Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  Underhill shook out Amie’s petticoats.

  Petticoats?

  “Milady, there are only two things in this world that could possibly make me quiet on the subject of Morcant Hogswillow. The first would be news of her departure and the second, for her to finally convince the Master to throw a ball!” And she promptly took to humming and dancing a blend of waltz and a jig.

  Amie bit into her biscuit and shook her head. “You’re hopeless, Underhill, you know that?”

  …

  As promised, Morcant had arranged the whole trip for them, down to the carriage and ridiculous lavender dress Amie had been forced into. Emrys and his magnetic pull for once did not distract or stupefy her now. Though she had to wonder why he was invited to come with them in the first place.

  Slaine Cutterworthy met them at the base of the castle stairs in his finest. Tipping his hat to them, “Morning to ye Master, Lady Wenderdowne…and to you, Emrys the Merlin.” His words trailed into a gravelly chuckle and toss of his head. Setting his cap to rights he waited until they were loaded into the carriage before cracking his whip and setting off.

  Amie was disappointed to find no ginger boy posing as a watchful-eyed footman behind them.

  By the time they were nearing the fork branching off to an estate Henry called Xcalibure, Amie was ready to leap across the carriage and pummel Lady Hogswillow. Dressed in a deep burgundy cloak and white swan-like dress beneath it, Morcant laughed at the mention of the other estate.

  “Ho, ho! Neglected? Is that all? I should not expect anything better from human refugees, sniveling slitherkin creatures…” Slipping her hand through Henry’s arm, she seemed oblivious to the fact he had stiffened considerably. Amie knew him well enough to recognize his burgeoning temper.

  “What’s wrong with humans?” Amie asked, sitting up straighter so she sat taller than the young widow. Emrys covered her hand with his, easing her death grip on the leather seat between them. For once, she was glad he was beside her.

  Morcant gaped foolishly at her, dark eyes wide with shock as she turned to Henry. “Oh darling, do you hear this sheltered, simple child? What is wrong with humans, she says?” Slyly, her pupils shifted, fixating on the half breed across from her, so Amie realized the witch knew more than she was letting on.

  “Humans are a lesser kind, their lives like the flowers of the field that wither and fade with time. Our lives are everlasting. So you see, Jessamiene, you must consider yourself blessed to have been born to such a noble house…” Her full painted ruby lips twisted into a tight grin and a touch of danger flashed through her eyes.

  Duly noted, lady. But we’ll see what this human’s made of.

  Emrys threaded his fingers through Amie’s and answered the widow’s advice with some of his own. “Keep yer bloody opinions to yourself, Morcant.”

  Amie couldn’t resist looking up at him, but wasn’t expecting the razor edge of his clenched jaw to greet her. Refusing to look her way, he stared out the window and Amie fought the urge to squeeze his hand so he would look at her. Giving up after observing the countryside, she faced forward and froze to see Morcant’s grin, as if she had uncovered something very interesting indeed.

  …

  To fill in the heated pause left by Morcant’s human rant, Henry spoke of the history of the village and its relation to Wenderdowne. A light rain misted overhead, though Slaine seemed unperturbed with the fog. His rough gravelly voice sang a different version of Henry’s favorite song today.

  “…and so that is how the first humans came into the Borderlands. Some mingled with the local sentries left to guard with us, though most of them remain the helpful hobgoblins they be. You won’t find any of our kind in the village, Jessamiene.”

  “And what exactly is our kind, Uncle Henry?” Amie sighed. “All of you skirt around the subject but no one ever comes right out and says it. Since I’m Lady Wenderdowne now, don’t you think I’ve earned the right to know?”

  After meeting Puck and the live version of Feather I think my delusions of fantasy have been smashed to pieces.

  Emrys’s scowl eased into a smirk, finally turning from the window to watch the older male squirm in his seat.

  “Ah, yes, well—I didn’t realize—that is to say…” Henry said.

  Emrys interrupted, “You are of Seelie, Jessamiene.”

  Henry chimed in, “Some have called us Sidhe…but once we went by a different name. Time tends to blur the longer you live on this earth, my dear. I fear we have lost much of our former greatness. Our gifts would put us high above men and most other beings and yet humans have always hunted us. Humans would destroy us if they knew we still existed, just like before…”

  Amie’s mind was reeling by this point. Seelie Court…that’s like Tolkien elves…equals the good people…equals bloody freaking faeries!

  “Trying to catch flitterflies?” Henry asked, pointing to Amie’s gaping mouth.

  She shook her head. “Just trying to get a grip.”

  Emrys rolled his eyes, saying, “As if that were the most startling news she has heard.”

  The next time Amie looked out the window, she blinked heavily, then rubbed her eyes. “Am I delusional too? Because I could have sworn I saw houses up in those trees.”

  Morcant spoke up for the first time in her unpredictably shrill way. “Of course you did!”

  “I’m delusional?”

  “Ho! No, you are not, my dear,” Henry said. “Most hobgoblins prefer to live in high places if they can.” After a thoughtful pause he grinned. “Except for the Underhill clan of course, very strange lot they are, living in burrows underground!”

  Pushing the glass window the rest of its way aside, Amie poked her head out and gaped at the first signs of civilization. The trees grew taller and larger the deeper into the valley they dipped, little cottages fixed in their boughs. Smoke rose from fires glowing within the cottages. Nice wooden boardwalks interconnected the trees and people herded English red deer on the forest floor. All of them wore garishly bright colors below, their round faces peeking from beneath their bonnets and broad brimmed hats. Up in the tree tops the children raced up and down the bridges and old women gossiped across trees.

  “Is this Silver Hollow?” Amie asked when the hobgoblins noticed her. Now she knew what they were, they ceased to look like humans. Certainly they had the shape of people, but they were all hovering around five feet and under, their forms softer and smiles digging higher up into their cheeks.

  “Clever Creator, no!” Henry laughed.

  “We’re on the outskirts, Jessamiene,” Morcant said with a sniff.

  Amie wondered, if this was the outskirts, then what would the actual village look like?

  Many people began pointing, shouting and calling neighbors out to watch the envoy pass through their wood. They called to her in a strange flowing language and she wondered which way this was going to fly. In the first scenario, the village people would start throwing vegetables at the nobles… Fortunately the second reigned true. The children waved, jumping up and down in their excitement. Men tipped their hats and women bowed low in their fluffy skirts.

  “Get ready for it,” Emrys warned her.

  “For what?” Amie sank back into her seat and faced him, washed once more by the seductive shadows in his eyes.

  Chuckling over her reaction, he pointed back out the window and said, “That.”

  Silver Hollow lay at the bottom of the small valley. Geographically, a wooded valley made no sense. But in this moment, Amie could not have begun to recall her human memory of the moors of northern England, for the tree line came to an abrupt halt, skirted by a brilliant field of wildflowers. As if on command the morning rain stopped and the sun illuminated the landscape in an explosion of color.

  The river ran placidly through the center of the valley floor and after crossing the bridge the village began. Cobblestone streets were lined curiously by tall wooden buildings. Akin to the treetop homes Amie had seen before, the village
was built on rickety-looking stilts. Top level supported a thriving bustle of hobgoblin homes and shops. Each roof was littered in straw and freshly picked flowers. Bridges interconnected the buildings, crossed over the network of streets. But the real action took place underneath the uppity classed world. Shops were tucked below here too, slightly dingier, more like a cross of the medieval and Oliver Twist. In the shadows where sunlight could not stretch, alleyways crisscrossed together where shadier characters secretly traded. Stalls and tables lined the streets, at the edges of endless row of wooden posts.

  Theirs was the only carriage in town this morning, so the people stopped literally in their tracks at the sight of them. Whispers of their arrival carried in on the wind. Slaine’s song had been long replaced with pleasant greetings to old friends.

  Amie had never seen more smiles blended with curious stares in her life and was starting to feel the heat of them after their second turn onto an even smaller street.

  “Back away from it, ye mangy waif!” Slaine called out to the growing puddle of people.

  Sitting back in her seat, Amie bit her lip, and Henry laughed, teasing, “Are you afraid of your own subjects, Jessamiene?”

  Amie gaped. “S-subjects? Are you kidding me?”

  “Afraid not. Ah! Here it is!” Tapping on the roof with his gentleman’s cane, he called, “Here it be, Slaine!”

  “Aye, Master! Wisht, wisht!”

  Amie found Emrys’ eye as the carriage came to a stop and the box lurched on its wheels. His eyes darted to her fingers, anxiously twisting her father’s ring in endless circles. Uncle had yet to notice or mention the fact she possessed a ring rightfully belonging to the Lord of Wenderdowne. Lifting her chin, Amie dared him to say anything, but Emrys only smiled. The display of his roguish smirk transformed his altogether unremarkable face into a dangerously dark beauty. She couldn’t help giving in then and smiling back.

  Henry leapt off onto the street with gusto, his old bravado returned and with a genuine smile he reached back in to usher Morcant first. She flashed a knowing grin at Amie and Emrys’s linked hands before stepping down. A transformation had overtaken the curly-haired Lady of Hogswillow manor, who seemed younger by the second. “Oh darling! This old place never changes, does it? Can you believe we were last here together an age ago? Holy wicklewashers, Henry, we were children in this place!” She giggled, clicking her black boots together while tugging on his elbow.

  Henry laughed with her, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he pointed out the street ahead of them. “Do you remember the time Drustan forced us into that awful goblin’s back alley shop?”

  Morcant tilted her head back so far, her honey curls threatened to tip over. How the tiny hat managed not to budge, Amie blamed magic. “Aye, Henry, what twisted hands he had! Did he not say he acquired those from a troll dealing gone wrong?”

  “Aye.” Henry sighed morosely and said, “’Tis never wise to dally with trolls.”

  “Oh, you silly toerag! You know what I mean!” Morcant tapped him on the chin with the end of her long black nail and Amie shivered.

  Emrys didn’t help her off. Amie was an American woman, born and bred, and could manage herself, thank you very much. But he took her disgusted pause from the lower step to lean out of the carriage, balancing his weight by holding onto the doorframe. He spoke low into her ear, blowing aside the stray tendrils resting against her neck. “Mushrattling, isn’t it, Jessamiene?”

  “What?” Amie barked and crossed her arms over her chest as Morcant paused to stand on tiptoe and whisper to Henry. Amie waved away Emrys’ touch when he offered to escort her closer to the shop.

  “Iudicael, pretending to love a blood traitor like her.” He said it with so much disdain that Amie almost turned fully to see if his expression matched his words.

  “I see whose side you’re on,” she said and gave into her impulse. A tall black wall of solid chest met her eyes. His gaze was dark as ever, though flashes of violet and silver lightning lit within their center as he bent over her.

  “I’ll forever be on your side, love.”

  “Jessamiene!” Henry called over to her. Amie jerked out of the haze her thoughts had fallen into. Stepping perhaps too quickly to meet her uncle and the Lady smiling at his arm, Amie tilted up her chin, gathering her wits. “Come,” Henry beckoned with a warm, albeit apologetic smile for her.

  So he hasn’t forgotten about Lady Gold-Digger’s human comments either.

  “Well, this has been most fantasmatic, Henry, darling. But I have some necessarily tedious business off Gooseberry Street, aye?” She pulled against Henry’s arm, batting her eyelashes as if telling him she’d much rather remain with him.

  Amie rolled her eyes and glanced back at Emrys to share a grimace.

  The shop they stopped at was at the end of a less busy street, but their audience had followed at a distance. Watching on now, they murmured amongst themselves, trying to discover the reason for the Lord of Wenderdowne’s visit. Now they observed as Lady Hogswillow parted ways with the others, waving coyly as she took several steps back.

  “Must you go so soon?” Amie asked her.

  “Oh indeed, it cannot wait,” Morcant replied, clutching her hands to her heart. “But never fear, Rado has already been given all my instructions. Your wardrobe shall be simply brilliant, darling! Henry, I shall see you at Zaro’s shop at the corner of Centaur Way, aye?”

  “Of course, my Lady,” Henry offered with a slight bow. Only after she was out of earshot did he sigh heavily and fall back into himself.

  Taking her Uncle’s proffered hand, Amie stepped gingerly as possible after him. “So what did you mean when you called the hobgoblins our subjects?”

  Henry waved at the aforementioned people, before tucking her hand through his arm and turning them away. “Wenderdowne is the largest estate after Hogswillow. In the beginning it controlled all these lands far as the eyes could see…but now we protect it.”

  Amie nodded, wondering still at the history of this place. Once again she felt a shifting in the air, a foreboding of something darker to come, something she knew and remembered.

  The front of the shop looked straight out of a movie set, so classic it was almost too imperfect. The roof hung over almost too far, the painted sign hanging by a thread, windows covered in layers of dirt and angled crookedly in parallel line to the open door. At the bench out front Emrys had already found his seat, glaring at the crowd who had taken steps closer.

  “Ah, you shall wait here then, my old friend?” Henry asked with false felicity.

  Emrys’ scowl deepened. “Fools wouldn’t stand to have the Merlin in their shop.” To Amie he adopted a smug grin. “Bane of the Vale, remember?” But once he thought she had turned away, his shoulders drooped and his eyes betrayed hidden sorrows.

  Amie followed Henry inside the dimly lit shop, to the herald of faint chimes. The sound was familiar, like the sweetest songs…

  “Oh my gosh!” she gasped once she spotted the hovering faeries flitting above. Their wooden homes hung from the rafters like her grandmother’s birdhouses. Once they perched and stopped to point out her arrival she saw their clothes were decidedly less woodsy and more urban tailored to fit. Tugging Henry’s sleeve, she whispered, “He keeps faeries as pets?”

  Henry’s brow arose and, shaking his head, he said, “Not exactly, Jessamiene.” Yet before he could explain a portly figure rushed at them.

  “Master Henry! Master Henry, you came! At last, aye, here it is, just finished it today!” As he spoke his cheeks jiggled beneath two slanted, sparkling brown eyes. His hair was covered by a cap not unlike the short brimmed hats Slaine preferred. Spools of thread hung from a belt round his waist, measuring tape with symbols instead of numbers danced around his neck.

  “Excellent work, Rado. I had faith you could accomplish it in a day. No better milliner in town!”

  Once her eyes were adjusted to the light Amie finally noticed the piles of clothing, boxes stacked in prec
arious positions.

  “Blasted dragon toes! Is this she, Master?” His breathless words jerked Amie’s attention back to him. Now that he stood before her she realized how much shorter hobgoblins really were. But there had been a time when Underhill was the same height as Amie.

  Have I really grown that much?

  “Yes, this is my delightful niece, the Lady Jessamiene.”

  Amie worked up a smile, lifted her skirts like Underhill had shown her and tucked her chin into her neck.

  The tailor froze at this, mouth molding to unspoken words. Sputtering, he bowed until his torso was level to the uneven floor. “M-milady! Why,” hand to his heart, “the great Creator above I believe hast given ye all the beauty of His angels!”

  Amie couldn’t help her giggle. Henry grinned, clapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “Stand up tall, Rado! Though I quite agree there is no need for such lofty grasping! My Jessamiene well knows our regard for her.” His handsome face beamed with a pride that made Amie blush.

  “Of course Master, of course…here let me go and fetch it.” The small male’s eyes lingered on Jessamiene a fraction too long, like an artist seeing the embodiment of his finest creation come to life.

  “Very good then! Do not forget about your invitation either, my friend. We must allow you to see the fruit of your efforts.”

  Rado’s teeth were covered with golden caps. Once he had disappeared through the door to his workshop Henry took her hand in his and squeezed. “Prepare yourself, my dear. You’ve never seen anything like hobgoblin work. Not even our own people create things of such beauty to last for so long. Unfortunately we tend to only be masters of illusion.”

  Muffled cursing and the crashing of upturned boxes filled the silence. Henry’s grin was hesitant, yet constantly confident.

  She smiled. “Uncle Henry, if I asked you something would you promise to be perfectly honest with me?”

  “Hmm? Oh yes! Cross me heartstrings and hope to pluck!” He played the air above his chest like he was playing a harp, eyes crinkling at the corners.