“Hasn’t she spoken yet?” Hugo demanded.
“No sir, not yet.”
Elfgift crouched by the water trough, dropping pebbles in, apparently fascinated by the plop and splash. Her hair was growing back. A light floss of pale curls danced on her head. And she was wearing a grubby linen smock that came to her knees. Regular food was giving her a better colour. She looked healthier, and —viewed from the right side — disturbingly normal. Argos trotted over to her with a waving tail and stuck his nose in her ear. Elfgift threw an arm over his neck and hugged him. Then she pushed him away and dropped in another pebble.
“She’s dressed, I see,” said Hugo, snapping his fingers to bring Argos back.
Wolf nodded. “We— she let me do that a few days ago.” He didn’t tell Hugo that Nest had made the smock, stealing half an hour from sewing clothes for her marriage. “And once we— once I got her arms through the armholes, she seemed to love it. She keeps stroking the skirt and holding it out. It’s muddy already, of course. And it’s not very warm. But she doesn’t seem to feel the cold…”
Hugo interrupted. “Do you know what day it is today?”
Wolf looked at his toes. “Saint Ursula’s, sir…”
“Well past the middle of October. And the elf still doesn’t speak?”
“She knows her name,” Wolf said hurriedly. “Elfgift!” Elfgift’s head snapped round on its thin little neck, and the dark side of her face became visible.
“Her name!” Hugo laughed shortly. “What good is that? Will she come to you?”
Wolf crossed his fingers. Don’t let me down… “Elfgift, come here!”
Slowly and deliberately, Elfgift dropped in another pebble. Plunk!
“Wonderful obedience,” said Hugo drily. “So. How much does she understand?”
A lot. She understands if I’m angry or happy or sad… But he knew Hugo didn’t mean that. “A few more words. Food, that’s a good one. And dirty! And no!” It didn’t sound much, now he had to say it aloud.
Hugo snapped a pair of gloves back and forth across his palm, and Wolf searched for something extra to tell him. “Music. She likes to be sung to. And sometimes—”
“Music?” Hugo’s eyebrows drew together. “What sort of music?”
Wolf was getting rattled. “Just any songs…” The lullaby, was what he meant; and he’d been going to say that Elfgift sometimes hummed the tune back to him in a gruff little growling voice that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. But now he held his tongue. Hugo might want a demonstration, and that would be awful.
Hugo bit his nails and gazed at Elfgift playing around the trough. “Bring her to me,” he said after a moment, and pulled his gloves on.
Wolf crossed the yard, praying that Elfgift wouldn’t choose this moment to start on one of her hide-and-seek chases around the castle. She saw him coming and got ready to run. “No!” Wolf pleaded. Something in his voice or face did the trick. She came to him quite sweetly, and with a sigh of relief he led her back.
Confronted with Elfgift, Hugo seemed suddenly uncertain. He hesitated, flashed a glance at Wolf and said to her, “Speak, elf — if you can. Teach me about Elfland. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand.”
Elfgift wouldn’t look at him. Wolf knelt and grabbed her arms. “Elfgift, listen to Lord Hugo. Please talk to him.” Over his shoulder he said urgently, “Sir, I really don’t think she can.”
Hugo pushed him aside. He took Elfgift’s face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Have you seen a lady there? A mortal woman? Answer me!”
Elfgift pulled away. Mewing and spitting she raked at Hugo’s gloved hands.
Wolf forgot himself. “Let her go!” But Hugo’s grip tightened, squashing her cheeks. Elfgift’s eyes rolled up, showing the whites. Her tongue came out. “You’re throttling her!” Wolf shouted. Up in the trees the rooks chattered and stirred. In the kennels the dogs began to bark.
Elfgift went limp. She hung from Hugo’s hands. He let go, and she sprawled to the ground. Wolf leaped to help her.
“Splendour of God, Wolf!” Hugo swore. “Do you never think before you speak? No wonder the monks beat you.”
“Frightening her won’t help,” Wolf said fiercely.
Hugo seemed to hold his breath. Then he said, level and hard, “Do you want to be a squire? Very well. For the moment I’ll take your advice. There is still time. But remember the seven years are nearly up. I cannot wait forever. Teach her to speak by Christmas, or I’ll find other ways. I swear, by all God’s angels and saints, your elf-girl will lead me under Devil’s Edge. Do you understand me?” He strode away. The disturbed rooks circled back to their nests.
Elfgift picked herself up. She looked sideways at Wolf and caught her lower lip between her teeth in a naughty, almost sly smile, as if inviting him to enjoy Hugo’s failure. We got rid of him, she seemed to say. Good! She skipped back to the water trough.
Wolf passed his hands over his face and groaned. Why had he been given this impossible task? Sometimes he almost wished he’d never left the abbey. At least there he’d been anonymous, one black robe among many. Here he was conspicuous, singled out as the elf-girl’s keeper.
“Hi, Nursie! How’s the baby, Nursie?” Roger Bach bellowed at him from the gatehouse. Wolf set his teeth. There was nothing he could do about it. The men all teased him, and it wasn’t friendly teasing. They even played tricks on him in the Hall at night. He’d wake with a gasp of fright to find his blankets tugged off, or cold water dripping in his ear. He wasn’t sure who was doing it. If he sat up and looked around, everyone lay still, apparently asleep.
“Has the baby had her pap?” Roger yelled. His chubby face convulsed with laughter.
Wolf coaxed Elfgift back to the stables and went up to the solar in a gloomy mood to tell Nest what Hugo had said. He put Roger out of his mind. But it turned out that Nest had overheard the incident. As soon as Wolf knocked, she pulled him into the room, boiling with indignation.
“Does he often jeer at you like that? Does he? Oh, I’m sorry, Wolf!”
“I don’t care,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “He thinks it’s funny, that’s all.”
“How dare he? Do they all pick on you? Is it because of Elfgift?”
Wolf shrugged. “Some of them. Mostly they ignore me. Roger’s the worst, because of what happened on the tower.”
“I am so sorry,” Nest repeated. Frustrated tears stood in her eyes. “If only I could do something…”
“It’s all right,” said Wolf, impatient but touched. “You can’t make people like me. Not even Lord Hugo could do that.”
“Mother Aethelflaed could. She rules that whole convent by herself, and everyone does just what she says.”
“Oh well, women. Men are different,” said Wolf.
Nest’s eyes flashed. “I’d like to see the man who could stand up to Mother Aethelflaed! I wish I was like her.”
Wolf imagined some ancient, fierce crone in a wimple, with watery eyes and a bristly upper lip. He almost laughed, till he saw Nest’s anguished, unhappy face.
“You’ll be married soon,” he said, to comfort her. “Then you’ll be in charge of your own house. You’ll be a grown-up lady, and Angharad won’t be able to tell you what to do.”
“Yes,” said Nest in such a low voice that a shadow fell across Wolf’s cheerful assumption that, because she was a girl, she was longing to be married.
He said, “You do want to get married, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Nest didn’t meet his eyes and Wolf wasn’t reassured.
“This husband they’ve got for you — Lord Godfrey —do you like him?”
“I don’t know.” She was turning crimson.
“You don’t know! Haven’t you met him?”
“Of course! Just — not for a little while, that’s all. Leave me alone, Wolf!”
“How long?” Wolf persisted.
“About eight years ago, when we were betrothed!” Nest snapped. “Happy now? It was before my mother died.”
Wolf couldn’t believe his ears. “Eight years? How old were you — five? How old is he?”
“Eighteen. He must have been ten at the time. All I can remember is that he took my doll and flung it in a puddle. Angharad says he was a handsome little boy. It’s been arranged for years, Wolf. I’m my father’s heir. I’ve got to marry. I don’t really mind. I just — just wish I knew—”
“What he’s like now?”
She nodded.
Wolf said bitterly, “Your parents arranged your marriage when you were five years old, and mine packed me off to the abbey when I was six.”
Nest looked stubborn. She braced her thin shoulders, as if lifting up some heavy load. “Honour thy father and thy mother,” she said quietly. “We owe a duty to our parents. That’s one of the Ten Commandments, Wolf. You can’t alter it.”
They sat together in silence. Wolf rubbed his face and yawned. When he did it again, Nest shot a glance at him. “Are you tired?”
He managed to stifle the third yawn. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Why not? Weren’t you warm enough? Or is something wrong?”
He was ashamed to tell Nest about the practical jokes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
“Tell me!” It was Lady Agnes speaking, with sharp command. Wolf gave in. “Someone plays tricks on me at night. That’s all.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I keep waking up in the night with the blankets pulled off. Or they splash water on me, or pinch me…”
Nest went very still.
“It might be Roger, I suppose. Once when I woke up I felt someone bending over me. I could see his eyes, gleaming…” He couldn’t say it, but glowing would have been a better word; it had been like a nightmare. “I couldn’t move. I just lay there forever, wondering what would happen. In the end he laughed, a sort of low chuckle, ho ho ho! Like that. And then he vanished.”
“You should have told me this days ago!” Nest cried.
Wolf flung her a startled glance. “It’s no good. You can’t do anything about it. I’ve just got to pretend I don’t care.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes glittered. “This is something I can fix! You come with me!”
She caught his hand and dragged him to the door. Wolf resisted. “Stop it, Nest! It will make things worse if I get them into trouble.”
“Oh, no it won’t. I know who’s been playing tricks on you. Come on!” She was halfway down the stairs. As always, the Hall was dim and hazy with fire smoke, pungent with the smell of the rushes and green herbs trodden into the floor. Angharad sat by the fire warming her toes and gossiping with Mattie. They looked extremely comfortable.
Nest bit off a fierce exclamation. “Always there, always keeping an eye on me!” she muttered. “Anything I ever want to do, I have to ask or coax or make excuses. Well, it won’t come out with them sitting there. I’ll have to get rid of them. Wait here!”
Utterly bewildered, Wolf lingered at the bottom of the stairs. Nest crossed the Hall to sit with Angharad.
“Brrrr!” She wrapped her arms over her chest, shivering dramatically. Angharad took the bait at once.
“Are you chilly, cariad? Don’t go catching cold. You don’t want to be coughing and sneezing when Lord Godfrey comes!” She elbowed Mattie, who tittered. “You ought to be wearing your warm green mantle. I know just where it is; I put it there myself: it’s in the second oak chest in the solar, well sprinkled with lavender and wormwood against the fleas. Mattie will fetch it, won’t you, Mattie?”
Mattie rose. Nest leaned her head against Angharad and coughed. “I’m not cold at all,” she croaked. “I’m hot. I’d rather have a drink.”
“Mercy! Has she got a fever?” Angharad felt Nest’s brow. “Off to the kitchen, Mattie, and beg Herbert for a cup of hot wine for Lady Agnes. Ask him to sweeten it with honey and thyme — or maybe cloves would be better. Wait, I’ll come too. You sit here, Nest, close by the fire where it’s warm. And say your prayers: the Paternoster and the Benedicite: that often helps. Is your throat sore? Are you hungry? Would you like a morsel to eat? A junket? A soft-boiled egg?”
“Just the drink,” said Nest faintly. She watched, pale as a lily but sharp-eyed, while the two women bustled out. Then she jumped to her feet, balling her fists, and spoke with fury directly to the hearth.
“Come out of there immediately!”
“What are you doing?” demanded Wolf. “Who are you talking to?”
“The bwbach. Our hearth-hob! Oh, I’m so sorry, Wolf, that it’s behaved like this.” She stamped her foot. “Come out! There was one at Our Lady’s In-the-Wood, but it would never have dreamed of teasing a guest.” She addressed the fireplace again. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
Wolf stared breathlessly at the hearth. The pale smoke curled up. He listened, but all he could hear was the whining hiss of sap bubbling out of a green log, and the mumbling voice of the fire.
“I know you can hear me.” Nest spoke coldly. “Wolf is my friend. Don’t you dare play any more tricks on him! I believe Herbert’s cooking roasted capons today, stuffed with rosemary and breadcrumbs.” She paused. “Smoked venison sausages with onions and mustard. Apple pastries with almonds and whipped cream! But you’re not having any. Until you apologise, you’ll eat gruel.”
A sudden disturbance in the ash made Wolf jump, but still nothing spoke.
Nest turned to Wolf. “It isn’t really wicked,” she whispered. “It’s been here forever. I used to talk to it a lot when I was little. We leave food out for it every night; it’s an awful glutton. And it does like to play tricks on people, especially strangers…”
“Does it live in the flames?” Wolf whispered nervously. If so, he was sure it must be a sort of fiend.
“No, no, it lives under the hearth,” said Nest. “There’s a hole. A hollow space right under the floor. I saw it one summer when the fire went out. Howell says, hundreds of years ago there was another house here, and our Hall is built on the foundations. Oh, come out!” she flung at the hearth, stamping her foot. “Angharad will be back soon. And I’ll have to drink some awful concoction to please her. And it’s all your fault. Come out and apologise!”
The hob wouldn’t come out. But, around midnight that night, Wolf opened his eyes. Nothing had pinched him, or dribbled water on to his face. He’d just woken, all by himself. He lay for a while, peeping through half-closed lids and listening to the household snoring. Some whispered, some snorted, some rasped like a saw cutting through a log.
Besides the snoring, the night life of the Hall went about the floor on its private affairs. A mouse ran past a foot from his nose. A hen that had got shut indoors stalked past on yellow feet, pecking up insects. House crickets chirped to and fro across the hearth, persistent, maddening, and shrill.
There was also an odd crackling sound and a smell he couldn’t quite identify, like chicken, but fishier. He pushed himself up on one arm. Dark against the glow of the fire, a hunched, squat shape sat with its back to him. The firelight shone reddish through a shock of tufted hair. Knobbly elbows stuck out. Without turning round, it said in a sour, grumpy voice, “Wakened up, have you? T’ weren’t my doing this time, so don’t you go a-blaming me. I reckon you’m used to rousting out o’ bed in the middle of the night.”
The hairs on Wolf’s neck prickled. “I thought it was one of the men waking me up. Or a devil.”
“I an’t no devil.”
“What are you then?”
“Folks find me as they takes me,” the hob said enigmatically, twisting round. Its eyes were dark slits with little glowing cores. In one skinny hand it held a long, wooden skewer with something stuck on the end that looked alarmingly like a miniature human with tiny splayed-out arms and legs. Wolf shrank. “What’s that?”
“Toasted frog. Fancy some?” It waved the skewer under his nose.
“No! No, thanks.” The fishy chickeny smell wasn’t too bad, but the sight of the blackened little morsel made his throat close up.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” the hob grumbled. “You’m full of roasted chicken, and sausages, and pies.”
“Well…” Wolf began. The hob interrupted.
“You think I care? I dun’t care. I can find me own fare. I can fend for meself. I’ve et frogs afore. Though they’re better with a touch of butter and garlic,” it admitted.
“It’s not my fault. What did you want to go scaring me for?”
The hob sniggered. “Scared you, did I? T’were only fun! An’t you got no sense of yumour? Look at you! All dressed up like a monk, and that bald spot on yer ’ead—”
“It’s growing back!” Wolf snarled, passing a hand over his head where his thick fair hair was reasserting itself. The hob ignored this.
“Course I played tricks on you. You’d ha’ played tricks on yourself, if you could ha’ seen yourself.” It pulled a leg off the frog and sucked the meat. “’Sides,” it mumbled, spitting out bones, “that’s my nature.” It looked up and fixed him with a sharp, sudden glance. “The young missus, now. Tarrible harsh, she was — stopping my rations an’ all. But I don’t reckon to get niffy with her, cos she’m even harsher on herself.”
“On herself?”
“Right!” The hob nodded. “She dun’t want to get married, pore young thing.”
“I don’t think she’d mind so much if she knew more about Lord Godfrey.”
“Who are you telling?” the hob demanded. “Tarrified o’ getting married, she is. Tarrified. But she’ll do it. She reckons it her duty. That’s her nature.” It finished the frog and tossed bones and skewer into the fire. “Not bad,” it licked its lips, “but I’d ruther not miss another dinner. You tell the young missus we’ve had a nice gossip, and all’s settled. I shan’t worrit you no more.”
“But she said you had to apologise, and you haven’t actually said sorry,” Wolf pointed out.
The hob turned right round and stared at him silently. The little sparks in its eyes grew red and hot, till Wolf’s hair seemed to rise and creep about his head.
“I’ll do better’n that,” said the hob at last with restrained menace. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. I can see you’re a bold young feller. Quick as an arrer! Sharp as a razor! That can get you into trouble that can. You watch that tongue o’ your’n dun’t cut your own throat!”
“Sorry.” How had the hob managed to get him apologising to it?
“All right.” The hob was stern. “Off to sleep with you now, if you like.”
Obediently, Wolf lay down. Then he struggled up again. “Wait! I need to ask you something.”
“Woss that, then?”
“You’re an elf, aren’t you?”
The hob almost choked. “Me? I’m a hob!”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it? A fairy, then, or a fay. What’s the difference?”
“What’s the diff—?” The hob’s hair stood straight up like a dog’s hackles. “Me? Catch me moping about in drippy old caves, pretendin’ they’re palaces! All of it make-believe, like kiddies playing at banquets with a cup o’ cold water and a handful o’ leaves. You know why the elves learned all that magic? Acos they had to! I’ve allus lived in housen, I have, and et cooked food every day, regular and decent!” Its eyes glowed like indignant lamps.
“All right! Calm down,” said Wolf. “What do you mean, they had to? What are the elves, if you’re not one?”
“Bunch o’ beggars,” said the hob sourly. “The elves, they dun’t belong nowhere. They an’t got nowhere to go, so they lurks about in woods or creeps into holes in the ground. Hiding places for lost things. Some of em claims to be the dark angels what was cast out o’ Heaven. So they says: but they’d say anything. They’d claim they was the Princes of Persia if they thought they’d be believed. And some of em’s just the children of Eve that she disowned. Anyone that loses himself can end up with the elves, I reckon.”
“So they’re harmless?”
“Harmless? Harmless?” The hob nearly choked again.
“If it’s all make-believe?” Wolf said lamely.
“Dun’t you know belief is the most powerful thing there is? Hundreds o’ years o’ make-belief can make most things, I reckon. You keep clear of em, young master. Meddle with the elves and they’ll draw you down deeper than you’ll want to go. They say the back door of Elfland leads straight down to Hell, and the rivers run with human blood. They’m a raggle-taggle crew.”
Human blood? Wolf shuddered. “I only asked because I thought you could tell me about Elfgift. You’ve seen her?”
“Oh, her?” The hob’s hair smoothed back down. “Oh, she’m an elf all right.” It spoke with sad anger, as though the words meant “she’s crippled”.
“Really?” Wolf felt his stomach sink. Which was odd: this was good news, wasn’t it? He ought to be glad to hear Elfgift was really an elf. If she wasn’t; if she couldn’t help Lord Hugo to find his lost Eluned, how would he ever become a squire?
“With a face like hers? Oh, aye,” said the hob bleakly. “She was cast out long ago, that Elfgift o’ your’n. Far, far too late to do anything about that.”