The Tales of Aylfenhame Compendium

Chapter Seventeen-2

He forced himself to focus instead on unravelling the remains of Lihyaen’s story. In a voice of studied calmness he said: ‘But who was it? Who did you bargain with? Who took Lihyaen?’

Hidenory stared at him and slowly shook her head. ‘I know nothing of him. I am sorry.’

Aubranael stared hard at her, but he could discern nothing but sincere regret in Hidenory’s expression. Perhaps that meant nothing; she was, after all, the very mistress of pretence. But for the present he must satisfy himself with this unhelpful answer.

Lihyaen shook her frail head, growing agitated in the circle of Aubranael’s arms. ‘But I do not understand,’ she said fretfully. ‘How came you all to be here, all of a sudden, on this day? Aubranael and Nurse Hidey together? It is the most improbable of coincidences.’

No one had any ready answer to this—until Sophy spoke up. ‘I do not believe it is any coincidence at all,’ she said calmly. ‘Such a thing is very unlikely, is it not?’

A brief smile touched Aubranael’s face. That was so very like Sophy: a voice of cool reason in the midst of chaos. It took him a moment to realise that her gaze was settled meaningfully upon Felebre, who had jumped up onto the table.

‘Felebre?’ he said in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Felebre has been very busy, has she not?’ said Sophy. ‘She has been keeping company with Aubranael for years, so I understand, and also with Hidenory.’

Hidenory nodded her assent.

‘I do not know what her intentions have been throughout all this, but that she is the means of bringing us together there can be no doubt.’ Sophy regarded Felebre in silence for a moment, and then added: ‘And she has shown far more affection for Lihyaen in the past half-hour than I have ever seen her show to anyone.’

Aubranael stared at Felebre: her unusually large frame; her sleek, purple fur; and her enormous golden eyes. Not for the first time, it struck him that there was a hint of royal majesty about her posture and bearing.

But Lihyaen was trembling in his arms, and he sensed that her exhaustion had reached a crisis. She simply had not the strength for the demands of the evening.

‘All further reflection must now wait,’ he said hastily. ‘Lihyaen is in sore need of rest.’ He stood up and made to draw her with him, but she stared up at him in despair.

‘Do you imagine it can be as simple as that?’ she said sadly. ‘If I could simply rise to my feet and go, would I not have done so many years since?’

Aubranael stared at her in dismay. ‘But—but how can you be liberated?’

‘It is the easiest thing in the world,’ she said promptly. ‘When another willingly takes my place at the head of the table, then I may go.’ She blinked up at Aubranael and said: ‘You may imagine the eagerness of my guests to volunteer themselves.’

A clamour went up as—to Aubranael’s astonishment—at least half of the assembled guests spoke up at once, and a chorus of ‘I will!’ and ‘I pledge myself!’ scattered across the clearing like birds.

But no one stepped forward, and nothing happened: Lihyaen did not appear, by any miraculous chance, to be liberated from her servitude.

Grunewald’s acid tones broke the silence. ‘You have to mean it,’ he said dryly. ‘When has an empty promise ever broken the chains of a curse?’

Aubranael looked at Lihyaen. He had failed to protect her years ago; he had nothing at all to offer her now. But here was the means to make amends for his various failures.

He opened his mouth to commit himself—and hesitated. His eyes strayed to Sophy’s face. She looked steadily back at him, her face calm, her expression grave. She knew what was passing through his thoughts, he felt sure of it, and she neither condemned nor encouraged it.

To serve one, he would have to abandon and neglect the other. He looked from Sophy’s dear face, devoid at present of the sunny smile he loved, to Lihyaen’s exhausted countenance as she leaned against him, her eyes shut. How could he possibly choose?

‘I will take the chair.’

The words were spoken loudly and firmly, sent forth into the still air with all the resolution of a bold character and a wilful mind. The voice was Hidenory’s.

She stood nearby, looking down at Lihyaen with an indescribable expression on her beautiful face. Holding out one slim, youthful hand to the princess, she said: ‘Shake hands with me.’

Doubtfully, the princess extended her own thin fingers and grasped Hidenory’s. In a flash the two changed places: Hidenory sat in Lihyaen’s chair, her back straight and her chin proudly lifted; Lihyaen stood swooning by the table. Hastily he jumped up and ran to support her, catching her before she fell into an undignified heap among the trees.

‘Why?’ Aubranael asked the witch.

She smiled sardonically. ‘I already bear the burden of one curse; why not two?’

Aubranael merely stared at her.

‘Somewhere there is the means to destroy this cruel enchantment,’ she said more seriously. ‘Someday, somebody will discover it. And I shall, in all probability, be much asleep until that time comes. And I am very tired.’

A small, brown face popped up at the table next to Hidenory’s chair: Pharagora. The brownie had taken the chair at the witch’s right hand, and now she sat smiling at her. ‘I am tired too,’ the brownie announced. ‘And thirsty. I will keep you company awhile.’

Several others followed the brownie’s lead, though Aubranael did not recognise any of the hobs and goblins and other fae who were taking their seats at the table. But with the change of hostess and the arrival of new guests, the Teapot Society began to regain its strength: Aubranael could feel the curious pull of the well-laid table exert itself once more, and he had to fight the temptation to claim a seat and a teapot himself. He had not the time at present to think through all the implications of Hidenory’s uncharacteristic self-sacrifice: his first duty was to Lihyaen and Miss Landon, and all their friends.

‘It is perhaps time to leave,’ he said, looking at Sophy and then at Balligumph.

‘Yes,’ Sophy murmured, and began at once to collect all of her particular friends and associates together. Grunewald gathered his scattered goblins with a sharp whistle and a bellowed command; Balligumph organised the retreat. ‘All right, now, off ye go! Ahead o’ me, every one o’ ye. I’ll keep the wily table from swallowin’ ye on yer way past.’ He gave a low, rumbling chuckle, his bright eyes sharp as he shepherded every erstwhile table guest safely past him. At last only Aubranael and Lihyaen remained—and Sophy, who had turned at the last and now stood watching him.

‘Ye’ll take care o’ the lady?’ Balligumph asked him.

Aubranael nodded. ‘Will you take care of Miss Landon?’

The troll nodded gravely. ‘That I will.’ He tipped his hat, one great blue eye closing briefly in a knowing wink. ‘Be careful wi’ yerself as well as wi’ the lady, now. We’ll meet again, of that I have no doubt.’

Aubranael nodded his thanks in distracted fashion, his eyes already searching out Miss Landon’s face. She was staring at him with the same solemnity as before, and he could read none of the things that must be taking place behind her eyes. He opened his mouth, searching desperately for some parting sentiment that would express everything he felt: his regrets, hopes, apologies, desires and, above all, his affection. Would he meet her again? Could he truly allow her to leave without being assured of it?

But no merciful ray of inspiration graced his weary and befuddled mind. ‘Farewell, Miss Landon,’ was all that he managed to say.

She made him the slightest of curtsies and turned away. Torn, Aubranael watched her go.

Balligumph nudged him, almost hard enough to knock both he and Lihyaen over. He looked all the way up into the troll’s kindly face, uttering a long, long sigh as he did so.

The troll winked again. ‘Up wi’ yer chin, now. All will yet be well.’

Then Balligumph, too, turned and left, his footsteps sending tremors through the clearing.

‘Well then, my dearest,’ Aubranael murmured to Lihyaen. ‘Let us go.’

***

Mr. Balligumph and Mr. Green shepherded Sophy and her friends back to Lincolnshire. Balli led the way, warding off interference by virtue of his sheer size, if nothing else; though Sophy had come to realise that the name of Balligumph inspired respect in Aylfenhame, and she doubted many would dare to challenge him.

Mr. Green’s behaviour was oddly solicitous. Sophy felt excessively confused by him, and wary: that he was not as she had believed him to be was clear enough, and that raised uncomfortable questions about his friend, Mr. Stanton. As Mr. Green she had found him satirical, sardonic, careless and sometimes mocking; but on the return journey from the Outwoods he was sensitive to everybody’s comfort, and frequently circled back through the party to assist the ladies over obstructions, to pick Mary up when she tumbled, and to find room atop the goblins’ ghostly mounts for the smaller folk when they grew tired.

His goblins, however, continued to alarm her. There were so many of them: they surrounded Sophy’s little company on all sides, ringing the weary party around in a surging wall of noisy activity. The hounds howled in ghostly voices, thin and chilling like the distant calling of dogs carried on a strong wind; the goblins yipped and spurred their steeds faster and faster, riding wildly around and around the slowly-moving company. The display was dizzying, but Sophy supposed she should be grateful for it: between Balligumph and Mr. Green’s inexplicable goblin escort, nothing wicked could hope to gain access to the knot of humans and fae sheltered within.

She tried to refrain from thinking too much on that strange journey, but without much success, for her thoughts spun around and around and she could not call them to order. She had too many questions, and they were so important that she could not lay them to rest. Who was Mr. Green? Here in Aylfenhame she wondered that she could ever have thought him human: there was a wildness to his leaf-green eyes that startled her every time his gaze met hers; he was quick and lithe and fleet of foot, far more so than any human could ever hope to be; and the control he exerted over the goblins and their steeds was truly remarkable.

And if Mr. Green was, in truth, a being of Aylfenhame—and a powerful one—who was Mr. Stanton? Was he an Englishman after all? He could be; perhaps he had simply fallen in with the mysterious Mr. Green and formed an unlikely friendship.

Or perhaps not. This possibility depressed her: if he, too, was a powerful denizen of Aylfenhame, what could he really want with her?

When at last they had all stepped back through the veil into England and gathered at Balligumph’s bridge, a degree of quiet descended and Sophy’s frayed nerves began to calm. The goblins and their chilling steeds did not accompany them as far as Tilby, and Sophy was relieved to leave that whirlwind of baying and leaping and circling behind. Mr. Green, however, did follow; and she found that she was the focus of his attention and Mr. Balligumph’s.

‘Now, Miss Sophy,’ said Balli kindly. ‘Come up an’ lean on me. We’ve a deal o’ news to share, an’ ye may find some of it a trifle surprisin’. There, very good.’ He seated Sophy on the wall beside him and bade her lean against his tree-trunk of a side; she did so gratefully, suddenly conscious of great physical exhaustion. And no wonder, for she must have walked the length and breadth of the Outwoods over the past two days.

Then followed an extraordinary tale, narrated largely by Balligumph, with interjections from Mr. Green—or Grunewald, as she learned he was really called—and occasional assistance from Thundigle, Mary, Anne, Isabel and Mr. Ellerby. She was not obliged to exert herself very much, for her side of the tale was told by Tut-Gut, Pinch and Graen; she had only to master herself long enough to recount the involvement of Felebre and the actions of Hidenory.

This was fortunate, for the news from Balligumph sent her already overtaxed mind spiralling beyond her control.

Mr. Stanton was Aubranael. Aubranael and Mr. Stanton were one and the same.

She had much to reimagine and reinterpret; every meeting with Mr. Stanton must be gone over again; every aspect of Aubranael’s behaviour at the tea-party revisited; every thought she had ever had about him must be edited in light of the revelations she was now receiving.