The Tales of Aylfenhame Compendium

Chapter Eleven-2

The brownie smiled gently at him again, and bowed. ‘My name is Pharagora,’ she said politely. ‘In case you were interested.’

‘I was not.’

She bowed again. ‘Very good. I will take your message to Mr. Balligumph.’ She walked calmly past Grunewald—her head barely reaching his knee—and disappeared.

Grunewald smiled sunnily at Aubranael. ‘Now that that’s cleared up,’ he said, and turned to leave.

‘A moment,’ Aubranael said. ‘What was that about?’

‘Nosy, self-appointed bridge guardians prying into our business,’ Grunewald replied. ‘In other words, nothing at all of any import.’

‘Oh? But you were quite angry with her.’

Grunewald’s green eyes glittered dangerously. ‘I dislike spies.’

Aubranael smiled faintly at him. ‘You have many secrets, sire.’

Grunewald pointed one long finger at him and said, ‘Do not call me that.’

‘Why not? If that is what you are.’ Aubranael spoke calmly, but the revelation that his suspicions might be correct—that Grunewald was the Goblin King—rattled him somewhat. He had heard all manner of strange stories about the king of the goblins. That he was famously eccentric was patently true, and not terribly alarming; but he had also heard tales of a poor temper, a tendency to tire quickly of other people, and occasional forays into shocking violence when he was thwarted.

Grunewald smiled a slow, not very pleasant smile. ‘Whatever I am,’ he said coolly, ‘you will find me a much more congenial companion if you do not attempt to pry into my secrets.’

‘That is evidently true,’ Aubranael said with a smile, and a slight inclination of the head.

Grunewald sighed, and further disordered his wild red hair by running a hand through it. ‘Complications,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose it is better than boredom.’

With that slightly mystifying comment, he disappeared into the corridor. But a moment later he was back. ‘Aubranael?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Will you please, for the love of my sanity, make a decision? And then act upon it?’

Aubranael opened his mouth to reply, but Grunewald had gone. He sighed, and ran a hand through his own hair.

Grunewald had thought only of his own secrets when he had caught Pharagora, but Aubranael spared a thought for his own. Mr. Balligumph was, he knew, friendly with Miss Landon. Had Pharagora discovered anything about Mr. Stanton’s real identity? Was that news even now on its way to the troll? If so, he knew it would not be long before Sophy was informed of it.

A flutter of panic shot through him, turning his knees to water. He was not a worldly gentleman, and he could at times be astonishingly naive; but even he knew that if Miss Landon was informed of his true identity by anybody but himself, she might not react well to the revelation at all. All thoughts of the mystery of Grunewald’s true identity fled from his mind, in the wake of the realisation that he had run out of time. He had no way of confirming how much Pharagora had discovered, but she only needed to have heard Grunewald call him by his real name, and that was by no means impossible.

He glanced at the handsome library clock, and learned that the hour was already past four. He would have time to see Miss Landon this afternoon, if he hurried; and he had better hurry. The time for indecision was past; he would have to do as Hidenory had insisted, and tell Miss Landon the truth. Whether or not she would forgive his deception remained to be seen—his heart thumped uncomfortably at the prospect that she might not—but if she did, then he would do his utmost to win her over entirely.

Given the desperation of her circumstances, perhaps she would be grateful for his timely appearance, and not be too hard upon him.

Perhaps.

***

Ye may be able t’imagine my feelin’s when Pharagora came back wi’ the news. The Goblin King! In my town, messin’ about wi’ Miss Sophy! An’ that Mr. Stanton bein’ somebody else entirely! I don’t like to leave the bridge unattended, as a rule, but what could I do? Miss Sophy had t’ know! Off I went wi’ barely a second thought. I caused a bit of a stir rampagin’ through Tilby, but it ain’t like anybody’d dare to stop me, now is it?

Aubranael was in too much of a hurry to walk—or even to wait for the carriage to be prepared. He called for his horse to be saddled with the utmost urgency, and within ten minutes he was astride and on his way to the parsonage.

It was an anxious ride. He barely noticed the beauty of the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves of the roadside trees, or the sweet, cooling breeze that swept over the fields; his mind was too busy with the problem of how to tell Miss Landon that he had lied. The short journey stretched interminably, and he could have sworn he had covered three times the distance before he finally came within sight of Miss Landon’s home; but he had no better idea of how to confess than when he had started.

He pulled up his horse just outside the parsonage, jumped down and hastily secured the bridle to the house’s gateposts. All the while his eyes searched the house for any signs of Miss Landon. What would he do if she was away from home? He would have to sit and wait for her to return.

He all but ran up to the front door, and, seizing the brass knocker in a hand that shook, he hammered it against the solid wooden door several times. When no one answered after a few seconds, he hammered again; and he was just about to begin for the third time when the door swung open. On the other side stood a shortish, stoutish woman of middle years with untidy, grey-brown hair. She wore the plain, practical clothing of a servant, along with an expression of alarm on her lined face.

‘Mary!’ he gasped. ‘Is Miss Landon at home?’

Mary shook her head, and his heart sank. ‘She went out more’n an hour ago,’ Mary said.

‘When will she be back?’

‘Oh,’ said Mary cautiously, eyeing him with some suspicion. ‘Reckoned she’d be gone a while, so she said.’

Aubranael blinked. A while? What did that mean? A few hours—or days? He asked, but Mary merely shrugged. If she knew the answer at all, she was not inclined to tell him.

‘Is something amiss?’ Mary asked.

He sighed, leaning his shaking hand against the doorframe. ‘Somewhat,’ he said bitterly. ‘It is most important that I see her. I need to speak to her on an urgent matter.’

Mary softened slightly, her suspicious manner relaxing. ‘I cannot invite you in, not with the mistress gone,’ she said apologetically.

‘Certainly I would not presume to intrude,’ he said hastily. ‘Perhaps I might leave her a note, or something of the like?’

‘I suppose you could,’ Mary said doubtfully. She began to look flustered—Aubranael guessed she was trying to think of where to find paper and pen, and coming up blank—but before she could resolve her dilemma, Aubranael heard a great shout from behind him and the sounds of rapidly approaching feet.

Whoever owned those feet was rather large, he judged. Was he imagining it, or did the entire street shake with every pounding step?

He turned around, and beheld Balligumph.

He had already met the bridge guardian, of course, on his arrival in Tilby. He had also heard of Mr. Balligumph; he was a minor legend in Aylfenhame.

Neither this previous meeting, nor any tale he had heard, could have prepared him for the sight that now met his eyes. The troll was in a high temper—a burning rage, Aubranael would have said—and given his height and considerable bulk, this was no trifling matter. The troll approached the parsonage at a dead run, his eyes blazing fury and fixed upon Aubranael.

Aubranael swallowed.

‘Hi!’ yelled the troll, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. ‘Hi! If it isn’t the so-called Mr. Stanton!’

If Aubranael had been entertaining any hopes that Mr. Balligumph had yet to hear from Pharagora, those hopes instantly evaporated. He stood a little straighter, took a deep breath to quell the fresh surge of panic in his gut, and straightened his shoulders.

‘I am called that, sometimes,’ he said calmly.

Balligumph kept on coming. For a moment Aubranael suffered a paralysing certainty that the troll meant to crash straight through him and into the parsonage, perhaps taking poor Mary with him along the way. Instead, he came to a thundering halt a mere few feet away from Aubranael, and stood glaring down at him, his huge chest heaving with exertion.

‘And?’ the troll demanded. ‘What have ye to say for yerself?’

‘On which topic?’ Aubranael replied.

Balligumph’s great blue eyes blazed anew, and he actually spluttered with indignation. ‘On—on the topic o’ Miss Landon, and yer friend,’ he bellowed. ‘What have the two o’ ye been gettin’ up to wi’ Miss Sophy?!’

‘Nothing at all, I assure you,’ said Aubranael.

‘Ha!’ roared the troll. ‘I like that! “Nothin’ at all”, says he, as cool as can be! But it will not do. There’s more to ye than meets the eye, that’s fer certain; and do ye deny that yer friend Mr. Green is a great deal more than he’s pretendin’?’

Aubranael held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. ‘I deny nothing,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But I never meant any harm to Miss Landon—nor did Grunewald. You must believe me.’

Balligumph glared down at him. ‘I don’t have t’ believe anythin’ ye’ve got t’ say.’

‘I know, but it is the truth! If you will give me a moment to speak, I will explain.’

The troll shook his enormous head and actually stamped one of his enormous feet, sending a tremor through the ground. Aubranael winced and hastily backed away, expecting a blow to fall upon him at any moment.

Before he could collect his scattered wits and find some way to defend himself, however, Mary waded into the fray. ‘See here!’ she shouted at Balligumph. ‘I’ll tell you what won’t do! It won’t do to run about terrorising the townfolk, just because you’re bigger’n everyone else!’ She actually shook a fist at the troll—a pitiful gesture, given the huge discrepancy in size between the two of them—but the fervour in her voice apparently made some impression, for Balligumph looked taken aback. ‘That’s better,’ Mary said firmly. She adopted an aggressive, no-nonsense stance: feet planted wide apart, hands upon her hips, and glared up at the troll. ‘It’s disrespectful to Miss Sophy, carryin’ on like this on her own doorstep! You ought to be ashamed.’

To Aubranael’s mild disbelief, Balligumph actually did look ashamed. He backed off a step or two, then took off his hat and held it in his two hands in an unquestionably remorseful gesture. ‘Sorry, Mary,’ he said contritely. ‘Ye’re right at that. I meant no harm.’

Mary nodded crisply and relaxed her battle stance. ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘Carry on.’

She returned into the house, though she continued to hover near the door—probably to keep an eye on Balligumph, Aubranael supposed. Relief mixed with anxiety and more than a little panic weakened his knees, and with a deep sigh he sat down upon the parsonage step.

Balligumph stared down at him, all the wind taken out of his sails. Perhaps Aubranael’s obvious dejection softened him a little further, for he said kindly enough: ‘Ah well, lad, ye cannot blame me fer bein’ concerned, can ye? What is it that ye’re doin’ in these parts? Tell me everythin’ that ye can.’

So Aubranael began at the very beginning, from the day that Miss Landon had entered his life in Grenlowe, and spared no detail. The tale took some time, but he resisted the temptation to hurry and skip over things. Balligumph’s obvious concern for Miss Landon seemed to warrant a thorough and honest narration (quite apart from his terrific size), and besides, he had nothing else to do but wait for Sophy to return.

Balligumph was kind enough to refrain from interrupting. He said nothing at all until Aubranael had finally finished, after which he spent a few minutes in silent reflection.

‘Well then,’ he said at last. ‘The next thing t’ ask is: where’s Miss Sophy got to?’

Aubranael shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. ‘If you have no idea, I am sure I do not.’

Balligumph directed an enquiring glance at Mary, but she had no more information to give.

‘I’m afraid she’s gone through, then,’ said the troll.

‘Gone through?’ repeated Aubranael. ‘To where? You mean Aylfenhame?’

‘Aye. She came to me a day or two ago, wantin’ the means to return. I gave it her, naturally!’ He eyed Aubranael suspiciously and said: ‘She spoke o’ havin’ met someone in Grenlowe. I got the distinct impression she was off in hopes o’ seein’ him again. I suppose she meant you.’

‘Did she?’ Aubranael said, his pulse quickening. She had liked him well enough to go in search of him again? This was news, and very welcome news at that; but she would not find him in Aylfenhame, of course, and he still had a few days left before Hidenory’s enchantment wore off.

Curse it all! What had possessed him to engage in this absurd masquerade? If he had only had the patience to wait, Miss Landon would have come to him!

‘I had better go after her,’ he said, jumping resolutely to his feet.

‘Had ye?’ Balligumph said. ‘How do ye plan to find her?’

Aubranael blinked up at him. ‘I… well, if she is looking for me, perhaps she will return to the places we visited together before?’

‘That she may,’ the troll conceded. ‘An’ when she doesn’t find ye there, what then? Will she stand about an’ wait for ye, day after day? No, not Miss Sophy! She has other business there.’

‘What other business?’

Balligumph launched into a tale of his own, regarding Sophy’s stitchery and her hopes for a shop in Grenlowe. A shop! In Grenlowe! She actually intended to settle in Aylfenhame, for good! This news electrified Aubranael, flooding him with a mixture of unlooked-for hope and renewed remorse and self-recrimination. The more he learned about Miss Landon, the more his masquerade seemed wrong-headed and ill-advised.

No matter. It was too late to regret what he had done: he had to focus on how to set matters to rights.

‘Then I must go after her,’ he declared when Balligumph had finished talking. ‘She will need help, perhaps, and guidance.’

‘I have arranged fer both,’ said the troll bluntly.

‘It cannot hurt for her to have more help and guidance,’ Aubranael said stubbornly. ‘Especially if she is looking for me!’

‘Aye, an’ so I’ll ask ye again: how are ye goin’ to find her?’

Aubranael opened his mouth, and closed it again, stumped. Balligumph had a point, damn him! ‘But I cannot simply sit here and await her return!’ he protested. ‘Who knows how long she might be?’

‘Not all that long, I reckon,’ Balligumph said confidently. ‘She has business still to finish in Tilby.’

Aubranael pondered the question of simply waiting for Sophy’s return. He was sorely tempted to ignore Balligumph’s advice and charge after her; but the situation was complicated enough. Miss Landon had gone in search of Aubranael, never knowing that she had left him behind in the person of Mr. Stanton; if he followed her and failed to find her, she would return to Tilby only to find that Mr. Stanton had also left. They could go on forever, narrowly missing each other, and the task of revealing his duplicity would fall to someone else—Balligumph, or Pharagora, or even Mary—and she would probably never forgive him.

As much as it tried his patience, he had to trust that she would soon return, and wait for her in Tilby.

‘I will wait,’ he said heavily. ‘Though it is hard.’

Balligumph clapped him on the shoulder, knocking all the wind clean out of him. ‘Tis the wisest course,’ he nodded. ‘Ye can keep me company at the bridge, an’ tell me all about yerself and yer plans to marry my Sophy.’

Aubranael was relieved to note a gleam of approval in the troll’s eyes as he said this, though there was an edge to his voice that suggested Aubranael still had some talking to do.

Very well, so be it. If he could win over Miss Landon’s self-appointed guardian, perhaps the troll would be able to help him in winning over Miss Landon herself.

It gave him something to do for the next two days, anyway.