by It took me altogether too long to remember a couple of things—which, I might as well add, would have been immediately apparent to Jay (not to mention Indira).
One: I was travelling with a small forest, yes, but said forest had one of the greatest libraries in the world dangling from its swaying branches.
Two: I might not have been similarly festooned with knowledge, but I did still have Mauf somewhere about my person.
‘Does anyone know the way to Mandridore?’ I’d said, not really expecting a response.
Response, however, there had been: an immediate susurration of rustling leaves—tree chatter—had gone up, with a babble of ancient, learnèd voices mixed up somewhere therein.
—thou’rt a fool; it is not westerly, thou hast the pages upside down—
—manner of nonsense is this. Ha! Mandridore! There is no such place, nor has ever been—
—past Mount Battle and over the River Winding—
And over the top of this babble, Mauf’s refined accents raised to a near roar: ‘My good tomes and volumes—my very dear lexicons and folios—WE are the greatest library this world has ever known. Such conduct is highly unbecoming of our situation in life.’
The chatter did not appreciably lessen, but Mauf went on, inexorably shouting over them: ‘IF you would be so good as to hold your tongues, all of you, I believe we may swiftly find our way to a resolution of Merlin’s little difficulty.’
I didn’t immediately recognise myself by the name Merlin—I required a moment’s reflection, for that—but it was clever of Mauf to use it. These ancient volumes could never have received any information about the Society, nor would they care; but Merlin, that was another matter. The books’ quarrelling stopped, became instead an excited babble in which that hallowed name, Merlin, was many times repeated.
‘Precisely,’ said Mauf, at a more decorous volume. ‘Merlin. Shall you now comport yourselves with some dignity?’
The books, duly shamed, fell largely silent, barring an occasional rustle of pages—and one, slightly disturbing giggle.
‘Thank you. Now then. Mandridore, as most of you will not know, is as Farringale once was: the great, and very grand home of Their Majesties, Queen Ysurra and King Naldran, noble heirs as they are to Their Majesties Hrruna and Torvaston; seat of the Troll Court, and therefore, home to the current Great Library of Magick. And if you would like to be restored to your rightful places upon such august shelves, you will assist me in directing Merlin to the gates of Mandridore forthwith, and without further ado.’ Mauf paused, and added, ‘The next volume to giggle shall instead be cast into the nearest brackish stream.’
The giggling, mercifully, cut off with a choking sound.
‘Thank you. Now. Which among you contain maps of England?’
Several books piped up.
‘And which among you contain some manner of reference to the Old Roads of the Court?’
‘The what—’ I put in, but stopped as the answer occurred to me. The Troll Roads. He was talking about the magickal Ways I’d once or twice travelled over of late, usually with Baron Alban. ‘Oooh, that’s clever,’ I said instead.
Mauf radiated a quiet, smug pleasure. ‘Yes, it is. Do not worry, Miss Vesper. We shall have you in Mandridore in a trice.’
***
They did, as well. I was obliged to promise, later, that I would not say exactly how; such knowledge is for the rarefied few, and those tomes whose pages offer some useful clue will doubtless disappear very quickly into Mandridore’s protected archives.
I can only say that our little ambulatory forest was very soon in motion again, and it was not long before we were out of England Proper and sauntering joyously down the wide, rose-strewn boulevards that the trolls built long, long ago.
Had I been obliged to walk those Ways as myself, I would have tired in due time, for despite the Way-wending magicks infused into the white stones of those roads, the journey was a considerable one. I did not tire, though, as a tree; a tree has no muscles, that can grow weary with use. I was powered by magick, and not only my own: the fizzing, ferocious magick of over-burdened Farringale was in me still, and wafted me with the greatest ease all the way to Mandridore.
We caused rather a stir, let me tell you. It’s not every day an entire copse of English trees in full and varied leaf trundles en masse through the gilded gates of the Court Enclave. We accumulated curious followers as we went, and by the time we stopped outside the palace we had an entourage at least as large in number as we were.
Things became somewhat confused after that. I recall being ushered, by what means I know not, into the vast formal gardens that lie behind the palace, into which my arboreal fellows cheerfully dispersed. I must have dropped into a doze, I suppose, for such an excess of magick cannot help but weary a woman eventually.
I drifted out of slumber again to find myself parked in a quiet corner of the queen’s garden, flanked by fragrant orange trees, and with an ornate stone bench positioned under my eaves. Two people were seated upon it: the soft murmur of their conversation had woken me.
‘—most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen,’ Jay was saying. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea how she thought of it.’
‘She’s Ves,’ answered Alban. ‘Her mind works in mysterious ways.’
‘Turned the whole damned library into a forest and walked off with it.’ Jay was shaking his head. ‘Some damage to the building in the process, of course, but nothing the Court can’t fix.’
‘They won’t object to that. Not when Ves has brought them the entire lost library of Farringale.’
Not the entire library, I tried to say, without success: my leaves rustled frenetically, but no words emerged.
Both faces looked up into my branches. ‘Have another go,’ said Jay, laying a hand against my trunk.
I did, with much the same result.
‘I hope you aren’t planning to remain a tree forever,’ Alban said. ‘Not that you aren’t a splendid, majestic tree, of course.’
‘The very best of trees,’ Jay agreed. ‘But there’s a cup of tea with your name on it, Ves, and it’s getting cold.’
‘And a plate of pancakes,’ Alban added. ‘The enormous ones, with the fruit and the ice cream.’
I rustled a bit more, dropping a purple fruit into Jay’s lap, which burst juicily.
Jay looked at it in silence, then said to Alban: ‘It’s not the entire library. That’s probably what she’s worried about. Ancestria Magicka took some books before we could stop them.’
‘Excellent,’ said Alban, in an uncharacteristically grim tone. ‘Those books are lawfully the property of the Troll Court. We’ll prosecute them for theft.’
‘Later. The griffins need help first.’
Griffins? What was amiss with the griffins? My brain exploded with questions; several more fruits sprayed juice over the pristine gravel walk.
‘Maybe have those pancakes brought out here,’ Jay suggested. ‘Where she can see them.’
With careful intent and precise aim, I dropped a fruit on Jay’s head.
‘You’re welcome to do something terrible to me,’ Jay correctly interpreted, ‘but you’ll have to turn human again first.’
I sagged, my branches drooping. I’d love to turn human again, I told him (rustle, rustle).
Jay patted my trunk soothingly. ‘I know. But if you conquered the chair problem, you can do this, too.’
‘Chair problem?’ Alban queried.
Jay shook his head. ‘Best not to ask.’
***
They brought out the pancakes. And when those turned cold and congealed, another plate of pancakes—not to mention huge, troll-sized pots of tea. Jay and Alban sat with me for an hour straight, and then another, swapping stories of our escapades, reminding me of my human self.
I chafed under the delay, and so did they, I’m sure, though they hid it well. Something was gravely amiss with the griffins of Farringale; Ancestria Magicka had got away with a lot of the library’s books; who-knew-what other mischief was brewing; and I was stuck in the shape of a tree.
Trying to perform difficult, unfamiliar magicks under a sense of intense pressure isn’t my preferred way of doing things.
At length—at very great length—my bark softened and became cloth; my leaves and withies dissolved into jade-green coloured hair; and I had eyes again, lips to talk with, arms to wrap around Jay and Alban in the hugest, bone-crushing bear hugs I (in my diminutive frame) could manage.
And questions. I had a lot of questions. ‘What do you mean about the griffins—thank you, by the way, for all this—this—but what’s afoot in Farringale—oh, did you find out what became of the regulators?—can we get the lost books back—’ I uttered all this in bursts, in between enormous gulps of tea (sweet, and milky), and forkfuls of pancake.
Jay apprised me, fairly succinctly, of the Griffin Problem, which made my blood boil with impotent rage. ‘Rob’s back at Home, updating Milady,’ he concluded. ‘I came here to find you, I hoped, and also to report to the Court. We’ll need help, at this point. We couldn’t take on all of Ancestria Magicka with just the two of us.’
Perhaps he’d read a certain mulish accusation in my face, for that last bit came out slightly defensive. ‘I know,’ I assured him. ‘I wish you could’ve, but—’
‘So do we,’ Jay said bleakly, and I saw what it must have cost him to walk away and leave those noble griffins in captivity.
‘Their Majesties are holding an emergency council soon,’ Alban told me, and checked his watch. ‘In about half an hour, in fact.’ I burst into speech, and he held up a hand to forestall me. ‘Your presence is required, don’t worry. We’ll need you and Jay to explain the situation at Farringale, and you’re to represent the Society while we debate how best to launch a sensible opposition.’
Sensible meaning: they couldn’t send many of their own people with us. No troll could safely enter Farringale, not yet. Maybe not ever.
But they were a large, cosmopolitan Enclave: they had people who weren’t trolls, and besides that they had some of the brightest minds in the country. We wouldn’t have to handle a problem of this magnitude alone.
‘That being so,’ I said, ‘I’d better fortify myself with plentiful comestibles. I’m hungry.’ In fact I was ravenous: a tree may thrive on sun and water alone, but I couldn’t.
Jay handed me another mug of tea, and downed the dregs of his own. ‘We’re as ready as milk and sugar can make us,’ he proclaimed.
Which, I hoped, would be enough.
