“I have,” said Mr Hull.
“How does he get on? Is he happy in his new place?”
“He gets on very well,” replied Mr Hull. “And enjoys great happiness.”
“And does he…” Ephraim hesitated, uncertain if it was his place to ask. “Does he find time to practice his art?”
Mr Hull brightened further still. “He does, indeed. He showed me several very promising sketches.”
“Oh!” The delighted syllable burst from Ephraim. Not just delighted to hear that Lofthouse had made good use of his considerable talents—talents which Ephraim himself could only admire and never aspire to—but to learn that Mr Hull had earned Lofthouse’s trust to an extent which allowed Lofthouse to reveal his art to him. Ephraim himself had only glimpsed it here and there in the margins of Lofthouse’s work. “How wonderful!”
Mr Hull looked as though he quite agreed.
“Well then, sir,” Ephraim continued, glancing at the letter again. “Lofthouse declares you seek employment and recommends you for the post he left behind. Do you wish to clerk?”
“I do, sir.”
“I’m afraid you may find it rather dull,” Ephraim added apologetically.
“I’ve no fear of feeling dull, sir,” said Mr Hull.
Ephraim couldn’t quite work out what exactly he meant by that, but it seemed to carry an air of enthusiasm regardless. “Very well. If you’ve no lodgings of your own, there’s a room upstairs. Shall I show you?”
~
The Holly King had described Mr Ephraim Grigsby, Esq., as an awkward but well-meaning elderly fellow.
He’d made no mention of “charming” or “handsome,” which Hullvardr considered unjust omissions.
The road which had led Hullvardr from the Realm of Hidden Folk to Staple Inn was a long and winding one, but one which he nonetheless considered worth wandering. It had begun at Mabon, when the Oak and Holly Kings had returned to repay the debt they’d incurred that winter. The Mistress of Revels had offered them their pick of her willing folk, and they’d selected Hullvardr, amongst others, to enact their rite.
Delightful enough to be chosen to join the Oak and Holly Kings for the ritual. More delightful still to discover he had more in common with the kings than he’d supposed—namely, the Oak King’s beekeeping. Languid conversation followed frantic lovemaking, and through that a peculiar notion grew in Hullvardr’s mind. He’d asked the Holly King if he might earn the gift of letters from him.
And the Holly King agreed.
Hullvardr had already learnt runes centuries ago. The lessons of the Holly King merely added new runes to their number. The trouble came when new runes resembled old runes but represented different sounds. This, however, Hullvardr had sorted through quick enough to earn the Holly King’s favour.
“I have heard,” the Holly King had remarked one morning in Blackthorn Briar as he looked over Hullvardr’s handiwork, “that the Hidden Folk find the mortal realm easier to navigate than other fae. Does iron not sap your strength?”
“It does,” said Hullvardr. “But we may draw equal strength from the presence of mortals.”
The Holly King nodded sagely. “Do you visit the mortal realm often?”
“Not of late,” Hullvardr admitted. “But I have before oft enough.”
“Would you care to return to it?”
“Of course,” Hullvardr replied with a smile. “A good reason for me to learn your letters.”
“You’ve learnt well, and quickly, too,” said the Holly King. Before Hullvardr could thank him for his praise, he added, “Would you be interested in putting it to use in the mortal realm for some time?”
This sounded rather like a quest. “For how long?”
“Six months, at least, if all goes well.” The Holly King hesitated. “Possibly as long as thirty years. You might return to the fae realms often, but the bulk of your work would remain amongst mortals.”
“What sort of work?” Hullvardr asked, equal parts bemused and intrigued.
“Clerking,” said the Holly King.
