Bessie Bell and the Goblin King

by Charlotte E. English

  This development caused no small degree of alarm in the majority of the dancers, but Bessie observed with satisfaction and anticipation. Unceremonious, she elbowed and pushed her way through the chattering throng until she stood with a clear view of the frosted lawn.

  Pale eyes glowed amidst the fog, and within moments, Bessie’s straining ears picked up the sounds of oncoming hoof beats. Something dark and mist-ridden approached at a thunderous gallop.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘My brother,’ hissed Rasgha.

  ‘Grunewald,’ Bessie agreed, unable to restrain the smile which overtook her features at the prospect of his near arrival. Now they would see some fun. The show would begin in earnest.

  Rasgha clutched at her arm. ‘Do not desert me, Bess!’

  Bessie shook her head. ‘I told you. As long as you and he are at odds, we cannot be friends.’

  The storm-wrought hide of Tatterfoal emerged from the mists, darker even than the night, and triumphant upon his back rode the Goblin King. He was a terrible figure, tall and shadowed upon a steed of nightmares, his hair wind-tossed and his leaf-eyes blazing fury. He rode his reclaimed steed to within a mere few paces of the crowd – the dancers knotted together now in fear – and halted. He did not dismount.

  He spoke, and though his whole posture spoke of a boundless anger, his tone was icily polite. ‘My dear sister,’ he said. ‘I would like you to return my house, my friends, and my Bess. Instantly, and without the smallest delay.’ He paused, and added, ‘Not necessarily in that order.’

  Rasgha folded her arms, and she seemed somehow to swell in size and menace – though she was forced to look a long way up, to meet her brother’s gaze. ‘Your fortress is now mine,’ she said. ‘And I stand here amidst my friends, as well as yours. What is to persuade me to depart?’

  Grunewald merely smiled, his eyes glinting like green ice. He said nothing, and Bessie was left in momentary confusion.

  But not for long, for there came a stirring in the mists around him, and dark things crept to the fore. They were shadowy and insubstantial; some umbrous and benighted, others as pallid as the moon and the cloaking mists. The distant winds carried the sounds of their fellows on the approach: the howling of ethereal hounds, borne rapidly upon eager currents to their sovereign’s side. One great, menacing hound approached Bessie and sniffed at her skirts, its eyes shining as cold and pale as Tatterfoal’s. The ethereal goblin upon its back saluted Bessie with his insubstantial spear, and she promptly returned the gesture. She wanted to go at once to Grunewald, but to do so would bid fair to ruin the imposing tableau he had gone to significant trouble to arrange. Recognising the sheer artistry of his entrance and unwilling to mar its perfection, she remained where she was.

  The assembled guests did not respond to this development with equanimity. Gladly would they welcome the interference of Aylfenhame, if it brought them all the delights of music and dancing and beauty. But the vanishing of the wall was quite another thing; it prompted a ripple of unease, and many dancers began to feel that they had danced long enough.

  With the appearance of a second Grunewald, looking as bleak and terrible as death itself and mounted upon a nightmare, unease gave way to fear. When the Goblin Hunt rode in upon their ghost-hounds – armed, incorporeal and displaying all the menace of a dark, wintry anger – the ball guests broke and ran, almost as one. Bessie stood her ground, uninterested in the fate of such easily disturbed souls. Within a very few minutes, scarcely any remained of the hundreds of guests; Bessie noticed that the Aylfendeanes, Sophy and Aubranael, and Mrs. Grey lingered. And, more to her surprise, Lady Thayer. A few clusters of the braver, or more curious, remained also.

  ‘The Hunt recognises their King,’ said Grunewald in a terrible voice. ‘Even if you do not.’

  ‘Their king!’ echoed one of the remaining guests. ‘Here, what’s this, Green? The greatest nonsense!’

  This was ignored. ‘You refer to my merely borrowing your pony!’ retorted Rasgha. ‘How ungenerous! Is it not to be expected, that siblings share between them whatever is their own?’

  ‘I cannot be imagined to know,’ said Grunewald, in a dry tone much more recognisable as his own. ‘I never had any before this week.’

  ‘No more did I, and for that I may thank our dearest father.’ She spat the last word with withering contempt. ‘And you as well, brother mine.’

  Grunewald’s brows rose. ‘Do, pray, be clear, or we will make but a poor show for our gathered audience. For what are you thanking me?’

  ‘For the outcast status I have enjoyed since the moment of my birth! It did not suit the prince any more than it did the king, I suppose, to acknowledge a family connection born of a mere human pauper? No noble lineage to render that liaison respectable!’

  And Bessie felt, with sudden enlightenment, that she ought previously to have guessed one or two things about Rasgha.

  You are the only person in this house with whom I bear any real kinship.

  You alone can understand.

  Those words of Rasgha’s, spoken only a short time ago! They made sense now, as they had not before, and all of the fetch’s interest in Bessie which had yet remained unexplained now became clear to her. Grunewald had been wrong to imagine that his father's dalliance had been with a woman of high birth. Rasgha's mother had been as poor as Bessie! If Rasgha believed that her family had cast her off out of shame at her mother’s low status, how much it must have intrigued and plagued her to see that same brother keeping company with Bess!

  Grunewald’s comprehension could not, it seemed, keep pace with Bessie’s, for he made a fine picture of confusion atop his fearsome steed. ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘Do not pretend to misunderstand me.’ Rasgha, all wounded dignity and self-righteous outrage, stood her ground against Grunewald’s bewilderment, her anger undiminished.

  Grunewald merely blinked at her, befuddled. ‘I have not the pleasure of understanding you,’ he said, and it seemed that his confusion had dissipated some of his fury.

  Rasgha growled her displeasure. ‘You cannot deny that you have spurned me! Ignored my very existence, every moment that I have lived! While you enjoyed your rightful position as a prince of Ahglore and monarch-in-waiting, I was condemned to a beggar’s existence! It cannot be justified.’

  Grunewald’s anger returned, swift and fierce. ‘How can I possibly have spurned you when I did not know that you existed!’ he roared. ‘And before you mention father, I am not at all convinced that he knew it either! What a fine castle of ill-usage you have built out of nothing!’

  Rasgha seemed struck dumb by these words, though in truth her demeanour spoke more of suspicion. ‘That is a lie,’ she said, after a moment’s consideration.

  ‘You call it so upon what grounds?’

  ‘My mother said –’

  ‘Very well,’ barked Grunewald, cutting her off. ‘Your mother has said one thing, and I have told you another. You may take her word, or you may take mine; I do not much care which. I only require you to surrender my house, my friends, and most especially my Bess, and without further delay!’

  Bessie thought it vital that she should speak up at this juncture. ‘Grunewald,’ she said firmly. ‘What did I say to you about tryin’ to cart me about like a sack of potatoes? I’ll not have it.’

  Grunewald stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘You imagine yourself free to leave, Bessie, and I hope, for my wretched sister’s sake, that this means she has treated you well. But to me, she has threatened your safety, and I will not rest easy until you are liberated.’

  This came as news to Bessie, and unsettled her a little, but she refused to permit any of that to show. ‘Rasgha,’ she said quickly. ‘If you value my thinkin’ at all, believe me when I say that I know him to be sincere. He had not the smallest notion of yer existence. What’s more: if he had, I believe he would have been delighted to know you.’

  Grunewald scowled. ‘Do not trouble to speak for me, if you please. I can manage th
at for myself.’

  A stinging retort rose to Bessie’s lips, but it occurred to her that to enter into an altercation at such a moment could do no service to either, and she held her tongue. She responded only with a speaking look, which plainly said: And you are making a fine mess of it.

  Grunewald’s response was the faintest, barely perceptible grimace. I know.

  ‘What is all of this in aid of?’ he said to his sister. ‘An attempt upon my throne? A ploy to overthrow my authority, and claim it for your own? You would be full revenged upon me!’ This last was spoken with faint sarcasm, probably perceptible only to those who knew him well. Bessie wondered what he meant by it.

  ‘I would make a finer ruler, brother,’ said Rasgha. ‘Though from your performance to date, that would be no difficult task.’

  Grunewald dismissed that with a wave of his hand. ‘More foolish hearsay? Your strategy entire is based upon nothing but whispers and moonlight. And I am to be proud of this connection?’

  ‘I will yet see it done,’ Rasgha growled.

  Tatterfoal approached, step by implacable step, until the horse towered directly over Rasgha. ‘You cannot have a hope,’ hissed Grunewald. ‘Blood may grant you the right to interfere – for a time. You may seize control of my steed, and my house, and the Darkways. For a time. But always, they will return to me. You cannot lastingly prevail. If you believe me to be so easily overthrown, even by one of my own blood, you can have no understanding of the powers, or the people, you were born into.’

  Rasgha merely laughed, and seemed disinclined to make any particular retort.

  Bessie thought, and disquiet stirred. ‘I think she does,’ she said, and there was no teasing note in her tone now. ‘She’s had two goals in mind, it’s my belief. One: to wake up her cronies as had not yet risen from the Torpor, wi’ the help of Tatterfoal. And some o’ them are here.’ She waved a hand at Torin and his friends, who watched the exchange with a mixture of perplexity and a palpable menace. Grunewald glanced at them in surprise, as though he had failed to notice them at all. Probably he had.

  ‘Two,’ she continued. ‘He was lookin’ for that lady.’ And she pointed at Lady Thayer, who had not left, though she had taken up a position far removed from Torin. ‘She is descended from some mighty noble lineage of Aylfenhame, we’re to understand. And mighty important she is wi’ that. She’s to help yer sister find… someone powerful, who’s to be of great use.’

  Grunewald grasped the implications immediately. ‘Old blood,’ he said softly. ‘Old connections. What did the Kostigern promise you, in ages past? My throne, in exchange for your aid? What a pretty bargain. But he failed to deliver. You are to raise him once again, are you, and hold him to the deal?’

  ‘She shall make no use of me!’ declared Lady Thayer. It was spoken with the confidence of absolute authority, which she was no doubt used to wielding. But Bessie could not help but wonder how far she could carry her point, if Rasgha, Torin and all their associates were to unite against her.

  Rasgha looked upon Lady Thayer, and her eyes narrowed. Her expression was as cold stone; gone was any trace of warmth or humanity Bessie had ever seen there before. Worse, Torin’s period of passive observation appeared to be over. He took a few steps forward, and as though this had been some manner of signal, his Ayliri and goblin friends began to move also – slowly, almost casually, as though they hoped to escape notice.

  They escaped Grunewald’s notice, fixed as he was upon his sister. But Bessie saw that she had not been the only one to observe their intentions. The Aylfendeanes moved likewise, and Sophy and Aubranael and Mrs. Grey. Each chose a target, and set themselves to intercept whatever that person’s intentions might be.

  Bessie's mind raced. What might they seek to do, while Rasgha held Grunewald’s attention?

  It must pertain to Lady Thayer; she seemed to be the key to Rasgha’s plans. And she saw, in an instant, that if each of Rasgha’s supporters was left to follow their own course unimpeded, they would soon surround that lady.

  Bessie moved. Three steps carried her to Lady Thayer’s side. ‘You must leave,’ she said in an urgent undertone. ‘They will not leave you be. Run now!’

  Lady Thayer looked as though she had too much pride to turn tail and run, and gathered herself for a stinging retort. Aristocrats, Bessie thought in disgust. Used to having the world laid out at their feet, they could not grasp that they were not in control of every situation.

  But even had she run, she would have been too late. Grunewald’s friends had succeeded in diverting some few of those who threatened the lady, but that could not last; and two of Rasgha’s goblin friends abandoned all pretence at subtlety, and ran for Lady Thayer.

  Bessie prepared herself to resist this onslaught, though scarcely knowing how. But a dark shape shot out of the darkness ahead of her – two figures, diminutive but ferocious. Drig and Derri fell upon one of the two goblins, and Bessie bestowed her most terrible smile upon the second as she took up a position before Lady Thayer. ‘Ha! I wish you joy of yer attempt!’

  Lady Thayer stepped out from behind Bessie. ‘I think not,’ she said to the goblin, cool and unruffled. The goblin struggled viciously, but it could not outmatch the two ladies. With quick efficiency, they disabused the creature of its notions of offering them any harm whatsoever.

  ‘The ladies are ours,’ called Sophy, and she sallied forth to engage the two Ayliri women, with Mrs. Aylfendeane and Mrs. Grey in her wake.

  Mr. Aylfendeane moved to intercept Torin, offering him a courteous, but grim, smile. ‘Ye’ll not harm the lady, I thank ye,’ he said. Sorcerous power gathered around him in a menacing shade. Aubranael busied himself with detaining the remaining goblins; though he possessed no magical arts, in strength and speed and dexterity, he was more than match enough.

  Bessie began to hope that they might, between them, prevail; but her hopes were short-lived, for more approached, spilling forth from somewhere she could not determine. Trows were prominent among these new assailants, but she saw imps, pixies, hobs and goblins besides. Her composure suffered a check, for how could they withstand such a horde?

  But she had forgotten Grunewald’s incorporeal army. Grunewald gave a deep, tearing cry, and the Goblin Hunt sprang to obey. They howled in unison, a sound which raised the hairs upon Bessie’s arms and sent a shudder through her. Drawing their weapons, they fell upon Rasgha’s goblins, and battle ensued.

  In the mass of struggling figures now surrounding them, Bessie lost sight of her own friends, and of Grunewald. She split her attention in two, devoting half of her awareness to Lady Thayer’s whereabouts and the other half to Rasgha. If she was in Rasgha’s position, she would welcome the chaos. It would allow her to do the only thing that could matter to her at this moment: to approach Lady Thayer, and wrest from her whatever it was she required in order to carry through her goal of finding the Kostigern. All things considered, Lady Thayer could only find it painful.

  Rasgha levelled one final retort at Grunewald which Bessie could not hear; an insult, judging from the sneer which marked her face as she spoke.

  Then she grinned, and laughed… and vanished. The shadows flowed in and claimed her, and nothing remained.

  Grunewald cursed, loudly enough for his words to carry over the howls of his hounds and the clamour of goblin battle. He sat atop Tatterfoal, twisting and turning in his attempts to discover where his sister had gone.

  Bessie did not bother to follow his example. If he, from his vantage point and with all his powers, could not locate Rasgha, she could have no hope of doing so herself. Instead, she wound her hands into Lady Thayer’s voluminous skirts and hung on tight. ‘Watch yerself,’ she hissed, directly in Lady Thayer’s ear. ‘Mischief is afoot, and I’m certain it’s aimed at you.’

  Lady Thayer hissed something inaudible, and then said clearly: ‘Good heavens. I wanted only the music! I ought rather to have stayed at home.’ She sounded more annoyed than afraid.

  ‘Mayhap,’ Bessie agr
eed. ‘But what a lively party you would ha’ missed. Look to yerself, now.’

  And, almost upon cue, Lady Thayer suffered a sudden, swift tumble. Still clinging to her skirts, Bessie fell likewise, but neither of them hit the ground. The fog-ridden night dissolved into deeper darkness, and Bessie closed her eyes against the wave of disorientation and nausea which swiftly followed.

  This time, however, she would not permit herself to be towed, inert and passive, through the Darkways. No goblin was she, but she had strength and will of her own. She wrapped herself tightly about Lady Thayer, determined not to lose her. In the process, she discovered Rasgha’s hand, clamped tightly around Lady Thayer’s arm.

  She dislodged this grip by the simple expedient of setting her teeth to the tender flesh, and biting down as hard as she could. Rasgha shrieked with pain, surprise, and, Bessie was afraid, betrayal. This last caused her to feel some compunction, but she pushed that feeling away with some little resentment. She had warned the woman.

  Then, summoning every ounce of will that she possessed, she wrenched herself sideways. She did not know whether she had attempted to move upwards, downwards, or in any other direction, for she had lost all sense of which way was where. But it mattered not. All that she sought to achieve was freedom from Rasgha’s presence, even though it prove to be but brief. She had no opportunity to discover whether or not she had been successful, for her consciousness gave out, and she fell into the dark.

  When the unpleasant sensation of uncontrolled, rapid movement ceased and full consciousness returned, Bessie was the first to rise to her feet. She was shaky, but unharmed; she had grown used to the Darkways, at last.

  Lady Thayer had not fared so well. She lay in an inelegant heap amid reams of silk, her gown sadly disordered. She had been so unfortunate as to lose some part of her dinner, which could only annoy her when she came to herself.

  Bessie glanced about, wary. They had emerged in a dim corridor, which was, to all intents and purposes, featureless. The wooden cladding upon the wall, the flagstones upon the floor and the muted lamps could offer her nothing by way of identifying features. She could be anywhere.