Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (6 page)

He turned to discover that she had thrown off the robes that had shrouded her figure before. He could think of no conceivable reason why she should conceal herself, for the sight that met his eye was one of blazing, shocking beauty. She was almost as of a height with him, and in possession of the most perfect figure he had ever beheld. Her face was perfectly shaped, her skin smooth as silk and unmarred by the smallest blemish. Her soft lips were red, her eyes a glorious blue, and these were fixed upon him with an expression of amusement. A wealth of tumbling golden locks completed her perfect visage, and he swallowed, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable indeed.

‘You approve of my art, then,’ said the beauty, gesturing at her face. ‘Tis a pity it is not real; but then, few are troubled by such minor matters as reality and fakery, are they?’ She flashed a brilliant smile.

He blinked at her stupidly as his mind struggled to focus on her words instead of her face. ‘I beg your pardon? Not real?’

She shook her head, smiling, as her eyes changed from summer-sky blue to a dazzling emerald green. ‘Such a simple trick, beauty, and yet it holds remarkable powers, does it not?’

‘Glamour,’ Aubranael croaked. ‘You are a witch.’

‘One of the very best,’ she said modestly. ‘And you are here because you are in need of my help, yes? Or so Felebre tells me.’

Aubranael glanced at the cat, who had followed them inside and now lay stretched in front of the fire. ‘I don’t understand. We have been friends for years; why would she now decide that I am in need of help?’

‘Something has changed recently, perhaps,’ suggested the witch.

‘So it has,’ he agreed, thinking of a smiling face framed in fair curls. ‘But who are you?’

‘I am called Hidenory,’ she answered. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Why do you conceal yourself behind this facade? What is your real form?’ Aubranael asked the questions with beating heart, anticipating a story somewhat like his own, but she dashed his hopes with a mysterious smile.

‘It is far too soon to be asking such personal questions,’ she chided. ‘But then, I must ask some of you, must I not? Isn’t life unfair sometimes?’

Aubranael had no idea what to say.

Hidenory sighed a little, sat down in a large rocking chair and began to gently rock herself back and forth. ‘Very well, let us get on with it. What is it that you wish for?’

A vision flashed through Aubranael’s mind in an instant: himself with a
face
, a proper one, like everyone else’s. What would he look like? Would he be handsome? Perhaps he would have regular features! An arched nose, a strong chin. Perhaps he would even be beautiful.

The thought prompted a curious thickening in his throat and a dampening of his eyes; unable to speak his wish aloud, he gestured at his face, hoping she would understand.

She did, but with understanding came a look of regret and Aubranael’s heart sank lower than ever. ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘Glamour is my art, glamour and illusion. I cannot change reality, only hide it behind something else. And only temporarily, at that.’

Aubranael nodded, looking at the floor. He could muster no reply. Though he had enjoyed only a few seconds of hope, he felt utterly crushed in the aftermath.

‘Come, now,’ Hidenory said. ‘You have endured this misfortune for some years, I collect; there must be a reason why Felebre has brought you to me today. What is it that you truly want? What is it that you would hope to gain, with a mended face?’

He swallowed, thinking of Miss Landon. Slowly and in a low voice, he told Hidenory the story of his meeting with the merry English lady and why it had mattered so much. The witch heard him speak without interruption, and when he had finished he was heartened to see that a smile had returned to her face.

‘You wish to follow this creature! There is nothing simpler, I assure you. The journey may be a little unpleasant, but worth the enduring, I am sure? Do you wish to go at once?’

Aubranael stared at her, his head spinning. Go at once? Right away? His heart sped up and a smile tugged at his lips—and quickly died away. Go at once? As he was?

A succession of images flashed through his brain: of Miss Landon’s face once she had seen his; of himself adrift in England, subjected to revulsion and humiliation anew as strangers caught sight of his features; of Miss Landon’s inevitable rejection of him, once she grew tired of being kind.

He looked at Hidenory’s beautiful face and saw his own transformed into handsomeness. People would like him—love him, even! Miss Landon would not be repulsed; she would not have to be kind. She would
want
his company.

‘Can you… glamour me?’ He asked. ‘Give me a face like yours. A beautiful face.’

Hidenory gave him a long, measuring stare. He waited, heart pounding. ‘I can,’ she said, ‘but only for a time. Glamour is a flimsy, ethereal thing. It wears away, and the truth inevitably shines through.’

Aubranael nodded, undaunted. If he could have just a little time to convince her of his worth…

‘Tell me something,’ Hidenory said. ‘Do you intend to tell this Miss Landon your true identity?’

He thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. If she knew right away, her perception of him would be coloured by her memories of his true face, and much of the effect would be destroyed. He would present himself to her all bright and new, as a congenial stranger; they had got along so splendidly before, why should they not do so again? But still better, this time, with his perfect new face.

Hidenory’s eyes narrowed and she stared at him as though she was reading his mind. Perhaps she was. ‘One month,’ she said. ‘That is what I can offer you. But there is a condition.’

Aubranael waited, breathless, hoping it would not be beyond his power to accept.

‘I will participate in your deception, but only to a degree. At the end of your month, you must tell her the truth. Do you agree?’

Aubranael’s imagination helpfully offered him vision after vision of the probable outcome of that, none of them good. But he agreed. Of course he agreed! He would agree to anything, now.

But one further matter remained unresolved. ‘Wh…how much will it cost?’ he asked.

‘I have yet to decide.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘I will consider the matter. For now, shall we say that you will owe me a good turn?’

‘Yes!’ he said. ‘Anything!’

Hidenory smiled wickedly. ‘Anything? Well, now. You should be careful of unlimited promises to witches. If I were not such a fair and generous soul… but, no matter. Let us begin.’

Aubranael was startled to notice a great silver cauldron where none had been before. It was full of water, and an image slowly bled across the surface.

A gentleman of England stood there. He was tall and handsome, with thick dark hair and a strong chin. He was dressed in clothes of a type Aubranael had never seen: long pale trousers, a coat with tails, and a tall hat. He stood leaning elegantly on a polished wooden cane, surveying his surroundings (whatever they were) with the self-satisfied smile of a man who has everything he could possibly wish for.

Aubranael had never smiled that way.

‘Is this what you had in your thoughts?’ Hidenory enquired.

Aubranael could only nod dumbly. He couldn’t articulate the longing he felt on beholding this piece of perfection; there were not words enough.

‘Very good. That’s easy enough,’ said the witch, and her prosaic tone broke his reverie. He stood watching her, scarcely breathing, as he awaited the transformation.

‘What are you staring at me for?’ Hidenory said. ‘Behold your own face.’ She gestured at the cauldron.

He looked down to find that the stylish gentleman had gone. The water was now as clear as a mirror, and in it he could see his own reflection.

The sight stole his breath and brought tears to his eyes. Gone was the ruined face he had for so long despised. In its place he saw chiselled features; an aristocratic nose; the strong chin he had admired on Hidenory’s image; clear brown eyes and a smiling mouth. His hair had not changed in colour, but it had been considerably shortened. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was wearing the strange costume of the English gentleman.

He stood a little straighter, rolling back his shoulders. A wide smile made its way onto his fine new mouth, and refused to be repressed.

Hidenory was laughing at him. ‘It will suit you admirably, that I can see,’ she said. ‘Do not grow too used to it, mind. You have but a single month.’

Even this sobering reflection did little to dampen Aubranael’s spirits. A month seemed a veritable age! What could he not accomplish in so generous a span of time!

He made his kind benefactress a low, grateful bow, and his fine shiny hat promptly fell off onto the floor and rolled away.

‘Hm,’ said Hidenory as he scrambled after it. ‘You will need a little more help, methinks.’

Aubranael caught the hat and rammed it back onto his head. ‘Never mind, dear lady,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘I shall soon grow used to it, I am sure.’

‘I am not nearly so sure,’ she answered dryly. ‘Certainly not in one month. Besides, it is not enough merely to look the part of a gentleman; more will be required of you.’

He looked down at his beautiful new garments—sneaking another glance at his beautiful new face along the way—and said: ‘What more could I possibly need?’

‘A name. A house. Carriages, horses, considerably more clothes, ready money, and… friends.’

Aubranael blinked at her. ‘A formidable list.’

‘Quite, and beyond my power to provide.’

He began to feel dismayed, but she held up a cautionary hand and smiled. ‘I know just the person to assist you. If you would be so good as to step through the door, it will all be arranged in a trice.’

What door?
He thought, but as the words formed in his mind he noticed an oddly-shaped door fading into view in the wall directly behind Hidenory. It was round and jaunty in style, and painted in at least twelve different colours.

‘Grunewald is a glamourist, like myself, and very well able to assist you,’ Hidenory continued. ‘You will, of course, convey my
very best
regards.’

Aubranael paused on his way to the door, searching for a suitable way to thank her.

Hidenory grinned at him. ‘No need; I know all that you wish to say.’ She studied his face for a moment, and a wicked gleam entered her eye. ‘Grant me one small trifle by way of gratitude: a kiss. Seldom have I been so pleased with my own artistry!’

His cheeks warmed with both pleasure and embarrassment. Would this be the outcome of his new appearance? Ladies would be desirous of kissing him? How magnificent! And yet, how difficult, for he had never kissed a woman before—nor, indeed, any other creature. As Hidenory pressed her pretty lips to his, he hoped she would not notice his lack of experience.

This meeting of lips was not, as it turned out, all there was to the business of kissing. A great deal more happened, involving other parts of his mouth and body, and it went on for some time. When at last Hidenory released him and stepped away, she did not seem at all displeased.

Neither, he found, was he.

‘Excellent,’ she said, eyeing him. ‘Excellent,’ she said again, the word emerging a trifle breathlessly. ‘Are you sure it is Tilby you wish to visit? You do not wish to extend your visit to me?’

Aubranael shook his head, and then nodded, confused as to which part of the question he was answering. ‘Yes—that is—I wish to go.’

Hidenory sighed gustily, but her eyes twinkled as she said: ‘Ah well. I may always create another one, of course. Off with you!’ She pointed imperiously at the door, and Aubranael stepped through it.

‘You take care, now!’ she called after him. ‘And mind you listen to Grunewald!’

Chapter Four

Now, before we get too carried away with the story, allow me t’catch ye up on a few small matters.

I ought t’make clear that I knew nowt o’ this at the time, an’ sorry I am that it was so, for matters might ha’ been much less complicated-like later on, if I had. Still, to be all-knowin’ is beyond the power of any bein’, much as I may wish it otherwise.

Grunewald, though. Grunewald I did, and do, know. He’s a bit of a legend in these parts. He’s a witchifier, like Hidenory—thick as thieves, them two—but for reasons known only to hisself, he’s made his home in England. ‘Gentleman Grunewald’, they call him, for he likes to pass hisself off as a gentry-cove. Mighty talented he is at it, too. Nobody knows what he really looks like, but nobody much cares.

At the time o’ tellin’, Gentleman Grunewald was loiterin’ about in Nottinghamshire. He ‘ad a house right on the edge o’ Sherwood Forest, an’ thas where our good friend Aubranael was goin’.’

On the other side of Hidenory’s door, Aubranael found a large mansion house. The door opened onto the hallway, quite as if he had come through the front entrance. The building was old, and the decor eccentric: a frieze ran around the walls near the ceiling, depicting nymphs and satyrs frolicking with a variety of woodland creatures, and the rest of the walls were panelled with wood and painted dark green. His heels clacked loudly on the stone floor as he crossed it.

‘Hello?’ he called. The sound echoed off the cold stone walls, and no answer came.

Aubranael stood, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. Here he was in someone else’s house, with no particular invitation, and not a soul in sight to greet (or, indeed, repel) him.

He waited for some time, unwilling to call again. Then, just as he was filling his lungs for another shout, he heard footsteps approaching.

A grand staircase stood immediately before him, its gilded banisters carved with a plethora of foliage and its steps made from pale stone. It was upon this fine contraption that a figure finally appeared: a tall, spare figure, dressed similarly to Aubranael, and with a fine head of tousled (in fact, rather mad) red hair.

‘Morning!’ said the figure brightly, and trotted energetically down the stairs. ‘My deepest apologies! I was still dressing, late though it is. It is these dratted neck-cloths. I can never get them quite as I wish.’