Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (13 page)

‘Thou
hast the manners of a swine,’ the giant informed Balligumph.
‘Motley-minded and a miscreant, troll! A reeky, knotty-pated
malt-worm!’ He glared down at the troll, who was laughing
uproariously at this barrage of insults, and added, ‘I was but two
instants from forming the most perfect leaf I have sculpt’d in all
the long ages of my life.’

Balligumph swept off his hat and bowed low to the giant. ‘My
apologies, then! I am sure ye will make more.’

The
giant’s glare vanished, and abruptly he grinned. His eyes were
jewel-green and they began, now, to twinkle; his leathery face
wrinkled further as he grinned. ‘Miscreant!’ he repeated. ‘Thou art
a plague upon giant-kind.’

Balligumph nodded agreement. ‘That I am, an’ an honour it is
to be so.’

The
giant’s gaze moved past Balligumph, and settled upon the rest of
his party. ‘A merry band of travellers! Wherefore hast thou
conveyed such colourful folk hither?’

‘Tis
yer help we’re after,’ Balligumph said. He motioned the riders
forward, and gestured for them to dismount. Isabel found herself
standing almost upon the protruding roots of the violet-decked
tree, and carefully avoided them, for what if they were all
giants?

‘This
is Sir Guntifer,’ Balligumph said, beaming. ‘One o’ my oldest
friends, when he is not slumberin’ like an old
lazybones.’

‘I am
an old lazybones,’ interjected Sir Guntifer.

‘Well, an’ I was bein’ charitable,’ said Balligumph. ‘But if
ye prefer, I will tell the truth. A more frippery fellow ye scarce
‘ave met in yer lives, an’ lazy to boot. But he is loyal, an’
clever, an’ he knows more about anythin’ ye can think up than
anyone.’ His grin widened. ‘Even me.’

Isabel’s brows rose as Balligumph spoke of his friendship
with the giant, for the insults they had hurled at each other were
fresh in her mind. There was no mistaking the gleam of affection in
Sir Guntifer’s eyes, though, as he looked at the troll; nor the
true geniality of Balligumph’s smile.

The
tree-giant’s form began subtly to alter once more, and soon he
stood a giant entire, his trunk gone in favour of stout legs in
tall boots up to the knee and laced britches the colour of oak-tree
bark. He carried a weapon like a rapier at his side. He took off
his hat, from the brim of which sprang a cluster of tumbling vines
finer than any feather, and swept them another bow. This was still
more fluid and flamboyant than the first, displaying the grace and
manners of a courtier. Isabel stared, astonished, and only
belatedly remembered to curtsey in response.

‘Fine
folk,’ pronounced Sir Guntifer, restoring his hat to his head. ‘I
am Sir Guntifer Winlowe! Once I was guard to the Royal Family of
Aylfenhame, in lost and thrice-mourned Mirramay. Now, I am as you
see me: slumbersome and adrift.’

‘An’
a trifle melancholy,’ said Balligumph, patting Sir Guntifer gently
on the back. ‘But ‘tis just because ye ‘ave been asleep too long.
Ye’ll rouse. An’ I have a task to help ye along.’ He grinned and,
with a swift glance at Lihyaen, added, ‘Nigh on a century, no?
P’raps more? A fine, long rest.’

Lihyaen had become visibly more alert at this mention of the
Royal Family, and no wonder, for the possibility that he might have
known her parents immediately presented itself. Perhaps he even
knew what had become of her father — or the person who had taken
Lihyaen herself! But at Balligumph’s shrewd words these hopes faded
and she settled once more. One hundred years and more was far too
long ago; when the king had vanished and the queen had died, Sir
Guntifer must have been asleep.

‘Very
well,’ rumbled Sir Guntifer. His voice was very deep and rough,
like tumbling rocks. ‘Pray you, then: tell me of this
errand.’

Balligumph took off his hat and scratched at his head,
frowning. ‘Did ye ever have cause to make use o’ the
ferries-as-was?’ he said.

Sir
Guntifer shook his head. ‘Nay, I had nought to do with the
Ferry-folk.’

‘But
ye’ll remember Kostigern, I’ll wager.’

Sir
Guntifer’s face darkened. ‘Aye. That I do.’

‘In
the wake o’ that, every one o’ the Ferries was disbanded — all save
one, an’ its Keeper was cursed t’ toil upon it forever. Can ye
recall word o’ such?’

‘The
Last Keeper.’ Sir Guntifer peered at Balligumph. ‘What is the
nature of thy business with such as he, old friend?’

‘It
don’t sound as ye like the fellow overmuch,’ Balligumph
commented.

Sir
Guntifer shrugged his wide shoulders, sending puffs of moss and
dirt into the air. ‘Ne’r have I met the Keeper, but tidings of him
reached me in ages past.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Tis his merited
punishment, some say, for his support of the one called Kostigern
in the Times of Trial.’

Isabel opened her mouth to object, but caught herself in
time. Support of Kostigern, the traitor? Remembering the Ferryman’s
congenial manner, his kindness, and above all his loneliness, her
heart cried out at the allegation. But good sense intervened before
she could make a fool of herself. What did she know of the
Ferryman, in truth? Little indeed. A mere hour’s conversation with
a man she found pleasant could not render him incapable of
wrong-doing. But the thought troubled her.

‘Aye,’ Balligumph was saying. ‘I ‘ave come across such tales
me own self. I dunnot know if there’s a scrap o’ truth in ‘em.’ He
glanced at Isabel as he spoke, and she was warmed to detect a note
of concern in his eyes — warmed and embarrassed, for had her liking
for the Ferryman been so obvious?

‘Ye
don’t know, then, how the curse came t’ be bestowed, or by who?’
Balligumph continued.

Sir
Guntifer shook his head. ‘That is not known to me.’

‘An’
therefore, ye don’t know who he was before he was the
Ferryman.’

Sir
Guntifer shook his head again. ‘I would that it were not so, for I
see I am of no help to thee.’

Balligumph sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘I ‘ad hopes,’ he
admitted. ‘Tis said tha’ to lift the curse his name ‘as to be
found. I was hopin’ ye might know, old as ye are.’

The
giant stuck a vine into his mouth and chewed upon it. ‘Mm,’ he
said.

‘Tis
a thorny problem.’

‘Verily.’ The giant thought some more. ‘Wherefore dost thou
wish the Ferryman’s freedom?’ he enquired. ‘He may be a foe, but if
he is not that, he is certainly no friend.’

‘The
young lady,’ said Balligumph with a slight cough and a gesture
towards Isabel, ‘is possessed of a heart o’ gold, an’ she has made
somethin’ along the lines of an unwise promise to the
lad.’

Sir
Guntifer’s gaze settled upon Isabel, and she found herself surveyed
with discomfiting keenness. ‘Has she,’ he said.

Isabel looked at her feet, colouring. Never had she felt so
foolish as she felt now, speared by that intense, ancient gaze. She
felt that every part of her folly was displayed to his discerning
eye, without hope of respite. ‘I felt…’ she began, but her words
died away.

‘Ye
felt?’ prompted Balligumph. ‘Come now, lass. Ye’re among friends.
Ye must tell us everythin’, the better we’ll be able to help
ye.’

Isabel lifted her chin. ‘I felt sympathy for his plight,’ she
said. ‘No one deserves such a fate, and I do not care what he has
done.’

‘Some
people do,’ muttered Aubranael, and Lihyaen nodded. If they were
thinking of the one who had taken Lihyaen, then she could not
disagree; but the possibility that the Ferryman was capable of such
villainy seemed, to her, utterly impossible.

To
her relief, Sir Guntifer smiled upon her, and even patted her upon
the head — crushing her bonnet entirely, she feared. ‘A sweet
maid,’ he said. ‘I hope for thy sake, little one, that he is worthy
of thy belief in him.’

‘Me
too,’ growled Balligumph.

Sir
Guntifer stretched mightily, and shook himself. ‘If it were some
two centuries ago at this moment,’ he said, ‘I would say that the
Chronicler is the person who would know. But thou art late
indeed.’

Balligumph’s eyes brightened. ‘The Chronicler! I heard word
o’ him, once upon a time. Royal record-keeper, or some such, back
in the golden days o’ the Royals?’

‘Aye,’ said the giant. ‘Every event of note went into his
books, and he knew all. But he is gone. Gone since
Kostigern.’

‘Gone?’ said Balligumph. ‘Or destroyed?’

‘That
is not known.’

A
wide smile split Balligumph’s face. ‘Ye were gone an awful long
time,’ he said to Sir Guntifer.

The giant raised
a shaggy eyebrow.

‘Come
t’ think of it, the Ferryman was also scarce fer the odd decade or
two.’

‘Aye,’ said Sir Guntifer. ‘Thou art thinking that, mayhap, the
Chronicler has also returned.’

‘There’s a slim chance, do ye not think?’

‘Slender indeed.’

‘Thin
an’ feeble an’ scarce worth the name o’ hope, but a chance! Now,
I’m thinkin’.’ Balligumph tugged his hat from his head and began to
turn it about in his hands, pulling at the brim and chewing upon
his lips as he thought. ‘Last seen in Mirramay, most like?’ he said
at last, looking at Sir Guntifer.

‘Aye.’

‘Then
to Mirramay ye must go!’ Balligumph stuck his hat back onto his
head and tapped upon it with a pleased smile. ‘Lots goin’ on in me
noggin,’ he announced. ‘The Missie, now. She’s ‘ere fer
witch-trainin’, ain’t that the truth? Well, so. Send ‘er to
Mirramay wi’ the right sort o’ companions an’ she’ll get all the
trainin’ she’ll need — an’ a mite of perspective, like. Maybe
she’ll find the Chronicler there an’ maybe she won’t, but a great
deal may happen on such a journey. A very great deal.’

Balligumph concluded this speech with a wise nod and a
beaming smile at Isabel, who involuntarily stepped back a pace.
‘Mirramay!’ she said. ‘Gracious me, I really… that is, I have not
the smallest notion where that may be. Or what manner of place it
is.’

‘Not
a worry!’ said Balligumph promptly. ‘Ye will have a guide. It is
the largest an’ finest city in all of Aylfenhame, an’ the site o’
the Royal Court.’ His smile faded into a scowl, and he shrugged.
‘Or it was. ‘Tis all broken down, now, in the absence o’ the Royal
family.’

Isabel glanced uncertainly around at her companions, seeking
signs of enthusiasm for this plan. They looked as blank as she,
though Lihyaen wore an expression of intent interest. ‘Is it very
far away?’ Isabel asked.

‘Oh,
a deal o’ distance,’ said Balligumph with unimpaired
cheer.

‘Then
surely I cannot. I am here without my Mama’s knowledge, and before
long I must return to England.’ She blushed with shame at owning
such a piece of misconduct and deceit, though it had been embarked
upon at her aunt’s urging — and more than urging. But nobody looked
shocked at such an admission. If anything, the sparkle in Sophy’s
eyes denoted approval.

‘Yer
Ma will manage without ye fer a week or two,’ said Balligumph. ‘An’
ye may trust yer aunt to take care o’ such matters as
that.’

‘She
cannot conceal my absence forever!’ Isabel protested. ‘Nor explain
it, once it is discovered! I must not place her in such a difficult
position.’

Balligumph grinned. ‘Seems to me yer aunt ‘as more put ye in
a difficult position, an’ fer good reason. Don’t ye worry yer ‘ead
about Eliza Grey. She is more than equal to the challenges, an’ it
was ‘er own doin’ at that.’

Isabel’s mouth opened, but no further objections spilled
forth. Not because she was disinclined to make any, but because she
could think of no further reasons to refuse, besides her own deep
reluctance to undertake any such journey. She ought to be paying
morning calls with her aunt and attending York assemblies, not
gadding about in Aylfenhame! Besides, how was she to manage such a
journey? She was not so physically robust as Sophy, and it would
surely be arduous.

‘I
will go with you,’ Sophy said, her voice pitched low. It was
typically considerate of her. Not for the world would she loudly
push Isabel into any scheme she disliked, but she would always
support her if her help was required. Isabel smiled gratefully at
her.