Mr Drake and My Lady Silver

by Charlotte E. English

  As fer Ilsevel, I was gettin’ some suspicions as to her nature. If I was right, well… her and her sister in the same place was goin’ t’ kick up a fine ruckus, no doubt about that.

  I decided it was mebbe time fer me to pay a visit t’ the city meself…

  At some indeterminate hour upon the following day, when Phineas had been so long closeted in the bakery kitchens he had long lost track of the time, he was disturbed in his endless labours by the abrupt slamming open of the door that led into the shop.

  His father stood there, wild-eyed.

  ‘Phineas,’ he said, and stopped. His lips moved, but no further sound emerged.

  Phineas stood, arms buried up to the elbows in half-mixed dough, and waited.

  ‘Someone’s asking for you,’ said his father at last.

  ‘Ah,’ said Phineas quietly, unperturbed. It must be Ilsevel. Perhaps she had levitated again, or some such thing; that would explain the look in his father’s eyes. His stomach clenched at thought of her dazzling beauty, and he took a deep, steadying breath.

  He took the time to clean his skin thoroughly of all the dough, and when he had rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and removed his apron — trying to remain oblivious, the while, of his father’s impatient gestures — he stepped into the shop.

  It was not Ilsevel.

  ‘Afternoon,’ said the visitor, and tipped the brim of an enormous hat to Phineas.

  Frozen in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes as wide as his father’s, Phineas wondered distractedly how his visitor had contrived to fit into the shop at all. His head very nearly brushed the ceiling; he must have bent half-double to get through the door. Huge and bulky, with massive arms and shoulders and an alarming pair of tusks, he was not quite an ordinary customer.

  ‘Troll,’ croaked Phineas.

  For all his intimidating bulk, this troll appeared congenial enough, for a friendly smile spread across his blue-skinned countenance. He took no exception to Phineas’s involuntary rudeness, merely regarding him with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘That I am,’ he agreed comfortably. ‘Name of Balligumph.’

  Phineas recollected himself, and hurriedly stepped up to the counter. ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Balligumph,’ he said. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I’ll take one o’ them pies,’ said the troll, and pointed a thick finger at an inviting pile of pastries Phineas had taken from the oven only an hour ago. ‘Mebbe three, at that,’ he amended with a grin. ‘One’s a mere bite fer the likes o’ me, no?’

  Phineas tried a smile, and failed. Nervously, he packed three pies into paper and handed them to the troll.

  There was no sign of his father.

  ‘Anything else?’ he enquired.

  Mr. Balligumph carefully counted coins into one vast palm, and then handed them over. ‘Nowt t’ eat, but I am after a mite of information, if ye have it.’

  ‘I thought it must be something like that,’ said Phineas.

  The troll grinned. ‘Aye. It’s about Ilsevel.’

  Phineas had expected as much, but could not repress a flicker of suspicion. He eyed his enormous visitor warily, and said: ‘What of her?’

  ‘I can’t find her,’ said Mr. Balligumph bluntly. ‘I was hopin’ ye could help me.’

  The suspicion grew. Painfully aware of the absurdity, Phineas nonetheless drew himself up as tall as he could, and said with an attempt at firmness: ‘Forgive me, sir, but if you mean her any harm—’

  ‘Size and bad intentions don’t necessarily correlate.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The twinkle was back in Balligumph’s eyes. ‘Big I may be, but I ain’t plannin’ t’ hurt her. On the contrary, I was fixin’ t’ help her.’

  ‘What with?’

  Balligumph shrugged. ‘I’d have t’ talk to the lady, before I can answer that.’

  Phineas mulled it over. Balligumph made for an alarming sight, no question there. But a number of things softened the general unpromising impression that he made. That smile, for one, even if it did make his long tusks twitch. The patience with which he bore with Phineas’s distrust. And then he was wearing a patchwork waistcoat, slightly threadbare, that looked as though it had been made for him with love, and long cherished thereafter.

  ‘She once mentioned a boarding house,’ Phineas offered. ‘The owner is a Mrs… Yardley, I think?’

  But the troll shook his head. ‘Been there. Ilsevel ain’t been seen since last night.’

  That was curious, considering that Phineas had escorted her most of the way there himself. She had made a point of leaving him somewhat before they had arrived at her door, this was true, but she had also sworn that she was going straight home.

  ‘She has not been here today,’ said Phineas. ‘But I saw her yesterday.’ He told the troll the tale of the thieves’ market by the water, and of the subsequent one in Aylfenhame. He mentioned the roses, and Wodebean, and Ilsevel’s sister, and all the while the troll nodded knowledgeably along.

  ‘I have folk who keep me informed,’ he said when Phineas had finished. ‘Particularly of anythin’ goin’ on in the county that seems t’ come out of Aylfenhame. ‘Tis this very tale that’s brought me t’ see Ilsevel. Ye don’t know where she might ha’ got to today?’

  ‘I couldn’t guess,’ Phineas said apologetically.

  ‘No matter, no matter.’ Balligumph stood a moment in thought, his gaze resting on Phineas. ‘Ye’ve been seen more than once in Ilsevel’s company,’ he said then. ‘Will ye tell me the rest?’

  So Phineas went back to the beginning, when he had followed Ilsevel through the snow and watched her disappear.

  This did not have quite the effect upon Balligumph that he might have expected.

  ‘Ye saw Wodebean?’ said the troll, suddenly alert.

  ‘I… I saw a dark figure in a mantle, and only a glimpse at that. It was night. I cannot say who it was.’

  ‘But Ilsevel was certain. Where was it that he vanished? Think, lad, this is important. I must know where it was exactly.’

  ‘I can show you, sir, if you wish.’

  ‘What an obligin’ fellow ye are.’

  And so Phineas found himself abroad in the streets of Lincoln, just as dusk was falling, with a troll ambling along in his wake.

  ‘Yer neighbours’ll have a deal t’ talk about,’ chuckled Balligumph.

  They would indeed. Phineas saw three people he knew before they had arrived at the top of the hill — and there was Mrs. Batts bustling across the square, and pausing to stare.

  He thought back, a trifle wistfully, to the week before, when he had been only Phineas Drake, the baker, and a person no one ever thought it worthwhile to gossip about. And what more was he to expect out of Aylfenhame, now he had become tangled up in Ilsevel’s business? Was it to be ogres next? Goblins? Witches coming to curse his modest little shop?

  ‘I am already missing the quiet life,’ he muttered, and pulled down the brim of his cap. It would not conceal his identity from anyone who knew him, but it made him feel better.

  The troll chuckled. ‘Was it really so satisfyin’ a life?’

  Phineas was obliged to pause, and think. ‘No,’ he allowed with a sigh. ‘Not so very satisfying as all that.’

  A great hand patted his shoulder, a gesture which almost drove him to his knees. ‘Life has funny ways of doin’ ye a good turn.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means, sir.’

  ‘Ye will soon enough.’

  The distance from the bakery to the Stairs where Ilsevel had vanished was not great, and soon Phineas stood with Balligumph halfway down the slope, on the very spot where he had caught a glimpse of Wodebean. ‘This is the place,’ he said, and stood with his feet exactly where he had found the rose, or as near as he could manage.

  ‘Ah!’ The troll stood stock-still, his face alight, looking up and down the Stairs as though some profound realisation had occurred to him. ‘Ah!’ he said again. ‘Interestin’! Very interestin’ indeed!’
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  ‘Sir?’ Phineas knew not how to interpret this response, and stood watching with a frown.

  A great, triumphant grin split Balligumph’s face, and his tusks jutted forward. ‘Ye’re a treasure, lad,’ he said to Phineas. ‘What a fortunate day it was when ye caught sight o’ Ilsevel! An’ bless yer kind heart, that ye thought it best t’ follow!’ He began striding up and down, and around and around, circling the spot in which Phineas stood. ‘Clever, clever,’ he muttered. ‘Wily Wodebean. But clumsy just a touch, weren’t ye? Then again! ‘Tis not every day yer pursued by a great lady, an’ a baker’s lad.’

  Phineas began to lose his patience. ‘Who is Ilsevel, sir? And who are you, and why is everyone so anxious to find Wodebean?’

  Balligumph regarded him seriously. ‘Thas an old tale, lad, an’ I haven’t time t’ tell it all t’ ye just now. But there was once a queen, an’ a deal o’ trouble which were never quite rightly mended. Wodebean… was involved wi’ the business, though as t’ how exactly, thas a matter of opinion. Tis certainly true that sommat went awry, and Ilsevel is tryin’ t’ mend it now.’

  ‘That does not make much more sense, sir.’

  ‘It will. An’ now! Look at this.’ Balligumph gently moved Phineas aside, and placed his own great, booted feet over Phineas’s footprints. ‘This spot’s special. See that stone?’ He pointed to an aged, moss-grown stone set into the floor directly between his feet. ‘If I were t’ scrape away all the frilly green stuff thas growin’ on it, ye’d see that it’s an odd colour. Thas because it’s made out of somethin’ special — somethin’ out of Aylfenhame. We call it Sagestone, fer it knows a great deal more than it seems. It’s here t’ mark a spot — an’ t’ guard a door.’

  ‘A door?’ said Phineas, more out of politeness than any real hope of receiving a meaningful response.

  ‘It’s hollow.’ He grinned again, delightedly. ‘I have long held suspicions about this city, an’ I think I was right. The entire hill’s Hollow!’ He said the closing word with a peculiar emphasis, and looked ready to dance with delight. ‘Though I suspect as it’s dormant, an’ not many thas left know the truth of the place now. Not many besides Wodebean. He’s had the run of it fer enough years, I think.’ Balligumph winked at Phineas. ‘What do ye think, lad? Goin’ t’ help me find a way inside?’

  ‘Inside the hill?’

  ‘It’s not rightly a normal hill, or only on the top parts. ‘Tis part o’ the Hollow Hills, them bits as lies somewhere between England an’ Aylfenhame, not precisely belongin’ t’ either. Odd little bits of spaces, they are. Pockets o’ this an’ that, could be anythin’. An’ lawless, which is why it appeals t’ Wodebean I suppose.’

  Phineas swallowed. It was one thing to offer his aid to Ilsevel; strange though she was in some respects, she was obviously a fine lady adrift and confused in his city, and that called for the kind of assistance Phineas was well able to provide. But lending his efforts to a troll, who rambled about Hollow Hills and proposed to take Phineas somewhere out of England entirely?

  ‘Why me, sir?’ he said bluntly, that being the question that rose chiefly to his mind. ‘Surely there are others better suited.’

  ‘Ye know this city well. Ye’re one of only two people I know has actually seen Wodebean lately, an’ I can’t find the other one. Further, I suspect ye’re t’ be involved in this business anyhow, an’ I may as well keep ye close if that’s t’ be the case. Ilsevel’ll find ye again at some time, an’ she’ll find me in the process.’

  Phineas merely stared at him.

  ‘Besides, we ain’t in Aylfenhame now. Ye’ve a human’s way o’ lookin’ at things, an’ this is your territory, not mine. If my fae friends had much notion o’ what’s goin’ on around here, I’d have heard of it by now.’

  ‘My father is unlikely to spare me, sir.’

  ‘Thas no excuse, now,’ said Balligumph, gently enough. ‘Yer a grown man, not a child, an’ yer father can manage the shop without ye for a day or two. What’s yer real worry?’

  Chastened, Phineas looked away. ‘This is beyond my… my skill, my knowledge, my abilities.’

  ‘Aye!’ Balligumph tossed his hat in the air with sudden exuberance, caught it again, and threw it back onto his head with a flourish. ‘Yer right there! Probably it is beyond mine, too, which is why I need yer help. Anyroad,’ he said with a tusky grin, ‘When yer way beyond yer depth an’ don’t know what yer doin’, thas when it gets fun.’

  Phineas could not help smiling a little at this display of enthusiasm; it was infectious. ‘Very well, sir,’ he agreed, trying to ignore the way his heart sank as he said it. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Well, now,’ said the troll. ‘First, ye may agree t’ call me Balligumph. Yer makin’ me feel old an’ stuffy wi’ yer sir this an’ sir that.’

  ‘I… um, if you wish.’

  ‘Good. An’ fer the rest… listen now, an’ I’ll tell ye.’

  Chapter Seven

  Ilsevel suffered a stab of mild remorse about deceiving poor Phineas. He meant well, and his determination to help her could not but touch her heart, even if she struggled to account for it. But he could have little idea how incapable he was of protecting her from anything that she might genuinely consider a threat. He was much more likely to fall into trouble himself, than to shield her from it, and she was beginning to like him. It would not do to get him cursed, or killed, or — worst of all — turned into something small and slimy, like a frog.

  So she let him believe she was going back to the boarding house, and thence to sleep. But as soon as his dark, shabby figure had trodden away into the night and disappeared from sight, she altered her course and went somewhere else instead.

  She went back down the hill to the mossy glade beyond the river, where the thieves’ market was still being held.

  It was not England, this odd little place. Those great, arching boughs belonged to trees too ancient to have survived in a human city, under the development of growing industry. There was a quality to the moonlight that spoke of deep magic, an air of timelessness to the forest and the moss and the music; no, this was certainly not England.

  But was it Aylfenhame? Never had she heard of humans mingling so freely, so openly, with the Ayliri and the fae, as they did here. That was partly because the means to cross the borders between those two realms were not widely available. There were some who could come and go as they pleased, but they were few indeed. To the rest, free passage back and forth was the province of the Solstice days, and that was all.

  How, then, were so many people crossing from the waterfront into this pocket of a glade, when the Winter Solstice had passed days ago? It could not be Aylfenhame.

  But if it was not England and it was not Aylfenhame, then what was it? Where was it?

  She must discover the answers to these questions, and without delay, for if it lay within Wodebean’s power to work such a marvel then he was far more formidable than she knew.

  Having arrived before with the intention of attracting some notice, the opposite was now her goal. She hovered on the edges of the clearing, watching covertly as knots of revellers drank and danced and made deals with one another; bought trinkets and heirlooms, ate sweetmeats and pies, drank mead and wine and generally behaved as though they were entirely at home in their peculiar environment. Clearly, this thieves’ market was a regular occurrence.

  And just as clearly, few of them realised how remarkable it was.

  It occurred to her as she watched that the confines of the glade were well defined, though by no obvious means. No one strayed much beyond the warm circle of light cast by the low-hanging lanterns; no one slipped behind the stalls, or ventured very far into the trees. What lay beyond? Why did nobody seem disposed to find out?

  Ilsevel was disposed.

  She set off, making her way through clusters of Ayliri in dazzling velvet gowns — where were they getting those clothes? She had never seen the like — and then through a knot of giggling hobgoblins playing some com
plicated game with a trio of human women all rosy-cheeked with mead; but just as she was on the point of stepping into the trees, her way was blocked by a forbidding figure in a dark coat. His head was bare of hat, his cheeks unshaven, and his neck cloth tumbling down. The arms-folded posture he adopted before her made his disapproval clear, as did the frown with which he beheld her.

  Ilsevel returned look for look, drawing herself up. ‘Gabriel, was it not?’

  ‘That it was,’ said he. ‘But I have a fancy to be called Mr. Winters by you.’

  Ilsevel gave him a cool look. ‘In that case, you may address me as My Lady Silver.’

  ‘Oh? And why is that?’

  ‘Because it is my name. Or,’ she allowed, ‘one of them.’

  Gabriel Winters abandoned this point. ‘What are you doing with Phineas?’ he demanded. ‘Getting the lad into trouble, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘You are protective of him.’

  ‘Aye. Someone ought to be.’

  ‘He has a father, has he not?’

  ‘His father is an old friend of mine, and I won’t willingly speak ill of him. But he’s no manner of guardian to young Phineas. Not now.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Ilsevel politely. ‘And was he ever before?’

  ‘Some years gone, when Phineas’s mother were still alive. Now the lad only has me to look after him, and I mean to do it. I ain’t happy to see him frequenting thieves’ gatherings, My Lady Silver, and I can see as it’s you as has brought him to it.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Ilsevel distantly. ‘He invited himself.’

  ‘That he would, if he thought you needed help. My Lady Silver you may or may not be, but he has a heart of gold, and he’ll pay dearly fer that if you get him into mischief.’

  Ilsevel began to feel impatient. ‘I applaud you for your concern, Mr. Winters. Phineas quite deserves your kind offices, I am sure. But since I have gone to some trouble to leave him behind tonight, and precisely in order to avoid dragging him into difficulties, I hope you will excuse me of callousness. And you will excuse me altogether, in fact, for I have urgent business in these parts.’