Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde, #3)(103)
“What!” I said. “When was this?”
“Last summer,” he said. “A month or two before we departed for Austria. You were at that conference in Edinburgh—”
“On faerie markets,” I cried, absurdly outraged. “I asked you to mind Shadow while I was away. And you took him to a—a doctor?”
“Of a sort,” Wendell went on, looking only more self-satisfied in the face of my outbursts.
“We have Folk of that nature back home,” Margret said, half to Lilja. “Do we not? Hilde and Sam say they live in their stables. They’ve never had a sick sheep or lamb in all their years of farming.”
“Such Folk exist in almost every region,” Farris said. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “They are a type of household brownie—though they are not always popular with farmers, for some are known to endow their beasts with peculiar gifts.”[*]
“These brownies dwelt at a livery stable in Hertfordshire,” Wendell said. “They also tend to their masters’ hunting dogs, who are reputed to live curiously long lives.”
My heart began to thrum in my ears. “I’ve not heard that story.”
“It’s a small part of the local lore,” Wendell said. “More of a footnote, really. I have been searching for such brownies for the past year or two, and never enter a village without making enquiries of the inhabitants—a visit or two to the local pub, usually.”
“Wait a moment,” I said. “You were planning my wedding gifts before I accepted your proposal? Before you had even asked?”
Niamh snorted, while Lilja and Margret seemed to be smothering laughter. Only Ariadne took my side, patting my hand while continuing to smile in anticipation. I felt as if I were back in Faerie, with every private moment turned into a spectacle for public entertainment.
Wendell held up his hands. “My intentions were honourable, I assure you. Why cannot one be prepared for every outcome? And in any case, this particular gift was for Shadow’s benefit primarily.”
“Good grief!” I said, too overcome to be more articulate.
“?‘Prepared for every outcome,’ he says,” Niamh said with a laugh. “This one has not once been thwarted in love. You should have seen him in his youth—fawned over by all and sundry. The Folk are already possessed of healthy egos; you can imagine how much more swollen his grew for his early successes.”
Wendell gave her a wounded look. “In fact, Niamh, I was half convinced my dear Emily had never met a man whose attentions she was less inclined to humour. I was astonished when she deigned to consider my proposal.”
“Indeed?” Niamh rolled her eyes. “You should have turned him down at first, Emily. It would have done him good.”
“I’m beginning to see the wisdom of that,” I said, but I was too impatient to needle him further. My heart was thrumming in my ears. “What did these brownies tell you? I’d no idea such Folk could help a Black Hound.”
He took my hand. “Shadow is ill, Em. Some congestion in his blood—that is how the creatures described it. An illness of age, which they might have prevented before it set in, but which they could not cure.”
I sank back against my chair—I had not realized I was leaning forward, my body rigid with tension.
“However,” Wendell continued, “I did not lose hope at this, for the information was useful. I’d heard rumours that this half-bogle woman, who aptly calls herself the Wordmonger, had amassed a great collection of forgotten Words. Including one intended to cleanse the blood—used mostly, I suspect, to rid the body of alcohol, and thus its aftereffects. Perhaps one of the most useful Words ever invented! And I thought to myself, why should it not be useful in this case? The Words have more than one function, and it stands to reason that their effects should be stronger in beasts. If ever I regained my kingdom, I told myself, I would venture to the rhododendron meadow to interview her as soon as could be.”
“A hangover remedy!” Niamh exclaimed. “You thought to cure the dog with that?”
“I already have,” Wendell said. “Come here, Em.”
I knelt beside him and placed my hands where he indicated. I felt Shadow’s heartbeat—with which I was acutely familiar, for the old dog liked to sleep pressed against my back at night. I didn’t notice the change at first. But then—
“It’s stronger,” I cried. “Wait—is it?” I listened again. “Yes—I’m almost certain that it is!”
“I will teach it to you,” Wendell said. He spoke the Word, slowly and softly. I felt the magic in the air, there and gone like an errant breeze; the Word had a presence when Wendell spoke that I could never give to it. Shadow gave a huff and licked his hand, his expression more alert than I had seen in a long time. I repeated the Word, adding it to my little collection.
“We should speak it now and then to keep the illness at bay,” Wendell said.
“He—” I stopped. “He has seemed better, these last few days.” I could not say the word cured, for it felt like a falsehood. Shadow was still blind in one eye; his preferred pace remained slow and lumbering. He had sought the hearth and blankets Lilja had laid out for him with all his usual enthusiasm to be off his feet. There was no dramatic transformation—the effect had been so subtle as to be barely noticeable. Wendell had not snapped his fingers and turned Shadow into some strapping immortal beast.