you so certain that he has not merited his punishment?
‘Yes,’ said Isabel, without an instant’s hesitation. ‘I am certain of it. And I will not rest until I have freed him.’
Silence, stretching so long that Isabel began to fear that the presence, whoever it was, had gone away. Her heart pounded so hard, she feared it might break within her.
There must be some payment.
‘Yes!’ Isabel said, willing to grasp at anything so long as she received the information she sought. ‘Payment will be made, in any form that you could wish.’
I will require a favour in return, said the voice. Do you promise it, when I should come to claim it?
‘I promise it!’
A name was whispered to her. It was a long name, and ornate, but she felt that it fitted the Ferryman somehow.
Then the presence was gone.
‘Isa? What is it?’
Isabel realised that Eliza had been attempting to gain her attention for some time.
‘I do not know how it has come about,’ said Isabel slowly, ‘but I have the name.’
The Ferryman waited in the moonlit glade where he had deposited them so short a time before. The boat had not quite come to rest upon the ground; its hull, shrouded in roiling mist, floated some few feet above the grass. The light of its lanterns illuminated the figure of the Ferryman, pacing about beneath the grand sail.
He looked up as they approached, his eyes skimming over Eliza, Sir Guntifer, Tafferty and Tiltager before coming to rest upon Isabel herself. She read a painful degree of hope in the imploring look he gave her, and her heart twisted.
The gangplank came down, and Isabel went up it at once. ‘I have your name,’ she said, hoping that she spoke truly. For the possibility that her unnamed and unknowable source had lied was prominent in her mind. To first raise the Ferryman’s hopes and then dash them would be far crueller, she felt, than if she had never endeavoured to help him at all.
Worse, she had promised her aid to the mysterious presence, whose identity and purpose she could only guess at — and her guesses were dark indeed. If the information she had gained was sufficient to free the Ferryman, then it was worth it; she felt that instinctively.
But if not…
The Ferryman seized her hands and kissed each one in turn. ‘Ye miraculous thing,’ he said fervently. He took a deep breath, his fingers tightening on hers to an almost painful degree. ‘Let’s ‘ave it, then.’
Isabel drew in a deep breath, too, momentarily afraid to speak the name in case it proved to be the wrong one. ‘You are Talthimandar.’
She waited, watching for some sign that the curse had been dispelled — a sound of some kind, a cha
nge in the air, anything. But nothing happened.
The Ferryman stared back at her with stark fear in his eyes. ‘Did it work?’ he whispered. ‘I cannot tell. I feel… I feel the same.’
Isabel’s apprehension turned into heart-pounding panic. ‘Oh, no. Do you not recognise it? I am so sorry.’ She walked up and down a little, trying to breathe slowly. Perhaps she had misheard the name? It had been whispered to her in the midst of a great deal of noise and activity. She concentrated, trying to remember more clearly the precise contours of the name as it had reached her ears.
‘It is not familiar t' me,’ said the Ferryman in frustration. But his eye fell upon the gangplank, still let down to the grass below, and in a sudden motion which startled Isabel he leapt for it. ‘Only one way t’ be sure,’ he said grimly, as he strode down to the ground. ‘In the ordinary way o’ things, I cannot step more’n nine paces from the boat. I ‘ave tried, many times.’ He began to walk, watched by Isabel from the boat above him and Eliza, Sir Guntifer, Tafferty and Tiltager from below. He counted each step out loud as he walked, and Isabel could tell from his posture and the high carriage of his head that he held himself under strict control. ‘Eight…’ he said loudly, and then more quietly, ‘Nine.’ He paused, took a breath, and then extended his leg for a tenth step. His outstretched foot came down into the grass, and the other followed. ‘Ten.’
He stood, rigid with surprise. Then he took another step. ‘Eleven.’ He took three more, then began to run. All of Isabel’s fear left her in an instant, and she laughed with delight and relief as she watched Talthimandar run with wild abandon far away from the ferry-boat Mirisane.
He turned at last and began to run back. He tore off his three-cornered hat and threw it high; it did not float, but flew up and then came down in a rush. Talthimandar left it lying in the grass. He threw himself onto his hands and flew about in a circle, landing neatly upon his feet once more. This manoeuvre he repeated over and over again until at last he fell in a heap in the grass, and lay there laughing.
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman Page 26