Modern Magick

The Road to Farringale: 5

I think it was the word famous which rattled Jay, for he transferred his attention from the gorgeously arrayed consultant and blinked incredulously at me. 'Are you?'

'No,' I said crisply, and then amended that to, 'Not really. Baron Alban flatters me.'

'Only a little,' said the baron, and that twinkle deepened. He fingered his cravat and added, 'How did you guess my name?'

'Your reputation precedes you.' Oh, I'd heard about the baron all right. The Troll Court's ambassador to the Hidden Ministry (the magickal government of England), and a prime favourite everywhere he goes. His reputation for flamboyance far exceeds my own — or shall we say, his notoriety? He is also known for his wit, his cleverness and his knowledge of magickal creatures, history and communities, but people don't talk about any of that so much as they talk of his hats, his coats and (by rumour at least) his ladies. I'd wanted to meet him for years.

I was still surprised, though, to find him at the House. When Milady had spoken of a "consultant", I had at least half expected a troll, but I had pictured... what? A scholar like myself, perhaps; someone who was several years into an exhaustive study of troll customs, habits and history, to be published in about fifteen years' time. An anthropologist, a psychologist, a folklorist... anybody but Baron Alban.

Since he had made no move to get up and did not appear to wish to stand on ceremony, I took a chair and a cup of chocolate. 'What can we do for you?' I said.

Jay followed my example, but he was wary. I could see that in the rigidity of his posture as he sat across from me, looking ready to run at a moment's notice.

This amused the baron all the more, and he grinned. 'I understand there is a problem at South Moors.'

'Milady spoke of a consultant.' I laid a slight emphasis on the last word, hoping my tone would convey a polite question rather than incredulity.

'So I am. I was not born into a barony, you know, and I certainly was not appointed to the post of ambassador at birth. I spent many years of my youth as a rootless vagabond with a tendency to get myself thrown out of every town I lived in, which had its drawbacks. But since I developed an unusually broad knowledge of troll life across most of its strata, it has, on occasion, made me a useful person to consult.'

He spoke with the smoothness, the confidence and the vocabulary of a highly educated man, so I guessed that these rootless, drifting years had been followed by several more of focused study. I wondered what Alban had done to net himself a barony — other than smile gorgeously, which he was doing in my general direction at that very moment.

All right, then.

'What would be your summary of the problem?' Alban asked.

Jay did not seem inclined to lead the way at communicating, which suited me just fine. 'If I had met any of the inhabitants of South Moors individually, I would have said they were... depressed,' I said. 'There is an air of apathy, a greyness, a blankness — though even to call it depression is to state the case too mildly, for they scarcely seemed to hear me when I spoke, and no one vouchsafed any reply. What could possibly afflict a whole village with such symptoms is beyond me to imagine, and I have never heard or read of such a case occurring in history.'

'And the alikats,' Jay put in. 'It is not usual for them to make a meal of such beasts, is it?'

'Not now,' said Alban. 'Some of us will eat just about anything, of course,' — he gave a feral grin as he said this — 'but the Accords have been in place for long enough to deter even a backwater like South Moors from snacking on endangered species.' He winced. 'How many alis were lost?'