Miss Landon and Aubranael

Part 26

Sophy wandered for a time, hoping that she might encounter some manner of village or town, or a landmark that would help her find her way back to Grenlowe, or even some helpful soul who could set her on the right path. An hour or two passed in this fruitless endeavour, during which time the deep blue twilight darkened into night lit only by the waxing moon.

The nervous flutter in her stomach grew stronger and stronger, in spite of her attempts to quieten her alarm. When her foot caught something ropy and solid in the dark—a tree root, perhaps, or a fallen branch—and she almost went tumbling to the ground, she was forced to stop. An injury would turn a difficult situation into a catastrophe; if she was hurt, she would be entirely helpless.

She stood for a few minutes, catching her breath and considering her options. Dearly she wished for another of Balligumph's guides; local wisdom insisted that to follow a will-o-the-wyke was fatal, but Balli's friends had always done well by her.

Any guide at all would be welcome, she thought bitterly, even a treacherous one. At least it would give her some kind of direction.

Abruptly she remembered Hidenory's words—before the witch's theft of Sophy's face and form had driven all other thoughts from her mind. Tut-Gut, she had said. He would be willing to 'put her to work', had those not been her words?

Sophy considered that. The comment had seemed innocent enough at the time, but in light of Hidenory's later actions it began to sound far more sinister. Who was Tut-Gut really, and how would he put Sophy to work? Had this piece of advice been sound, or was Hidenory seeking to lead her ever further astray?

It was impossible to know, of course, without seeking him out. Sophy wavered for some time, assailed by misgivings, but at length she gave in. She had no other options; none except to continue wandering in this dark and lonely forest until she either fatally injured herself, starved to death, or found her way out.

Taking a deep breath, Sophy opened her lips and called, 'Tut-Gut! I am in need of your assistance, if you are at leisure to come to me.'

There; that was polite. He could hardly be offended by so courteous a request, surely? But no answer came and no one appeared, and Sophy's fledgling hopes died away.

'Tut-Gut?' she called.

Nothing.

But in the stories—the ones her mother had told her as a child—one had to call a fae-being's name three times to attract his or her attention. Perhaps there was some truth to be found in tales.

'Tut-Gut!' she called once more.

'What is it, now?' said a creaking voice, and Sophy jumped.

A light appeared in the darkness, so bright that Sophy's night-blind eyes shut tight against the glare. When she could open them again, she found that the forest had gone and she stood inside a wooden hut.

It was fairly large, and around the room were arrayed the paraphernalia of a simple lifestyle. A little wooden bed stood in one corner, a rough-cut table and chairs stood on the opposite side of the room, and a small bookcase proudly bore three worn-looking bound leather volumes of miniature size. A strong fire burned in the centre of the floor, over which an iron pot hung. Sophy could smell something delicious cooking, and her stomach tightened with hunger.

In a tiny rocking-chair before the fire sat a hobgoblin. He looked a little like Thundigle, though his skin was even darker, almost black. He was two or three feet tall, with spindly limbs, a pronounced belly and a smile that looked far too big for his face. His clothes were ragged and much-mended. He held a pair of wooden knitting needles in his hands and he was knitting at terrific speed. He fixed his dark green eyes on Sophy and stared, but his knitting did not pause, or even slow, for a second.