—
Wendell and I stood shivering by the dock the next morning, watching the fishing boat captained by one of Thora’s innumerable grandsons pull against its tether as the two sailors readied it for our journey to Loab?r. Shadow was flopped at my side, yawning big doggish yawns and looking none too pleased to have been roused from his warm bed at such an hour. The world was a blur of shadow and ice, from the heaving sea to the scowling mountains framing the village. Aud had told us that the weather was fair enough to make the journey safely, and that the winds would drop on the other side of the headland, an assessment I could accept intellectually while all my instincts assured me that we would be drowned.
Aud, who had returned as planned the previous evening, called out instructions to the sailors in Ljoslander, looking cheerful. As well she should, for Aud had saved her village—indeed, her entire country. The king, who had only just finished glorying in the vengeance we had left for him like a wedding gift, and was in an exceptionally pleasant mood, had immediately granted her request for an end to the vicious winter and an early spring.
As to my whereabouts, Aud had given the king few clues, apart from offering that she had seen me fleeing the palace in the direction of the valley, in a panic at the thought of pursuit by the queen’s minions. Shaking her head, she had remarked that if I had succumbed to the elements or tumbled off a cliff, poor witless waif that I was, it was yet another crime to be lain at the doorstep of the queen’s treasonous ambition. The king had seemed barely able to hide his glee at this notion, and had immediately taken up my death as justification for another round of executions, which had no doubt sent even more nobles—those still in possession of their heads—into hiding in the wilderness. As for myself, I was more than happy for my death to be accepted as a boon by my fiancé, particularly as it gave him ample incentive to give up the search for me. Nevertheless, it was well that we were leaving quickly—I wished to prevent any hint of my survival from reaching his court.
Despite the early hour, the entire village came to see us off as we boarded the ship, even little Ari, who buried his head in Mord’s shoulder when I said goodbye, as shy as he would be with any stranger.
“Here you are,” Aslaug said, handing me a basket of the sheep cheese I’d come to favour. “It’s a silly gift, isn’t it? After all you’ve done.”
I mumbled my way through the goodbyes and thank-yous, but nobody seemed to mind anymore. Lilja and Margret hugged me tight.
“Here,” Lilja said, pressing a basket into my hands. I lifted the cloth covering and found five neatly stacked apple tarts. “Finn says you have a liking for them.”
“Ah,” I began, wincing a little—each tart weighed as much as a brick. “That’s very kind, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to—”
“Please,” Lilja said, a gleam of desperation in her eyes. “That tree, it just—it doesn’t stop. I’ve already got preserves to last a decade. The neighbours are so sick of apples they hide when I knock.”
I shook my head. Naturally, Wendell, in typical faerie fashion, had given Lilja a “gift” that created more problems than it solved. I knew that Lilja would be terrified of wasting a single apple for fear of him taking offence. “Throw the surplus to the pigs,” I suggested, because wouldn’t that just serve him right?
She looked so horrified that I felt guilty. “Or trade them,” I said. “Perhaps to a sailor or wandering merchant. You might be surprised by what you get in return.” Indeed, I knew half a dozen stories of that ilk—poor, long-suffering mortal gives away a troublesome faerie-made gift in exchange for something mundane, but which reveals unexpected uses. Sometimes that is then traded for something even more wondrous, and on and on it goes. I hoped Lilja would end up with a wheel that spun straw to gold.
Aud’s embrace was the longest, and when she drew away, her face was wet with tears. Fortunately, Thora stumped up before I had to work out how to respond. (How does one respond to tears?) “Two things,” she said, taking me by the shoulders. “One, look out for yourself. Wise men make bargains with the Folk. Only idiots make friends with them—or whatever he is to you.”
Lord help me, I went red in the face at that. “You think I’m an idiot?”
“Even the smartest among us are idiots in one way or another,” she said. “Two, I expect you back here in the spring for Lilja and Margret’s wedding. My granddaughter does not like to impose on people, but your being there would make her happy, and so I will say it for her.”
I smiled. “Of course I’ll be there.”
“Good girl.” She patted me. “Run along, then. I will mail you my—what did you call it? Peer review?”
“Thank you,” I said. Thora had promised to read through a draft of the final chapter in my encyclopaedia and provide her thoughts and additions. “And please don’t worry about being polite with your criticism.”
She blinked at me, and then, as a smile crept over my face, she gave me a surprisingly firm shove. “You’ve a mouth on you like one of my grandchildren.”
My gaze drifted to the village, huddled into the night shore, as my hand went to the little trinket Poe had given me as a farewell gift. He had called it a key, though it looked nothing like one, and was in fact a small, impossible coil of bone. In some lights, it seemed to curve counterclockwise; in others clockwise. I had put it on a chain around my neck.
Wendell appeared at my side, having finished giving instructions to the sailors, and twisted his misshapen face into a smile. He’d fixed his uncanny hands and added a few inches to his height, but he was still a long way from his former dazzling self. “Ready?” he said.
The villagers shuffled back a little. They’d all accepted that this strange, grey faerie was the dashing Wendell Bambleby, but that didn’t make them any less frightened of him, even though the face he wore now was far less intimidating than his old, painfully handsome one.
As for myself, I barely noticed the difference. I’d never had any use for his beauty, and he was unchanged in every other respect, including his ability to antagonize—he’d tailored all of my dresses whilst I was trapped in Faerie.
We said our last goodbyes, and then we stepped onto the rocking deck. Wendell took his time waving to the villagers and admiring the sight of Hrafnsvik fading into the night. I turned away as soon as I could and did not wave or look back. If I had, I would have seen Aud and Lilja brushing away their tears. I would also have seen the outline of our little cottage, which ordinarily had a curl of smoke drifting from the chimney, but now sat quiet and dark, dreaming. Shadow gave a huff, looking back at me as if certain there had been some mistake. My eyes were wet, and I had to dab at them with my sleeve, turning so that Wendell wouldn’t see. Damn this wind, I thought.
I hugged Lilja’s apple tarts to my chest as I gazed at the grey-white sea, my hand tight around Poe’s trinket. The ship sailed on as the sun began to tip its light over the horizon.
13th February
In the end, we missed the plenary.
It didn’t much matter, of course. Wendell sat on three panels and charmed his way onto a fourth, and charmed my way onto another. I sat through the interminable dinners without overly hating them; I was on familiar ground with scholars, and I even enjoyed some of my conversations, for they were conversations of the mind with nothing to do with small talk or social conventions.
And then it was time for our presentation. I paced about in the little room behind the stage. Through the half-open door I could see the two podiums, as well as the scholars filing into the room in their dowdy suits and dresses. Many of them wore their coats, for if there is one thing that unites scholars, it is complaining about the temperature of conference rooms.
Wendell swept in at last, looking resplendent, all sharp edges and lean grace in his own black suit, as plain as any other scholar’s but immaculately tailored. His gaze swept over me in polite appraisal, though I could tell he was suppressing his smile. I glowered back. I was wearing one of the dresses he’d fixed up—out of necessity only, for I hadn’t the money to buy new ones in Paris, and we’d had no time to stop in at our apartments at Cambridge.