“Nothing,” Hullvardr explained. “While it’s always better to share a feast with friends, one may cook and eat alone and feel satisfied.”
The Holly King looked very much relieved.
Hullvardr had spoken true and believed in what he’d said. Now, however, faced with Mr Grigsby standing before him, he wondered if he might not find it a more difficult promise to keep.
Mr Ephraim Grigsby, Esq., had attained an age which few mortals survived to see. One which Hullvardr himself had not oft witnessed close-hand. Time leant a fragility to his frame, with nevertheless an undercurrent of queer confidence borne of inner wisdom. He moved like one with bones of spun glass. Blue veins stood out beneath his diaphanous skin like streams of molten silver. Lines of lacework beset his noble brow, and the proud chin jutted forth to hint at the strong jawline now half-hidden by jowls, as if too demure to peer out from behind a curtain. His keen and clever eyes gleamed the bright blue of rivers fed by glacial ice. The whole of him appeared as delicate and ethereal as a spider’s web, or the pale wax of the honeycomb brimming with molten gold, and, to Hullvardr’s eye, as precious as enchanted filigree. Most fae never acquired marks of age like these, no matter how many centuries they endured. What a rare joy it would prove to hold this gossamer grace in his arms.
Mr Grigsby, oblivious to Hullvardr’s ever-increasing fascination, took him into the office and led him up the stair to the garret. All looked as the Holly King had described. Perhaps a little better, Hullvardr thought; the Holly King’s unease in his ill-suited role tainting his memories of what Hullvardr found a bright and cheerful haven in the midst of London. Or perhaps the presence of Mr Grigsby merely brightened it in Hullvardr’s eyes.
“Here you are!” Mr Grigsby declared, opening the door at the very top of the stair. “It isn’t much, but it’s quite convenient to the office.”
Hullvardr hadn’t encountered many homes with multiple floors before, but the sloping roof and exposed beams reminded him of mortal houses he’d visited long ago. A bed lay beneath the window streaming what pale grey sunlight could trickle through the fog, just enough to illuminate the desk, chair, and wash-stand with a small round mirror. Cobwebs hung in many corners. It felt odd to imagine the Holly King living here for more than a decade; the equivalent of Hullvardr spending a century.
“Will it suit?” Mr Grigsby asked, a touch of worry in his tone.
“Very well,” Hullvardr assured him with a smile.
It sparked something in Hullvardr’s heart to see that smile reflected tenfold in Mr Grigsby’s face.
“I’ll let you settle in, then,” Mr Grigsby continued. “Take your time—I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready.”
And with that, he vanished down the stair, leaving Hullvardr bereft without him.
It didn’t take Hullvardr long to unpack his carpet-bag. He spent far more time surveying the room itself; all its nooks and crannies, including the hollow board beneath the bed which the Holly King had warned him about.
The Holly King had also described the wash-stand to him, which made it a less bewildering object than it might have proved otherwise. He examined himself in its mirror, wondering idly if his glamour held enough of his own innate beauty to attract Mr Grigsby’s notice. He took it off, just for a moment, to compare. His own dappled grey-blue face stared back at him, his horns spiraling up on either side of his head from amidst his blue-black curls, his long bell-shaped ears hanging down almost to his shoulders, and his doubled eye-teeth showing in his smile. The glamour looked rather dull by comparison, he thought as he put it on again, but it would do well enough for now.
Then he turned to the desk. The Holly King’s own papers, pens, and ink still filled it. Hullvardr took them out and began writing to inform the Holly King of his arrival and reception. While he waited for the ink to dry, he went to the window, cracked it open, and whistled.
By the time the letter was dry enough to fold over and seal with beeswax, the wulpertinger had arrived.
It perched on the windowsill and wiggled its little black nose, blinking all about it at the strange room. Hullvardr gave it a dried elderberry. When it had disposed of this, he handed over the letter, which it took in its now purple-stained teeth. Then its wings unfurled and it swooped off into the fog, where no one besides the sparrows would take any notice of it.
Hullvardr had made no mention in his letter of his intentions towards Mr Grigsby. In truth he’d not yet decided on what they were. He wouldn’t feed on him, of course—wouldn’t dare chance even a taste, lest he destroy something truly beautiful—but to stay away altogether would drive him distracted. The Holly King had sent him to protect as well as serve.
“Not that Mr Grigsby is likely to make enemies,” the Holly King had explained. “But he ought to be looked after all the same.”
And now, having met the gentleman, Hullvardr found he heartily agreed.
~
Ephraim had to admit there wasn’t much to occupy any clerk in his office. Still, Mr Hull seemed to settle in comfortably and performed what few small tasks Ephraim set him to with alacrity.
When the afternoon turned to evening and the hour arrived to shut the office up, Ephraim turned to Mr Hull and invited him to dine at the Red Lion with himself and Dr Hitchingham. He’d made the same offer to Lofthouse every evening for over a decade.
Unlike Lofthouse, however, Mr Hull replied in the enthusiastic affirmative.
“Oh!” said Ephraim, equal parts astonished and pleased. “Very good. It’s only a short walk, and I think you and Dr Hitchingham will get on well together.”
Mr Hull smiled. He had a very kind smile, with a warmth that shone in his eyes and which drew Ephraim’s notice perhaps a little more than it ought.
As they strolled together to the Red Lion, Ephraim likewise noticed how Mr Hull walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his face upturned, taking in his foggy surroundings with a contented smile and with his boot-heels clicking against the cobblestones. And, though he bore far longer and younger legs than Ephraim himself, he still restrained his stride to match Ephraim’s shorter and more doddering steps.
Dr Hitchingham arched his brows rather high when Ephraim appeared in the Red Lion’s back parlour with a stranger in tow.
“Allow me to introduce my clerk, Mr Hull,” Ephraim said, unable to disguise his proud smile. “Mr Hull, this is my dear friend, Dr Hitchingham.”
Mr Hull met Dr Hitchingham’s proffered hand-clasp with a hearty shake. The slight upward tilt at the corner of Dr Hitchingham’s lips bespoke his approval despite the thin line of his mouth.
