Engaged in transferring a tray of unbaked bread into the oven, Samuel Drake did not reply.
‘Yer familiar wi’ the thieves’ revels down by the water?’ said Balligumph.
That elicited a flicker of a reaction. Drake paused for the barest instant, then continued unperturbed. ‘I am a respectable baker, sir.’
‘Men change,’ said Balligumph.
Drake stopped, and regarded the troll with an unfriendly glare. ‘Just what are you suggesting?’
‘Nothin’, my good sir,’ said the troll amiably. ‘I am only askin’ fer a bit of aid. If you should happen t’ know the way into that bit o’ space in which they hold the thieves’ market, I’d be grateful fer yer help.’ To Phineas’s surprise, a great, heavy-looking pouch of drab cloth had appeared in the troll’s enormous hand. When Balligumph shook it, it clinked.
Father speedily revised his ideas. He looked from the pouch, to the troll, to Phineas, and gave a great sigh. Something like regret flitted across his wine-roughened features, and was gone. ‘Phineas must watch the shop.’
‘He cannot,’ said Balligumph. ‘He is comin’ wi’ me.’
Drake scowled. ‘Then I can give you instructions. Whether or not they will work for you, I cannot say.’
Balligumph bowed his thanks. ‘A fair compromise.’
Phineas heard all this with mild surprise. He knew that Gabriel Winters was not the only man of… questionable morals with whom his father was acquainted, to be sure, and had sometimes wondered about that. But that Samuel Drake should be in possession of such particular knowledge himself, as would win access to the thieves’ market even when it was closed? Quite curious.
And it did appear that his father was avoiding his eye.
‘There’s a word,’ said Drake. ‘Changes once in a while. Just now it’s: “Mirror-May.”
‘Ahhh,’ said Balligumph softly, as though the words meant something to him. ‘An’ what must we do wi’ this phrase?’
‘There is a door in a wall. Green-painted. Knock thrice upon it, and speak.’
‘I know the way,’ said Phineas.
His father looked oddly at him for that, but thankfully did not enquire.
Phineas found it convenient to study the window.
‘Thank ye,’ said Balligumph, and left the pouch on the edge of the nearest of the long tables of the Drakes’ kitchen. Then, with a tip of his hat to Phineas’s father, he ambled out into the shop, and thence into the street.
Phineas lingered a moment. ‘Father?’
Drake glanced his way, but did not speak.
Hesitating, too many questions fighting for his attention, Phineas gave up with a sigh. He merely nodded a farewell to his father, and followed Balligumph outside.
‘I am sorry,’ he said to the troll, who was waiting just outside the door, drawing an enormous dark cloak around himself.
‘Fer what, lad?’ said Balligumph.
That, too, proved to be rather beyond Phineas’s power to explain, and he felt vaguely disloyal for even attempting to apologise for his father’s conduct. So he let that pass, too, and shrugged. ‘To the waterfront?’
‘Aye.’
The door was unassuming. Set into the side of a nondescript brick warehouse, its paint moss-coloured and peeling, it had no distinguishing features to set it apart, nothing to suggest that its purpose was in any way special. It was merely a door, with a great brass doorknob set into the centre.
Phineas found it by retracing his steps of the night before. He had passed down those streets without paying much attention, too intent upon the glowing waymarkers upon the floor. Now, though, he took a moment to examine the area more carefully.
‘There,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the floor directly before the portal. It did little to call attention to itself, but it was a slightly different colour than the stones paving the ground around it: more green than grey. ‘Sagestone?’
‘Aye!’ said Balligumph in delight, and bent to scrutinise it. ‘Ye’ve a fair eye fer detail, lad.’
Mild praise it may have been, but it was the first Phineas had received in some time. He tried not to let the extent of his pleasure show on his face, for fear of being thought altogether unreasonable, and turned his attention to the door.
‘Yer father hasn’t quite got the inflection right wi’ the pass-phrase,’ said Balligumph, as Phineas raised his hand to knock. ‘You knock, an’ I’ll speak.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Phineas knocked thrice.
‘Mirramay,’ boomed Balligumph, so loudly as to alarm Phineas. He looked quickly around. There were some one or two people nearby, but perhaps they were too intent upon reaching the next place of warmth to pay heed to… to a gigantic blue-skinned troll bellowing strange words not ten feet away.
No, that could not be it. Phineas looked long at Balligumph, a little wild-eyed.
The troll winked. ‘Never mind it, lad.’
The door creaked, and there came the sound of a latch falling back. Then it shuddered, spraying flakes of green paint, and… disappeared.
Darkness yawned.
Balligumph flicked his fingers, and a tiny ball of flickering white light materialised from somewhere. It threw out a surprisingly strong glow, illuminating an earthen floor and a passageway formed of tall, twisting hedges. The scene was reassuringly familiar to Phineas: he had trod this very road last night, though then it had been brightly lit and decked in streamers.
‘I’ll go first,’ said Phineas. ‘I know this place.’
Balligumph acquiesced with a nod, and onward Phineas went.
The air was hushed and still. Nothing moved, and there came no sounds at all as Phineas carefully stepped into the hedge-lined corridor and walked forward, the wisp-light bobbing before him. He could not even hear his own footsteps, or — more remarkably — Balligumph’s; it was as though something shrouded the way in silence.
The effect was, if Phineas had been moved to admit it, slightly unnerving.
The hour was yet early, and one or two of last night’s revellers still lay asleep under the hedges. They, too, seemed shrouded in an odd stasis; they breathed, but barely. He hesitated an instant, wondering if they ought to be helped. But they presented no signs of distress; if anything, they appeared sunk in a slumber of the utmost peace. He passed two humans in such a state, a rosy-cheeked woman in a red gown and a bearded young man smelling strongly of ale. There was a goblin, too, and a few other denizens of Aylfenhame whom Phineas could not identify.
Then, when the corridor promised to open out shortly into the wide expanse of the merry glade, Phineas saw someone he recognised.
His hat half-covering his face and his coat rumpled, Gabriel Winters lay in an inert heap. His open mouth proclaimed that he ought to be snoring, but no sound emerged.
Phineas knelt. ‘Gabriel!’
The man did not move.
Gently shaking his shoulder, Phineas said his friend’s name again, more loudly, but with no more response than before.
‘Interestin’,’ mused Balligumph. ‘It’s like the Torpor, only not near so potent.’
‘The what, sir?’ said Phineas.
‘A long an’ deep slumber. The kind you don’t always wake up from, though it ain’t the same as dyin’.’
Phineas’s concern grew. He shook Gabriel harder, and pinched him.
‘Calm, lad,’ said Balligumph, and knelt beside him. ‘Yer friend is well. He’s just sleepin’ off the after effects of a fine night o’ partyin’, no?’
‘I cannot wake him.’
‘Ye can. Look, he’s comin’ awake.’
Gabriel had indeed stirred, and a hand went to his head. ‘Nngh,’ he said.
Phineas helped him to sit up. ‘Gabriel. Are you well? It is Phineas.’
‘So it is.’ Gabriel peered blearily at Phineas, and shook his head in wonder, as though he might be imagining the slender, coat-shrouded figure kneeling before him. ‘Strangest dream yet,’ he remarked.
‘It is no dream, Ga
briel. You are in—’
‘Thieves’ Hollow,’ said Gabriel in a stronger voice. ‘I know. I’ve been stuck in here fer…’ He looked around, blinking. ‘Some time.’ Then he surged to his feet, startling Phineas, and staggered off in the direction of the glade. ‘That cursed wood!’ he growled. ‘It don’t matter which direction you go in! Five steps, mebbe six, and yer back where you started.’ Apparently intent upon demonstrating this point, he barrelled off into the trees, slightly unsteady on his feet but not at all deterred.
Phineas and Balligumph followed.
And he was right. Six steps or so beyond the edge of the clearing, as the great, shadow-wreathed trees loomed close and dark around them, another step carried them…
…back to the entrance of the glade, near where Gabriel had fallen asleep.
‘I heard someone singing,’ said Gabriel in disgust. ‘I followed it, but I got nowhere near it. That wench, though,’ and here he turned to look at Phineas, as though it was in some way his fault. ‘That wench of yours, I saw nothing more of her. Off she went into the trees and never came back.’
‘Ilsevel was here?’
‘Aye. Not more’n a few hours ago, I saw her. But where she is now I can’t say. The trees like her a deal more’n they like me, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Or whoever was singin’, mayhap,’ said Balligumph.
Phineas looked sharply at him. ‘Do you know what this means, sir?’
‘I may have an inklin’, at that, but I cannot say fer certain.’ He frowned. ‘Thieves’ Hollow, ye called it?’
‘Aye,’ said Gabriel. ‘It’s been called such ever since I can remember.’
Balligumph grinned. ‘A fittin’ name. We are indeed in th’ Hollows. A little nook someone has carved out fer their own amusement — someone of the name o’ Wodebean, I am thinkin’. The question is: does it lead into th’ rest?’
‘The rest?’ said Gabriel blankly.
Balligumph made a vague, sweeping gesture in no particular direction. ‘The rest as is in that great hill yer city’s built on.’
Gabriel blinked. ‘I never heard there was more Hollows up there.’
‘No. I am thinkin’ as it’s been closed off fer a while. But I’m also thinkin’ as it’s where Wodebean is t’ be found.’
‘The singing?’ said Gabriel.
Balligumph chuckled. ‘Woman’s voice, was it?’
‘Aye.’
‘Unlikely t’ be Wodebean, then, no? I heard as a lady, name of Hidenory, was lingerin’ in these parts, an’ it is much her style. The singin’, anyway. Reckon as that’s who ye heard.’ His grin widened. ‘An’ I don’t reckon as she quite had Wodebean’s permission t’ do it, neither. Interestin’ times. Where was this singin’ comin’ from, do ye reckon?’
Gabriel, unimpressed, pointed one long arm into the trees.
‘I thank ye.’ Balligumph tipped his hat, and ambled off.
‘You’ll be all right, Gabriel?’ said Phineas, eager to follow the troll but reluctant to leave his friend untended.
‘Aye,’ said Gabriel, and waved a hand in dismissal. ‘After yonder troll, then, if you will.’
Balligumph’s long legs had carried him rather far by the time Phineas caught up with him. He was already on the other side of the glade, and marching into the trees. Three of his long strides were all it took before he disappeared—
—and Phineas did too, back to the entrance.
‘There you go,’ said Gabriel wearily.
Balligumph chuckled, and began to pat the pockets of his coat and waistcoat. ‘Clever, clever,’ he murmured, and produced a gnarled pipe. He lit this, and stood for a moment in silence, smoking and thinking. ‘Ilsevel went in, ye said?’
‘Without a trace of trouble.’
The troll grinned widely. ‘Aye. Well, no use wastin’ our time tryin’ t’ assault Hidenory’s singin’ tree. Ilsevel’s safe enough, if she is wi’ her sister. As fer Wodebean…’ He puffed at his pipe, and billows of smoke poured out, pale and ethereal. These coiled up into little knots of mist, which brightened until they shone with a mesmerising, starry light.
‘Will-o-the-wykes?’ gasped Phineas.
‘Aye, but don’t ye go worryin’ yer head about them old tales. These little lot are the helpful sort o’ wisp.’ He waved a hand negligently and the wisps danced away, spreading out across the glade. Balligumph continued to puff at his pipe, sending more and more after them, until hundreds swarmed among the trees, sailing off into the shadows with a merry glitter.
Soon, they began to drift back.
‘Nowt,’ said Balligumph after a while, shaking his head. ‘An’ nowt. Still nowt.’ With each pronouncement, another group of wisps popped one by one back into his pipe and disappeared. Eventually all of the bright, bobbing lights had dissipated back into smoke and vanished, leaving the wood dark once more. ‘Nothin’,’ he sighed. ‘Save Hidenory’s singin’ tree, o’ course.’
‘Sir?’ said Phineas, puzzled.
‘No way out but the way we came in. No sign of Ilsevel either, nor Wodebean.’ He tucked the pipe away into one of the pockets of his great coat, whereupon it apparently disappeared, to Phineas’s fascination, for no tell-tale bulge suggested it remained therein. ‘Tis an isolated pocket o’ the Hollows, as I thought, wi’ no way to get from here into the rest. An’ so!’ He patted Phineas’s shoulder and went back into the corridor of hedgerows, moving purposefully.
Gabriel shrugged, and followed.
Phineas was about to follow suit, but a woman’s voice halted him. ‘Young man,’ said someone in a low, dark tone. ‘Stay a moment.’
Wide-eyed, Phineas stopped, and turned. He saw no one near. ‘Yes?’
‘What do you do here?’
‘I seek Wodebean. And… and perhaps Ilsevel.’
‘They are neither of them here.’
‘So the wisps have just said. We are going.’ He did not absolutely know that the speaker intended harm, but it was not a welcoming voice, and he was profoundly disturbed by its apparent lack of an owner.
‘Tell the troll,’ the voice said darkly. ‘My sister is fallen through time. And Wodebean…’ she paused. ‘The Grim knows something. Tell him.’
‘Fallen through time? You mean Ilsevel?’
‘I do.’
Panic clutched at Phineas’s heart. ‘How is that— where is she— what can be done for her?’
‘Nothing, by you. Tell the troll.’
‘But please— I must help her. Tell me what to do!’
The voice sighed deeply. ‘You are as bad as Balligumph,’ she said tartly. ‘I thought at least you could be relied upon not to take on. Tell the troll! The Grim!’
Phineas could not have said how, but felt that the voice was gone. ‘No, please— wait!’
No answer came.
Balligumph, however, returned. ‘You spoke,’ he said gravely. ‘An’ I can see ye’re upset. Somethin’s amiss?’
‘Hidenory was here,’ said Phineas, a trifle shortly. He sighed. ‘And gone again.’ He relayed what she had said.
‘Did not think t’ tell me herself, hm?’ said Balligumph. For the first time since he had arrived at the bakery, he looked displeased.
‘I think she thought you might make a fuss,’ said Phineas fairly, remembering her words.
‘Or get in her way, belike.’ The troll growled something. ‘Tricksy creature, that Hidenory. But no matter. The Grim? Very well. The cathedral it is.’ He laid a hand on Phineas’s shoulder. ‘Think carefully, lad. Fallen through time? Thas really what she said?’
‘It was, I am sure of it.’
‘Interestin’.’ Balligumph squeezed Phineas’s shoulder, and ushered him forward. ‘I can see ye’re troubled fer Ilsevel, lad, but try not t’ be. She can take care of herself, make no mistake, an’ wi’ her sister on her tail, all will be well.’
Phineas did not doubt it. Nor could he have said what the likes of him, a mere baker’s boy, could have done to help her when she had a powerf
ul witch in pursuit.
But still. It went sorely against every principle he possessed to walk away from the glade, and from Ilsevel as well, and return to the city beyond the Hollows.
If Ilsevel were here, this is what she would be doing next, he reminded himself. Very well, then. If he could not help her, he and Balligumph could do the work she had been prevented from pursuing herself.
The air in the glade was warmer than it was outside; the biting chill came as a shock. Tucking his hands deeply into the pockets of his coat, Phineas was surprised to find something in the left-hand one — something with petals, and thorns.
Drawing it carefully out, he found it to be the very same rose he had returned into Ilsevel’s possession not long before. She had been secreting things in his pockets again; but when?
Curious.
He tucked the rose back into his pocket — handling it carefully because she had entrusted him with it — and left the blossom sticking out of the top, this time. It seemed wrong to bury so much beauty out of sight.
Then, heavy at heart but resolved, he hurried in pursuit of Balligumph.
Chapter Nine
Time passed, and Ilsevel saw no one.
The wood seemed never to end, no matter how far she trudged. From time to time, a seeming curve in the pattern of the trees encouraged her to hope that she had stumbled upon a path, and that perhaps a meadow or a village or valley might lie just beyond her sight. But never did it prove to be true. Even the enchantments upon her clothes could not ward off the chill born of wet shoes and stockings and she grew miserable indeed.
She had retreated some way into her own thoughts, ignoring, as best she could, all that was comfortless in her surroundings, and thus it was that a new sound, however long hoped-for, took some little time to penetrate into her consciousness.
A slow, regular thump thump, attended by a soft, crisp sound as of snow crunching underfoot.
Someone walked nearby.
Ilsevel stopped at once, her heart thudding. Looking wildly around, she saw no one, and nothing moved. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is there someone?’
Nobody answered, but the footsteps grew louder, and nearer. At length, somebody came into view, bustling between the trees with a step far quicker than Ilsevel’s own. She was immediately recognisable as a trow: short in stature and dark, she was wrapped in layers of silk and wool all in shades of blue, and a set of wooden pipes hung on a string around her neck.
Mr Drake and My Lady Silver Page 7