Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (28 page)

But
they may also be compelled to go into the Torpor. Most of the
Kostigern’s supporters had been pushed into the fading as
punishment for their betrayal of the Crown. Had that been part of
the Ferryman’s fate? If so, why had he also been cursed? It hardly
seemed useful to impose both sets of consequences upon him, for the
curse which bound him to his ferry-boat meant little if he was in
the Torpor anyway. Perhaps they had been separately applied. Isabel
might guess that he had been compelled to fade along with the rest
of the Kostigern’s surviving supporters, but if so, who had cursed
him?

These
topics of conversation occupied Isabel and Eliza so completely that
they began to resent the engagements which took them out of the
house, and away from further study. Only the prospect of
encountering the Piper’s troupe could persuade Eliza to accept as
many invitations as she did, though she was disappointed in that
hope, for the Rade did not come to York. Isabel accompanied her
aunt merely as a matter of duty. So absorbed was she by Aylfenhame,
by its histories and mysteries and her promise to the Ferryman,
that the quiet succession of entertainments which she would
normally enjoy now wholly failed to interest her.

She
did allow herself to be distracted, occasionally, by Tafferty. The
wily catterdandy soon realised that Isabel’s attention was unlikely
to be brought to bear upon her witchery as Tafferty wished; not
while so many scrolls remained unread, and so little information
had been gleaned. So she began to find ways to encourage Isabel to
use her witchery to support herself and her aunt in their task. It
began one morning when the tea and cakes which were generally
supplied for their refreshment ran out, and Eliza reached out to
ring the bell and summon more.

‘Stop
a moment,’ said Tafferty, waking and stretching luxuriously. ‘Ye
‘ave a teapot an’ a plate. It may interest ye t’ know that they
may, by the smallest bit o’ witchery, be encouraged t’ refill their
own selves.’

Isabel stared at her companion. ‘I cannot imagine any such
thing to be a mere trifle!’

‘There’s some as could never manage it,’ Tafferty admitted.
‘But I think thou hast the way of it. There’s two ways, in point o’
fact. Later, I will assist thee t’ fashion a teapot o’ yer own, of
the enchanted variety. That manner o’ thing will keep itself filled
at all times, an’ wi’ whatever thou wishest t’ find in it. But now,
thou mayst simply coax yonder pot t’ recall what was in it before.
An’ the plate, too.’

The ensuing
lesson took up full two hours, time which Isabel sorely regretted
losing. Particularly after the first hour, when her head ached and
her thirst grew. But she was rewarded when the scent of fragrant
citrus tea suddenly reached her nostrils. Lifting the lid of the
elegant porcelain teapot, she discovered a steaming brew
inside.

After
that, it was the work of moments to encourage the plate to likewise
restore its contents. Staring at the steaming pot and the small
mound of delicate pastries upon the plate, Isabel was stunned — and
delighted.

And
also disturbed, for the exercise brought to mind the enchanted
teapots and plates that she had supped from during the strange
half-hour she had spent as a guest at the Teapot Society. The
comparison chilled her a little, but it also enlightened her. Was
this how the magical table had been contrived? Someone had woven
enchantment into the very fabric of the table, constructing it, in
all likelihood, for the purpose. And the pots and plates had
likewise been carefully crafted: To react firstly to each new guest
and fill themselves accordingly, and afterwards to keep themselves
filled no matter how much their owners ate or drank.

She was awed, and
a little frightened, by her own power. Tafferty observed her in
silence as Isabel cautiously poured a cup of tea from the
newly-enchanted teapot, and took a pastry.

‘Thou
art not at all likely t’ turn thy hand t’ the likes o’ that,’ the
catterdandy said, and hoisted a pastry from the plate with her
claws. ‘I can see it in thy face. Thy fears. The Teapot Society, it
is a corruption o’ these kinds of arts. Now, why was it made? I
cannot answer that, no more’n I know who it was that brought it
into bein’.’

Isabel nodded, and bit into her pastry. It was perfect, crisp
and still warm from the oven. There was nothing about it to suggest
that someone had caused it to waft up out of a mere plate all by
itself.

Eliza
smiled at Isabel. ‘Vershibat tried for years to teach me that art,’
she said wistfully. ‘Alas, it was beyond my skill.’

‘Thou
art more gifted at the Glamour side o’ things,’ said Tafferty, and
Eliza nodded.

‘Though it is long since I much employed the Glamour.’ She
frowned as she spoke, and her tone was dissatisfied. ‘Ah, to leave
such powers unused! It is a terrible waste.’

Isabel frowned
and looked down at her scroll, unwilling to venture a reply. To
waste her powers was precisely what she had wished to do. Indeed,
some hidden corner of her heart still preferred the idea of
slipping back into her old, familiar life, and forgetting the
colour, the chaos and the confusion of Aylfenhame
altogether.

When
she looked up again, she discovered that her aunt had vanished. In
her place sat another woman entirely: younger by twenty years at
least, and dressed according to the fashions of Aylfenhame. Her
hair was prettily bound up under a coronet of flowers, and she wore
a shimmering, full-sleeved gown of rose-pink and gold
velvet.

Isabel gasped, and stared wildly around the room. She had not
heard her aunt leave, nor anybody else enter! Surprise clouded her
thoughts, and some moments passed before the truth occurred to
her.

The
lady opposite was her aunt, only restored to youth. Youth, and
something else. For her hair was no longer the familiar shade of
brown threaded with grey, but had developed a coppery sheen.
Stranger still, the hazel hue of her eyes had vanished in favour of
a pale green colour, like polished jade. They were not quite human
eyes.

‘Is
this… Glamour?’ Isabel said in a faint voice.

Eliza
laughed, and smoothed the front of her velvet gown with a loving
hand. ‘You see me as I was, when I last went into Aylfenhame.’
Which did not precisely answer Isabel’s question, but Eliza fell
silent, pensive. At last she added in a quieter voice, ‘As I was
when I might have stayed.’

Eliza
had been a beauty. This did not surprise Isabel, for she was a
handsome woman in her middle years. What did surprise her was how
well she suited the Ayliri garb she wore. She could almost be Aylir
herself. ‘Why did you return to England?’

‘Because I had already accepted a proposal of marriage from
Mr. Grey, who loved me. The life he offered was laid before my
feet, and I knew — I could predict — every step of it. But the life
I might have led in Aylfenhame was by no means so clear. I had
nowhere to go, no one to help me, and no notion as to how to keep
myself.’

‘Those were very sensible objections to the plan, aunt,’ said
Isabel gravely.

Eliza
looked at her. ‘Sensible,’ she repeated. ‘Yes, they were. And
because I had so much good sense — and so little courage — I chose
the simplest path, and turned my back on everything
else.’

So
little courage. Those words repeated in Isabel’s mind. Did she lack
courage? Was that why she clung to the familiarity of England, and
tried so hard to reject everything that fitted poorly alongside it?
She did not like to think so. She had always been praised for her
good sense.

‘Something occurs to me, my love,’ said Eliza, disrupting
Isabel’s train of thought. ‘In all my reading, I have not learnt
what became of the Kostigern.’

Isabel blinked, and fought to turn her thoughts away from her
aunt’s surprising appearance and back to their shared study. ‘Why,
no. Nor have I. I had hoped to discover something of it in this
passage, but there is nothing. It discusses what became of his
followers, but says nothing of him. And now it has diverted into
talk of the Royal Guards of Mirramay.’ She tapped the scroll she
held as she spoke, which had been unfurled almost to its fullest
extent. Soon she would finish reading it. It was the last of the
three she had studied, and Eliza had almost completed her share.
Yet, so many questions remained unanswered, and they had not
learned the Ferryman’s name.

‘It
occurs to me,’ continued Eliza, ‘that there is one person who must
remember the Ferryman’s name.’ She paused and regarded Isabel with
a significant air, as though waiting for a similar idea to enter
her niece’s brain.

‘Who
do you mean?’ Isabel was obliged to ask.

Eliza
sat back in her chair, adjusting the floral coronet she still wore.
‘Somebody laid the curse upon our poor friend, the Ferryman. I am
inclined to agree with you: it is unlikely that this punishment was
laid upon him by the Queen at Mirramay. For she had already
dispensed her judgement, and sent all his compatriots into the
Torpor — and very likely him, as well. Who, then, cursed him, and
why?

‘Let
us speculate. We know that he had a Master, who bound him by oath
to serve. The Ferryman, moreover, condemns himself for not having
tried harder. He did not say that he did not even attempt to resist
his Master.’

The
pieces came together in Isabel’s mind. ‘Oh, no!’ she cried. ‘My
dear aunt, you are not suggesting…?’

‘I
am. There are two who might remember what the Ferryman’s name once
was: his former Master, and the person who laid the curse upon him.
It is my belief that these two are the same; that, in short, the
Kostigern laid the curse upon his oath-bound apprentice. I think
that our Ferryman attempted some manner of resistance.’

‘But
that means he was punished by both sides!’ Isabel exclaimed,
horrified. ‘He was punished by the Queen for supporting the
Kostigern when he could not help it, and cursed by the Kostigern
for trying to support the Queen! That is a terrible
fate.’

‘It
is. The Torpor appears to have released him, at long last, and we
may be grateful for that. I believe we must to go all possible
lengths to free him from the second, harsher
punishment.’

‘Without a doubt,’ Isabel agreed. ‘But… but, aunt. If you are
correct, then — then we must —’

‘Find
the Kostigern. Yes.’

‘Find
the Kostigern. And somehow compel him to tell us what his former,
despised apprentice’s name was.’

Eliza
nodded. ‘It will be no easy task, that I know.’

‘Can
it even be possible? We have found no word of the Kostigern at all.
We know that he was defeated, but not what became of him
afterwards. Perhaps he was killed!’

‘If
he was known to be slain, I believe that would have been
recorded.’

‘Perhaps so, but what else may have become of him? If he was
sent into the Torpor, like the rest, then there he probably
remains. I do not have the first idea how to rouse him, and
besides, I do not think we should! For once woken, do you not think
that he would instantly revive his ambitions and take Mirramay?
There is no one to oppose him!’

‘Calm
down, my love,’ said Eliza in a soothing tone. Isabel became aware
that she was growing upset, and endeavoured to do as her aunt bid,
and calm herself. If the only way to fulfil her promise was to
undertake so impossible, and ill-advised, a quest, then she did not
know how to proceed — or whether she should. But she could not
leave the Ferryman unaided!

‘I do
not propose that we attempt to find the Kostigern himself. You are
perfectly right: to do so would be highly dangerous to more than
ourselves, and at any rate I am convinced that it would not answer.
He is unlikely to simply tell us his disgraced apprentice’s name,
after all.

‘But
he must have lived somewhere. There must have been some manner of —
of headquarters, or something of the kind. Do you not think? And
perhaps there we might find records of his apprentices. Contracts.
I do not know how such things are managed in Aylfenhame, but I have
some hopes that we may not be disappointed if we search
there.’

Isabel nodded, turning the idea over in her mind. ‘I think
you are right, aunt, but how are we to proceed? We know nothing of
the Kostigern’s background, nor where he might have lived either
during, or before, the conflict in Aylfenhame.’ She frowned as
another idea occurred to her, and added, ‘Though I do not think
that necessarily means that no one knows. Is such information
likely to be written down, even by the Chronicler? The Tower may be
guarded by the Keeper, but it is by no means inviolate.’