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What else could account for the desolation along the river, for the weird twistings of nature roundabout Hightower and Willowood and Stooton? The Moon Man. had suspected and at first blamed Dooly's grandfather for stealing the watch. Then he blamed himself for having allowed it to be stolen. Finally he blamed no one, for blame rarely accomplishes anything and it's best to let it wear itself out. The time to act was, it seemed, upon them. Doom was closer to them all than Jonathan feared. As the Professor had aptly put it, things were abroad in the land. "And how do you know, lad, that the watch fell into the hands of this dwarf?" "I was there, sir." "Indeed," said the Moon Man. "And did the dwarf have only one eye, the other covered by a black patch?" "Yes, sir." "Did he have a long walking stick, oddly carved?" "Yes, sir." "And had he a pipe in his mouth that billowed smoke like a grass fire?" "He did, sir. All of that, sir." "It's as I thodght. When was this last trade accomplished?" "Oh, years back, sir. Just before Professor Wurzle found the boat." "Have you seen your grandfather since?" Dooly hesitated, but because of the spectacled stare of the round-faced Moon Man finally said, "Yes, sir. A few times." "What did he say to you, Dooly?" "He said, sir," Dooly replied in a voice so small that everyone leaned toward him to hear, "that he'd been a fool, your honor, sir, and that there was winter coming on. But it was April then and it was all gibberish to the likes of me. He told me to take care of myself, sir, and watch for squalls, as he put it, and to come along to the coast if things got bad. That he had a device that would take us to the Wonderful Isles." "And where, Dooly, were you to find him? The coast is a long, long place." "I can't say, sir," said Dooly, his voice breaking and tears starting from his eyes. "I told him I wouldn't tell no one. Not even Mr. Bing Cheese, sir. Not even old Ahab." Dooly began sobbing and looked as if he were getting set to crawl under the tablecloth. "I say!" said Jonathan, not at all happy. "It wasn't Dooly here who took the bloody watch. It was his grandfather, and the boy can't be blamed for it." "Be quiet!" the Professor whispered into Jonathan's ear in such a way that Jonathan obeyed. "Dooly," said the Moon Man, "it's for your grandfather that I ask you, as well as for your friends. It's for all of us." Dooly sniffed twice and smeared the back of his hand across his eyes. "Are you sure?" "Very sure," said the Moon Man. "He said he'd be at the caves of Thrush Haven during fall and winter each year and that I was to wait for him there if ever a time came that I needed to." "Perhaps that time is come, Dooly. Perhaps it's come." A silence followed. "Well!" said King Grump rising. "Let's have a round of ale, shall we? It's early, but this is thirsty talk, thirsty talk. And we'd best fetch a lager and lime for the lad here who needs bucking up." The Moon Man rose, nodded to them all, put a hand on Dooly's shoulder, then said he was tired and supposed he'd take a bit of a nap. They all watched him walk out of the hall while glasses of ale were brought in and passed down on a tray. He walked slowly as if he were either very tired or very thoughtful. Most likely he was both. _Chapter 13__ News of a Fourth Companion AND that, apparently, was the end of the "conclave of war." It hadn't been much of a conclave. Most of those present hadn't spoken a word. There hadn't been any talk of battles or strategies or anything else--only questions about Theophile Escargot and his habit of borrowing jewelry and such. He seemed to be uncommonly ubiquitous, always racing about stealing rings, trading rings for pigs, pigs for beans, beans for octopuses, octopuses for undersea devices. He seemed to be a rather notorious and effective thief. On the walk back to the inn, Jonathan and the Professor pondered all this, but came to no conclusions. Jonathan was relieved that he hadn't been drummed into any army, but suspected that they hadn't seen the end of all this business yet After a lunch of plaice and chips and a pint of ale, Jonathan and the Professor left Dooly to his own devices and walked the half mile along the coast road to Ackroyd's bakery. The fog had pretty much cleared by midaftemoon, and it was a fine autumn day, all things considered. The road wound in and out of the walls of the city, in among the shops and homes for a bit, then through a massive arch and along the seashore. The rocky coast was peopled by little islets, many of them simply clumps of weedy rock beaten by the tides and wind, and many with lighthouses atop them. One or two appeared to be forts, for again the muzzles of cannon were visible through Him ports. It would be a difficult coast to attack, all in all. Children played along the sandy beaches, none of which were more than fifty yards across; and a fair number of dwarfs, some in hip boots, some with their pant legs rolled, clammed in the shallows, shoving long-tined forks beneath the sand. The two rafters paused once or twice to peer into a particularly promising tide pool. Bright orange fish--garibaldi, likely--sported among sea-green anemones and purple urchins. Preposterous crabs and willowy nudibranchs wandered about, scavenging food and accomplishing necessary fish business. Obviously they could spend a day, a week even, fooling about in tide pools and never wear out, so they decided to press on toward the bakery and have done with their business. It took them all of two hours, in the end, to walk the half mile to Ackroyd's bakery. The bakery itself was a tremendous stone affair, and as soon as they got around to the leeward side of it they were overwhelmed by the smell of warm bread. It wasn't a bad smell at all, but Jonathan puzzled over the fact that two loaves of bread hi an oven smell far more wonderful than two hundjed. It seemed to prove what his father had always said about moderation being a finer thing than whatever its opposite was--satiation or gluttony or something. Ackroyd himself oversaw all the operations at the bakery, and throughout most of the year spent the better part of his day peeking Into ovens, poking loaves of bread, directing lads with mops and buckets about the bakery and that sort of thing. Today, however, he was covered in baking flour and was mixing up a complicated batch of spices--most of them White Mountains spices from the elfin groves and ground barks from the Wonderful Isles. Until Christmas Eve, he told Jonathan and the Professor, he'd be at work on honeycakes. It was nothing but honeycakes after the first of November for him, for he was the only one who knew their secret. He shook a bottle full of amber powder in the copper vat of spices, threw a linen cloth over the top of the thing, and Jed Jonathan and the Professor into a sort of office in the back of the factory. But it wasn't the usual, dreary, and uncomfortable office; it had a window that opened up onto the sea, and it was lined with bookshelves. Across one wall was a tremendous fireplace with a hearth and face of carved tile and a mantel of some nature of translucent marble, almost the sea-green color of the tide pool anemones. On the walls were, appropriately enough, intricate pen-and-ink sketches and watercolors of astonishing pies and cakes, and one, amazingly, of Squire Myrkle nodding as if in approval over a monumental loaf of glazed cinnamon bread. The Squire had been younger when the painting was finished, but it was clearly he, with the same shoveled-into-his-clothing look about him. Jonathan never cared much for business transactions, although that wasn't because he didn't, as they say, have a head for it. He knew, for example, the exact weight and value of his cheeses and, to the penny, the amount of Twombly Town coin in his sack. They would return with more kegs of cakes, finally, than the number of kegs of cheese they'd arrived with. And the elfin gifts which he would purchase from Twickenham would fill several more. Elfin gifts don't take up much room, however, for they are usually small--the smaller the more wonderful, in fact. Sometimes they grow a bit later on or change shape, but four kegs of elfin gifts would satisfy all the children in Twombly Town. It was only right that Jonathan made a bit of a profit on the whole affair; the cheeses, after all, were from his cbeesery, and he had spent the past weeks out on town business. Although his profits were moderate, moderate profits being the only acceptable sort, they would be rather nice. It looked, however, as if he'd immediately have to give up most of the profit, for he'd lost his raft or what was left of it, in the bay. Not only did he feel responsible for the raft, but they'd have no way to get home unless they bought or rented a new one. So he decided to broach the subject with Ackroyd who, after all, had done enough trading in his time to understand the niceties of river-rafting. "We have a problem with our raft," said Jonathan. "What raft?" asked Ackroyd. "I heard it had gone entirely to smash. Sounds to me like you don't have any raft at all." "Quite," said Jonathan. "You've touched it exactly. We haven't any transport upriver. Even our coracle is gone. Drifted away in the fog." "Then you'll need a new raft." "Precisely," the Professor put in. "And a not inconsiderable raft at that. Something substantial. Rafts seem to run into rough times on the Oriel." "Well," said Ackroyd, "you needn't worry about rafts. There'll be one for you to use." "And the cost?" Jonathan asked uncomfortably. "I can't say," replied Ackroyd, "But I'd guess that a raft would be one of the advantages of the position you're about to volunteer for. Don't quote me on that; I've heard rumors." "Ah," said Jonathan. "Position, is it?" The Professor sounded interested. "Volunteer?" "So to speak," said Ackroyd, figuring like sixty on a sheet of paper and piling little stacks of com, "I shouldn't have mentioned it at all. You'll hear about it soon enough. Nothing dangerous, of course, just a journey upriver. An uncomplicated journey." Ackroyd looked addled, as if he had spoken out of turn. The door sailed open just then, and a wild-eyed dwarf iad with a face full of gooey dough charged in shouting about "the bread oven" and "Binky the yeaster." Ackroyd leaped up and ran off, shouting that he'd come round to the inn for a pint later in the evening. After that puzzling exchange, there was nothing for Jonathan and the Professor to do but gather up their receipts and coin and head back to the inn. They were both thinking all sorts of things. Jonathan felt downcast on the one hand, for he was coming to believe that he'd likely not see Twombly Town again, but he was happy about the possibility of obtaining a raft without having to spend every cent. He'd come to look a bit sourly on adventures by that time, having had his fill, and yet he couldn't help but feel a bit puffed up over the notion of being a central figure in the river doings. "Professor," he said, "there's one thing now that would make me a happy man." "What's that, Jonathan?" asked Professor Wurzle, who seemed to be lost in thought. "I'd feel vastly improved, Professor, if you'd be willing to take half of this coin. I quite literally wouldn't have made it this far without your help. You were the one, after all, who saved the kegs after the storm, and you're an altogether fine traveling companion. What do you say?" "I say, Jonathan," said the Professor, "that I fully intend to profit from this venture. There will be books written and scientific grants obtained, and, quite possibly, not a little fame. I won't take away your profits now just as I know you won't take mine away six months from now. I was an uninvited guest anyway. It's out of the question. Out of the question." Jonathan shook his hand, and they ambled up to the old Mooneye. "Then let me buy you a pint," said Jonathan. "Buy me two," said the Professor. "Done," said Jonathan. Later hi the day the Professor decided to take a bit of a nap while Jonathan just sat and squinted out into the afternoon sunlight. Dooly and Ahab put in a brief appearance, Dooly having somehow obtained a magic toad--although in what way the toad was magic he couldn't say--and a bagful of paper seeds that would sprout into curious flowers when dropped into water. The Cheeser left the two experimenting with the wonderful seeds. He decided that Dooly had the right idea, that it would be regrettable to come home from Seaside without souvenirs--and he knew 3xactly what souvenirs he wanted. At the glassblower's shop Jonathan found the celestial orb he'd been so carried away by two days before. The price was dear, but seemed fair given the amazing nature of the things. The dwarf slid it into a little velvet bag and put the bag in a wooden box with a hinged lid. Jonathan still had a good bit of coin left after the purchase, and he considered that it would likely be folly of some sort to return upriver with _too__ much money. They'd probably just get waylaid and robbed by highwaymen or goblins. Therefore, all things considered, it would be wise to spend most of the rest of his money on books. Few thieves, when you think about it, bother stealing books. They either doa't go in much for reading or would have an impossible time carting away the books. So he cut along back to one of the bookstores he'd been intending to investigate and found it open. A dwarf sat atop a stool within, playing chess with himself and seemingly in a rage about the way the game was progressing. But he was polite enough when Jonathan wandered in. Books were piled everywhere, on shelves leaning this way and that and angling up to the ceiling--everything covered by a thick layer of dust. Books which were out of reach overhead were gray with it, and Jonathan reflected that somehow the dust added to their appeal, as if books which had aged a bit like wine improved hi some measure. "Everything's half price," said the dwarf, one hand poised above a rook, "except the almanacs." "Almanacs too popular for that sort of sale?" asked Jonathan. "Not at afl," said the dwarf. 'The almanacs are free. Nobody wants them except the mice." He pointed to a heap of paperbound almanacs on the floor beside the counter. Three mice, one white and two white with brown spots, were methodically chewing strips of paper from the pages and hauling the scraps through a hole in the wall. Other mice could be seen capering along across the doorway that led into a second room of books. "The best mouse library on the coast rests within that wall," said the dwarf. "The little buggers must read like whizbangs. I can't figure it out" "They have a lot of free time," said Jonathan, who liked to think that mice would enjoy books as much as the next man. He started poking along up an aisle, leaving the dwarf to his chess game, and found no end of good stuff almost immediately. The first shelves were loaded with pirate adventure novels--something he'd never been able to pass up. If he were in Twombly Town he'd buy the entire lot of them, but he'd have to be selective in Seaside. The more books he bought, the more he'd lose if they were dumped into the river. On the other band, what did it matter if he lost fifty books into the Oriel or if be lost a hundred? He'd end up with no books either way. The outcome was identical. He might as well buy what he wanted, after all, and worry about it later. It was far more fun that way. He held up a dark copy of a book called _The Pirate Isles__ by someone with the ridiculous name of Oodlenose, and he asked the dwarf the price. "The price is on the inside cover," said the dwarf, moving his queen several squares ahead and then over two. Jonathan didn't know much about chess, but he'd played enough to know that such a move was unsound. The dwarf slammed his hand against the oak countertop, the chessmen hopping and dancing in a little cloud of rising dust. "Did you see that?" asked the dwarf. "I believe so," said Jonathan. "Odd move, that" "Cheating, that's what I call it! How can I win if he cheats?" "You can't," said Jonathan. "Who is he anyway?" "My opponent," said the dwarf, motioning to a book lying open before him on the counter. The book, entitled _Peculiar Chess Moves__, was about three inches thick and had seen some use. "I'd use another book," said Jonathan. "Find another opponent" "It's the only one I have," said the dwarf. "It's awfully rare. Paid a fortune for it actually." "Ah," said Jonathan, seeing the logic of it. "It sounds like you'll have to cheat too then. It's only fair." "I don't do that," said the dwarf seriously. "Of course not," Jonathan said. "By the way, there's no price at all in here, actually." "Well how much is it worth, do you suppose, six pence?" "Easily," said Jonathan. "Then half that. Everything here is half price. Didn't I tell you that already? Seems like I did. The almanacs are free, but you'll have to wrestle the mice for them." "Fine," Jonathan said, picking up an empty wooden crate and putting the pirate book in the bottom with a few others by the same author. Then he ran across a shelf of books by Club Boomp, the elf author from the White Mountains who wrote about lands way off in space and about the Wonderful Isles and a country beneath the sea called Balumnia that was peopled by mermen. Needless to say, Jonathan stacked those away in his crate too. But he really struck paydirt when he stumbled upon the collected works of G. Smithers of Brompton Village. At home Jonathan had a dozen or so volumes, most of them dog-eared and falling to bits after having been read and re-read and loaned out and so on. But there was a complete set of G. Smithers, one hundred-twenty-nine volumes in all and every one as good as the other. After a couple of hours of browsing, he hunched out into the evening mist He had to hire a wagon to carry his books back to the Mooneye. It had been an amazing afternoon all in all and was even more satisfactory because he had found, in a room of illustrated science and philosophy classics, the phenomenal _Tomes of Limpus__, great aged, vellum-covered volumes full of scientific arcana--a collection for which, Jonathan knew, the Professor would gladly sell his oboe weapon. They'd make a fine gift, something the Professor couldn't refuse. Ackroyd the baker came round that evening, as did the four linkmen, and all sat about before the fireplace gobbling down roast goose and oyster pie and cranberry jelly and pints of ale. Jonathan settled into bed late with Ahab curled up on a rug beside it and lost himself in a G. Smithers he hadn't read before--a book about buried treasure and goblin wars and all manners of things. He dozed off, however, before he was through twenty pages, and he slept through the night, his candles burning themselves into little waxy puddles. He seemed to be involved in the same dream for hours, a dream in which he and the Professor were walking with the Moon Man across broad meadows ol clover and lavender. It was a sunny day, a spring day, and the path they ambled along led to a heavy oak door set into the steep side of a small grassy hillock along the path. A huge bar and lock bolted this door, and the Moon Man toyed with a chain of keys in search of one which would fit the great lock. When the door swung open it revealed nothing but a dark hallway running "down and away beneath the meadows. The Moon Man produced a lamp from a shelf just inside the door, lit the wick, and stepped in, followed by Jonathan and the Professor. Their footsteps echoed along the dim, stony passage. Jonathan became aware, in his dream, of an odd, musty, sharp odor in the air round-about--not at all unlike the smell of the inside of a cheese-house. "Smells like a cheesehouse down here," he said aloud. "Just so!" said the Professor. "That's just what it smells like. Rather nice, actually." "Watch your step here," the Moon Man warned as the three of them clumped down a long batch of stone stairs into an immense underground gallery. The Moon Man turned the flame up on the lamp, and the yellow glow lit the entire cavern. The walls, pock-marked and cut into odd geometric forms, seemed light green like very pale jade. There was an overpowering smell of cheese in the air. The Moon Man was grinning widely. With his penknife he cut a chunk out of one wall and broke it into three pieces. All of them popped a bit into their mouths, and Jonathan was vaguely surprised to find that it tasted good, very sharp and with a smooth soft texture. The whole thing struck Jonathan as funny all of a sudden, for the Professor stood goggling, chewing slowly. He was smack up against another impossibility and was trying to study it out, Jonathan couldn't contain himself; he began to laugh like a lunatic. The Moon Man joined in, and finally the Professor did the same. All of them laughed their way out along the passage and into the open air. Amazingly--though it seemed natural to Jonathan in his dream--it was dark out--dark as midnight--and the meadows roundabout stretched off in every direction, lit not by the pale rays of'the moon but by the blue-green light of the earth which swung overhead in the night sky like one of the Squire's marbles. It was altogether a pleasant if mysterious dream, but it ended abruptly when Jonathan became conscious that someone was whacking on the door. He awoke, sat up, and shouted, "Green cheese," very loudly before realizing that he wasn't in the land of dreams anymore but was sitting in his bed at the Cap'n Mooneye and that, according to his pocketwatch, it was nine o'clock in the morning. There was a whacking at the door again, and Ahab bounced about the room, rushing to the door, then to the side of Jonathan's bed. "Jonathan!" the Professor shouted from behind the door. "Wake up, man. We've an appointment with your Moon Man." Jonathan stepped over to the door and opened it. "I rather thought something like this was coming up," he said. "It had to be," agreed the Professor. "There's more to our trip upriver than just gifts and cakes. You can count on it." A short hour later they found the Moon Man waiting at the Seaside dairy, a mile inland from the coast. He wore his tweed coat and leaned heavily on a carved stick. But the countryside roundabout and the bustle of the dairy seemed to buoy him up a bit, as if he felt at home. In truth he had nothing to do with the operation of the dairy, but he liked to point out that he and Hodgson, the master of the Seaside dairy, were thick as thieves, especially when it came to the making of cheeses. Jonathan was pleased when Hodgson, a cherubic-looking dwarf with a pointed beard, insisted that the Professor was witnessing a meeting of the three finest cheesemakers in the Western lands. The elves, he said, couldn't make cheese worth a bob. They were always dumping magic crystals or impossible spices into them and ruining the whole lot. They insisted it was all very gourmet, but, if the secret were known, they wouldn't even eat their own cheeses. They sold them to the coastal villages to be used as fish bait. The dwarf cheesehouses looked pretty much as you'd expect--much like Jonathan's, in fact, only vastly bigger. Enormous wheels of cheese hung from the high rafters, some wrapped in gauzy cheesecloth, some covered in coatings of wax and wound round with rope, some encasedr in great crystals of rock salt. Along one wall of the cheeseroom were stoves and cutting boards and presses and a dozen or so dwarfs all up to the elbows in tubs of curds and whey. The cheese presses were huge affairs, one almost as large as Jonathan's house, and they were an absolute wonder of cranks and gears and sieves. Great dollops of whey dripped into long troughs cut into the floor beneath, and a rush of canal water was allowed in through a trap in the wall every ten minutes or so to wash the troughs clean. Jonathan was treated like a prince by the cheese-hands who assured him that his name had been well known for years around the Seaside dairy. Jonathan doubted that such a thing could be and blushed a great deal, assuring them that his cheeses were paltry things at best when compared to dwarf cheeses. The dwarfs, however, slapped him on the back and said that they enjoyed a humble nature as much as the next dwarf. Hodgson led them along to the milking parlors--long rooms with a maze of stalls and a line of cattle coming along on a sort of treadmill device. The cattle were clearly Seaside hybrids. They seemed easily twice as large as any cow Jonathan could remember having seen around Twombly Town, but such a phenomenon might have been an illusion caused by the fact that they towered over the dwarfs who scuttled about milking them. They were ponderous, low slung beasts with round, lumpy hooves and legs like the stumps of trees. Their eyes were small, far too small to seem anything but foolish, and the folds of flesh on their faces made them look as if they were squinting and always deep in thought. Ahab didn't know what to make of the beasts, but he seemed to sense that in many ways he bore the things a family resemblance and, as a consequence, felt at home with them. He went sniffing about and, as if he hadn't any manners, pretended to peer into a bucket of milk for some apparently philosophic and innocent purpose, when what he intended, Jonathan knew, was to have a go at it. Jonathan warned him away, after which a dwarf poured the pooch a dish of the stuff and patted him on the head. Hodgson stormed about overseeing the milkers and so left the rafters and Ahab and the Moon Man to go about their business. Jonathan and the Professor followed the Moon Man out onto a pasture, then sat down on a long bench, gray and pitted from years of coastal fog and rain. The Moon Man didn't waste words, "Gentlemen," he said after clearing his throat and pushing his spectacles higher up onto the bridge of his nose, "I've had correspondences last night from upriver, and the news, I fear, is disheartening." Jonathan thought immediately that whatever curse seemed to be plaguing the high valley had spread to Twombly Town. But that, it turned out, wasn't the case. "The town of Hightower, gentlemen, has been deserted by the townspeople. Not more than a handful remain--half a dozen at most. The houses are inhabited now by things from the swamp. Goblins and hobgoblins and animals behaving in odd ways go about freely in the town and even carry on trade with two or three of the merchants who have elected not to give up their shops." "Staunch sorts, those," said Jonathan, who remembered his meeting with Old Hobbs who, as the Professor had stated at the time, was the sort to "bear up" through a crisis. "All gone daft, actually," said the Moon Man with a sad shake of his head. "Every one of them, I'm afraid, and the rest off upriver and down with nothing but baskets of clothes and food. It's a sad pass." Jonathan shook his head. Three villages between Twombly Town and Seaside lost. Nothing lay between Hightower and Twombly Town to slow the creeping spread of horror but a few short miles of forests--forests already frequented by trolls and wolves and, no doubt, goblins. "It seems to be time, sir, that the Professor and Dooly and Ahab and I got about our business. We're needed in Twombly Town while we're here on a holiday of sorts in Seaside. That's not a good thing, I believe." "Not a bit," the Professor agreed. "No, I suppose not," said the Moon Man with a sigh. "One likes to think that trouble will dry up and blow away on the wind, but that's rarely the case." Jonathan agreed, apprehensive over all this trouble business and fearing that his return to Twombly Town wouldn't be a simple matter. "We've only a little more than a month before Christmas," Jonathan said, "and trouble or no, we've got to get these cakes and gifts home before Christmas. We can't very well forego tradition." "I should say," said the Moon Man. "Traditions such as those mustn't be foregone. We can't change such things with our whimsy; they're rooted too deeply in us all. No, Mr. Sing, you're very right. You'll all be on your way in due tune on a raft that should be quite suitable. I have high hopes that you'll be home hi time for the holidays. In time to put up a jolly good Christmas tree and light the fire in the fireplace and appreciate your pipe and your dog and your merry companions and everything else that the holidays are. Because, Mr. Bing, it's those traditions that see us through each winter and will, I hope, see us through this one." "Yes, sir," said Jonathan, seeing some truth in the Moon Man's words. He suddenly felt a funny sort of sad regret for the passing of the few days he'd spent in Seaside and for knowing that the future, whatever it held, would as surely pass away in time. But perhaps that's what made such days seem so wonderful, finally, in his memory. So Jonathan told himself to buck up and cheered himself at the thought of the coming holidays and of seeing good old Mayor Bastable again and talking about philosophy with him in front of the fireplace. "Well, sir," said the Professor, always the one to get down to brass tacks, "this is all just a bit too mysterious for my liking. I'm ready to lend a hand, and I think I can say the same for Jonathan here and for Dooly too. And Ahab's no slouch either when it conies to the duty work." The Professor patted Ahab atop the head. "You should have seen him routing goblins there below Hightower. He was inspired. "We've been led to believe, sir, that we can obtain a suitable raft, and as far as we're concerned, Jonathan and I, there's no reason not to bung straightaway upriver tomorrow morning. We've had quite a stay here these past days, but time is growing short." "Shorter than you suppose, perhaps," the Moon Man said cryptically. "That's just the sort of thing I mean," said the Professor, getting his dander up. "Anyone with any sense can see that things have run fairly well amok along the Oriel. There's no end of marauding goblins and trolls and menacing toads and such, but what has it to do with us? It's time, in other words, for Jonathan and Dooly and me to have a look at the script, if you follow me." The Moon Man nodded in agreement, as did Jonathan. Ahab trotted away to sniff at two cows who wandered past munching clover. He didn't care much for scripts of any sort. "I won't tell you that the whole thing is very simple," said the Moon Man, "because it most decidedly is not. The danger grows daily, and the future is a muddle of possibilities. But your part is not complicated. I'll merely ask you to transport a certain party upriver--to give passage to a gentleman whom you've heard something of, I dare say. In exchange, you'll have your raft, as well as the knowledge that you've played a part--and a very significant part at that--in what will most assuredly be a momentous event. I'd like to say a momentous victory, but I've seen far too many odd turns of event in my time to be so optimistic." The Moon Man removed his fish-globe spectacles and wiped away at them with a checked rag he kept in the pocket of his tweed jacket. He began to replace them on his nose, then seemed to see another speck and polished the things again. Then he blew his nose ponderously into the cloth, plucked a clean cloth from a trouser pocket, put the clean cloth away in his coat and shoved the used cloth into his trousers. It was an altogether odd exchange of checked cloths, but it seemed unporteotous to the Moon Man so Jonathan didn't comment on it. "Who is this chap," asked Jonathan, "that we're hauling along? Some elf warrior or dwarf axe brandisher?" "Not at all," the Moon Man replied. "I sincerely hope it will be Mr. Theophile Escargot, a gentleman with whom you're to some degree acquainted." Jonathan wasn't entirely dumbfounded. Escargot obviously figured heavily in the doings of the high valley--perhaps he was responsible for them in a way. Certainly be and this oddball pocketwatch were the Moon Man's major concern. "You hope," said Jonathan in a questioning tone, "that Dooly's grandfather will travel upriver with us. But you don't know?" "Not until we ask," the Moon Man replied. "But I rather believe he can be convinced to come along. Young Dooly himself will help with that angle. He'll come, sirs, like it or no." "But he can't be forced," said Jonathan, "Not if we're to be responsible for him. And what can he do by himself, anyway?" "Well," said the Moon Man, "there's a certain pocketwatch. Rather an odd pocketwatch, actually..." "Which," interrupted Jonathan, "can be used by nefarious types like Escargot to steal apple pies and lumps of cheese." "Without question it can," replied the Moon Mail. "And it can overwhelm elf galleons in Stooton Slough and bring about the ruin of a fine and trusted crew. And it can send Willowood Station all to smash and do the same, my dear fellows, to Stooton and Seaside and Twombly Town and Brompton Village and who knows what all else. Tfaeophile Escargot, gentlemen, is going to steal that watch. He stole it once, excuse me if I don't mince words, and he's going to steal it again with, hopefully, the help of the Professor's odd device." The Professor scratched his head. His oboe weapon was at the inn, but he wished he had brought it along, since the Moon Man very obviously knew what it was and could have enlightened him to one or two features about it--its unfortunate desire, for example, to sail around in big circles--which the Professor was still uncertain about. "The device," said the Moon Man, "was built by Langley Snood; you may have heard of him:" "Who hasn't?" asked the Professor. Jonathan was fairly sure _he__ hadn't, but nodded his head in agreement with old Wurzle. "It was Snood and his company," the Moon Man explained, "who were very unfortunately surprised and overwhelmed by the strange storm on Stooton Slough, but it wasn't the storm alone that accounted for their defeat. Snood's device, gentlemen, was designed to find that selfsame watch--possessed now by the insidious Dwarf on Hightower Ridge. It serves no other function. If the watch is within shouting distance of Snood's device, the device will lead you to it Infallibly. The watch must be found and it must be stolen, and all must be done with great secrecy, unless the thief is to meet the same fate met by Langley Snood on Stooton Slough." The Professor was awed, but was hugely pleased. His finding and repairing of the wonderful device was of far more consequence than he had hoped. "We'll do what we can," he said. "Of course," agreed Jonathan. "And the sooner we launch out, the better. It sounds as if our journey upriver will be at least as adventuresome as was our journey down." "Do as you like," said the Moon Man. "If you'll agree simply to cart Escargot upriver, I'll be obliged to you. You need promise nothing more. And as to launching out, we'll do so this very afternoon. After you gather Dooly up and eat a bite of lunch you can meet Twickenham and his crew at the palace around one. Mr. Twickenham, gentlemen, is my lieutenant and will henceforth be, as they say, hi charge. I'm afraid that I must sail along home. It doesn't do me any good to be gone long. Brings on something frightfully similar to rheumatism, if you follow me." Jonathan didn't, entirely, but he admired Twickenham, and, although he didn't much care to either take orders or give them, he'd as soon take them from Twickenham as from anyone. "About the coins," said the Moon Man, almost as an afterthought. "Do you have them with you?" Jonathan untied his bag. "Of course. You were going to show me how to order them, weren't you?" Actually, he wasn't keen on knowing much about their order. He was happy with the idea that things _had__ order, but he found that they often remained more mysterious and wonderful if the order wasn't revealed. Also, with each revelation lately he seemed to become that much more tightly ensnared in the whole dark pocketwatch business. He held the coins in his open palm. "Their secret is simple," said the Moon Man. "Point the noses of the fish toward each of the four points of the compass." Jonathan did, and there, shimmering into focus on the coins, was the winking face of the Moon Man. Jonathan flipped one of the coins and the face disappeared. "Simple as that?" be asked. "No abracadabra?" The Moon Man shook his head. "No magic words. Nothing mysterious." He stood up and dusted off the seat of his trousers. "That's all I have to say, gentlemen, beyond thanking you for being so cooperative." "Our pleasure," said the Professor, extending his hand. The three of them parted company, Jonathan and Professor Wurzle departing for the inn. Having nothing else in particular to say, Jonathan quoted a line from Ashbless, a favorite poet of his: "When at last the die of battle cast by fates has tumbled still, in feathered expectation, wait I will." "Sounds apt," said the Professor. "Is that G. Smithersr1 "Ashbless," said Jonathan. "I should have known," said the Professor. " 'Feathered expectation'? It sounds as if it were narrated by a bird." "A man disguised as an ostrich, actually," said Jonathan. The Professor nodded, then pointed off toward a point midway down the block and at the other side of the street. There stood Dooly next to a fountain--a cut stone circle with a bronze fish spouting water in the center of it--and Dooly seemed to be floatuig scores of miniature paper flowers on the surface of the water. Pretty as it was, the flowers would inevitably foul the works of the fountain, and the Professor said so, in a kindly way. They cleared the fountain and floated the flowers away down the running gutter before proceeding to the inn, Dooly in tow. At one o'clock they were there at the palace with Twickenham, his crew, and the elfin airship, amazed to find themselves actually climbing aboard the craft. _Chapter 14 __ The Hum of the Devices THE idea of flying--of being more than a few feet above the ground in fact--all of a sudden seemed a bad idea to Jonathan. Dooly, apparently, thought it an even worse idea. He slumped into a padded seat and sort of scrunched his head down between his shoulders as if trying to disappear. The Professor, however, was in his element. Jonathan could almost see the gears whirring and spinning inside his head. An elf in the seat in front of them took the whole affair matter-of-factly. His name, it turned out, was Thrimp. The Professor immediately began to question him about the nature of airships, but didn't seem at all satisfied with Thrimp's explanations. Meanwhile, the four linkmen were engaged in squabbles of some sort--Bufo and Yellow Hat insulted each other, and Squire Myrkle tickled the inside of Stick-a-bush's ear with a duck feather, hiding the feather each time Stick-a-bush lurched around. When the commotion finally ceased, the Squire poked Stick-a-bush with the feather again, which somehow caused them all to start thrashing and shouting and arguing. Of the four of them, only the Squire seemed to be enjoying himself. Jonathan, worrying mildly about the likelihood of flying machines, was amazed to see the meadow dropping away below them. There was no roaring or lurching--they simply floated upward as the green meadow seemed to grow beneath them. Soon the long hedgerows could be seen ambling away in no particular pattern. They could see that the top of the palace was in need of repair, many of the tiles on the roof being broken and all of them covered with a thick layer of moss. To the north, up the coast, a dense forest grew almost to the edge of the sea. Dim hills could be seen miles and miles away to the northwest, hunching up and up until they disappeared in the misty distance. Inside the airship all was quiet Squire Myrkle no Jonger larked about, but stared through the window in wonder. The hum of the mechanisms, which were so clearly audible to Jonathan on the day of his adventure with the trolls, could barely be beard. Everyone, including Thrimp the elf, had his face plastered against the window. As Jonathan stared groundward, the view was suddenly lost in a swirl of mist. "Fog!" Jonathan thought, as he peered out and saw, not fog, but a little puffy cloud directly below. It was floating like a crazily shaped balloon and looked rather like Squire Myrkle. But for the cloud the day was really very clear. Away upriver Jonathan could see farmhouses and barns nestled among orchards, and dark willow-lined canals winding through. Tiny rowboats or canoes dotted the canals--dwarfs out fishing for catfish and squibalump, no doubt, looking at the pleasant landscape below, it was difficult to imagine that a few miles upriver tendrils of evil were spreading out through the countryside as weird vines covered the ruined houses of Willowood. With smoke floating up out of chimneys and pies being baked in ovens, the farmhouses and cottages below made Jonathan homesick. He wished, just for a moment, that he was in one of those cottages with a couple of Ackroyd's cakes and a mug of hot punch. But then he considered the fact that he was already in a fairly wonderful place. Mayor Bastable, Jonathan thought, would trade away every hat he owned and take a job as a stableboy if such things would gain him a ride in an airship. Soon they passed above the great wall, and Jonathan could see the roof of the Cap'n Mooneye below and the winding streets that led along the water and up toward the palace on the hill. Shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun, people on the street gazed skyward as the airship passed overhead. Seaside disappeared behind them, and they sailed peacefully above the rocky coastline for a bit, Jonathan catching a glimpse now and then of what seemed to be a tremeodous bank of clouds moving toward them in an awful hurry. They sailed in and out of patches of mist until, finally, instead of sailing out again, the ship whirred deeper into the clouds. Jonathan was disappointed since the air journey would be much more interesting with the ground visible below. But then here was an opportunity to see what the inside of a cloud was really like. He was pretty sure there would be no lakes full of colored fishes as he'd once imagined, yet there might be something wonderful, who could say, in among the clouds. But between the layers of clouds were spaces of air, and the only surprises were occasional forks of lightning that would crack along frightfully close to the ship and make them all jump and shout and hold their hands over their ears. Dooly was white and shaking and peering out through his fingers which he smashed against his face. Ahab, sound asleep on Dooly's lap, emitted a snort now and again--usually a moment before thunder cracked--that would set Dooly trembling in anticipation. The Professor had told Jonathan once that dogs, being one of the four major branches of domesticated nature, were, as he put it, "Alert to the profundities of weather." They were out of the other end of the cloud bank fairly quickly, however. They had passed through what might be called a squall that apparently was dashing along down the coast toward Seaside, as if trying to arrive before dumping all its rain. Below them, when they were out of the weather, were high cliffs and rolling ocean. Dark forests covered the hillsides above the cliffs, and for as far as Jonathan could see--miles and miles and miles--there were no houses or farms or villages, just deep woods cut here and there by a winding river. Dooly seemed to cheer up somewhat after the thunder and lightning fell behind, and he and Stick-a-bush chatted about the storms they'd been involved in. The Professor and Thrimp exchanged theories about lightning, none of which sounded at all likely to Jonathan. Somehow the lightning conversation went the way of all good scientific discussions; that is to say, it moved along from lightning to weather in general, then to other sorts of natural marvels. Finally they came round to flying, whereupon the Professor, rather oddly, insisted that what they were at that moment doing was, if not impossible, at least highly unlikely. "Ach!" said Thrimp. "Flying is nothing. Any elf child over the age of three can explain it away in a moment. Just look at the pelican, Professor. He is, you'll admit, the most foolish bird of all, and yet he has no trouble flying. Flying is nothing." Jonathan thought that Thrimp's argument about the simplicity of flying was what one of his teachers had called a logical fallacy. But it didn't much matter who called it what, the Professor wasn't about to be convinced without seeing some proof--some evidence. Old Wurzle was thoughtful for a moment and then said, "I once saw, Mr. Thrimp, a sight that even you and your people would goggle at. There was a dwarf up hi Little BeddUngton with an ape--I believe it was an orangutan--that would shout The Madman's Lament' as if it had been treading the boards for a decade!" Thrimp screwed up his face and chanted: "_Woe unto drunkards bloated with ale Chased beyond darkness where creeping things pale At the sight of a gibbering, floundering torment__--_The thing on all fours, the Madman's Lamentt"__ "You've seen it!" cried the Professor, "The thing on all fours?" Jonathan, who hadn't heard the stanza of the poem before, gasped. "No, the Beddington Ape," said the Professor. "At the fair at the City of the Five Monoliths," Thrimp replied. "The Thing on all fours' I have DO wish to see." "But science, my good Thrimp," the Professor, brought the discussion back around to his original point, "has a place for the Beddlington Ape. It's a matter of rays emanated from the lower reaches of the eyeball. Somnarabulism it's called, as you are no doubt already aware. But science, with its charts and forces, has no room in it at present for the flight of an airship. No, Mr. Thrimp, I prefer a scientific explanation, and would like to have one in regard to the operation of this ship." Thrimp nodded. "I suppose I can arrange it, Professor. You are, of course, absolutely correct. I'll ask Twickenham for permission to tour the propulsion apparatus room." This is more like it," the Professor said to Jonathan as Thrimp disappeared through the door which led to the forward compartment, the room with the emerald walls. "I can barely imagine the gyros and combines and anti-force apparatus that operate this machine." "They must be compact," said Jonathan, unable to determine where such things could be hidden on the tiny cylindrical ship. "Oh, elves are immensely clever," said the Professor, "Especially with miniatures." Thrimp returned and beckoned to Jonathan and the Professor to follow him. They passed through the door into a room of glowing green light where Twickenham and another elf engaged in conversation. Twickenham doffed his hat and bowed. "Professor," he said. "I have infinite respect for a man of science. It's not to anyone that I'd reveal the workings of OUT craft which is, you'll find, very deceptive and improbable. But to you and Mr. Bing I'm honored to grant such a boon." Twickenham bowed again as did Jonathan and the Professor and Dooly, who, fearing to be left behind, had followed his two companions forward. Ahab, who didn't care a penny for either science or airships, remained sleeping in Dooly's seat. Jonathan noticed a rather small door in the side of the ship which, anyone would assume, led into empty space. In fact, swirls of clouds were visible through the deep green of the emerald from which it was cut. Thrimp led them toward that door which seemed to swing open by itself, or rather to simply fade from green to blue to black--the same sort ol black the night is made of. The three companions peered into the darkness. Then the Professor began to step through, but Thrimp put a hand on his arm and restrained him. "I can't see a thing," the Professor reported. "It's cold," said Dooly. "It's dark as pitch," the Professor said, "but I think I hear the hum of the devices." Jonathan held his breath and could hear, very faintly, a roaring sound--more the shouting of wind in a deep canyon than the hum of a machine. He began to wish he were elsewhere. The darkness, however, either began to brighten or their eyes began to grow accustomed to the dark. They could make out the vague outlines of a vast, dimensionless room without any observable walls or floor or ceiling. The echoes of shouts and creaking ropes and the clacking operation of vaguely outlined machinery became clearer and clearer--great millwheel devices and a slowly spinning cube suspended in air; a forest of hanging ropes and chains attached to pulleys and cranks were almost invisible in the air above. A host of little men dressed in leather coats and white aprons, many with pencils stuck behind ears, scribbled on paper note pads and shouted incoherent orders to one another. Jonathan could hear words and phrases which he supposed the Professor understood. Things like, 'Treppan the lumen!" and "Haul on the crank-about!" and "Overcome the sky tides!" were tossed back and forth by the little men in a haphazard but essential way as they worked furiously, yanking on pulleys and twirling little merry-go-round apparatus that glowed in the deep reaches of the room miles and miles away, it seemed, like wild pin-wheels. Thrimp, somehow, shut the door, and the three found themselves looking at clouds through an emerald wall. "That's the most amazing thing I've seen." Professor Wurzle had a look of awe on his face. "What were those spinning devices?" "What do you suppose?" asked Thrimp. "Why I've no doubt they're gyros of a sort," Wurzle replied. "That's exactly it Gyros is what they are. As many as you please." "Ah." The Professor shook his head, obviously puzzled. "As many gyros as I please," he muttered as they trooped out and resumed their seats. Jonathan wasn't sure what he'd just seen, but he was fairly sure that whatever it was, it had very little to do with the running of the ship. Or perhaps, it had everything to do with it. Perhaps he had seen the secret of the operations of everything--of all of the Professor's forces and laws and such. Who could say? Soon they found themselves flying above Thrush Ha-ven--nothing more than a section of rocky shoreline, smashed in the winter by long north swells that wrapped around the tip of Manatee Head and made it idiotic to bring a ship of any size within a half mile of shore. Jonathan thought it peculiar that the place was called a "Ha-ven" since it was so clearly the opposite, and neither the Professor nor Thrimp nor any of the linkmen could explain the thing. Although it was a pleasant enough day now that the clouds were far behind, the surf appeared to be running high; waves broke against the mountainous rocks along the shoreline, sending cascades of spray fifty feet into the air. Beyond the surfline, spotted seals sat about in clumps, one now and again sliding off into the water and disappearing, no doubt, in search of a passing fish. Tough way to make a living," Jonathan pointed out. "You'd think those seals would have seen through this 'ha-ven' business and moved on long ago." "Seals haven't any sense of irony," the Professor said. "And they trust anyone--rather like old Ahab here." Ahab's ears wiggled at the sound of his name. He seemed fairly pleased to be compared favorably with seals. The airship zoomed along above the sea but below the tops of the cliffs that rose several hundred feet above the shore. Sea birds by the thousands, nested along the cliff face, were dashing off in all directions, skimming over the tops of the waves and soaring on the breeze. "Thrushes?" Jonathan asked. "Not a one," answered old Wurzle, who, as a naturalist, knew about that sort of thing. "There aren't any thrushes this far down the valley. Never have been." "I see," said Jonathan. The airship circled once, and Thrimp pointed out a dark slash at the base of the cliffs. As the surge washed out, it was revealed as the mouth of a long, low cave. Jonathan could see enough to realize that the thing must be sixty or eighty yards long. When the surge _whooshed__ back in, the opening disappeared and only the arched top of the mouth was visible, Dooly watched the activity below as if he wished he were back in Twombly Town. Jonathan felt bad about the whole thing. Although he knew that Dooly had not, in effect, betrayed his grandfather, Dooly's guilty face and general slump made all the logic in the world beside the point. Jonathan half hoped that Old Escargot would be long gone--off stealing emeralds from the jewel elves or trapping nautili and frog fish in the kelp-choked seas south of the Wonderful Isles. The ocean disappeared behind them as the airship topped the cliff and settled onto the grasses of the heath beyond. Jonathan half expected the ship to go sliding in, bouncing on rocks and lurching over hillocks, but it simply ceased to hum all of a sudden and sank groundward at a leisurely rate, barely bumping at all when it settled. "Smooth landing," Jonathan said to the Professor, who was crammed against the window so as to get a clear view of their descent. "That would be the gyros." The Professor looked to Thrimp for support. "Of course it is." Thrimp hopped up, then headed off down the aisle toward the hatch. Squire Myrkle bulked out behind Thrimp, squeezing between the seats. He made a sound like bubbling laughter, "Thrimp, blimp, gimp, wimp, dimp." Thrimp responded in kind, calling over his shoulder, "Squire, wire, cauliflyer." Then he popped on through to open the hatch and down the stairway onto the meadow. Dooty perked up at the cheerful mood of Tbrimp and the Squire. Watching Dooly laugh at all the name calling, it occurred to Jonathan that the Squire and Dooly had the same sense of humor--a very peculiar sense of humor to he sure, but one which seemed to make any situation a bit lighter. That, as far as Jonathan was concerned, was always a good idea. It seemed as if Dooly had forgotten for the moment that his grandfather, although no doubt looking forward to seeing his favorite grandson, would frown at the idea of being visited by a party of elves and linkmen intent on persuading him to undertake a difficult and dangerous task. Worse, even, Old Escargot obviously wasn't hiding from enemies of any sort, but from himself. And Twicken-ham was determined to change all that. What they would accomplish by strolling on the meadow, however, Jonathan couldn't say. He followed along as Twickenham, urging Dooly along ahead of him, made off toward a stand of blown and bent cypress trees that formed a forest of sorts in a little valley between two grassy hills. Twickenham pointed and gestured while Dooly shrugged repeatedly as if he had an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn't reach. Finally Dooly nodded and seemed to slump a bit, whereupon Squire Myrkle patted him on the back and cheered him. Jonathan Could never be sure about the Squire, who seemed to be the dimmest sort of good-natured half-wit one moment, then oddly shrewd another. He was a marvelous sight though, hurrying along at the head of the procession, his arms swinging about his body as he lumbered puffing forward on bulky legs. They paused in the midst of the stand of cypress, and Twickenham began stomping about with one hand cupped at his ear and prodding and poking with his walking stick as if searching for a buried clam. He thumped, finally, against something hollow and wooden. Then with the help of Bufo and Dooly, he scraped away dirt and brush from atop what turned out to be a trapdoor made of heavy wooden planks, worm-eaten and dark from having been buried. The whole thing was nestled into a hole in the earth. Mr. Bufo, a theorist in the manner of the Professor, found two rocks nearly the same size--and shape, hi fact--as the Squire's head; he hauled them over. They set one at each of two comers, and using two oak walking sticks pried away at the heavy door until it popped loose. A dozen hands hauled back the door to reveal a dark passage dug out beneath the twisted roots of the cedars and shored up with heavy timbers. A ladder of sorts led down into the depths. "Is this it?" Twickenham asked Dooly. "Yes, sir," Dooly answered. "Begging your honor's pardon, sir, but old Grandpa described just such a hole, and it ain't a goblin hole neither, but leads to the caves." "Shall we?" Twickenham asked the company in general. Everyone nodded and chattered and gathered round the mouth of the hole as Twickenham scrambled down. Each one followed in turn until only the Squire and Ahab remained above, peering down at^ them grinning. Clearly, when Squire Myrkle stepped onto the first rung, the ladder would be tried fearfully by his weight. It bowed downward, creaking and snapping; those below pushed back deeper into the dark corridor. "Hold on Squire!" Bufo shouted. "Don't come any farther!" "Here comes the Squire!" the Squire shouted and lowered himself a bit farther, one leg swinging ponderously back and forth as he groped for the second rung. "Wait, Squire!" Bufo shouted again, "You'll break it all to smash, and none of us will get out!" The Squire stopped and peered back down into the darkness. "The Squire will stand guard outside, with the beast," he said, as he crawled out of the hole. "Me too!" shouted Stick-a-bush, who scrambled out after him. "Ill keep the Squire company." "Me too!" cried Dooly, charging after Stick-a-bush, but Twickenham latched onto his belt and brought him to an abrupt stop. "Maybe I won't," said Dooly, scratching his head, "Maybe two guards is enough." "Perhaps so," said Twickenham. With Dooly in tow, he led away downward. A blast of sea air, moist and salty, blew up the tunnel at them. The walls were wet with it and mossy to the touch. Each member of the party hung on to the belt or shirt of the one in front of him so as not to fall behind or take a wrong turning. When Twickenham stopped abruptly, everyone pummeled together like toppling dominoes; Jonathan fell in a heap on top of Bufo and the Professor, There was a general shouting and scuffling, but when things were sorted out, Jonathan marveled at the sight that lay spread out before them. _Chapter 15__ Theophile Escargot IT was a tremendous vaulted cavern, wide and deep enough to house a fleet of ships. Sunlight streamed in from shafts in the rocky ceiling, and great stone pillars angled away toward the cathedral ceiling a hundred feet overhead. Below them and away to the right a path stretched over the stone, chiseled clear here and there and leading past what appeared to be other tunnels cutting away into the cliffs. Directly below was a wide and peaceful lagoon, green and murky within the twilight of the cavern. The mouth of the cavern, which they had seen during their flight along the cliffs, was visible in the distance, a sliver of light which opened to a half circle as the surge ebbed, then closed again to a sliver a minute later. At each surge a glassy swell humped across the face of the lagoon, swishing quietly up onto the rocks some few feet beyond and below where Jonathan stood with the rest of the company. Aside from the swish of the rolling surge, the only sound within the cavern was the occasional echoing cry of a sea bird that sailed in and winged around for a few moments within the cavern before either sailing out again or disappearing into one of hundreds of weedy-looking nests clinging to crags and depressions in the walls above. The whole quiet vista was something close to awesome; it silenced all of them. But perhaps most awesome of all was the weird ship that floated at anchor off a sandy spit halfway around the lagoon and at the end of the path across the rocks. It was an astonishing craft, obviously built either by elves or by one of the tribes of marvel men in the Wonderful Isles--built by someone, anyway, who knew what such devices ought to look like. It was a spiraly affair, with odd, seemingly senseless crenelations and spires and a series of what might be taken for arced shark fins down the center of its back. On a foggy night the thing would certainly resemble a sea rrionster more closely than a ship, for it had several round portholes at the front, two of which, on either side of its pointed nose, glowed from some inner light and looked for all the world like eyes. On the sides were protruding fins, shaped like the fins of an enormous tide pool sculpin. Seawater to the rear of the vessel seemed to be churning and bubbling, and a _whoosh__ of water shot out of the end every minute or so. "That's old Grandpa!" Dooly said. "Sure enough and no doubt. That'll be his undersea device there," Dooly pointed proudly toward the submarine. Twickenham, followed close on by the rest of the company, hopped across a couple of rocks and climbed along up the path until he reached a little rocky peak from where they could see the entirety of the beach off which the device was moored. The beach sloped away into the mouth of another cavern, and hustling through the cavern's mouth came Theophile Escargot, perhaps the most noted thief and adventurer in the land, carrying an armload of goods which he piled into a canoe. He pushed the canoe into the lagoon, produced a paddle from beneath the thwarts, and dipped away stiffly toward the submarine. "He's onto us!" said Twickenham. "And he's going to run." "Not Grandpa," said Dooly. "He said he'd wait until December for me." But it was clear that Escargot was in a huge hurry, for he made the little canoe skate over the surface of the lagoon. Dooly leaped ahead of the rest of them and charged down the path toward the beach shouting, "Grandpa!" he shouted when first setting out. Then just, "Whoooo!" and, "Hey!" as he pounded along, moving too quickly to bother with any actual words. Old Escargot, shoving odds and ends through an open hatch, turned to see who was making such a fuss, paused, caught sight of the rest of the party clambering down the path. Without more than a moment's hesitation he climbed down into the submarine. The hatch slammed shut, two or three blasts of water shot out behind, and the whole craft sank bubbling away beneath the waters of the lagoon. Dooly stood on the sand, waving slowly at nothing, puzzled, probably, that old Grandpa had disappeared so completely. "He must not have recognized me, Mr. Bing, He thought I was a ghost or goblin or something. Maybe I shouldn't have made such noises." "Perhaps that's the case, Dooly," Jonathan agreed. "He seemed in a powerful hurry to get away." That he did." Jonathan looked back up the beach. In the mouth of (he little cavern lay a heap of supplies. A fire crackled within a pit encircled by stones; an odd fish, half-cooked, hung spitted over the fire. "Left in the middle of lunch," Jonathan said, "and without half his supplies." "The old scoundrel," said Bufo, shaking a fist at the empty lagoon. Near the mouth the surge ebbed and two spiraling towers were briefly visible cutting along through the swell. "Hah!" Bufo shouted as they disappeared, the submarine passing away into the open sea. "I'll compose a poem about this treachery! An epic." Bufo stomped around, possessed by the muse. Jonathan could see that Dooly was making a grand effort not to cry. "Why don't we talk about treachery some other time," he said to Bufo. "It won't do us any good now anyway.". Bufo looked at Jonathan, then at Dooly. "I believe you're correct." He followed Twickenham and Thrimp and the Professor over to where the fish was still roasting to pieces. Its underside was charred and going to bits, but the top side was barely done. The Professor, idling about while Twickenham picked through Escargot's abandoned supplies, turned the spit. Jonathan sat on a rock and picked up a hermit crab as it scuttled past, big as a fist. The crab poked its head out of its seashell, looked at Jonathan, then pinched him on the finger. Jonathan shouted and pitched the thing into the lagoon, although he was immediately sorry he had, afraid that the crab might have suffered in some way. It occurred to him that it was foolish to go about picking up crabs if you didn't want to get pinched. Dooly, who still stood near the water's edge, began to shout and dance. "Hooray! Hooray!" He pointed out toward the water. Jonathan jumped up, and the others stormed across the sand toward him, for, surfacing amid a flurry of bubbles and steam, was the undersea device, Old Escargot was clearly visible within, working a complexity of controls. The thing motored into shallow water, and an anchor splashed out from the stern. As the hatch shot open, a grizzled head popped through. "Grandpa!" Dooly yelled. Old Escargot, smiling as if he were just pulling into port after a fairly successful fishing trip, shouted, "Dooly, lad!" He waved heartily. The man wasn't at all what Jonathan expected or remembered. For the last ten years he'd been nothing more than a rumor, a shadow around Twombly Town, known to everyone but well known by no one. Somehow Jonathan expected a dapper sort of gentleman thief--someone who looked a bit like the Professor perhaps, or like a retired schoolteacher. But Escargot more closely resembled a madman or a pirate or someone who had been off digging for buried treasure in the White Mountains for a year. His beard was simply grizzly and gave him the look of a fanatic. His hair should have been cut months before; it was swept back away from his face to some extent as if he were standing in a stiff wind. His eyebrows were on the bushy side. He wasn't a particularly large man, was small in fact, but the spectacular appearance of his face made him look larger. Jonathan was fairly sure that any self-respecting person would take one look at him and think, 'There's a man who's up to no good," and set about locking doors and patting his back pockets to see if his wallet were secure. Escargot stood looking at them from the open hatch, "Would one of you gentlemen be so kind," he said, "as to fetch my canoe there and paddle her out? I'd swim, to be sure, but the water this time of year doesnt agree with me. A bit cold, you see." Fifty feet down the strand lay the abandoned canoe, which had washed ashore on the swells. Since no one else made a move toward it, Jonathan stepped along, pushed off, and paddled out to the submarine, He grabbed hold of a protruding bit of metal alongside a brass ladder, holding on until Escargot climbed aboard; the little canoe tilted dangerously, then righted itself, "What ho," called Escargot, winking at Jonathan as he paddled ashore. "Didn't I know your father, lad?" "That's so," said Jonathan. He knew, as Bufo had pointed out, that Escargot was treacherous, although that certainly sounded like a harsh word. It wasn't, on account of that, easy to make small talk. Escargot, however, didn't seem overmuch concerned with the problem. "He was a good man," Escargot continued. "We did a bit of trading, him and me. He made a good cheese." Escargot smacked his lips appreciatively. The canoe bumped ashore, and an embarrassed silence ensued. No one knew quite what to say. Twickenham, after all, was the one among them who was running the show. Bufo looked as if he were stewing, and the Professor looked pretty much the same. Dooly, however, capered up as if to hug Old Escargot, stopped, then thrust out a hand, Escargot shook it "You're looking fit, lad. You've brought along some friends, _I__ see. Mr. Twickenham," he said, and shook hands with the elf. "And Artemis Wurzle, if my eyebones don't deceive me. It's been a while, sir." The Professor, disgruntled, shook hands anyway and admitted that it had been a while. "You'll excuse my appearance," Escargot said, "but I've been living at the Haven here for the last two months. Haven't felt much need for the social graces. Didn't expect any visitors, you see." Twickenham nodded. "Dooly here has been telling us that perhaps you did, that you had reason to believe that trouble was brewing up along the river. TTiat you and he might take a bit of a cruise to the Isles." "Yes, that's so. It is at that," said Escargot, who seemed a trifle uncomfortable. "Trouble you say? Upriver?" That's right," said Twickenham. "A certain dwarf--Selznak his name is--has gotten hold of something he shouldn't have." "It's come to that, has it?" asked Escargot Twickenham seemed to be considering his words carefully before speaking. He might succeed by being stern, or then again he might not. He might be patriotic or he might appeal to Escargot's sense of duty. But he wasn't sure Escargot had any sense of duty or that he cared a penny for patriotism of any sort There was the possibility that he could use Dooly, so to speak, to persuade Old Escargot to cooperate, but the idea likely seemed distasteful. It turned out however, that Escargot needed no persuasion at all. "You might have seen me motoring my submarine around the lagoon," said Escargot "Out of the lagoon," corrected Bufo. "Quite right," Escargot continued. "I was checking her ports and mungle bars. She has to be shipshape if I'm to lay her over here for the winter. Wouldn't want to come along in April and find her at the bottom of the lagoon." "That's understandable," said Jonathan, who was happy to go along with the old man's lie. "And will she hold up?" "Like a queen. I myself haven't been upriver for a year. I thought I'd mosey up that way. Funny that you chaps should show up. Tomorrow would have been too late." "I dare say." Bufo gave the Professor a knowing look. Twickenham saw that he had an advantage. "Perhaps, Mr. Escargot, you'd combine pleasure with business and do us all a grand favor. His majesty would be grateful." "I know that he would, and I'd be delighted to help out There's sure to be profit in such a venture." "Profit indeed," Bufo almost shouted, stin in an ill-humor about the whole thing. But Twickenham shot him a look and shut him up. There was no need to strew rocks in the path, after all. They clumped across to where the fish still smoked above the fire. "There's lunch," said Escargot, pointing at the sad object. All the meat bad fallen off into the fire, and only the thing's skeleton hung there skewered. "Looks like a goblin meal," Dooly pointed out. "Like them fishbones in Willowood among all them smashed up buildings. You should see it, Grandpa. All up and down, there's goblins about and ghost towns and everyone carryin' on like crazy people. Makes a fellow wonder." "Is that so?" asked Escargot. "Willowood you say? How about Hightower? Everything well at Hightower, is it?" "Worse yet," the Professor replied, "I see," said Escargot. 'I'd like to visit Hightower again. See what's up." "That would be capital," Twickenham put in. "Just the ticket" And with that they began rummaging around, breaking camp. Jonathan and Dooly doused the fire, although there was nothing about for it to burn aside from the fish skeleton and skewer stick. Escargot gathered a packful of odds and ends together, paddled out once more to the submarine, then hid his canoe among the rocks out toward the mouth of the cave. They found the Squire and Stick-a-bush above eating cold fried chicken and a loaf of bread from one of the two baskets of lunch Twickenham had packed. Ahab trotted from one to the other, helping with the meal. The Squire had gone a long wa^ toward reducing the lunch to nothing, but there was enough left for each of them to have a bite or two during the return flight to Seaside. Escargot ate almost as much as the Squire, seeming happy to have something other than fish for lunch. He was _as__ bluff and merry as any of them--more so, in fact. Although Dooly's spirits rose in proportion to his grandfather's heartiness, Jonathan was just a little suspicious of the whole thing. Bufo was still acting like a sour-puss and was scribbling away in a note pad; pausing now and then to knuckle his brow or to ask Yellow Hat for a word. By the time they were halfway to Seaside, however, Escargot's cheerfulness had spread fairly thoroughly through everyone aboard, and he and the Squire led the whole party in a chorus of "Old Dan's Demise." Bufo was persuaded finally to recite his poem about the traveling pickle, and Old Escargot made such a show of appreciation over it that Bufo admitted to Jonathan and the Professor that perhaps he'd underestimated Escargot Jate in the evening they landed finally at Seaside, all of them in fairly good spirits. Twickenham and Escargot disappeared into the palace. Jonathan, Dooly, Ahab, and the Professor set out for the Mooneye, anxious to be gone early next morning. _Chapter 16__ Fishbones at the Mooneye LAMPS were lit up and down the streets, but fog had rolled in to enshroud them and dim their glow. It was a cool and murky night--one of the sort that frazzles your hair and makes you wish you'd put on a sweater under your coat. When the rafters clumped into the Cap'n Mooneye, the dining room and lobby were empty. Although that in itself wasn't so peculiar, it was odd that no kitchen smells wafted out to greet them as Jonathan had hoped. AH of them were powerfully hungry and wanted only to eat and go to bed. "Monroe!" Jonathan shouted, hoping to rouse the innkeeper. But the only answer was a furious banging and kicking above them on the second floor. "Monroe is pounding on something upstairs." The Professor nodded, "I hope he's tenderizing a chunk of meat." The pounding paused momentarily then began again. Someone, Monroe probably, stomping away like crazy. In between knocks a muffled sound could be heard, like someone shouting through a wad of cloth. "_Mmmph! Mmmph__!" it went, then more pounding. The Professor slumped into a chair by the burned down fire as Jonathan tossed three or four wedges of split cedar onto the coals, squeezing away at them afterward with a bellows until they began to pop. "Careless of Monroe to let the fire bum down," said Jonathan. "He usually has it so warm in here that you can't breathe." "Just my style," the Professor pulled his chair a bit closer. Dooly aad Ahab disappeared up the stairs, off to see what foolishness Monroe was up to. Immediately the stomping and banging ceased, and the muffled sounds were replaced by Dooly's shouts. Jonathan sprinted up the stairs four at a tune, the Professor close behind, and found in the upper hallway poor plump Monroe, trussed up and gagged and making the "_Mmmptt__!" noises through the end of his wadded up shirt that was jammed into his mouth. His eyes bugged out and he had a knot on his forehead where someone had, apparently, clouted him with one of his own frying pans. As soon as his shirt was pulled from his mouth, Monroe began shouting madly about goblins and throwing arms about hi an effort to illustrate the tremendous size of the one who had smacked him with the pan. The hallway roundabout was a clutter of strewn clothes and trash. Jonathan noted disapprovingly that his own tweed coat lay among the debris. Professor Wurzle plucked his oboe device from a pile of nightshirts belonging to another lodger. In the funnel mouth of the thing was a weedy looking fish head, jammed in as if looking down inside for some lost object. Other fish skeletons lay about the hallway, one across the threshold into Jonathan's room. The Professor was in a rage, almost as much of a rage as Monroe. Wurzle pulled the fish bead from the nose of the device and threw it with disgust into a hat that lay upended oa the floor. "Damnation!" he cried, furious. Then he swabbed out the funnel with one of the nightshirts. It appeared to Jonathan that the nametag in the hat and in the nightshirt were one and the same, and he hoped that their owner bad a sense of humor. He sent Dooly off toward the palace to find Twickenham and to alert King Grump of the goblin affair, for it seemed to him to be a particularly bad portent. Jonathan had heard of no goblin activity of any nature in Seaside. But Dooly wasn't gone five minutes before dashing back in with both Twickenham and Escargot. Their rooms were almost as wildly strewn with odds and ends as the hallway had been. Not only were their few clothes tossed about, but a tree limb had been dragged into Jonathan's room along with a length of clothesline strung with strange undergarments that were a perfect wonder of whalebone stays. "Why they've been at my wife's stuff!" shouted Monroe, waxing furious again. "It's unheard of! What were they after, do you think? If it's money, they're a sorry lot by now." "Well it isn't books," said Jonathan, happy to see that his cartons of books in the closet were unharmed. "It isn't anything," said Escargot. "What could anyone have that goblins want? Tearing things up is enough for them. I would have said it was impossible for them to be this far below the Wood, though. But these are strange times. Very strange indeed." "There's the chance," said Twickenham, "that their master put them up to it." "More than a chance," agreed Escargot. "Let me at him!" cried Monroe. "We'll see who he's master of and who he ain't!" Jonathan and the Professor, however, weren't quite as anxious as Monroe to encounter this master. They were pretty sure they'd run into him in due time. Escargot was a bit on the pale side and looked unhappy--even more unhappy than he had looked when he had first spied them all that afternoon before making his escape in the submarine. "Aye," said JSscargot in low tones. "It's his work." They cleaned the place up and tossed trash and fish-bones out the window. Jonathan was sure that he heard the cackle of weird laughter through the fog more than once, but after alerting the Professor to it the first tune it oocurred, he decided to ignore it. There was nothing to do about it anyway. Around midnight, after a meal of cold meat pie and cheese washed down with a pint or two, they went to bed. Jonathan kept his window locked even though he liked a bit of a breeze at night. He had agreed with the Professor and Escargot that they'd be wise to awaken at six. There was a sort of unspoken assumption since that afternoon that Escargot was to travel along upriver. He himself acted as if he'd been planning to do so for weeks. Daylight came quickly, and Jonathan was disappointed that he hadn't insisted on rising an hour or two later. He seemed to have just gotten to sleep. Ahab was fresh as a cucumber, however, and ready to go. It was as if he knew that in a couple of hours they'd be heading for home. Jonathan busied himself with packing--a chore that only took a few minutes since he had almost no clothes with him--and then hauled his books and bag down to the lobby where he found Dooly and the Professor. Monroe had recovered vastly from the day before; even the lump on his forehead had gone away and been replaced by a purple spot. He brought round mugs of coffee for them all and sat down at the table. "That old boy upstairs," he said, jerking one thumb over his shoulder back toward the stairs, "is a strange one. Carried on fierce last night about three, pacing up and down. Did he have a bottle with him? Crazy-looking old boy with that beard and all." "In fact," said Jonathan, "the gentleman upstairs is Dooly's grandfather. As for the bottle, I haven't any idea." "Oh, yes. Of course, of course. Young Dooly's grandfather is it? Interesting sort, as I was saying. Must have been struggling with the window. It sticks in the wet weather. Needs a spot of paraffin." "Where is your grandfather, Dooly?" asked the Professor. "Late sleeper is he?" "Not old Grandpa," Dooly replied. "Up with birds is Grandpa. Time flies like an arrow,' Grandpa used to say, 'but fruit flies like bananas.'" Monroe nodded assent then thought about it for a moment before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen, shaking his head. "Brilliant man, your grandfather," said the Professor. "He should have been _a__ philosopher." "I'm pretty sure he was," Dooly replied. "But he didn't make no money at it." "They never do," Jonathan observed, "and neither will we if we sit here tossing _off__ coffee all morning. See if you can rouse your grandfather, Doofy. Bring him a cup of coffee." Dooly stomped off noisily up the stairs, balancing a cup of black coffee. He always seemed to have a sort of early morning cheerfulness, something Jonathan found vaguely irritating in anyone but Dooly. When Dooly didn't return for five minutes, the Professor volunteered to see what was up. His shout brought both Jonathan to his feet and Monroe out of the kitchen, and they dashed upstairs in time to find Escargot's room empty as a balloon. The window was open entirely, and lace curtains blew through on the warm air that was sailing out of the house into the cool morning mists. The bed hadn't been slept in during the night; it had just been rumpled up by someone sitting atop it. "So he took off!" Monroe almost shouted, not angry really, just astonished at the fact that Escargot had thought it necessary to go through the window and down a drainpipe rather than out the front door like anyone else would have. "The goblins got him," said Dooly tearfully. "Took him right away, they did. They was lookin' for him last night." That didn't seem at all unlikely to Jonathan, and in a way, for Dooly's sake, he wished it were true. The Professor, however, didn't think much of the idea. "You may be right about the goblins last night, Dooly," he said, "but they didn't come back and haul off your grandfather. Now I'm no detective," he continued, squinting over his glasses at them, "but there's nothing here to show that he fought with any goblins. And that pacing about last night that Mr. Monroe spoke of, I don't like the sound of that. I'm inclined to agree that Escargot made off in the night, blast him, and he could have gone anywhere. I'm damned _if__ we wait around while Twickenham searches for him. If he doesn't want to go, he won't go. We can't hold the man prisoner." "Well we'd best let Twickenham know anyway," said Jonathan. "He's running the show, after all." "Twickenham knows," came a voice from behind them; all turned to see Twickenham standing in the doorway scowling. Elves have a difficult time scowling convincingly, being such cheerful-looking little fellows for the most part, but Twickenham managed nicely. "He stole a horse at the south gate about four," Twickenham explained. "Gave the keeper some sort of sleeping draught and bunged away up the coast." "Back to Thrush Haven," said Jonathan. "Maybe," said Twickenham. "But maybe not. Who can say? There's nothing between here and there but hundreds of miles of forest. We'd be weeks catching him. You're right, Professor. We've delayed you long enough. Your raft and supplies are waiting about two miles up the harbor. We'll leave now. There's horses out front." "Horses!" cried Dooly, who had never ridden a step. "Perhaps, sir, begging your pardon, but maybe I'll just walk and meet you there. I'm powerful quick once I get my knee bones limbered up." "You'll enjoy the ride," said Twickenham hi a manner more of command than of simple observation. They trooped out into the street, arranged their goods in a little dog cart, and, happy to see that the four linkmen were along, clopped away up what were the first miles of the river road. Dooly actually had been fairly accurate in supposing be could move as quickly on foot, for the little dwarf horses weren't as quick as they might have been--especially the Squire's horse, which seemed distinctly put out. Dooly's horse stopped continually along the way to munch at shrubs and grass. Dooly yanked on the reins and yelled the familiar horse shouts, but all to no avail. Finally Twickenham took the reins hi one hand and led Dooly's horse along. Dooly appeared to be slightly embarrassed, but had been happy enough to let the horse eat since it seemed to be enjoying it so. The raft was moored at a little pier above town. It was much the same as Jonathan's old raft, aside from the fact that it had added a sail and a larger paddlewheel. They'd be able to make good time, winds or no. They needed only a moment to throw their goods on board, check the supplies and cast off. The saddest part was saying goodbye to the four linkmen, who were themselves ready to set out up the river road toward the Elfin Highlands and!inkman territory. Squire Myrkle seemed so merry, however, that it eased things a bit. "We're off to war!" he shouted, waving one lumpy arm about his head. "We'll whack them with sticks!" "That we will, Squire," said Jonathan. "We'll see you lads along the way somewhere, I trust" "More often than you'd care to, probably," said Bufo. "We're of! to the territory to raise an army, then up to Stooton on a goblin hunt." The Squire pulled a short sword from a scabbard attached to his pommel and thrust it this way and that shouting, "Avaunt, spooks!" "Hey!" cried Stick-a-bush, nearly speared. The Squire calmed a bit and replaced the sword. Jonathan could see that all of them were pretty fairly worked up. A good breeze was blowing onshore, and the tide was rising. The company shook hands all around and, there being no time like the present, as Twickenham pointed out, pushed off and slid out and away from the dock. They waved as the four linkmen pounded away up the road, Twickenham sat on his horse atop the dock while Jonathan unfurled the sail. With the tiller hard over to drive in toward the dead water near shore, the rafters began their journey home. The sails billowed in the breeze, filled, and the raft sailed along. Twickenham watched them disappear upriver. The morning was a good one, and Jonathan found himself vastly relieved that he was moving once again. _Chapter 17__ Mysterious Traveler THE fog never lifted that first day out from Seaside. It was thick and wet, and Dooly spent most of the day in the cabin. Out in the open was like being in a drizzle. Jonathan's coat was limp with moisture, almost soggy, and his hair curled and sort of frizzed as if it had suffered ail electric shock. One thatch of it insisted on dangling itself hi front of his eyes, and all the pushing and combing in the world had no effect on it. Both he and the Professor sat on the deck on two of the three wooden chairs that Twickenham had provided. It made Jonathan feel touristy. If any fishing boats or trade barges had come by with the usual assortment of seafaring types on board, he would have felt positively foolish, sitting there on deck as if waiting to be handed a cup of tea. But it was so foggy that few boats were out at all, and those that were stuck fairly close to midriver, not wanting to run aground. Every now and again Jonathan could see the ghostly shape of a boat somewhere off the port bow, just a shadowy pile of spars and rigging and running lights, crawling its way downriver toward the harbor. The muffled voices of crewmen crept out over the river. He heard one gruff, low voice, even before he could see the shape of the trawler it came from, say in a tired way that it seemed like twenty years since he'd been in at the old Mooneye for a pint. Another voice replied simply, "Aye." Then there was silence. It seemed to Jonathan like an awfully sad thing to say, and he felt like shouting to them that he felt the same way even though he had gone through a pint or two just last night. It was probably just the fog that made it such a gray day. By running along close to shore they could just make out the occasional farmhouses that appeared and then disappeared in the mists. They passed the mouth of a little river, overgrown on both sides by a tangle of giant alders hung with wild grape. Both Jonathan and Professor Wurzle remembered the place from the downriver voyage although it had seemed far more cheerful and less forbidding then than it did now with the great trees dripping through the fog. As they passed along thirty feet offshore they heard the growl of a beast--a bear, hopefully, or a moose--and then listened as the creature splashed away up the shallows of the river deeper into the forest. It was fortunate that Twickenham had given them a map of the river. Although there was no way to become lost, neither of them were familiar enough with the Oriel to determine how much progress they were making. They recognized an occasional landmark, like the river mouth or an island that passed by slowly off to port, but they had no idea of the distance from one to another. They might be plodding along like snails, or then again they might be sailing like birds. Twickenham's map was a long, rolled-up affair, something like a scroll. Unrolled it was ten or twelve feet long, and it had markings for almost every riverside farmhouse and way station, of every little rapids and sandbar, and even of certain fallen trees and of the skeletal hull of a ruined trawler some twenty miles upriver. They spent most of the morning looking over the map and pointing out landmarks and watching for boats that might have wandered out of the raidriver channel in the murk. Neither Jonathan nor the Professor tiked the idea of being smashed up by a schooner again. They hung lanterns in the bow and stern--something they would have done on their trip downriver had they had any lanterns to hang. Jonathan finally rummaged about in the cupboards of the cabin, being careful not to awaken Dooly and Ahab, who were asleep on a bunk, and found the coffee pot, coffee, and a nice little dwarf camp stove--a big tin can filled with heavy, rolled paper and candle wax. Several wicks protruded from the wax, and the whole can sat on a metal frame with a grill atop. There were several other cans of fuel in the cupboard. It was all just the right equipment for brewing up a pot of trail coffee on deck, something that seemed to Jonathan a fairly romantic notion, given the fact that there was a good wood stove which they could have used in the cabin. The smell of the ground coffee was perhaps the finest thing either Jonathan or the Professor had experienced to that time. Jonathan wished that Bufo or Yellow Hat were around to compose a poem about it. Considering the number of ghastly love poems that had been written and which seemed fairly clearly to be a waste of everyone's time, Jonathan couldn't help but be surprised that coffee hadn't been thus immortalized. There were certainly plenty of poems about other sorts of drink, although the only verse he could remember went, it seemed to him then, something like, "Beer, beer, beer--never fear," When he thought about it, it was nothing worth writing down. Anyway, the coffee as it brewed smelled so rich and deep that it woke Dooly up. He and Ahab came out onto the deck, Dooly carrying several slices of bread and a toasting fork. The day brightened up a bit and took on more of a merry tone with all of them sipping the strong coffee and toasting the slices of bread from Ackroyd's bakery. The farms along the riverbank were fewer and fewer, and the woods in between were darker and more vast. For the last two hours no boats at all had slid past aside from a single canoe which had appeared to be empty. Jonathan decided too late that he should try td'retrieve the canoe, but it had swirled away downriver before they had a chance at it. There was no clearing at all that afternoon. Jonathan thought that the two on the fishing trawler were probably drinking their pint at the old Mooneye right at that moment and that old Monroe was likely shoving a joint of beef up onto a spit while his wife cleaned potatoes and rolled out crusts for pies. He sipped his coffee and thought for a bit about those pies until he very nearly dozed off. But he was awakened abruptly by a voice. "I could go for a cup of that coffee." Jonathan looked up at the Professor, who was working the tiller. "Have some then. Ill make a fresh pot." Dooly was looking roundabout him as if he was sure it had been a ghost who had spoken. "I didn't say anything," said Wurzle. "If I drink anymore of your coffee I'll have the jitters all evening." Jonathan recalled that day out of Twombly Town when Dooly had first made his presence known. His theory concerning talking dogs bad seemed a reasonable enough explanation at the time, but it wouldn't do here because Ahab, although asleep, didn't care a bit for coffee, and it was unlikely that he'd dream about it one way or another. "Are you deaf, mates?" The voice came again. "It must be another boat," said the Professor. "Look sharp." Jonathan stood up to turn up the wicks on the running lights, and he looked off into the fog and listened for the creak of rigging or the slap of water on a hull. But the fog wasn't as thick as it had been, and there were, quite clearly, no boats within a couple hundred yards of them. It was a puzzle. Jonathan sat down again and stabbed another piece of toast with the fork. He was just smearing preserves on it when, seemingly from atop the cabin, came the following odd song: _"Oh there was a folly miller__ _Who lived upon the sea;__ _He looked upon his piller__ _And thar he sawr a flea.__ _Ho ho, har har, hee hee.__ _And thar he sawr a flea."__ Then, in a trice, the toast was snatched from the end of the toasting fork, and it floated along through the air for a moment before being gobbled up by an invisible mouth. The Professor was astonished and started to reach for the oboe gun with which he'd been tinkering before remembering that it wasn't a gun at all. "Watch out here," he warned, squinting this way and that. "There's deviltry afoot, and plenty of it." Then the Professor's cap, a battered-looking tweed affair, floated up into the air and settled again on his head, backward. JDooly laughed like a hyena and held one hand over his mouth to smother it "Well, Dooly lad," the disembodied voice said. "You've got a sense of humor for sure. How do you like my cloak?" "What cloak?" Dooly asked, looking about himself a bit more furtively now that it was he being spoken to. "I don't see no cloak, sir, begging your honor's pardon. Are you my old Grandpa?" "Of course I am," said old Grandpa from somewhere above--on the cabin top again, probably. "Who did you think I was, Selznak the flaming Dwarf?" Jonathan exhaled a lungful of air in one resounding _-whoosh__, and Professor Wurzle put his cap on straight I've been here all along, lads, quiet as a mackerel. Didn't want to make a sound until we were upriver past civilization. No telling who might be lurking about. Still best not to shout, I suppose." There was a brief clatter and stomping as Escargot climbed down from the roof of the cabin. "Can I use your cup, Professor?" he asked, and the cup sailed up into the air, dipped itself into the river, and shook itself out. The coffee pot upended and the last of the coffee, black by now as coal dust, poured in a steaming stream into the deep cup. One of the deck chairs creaked and settled and the coffee cup waved in the air. "I knew you didn't climb out no window, Grandpa," said Dooly. "They said you took off and went down the coast." "They was fools, Dooly, lad. The innkeeper was dense as that forest yonder. He kept peeking in at the keyhole all night Thought I was stuffing the towels into my bag I suppose. So I peeked back out at him, I did, and winked. Threw him into the hallway, that wink, and as soon as he crawled back into his room I went out the front door. What kind of fool climbs out a window when there's a front door at handr "Hab,r shouted Jonathan. "I knew it. Twickenham set the whole thing up." "Almost, lad," said Escargot" Twas me set the thing up. Now this Selznak, you see, don't like me a hit. We had transactions a while back. And I admit; he got what he shouldn't have got But I got myself a few of his creatures, mostly small ones that didn't amount to a thing but came in handy for trade. But one was a good one, mates. A pig, it was, and lived in a special box. Leastways it looked a pig, excusin' its nose and its hands. It could sniff out elf silver from a half mile away like one of them mushroom pigs the linkmen keep. I let on that I got him from a bunjo man and kept him pretty secret. We had some luck, I can tell you, up in the White Mountains." "What happened to this pig?" asked Jonathan. "Died, poor devil. Had to sooner or later. He didn't have but half of him that was his own; the rest was bits and pieces. Crazy damn thing. Evil, I called it and still do. But it was better off with me than with that damned dwarf. He was setting in to attach wings." "Vivisection!" cried the Professor. "Then that beast by the river that chewed through the ropes--" began Jonathan. "An abomination," said the Professor, "Didn't you have one of them once," said Dooly. "One of them abomi-what-is-its?" "More than one," said Escargot. "But that's why I'm here, see. No one but me has been in that bloody tower. And I swore I'd never go back, not for all the goblin treasure in the Wood. Not for a bucket of troll gold." "So why _are__ you going back?" asked Jonathan. "You could have been half way to the Isles by now." "Well," said Escargot ponderously, "that I could. But I could go to the Isles come spring, too. Me and Dooly could go in the submarine. What's a few months more or less? And I wouldn't give it to them to say that Theophile Escargot, Gentleman Adventurer, ran when the fight started. No, sir. If this dwarf cuts up rough--and be will, mark me--then Til be there to speak to him, I will, and not in no Wonderful Isles." "Hooray!" shouted Dooly. "We'll smack 'em, won't we, Grandpa?" "Aye, Dooly. Rough and ready, that's us in a nut." "You haven't heard anything, I suppose, of the Lumbog globe?" asked the Professor. "The which?" asked Escargot. "The globe that was stolen from the elves a hundred years back, maybe more," the Professor explained. "It was pure crystal--elf crystal, not just soda glass--and big around as a meloa. I haven't seen it, but I was told that clouds swirl through it and it was deep blue like the night sky. And there was a silver moon inside and stars all around. There was magic of a sort in it when you set it up in front of a lighted window. Those stars and moon started to swing round inside and the clouds blew about, or seemed to, and whoever gazed into it would find himself within the globe and could sail through space along with those stars to wherever it was he wanted to go. And your man Boomp, Jonathan, wrote most of his books after talking to old Lumbog up in the city of Couch. They say the old glassblower was three hundred years old by then and had been to places no one else had ever been nor ever will be either. I didn't believe a bit of it," said the Professor, trying to qualify things, "but I thought I'd ask whether or not you'd gotten wind of the story." "Interestin'," said EscargoL "Seems like I have heard of it, now that you mention it. Seems I heard that some dwarf has it now." "I thought maybe you had," said the Professor, "This Selznafc has quite a collection of elf marvels. More than his share, no doubt." The Professor seemed as if he were going to give Escargot a look, but then he wasn't at all sure where Escargot was, so he didn't. "Why didn't this Lumbog make more?" asked Jonathan. "He tried," answered the Professor. "He and every other glassblower. That paperweight you bought hi Seaside--that was a copy; I'm sure of it. But the original was a mistake. Even old Lumbog didn't know what happened. Got the fire too hot maybe, or spilled elf dust into the glass by mistake, or sloshed ale into it and didn't know, or any of a thousand things." "Well," said Escargot after a long pause, "if old Selzoak gets this cloak he'll have the three major elf marvels then. Those elves are pretty loose with their marvels, aren't they? You can steal 'em blind one moment and they're handing you a magic cloak the next Sounds like there's a moral in there somewhere. Either that or a lot of stupidity." "I suppose we'll find out before long," said the Profes8or, "one way or another." Jonathan realized at that point that they'd been talking to a phantom. He decided he wanted to know more about that cloak. "What sort of cloak is this then, anyway?" he asked. "It's what Twickenham called the cloak of invisibility.' _The__ cloak, mind you, not _a__ cloak. Fits a bit tight on me, but it must be like a tent on an elf. Watch this." The three of them stared as the coffee cup hovered in the air for a moment then disappeared. Then, as abruptly as the cup had gone, it appeared again. The cup finally settled on the cabin roof, and a second later a cigar appeared in the air. Then it disappeared and a pair of spectacles hovered about, opened up, and sat atop the bridge of an invisible nose. "I need these things to read," said Escargot about the spectacles. "This getting old is bad business. You don't get any more wise; you just fall apart" "But where did all that stuff go, Grandpa?" asked Dooly, slow to catch on when the glasses finally disappeared. "Into the blasted cloak. Ifs really more of a coat than a cloak as far as I can tell. It has sleeves at least And it isn't warm worth a damn--like having nothing at all on. I'd appreciate it if you could see clear to giving me the spare bunk inside boys, if you would. I most froze up here this morning. Twickenham said I wasn't to come down too soon, and who am I to argue with Twickenham? Never argue with an elf who gives you a cloak of invisibility, that's my motto, and so far it hasn't steered me wrong." "I dare say." The Professor, who, Jonathan suspected, actually thought Escargot a trifle glib, smiled. Jonathan didn't mind a bit though. He rather liked Escargofs attitude. Confidence, in fact, was just what he himself could have used a bit more of. He wondered, however, whether or not Escargot was as untroubled about returning to Hightower Ridge as he seemed. If he was, then he was an altogether astonishing grandfather indeed. They ran along after dark, not wanting to miss any of the breeze that was still being very cooperative. They were well above any section of the river that was likely to be frequented by boats of any sort, and the Oriel was still broad enough and lazy enough so that they hadn't any fear of rocks or bad water. Late hi the evening they hit stretches of river free of fog, and in the glow of the lantern-light felt safe enough to press on, the Professor at the tiller and Jonathan sitting forward. But by midnight both of them were done in. As it grew later it seemed less profitable to push along. By twelve-thirty if someone had offered Jonathan a choice between eight hours sleep and a treasure map, sleep would have won hands down. "I've had it, Professor," he said, stretching and pulling his coat tighter. "Let's throw out the anchors right here and call it a night." But there was no response from the Professor, only a fairly revealing snore. Jonathan turned and saw that his friend had fallen asleep, his head slumped forward onto the tiller arm. The raft was still maintaining a rather straight course, although the wind had fallen off somewhat It was a simple thing to reef the sails and heave out both anchors, one on either side of the raft. The raft was on its way back to Seaside when the starboard anchor dug in and the bow swung round, almost pointing the raft downriver. The port anchor caught a moment later and the raft lay still as a pond lily in slack water. Jonathan wished" he had a snag to tie up to. He could imagine himself waking up several hours later only to find that the raft had broken loose and drifted halfway back to Seaside. But, being seafaring dwarfs, they likely knew a bit about anchors, though the only way to find out whether the anchors were trustworthy was to try them. At last he blew out the running lights and then almost immediately wished he hadn't. The sliver of moon above gave off almost no light, and the night was so utterly dark that he stumbled over the deck chairs on his way to the stern. He rousted the Professor Out of a sound sleep and the two bent in through the cabin door and collapsed into their bunks. _Chapter 18__ Corned Beef and Cabbage THE second day out was as uneventful as the first More so, in fact, for the coastal fog finally cleared up and the sun favored them with a visit during the afternoon. Escargot felt it best that he keep his cloak on all the time, day and night, just in case they were visited by some creeping thing from the river or in case one of the crows that occasionally flew over was somehow a minion of the terrible Dwarf. Jonathan quite preferred it that way. Enough mysterious occurrences had taken place already on the downriver voyage to satisfy any desire for adventure that he might have had. Besides, he and Dooly and the Professor amounted to nothing more than bystanders. If it were known that Escargot was aboard, who could say what sorts of terrible times might lay ahead? So Escargot only took the cloak off to wash up. Oddly enough, it wasn't until he pulled his arms out of the sleeves that he suddenly appeared, as did the cloak, looking altogether normal. Even one arm in a sleeve was enough to remove him and the rest of his clothes entirely from sight Escargot was as grizzly as he had been on the day they found him at Thrush Haven. He explained he was "culttvating an image" and hoped to pass as a pirate come the following April. The wilder a pirate looked, it seemed, the more highly he was regarded in certain circles. Jonathan had always thought of Escargot as an old man--probably because Dooly constantly referred to him as "old Grandpa"--but he thought that the man couldn't be as old as all that, though it was hard to tell. His hair was black as a tunnel, and although there was a fleck or two of gray hi his beard, there wasn't enough to bother about. When Jonathan had first seen Escargot, years before, he had seemed something of a dandy. His beard--probably more of a goatee than a beard--had been trimmed neatly, He had worn a top hat, carried a cane with a silver knob atop and was never seen around town in the daytime without a tie with a stickpin stuck through it. He affected a cultured speech then, not the seaworthy tone he was using lately. It was a bow here and a "Good day to you, sir," there and a prithee this and that whenever possible. Constderably younger at the tune, Jonathan had been greatly affected and had even tried to act the same way. Eventually, however, he determined that he himself was destined to be no more than Jonathan Sing, and that anything else was foolishness. Several years later Escargot reappeared--actually he wandered through several times but rarely stayed--wearing a pair of round spectacles and a tweed suit; he was selling cookbooks door to door. Then he vanished again, and wild and unlikely tales filtered upriver from the sea and down from the White Mountains. Whenever he took the cloak off it too became visible, and although he wasnt sure what he had expected, Jonathan was a little bit disappointed in it. In fact there was nothing about it at first glance that would lead anyone to suppose it an elf marvel of any sort. It was white, mainly, although within the wrinkles and folds of material it appeared to be pink. And it wasn't until they had been three days on the river that Escargot held the coat up in the sunlight streaming through an uncovered window, and Jonathan saw its true colors. The thing shone like a rainbow in the sunlight. In the sunlight, the cloak became a rippling mass of color, almost alive with it, though it was abruptly still and pale when in shadow. As Escargot's arm slid down the sleeve, the coat very simply vanished, as did Escargot. Jonathan once again had to be careful not to step on invisible toes and to question seemingly empty bunks and deck chairs before sitting down on them. Cupboards opened and shut, the water jug upended itself into cups that floated about, hovering knives spread peanut butter onto floating slices of bread. All that took a bit of getting used to, as did the disembodied voice that was likely to speak to you when you expected nothing of the sort. But apparently it doesn't take an overwhelmingly long time to get used to living with invisible people, and, all things considered, everyone got along smoothly. On the third day the voyage became somewhat more arduous because the wind fell off almost entirely. It seemed to Jonathan that it would be pleasant merely to lay about and read a book and wait for things to pick up again. _The__ wind was sure to blow up sometime. But the Professor, insisting that the entire valley was falling to ruin about them, thought it best to crank up the paddlewheel. Jonathan suspected that what the Professor meant was that he wanted to investigate the workings of the thing which, it turned out, was operated to fairly good effect when two of them pedaled simultaneously. One man, likely, could have made headway alone if he were on a lake and the water were very calm. On a river, however, even a lazy river like the Oriel, the going was more difficult Together he and Dooly pumped away until the raft was sort of skimming along. Actually, though, it only seemed so in relation to the river water that was streaming past. In relation to the shore, they weren't doing quite so well. The Professor said they were making about three knots; Jonathan determined that if a man were walking along the river road, he and the raft would keep about even. He started to calculate exactly what that meant in terms of the miles that lay between them and Twombly Town. Then, for fun, he counted the number of times he pedaled in twenty minutes, figuring that they had covered about a mile in that time. It turned out that he and Dooly--or whoever else did any pedaling--would pedal about sixty zillion times before they were halfway home. Just thinking about it was lunacy. When he checked his figures with the Professor, old Wurzle pondered for a time and said that, give or take a billion or so, Jonathan was tolerably close. The best thing he could do, all things considered, was not think about it at all. But the more Jonathan tried not to think of pedaling along, the more he thought about it, or else thought about not thinking about it, or thought, every fifteen seconds or so, that it had been some time since he had thought about it last and then felt like a fool. The whole thing was maddening. After about twenty minutes he forgot all about not thinking of it and so didn't. The pedaling itself, once the paddles were slapping easily through the water, wasn't much of an effort--no more, certainly, than riding a bicycle. When the Professor offered to take over for a spell after an hour or so, Jonathan replied that he was just getting into his stride. Dooly said the same, proud, no doubt, that he was an important member of the crew. Escargot, invisible atop the cabin, cheerfully volunteered to have a go at it himself, but the Professor pointed out that such a thing might, as he put it, tip their hand. Escargot agreed, but not as quickly as Jonathan had expected. Instead he told them the story of when he had taken a job logging and had to run rafts of logs downriver from the City of the Five Monoliths to Willowood Station. It would have been an exciting job under any circumstances, but to hear Escargot tell it, there was no end of trolls and goblins and wildmen and outlaws who wanted those logs or who simply wanted to run mad for a bit at Escargot's expense. Dooly prompted his grandfather to relate the tale of finding the stick candy treasure, and after a few moments hesitation he did. Jonathan was fairly sure that Escargot was laying it on pretty thick for Dooly's benefit The afternoon passed along into evening, and as the sun went down the wind came up. They gave up their pedaling and sailed for about three hours. The night was so dark, however, that they ran up onto two sandbars, one right after another, and had to pole themselves free. Night travel seemed to be a bad idea, and--as Escargot pointed out--they weren't in such an incredible rush as all that anyway. So they threw out their anchors about ten o'clock when they were in the midst of a wide spot in the river--one of those lily-covered, swampy areas that threatened now and again to choke the Oriel entirely. The countryside roundabout was particularly low and the floodwaters of the preceding week's storm still covered the meadows. Thick stands of willow poked through the still waters, and just to be safe, they tied up to a thicket. Escargot dug around in his bag and came up with a bottle of cream sherry and a bag of walnuts. In the light of one of the lanterns the four of them sat about on deck chairs cracking walnuts aod sipping the sherry which was very good--made across the sea in the sunny Oceanic Isles. Jonathan was surprised to discover that Ahab liked walnuts as well as any of them--even more than Dooly, who simply cracked them for the sport involved and fed every other one to the dog. It was a little cool to be picnicking on deck that late in the evening, but the night was so wonderfully clear and the stars so bright that it would have been a shame not to. When the moon finally peeked up over the hills it was just a little scrap of a moon, only two days away from being nothing at all. Still, it was a friendly sight Dooly, still awed by his grandfather's tales that afternoon, insisted that Escargot "spin the yarn" about when _he__ went to (he moon and fen in among sky pirates. The word yarn struck Jonathan as being particularly appropriate, but Escargo!'s reaction to Dooly's request made him wonder a bit In fact the old man changed the subject rather abruptly after saying only that it had been "quite a time" and nothing more. Either the sky pirate story was a trifle far over into the realm of the tall tale or else, quite possibly, it involved the theft of the pocketwatch--something that Escargot regretted. Jonathan couldn't be sure which, but one way or another, no one heard any more that evening about the moon and sky pirates. Changing the subject wasn't difficult. Escargot called their attention to several flickering lights moving among the trees upriver on the far side. Jonathan jumped up and blew out the lanterns. They waited in the darkness. The moon didn't even cast enough light for them to see one another's faces. Only the rustle of creatures alongshore and the noise of crickets or an occasional frog could be heard. Jonathan found that he was staring at the approaching lights, his eyes wide as saucers in an attempt to make some sense out of the night around him. Dooly started to whisper but Escargot shushed him. For five minutes they sat in silence and watched what had to be sixty or eighty goblins trotting down the river road. They were surprisingly sensible goblins compared to the lot that had attacked the raft. Half a dozen flaming torches lighted their way. Among them were several goblins of tremendous size--easily twice the size, say, of the average elf. Oddly enough, however, it was impossible to say which of them were the big goblins. When they were directly across the river--perhaps fifty or sixty yards away, Jonathan spotted a tremendous thing, a ghastly, pale, disfigured goblin more horrible that any of his fellows. But just as Jonathan picked him out of the lot. he seemed to shrink and change and reduce himself to half his size, and the goblin beside him, up until then a sort of nondescript pixie of a goblin, puffed up incredibly, dwarfing his fellows. "They're up to no good," whispered the Professor when the party was once again only nickering torchlight through the distant trees. "Where do you suppose they're going?" "The first outpost maybe," said Escargot. "Then they'll get a warm reception from the keeper," said the Professor. "He didn't half like the look of Jonathan, Dooly, and me on our ruined scrap of a raft; imagine what he'll thick of a party of torch-carrying goblins." "They could just as easily be heading for Snopes' ferry," said Escargot. Jonathan chuckled. "In which case, they may well run into the Squire's party. Bad luck if they do." "Let's hope that they don't run into anyone at night," said Escargot. "There're too many goblins there to mess with, mates, and they ain't just out to pour honey into people's hats." "This is unprecedented," said the Professor, lighting his pipe. "I don't like the look of it much." "What is it?" asked Dooly. "Bad business." Escargot said to Dooly. "In more ways than one." Jonathan could imagine the squint-eyed look on Escargot's face: and hoped he was as sure of himself as be sounded. It was more than acting and rough talk that they'd need before the voyage was through. They decided to keep a watch that night Escargot volunteered to take the first and was to wake Jonathan at one. The Cheeser would rather have taken the first himself, but the day's pedaling had done him in, and he felt a bit limp, almost as if he were floating. By one, after only two hours of sleep, he'd be in no shape to stand watch. But when he was shaken awake, sunlight was pouring in through the cabin window and Escargot was slapping water onto his own face out of the bow!, his cloak of invisibility heaped on his bunk. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the small cabin, and the Professor clanged away with their two frying pans on the cabin stove, waving a fork over the crackling bacon. "What time is it?" asked Jonathan. "I missed my watch." He swung stiff legs to the floor. His calves and thighs felt as they should after a day of pedaling. "I missed mine for a week after I sold the thing," said Escargot, "Made a sundial out of a squid and it kept better time than my watch. Then I traded it away for that pocketwatch you heard about Worst move I ever made. Nothing but pain ever come from that blasted pocketwatch. Gettin' rid of that watch was the second biggest mistake. But I'm going after both of them mistakes now. If I would have kept my squid clock none of this would have come up. Think about it Could you see all them elves and dwarfs and linkmen and goblins and who knows who else up in arms over a squid clock? It ain't likely. They're the craziest-looking things there is." Jonathan, by then, was up and testing his muscles. He walked like what one of those squatty-legged cavemen in the Twombly Town Museum must have walked like before he turned into a fossil. It occurred to Jonathan that it was likely that exercise caused fossilization--that it made you stiffer every day until you woke up frozen one morning and had to roll yourself out of bed. But he found that he limbered up fairly quickly. The smell of the coffee and bacon had a good effect. "Someone should have woke me up last night," said Jonathan. "I never could have done it myself." Escargot slipped the cloak on and vanished. "I didn't do nothing all day yesterday but talk. You talk too much and you go crazy. It's proven. Ain't that so, Professor?" The Professor nodded, but Jonathan suspected that he was just being polite. "So anyway," Escargot continued, "I figured that if I set up all night and thought about this and that but didn't say nothing it'd even itself out. The elves have a saying about that, about what a fine thing silence is. Leads to wisdom, they say. But you don't have to live among 'em for more than an hour or so to know how much philosophy is worth. Which reminds me; do you know what it was that Blump said to me, just as their ship was asettin' sail the other night?" "No," said Jonathan. "I thought Blump set sail before we ever left for Thrush Haven." "Nope," said Escargot, "they waited around for me. Blump's a prize. Doesn't have quite the brains that Twicken-faam has, but he's a wit, I can tell you. Here he was, already aboard, sails spreadin' all up and down the mainmast, and he shouts at me as me and Twickenham are off to the Moon-eye. He shouts this, mind you, waving at the Squire all the time so as to call his attention to it. 'Why,' he shouts,'did the linkman put a chair in his coffin?' Twickenham was for going on, but I had to hear, so I shrugs up at him. And laughing like a crazy man, he shouts, 'So rigor mortis could set hit' Then laughs so hard he collapsed on the bloody deck and two elves had to help him to Bis cabin, him hootin' and shoutin' the damn fool punchline all the way. That's an elf captain for you." "An undeveloped sense of humor, certainly," said die Professor, "But I find that any jolliness at all is better than none." "I thought the joke was pretty good," said Jonathan, who was repeating it to himself so as to remember it to tell Gilroy Bastable. Dooly, who wandered in in search of breakfast, asked, "Who was it who set in?" "Rigor mortis," Escargot explained. "Was he some kind of elf or something?" The Professor tried to explain, but it made the joke incredibly foolish. He finally gave up and told Dooly that it didn't make any difference anyway, that it had to do with being stiff. "Then he must have set in last night," said Dooly, "because I can't hardly walk." The Professor said that, on the contrary, Dooly could hardly walk, but his explanation of the grammatical arcana involved was no more successful than his scientific explanation of rigor mortis. They all forgot about it while they ate breakfast. "Where can I get one of these squid watches?" Jonathan asked Escargot. "Ill make you one. If we were, at Seaside I'd have one this afternoon. We'll have to fish for river squid here, though. And you don't catch many of 'em. Tricky bunch of swabs. And they have too many legs too. You have to compensate." "I had a snail clock once," said Jonathan. "It worked pretty well except when it snowed." "Never heard of a snail clock," said Escargot "I made it up," said Jonathan. "I can only use it at home. At about five in the morning there's about six hundred snails out on the lawn, all of them going somewhere. Eating grass and such. You have to be careful not to step on them. Then at six-thirty there's only about twenty left, and they're all heading for the bushes before the sun comes up over the top of the house. By seven-fifteen there's usually only one left. I think he's sort of a village idiot snail, though, because he's likely to be out any time of day. He mucks the clock up a bit, actually. Then at night they do it all over again in reverse." "Not too accurate, Jonathan," said the Professor. "It's good for a break now and then," said Jonathan, supporting the snail clock. "Being accurate gets tiresome." "Getting up early enough to use the bloody clock is what would be tiresome," Escargot put in. "I'll make you a squid clock, Bing; they work day and night." Out through the window they could see trees swaying in the morning breeze, It wasn't as good a breeze as it might have been, but they popped along and raised the sails anyway, tacking away slowly upriver in the cool morning sun. For two days they traveled along just so, pedaling now and then when the wind gave off, poling their way through shallows, and all hi all making fairly steady headway. That same afternoon they sighted smoke downriver on the Highland shore. It was a great billow of dark smoke that dimmed the sky to the" east for hours--a forest fire possibly or perhaps a barn fire. In the evening a second billow of smoke appeared some miles distant from the first, but by nightfall it had vanished. There was little doubt among the rafters that the fires and the goblin party were somehow related. Jonathan had to agree with the Professor that there wasn't time to dawdle, that the high valley likely _was__ falling to ruin. But there was nothing they could do about any fires downriver. One night passed and then another, and by the morning of the sixth day out of Seaside they neared the remains of Little Stooton--which looked, oddly enough, as if it had decayed even farther in the past couple of weeks. Great tendrils of creeping vine covered the houses along the shore, snaking in and out of windows and prying shingles from roofs. Lamps or candles seemed to be glowing dimly within the shadowy recesses of a few of the houses, but mat, perhaps, was a trick of the sunlight that still shone off and on through a darkening sky. A thin wisp of smoke rose from one chimney, striking the rafters as being altogether odd. They had no idea whether the smoke--or the lamps, if they were lamps--were a good or bad sign--if that meant that Little Stooton hadn't been entirely abandoned or if, on the other hand, the village were being resettied by goblins. The Professor said he'd like to find out; he was horrified by the idea of goblins living hi abandoned homes. Escargot told him that he had heard of stranger things, that it wasn't uncommon, hi fact, to come across just such a thing in the deep woods. Both Jonathan and Escargot, however, saw no value hi stopping simply to satisfy their curiosity, and the Professor finally agreed. There was almost no breeze at all until about nine o'clock hi the morning when what wind there was turned round and blew downriver toward the sea. Even Dooly realized that a storm _was__ brewing, for the wind smelled as if it were full of water, and off toward the White Mountains lightning arced out of the clouds every few minutes, though they were too far away for them to bear the thunder. Rain began to fall at about ten--big round drops that came sailing out of the gray sky to plop on the deck and on the roof of the cabin and form puddles and little streams running this way and that across the deck. There was not much running around and lashing things down since most of the cargo was stowed inside the cabin. Only the deck chairs were hauled inside. Jonathan and Dooly, both of whom rather liked rain, decided to continue pedaling in the hope that the rain would let up. The Professor ambled inside along with Escargot, apologizing for his rheumatism. It seemed great fun, at first, sailing along through the rain and watching the lightning flash in the misty distance. But when the first ball of hail hit Jonathan on the head, his mood changed a bit, especially since the hail balls were the size of big marbles. Though there was a canopy of sorts over the paddlewheel and its mechanisms, the hail came sailing and it bounced under the canopy and whacked Jonathan and Dooly on the head and back. They had to bury their faces in their arms during the first onslaught. Then, of course, they couldn't see where they were going, so it made little sense to keep pedaling. As quickly as they could, they ran the raft up into the mouth of a little creek that emptied into Stooton Slough. The banks on either side were high and broke the wind, and there was such a tangle of underbrush and limbs that much of the rain was waylaid before it ever reached the raft. As Jonathan and Dooly pedaled in, Escargot popped out and tied the raft up fore and aft to twisted roots that jutted out of the bank. Dooly heaved an anchor overboard, but the water was so shallow that the anchor merely sat there as if wondering what to do, its length of line and chain still mostly heaped on the deck. They sat about in the cabin all day playing cards and drinking coffee and reading books. Jonathan made an effort to teach Dooly pinochle, but it was too much for him. They ended up playing Go Fish instead, which is not a bad game at first but gets old after a half hour or so. The rain fell and the wind blew on and off through the afternoon, but it never turned bad enough so that they had to fear flooding or toppling trees. When the Professor began slicing up cabbages and boiling the corned beef for dinner, the four of them took a vote and decided to spend the night there in the slough, even though the rain had nearly fallen off and there were breaks in the clouds. They could have pushed on, but the few miles they'd travel before dark didn't seem half worth the effort involved. The inside of the cabin was so cheery and warm by that time that the idea of venturing into the breezy drizzle outside was unthinkable. Escargot suggested that they eat dinner and then have a council of war to plan the siege of Hightower ridge. Both Jonathan and the Professor agreed, although Jonathan rather thought that any such siege was more Escargot's business than it was his or the Professor's. But the battle was obviously drawing nigh, and this was as good a time as any to make plans. All such plans are likely to go awry when the action heats up, but there is still a certain sense of security or purpose that goes with order and with planning. So they ate a very good early dinner, and they opened a few bottles of ale they'd laid away against just such an evening. The rain and the wind fell away, and it grew very still outside. Dooly observed that they were in the "eye of the hurricane," but the Professor pointed out that there was no hurricane involved, Dooly concluded that they must be in some other kind of eye. K there was any moon at aH it was hidden away behind the clouds that still covered most of the sky. Jonathan suspected that the night was going to be very dark indeed when it arrived. _Chapter 19__ Stooton Slough WHEN dusk was just turning to night Jonathan and Dooly took a look outside and found that the creek, although muddy, hadn't risen much at all. Dooly spotted a tangle of blackberry vines drooping over the bank, and he and Jonathan and Ahab took advantage of the last twenty minutes of daylight to pick a few quarts. A little trail ran along the bank and back up a wooded rise beyond, and Jonathan thought he could just see the corner of a cabin in the woods there a hundred yards or so beyond them. Dooly looked In that direction but said that he didn't see anything and didn't want to either. They decided to make a cobbler out of the blackberries later in the evening, so Jonathan set about washing the bugs out of them and picking through to find the green ones. There's no use souring up a cobbler because you're afraid to waste a few green berries. Finally the berries were cleaned, the dishes were washed, the cabin was neat as it had to be, and there was nothing left to do but read or engage in serious discussions--in councils of war, as it were. They thought about it for a moment and came to the conclusion that a council of war would go much better in an hour or two over a hot cobbler. The Professor offered the observation that reading was suspected by medical science to he a digestive aid, so each of them lit a pipe and lost himself in a book--each of them except Dooly. Dooly didn't smoke a pipe, and instead of reading he plunked himself down at the table and began working on writing a book. He wasn't sure what the book was going to be about, or at least that's what he said, but he had the feeling that it was going to be good. He was suffering from inspiration, he said, just like Mr. Bufo and Yellow Hat Jonathan opened a G. Smithers and loaned a Glub Boorap to Escargot. It was an amazing thing to glance over toward Escargot's bunk and see the business end of a pipe and aa open book hovering about in the air. The Professor looked into one of the ponderous _Tomes of Limpus__ and began almost at once to meditate deeply, looks of astonishment, puzzlement, horror and understanding popping up variously on his face. The inside of the cabin was silent as a clam within moments, the only sound being the scratching of Dooly's pen on the page. For a half hour it remained so, everyone being pleasantly abandoned to his book. Professor Wurzle, first broke the silence, standing up abruptly and asking, "What was that?" Jonathan started to say that he hadn't heard anything, but only about half of it was out of his mouth when the Professor held his hand up and stopped him. They listened hi silence for the space of ten seconds; then, very low, as if it were coming from somewhere distant, they heard the sound of weeping--an anguished, eerie sound that made Jonathan apprehensive. It stopped for a moment and then started again, a bit louder. It sounded nothing like the moaning of goblins, but more like a woman weeping over a lost child or a dead lover. Jonathan, Escargot, and the Professor stepped out onto the deck. Dooly volunteered to stand guard with Ahab inside. In the silent night air the weeping grew louder, more insistent. The forest roundabout was deadly still, and the faint glow in the sky did nothing to dispel the gloom. Jonathan remembered having seen what he supposed to be the wall of a cabin in the woods, and he jumped across to the path by the berry vines, motioning to the Professor and Escargot to follow. They tiptoed down the path, Jonathan half expecting some ghost or troll or bear to leap out of the dense undergrowth. They didn't go far, however, when there hi the distant clearing they could see what was clearly the candlelit window of a small cabin. The sloped roof of the cabin was a dark shadow among the trees, and it appeared as if smoke from a fire within was rising through the trees above. The weeping, louder there at the edge of the wood, sounded, if anything, more anguished. Escargot tugged on the sleeve of Jonathan's jacket, and the three of them retraced their steps to the raft, finding that Dooly had locked them out It took a bit of convincing to get him to open the door. "Do you think it's goblins?" the Professor asked. "Might be," said Escargot. "It's impossible to say what sorts of pranks they'll get up to." "Doesn't sound like goblins," Jonathan put in. "It may be that people are still living in Stooton. That sounded like a woman crying." "It could be," said Escargot "But if it is, we should let her cry. She doesn't want us dropping hi for a chat Let's leave it alone and get out of here." "But if Jonathan is right," said the Professor, "then there's been trouble up there. Might still be. We can't just sail away." Dooly, round-eyed by this time, had Ahab on his lap. He looked as if he could sail away quite happily. "I believe 111 take Ahab," said Jonathan, "and have a look in that window." He began to regret his decision almost immediately, for the weeping started up again and reminded him of the darkness outside. But he bad his code, after all, "You won't go alone, Jonathan," said the Professor. "Dooly and Mr. Escargot can stay on board and you and I will have a look at that clearing. If someone is up to shenanigans, we shouldn't leave the raft unguarded." "Aye," said Escargot "But make it quick. Whistle three times so we know it's you. If this is some kind of set up, then make a racket We'll beat a bunch of pans together if anything gets fishy." "Okay," said Jonathan. "It wont take a minute to hike up to that clearing." He and Professor Wurzle stepped back out into the night, each carrying an oak truncheon. They jumped across to the bank and squashed along up the path which was spongy with rainwater. It struck Jonathan as odd and a bit eerie that there wasn't a frog or a cricket to be heard, only the deathlike silence broken now and again by weeping. Jonathan immediately wished they'd brought a lantern along and had a wild urge to dash back to the raft and get one. But the path wasn't hard to pick out, and the lighted window of the cabin was clear ahead of them, so he resisted the urge and pushed on, the Professor close on his heels. The path wound around through the trees which were thick overhead, blotting out the sky almost entirely. Jonathan looked above him before plunging deeper into the woods and saw dark clouds boiling across the sky and what appeared to be a great bat winging along toward the river. The path, which Jonathan suspected should have led straightaway toward the cabin, angled sharply on the right He and the Professor stopped, suspecting trickery, but saw a glow of light--the window which they'd lost sight of, evidentry--off in the same general direction. The sound of weeping was louder than it had been. The glow through the trees, however, seemed to recede as they made their way along the path. Finally it blinked out altogether. "There's something wrong here," said the Professor. "Let's go back. Look sharp." Jonathan had to agree. The light was all of a sudden gone, the weeping stopped, and they were quite simply alone in the deep woods. He hefted his club and was reassured a bit by it, but he would have been reassured even more had they a score or so of dwarf axe warriors along. They hadn't gone more than twenty feet along the way they'd come when, very strangely, the path forked. There was no way of knowing which of the forks to take, and neither Jonathan nor the Professor had noticed the fork five minutes earlier. In fact, neither of the paths seemed to be the one they remembered. They seemed merely gloomy tunnels leading deeper into the forest After a moment's pause they took that path which led most clearly in the direction of the creek. But that path came _to__ an abrupt end a hundred feet along. There was nothing to do but retrace their steps once again. And that's just what they started to do when, away to the right, they saw the cabin window flickering with candlelight. The weeping began almost at once, louder than ever--weeping punctuated by a very tired and mournful moaning, again as if someone were grieving. They paused to listen for a moment, but In the silent spaces between the fits of weeping not even a leaf stirred. For a mad moment Jonathan considered rushing off helter-skelter through the woods, making the racket that Escargot had advised. But considering it stopped him. Professor Wurzle had a very determined look on his face, a sort of lesson-teaching look. So Jonathan hefted his club and, crouching a bit, crept through the trees toward the cabin. They were very near, about ten feet from the window, when the weeping began again. They heard a screech like the howl of a banshee, and the rush and whir of bat wings overhead. Jonathan felt something brush across the top of his cap, and he swung his club at it but hit nothing. The night grew immediately silent once again. He and the Professor smashed themselves against the wall and inched once again toward the window as the weeping and moaning began anew. With one hand on their clubs and one on the windowsill, both of them rose until they could peer inside. It was a single large firelit room, almost empty of furniture and so dusty and hung with cobwebs that no one could have lived there for a long long time. Before the fire, aitting in a wooden rocker, head bent forward, was what appeared to be a hooded, black-robed woman who shook her bead and wept into her hands. The embers of a fire glowed in front of her and cast a shadow onto the wall behind. The figure paused its rocking, and in the flickering red fight of the fire turned toward the window. The hood fell away and the robe fell open and there in the midst of the cabin a grinning skeleton stared out at them through empty eye sockets and wept through clacking teeth. It rose shakily in the chair, as if incredibly old, and beckoning with a bony finger, took two halting steps toward the window before bursting into wild cackling laughter. Jonathan, at the sound of the thing's laughter, swung his club, more out of instinct than motive, and smashed the glass of the window. The light went out inside and the fire died. There was a scuffling of feet on the floor and a fearful moaning. Jonathan and the Professor took off like the wind for the raft. The path, somehow, was where it should have been in the first place. Jonathan could almost feel dry fingers latching onto his shoulder, and could hear horrible laughter behind them, punctuated by dread weeping and gasping. From ahead, clanging through the night-time, came the sound of pots and pans being beaten together and mixed with shouts and the barking of Ahab. The raft had been untied and had swung out into the river, but it had caught fast in the creek mouth because of the anchor. When Jonathan and Professor Wurzle pounded down the path to the creek and past the berry vines, they saw it, ablaze with light, swinging around into the shore some twenty feet or so beyond where they had tied up. On board was a confusion of howling goblins, of Ahab bounding back and forth, and of Dooly, who dashed about, clanging together a frying pan and a big sauce pan and pausing here and there to whack a goblin on the head with one or the other. Amid the entire swarm, an occasional goblin was suddenly spirited into the air, shaken, and thrown far out into the river. A little line of goblin heads bobbed away downstream. Jonathan scrambled along the steep edge of the bank, managing more than once to squash one or the other foot down into the muddy creek. What with the tangled roots of the shorcside trees, though, it was a simple if wet task to reach the raft. The light glowing so brightly on board turned out, to Jonathan's dismay, to be a fire on the deck. The lantern had been knocked from its hook, and a circle of oil flamed away around the broken remains of the glass shade. Goblins cackled and hooted past him--a couple of dozen--more than he would have supposed could fit aboard. He took a moment right off to push a couple into the river. One paddled away after his bobbing companions, but the other, a great ugly thing who shrieked and babbled and rolled his eyes in a frenzy of strange goblin emotion, attempted to clamber back aboard. Jonathan, unknowing, whipped away at the fire on deck with his jacket and was joined in a trice by Professor Wurzle, who did the same. The second of the two goblins that Jonathan had sent into the river managed, finally, to boost himself up onto the deck far enough to grasp Jonathan's ankle in a taloned hand. The claws bit into the flesh of his leg, and he was jerked off balance, dropping his jacket into the fire and smashing backward into the cabin wall, Professor Wurzle latched onto the sleeve of the jacket as Jonathan and the hooting goblin tumbled about, but when he pulled it out of the fire be saw that the whole thing was aflame. The Professor shouted in surprise and spun round to fling the flaming jacket into the river, only to see the wet and shrieking goblin flailing toward him. So the Professor, faced with such a scourge, flung the burning jacket onto the goblin's head, an action that didn't slow the thing down in the slightest It continued to rage about waving both arms in a windmill of fury until Dooly pranced up behind it and slammed it in the back of the head with the cast iron frying pan, sending the thing headlong into the river along with the flaming remains of Jonathan's coat. Jonathan dragged himself to his feet, rubbing the knot on the back of his head and marveling at the fact that his back and legs had been pretzeled so thoroughly in the tumble and yet still worked reasonably well. Around him things had quieted down somewhat Ahab seemed to be playing tag with two or three goblins, one of whom bad grabbed hold of the mast and was swinging around it arm extended, like a twirlabout, laughing and shouting. One of the other goblins who seemed to have two heads in the weird flickering of the fire, dashed along up the deck and continued on to dash off the edge, legs running in air, sinking away in the end beneath the river. Another met head foremost with a mysterious floating truncheon and, staggered, was propelled from behind by an invisible boot into the Oriel. The Professor and Jonathan managed to smother the fire which, in fact, had consumed most of the puddle of oil and had pretty much burned itself out. Both of them looked about, half hoping that another goblin would show himself so that they could dip him into the river. They were surprised to see no goblins at all aside from the one who, idiotically, was still twirling round and round the mast, yelling and cackling. Jonathan looked at the Professor and shook his head. "Stupid little chaps, aren't they?" he asked. The Professor quite agreed. The two of them along with Dooly, Ahab, and the invisible Escargot stood about for a moment watching the goblin twirl. He slowed down in time, let go of the mast, and staggered about in a little erratic circle, dizzy as a water bug until he slumped to the deck and lay there. They let him rest for a moment or two until he began to look around him and blink, surprised to find that all his friends had flown. He was such a hopeless and disheveled little pile of goblin that any urge in Jonathan to pull his nose 01 whack him on the head was dispelled. The thing attempted a traditional goblin cackle, but it sort of petered out foolishly, "What do you have to say for yourselfT Jonathan asked. But the goblin looked at him stupidly, then made a noise that sounded more like the noise a duck makes than anything else. Dooly made duck noises back at him, but it didn't seem to have any effect "They can't speak like men," said Escargot. "All the bloody fools can do is gobble. Can't even understand one another as far as I can tell. Too stupid by half." "What'll we do with him?" Jonathan asked. "Do we want to keep him?" "Not a chance," said Escargot "Have you ever seen one of these lads eat? Makes you sick. And they don't eat nothing but fish and river trash. Throw the bones all over the place and try to comb their hair with them. There's not a sane one among them." "We'll make him walk the plank," shouted Dooly. "Poke him in the rear with a cutlass!" "Aye!" shouted Escargot, who stood behind the goblin so as not to be found out. "I can use some practice in that art That's not something you can find volunteers for, and in the pirate trade you're expected to do it right There's regular methods, you know." "I dare say," said the Professor. "But why don't we practice some other time? I'd like to take a look at Jonathan's ankle there, the one he's limping around on. And I think we should cast off and pedal out to midriver. This tieing up to the bank is dangerous business." "True," said Escargot. "We don't have any plank anyway, and the deck's only a foot above the water. There wouldn't be any sport hi it." Escargot picked the goblin up by the seat of his pants and the collar of his shirt and swung him back and forth a couple of times. He was just about to let the creature sail out over the river when Jonathan shouted for him to hold up. Escargot put the gobbling thing down, and Jonathan rolled it over. There, tied to the rope that the goblin used as a belt, was a leather bag. Jonathan untied the bag, opened it up, and spilled its contents onto the deck. A stream of marbles rolled out, sparkling in the lantern-light There were ten, then twenty, then fifty and a hundred marbles, and still the bag showed no sign of emptying. Jonathan closed it up as Dooly scrambled after the marbles. Without speaking, Jonathan picked up the goblin and threw him into the river. He wished he had a brick to throw after him, but it wouldn't have done any good. "I didn't see that bag," Escargot said, taking a close look at it. "Looks like some sort of erf design." "It belonged to the Squire," said Jonathan, and he sat down tiredly on the deck. _Chapter 20__ An Ultimatum THE Professor hoisted the anchor aboard, and he and Escargot poled the raft away from the bank and let it drift out into deeper water before tossing out fore and aft anchors. They spent the night in relative peace, not even bothering to keep watch. As soon as the sky turned from black to gray, about an hour before the sun rose over the mountains to the east, they were underway, full sail on a good morning breeze. They sailed and pedaled all that day and the next and then did the same the day after that At night they could hear the distant pounding of goblin drums and could barely make out the gonging and cackling that seemed always to begin not long after the sun went down. Goblin fires tit the woods now and then, more often as they drew closer to the Goblin Wood. Parties of goblins came and went along the river road, paying the rafters littie heed, although one small party paused long enough to throw stones out over the river--all of which fell far short of the raft In fact, the goblins took such frightful aim that the stones flew in every which direction, but in no particular direction at all. They passed Willowood in the afternoon; it stood as before, ruined and empty, pier pilings thrusting up through the green waters of the Oriel and the wrecked boathouse visible beyond. "What do you say," asked Jonathan, "to pulling in and looking up Miles the Magician? He might give us a hand with this venture." "I think we'd be bloody fools to pull in anywhere," Escargot replied at once. "And besides, Miles the Magician doesn't stay in one place. He's likely long gone since you saw him last." "He's right," the Professor agreed with Escargot. "Besides this isn't his affair anyway. The man likely has enough to concern himself with. This project has spread itself about too liberally already." "True," said Jonathan. "He was just such a jolly sort that I thought it would be nice to see him again. But we'd best not loaf now." So they didn't loaf or stop at Willowood, but sailed right on by. Twice during those three days they were passed by rafts floating downriver toward Seaside. The first, as far as they could tell, was empty--the decks were clear, and no one sat at the tiller. The raft slid away sideways on the current Dooly shouted wildly as it drew toward them, hoping that someone was in the cabin having a snooze. But if the cabin were occupied, whoever was in there wasn't in a listening mood; nothing but silence answered Dooly's calls. The second raft had a bit more activity aboard, but not much. A listless fellow with a tremendous overgrown beard sat at the tiller, and another lay on deck, sleeping. Smoke rose from the chimney shoving through the roof of the little shingled lean-to that sat in the middle of the deck; so someone, likely, was inside either cooking or keeping warm. Again Dooly shouted, but got only a sour look from the helmsman who didnt seem at all inclined to be cheerful He wore very somber, dark clothes and a black hat with a brim on it the size of a cartwheel. For a moment Jonathan considered trying out the rigor mortis joke on the man; but the raft had such a look of emptiness and ruin about it, and the fellow at the tiller such a look of narrowness and fanaticism about him, that the joke probably wouldn't have aroused much of a response anyway. The man appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to go mad--just the sort of person who is best left alone. Late in the afternoon on the second of December, they found themselves fast aroroaching the Goblin Wood and hence the town of Hightower. They moored one evening Jn midriver, choosing a particularly wide spot at a point in the river some miles downstream from the Wood. It was as close as they dared come at night, and still close enough so that with luck, a bit of a breeze, and some active pedaling they might pass it entirely in the light of day if they set off early enough in the morning. The weather had grown colder, as if having made up its mind to become serious about leaving autumn behind and to see about winter. With every mile they traveled the temperature seemed to drop a degree or so. In the morning, ice appeared on top of the cabin and frost on the deck. When not pedaling or steering the raft the group stayed pretty much inside the cabin and kept a jolly fire lit in the stove. Ahab was generally ready to pop outside if anyone made a move toward the door, but he was even more ready to pop back in after having been outside for a bit. Only Escargot seemed oblivious to the cold and spent as much time outside as in--"Getting some air," as he liked to say. They discussed their goal a time or two, though the discussion accomplished little. Jonathan, in fact, was a bit put out at the very idea that there was any goal. His only goal, after all, was Twombly Town, and he had only three and a half weeks to get there if he were to make it before Christmas. That night below the Goblin Wood he decided to press the issue, for Escargot rather seemed to assume they were all about to advance some sort of lunatic siege on the castle at Hightower Ridge. When they sat poking at the remains of the trout and potatoes they'd eaten for dinner, he brought the discussion around. "Well," said Jonathan, examining a fishbone, "day after tomorrow should see us at Hightower. What do you propose, Mr. Escargot?" "Simple as a trout," Escargot said, picking up the pop-eyed remains of one of the fish and dangling it by a fin. "There's a creek a mile below the town. Something like that creek at Stooton we were tomfool enough to tie up in. It's here on the map." Escargot pointed with the fish head toward Twickenham's map. "Hinkle Creek, it says here, though it don't much matter. I had reason to hide out there a few years back. Spent three days in a bloody thicket eating crusts, and was lucky to have them too. I say we run her up the creek thirty or forty yards. She should be high enough now to do it. Then we lock the goods in the cabin, nail the shutters down over the window, cut brush enough to hide her as well as we can, and blow into town through the back roads to see which way the wind blows, if you follow me." Jonathan hated this sort of thing. He always found it much more pleasant to be agreeable. But there are times when it works best just to slam right along and say what you mean. "Quite honestly," said Jonathan, "it strikes me that somehow the Professor and Dooly and I have gotten roped into something none of us bargained for. We were led to believe that we would simply transport you to High-tower and be on our way. If our luck holds, we can be in Twombly Town a week before Christmas. If we, as you say, leave the raft unattended in Hinkle Creek, we'll likely return to find goblins sailing it up and down the river and feeding the honeycakes to the fish. What I mean to say here is that this watch-stealing business is none of our concern." Escargot paused for a few moments before responding. He closed the shutters and removed the cloak, realizing no doubt that it's tough to have a conversation of any serious nature with an invisible man. Then he lit his pipe, puffing at the tobacco until it blazed like a lumberyard fire. "Your luck won't hold," he said, looking at Jonathan. "As for concerns, like it or not this pocketwatch business _is__ your concern--and you'll likely not see Christmas unless you make it so." Escargot's voice wasn't in any way threatening; be stated It all very matter-of-factly, and so it had more of an effect on Jonathan that it might have had. He was prepared to be angry. The Professor, however, didn't appear altogether convinced. He sat there deep in thought as Escargot continued. "And we might need the seeker. Who can say where he keeps the blasted watch. It may be in his pocket and it may be upstairs. It may be under a brick in the wall around the tower. Even if I walked in and beat the Dwarf senseless, I wouldn't come up with the watch. It isn't worth trying for the thing without the seeker." "You can have it," said _the__ Professor. 'Take the seeker. I haven't any use for it. It's just a curio. None of us need be involved. And let me say right now that, speaking for all of us, we're not afraid of this Dwarf. I'm getting too old for that sort of fear. But, by golly, to speak the plain truth, this whole mess has your name written all over it, and you should be the man to clean it up! The risk is yours, not ours." Escargot nodded slowly, as if satisfied with the Professor's logic. He puffed away thoughtfully. "Fear has little to do with your decision; I know that. Professor. But it has something to do with mine. I won't talk falsely now. I know this Dwarf. I know who he is, what he has. And, mates, I'm not going into that tower alone. Not for you, or Twombly Town, or for the whole damn valley. Not for a moment." "For Dooly," the Professor suggested. Dooly stared at the plate of broken fishbones. "I'll take care of the lad," said Escargot. "He doesn't figure in this. But I won't go up to Hightower Ridge alone. You don't know this Dwarf, even though you've seen him. He isn't any sideshow conjurer now. He has powers even the elves fear." "I believe you're mistaken about my having seen the gentleman," the Professor said. "I haven't had the pleasure and hope that I won't, either." "The ape," said Escargot. "He was the master of the bloody Beddlington Ape. And that wasn't no ape, neither, or at least it wasn't when you saw it. I can't say for certain what it was, but it was a man's voice that came out of it. It might have been part ape, but then it might have been part anything. Probably was. "Even back then he was up to foul tricks up on the ridge, but no one could see it. Everyone thought the ape gag was some sort of prank--ventriloquism or something. It was a prank all right, but it wasn't any ventriloquism. And it ain't only animals he controls. He can do things to the weather. He can send rains up and down the valley and make a fog rise up off the river with a wave of his stick." Escargot paused for a moment, then went on. "When I heard about that elf ship in the slough, I knew there was trouble ahead. There wasn't any doubt. There was only one reason for the ship to be upriver--they were looking for the watch. And they found it too, the hard way. This watch freezes everything. Just stops things dead. Lets a chap do what he will, if he has that watch. I had it once and it was worth a few larks, I can tell you. But I didn't know what in the devil it was. It ain't easy to work--not if you do it right You have to study it out and get the feel of it. All I did with it was borrow a few pies and such. And I didn't need no pocketwatch to hook pies. "Then one day I ran into Miles the Magician. I didn't let on I had it, but I got him to tell me what it was, really. He said that the watch tells time. I said that every watch does that, if it ain't broken. He said that with any other watch, it's _you__ who tells time by it With this, it's the watch that _tells the time__. Do you follow me?" Jonathan supposed so, and nodded, although the whole story was sounding a trifle grand and unlikely. The Professor had a look of astonishment on his face. "I'm not at all sure I _do__. What does all that signify?" "Just about everything there is," Escargot said mysteriously. "You don't think they had time before they had a watch to tell rt, do you? Well, that was the watch. There's one man who should run it, and a Dwarf who shouldn't but does. It's lucky for us he ain't had it long enough to have worked the whole thing through. Because Miles told me that time ain't what you'd think. It's everything there is, and it's nothing. If you understand the watch, you can run it ahead and you can run it back and you can stop it from running at all. When I first used it, it didn't seem to have no effect farther than about ten feet When I sold it, I could slow the whole show down and stop it for twenty-five feet around. "But Selznak--there's no telling what tricks he's been up to with the thing, Stooton had a look of decay, like it's been a ghost town for twenty years. 1 don't like the look of it. And you tell me Willowood's the same way. People gone, houses smashed up. Some of it's goblins, but most of it's Selznak. Him and that damn watch. I'll go after it, like I said, but I won't go alone." "For what incredible reason," asked the Professor, "did you sell the watch to that demon? I hope you got more for it than that ridiculous pig we keep hearing about." "Oh I got more," said Escargot cryptically, "but I still didn't get half enough. Now I'm a little dry, and if you mates have no complaints, I believe I'll just uncork another bottle of that ale we stowed." "Make it two," said Jonathan. "Three," said the Professor. Suddenly the plate of fishbones began to look horrible to Jonathan, so he picked it up, stepped out through the cabin door, and dumped the whole thing into the river. There was almost no wind at all, and the night was silent as a tomb. Even the Goblin Wood, a dark line of distant trees, seemed still. No fires burned and no drums pounded. It was likely too cold even for goblins to be out. The river ran deep and dark beneath the raft, and it struck him that the water which flowed beneath him at that moment had flowed past Twombly Town only a couple of days ago. Some of it likely curled about Mayor Bastable's fishing line and pushed the raillwheel around a few times. Some days hence it would flow past Seaside and run smack up against old ocean. Then who could say what strange things that water would see. What Jonathan would see, likely, was the inside of the castle on Hightower Ridge. Back in the cabin, the Professor and Escargot were taking a pull of ale. Neither was speaking; both were deep in thought Dooly had abandoned the conversation and was sitting on his bunk writing away at his book which had evolved to the point where it had a central character--the Toad King. When Jonathan sat down, Escargot wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. "So that's that, mates. You know me now. I been a lot of things, but I never been what I ain't, and you can lay to that. I got a cloak here that amounts to a heap more to the likes o' me than any infernal pocket-watch. And I got me a submarine back at the Haven that can get me and the lad out to die Isles in a week. There's lands beyond that, too, and someday, mark me, I'm agoing there. It might as well be now." "How long will it take us to get the watch?" Jonathan asked. "The way I see it," said Escargot, "either we get it or we don't. If we mess up, then getting up to Twombly Town by Christmas is the least of our worries. We won't get no second chance--not this time. If we get it, we'll be on our way upriver three days from now." "Three days from now we're on the river, watch or no watch," said Jonathan. "Done!" said Escargot, and he thrust out his hand. Dooly hurried over from his bunk and shook hands with the rest of them. He said it was a good idea to spit on your hand first and then shake before going into adventures such as this, but the Professor suggested they forego the routine this time--a handshake alone, under the circumstances, was enough. More, hi fact, than he would have expected. _Chapter 21__ 'Possums and Toads THEY were away before dawn. It seemed friehtful'v cold, but there was no ice on the deck and only a very little bit of frost, so it clearly wasn't as cold as it had been. Jonathan never got on well in the cold and would much prefer stealing watches comfortably in pleasant weather, so he was happy to think that things were warming uo some. He hoped it was a trend. The breeze was good, blowing almost straightaway upriver, and they found themselves clipping along past the banks along the Goblin Wood at a quick pace. The limbs of the great alders that lined, the riverbank drooped low out over the water, shadowing the mossy bank and giving the forest a sort of impenetrable look, as if all were darkness within and the forest floor never saw the sun. Long green vines twined along through the trees, and from the tips of the limbs bunches of gray-green moss drooped, dripping moisture from the morning dew. They rounded a bend in the river and surprised a tro!l attempting unsuccessfully to club a fish. The thing saw the raft while peering between its legs. It was bent at the waist and its nose was an inch or two from the swirling waters of the Oriel. Somehow the upside down view threw the troll into something of a panic, for it stumbled forward waving its arms in circles as if trying to keep its balance, and it tumbled head first into the river. It leaped up immediately in a towering rage. Dooly shouted at it and put his thumbs in either ear and waggled his fingers just to show it that he was one of the boys and had dealt with a few trolls in his day. But the troll immediately broke a limb off a nearby alder and flung it out over the river, managing to smash the thing into the side of the cabin. Dooly threw it back, but it only flew about twenty yards before landing in the river. By then the troll had forgotten all about them and was slamming away at fish again. Beyond that the banks of the Oriel were empty. No herons waded in the shallows, no beavers or muskrats were busy building nests. Everything was still. "Creepy place," Jonathan remarked to the Professor. "The less movement here, the better," replied Wurzle. "If it's activity you want, come at night." "No thanks," said Jonathan. "This is fine. Just so no one suggests we tie up to the bank and go exploring. Those woods look old enough to be petrified." "It's a mushroom collector's paradise," said the Professor. "I'm going in there some day." "I'll go too," said Jonathan. "Let's plan on it some afternoon about thirty years from now." Escargot stayed inside all afternoon. He popped out once in his cloak of invisibility, but was careful not to cany anything around. He explained to the others that he was the "trump card," the "ace in the hole," and that they were too close to Hightower to take any chances. There were likely more than just a few odd silly goblins lurking about, and there was no use stirring things up. They threw out their anchors below Hightower shortly after dark, Jonathan lit lanterns fore and aft, and the Professor, in order for them to appear very matter-of-fact, sang a couple of old songs in a cheerful sort of falsetto voice. They went to some length to make it appear as if they were simply spending an evening on the river and that nothing at all was going on. Each of them kept a sharp eye out for goblins. In the distance, rising up out of the dark woods and the swampy lowlands above town, was the craggy peak of Hightower Ridge. Atop the ridge, dim and obscure in the dark of evening sat the castle, known up and down the river simply as Hightower. Pale smoke rose above'the stone spires of the tower, and several lights burned here and there within--one hi the uppermost reaches of the largest tower that angled up above the rest in gray immensity, almost indistinguishable from the rocky cliffside behind it. The yellow circles of light reminded Jonathan overmuch of eyes, and as he watched the walls of the castle fade into the obscurity of night, the topmost light blinked off, then, a moment later, blinked on again. It looked for all the world as if the thing had winked at him. Although he knew that such a thing was nonsense, he didn't like the idea anyway and so decided not to take such an interest io the castle. There were other things to occupy his thoughts, About eleven o'clock be turned the lanterns down and, along with his companions, went into the cabin and set about turning in. They even went so far as to climb into their bunks and lay there in the darkness, none of them able to sleep even if they would have liked to. The hours passed: midnight, one o'clock, two. Finally at about two-thirty Jonathan and Dooly slipped out of the cabin and slid into the seats in front of the paddlewheel. Dooly kept signaling to Jonathan by putting his index finger over his mouth, alerting him, Jonathan supposed, that they were being very quiet indeed. Escargot padded invisibly across the deck and silently hoisted both anchors, then took a seat forward. The Professor took hold of the tiller arm and the raft began making slow progress up the river. Only Ahab stayed inside the cabin asleep, having no stomach for fooling about in the middle of the night. They crept along for two hundred yards, silent but for the muffled splash of the wheel as it turned. Then they came about in a long arc, and the Professor headed the raft up the mouth of Hinkle Creek. Once shrouded by the trees and brush along the creek bank, Escargot grabbed a pole and pushed the raft away from the shallow water along either bank of the narrow channel. They were well up into the creek--thirty or forty yards--before it became too rocky and overgrown to proceed. Escargot and the Professor tied up, and as Doolv had luckily done that night in Stooton, they dropped both anchors overboard into the shallow water. Then there was nothing left to do but wait until morning. "Have we fooled anyone?" Jonathan whispered when the four of them were back inside the cabin. "We haven't fooled _him__, if that's what you mean," said Escargot. "Or at least if we have, we won't have for long. There's nomine that goes on along this stretch o' the river that he don't know. Nothing but about me, that is. We've got to hope he don't know about me. He likely won't care much about vou, _it__ you follow me." The Professor grunted an ambiguous reply, but Jonathan was pretty sure that what Escargot said was true. Tomorrow would tell. He decided not to think about it, and did instead what he always did when he wanted to sleep but was too restless or excited--he began counting the holes in a huge, imaginary Swiss cheese. He made it to the eighty-second hole before growing drowsy. Then he counted the eighty-third hole four times, then couldn't seem to remember what came after eighty-three, then forgot all about holes and about Swiss cheese and was lost in sleep. When he woke, the sun was high. Dooly was still asleep, but Escargot and the Professor were up and about. The cabin door was open, and Jonathan could hear low voices out on deck. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and hurried outside without bothering to shave. He figured that either he'd catch up on his shaving in a day or two or would end up locked away in some dungeon where shaving wasn't required. The day was overcast and dim, but it wasn't particularly cold. The forest on either side of the river was overgrown with ferns and vines and little, sprouting trees. The Professor was ashore, hacking at brush with a hand axe, and tossing particularly leafy clumps and branches back up onto the deck. Escargot's voice, coming, it seemed, from up on the mast, said in a sort of stage whisper, "Hand me up one of them branches, mate." Jonathan shoved a branch up toward the top of the mast, and it was pulled out of his hand. He watched as the brush appeared to twine itself through the line wrapped around the crossbar. He shoved another in the same general direction, then another and another, until the mast appeared to be more a tree than a mast Then they went to work on the foredeck, heaping brush about the deck and piling it atop the cabin. It didn't take too long, finally, to finish the job. They looked it over from this angle and that, rearranging brush here, adding a bit there, and decided that from the starboard side--that is from the Hightower side--the raft was tolerably well camouflaged while from the down-stream side it looked like a pile of ruined shrubbery heaped about the deck of an ill-hidden raft. But it was the best they could do. Escargot pointed out that there likely weren't enough townspeople left around to worry about, and that goblins, dim-witted as they are, could be taken in by anything. The Dwarf, of course, likely had better things to do than be off hiking through the underbrush along Hinkle Creek. So the raft was probably as safe and as hidden away as it was ever going to be. They debated for a bit about whether to hang about the raft all day and wait until sunset to investigate the village, or to set out right off and do a bit of snooping. It seemed safer to wait, but on the other hand it would be far trickier poking around unfamiliar countryside at night. What it boiled down to in the end was that none of them wanted to sit and wait There was too much anticipation, and that often led to worry and fear, neither of which would be helpful. So they set out, about eleven or so in the morning, carrying a bit of lunch in a knapsack. Jonathan and the Professor elected to carry truncheons, and Dooly carried what he called his "whack-um"--a paddlclike slab of oak, more of a broken off boat oar than a club. Escargot carried nothing, neither a weapon nor a knapsack, since floating objects would no doubt draw undue attention. He insisted though that Dooly take along a coil of line--apparently an important item in a thief'sline of work. They set out sloshing along the bank, finding muddy footholds in the shore grasses and clinging to roots and brush. On occasion they hopped along atop rocks for a bit, but the rocks were so slippery that soon there was more than one wet boot among then. Ahab, somehow, pranced along as if he were on the boardwalk at Twombly Town. No clumps of weeds or slippery stone seemed too small for him to balance on. About halfway back down the creek toward the river, Ahab began sniffing along, then thrust his nose into the bushes and disappeared. Jonathan, not wanting to lose sight of the dog, jammed through behind, calling him softly. He found Ahab trotting down a little grass trail toward the river following a fat raccoon. Jonathan whistled, and Ahab stopped and watched as the raccoon disappeared around a bend. Then he turned and wandered back. "What ho, Jonathan," came the Professor's voice from the creek bank on the other side of the brush. "There's a trail here," Jonathan replied in hushed tones. "Goes toward the river. No one but a raccoon on it." A snapping of twigs and parting of bushes indicated that Escargot had pushed his way through to the trail. After him came the Professor and Dooly, hunching along through and pushing branches out of the way. They set off down the trail single file, sort of tiptoeing along stealthily until they sighted the river road ahead of them, winding along beside the banks of the Oriel. Dooly pulled himself up into the lower branches of an oak and managed to clamber high enough up to command a good view of the road and the surrounding woods. The other three hunkered down behind a tangle of brush and waited for Dooly to make a report. The brush seemed to be uncommonly full of spiders to Jonathan, and was still wet with morning dew, They waited five minutes as Dooly edged out onto a limb. "What do you see?" Jonathan called, finally, becoming annoyed with the bugs. "A bouse," replied Dooly in a loud whisper. "A big old house, Mr. Cheeser, and a cart in front. Windows on the ground floor are all boarded up, but it looks like someone's living there anyway." "How do you know, ladT asked Escargot. "Because there's a guy hanging out wash.," said Dooly. "Only it looks as if he's worn hats all week. That's all he's got hanging." "Hats?" said Jonathan, thinking that somehow the idea of someone having to do with hats around Hightower wasn't altogether new to him. "Cosset!" said the Professor. "Remember that man at the pub, Jonathan, on the way down." "Lonny Gosset," said Jonathan. "He was at that. Strange he'd be making hats with no one about to wear them. And why in the world would he be hanging them out on the clothesline?" "Likely just dyed the lot," Escargot suggested, "So you know this chap?" "I believe we do," said Jonathan. "And we may be able to count on him. Ill just climb up into the tree and take a quick peek." There, sure enough, hanging hats on a clothesline in a weedy yard hidden from the river by scrub oak and lemon-leaf, was Lonny Gosset the milliner. His hair was considerably wilder than Jonathan remembered, and as he pinned caps and hats to the drooping line he looked furtively over his shoulder every few moments. Dooly and Jonathan watched as an opossum with an amazingly long nose chased into the yard out of the woods. Gosset jumped, flinging an oddly shaped cap--a nightcap, probably--into the air, and dashing across the yard toward the house. The opossum, scouring along on ridiculous little legs, headed him off, dashing between Gosset and the stick that lay against the front stoop and which Gosset seemed intent upon. Gosset stopped and eyeballed the opossum warily as it too stopped and scratched at its nose with one, fingered paw. It was a momentary standoff until, something came hopping from the edge of the woods, something that appeared to be an immense toad. The thing appeared to be too much for Gosset, who edged away toward the door, watching both creatures warily. Suddenly a cackle of laughter, goblin laughter, sounded from the trees beyond the clothesline, and Gosset broke and ran toward the house, slamming the door behind him. The opossum and the toad wandered off and disappeared. As they did, three goblins capered out of the forest, howling and laughing and plucking caps from the clothesline and stuffing them in a sack. Jonathan could see Gosset in the upstairs window, watching as the goblins stole his hats, then pulled down the clothesline and deliberately knotted up the thing, thereafter dropping it down the well. They never stopped hooting and cackling as they went about their mischief, and they fought over who was going to throw the rope into the well, pushing one another down and jabbing one another in the eye. Finally they leaped away into the woods, each wearing one of Cosset's hats and jabbering like fools. Jonathan and Dooly climbed down out of the trees, and Jonathan told the story to Escargot and the Professor. Upon mentioning the opossum, Dooly put in that it was one of them animals which carried its babies around in a spoon. Jonathan remembered seeing in an encyclopedia a picture of three baby opossums on a spoon, but the Professor clearly didn't for he gave Dooly a fairly puzzled look. "Poor bloke's daft," said Escargot. "Goes crazy when he sees a 'possum and a toad. Maybe _you__ can count on him, but he don't seem like any sort of prize to me." "We have a chance," said Jonathan. "It's clear he's not in league with the Dwarf." "Absolutely," said the Professor. "And Cosset was a good lad. We can't abandon him." "I want one of them orange hats," said Dooly. "Then you shall have one, lad," agreed Escargot. "Although It strikes me that this is uncommon crazy, hat or no hats." And with that, the four of them set out through the woods toward Cosset's house. _Chapter 22__ A Visit with Loony Gosset WHEN they got there a few minutes later, Gosset was bent over the well trying to fish out the lost line. He had one foot planted in the thick, green lawn and the other waving about in the air; his head and shoulders and right arm were thrust down the welL Very wisely, none of the rafters spoke until Gosset had fished out the rope and there was no danger of frightening him into the abyss which, given his surprise at hearing the Professor's voice, would surely have occurred. "_Aaah__!" shouted Gosset, wheeling about and staggering back a step. He held the end of the line in his hand as if it were a weapon and menaced them with it, his teeth chattering like crazy. What he intended to do with the rope was unclear--likely it was the only thing at hand. "Mr. Gosset, I believe," said the Professor, extending a hand. "Perhaps you dont recall having met us." Gosset edged around the perimeter of the well and peered at them from the other side. He seemed to be thinking hard, as if wondering whether they were a pack of fresh devils from the woods or were, as they appeared to be, human beings. "You know me?" he croaked. "We met at the pub," said the Professor. "Only a couple of weeks back." "Long weeks," said Gosset. "They have been that," said Jonathan. "You said you were a milliner, I believe. And from the look of those caps on the line, you still are." Cosset tossed his rope to the ground, seemingly convinced that there was nothing threatening about the rafters, Escargot didn't make a sound. "Bloody hats," he said, then paused. "Won't let a man alone." "Hats?" asked Dooly, astonished at this new fear. "Goblins!" shouted Gosset. "They're a filthy curse. Broke out my windows. Shoved toads into the living room. Howled down the chimney all night. A man can't sleep with that. They run off my rabbits and poured slime in the well. Now I have to haul water up from the river." The three rafters shook their heads and clacked their tongues over It. "Foul creatures," said the Professor. "They are that!" Gosset shouted a bit loudly. "Huh!" he said, capping it off. "But not half so foul as--" he began, then broke off, looking about him as if suspecting the very trees in the forest of listening in. Then he looked shrewdly at Jonathan and the Professor and Dooly, assuring himself, probably, that none of the three were disguised dwarfs. He shrugged and began to coil his rope. "As who?" the Professor asked, and they watched _as__ Gosset's face grew red as a beet. It looked as if the top of his head were going to turn into a little volcano and he were going to start spouting steam. "As Selznak the Dwarf?" asked Jonathan. Gosset seemed to be stricken by the very mention of the name. He began dancing about and flailing away with the coiled rope at the sides of the well. He lurched across and stomped on a soiled cap that lay on the lawn, dropped by the goblins. The rafters watched in amazement until Gosset's furious capering played itself out Finally spent, he wandered in a small circle in the middle of the yard, seeming to have lost his bearings. Jonathan and the Professor latched onto him and led him along toward the house, neither of them wanting to say much lest they set him going afresh. The door shut behind them as Escargot followed them in. The downstairs was a ruin of broken glass. One great chair was slashed to bits, and huge wads of stuffing were stuck to what had been a very noble marble bust atop a stand in one corner. The thing wore an impossible beard of cotton wad and had another pile of the stuff atop his head. Under any other circumstances it would have been funny. A small deal table was jammed into the fireplace and had been set afire several rimes but had smoldered out. Leaves and brush and a piece of tree stump lay heaped about amid the upset furniture. Cosset, recovering, waved a hand at the mess. "Three nights ago they came," he said tiredly. "Twenty or thirty there were. Set the place to ruin. I bolted myself in upstairs. What could I do against so many?" "Nothing at all," said Escargot unwisely. Cosset paused for a moment in wide-eyed horror before asking in a hoarse whisper, "Who said that?" The Professor decided to be truthfuL "Our friend here/' he said, gesturing toward the seemingly empty space beside him. Not waiting for any further explanation, Cosset shoved past Jonathan and ran howling up the stairs in a single mad rush. Jonathan looked at the Professor and shrugged. "That was an ill-chosen moment to speak," he said to Escargot. "True," said Escargot. "It was stupid of me. I forgot about this bloody cloak. We better go after him." Til go," said Jonathan. "If we all go he'll likely run amok." At the top of the stairs a hallway wandered away toward either end of the house. Goblins had quite apparently had as high a time upstairs as they had below, for scattered about the landing and down the hallway were odd pieces of clothing and the tattered remains of lace curtains. Two of the legs had been kicked out from under a carved side-board, and it lay on its face in the disarray. Fish skeletons were tossed helter-skelter. Some six doors opened onto the hallway. Two were ajar, but the other four were shut. There was nothing to be done other than to try the doors and seek out Cosset. "Mr. Gosset?" said Jonathan tentatively. "Oh, Mr. Cosset?" There was no reply. Jonathan tried the first of the closed doors and found it unlocked. He swung it open and peered into the room. It was empty. The second door was locked, but appeared to be nothing more than the door to a linen cupboard or coat closet He wiggled the knob on the third door. Like the first, it turned and the door swung in on its binges. "Mr. Gosset?" said Jonathan, peeping into the dim Ulterior through a foot-wide opening. "We're friends, sir. We're here to drive this Dwarf away. Rid the woods of goblins." There was no response from within the room. Jonathan poked his head in just a bit--just to the point where he could make out a four-poster bed and a massive frame and panel sideboard. Next to the bed was an endtable with a lamp atop. Below was a scatter of books and a coffee cup. He decided to check the final room, not wanting to go prying through Gosset's home unnecessarily. As he backed out into the hallway, however, he heard the _whoosh__ of a breath being let out followed by a wild and ill-controlled shout. On the wall to Jonathan's right was Gosset's moving shadow, the arms upraised and hands gripping a wooden kitchen chair. The chair came smashing down, cracking into the edge and back of the door. The door slammed shut, shoving Jonathan over backward into the hallway. He rolled smack up against the rail that ran along the edge of the hallway and separated it from the open mouth of the stairwell, giving the thing a solid push. For one wild moment he thought he felt the railing give way, and he grabbed wildly about him for a handhold. The railing wobbled and tilted and snapped and cracked, but in the end it held. The Professor and Dooly and Ahab and, likely, Escargot clattered up the stairs toward the upper landing, but Jonathan motioned them back down. He rolled forward onto his knees, then leaped to his feet Clearly had he shoved any farther into the room Gosset would have smashed him on the top of the head with the chair instead of just wildly pummeting the door. He waited in case Gosset should come lunging out. When nothing happened, Jonathan crept forward and knocked lightly. He could hear sobbing of a sort within. "Mr. Gosset?" said Jonathan. "The invisible man downstairs is an elf warrior in a magic cloak. He's on his way to Hightower to have a word with Selznak the Dwarf." The door inched open, and Gosset's nose appeared, the rest of him remaining in the shadow of the room. "What?" asked Gosset. "Elves?" "That's right, Mr. Gosset," said Jonathan in a friendly way. "We have major elf magic here. Selznak's end is near. By Friday there won't be a goblin outside the Wood." The door opened a bit more, and Gosset squinted out. He seemed to ponder for a moment; then he swung the door open and waved Jonathan in. The remains of the crumpled chair lay on the floor behind the door, but other than that the room was in fairly good order. It was a large room that opened onto another room through a pair of French doors. The second room was apparently a library or study that contained a couple of easy chairs, a comfortable-looking couch, and an old, dark library table. A door, the fourth of the six upstairs doors, led from the library back out onto the hallway above the stairs. From the look of it Gosset was a man who loved books. The titles seemed to Jonathan to indicate that he was an intelligent sort, driven toward desperation and lunacy by the gob!in doings. Gosset picked up the two rear legs which had been broken from the chair. He pushed open a window and tossed them out onto the lawn, throwing the rest of the smashed chair after them. He stood unsteadily by the window and ran his hands through his hair as if to cool himself down. The effort seemed to have a calming effect, but it made his hair stand on end and he looked as if he'd just staggered in out of a tornado. A decanter of spirits and several glasses lay on the II-brary table in the adjoining room. Although it would have been poor manners under normal circumstances, Jonathan pointed in their general direction, "Perhaps a drink would be in order." Gosset nodded. Jonathan pushed open the french doors and walked into the library. He pulled the glass stopper out of the bottle and gave it a sniff, then tippled some of the brandy into one of the glasses. He handed it across to Gosset, who poured the liquid straight away down his throat, coughing and hacking over it for a moment thereafter. It occurred to Jonathan that it was perhaps not a good thing that Gosset knew of Escargot's existence. They had taken great pains on their upriver voyage to keep his presence an absolute secret. Then, after sailing smack into the enemy's camp, so to speak, they had blundered into the first lunatic they could find and alerted him to the wild fact that not only was there an invisible man among them, but that he wore a magical elf cloak. In fact, there could have been no profit at all in approaching Gosset in the first place. They weren't, after all, going to lead a wild assault on Hightower or come raging through the town with an army. They were simply going to slide in secretly and wait about while Escargot stole the pocketwatch, or something like that. If it came to it, Jonathan supposed, they could tie Gosset to a chair until it was too late for him to reveal any secrets. But then if something went wrong and they didn't come back, Gosset would spend the rest of his hie tied to a chair, and that wouldn't do. The Professor looked in through the door about then, and Gosset sat down on the bed in a rumpled heap. Dooly and Ahab crept in last, or so it appeared. Gosset poured himself another glass of brandy and sipped thoughtfully at it. After a moment he sighed, messed his hair some more, and spoke in a comparatively calm voice. "The boggers want caps," he said, musing over his glass. "All I can make. If I stop sewing caps I'd best find another home. That's what he said. His goblins must have caps. It's been terrible. They try to wear three at a time, and they tear each other's to bits. I could make a million a week and it wouldn't keep them in caps. Not for more than a moment. They do it for sport. What does a goblin care about a cap? "And the blasted creatures of his. The toads and 'possums and such. Gone mad they have. He's seen to it. Has a spell on 'em. I come upon 'em chewing through the back door. They had a vine strung up over the garden wall and was climbin' up and down the blasted thing like apes. Exactly like apes!" Gosset took a sip of brandy, shook his head resignedly, and continued. "I was putting out lettuce and onions for the winter garden. Had six lines of snow peas and cucumbers. All gone now. Not ate up, mind you, just dug to bits one night. Beat the stuffing out of the scarecrow and lit him afire. Danced around it, they did, six wolves and about two hundred toads. Rode about on the wolves' backs, croaking like devils! "And two nights ago. In this very room. I opened up that wardrobe and there was a ghastly sight. There was moths. A dozen of 'em, and they had my sweater on the floor. Knives and forks, they had. The whole lot of 'em, and they were sawing the bloody sleeve off. Moths the size of golf balls with litle arms and hands. It was ghastly. A positive horror." Gosset drained the glass and tipped another drop or two into the bottom. The Professor looked at Jonathan and rolled his eyes. He tapped a forefinger against his temple. Jonathan nodded just a hair to show that he understood, but Dooly was wide-eyed with terror. Gosset offered Jonathan a spot of brandy, and Jonathan began to refuse, then decided that if he didn't take a turn at the big decanter, Gosset would likely be seeing more fork-wielding moths before the day was out So he accepted a glass of the stuff and winked at the Professor, who himself took a glass. Neither thought to offer Escargot any. Jonathan wasn't sure he was even in the room and hesitated to bring the subject up. As the bottle was being replaced on the table, however, a throat was cleared somewhere in the vicinity of the open french doors, and it had an instantaneous effect on Gosset, who began to tremble violently. Jonathan feared that Gosset would cut and run again. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Theophile Escargot." He waved a hand in Escargot's general direction. "Delighted," said Escargot. Gosset looked about him wildly. The Professor, thinking quickly, plucked a cap from a hook on a hatrack alongside the wardrobe and waved it toward Escargot, who took it from him and put it on. Gosset seemed relieved, finding a floating cap less threatening than a floating voice. "Glass of the best?" Gosset asked Escargot. "Aye, mate," said Escargot, plucking the glass from Gosset's outstretched hand. "Just the thing on a day like this." "Warms me up," Gossett agreed. "I can't stand a chill. Never could." He slumped back as if exhausted and lay there for a moment. The silence was awkward, but it didn't last long. Gosset leaped up with a hand to his ear as if straining to hear something faint and far away. He tiptoed to the window and in a bushed voice said, almost to himself, "Fog!" then fell to his knees, staring trancelike out toward the river road. The four rafters stepped up behind him, and, sure enough, swirling along on a late morning breeze were billows of fog, very slow and languid fog--fog that seemed to know what it was about. Faintly, from the direction of town, there sounded a muffled tapping, as if someone were knocking against a hollow log with a stick. Gosset fell forward and pressed his face and hands against the window. From out of the whirling mists below a Dwarf in a slouch hat appeared, tap tap tapping along the cobbles of Gosset's drive. He wore a dark cloak, almost black, but not quite--rather a deep shade of purple like the sky at night A patch covered one of l cold increased until it was scarcely to be borne. There was a narrow passage between the shattered rocks and the cliff at our right. We crept through it. We stood upon an immense flat stone at the very edge of the strange plain. It was neither water nor rock; more than anything, it had the appearance of a thin opaque liquid glass, or a gas that had been turned semi- liquid. I stretched myself out on the slab, and reached out to touch it. I did touch itthere was no resistance ; I felt nothing. I let my hand sink slowly in. I saw my hand for a moment as though reflected in a distorting mirror, and then I could not see it at all. But it was pleasantly warm down there where my hand had dis- appeared. The chilled blood began to tingle in my numbed fingers. I leaned far over the stone and plunged both arms in almost to the shoulders. It felt damned good. Jim dropped beside me and thrust in his arms. "It's air," he said. "Feels like it" I began, and then a sudden realization came to me"the rifles and the pack ! If we don't get them we're out of luck !" He said: "If Khalk'ru isguns aren't going to get us away from him." "You think this" I stopped, memory of the shadowy shape in the lake of illusion coming back to me. "Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land. The Shadowed-land your old priest called it, didn't he ? I'd say this fits either description." I lay quiet; no matter what the certainty of a coming ordeal a man may carry in his soul, he can't help a cer- tain shrinking when he knows his foot is at the threshold of it. And now quite clearly and certainly I knew just that. All the long trail between Khalk'ru's Gobi temple and this place of mirage was wiped out. I was stepping from that focus of Khalk'ru's power into this one where what had been begun in the Gobi must be ended. The old haunting horror began to creep over me. I fought it. I would take up the challenge. Nothing on earth could stop me now from going on. And with that determin- ation, I felt the horror sullenly retreat, leave me. For the first time in years I was wholly free of it. "I'm going to see what's down there." Jim drew up his arms. "Hold on to my feet, Leif, and I'll slip over the edge of the stone. I felt along its edge and it seems to go on a bit further." "I'll go first." I said. "After all, it's my party." "And a fine chance I'd have to pull you up if you fell over, you human elephant. Here goescatch hold." I had just time to grip his ankles as he wriggled over the stone, and his head and shoulders passed from sight. On he went, slowly writhing along the slanting rock until my hands and arms were hidden to the shoulders. He pausedand then from the mysterious opacity in which he had vanished came a roar of crazy laughter. I felt him twist and try to jerk his feet away from me. I pulled him, fighting against me every inch of the way, out upon the stone. He came out roaring that same mad laughter. His face was red, and his eyes were shining drunkenly ; he had in fact all the symptoms of a laughing drunk. But the rapidity of his respiration told me what had happened. "Breathe slowly," I shouted in his ear. "Breathe slowly, I tell you." And then, as his laughter continued and his struggles to tear loose did not abate, I held him down with one arm and dosed his nose and mouth with my hand. In a moment or two he relaxed. I released him; and he sat up groggily. "Funniest things," he said, thickly. "Saw funniest faces. . . ." He shook his head, took a deep breath or two, and lay back on the stone. "What the hell happened to me, Leif ?" "You had an oxygen bun, Indian," I said. "A nice cheap jag on air loaded with carbon-dioxide. And that explains a lot of things about this place. You came up breathing three to the second, which is what carbon- dioxide does to you. Works on the respiratory centres of the brain and speeds up respiration. You took in more oxygen than you could use, and you got drunk on it. What did you see before the world became so funny ?" "I saw you," he said. "And the sky. It was like looking up out of water. I looked down and around. A little below me was something like a floor of pale green mist. I couldn't see through it. It's warm in there, good and plenty warm, and it smells like trees and flowers. That's all I managed to grasp before I went goofy. Oh, yes, this rock fall keeps right on going down. Maybe we can get to the bottom of itif we don't laugh ourselves off. I'm going right out and sit in that mirage up to my neckmy God, Leif, I'm freezing !" I looked at him with concern. His lips were blue, his teeth chattering. The transition from the warmth to the bitter cold was having its effect, and a dangerous one. "All right," I said, rising. "I'll go first. Breathe slowly, take deep, long breaths as slowly as you can, and breathe out just as slowly. You'll soon get used to it. Come on." I slung the remaining pack over my back, craw-fished over the side of the stone, felt solid rock under my feet, and drew myself down within the mirage. It was warm enough ; almost as warm as the steam- room of a Turkish bath. I looked up and saw the sky above me like a circle of blue, misty at its edges. Then I saw Jim's legs dropping down toward me, his body bent back from them at an impossible angle. I was seeing him, in fact, about as a fish does an angler wading in its pool. His body seemed to telescope and he was squatting beside me. "God, but this feels good !" "Don't talk," I told him. "Just sit here and practise that slow breathing. Watch me." We sat there, silently, for all of half an hour. No sound broke the stillness around us. It smelled of the jungle, of fast growing vigorous green life, and green life falling as swiftly into decay; and there were elusive, alien fragrances. All I could see was the circle of blue sky above, and perhaps a hundred feet below us the pale green mist of which Jim had spoken. It was like a level floor of cloud, impenetrable to the vision. The rock-fall entered it and was lost to sight. I felt no discomfort, but both of us were dripping with sweat. I watched with satisfaction Jim's deep, unhurried breathing. "Having any trouble ?" I asked at last. "Not much. Now and then I have to put the pedal down. But I think I'm getting the trick." "All right," I said. "Soon we'll be moving. I don't believe it will get any worse as we go down." "You talk like an old-timer. What's your idea of this place anyway, Leif ?" "Simple enough. Although the combination hasn't a chance in millions to be duplicated. Here is a wide, deep valley entirely hemmed in by precipitous clifis. It is, in effect, a pit. The mountains enclosing it are seamed with glaciers and ice streams and there is a constant flow of cold air into this pit, even in summer. There is pro- bably volcanic activity close beneath the valley's floor, boiling springs and the like. It may be a miniature of the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes over to the west All this produces an excess of carbon-dioxide. There is most probably a lush vegetation which adds to the pro- duct. What we are going into is likely to be a little left-over fragment of the Carboniferous Ageabout ten million years out of its time. The warm, heavy air fills the pit until it reaches the layer of cold air we've just come from. The mirage is produced where the two meet, by approximately the same causes which produce every mirage. How long it's been this way. God alone knows. Parts of Alaska never had a Glacial Agethe ice for some reason or another didn't cover them. When what is New York was under a thousand feet of ice, the Yukon Flats were an oasis filled with all sorts of animal and plant life. If this valley existed then, we're due to see some strange survivals. If it's comparatively recent, we'll probably run across some equally interesting adapta- tions. That's about all, except there must be an outlet of some kind somewhere at about this level, otherwise the warm air would fill the whole valley to the top, as gas does a tank. Let's be going." "I begin to hope we find the guns," said Jim, thought- fully. "As you pointed out, they'd be no good against Khalk'ruwhat, who, if and where he is," I said. "But they'd be handy against his attendant devils. Keep an ' eye out for themI mean the guns." We started down the rock-fall, toward the floor of green mist. The going was not very difficult. We reached the mist without having seen anything of rifles or packs. The mist looked like a heavy fog. We entered it, and that was precisely what it was. It closed around us, thick and warm. The rocks were reeking wet and slippery, and we had to feel for every foot of the way. Twice I thought our numbers were up. How deep that mist was, I could not tell, perhaps two or three hundred feeta condensation brought about by the peculiar atmospheric conditions that produced the mirage. The mist began to lighten. It maintained its curious green tint, but I had the idea that this was due to reflection from below. Suddenly it thinned to nothing. We came out of it upon a breast where the falling rocks had met some obstruction and had piled up into a barrier about thrice my height. We climbed that barrier. We looked upon the valley beneath the mirage. It lay a full thousand feet beneath us. It was filled with pale green light like that in a deep forest glade. That light was both lucent and vaporous, lucent where we stood, but hiding the distance with misty curtains of pallid emerald. To the north and on each side as far as I could see, and melting into the vaporous emerald cur- tains, was a vast carpet of trees. Their breath came pulsing up to me, jungle-strong, laden with the unfamiliar fragrances. At left and right, the black cliffs fell sheer to the forest edge. "Listen !" Jim caught my arm. At first only a faint tapping, then louder and louder, we heard from far away the beating of drums, scores of drums, in a strange staccato rhythmshrill, mocking, jeering! But they were no drums of Khalk'ru! In them was nothing of that dreadful trampling of racing feet upon a hollow world. They ceased. As though in answer, and from an entirely different direction, there was a fanfarade of trumpets, menacing, warlike. If brazen notes could curse, these did. Again the drums broke forth, still mocking, taunting, defiant. "Little drums," Jim was whispering. "Drums of" He dropped down from the rocks, and I followed. The barrier led to the east, dipping steadily downward. We followed its base. It stood like a great wall between us and the valley, barring our vision. We heard the drums no more. We descended five hundred feet at least before the barrier ended. At its end was another rock slide like that down which the rifles and pack had fallen. We stood studying it. It descended at an angle of about forty-five degrees, and while not so smooth as the other, it had few enough foot-holds. The air had steadily grown warmer. I'; was not an uncomfortable heat; there was a queer tingling life about it, an exhalation of the crowding forest or of the valley itself, I thought. It gave me a feeling of rampant, reck- less life, a heady exaltation. The pack had grown tire- some. If we were to negotiate the slide, and there seemed nothing else to do, I couldn't very well carry it. I unslung it. "Letter of introduction" I said, and sent it slithering down the rock. "Breathe deep and slow, you poor ass," said Jim, and laughed. His eyes were bright; he looked happy, like a man from whom some burden of fear and doubt has fallen. He looked, in fact, as I had felt when I had taken up that challenge of the unknown not so long before. And I wondered. The slithering pack gave a little leap, and dropped completely out of sight. Evidently the slide did not go all the way to the valley floor, or, if so, it continued at a sharper angle at the point of the pack's disappearance. I let myself over cautiously, and began to worm down the slide flat on my belly, Jim following. We had negotiated about three-quarters of it when I heard him shout. Then bis falling body struck me. I caught him with one hand, but it broke my own precarious hold. We went rolling down the slide and dropped into space. I felt a jarring shock, and abruptly went completely out. CHAPTER VII THE LITTLE PEOPLE I CAME to myself to find Jim pumping the breath back into me. I was lying on something soft. I moved my legs gingerly, and sat up. I looked around. We were on a bank of mossin it, rather, for the tops of the moss were a foot or more above my head. It was an exceedingly overgrown moss, I thought, staring at it stupidly. I had never seen moss as big as this. Had I shrunk, or was it really so overgrown ? Above me was a hundred feet of almost sheer cliff. Said Jim : "Well, we're here." "How did we get here ?" I asked, dazed. He pointed to the cliff. "We fell down that. We struck a ledge. You did, rather. I was on top. It bumped us right out on this nice big moss mattress. I was still on top. That's why I've been pumping breath back into you for the last five minutes. Sorry, Leif, but if it had been the other way about, you'd certainly have had to proceed on your pilgrimage alone. I haven't your resilience." He laughed. I stood up, and looked about us. The bed of giant moss on which we had landed formed a mound between us and the forest. At the base of the difi was piled the debris of the fall that had made the slide. I looked at these rocks and shivered. If we had struck them we would have been a jumble of broken bones and mangled flesh. I felt myself over. I was intact. "Everything, Indian," I said piously, "is always for the best." "God, Leif! You had me worried for awhile !" He turned abruptly. "Look at the forest." The mound of moss was a huge and high oval, hemmed almost to the base of the cliffs by gigantic trees. They were somewhat like the sequoias of California, and quite as high. Their crowns towered ; their enormous boles were columns carved by Titans. Beneath them grew graceful ferns, tall as palm trees, and curious conifers with trunks thin as bamboos, scaled red and yellow. Over them, hanging from the boles and branches of the trees, were vines and dusters of flowers of every shape and colour; there were cressets of orchids, and chan- deliers of lilies; strange symmetrical trees, the tips of whose leafless branches held up flower cups as though they were candelabra; chimes of flower bells swayed from boughs and there were long ropes and garlands of small starry flowers, white and crimson and in all the blues of the tropic seas. Bees dipped into them. There was a constant flashing of great dragon-fUes all in lac- quered mail of green and scarlet. And mysterious shadows drifted through the forest, like the shadows of the wings of hovering unseen guardians. It was no forest of the Carboniferous Age, at least none such as I had ever seen reconstructed by science. It was a forest of enchantment. Out of it came heady fragrances. Nor was it, for all its strangeness, in the least sinister, or forbidding. It was very beautiful. . Jim said: "The woods of the gods ! Anything might live in a place like that. Anything that is lovely" Ah, Tsantawu, my brotherhad that but been true ! All I said was : "It's going to be damned hard to get through." "I was thinking that," he answered. "Maybe the best thing is to skirt the cliffs. We may run across easier going farther on. Which wayright or left ?" We tossed a coin. The coin spun right. I saw the pack not far away, and walked over to retrieve it. The moss was as unsteady as a double spring-mattress. I wondered how it came to be there ; thought that prob- ably a few of the giant trees had been felled by the rock fall and the moss had fed upon their decay. I slung the pack over my shoulders, and we tramped, waist-deep in the spongy growth, to the cliffs. We skirted the cliffs for about a mile. Sometimes the forest pressed so closely that we had trouble clinging to the rock. Then it began to change. The giant trees retreated. We entered a brake of the immense ferns. Except for the bees and the lacquered dragon-flies, there was no sign of life amid the riotous vegetation. We passed out of the ferns and into a most singular small meadow. It was almost like a clearing. At each side were the ferns; the forest formed a palisade at one end; at the other was a sheer cliff whose black face was spangled with large cup-shaped white flowers which hung from short, reddish, rather repellantly snake-like vines whose roots I supposed were fixed in crevices in the rock. No trees or ferns of any kind grew in the meadow. It was carpeted by a lacy grass upon whose tips were minute blue flowerlets. From the base of the cliff arose a thin veil of steam which streamed up softly high in air, bathing the cup-shaped white blossoms. A boiling spring, we decided. We drew closer to examine it. We heard a wailingdespairing, agonized. . . . Like the wail of a heart-broken, tortured child, yet neither quite human nor quite animal. It had come from the cliff, from somewhere behind the veils of steam. We stopped short, listening. The wailing began again, within it something that stirred the very depths of pity, and it did not cease. We ran toward the cliff. The steam curtain at its base was dense. We skirted it and reached its farther end. At the base of the cliff was a long and narrow pool, like a small dosed stream. Its water was black and bubbling, and from these bubbles came the steam. From end to end of the boiling pool, across the face of the black rock, ran a yard-wide ledge. Above it, spaced at regular intervals, were niches cut within the cliff, small as cradles. In two of these niches, half-within them and half- upon the ledge, lay what at first glance seemed two children. They were . outstretched upon their backs, their tiny hands and feet fastened to the stone by staples of bronze. Their hair streamed down their sides ; their bodies were stark naked. And now I saw that they were not children. They were maturea little man and a little woman. The woman had twisted her head and was staring at the other pygmy. It was she who was wailing. She did not see us. Her eyes were intent upon him. He lay rigid, his eyes dosed. Upon his breast, over his heart, was a black corrosion, as though acid had been dropped upon it. There was a movement on the cliff above him. One of the cup-shaped white flowers was there. Could it have been that which had moved ? It hung a foot above the little man's breast, and on its scarlet pistils was a slowly gathering drop which I took for nectar. It had been the flower whose movement had caught my eye! As I looked the reddish vine trembled. It writhed like a sluggish worm an inch down the rock. The flower shook its cup as though it were a mouth trying to shake loose the gathering drop. And the flower mouth was directly over the little man's heart and the black corrosion on his breast. I stepped out upon the narrow path, reached up and grasped the vine and tore it loose. It squirmed in my hand like a snake. Its roots dung to my fingers, and like a snake's head the flower raised itself as though to strike. Its rim was thick and fleshy, like a round white mouth. The drop of nectar fell upon my hand and a fiery agony bit into it, running up my arm like a flame. I hurled the squirming thing into the boiling pool. Close above the little woman was another of the crawling vines. I tore it loose as I had the other. It, too, strove to strike me with its head of flower, but either there was none of that dreadful nectar in its cup, or it missed me. I threw it after the other. I bent over the little man. His eyes were open; he was glaring up at me. Like his skin, his eyes were yellow, tilted, Mongolian. They seemed to have no pupils, and they were not wholly human ; no more than had been the wailing of his woman. There was agony in them, and there was bitter hatred. His gaze wandered to my hair, and I saw amazement banish the hatred. The flaming torment of my hand and arm was almost intolerable. By it, I knew what the pygmy must be suffering. I tore away the staples that fettered him. I lifted the little man, and passed him over to Jim. He weighed no more than a baby. I snapped the staples from the slab on which lay the little woman. There was no fear nor hatred in her eyes. They were filled with wonder and unmistakable grati- tude. I carried her over and set her beside her man. I looked back, up the face of the black cliff. There was movement all over it; the reddish ropes of the vines writhing, the white flowers swaying, raising and lowering their cups. It was rather hideous. ... The little man lay quietly, yellow eyes turning front me to Jim and back to me again. The woman spoke, in trilling, bird-like syllables. She darted away across the meadow, into the forest. Jim was staring down upon the golden pygmy like a man in a dream. I heard him whisper : "The Yunwi Tsundi'! The Little People ! It was all true then ! All true !" The little woman came running out of the fern brake. Her hands were full of thick, heavily veined leaves. She darted a look at me, as of apology. She bent over her man. She- squeezed some of the leaves over his breast. A milky sap streamed through her fingers and dropped upon the black, corroded spot. It spread over the spot like a film. The little man stiffened and groaned, relaxed and lay still. The little woman took my hand. Where the nectar had touched, the skin had turned black. She squeezed the juice of the leaves upon it. A pang, to which all the torment that had gone before was nothing, ran through hand and arm. Then, almost instantly, there was no pain. I looked at the little man's breast. The black cor- rosion had disappeared. There was a wound like an add burn, red and normal. I looked at my hand. It was inflamed, but the blackness was no longer there. The little woman bowed before me. The little man arose. He looked at my eyes and ran his gaze along my bulk. I watched suspicion grow, and the return of bitter hate. He spoke to his woman. She answered at some length, pointing to the cliff, to my inflamed hand, and to the ankles and wrists of both of them. The little man "beckoned to me; by gesture asked me to bend down to him. I did, and he touched my yellow hair; he ran it through his tiny fingers. He laid his hand on my heart . . . then laid his head on my heart, listening to its beat. He struck me with his small hand across my mouth. It was no blow; I knew it for a caress. The little man smiled at me, and trilled. I could not understand, and shook my head helplessly. He looked up at Jim and trilled another question. Jim tried him in the Cherokee. This time it was the little man who shook his head. He spoke again to his woman. Clearly I caught the word ev-ah-lee in the bird-like sounds. She nodded. Motioning us to follow, they ran across the meadow, toward the further brake of fern. How little they were hardly to my thighs. They were beautifully formed. Their long hair was chestnut brown, fine and silky. Their hair floated behind them like cobwebs. They ran like small deer. We were hard put to keep up with them. They entered the fern brake toward which we had been heading, and here they slowed their pace. On and on we went through the giant ferns. I could see no path, but the golden pygmies knew their way. We came out of the ferns. Before us was a wide sward covered with the flowerets whose blue carpet ran to the banks of a wide river, to the banks of a strange river, a river all milky white, over whose placid surface hovered swirls of opalescent mist. Through the swirls I caught glimpses of green, level plains upon the white river's further side, and of green scarps. The little man halted. He bent his ear to the ground. He leaped back into the brake, motioning us to follow. In a few minutes we came across a half-ruined watch tower. Its entrance gaped open. The pygmies slipped within it, beckoning. Inside the tower was a crumbling flight of stones leading to its top. The little man and woman danced up them, with us close behind them. There was a small chamber at the tower's top through the chinks of whose stones the green light streamed. I peered through one of the crevices, down upon the blue sward and the white river. I heard the faint trampling of horses' feet and the low chanting of women; closer they drew, and closer. A woman came riding down the blue sward. She was astride a great black mare. She wore, like a hood, the head of a white wolf. Its pelt covered her shoulders and back. Over that silvery pelt her hair fell in two thick braids of flaming red. Her high, round breasts were bare, and beneath them the paws of the white wolf were clasped like a girdle. Her eyes were blue as the corn- flower and set wide apart under a broad, low forehead. Her skin was milky-white flushed with soft rose. Her mouth was full-lipped, crimson, and both amorous and cruel. . She was a strong woman, tall almost as I. She was like a Valkyrie, and like those messengers of Odin she carried on her saddle before her, held by one arm, a body. But it was no soul of a slain warrior snatched up for flight to Valhalla. It was a girl. A girl whose arms were bound to her sides by stout thongs, with head bent hopelessly on her breast. I could not see her face; it was hidden under the veil of her hair. But the hair was russet red and her skin as fair as that of the woman who held her. Over the Wolf-woman's head flew a snow-white falcon, dipping and circling and keeping pace with her as she rode. Behind her rode a half-score other women, young and strong-thewed, pink-skinned and blue-eyed, their hair of copper-red, rust-red, bronzy-red, plaited around their heads or hanging in long braids down their shoulders. They were bare-breasted, kirtled and buskined. They carried long, slender spears and small round targes. And they, too, were like Valkyries, each of them a shield- maiden of the Aesir. As they rode, they sang, softly, muted, a strange chant. The Wolf-woman and her captive passed around a bend of the sward and out of sight. The chanting women followed and were hidden. There was a gleam of silver from the white falcon's wing as it circled and dropped, circled and dropped. Then it, too, was gone. CHAPTER VIII EVALIE THE golden pygmies hissed; their yellow eyes were molten with hatred. The little man touched my hand, talking in the rapid trilling syllables, and pointing over the white river. Clearly he was telling me we must cross it. He stopped, listening. The little woman ran down the broken stairs. The little man twittered angrily, darted to Jim, beat at his legs with his fists as though to arouse him, then shot after the woman. "Snap out of it, Indian !" I said, impatiently. "They want us to hurry." He shook his head, like a man shaking away the last cobwebs of some dream. We sped down the broken steps. The little man was waiting for us; or at least he had not run away, for, if waiting for us, he was doing so, in a most singular manner. He was dancing in a small circle, waving his arms and hands oddly, and trilling a weird melody upon four notes, repeated over and over in varying progressions. The woman was nowhere in sight. A wolf howled. It was answered by other wolves farther away in the flowered forestlike a hunting pack whose leader has found the scent. The little woman came racing through the fem brake ; the little man stopped dancing. Her hands were filled with small purplish fruits resembling fox-grapes. The little man pointed toward the white river, and they set off through the screening brake of ferns. We followed. We came out of the brake, crossed the blue sward and stood on the bank of the river. The howl of the wolf sounded again, answered by the others, and closer. The little man leaped upon me, twittering frantically; he twined his legs about my waist and strove to tear my shirt from me. The woman was trilling at Jim, waving in her hands the bunches of purple fruit. "They want us to take off our clothes," said Jim. "They want us to be quick about it." We stripped, hastily. There was a crevice in the bank into which I pushed the pack. Quickly we rolled up our clothes and boots, and threw a strap around them and slung them over our shoulders. The little woman threw a handful of the purple fruit to her man. She motioned Jim to bend, and as he did so she squeezed the berries over his head and hands, his breasts and thighs and feet. The little man was doing the same for me. The fruit had an oddly pungent odour that made my eyes water. I straightened up and looked out over the-white river. The head of a serpent broke through its milky surface; then another and another. Their heads were as large as those of the anaconda, and were scaled in vivid emerald. They were crested by brilliant green spines which con- tinued along their backs and were revealed as they swirled and twisted in the white water. Quite definitely, I did not like plunging into that water, but now I thought I knew the purpose of our anointing, and that most cer- tainly the golden pygmies intended us no harm. And just as certainly, I assumed, they knew what they were about. The howling of the wolves came once more, not only much nearer, but from the direction along which had gone the troop of women. The little man dived into the water, motioning me to follow. I obeyed, and heard the small splash of the woman and the louder one of Jim. The little man glanced back at me, nodded, and began to swim across like an eel, at a speed that I found difficult to emulate. The crested serpents did not molest us. Once I felt the slither of scales across my loins; once I shook the water from my eyes to find one of them swimming beside me, matching in play my speed, or so it seemed ; racing me. The water was warm, as warm as the milk it resembled, and curiously buoyant. The river at this point was about a thousand feet wide. I had covered half of it when I heard a shrill shriek and felt the buffeting of wings about my head. I rolled over, beating up with my hands to drive off whatever it was that had attacked me. It was the white falcon of the Wolf-woman, hover- ing, dropping, rising again, threshing me with its pinions! I heard a cry from the bank, a bell-like contralto, vibrant, imperiousin archaic Uighur: "Come back ! Come back. Yellow-hair!" I swung round to see. The falcon ceased its bufferings. Upon the farther bank was the Wolf-woman upon her great black mare, the captive girl still clasped in her ann. The Wolf-woman's eyes were like sapphire stars, her free hand was raised in summons. And all around her, heads lowered, glaring at me with eyes as green as hers were blue, was a pack of snow-white wolves! "Come back !" she cried again. She was very beautifulthe Wolf-woman. It would not have been hard to have obeyed. But noshe was not a Wolf-woman! What was she ? Into my mind came a Uighur word, an ancient word that I had not blown I knew. She was the Salur'dathe Witch- woman. And with it came angry resentment of her summons. Who was shethe Salur'dato command me ! Me, Dwayanu, who in olden time long forgot would have had her whipped with scorpions for such insolence ! I raised myself high above the white water. "Back to your den, Salur'da!" I shouted. "Does Dwayanu come to your call ? When I summon you, then see that you obey !" She stared at me, stark amazement in her eyes; the strong arm that held the girl relaxed so that the captive almost dropped from the mare's high pommel. I struck out across the water to the farther shore. I heard the Witch-woman whistle. The falcon circling round my head screamed, and flew. I heard the white wolves snarling; I heard the thud of the black mare's hoofs racing over the blue sward. I reached the bank and climbed it. Only then did I turn. Witch-woman, falcon and white wolvesall of them were gone. Across my wake the emerald-headed, emerald-crested serpents swam and swirled and dived. The golden pygmies had climbed upon the bank. Jim asked: "What did you say to her ?" "The Witch-woman comes to my callnot I to hers," I answered, and wondered as I did so what it was that compelled the words. "Still very muchDwayanu, aren't you, Leif ? What touched the trigger on you this time ?" "I don't know." The inexplicable resentment against the woman was still strong, and, because I could not understand it, irritating to a degree. "She ordered me to come back, and a little fire-cracker went off in my brain. Then II seemed to know her for what she is, and that her command was rank insolence. I told her so. She was no more surprised by what I said than I am. It was like someone else speaking. It was like" I hesitated"well, it was like when I started that cursed ritual and couldn't stop." He nodded, then began to put on his clothes. I followed suit. They were soaking wet. The pygmies watched us wriggle into them with frank amazement. I noticed that the angry red around the wound on the little man's breast had paled, and that while the wound itself was raw, it was not deep and had already begun to heal. I looked at my own hand; the red had almost disappeared, and only a slight tenderness betrayed where the nectar had touched it. When we had laced our boots, the golden pygmies trotted off, away from the river toward a line of cliffs about a mile ahead. The vaporous green light half hid them, as it had wholly hidden our view to the north when we had first looked over the valley. For half the distance the ground was level and covered with the blue flowered grass. Then ferns began, steadily growing higher. We came upon a trail little wider than a deer path which threaded into a greater brake. Into this we turned. We had eaten nothing since early morning, and I thought regretfully of the pack I had left behind. How- ever, it is my training to eat heartily when I can, and philosophically go without when I must. So I tightened my belt and glanced back at Jim, close upon my heels. "Hungry ?" I asked. "No. Too busy thinking." "Indianwhat brought the red-headed beauty back ?" "The wolves. Didn't you hear them howling after her ? They found our track and gave her the signal." "I thought sobut it's incredible ! Hellthen she is a Witch-woman." "Not because of that. You're forgetting your Mowgli and the Grey Companions. Wolves aren't hard to train. But she's a Witch-woman, nevertheless. Don't hold back Dwayanu when you deal with her, Leif." The little drums again began to beat. At first only a few, then steadily more and more until there were scores of them. This time the cadences were lilting, gay, tapping out a dancing rhythm that lifted all weariness. They did not seem far away. But now the ferns were high over our heads and impenetrable to the sight, and the narrow path wove in and out among them like a meandering stream The pygmies hastened their pace. Suddenly the trail came out of the ferns, and the pair halted. In front of us the ground sloped sharply upward for three or four hundred feet. The slope, except where the path ran, was covered from bottom to top with a tangle of thick green vines studded along all their lengths with wicked three-inch thorns; a living chaweux-de-frise which no living creature would penetrate. At the end of the path was a squat tower of stone, and from this came the glint of spear-heads. In the tower a shrill-voiced drum chattered an unmis- takable alarm. Instantly the lilting drums were silent. The same shrill chatter was taken up and repeated from point to point, diminishing in the far distance ; and now I saw that the slope was like an immense circular forti- fication, curving far out toward the unbroken palisade of the giant ferns, and retreating at our right toward the sheer wall of black cliff, far away. Everywhere upon it was the thicket of thorn. The little man twittered to his woman, and walked up the trail toward the tower. He was met by other pygmies streaming out of it. The little woman stayed with us, nodding and smiling and patting our knees reassur- ingly. Another drum, or a trio of them, began to beat from the tower. I thought there were three because their burden was on three different notes, soft, caressing, yet far-carrying. They sang a word, a name, those drums, as plainly as though they had lips, the name I had heard in the trilling of the pygmies. . . . Ev-ah-lee. . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Over and over and over. The drums in the other towers were silent. The little man beckoned us. We went forward, avoid- ing with difficulty the thorns. We came to the top of the path beside the small tower. A score of the little men stepped out and barred our way. None was taller than the one I had saved from the white flowers. All had the same golden skin, the same half-animal yellow eyes; like his, their hair was long and silky, floating almost to their tiny feet, They wore twisted loin-cloths of what appeared to be cotton ; around their waists were broad girdles of silver, pierced like lace-work in intricate designs. Their spears were wicked weapons for all their apparent frailty, long-handled, hafted in some black wood, and with foot-deep points of red metal, and barbed like a muskalonge hook from tip to base. Swung on their backs were black bows with long arrows barbed in similar manner; and in their metal girdles were slender sickle-shaped knives of the red metal, like scimitars of gnomes. They stood staring at us, like small children. They made me feel as Gulliver must have felt among the Lili- putians. Also, there was that about them which gave me no desire to tempt them to use their weapons. They looked at Jim with curiosity and interest and with no trace of unfriendliness. They looked at me with little faces that grew hard and fierce. Only when their eyes roved to my yellow hair did I see wonder and doubt lighten suspicionbut they never dropped the points of the spears turned toward me. Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . sang the drums. There was an answering roll from beyond, and they were silent. I heard a sweet, low-pitched voice at the other side of the tower trilling the bird-like syllables of the Little People And thenI saw Evalie. Have you watched a willow bough swaying in spring above some clear sylvan pool, or a slender birch dancing with the wind in a secret woodland and covert, or the flitting green shadows in a deep forest glade which are dryads half-tempted to reveal themselves ? I thought of them as she came toward us. She was a dark girl, and a tall girl. Her eyes were brown under long black lashes, the clear brown of the mountain brook in autumn; her hair was black, the jetty hair that in a certain light has a sheen of darkest blue. Her face was small, her features certainly neither classic nor regularthe brows almost meeting in two level lines above her small, straight nose ; her mouth was large but finely cut, and sensitive. Over her broad, low forehead the blue-black hair was braided like a coronal Her skin was clear amber. Like polished fine amber it shone under the loose, yet clinging, garment that clothed her, knee-long, silvery, cobweb fine and transparent. Around her hips was the white loin-cloth of the Little People. Unlike them, her feet were sandalled. But it was the grace of her that made the breath catch in your throat as you looked at her, the long flowing line from ankle to shoulder, delicate and mobile as the curve of water flowing over some smooth breast of rock, a liquid grace of line that changed with every move- ment. It was thatand the life that bumed in her like the green flame of the virgin forest when the kisses of spring are being changed for the warmer caresses of summer. I knew now why the old Greeks had believed in the dryads, the naiads, the nereidsthe woman souls of trees, of brooks and waterfalls and fountains, and of the waves. I could not tell how old she washers was the pagan beauty which knows no age. She examined me, my clothes and boots, in manifest perplexity; she glanced at Jim, nodded, as though to say there was nothing in him to be disturbed about; then turned back to me, studying me. The small soldiers ringed her, their spears ready. The little man and his woman had stepped forward. They were both talking at once, pointing to his breast, to my hand, to my yellow hair. The girl laughed, drew the little woman to her and covered her lips with a hand. The little man went on trilling and twittering. Jim had been listening with a puzzled intensity when- ever the girl had done the talking. He caught my arm. "It's Cherokee they're speaking ! Or something like it Listen . . . there was a word ... it sounded like 'Yun'-wini'giski' ... it means 'Man-eaters'. Liter- ally, "They eat people' ... if that's what it was . . . and look . . . he's showing how the vines crawled down the cliffs. . . ." The girl began speaking again. I listened intently. The rapid enunciation and the trilling made understand- ing difficult, but I caught sounds that seemed familiar and now I heard a combination that I certainly knew. "It's some kind of Mongolian tongue, Jim. I got a word just then that means 'serpent-water' in a dozen different dialects." "I knowshe called the snake 'aha'nada' and the Cherokees say 'inadu'but it's Indian, not Mongolian." "It might be both. The Indian dialects are Mon- golian. Maybe it's the ancient mother-tongue. If we could only get her to speak slower, and tune down on the trills." "It might be that. The Cherokees called themselves 'the oldest people' and their language 'the first speech' wait" He stepped forward, hand upraised; he spoke the word which in the Cherokee means, equally, friend or one who comes with good intentions. He said it several times. Wonder and comprehension crept into the girl's eyes. She repeated it as he had spoken it, then turned to the pygmies, passing the word on to themand I could distinguish it now plainly within the trills and pipings. The pygmies came closer, staring up at Jim. He said, slowly : "We come from outside. We know nothing of this place. We know none within it." Several times he had to repeat this before she caught it. She looked gravely at him, and at me doubtfully yet as one who would like to believe. She answered haltingly. "But Sri"she pointed to the little man"has said that in the water he spoke the tongue of evil." "He speaks many tongues," said Jimthen to me: "Talk to her. Don't stand there like a dummy, admiring her. This girl can thinkand we're in a jam. Your looks make no hit with the dwarfs, Leif, in spite of what you did." "Is it any stranger that I should have spoken that tongue than that I now speak yours, Evalie ?" I said. And asked the same question in two of the oldest dialects of the Mongolian that I knew. She studied me, thought- fully. "No," she said at last"no; for I, too, know some- thing of it, yet that does not make me evil." And suddenly she smiled, and trilled some command to the guards. They lowered their spears, regarding me with something of the friendly interest they had showed toward Jim. Within the tower, the drums began to roll a cheerful tattoo. As at a signal, the other unseen drums which the shrill alarm had silenced, resumed their lilting rhythm. The girl beckoned us. We walked behind her, the little soldiers ringing us, between a portcullis of thorn and the tower. We passed over the threshold of the Land of the Little People and of Evalie. CHAPTER IX THE green light that filled the Shadowed-land was darkening. As the green forest darkens at dusk. The sun must long since have dipped beneath the peaks circling that illusory floor which was the sky of the Shadowed-land. Yet here the glow faded slowly, as though it were not wholly dependent upon the sun, as though the place had some luminosity of its own. We sat beside the tent of Evalie. It was pitched on a rounded knoll not far from the entrance of her lair within the cliff. All along the base of the cliff were the lairs of the Little People, tiny openings through which none larger than they could creep into the caves that were their homes, their laboratories, their workshops, their storehouses and granaries, their impregnable fortresses. It had been hours since we had followed her over the plain between the watch-tower and her tent. The golden pygmies had swarmed from every side, curious as chil- dren, chattering and trilling, questioning Evalie, twitter- ing her answers to those on the outskirts of the crowd. Even now there was a ring of them around the base of the knoll, dozens of little men and little women, staring up at us with their yellow eyes, chirping and laughing. In the arms of the women were babies like tiniest dolls, and like larger dolls were the older children who clustered at their knees. Child-like, their curiosity was soon satisfied; they went back to their occupations and their play. Others, curiosity not yet quenched, took their places. I watched them dancing upon the smooth grass. They danced in circling measures to the lilting rhythm of their drums. There were other knolls upon the plain, larger and smaller than that on which we were, and all of them as rounded and as symmetrical. Around and over them the golden pygmies danced to the throbbing of the little drums. They had brought us little loaves of bread, and oddly sweet but palatable milk and cheese, and unfamiliar delicious fruits and melons. I was ashamed of the num- ber of platters I had cleaned. The little people had only watched, and laughed, and urged the women to bring me more. Jim said, laughingly : "It's the food of the Yunwi Tsundsi you're eating. Fairy food, Leif! You can never eat mortal food again." I looked at Evalie, and at the wine and amber beauty of her. Well, I could believe Evalie had been brought up on something more than mortal food. I studied the plain for the hundredth time. The slope on which stood the squat towers was an immense semi- circle, the ends of whose arcs met the black cliffs. It must enclose, I thought, some twenty square miles. Beyond the tbomed vines were the brakes of the giant fern; beyond them, on the other side of the river, I could glimpse the great trees. If there were forests on this side, I could not tell. Nor what else there might be of living things. There was something to be guarded against, certainly, else why the fortification, the defences ? Whatever else it might be, this guarded land of the golden pygmies was a small Paradise, with its stands of grain, its orchards, its vines and berries and its green fields. I thought over what Evalie had told us of herself, care- fully and slowly tuning down the trilling syllables of the little people into vocables we could understand. It waa an ancient tongue she spokeone whose roots struck far deeper down in the soil of Time than any I knew, unless it were the archaic Uighur itself. Minute by minute I found myself mastering it with ever greater ease, but not so rapidly as Jim. He had even essayed a few trills, to the pygmies' delight. More than that, however, they had understood him. Each of us could follow Evalie's thought better than she could ours. Whence had the Little People come into the Shadowed- land ? And where had they learned that ancient tongue ? I asked myself that, and answered that as well ask how it came that the Sumerians, whose great city the Bible calls Ur of the Chaldees, spoke a Mongolian language. They, too, were a dwarfish race, masters of strange sorceries, students of the stars. And no man knows whence they came into Mesopotamia with their science full-blown. Asia is the Ancient Mother, and to how many races she has given birth and watched blown away in dust none can say. The transformation of the tongue into the bird-like speech of the Little People, I thought I understood. Obviously, the smaller the throat, the higher are the sounds produced. Unless by some freak, one never hears a child with a bass voice. The tallest of the Little People was no bigger than a six-year-old child. They could not, perforce, sound the gutturals and deeper tones ; so they had to substitute other sounds. The natural thing, when you cannot strike a note in a lower octave, is to strike that same note in a higher. And so they had, and in time this had developed into the overlying pattern of trills and pipings, beneath which, however, the essential structure persisted. She remembered, Evalie had told us, a great stone house. She thought she remembered a great water. She remembered a land of trees which had become "white and cold". There had been a man and a woman . . . then there was only the man ... and it was all like mist. All she truly remembered was the Little People . . . she had forgotten there had ever been anything else . . . until we had come. She remembered when she had been no bigger than the Little People . . . and how frightened she was when she began to be bigger than they. The Little People, the Rrrllyait is the closest I can come to the trillloved her ; they did as she told them to do. They had fed and clothed and taught her, especially the mother of Sri, whose life I had saved from the Death Flower. Taught her what ? She looked at us oddly, and only repeated"taught me". Sometimes she danced with the Little People and sometimes she danced for them again the oddly secretive, half-amused glance. That was all. How long ago had she been as small as the Little People ? She did not knowlong and long ago. Who had named her Evalie ? She did not know. I studied her, covertly. There was not one thing about her to give a clue to her race. Foundling, I knew, she must have been, the vague man and woman her father and mother. But what had they beenof what country ? No more than could her lips, did her eyes or hair, colour- ing or body hint at answer. She was more changeling than I. A changeling of the mirage ! Nurtured on food from Goblin Market! I wondered whether she would change back again into everyday woman if I carried her out of the Shadowed- land I felt the ring touch my breast with the touch of ice. Carry her away ! There was Khalk'ru to meet first and the Witch-woman ! The green twilight deepened; great fire-flies began to flash lanterns of pale topaz through the flowering trees; a little breeze stole over the fern brakes, laden with the fragrances of the far forest. Evalie sighed. "You will not leave me, Tsantawu ?" If he heard her, he did not answer. She turned to me. "You will not leave meLeif ?" "No!" I said . . . and seemed to hear the drums of Khalk'ru beating down the lilting tambours of the Little People like far-away mocking laughter. The green twilight had deepened into darkness, a lumi- nous darkness, as though a full moon were shining behind a cloud-veiled sky. The golden pygmies had stilled their lilting drums; they were passing into their cliff lairs. From the distant towers came the tap-tap-tap of the drums of the guards, whispering to each other across the thorn-covered slopes. The fire-flies' lights were like the lanterns of a goblin watch; great moths floated by on luminous silvery wings, like elfin planes. "Evalie," Jim spoke. "The Yunwi Tsundsithe Little Peoplehow long have they dwelt here ?" "Always, Tsantawuor so they say." "And those othersthe red-haired women ?" We had asked her of those women before, and she had not answered, had tranquilly ignored the matter, but now she replied without hesitation. "They are of the Ayjirit was Lur the Sorceress who wore the wolfskin. She rules the Ayjir with Yodin the High Priest and TiburTibur the Laugher, Tibur the Smith. He is not so tall as you, Leif, but he is broader of shoulder and girth, and he is strongstrong ! I will tell you of the Ayjir. Before it was as though a hand were clasped over my lipsor was it my heart ? But now the hand is gone. "The Little People say the Ayjir came riding here long and long and long ago. Then the Rrrllya held the land on each side of the river. There were many of the Ayjir and many. Far more than now, many men and women where now are mainly women and few men. They came as though in haste from far away, or so the little people say their fathers told them. They were led by aby a I have no word ! It has a name, but that name I will not speakno, not even within me ! Yet it has a shape ... I have seen it on the banners that float from the towers of Karak . . . and it is on the breasts of Lur and Tibur when they . . ." She shivered and was silent. A silver-winged moth dropped upon her hand, lifting and dropping its shining wings ; gently she raised it to her lips, wafted it away. "All this the Rrrllyawhom you call the Little People did not then know. The Ayjir rested. They began to build Karak, and to cut within the cliff their temple to to what had led them here. They built quickly at first, as though they feared pursuit; but when none came, they built more slowly. They would have made my little ones their servants, their slaves. The Rrrllya would not have it so. There was war. The Little Ones lay in wait around Karak, and when the Ayjir came forth, they killed them ; for the Little Ones know all thethe life of the plants, and so they know how to make their spears and arrows slay at once those whom they only touch. And so, many of the Ayjir died. "At last a truce was made, and not because the Little People were being beaten, for they were not. But for another reason. The Ayjir were cunning; they laid traps for the little ones, and caught a number. Then this they didthey carried them to the temple and sacrificed them toto that which had led them here. By sevens they took them to the temple, and one out of each seven they made watch that sacrifice, then released him to carry to the Rrrllya the tale of what he had seen. "The first they would not believe, so dreadful was bffi story of that sacrificebut then came the second and third and fourth with the same story. And a great dread and loathing and horror fell upon the Little People. They made a covenant. They would dwell upon this side of the river ; the Ayjir should have the other. In return the Ayjir swore by what had led them that never- more should one of the Little People be given in sacrifice toit. If one were caught in Ayjirland, he would be killedbut not by the Sacrifice. And if any of the Ayjir should flee Karak, seek refuge among the Rrrllya, they must kill that fugitive. To all of this, because of that great horror, the Little People agreed. Nansur was broken, so none could crossNansur, that spanned Nanbu, the white river, was broken. All boats both of the Ayjir and the Rrrllya were destroyed, and it was agreed no more should be built. Then, as further guard, the Little People took the dalan'usa and set them in Nanbu, so none could cross by its waters. And so it has beenfor long and long and long." "Dalan'usa, Evalieyou mean the serpents ?" "Tlanu'sethe leech," said Jim. "The serpents-they are harmless. I think you would not have stopped to talk to Lur had you seen one of the dalan'usa, Leif," said Evalie, half-maliciously. I filed that enigma for further reference. "Those two we found beneath the death flowers. They had broken the truce ?" "Not broken it. They knew what to expect if found, and were ready to pay. There are plants that grow on the farther side of white Nanbuand other things the Little Ones need, and they are not to be found on this side. And so they swim Nanbu to get themthe dalan'usa are their friendsand not often are they caught there. But this day Lur was hunting a runaway who was trying to make her way to Sirk, and she crossed their trail and ran them down, and laid them beneath the Death Flowers." "But what had the girl doneshe was one of them?" "She had been set apart for the Sacrifice. Did you not seeshe was taluli . . . with child . . . ripening for ... for ..." Her voice trailed into silence. A chill touched me. "But, of course, you know nothing of that," she said. "Nor will I speak of itnow. If Sri and Sra had found the girl before they, themselves, had been discovered, they would have guided her past the dalan'usaas they guided you; and here she would have dwelt until the time came that she must passout of herself. She would have passed in sleep, in peace, without pain . . . and when she awakened it would have been far from here . . . perhaps with no memory of it ... free. So it is that the Little People who love life send forth those who mustbe sent." She said it tranquilly, with clear eyes, untroubled. "And are manysent forth so ?" "Not many, since few may pass the dalan'usayet many try." "Both men and women, Evalie ?" "Can men bear children ?" "What do you mean by that ?" I asked, roughly enough ; there had been something in the question that somehow touched me in the raw. "Not now," she answered. "Besides, men are few in Karak, as I told you. Of children born, not one in twenty is a man child. Do not ask me why, for I do not know." She arose, stood looking at us dreamily. "Enough for to-night. You shall sleep in my tent. On the morrow you shall have one of your own, and the Little People will cut you a lair in the cliff next mine. And you shall look on Karak, standing on broken Nansur and you shall see Tibur the Laugher, since he always comes to Nansur's other side when I am there. You shall see it all ... on the morrow ... or the morrow after ... or on another morrow. What does it matter, since every morrow shall be ours, together. Is it not so?" And again Jim made no answer. "It is so, Evalie," I said. She smiled at us, sleepily. She turned from us and floated toward the darker shadow on the cliff which was the door to her cave. She merged into the shadow, and was gone. CHAPTER X IF A MAN COULD USE ALL HIS BRAIN THE drums of the sentinel dwarfs beat on softly, talking to one another along the miles of circling scarp. And suddenly I had a desperate longing for the Gobi. I don't know why, but its barren and burning, wind-swept and sand-swept body was more desirable than any woman's. It was like strong homesickness. I found it hard to shake it off. I spoke at last in sheer desperation. "You've been acting damned queer, Indian." "Tsi Tsa'lagiI told youI'm all Cherokee." "TsantawuIt is I, Degata, who speaks to you now." I had dropped into the Cherokee; he answered: "What is it my brother desires to know ?" "What it was the voices of the dead whispered that night we slept beneath the spruces ? What it was you knew to be truth by the three signs they gave you. I did not hear the voices, brotheryet by the blood rite they are my ancestors as they are yours ; and I have the right to know their words." He said : "Is it not better to let the future unroll itself without giving heed to the thin voices of the dead ? Who can tell whether the voices of ghosts speak truth ?" "Tsantawu points his arrow in one direction while his eyes look the other. Once he called me dog slinking behind the heels of the hunter. Since it is plain he still thinks me that . . ." "No, no, Lief," he broke in, dropping the tribal tongue. "I only mean I don't know whether it's truth. I know what Barr would call itnatural apprehensions put subconsciously in terms of racial superstitions. The voiceswe'll call them that, anywaysaid great danger lay north. The Spirit that was north would destroy them for ever and for ever if I fell in its hands. They and I would be 'as though we never had been'. There was some enormous difference between ordinary death and this peculiar death that I couldn't understand. But the voices did. I would know by three signs that they spoke truth, by Ataga'hi, by Usunhi'yi and by the Yunwi Tsundi. I could meet the first two and still go back. But if I went on to the thirdit would be too late. They begged me not tothis was peculiarly interesting, Leif not to let them bedissolved." "Dissolved!" I exclaimed. "Butthat's the same word I used. And it was hours after !" "Yes, that's why I felt creepy when I heard you. You can't blame me for being a little preoccupied when we came across the stony flat that was like Ataga'hi, and more so when we struck the coincidence of the Shadowed-land, which is pretty much the same as Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land. It's why I said if we ran across the third, the Yunwi Tsundi, I'd take your interpretation rather than Barr's. We did strike it. And if you think all those things aren't a good reason for acting damned queer, as you put it, wellwhat would you think a good one ?" Jim in the golden chains . . . Jim with the tentacle of that Dark Power creeping, creeping toward him . . . my lips were dry and stiff . . . "Why didn't you tell me all that! I'd never have let you go on !" "I know it. But you'd have come back, wouldn't you, old-timer ?" I did not answer; he laughed. "How could I be sure until I saw all the signs ?" "But they didn't say you would bedissolved," I clutched at the straw. "They only said there was the danger." "That's all." "And what would I be doing ? JimI'd kill you with my own hand before I'd let what I saw happen in the Gobi happen to you." "If you could," he said, and I saw he was sorry he had said it. "If I could ? What did they say about methose damned ancestors ?" "Not a damned thing," he answered, cheerfully. "I never said they did. I simply reasoned that if we went on, and I was in danger, so would you be. That's all." "Jimit isn't all. What are you keeping back ?" He arose, and stood over me. "All right. They said that even if the Spirit didn't get me, I'd never get out. Now you have the whole works." "Well," I said, a burden rolling off me, "that's not so bad. And, as for getting outthat may be as may be. One thing's sureif you stay, so do I." He nodded, absently. I went on to something else that had been puzzling me. "The Yunwi Tsundi, Jim, what were they ? You never told me anything about them that I remember. What's the legend ?" "Ohthe Little People," he squatted beside me, chuckling, wide awake from his abstraction. "They were in Cherokee-land when the Cherokees got there. They were a pygmy race, like those in Africa and Aus- tralia to-day. Only they weren't blacks. These small folk fit their description. Of course, the tribes did some embroidering. They had them copper-coloured and only two feet high. These are golden-skinned and average three feet. At that, they may have faded some here and put on height. Otherwise they square with the accounts long hair, perfect shape, drums and all." He went on to tell of the Little People. They had lived in caves, mostly in the region now Tennessee and Kentucky. They were earth-folk, worshippers of life ; and as such at times outrageously Rabelaisian. They were friendly toward the Cherokees, but kept rigorously to themselves and seldom were seen. They frequently aided those who had got lost in the mountains, especially children. If they helped anyone, and took him into their caves, they warned him he mustn't tell where the caves were, or he would die. And, ran the legends, if he told, he did die. If anyone ate their food he had to be very careful when he returned to his tribe, and resume his old diet slowly, or he would also die. The Little People were touchy. If anyone followed them in the woods, they cast a spell on him so that for days he had no sense of location. They were expert wood and metal workers, and if a hunter found in the forest a knife or arrow-head or any kind of trinket, before he picked it up he had to say: "Little People, I want to take this". If he didn't ask, he never killed any more game and another misfortune came upon him. One which distressed his wife. They were gay, the Little People, and they spent half their time in dancing and drumming. They had every kind of drumdrums that would make trees fall, drums that brought sleep, drums that drove to madness, drums that talked and thunder drums. The thunder drums sounded just like thunder, and when the Little People beat on them soon there was a real thunderstorm, because they sounded so much like the actuality that it woke up the thunderstorms, and one or more storm was sure to come poking around to gossip with what it supposed a wandering member of the family . . . I remembered the roll of thunder that followed the chanting; I wondered whether that had been the Little People's defiance to Khalk'ru. . . . "I've a question or two for you, Leif." "Go right ahead, Indian." "Just how much do you remember ofDwayanu ?" I didn't answer at once; it was the question I had been dreading ever since I had cried out to the Witch- woman on the white river's bank. "If you're thinking it over, all right. If you're think- ing of a way to stall, all wrong. I'm asking for a straight answer." "Is it your idea that I'm that ancient Uighur, re-bom ? If it is, maybe you have a theory as to where I've been during the thousands of years between this time and now." "Oh, so the same idea has been worrying you, has it ? No, reincarnation isn't what I had in mind. Although at that, we know so damned little I wouldn't rule it out. But there may be a more reasonable explanation. That's why I askwhat do you remember of Dwayanu ?" I determined to make a clean breast of it. "All right, Jim," I said. "That same question has been riding my mind right behind Khalk'ru for three years. And if I can't find the answer here, I'll go back to the Gobi for itif I can get out. When I was in that room of the oasis waiting the old priest's call, I remem- bered perfectly well it had been Dwayanu's. I knew the bed, and I knew the armour and the weapons. I stood looking at one of the metal caps and I remembered that Dwayanuor Ihad got a terrific clout with a mace when wearing it. I took it down, and there was a dent in it precisely where I remembered it had been struck. I remembered the swords, and recalled that Dwayanuor Ihad the habit of using a heavier one in the left hand than in the right. Well, one of them was much heavier than the other. Also, in a fight I use my left hand better than I do my right. These memories, or whatever they were, came in flashes. For a moment I would be Dwayanu, plus myself, looking with amused interest on old familiar thingsand the next moment I would be only myself and wondering, with no amuse- ment, what it all meant." "Yes, what else ?" "Well, I wasn't entirely frank about the ritual matter," I said, miserably. "I told you it was as though another person had taken charge of my mind and gone on with it. That was true, in a waybut God help me, I knew all the time that other person wasmyself 1 It was like being two people and one at the same time. It's hard to make clear . . . you know how you can be saying one thing and thinking another. Suppose you could be saying one thing and thinking two things at once. It was like that. One part of me was in revolt, horror-stricken, terrified. The other part was none of those things; it knew it had power and was enjoying exercising that powerand it had control of my will. But both wereI. Unequivocally, unmistakablyI. Hell, manif I'd really believed it was somebody, some- thing, besides myself, do you suppose I'd feel the remorse I do ? No, it's because I knew it was Ithe same part of me that knew the helm and the swords, that I've gone hag-ridden ever since." "Anything else ?" "Yes. Dreams." He leaned over, and spoke sharply. "What dreams ?" "Dreams of battlesdreams of feasts ... a dream of war against yellow men, and of a battlefield beside a river and of arrows flying overhead in clouds ... of hand-to-hand fights in which I wield a weapon like a huge hammer against big yellow-haired men I know are like myself . . . dreams of towered cities through which '*! pass and where white, blue-eyed women toss garlands down for my horse to trample. . . . When I wake the dreams are vague, soon lost. But always I know that while I dreamed them, they were clear, sharp- cutreal as life. . . ." "Is that how you knew the Witch-woman was Witch- womanthrough those dreams ?" "If so, I don't remember. I only knew that suddenly I recognized her for what she wasor that other self did." He sat for a while in silence. "Leif," he asked, "in those dreams do you ever take any part in the service of Khalk'ru ? Have anything at all to do with his worship ?" "I'm sure I don't. I'd remember that, by God! I don't even dream of the temple in the Gobi!" He nodded, as though I had confirmed some thought in his own mind; then was quiet for so long that I became jumpy. "Well, Old Medicine Man of the Tsalagi', what's the diagnosis ? Reincarnation, demonic possession, or just crazy ?" "Leif, you never had any of those dreams before the Gobi ?" "I did not." "WellI've been trying to think as Barr would, and squaring it with my own grey matter. Here's the result. I think that everything you've told me is the doing of your old priest. He had you under his control when you saw yourself riding to the Temple of Khalk'ruand wouldn't go in. You don't know what else he might have suggested at that time, and have commanded you to forget consciously when you came to yourself. That's a simple matter of hypnotism. But he had another chance at you. When you were asleep that night. How do you know he didn't come in and do some more suggesting ? Obviously, he wanted to believe you were Dwayanu. He. wanted you to 'remember'but having had one lesson, he didn't want you to remember what went on with Khalk'ru. That would explain why you dreamed about the pomp and glory and the pleasant things, but not the unpleasant. He was a wise old gentlemanyou say that yourself. He knew enough of your psychology to foresee you would balk at a stage of the ritual. So you didbut he had tied you well up. Instantly the post-hypnotic command to the subconscious operated. You couldn't help going on. Although your conscious self was wide-awake, fully aware, it had no control over your will. I think that's what Barr would say. And I'd agree with him. Hell, there are drugs that do all that to you. You don't have to go into migrations of the soul, or demons, or any medieval matter to account for it." "Yes," I said, hopefully but doubtfully. "And how about the Witch-woman ?" "Somebody like her in your dreams, but forgotten. I think the explanation is what I've said. If it is, Leif, it worries me." "I don't follow you there," I said. "No ? Well, think this over. If all these things that puzzle you come from suggestions the old priest made what else did he suggest ? Clearly, he knew something of this place. Suppose he foresaw the possibility of your finding it. What would he want you to do when you did find it ? Whatever it was, you can bet your chances of getting out that he planted it deep in your subcon- scious. All rightthat being a reasonable deduction, what is it you will do when you come in closer contact with those red-headed ladies we saw, and with the happy few gentlemen who share their Paradise ? I haven't the slightest ideanor have you. And if that isn't some- thing to worry about, tell me what is. Come onlet's go to bed." We went into the tent. We had been in it before with Evalie. It had been empty then except for a pile of soft pelts and silken stuffs at one side. Now there were two such piles. We shed our clothes in the pale green dark- ness and turned in. I looked at my watch. "Ten o'clock," I said. "How many months since morning ?" "At least six. If you keep me awake I'll murder you. I'm tired." So was I; but I lay long, thinking. I was not so convinced by Jim's argument, plausible as it was. Not that I believed I had been lying dormant in some extra- spatial limbo for centuries. Nor that I had ever been this ancient Dwayanu. There was a third explanation, although I didn't like it a bit better than than of reincar- nation ; and it had just as many unpleasant possibilities as that of Jim's. Not long ago an eminent American physician and psychologist had said he bad discovered that the average man used only about one-tenth of his brain; and scientists generally agreed he was right. The ablest thinkers, all-round geniuses, such as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo were, might use a tenth more. Any man who could use all his brain could rule the world but probably wouldn't want to. In the human skull was a world only one-fifth explored at the most. What was in the terra incognita of the brainthe unexplored eight-tenths ? Well, for one thing there might be a storehouse of ancestral memories, memories reaching back to those of the hairy, ape-like ancestors who preceded man, reaching beyond them even to those of the ffippered creatures who crawled out of the ancient seas to begin their march to menand further back to their ancestors who had battled and bred in the steaming oceans when the continents were being bom. Millions upon millions of years of memories! What a reservoir of knowledge if man's consciousness could but tap it! There was nothing more unbelievable in this than that the physical memory of the race could be contained in the two single cells which start the cycle of birth. In them are all the complexities of the human body brain and nerves, muscles, bone and blood. In them, too, are those traits we call hereditaryfamily resem- blances, resemblances not only of face and body but of thought, habits, emotions, reactions to environment: grandfather's nose, great-grandmother's eyes, great-great- grandfather's irascibility, moodiness or what not. If all this can be carried in those seven and forty, and eight and forty, microscopic rods within the birth cells which biolo- gists call the chromosomes, tiny mysterious gods of birth who determine from the beginning what blend of ancestors a boy or girl shall be, why could they not carry, too, the accumulated experiences, the memories of those ancestors? Somewhere in the human brain might be a section of records, each neatly graven with lines of memories, wait- ing only for the needle of consciousness to run over them to make them articulate. Maybe the consciousness did now and then touch and read them. Maybe there were a few people who by some freak had a limited power of tapping their contents. If that were true, it would explain many mysteries. Jim's ghostly voices, for example. My own uncanny ability of picking up languages. Suppose that I had come straight down from this Dwayanu. And that in this unknown world of my brain, , my consciousness, that which now was I, could and did reach in and touch those memories that had been Dway- anu. Or that those memories stirred and reached my consciousness ? When that happenedDwayanu would awaken and live. And I would be both Dwayanu and Leif Langdon! Might it not be that the old priest had known some- thing of this ? By words and rites and by suggestion, even as Jim had said, had reached into that terra incognita and wakened these memories that wereDwayanu ? They were strongthose memories. They had not been wholly asleep; eke I would not have learned so quickly the Uighur . . . nor experienced those strange, reluctant flashes of recognition before ever I met the old priest . . . Yes, Dwayanu was strong. And in some way I knew he was ruthless. I was afraid of Dwayanuof those memories that once had been Dwayanu. I had no power to arouse them, and I had no power to control them. Twice they had seized my will, had pushed me aside. What if they grew stronger ? What if they becameall of me ? CHAPTER XI DRUMS OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE SIX times the green light of the Shadowed-land had darkened into the pale dusk that was its night, and I had heard nothing, seen nothing of the Witch-woman or of any of those who dwelt on the far side of the white river. They had been six days and nights of curious interest. We had gone with Evalie among the golden pygmies over all their guarded plain; and we had gone at will among them, alone. We had watched them at their work and at their play, listened to their drumming and looked on in wonder at their dancesdances so intricate, so extraordinary, that they were more like complex choral harmonies than steps and gestures. Sometimes the Little People danced in small groups of a dozen or so, and then it was like some simple song. But sometimes they were dancing by the hundreds, interlaced, over a score of the smooth-turfed dancing greens; and then it was like symphonies translated into choreographic measures. They danced always to the music of their drums; they had no other music, nor did they need any. The drums of the Little People were of many shapes and sizes, in range covering all of ten octaves, and producing not only the semitones of our own familiar scale, but quarter and eighth-tones and even finer gradations that oddly affect the listenerat least, they did me. They ranged in pitch from the pipe organ's deepest bass to a high staccato soprano. Some, the pygmies played with thumbs and fingers, and some with palms of their hands, and some with sticks. There were drums that whispered, drums that hummed, drums that laughed, and drums that sang. Dances and drums, but especially the drums, were evocative of strange thoughts, strange pictures; the drums beat at the doors of another worldand now and then opened them wide anough to give a glimpse of fleeting, weirdly beautiful, weirdly disturbing, images. There must have been between four and five thousand of the Little People in the approximately twenty square miles of cultivated, fertile plain enclosed by their wall; how many outside of it, I had no means of knowing. There were a score or more of small colonies, Evalie told us. These were like hunting or mining posts from which came the pelts, the metals and other things the horde fashioned to their uses. At Nansur Bridge was a strong warrior post. Some balance of nature, so far as I could leam from her, kept them at about the same constant; they grew quickly into maturity and their lives were not long. She told us of Sirk, the city of those who had fled from the Sacrifice. From her description an impreg- nable place, built against the cliffs; walled; boiling springs welling up at the base of its battlements and forming an impassable moat. There was constant war- fare between the people of Sirk and the white wolves of Lur, lurking in the encompassing forest, keeping watch to intercept those fleeing to it from Karak. I had the feeling that there was furtive intercourse between Sirk and the golden pygmies, that perhaps the horror of the Sacrifice which both shared, and the revolt of those in Sirk against the worshippers of Khalk'ru was a bond. And that when they could, the Little People helped them, and would even join hands with them, were it not for the deep ancient fear of what might follow should they break the compact their forefathers had made with the Ayjir. It was a thing Evalie said that made me think that. "If you had turned the other way, Leifand if you had escaped the wolves of Luryou would have come to Sirk. And a great change might have grown from that, for Sirk would have welcomed you, and who knows what might have followed, with you as their leader. Nor would my Little People then . . ." She stopped there, nor would she complete the sen- tence, for all my urging. So I told her there were too many ifs about the matter, and I was content that the dice had fallen as they had. It pleased her. I had one experience not shared by Jim. Its signifi- cance I did not then recognize. The Little People were as I have saidworshippers of life. That was their whole creed and faith. Here and there about the plain were small cairns, altars in fact, upon which, cut from wood or stone or fossil ivory, were the ancient symbols of fertility; sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, and some- times in a form curiously like that same symbol of the old Egyptiansthe looped cross, the crux ansata which Osiris, God of the Resurrection, carried in his hand and touched, in the Hall of the Dead, those souls which had passed all tests and had earned immortality. It happened on the third day. Evalie bade me go with her, and alone. We walked along the well-kept path that ran along the base of the cliffs in which the pygmies had their lairs. The tiny golden-eyed women peeped out at us and trilled to their dolls of children as we passed. Groups of elders, both men and women, came dancing toward us and fell in behind us as we went on. Each and all carried drums of a type I had not yet seen. They did not beat them, nor did they talk; group by group they dropped in behind us, silently. After awhile I noticed that there were no more lairs. At the end of half an hour we turned a bastion of the dins. We were at the edge of a small meadow carpeted with moss, fine and soft as the pile of a silken carpet. The meadow was peihaps five hundred feet wide and about as many feet deep. Opposite me was another bastion. It was as though a rounded chisel had been thrust down, cutting out a semicircle in the precipice. At the far end of the meadow was what, at first glance, I thought a huge domed building, and then saw was an excrescence from the cliff itself. In this rounded rock was an oval entrance, not much larger than an average door. As I stood, wondering, Evalie took my hand and led me toward it. We went through it. The domed rock was hollow. It was a temple of the Little PeopleI knew that, of course, as soon as I had crossed the threshold. Its walls of some cool, green stone curved smoothly up. It was not dark within the temple. The rocky dome had been pierced as though by the needle of a lace-maker, and through hundreds of the frets light streamed. The walls caught it, and dispersed it from thousands of crystalline angles within the stone. The floor was carpeted with the thick, soft moss, and this was faintly luminous, adding to the strange pellucid light; it must have covered at least two acres. Evalie drew me forward. In the exact centre of the floor was a depression, like an immense bowl. Between it and me stood one of the looped-cross symbols, thrice the height of a tall man. It was polished, and glimmered as though cut from some enormous amethystine crystal I glanced behind me. The pygmies who had followed us were pouring through the oval doorway. They crowded close behind us as Evalie again took my hand and led me toward the cross. She pointed, and I peered down into the bowl. I looked upon the Kraken ! There it lay, sprawled out within the bowl, black tentacles spread fanwise from its bloated body, its huge black eyes staring inscrutably up into mine ! Resurgence of the old horror swept me. I jumped back with an oath. The pygmies were crowding around my knees, staring up at me intently. I knew that my horror was written plain upon my face. They began an excited trilling, nodding to one another, gesticulating. Evalie watched them gravely, and then I saw her own face lighten as though with relief. She smiled at me, and pointed again to the bowl. I forced myself to look. And now I saw that the shape within it had been cunningly carved. The dreadful, inscrutable eyes were of jet-like jewel. Through the end of each of the fifty-foot-long tentacles had been driven one of the crux ansatas, pinioning it like a spike ; and through the monstrous body had been driven a larger one. I read the meaning: life fettering the enemy of life; rendering it impotent; prisoning it with the secret, ancient and holy symbol of that very thing it was bent upon destroying. And the great looped-cross above watching and guarding like the god of life. I heard a rippling and rustling and rushing from the drums. On and on it went in quickly increasing tempo. There was triumph in itthe triumph of onrush- ing conquering waves, the triumph of the free rushing wind; and there was peace and surety of peace in it like the rippling song of little waterfalls chanting their faith that "they will go on and on for ever, the rippling of little waves among the sedges of the river-bank, and the rustling of the rain bringing life to all the green things of earth. Round the amethystine cross Evalie began to dance, circling it slowly to the rippling, the rustling and the rushing music of the drums. And she was the spirit of that song they sang, and the spirit of all those things of which they sang. Three times she circled it. She came dancing to me, took my hand once more and led me away, out through the portal. From behind us, as we passed through, there came a sustained rolling of the little drums, no longer rippling, rustling, rushingdefiant now, triumphal. But of that ceremony, or of its reasons, or of the temple itself she would speak no work thereafter, question her as I might. And we still had to stand upon Nansur Bridge and look on towered Karak. "On the morrow," she would say; and when the morrow came, again she would say"on the morrow". When she answered me, she would drop long lashes over the clear brown eyes and glance at me from beneath them, strangely; or touch my hair and say that there were many morrows and what did it matter on which of them we went, since Nansur would not run away. There was some reluctance I could not fathom. And day by day her sweetness and her beauty wound a web around my heart until I began to wonder whether it might become a shield against the touch of what I carried on my breast. But the Little People still had their doubts about me. temple ceremony or none ; that was plain enough. Jim, they had taken to their hearts ; they twittered and trilled and laughed with him as though he were one of them. They were polite and friendly enough to me, but they watched me. Jim could take up the tiny doll-like children and play with them. The mothers didn't like me to do that and showed it very clearly. I received direct confirmation of how they felt about me that morning. "I'm going to leave you for two or three days, Leif," he told me when we had finished breakfasting. Evalie had floated away on some call from her small folk. "Going to leave me !" I gaped at him in astonishment. "What do you mean ? Where are you going ?" He laughed. "Going to look at the tlanusiwhat Evalie calls the dalanusathe big leeches. The river guards she told us the pygmies put on the job when the bridge was broken." She had not spoken about them again, and I had forgotten all about them. "What are they, Indian ?" "That's what I'm going to find out. They sound like the great leech of Tianusi'yi. The tribes said it was red with white stripes and as big as a house. The Little People don't go that far. They only say they're as big as you are." "Listen, IndianI'm going along." "Oh, no, you're not." "I'd like to know why not." "Because the Little People won't let you. Now listen . to me, old-timerthe plain fact is that they're not entirely satisfied about you. They're polite, and they wouldn't hurt Evalie's feelings for the world, but they'd much rather be without you." "You're telling me nothing new," I said. "No, but here is something new. A party that's been on a hunting trip down the other end of the valley came in yesterday. One of them remembered his grandfather had told him that when the Ayjir came riding into this place they all had yellow hair like yours. Not the red they have now. It's upset them." "I thought they'd been watching me pretty damned dose the last twenty-four hours," I said. "So that's the reason, is it ?" "That's the reason, Leif. It's upset them. It's also the reason for this expedition to the tianusi. They're going to increase the river guard. It involves some sort of ceremony, I gather. They want me to go along. I think it better that I do." "Does Evalie know all this ?" "Sure she does. And she wouldn't let you go, even if the pygmies would." Jim left with a party of about a hundred of the pygmies about noon. I bade him a cheerful good-bye. If it puzzled Evalie that I took his departure so calmly, and asked her no questions she did not show it. But she was very quiet that day, speaking mostly in monosyllables abstractedly. Once or twice I caught her looking at me with a curious wonder in her eyes. And once I had taken her hand, and she had quivered and leaned toward me, and then snatched it away, half-angrily. And once when she had forgotten her moodiness and had rested against my shoulder, I had fought hard against taking her in my arms. The worst of it was that I could find no cogent argu- ment why I shouldn't take her. A voice within my mind was whispering that if I so desired, why should I not ? And there were other things besides that whisper which sapped my resistance. It had been a queer day even for this queer place. The air was heavy, as though a storm brooded. The heady fragrances from the far forest were stronger, clinging amorously, confusing. The vaporous veils that hid the distances had thickened; at the north they were almost smoke colour, and they marched slowly but steadily nearer. We sat, Evalie and I, beside her tent. She broke a long silence. "You are sorrowful, Leifand why ?" "Not sorrowful, Evaliejust wondering." "I, too, am wondering. Is it what you wonder ?" "How do I knowwho know nothing of your mind ?" She stood up, abruptly. "You like to watch the smiths. Let us go to them." I looked at her, struck by the anger in her voice. She frowned down upon me, brows drawn to a straight line over bright, half-contemptuous eyes. "Why are you angry, Evalie ? What have I done ?" "I am not angry. And you have done nothing." She stamped her foot. "I say you have donenothing! Let us watch the smiths." She walked away. I sprang up, and followed her. What was the matter with her ? I had done something to irritate her, that was certain. But what ? Well, I'd know, sooner or later. And I did like to watch the smiths. They stood beside their small anvils beating out the sickled knives, the spear and arrowheads, shaping the earrings and bracelets of gold for their tiny women. Tink-a-tink, tink-a-clink, cling-clang, clink-atinkwent their little hammers. They stood beside their anvils like gnomes, except that there was no deformity about them. Miniature men they were, perfectly shaped, gleaming golden in the darkening light, long hair coiled about their heads, yellow eyes intent upon their forgings. I forgot Evalie and her wrath, watching them as ever, fascinated. Tink-a-tink I Cling-clang ! Clink The little hammers hung suspended in air; the little smiths stood frozen. Speeding from the north came the horn of a great gong, a brazen stroke that seemed to break overhead. It was followed by another and another and another. A wind wailed over the plain; the air grew darker, the vaporous smoky veils quivered and marched closer. The clangour of the gongs gave way to a strong chant- ing, the singing of many people ; the chanting advanced and retreated, rose and waned as the wind rose and fell, rose and fell in rhythmic pulse. From all the walls the drums of the guards roared warning. The little smiths dropped their hammers and raced to the lairs. Over all the plain there was turmoil, move- ment of the golden pygmies racing to the cliffs and to the circling slope to swell the garrisons there. Through the strong chanting came the beat of other drums. I knew themthe throb of the Uighur kettle- drums, the war drums. And I knew the chantit was the war song, the battle song of the Uighurs. Not the Uighurs, nonot the patched and paltry people I had led from the oasis ! War song of the ancient race ! The great racethe Ayjir! The old race ! My people ! , I knew the songwell did I know it! Often and often had I heard it in the olden days . . . when I had gone forth to battle . . . By Zarda of the Thirsty" Spears . . . by Zarda God of Warriors, but it was like drink to a parched throat to hear it again! My blood drummed in my ears ... I opened my throat to roar that song ... "Leif ! Leif ! What is the matter ?" Evalie's hands were on my shoulders, shaking me| I glared at her, uncomprehending for a moment. I felt a strange, angry bafflement. Who was this dark girl that checked me on my way to war ? And abruptly the obsession left me. It left me trembling, shaken at though by some brief wild tempest of the mind. I put my own hands upon those on my shoulders, drew reality from the touch. I saw that there was amazement in Evalie's eyes, and something of fear. And around us was a ring of the Little People, staring up at me. I shook my head, gasping for breath, "Leif ! What is the matter ?" ^| Before I could answer, chanting and drums were drowned in a bellow of thunder. Peal upon peal of thunder roared and echoed over the plain, beating back. beating down the sounds from the northroaring over them, rolling over them, sweeping them back. I stared stupidly around me. All along the cliffs were the golden pygmies, scores of them, beating upon great drums high as their waists. From those drums came the pealing of thunder, claps and shattering strokes of the bolt's swift fall, and the shouting reverberations that follow it. The Thunder Drums of the Little People! On and on roared the drums, yet through their rolling diapason beat ever the battle chant and those other drums ... like thrusts of lances. . . like trampling of horses and of marching men . . . by Zarda, but the old race still was strong. . . . A ring of the Little People was dancing around me. Another ring joined them. Beyond them I saw Evalie, watching me with. wide, astonished eyes. And around her was another ring of the golden pygmies, arrows at readiness, sickled knives in hand. Why was she watching me ... why were the arms of the Little People turned against me ... and why were they dancing ? That was a strange dance . . . it made you sleepy to look at it ... what was this lethargy creeping over me . . . God, but I was sleepy ! So sleepy that my dull ears could hardly hear the Thunder Drums ... so sleepy I could hear nothing else . . . so sleepy . . . I knew, dimly, that I had dropped to my knees, then had fallen prone upon the soft turf . . . then slept. I awakened, every sense alert. The drums were throb- bing all around me. Not the Thunder Drums, but drums that sang, drums that throbbed and sang to some strange lilting rhythm that set the blood racing through me in tune and in time with its joyousness. The throb- bing, singing notes were like tiny, warm, vital blows that whipped my blood into ecstasy of life. I leaped to my feet. I stood upon a high knoll, round as a woman's breast. Over all the plain were lights, small fires burning, ringing the little altars of the pygmies. And around the fires the Little People were dancing to the throbbing drums. Around the fires and the altars they danced and leaped like little golden flames of life made animate. Circling the knoll on which I stood was a triple ring of the dwarfs, women and men, weaving, twining, swaying. They and the burden of the drums were one. A soft and scented wind was blowing over the knoll. It hummed as it streamed byand its humming was akin to dance and drum. In and out, and round about and out and in and back again, the golden pygmies danced around the knoll. And round and round and back again they circled the fire-ringed altars. I heard a sweet low voice singingsinging to the cadence, singing the song of the drums, singing the dancing of the Little People. Close by was another knoll like that on which I was like a pair of woman's high breasts they stood above the plain. It, too, was circled by the dancing dwarfs. On it sang and danced Evalie. Her singing was the soul of drum song and dance her dancing was the sublimation of both. She danced upon the knollcobweb veils and girdle gone, clothed only in the silken, rippling cloak of her blue-black hair. She beckoned, and she called to mea high-pitched, sweet call. The fragrant, rushing wind pushed me toward her as I ran down the mound. The dancing pygmies parted to let me through. The throbbing of the drums grew swifter ; their song swept into a higher octave. Evalie came dancing down to meet me . . . she was beside me, her arms round my neck, her lips pressed to mine . . . The drums beat faster. My pulses matched them. The two rings of little yellow living flames of life joined. They became one swirling circle that drove us forward. Round and round and round us they swirled, driving us on and on to the pulse of the drums. I ceased to thinkdrum-throb, drum-song, dance-song were all of me. Yet still I knew that the fragrant wind thrust us on and on, caressing, murmuring, laughing. We were beside an oval doorway. The silken, scented tresses of Evalie streamed in the wind and kissed me. Beyond and behind us sang the drums. And ever the wind pressed us on. ... Drums and wind drove us through the portal of the domed rock. They drove us into the temple of the Little People. ... The soft moss glimmered . . . the amethystine cross gleamed. . . . Evalie's arms were around my neck . . - I held her close . . . the touch of her lips to mine was like the sweet, secret fire of life. . . . It was silent in the temple of the Little People. Their drums were silent. The glow of the looped cross above the pit of the Kraken was dim. Evalie stirred, and cried out in her sleep. I touched her lips and she awoke. "What is the matter, Evalie ?" "Leif, belovedI dreamed a white falcon tried to dip its beak into my heart!" "It was but a dream, Evalie." She shuddered; she raised her head and bent over me so that her hair covered our faces. "You drove the falcon awaybut then a white wolf came . . . and leaped upon me." "It was only a dream, Evaliebright flame of my heart." She bent closer to me under the tent of her hair, lips close to mine. "You drove the wolf away. And I would have kissed you . . . but a face came between ours ..." "A face, Evalie ?" She whispered: "The face of Lur! She laughed at me ... and then you were gone . . . with her . . . and I was alone. . . ." "It was a lying dream, that! Sleep, beloved." She sighed. There was a long silence ; then drowsily: "What is it you carry round your neck, Leif ? Some- thing from some woman that you treasure ?" "Nothing of woman, Evalie. That is truth." She kissed meand slept. Fool that I was not to have told her then, under the shadow of the ancient symbol. . . . Fool that I was I did not! CHAPTER XII ON NANSUR BRIDGE WHEN we went out of the temple into the morning there were half a hundred of the elders, men and women, patiently awaiting our appearance. I thought they were the same who had followed into the domed rock when I had first entered it. The little women clustered around Evalie. They had brought wraps and swathed her from head to feet. She walked off among them with never a glance nor a word for me., There was something quite ceremonial about it all; she looked for all the world like a bride being led away by somewhat mature elfin bridesmaids. The little men clustered around me. Sri was there. I was glad of that, for, whatever the doubts of the others about me, I knew he had none. They bade me go with them, and I obeyed without question. It was raining, and it was both jungle-wet and jungle- warm. The wind was blowing in the regular, rhythmic gusts of the night before. The rain seemed less to fall than to condense in great drops from the air about, except when the wind blew and then the rain drove by in almost level lines. The air was like fragrant wine. I felt like singing and dancing. There was thunder all aroundnot the drums, but real thunder. I had been wearing only my shirt and my trousers. I had discarded my knee-high boots for sandals. It was only a minute or two before I was soaking wet. We came to a steaming pool. and there we halted. Sri told me to strip and plunge in. The pool was hot and invigorating and as I splashed around in it I kept feeling better and better. I reflected that whatever had been in the minds of the Little People when they had driven Evalie and me into the temple, their fear of me had been exorcisedfor the time at any rate. But I thought I knew what had been in their minds. They suspected that Khalk'ru had some hold on me, as over the people I resembled. Not much of a hold maybe but still it was not to be ignored. Very wellthe remedy, since they couldn't kill me without breaking Evalie's heart, was to spike me down as they had the Kraken which was Khalk'ru's symbol. So they had spiked me down with Evalie. I climbed out of the pool, more thoughtful than I had gone into it. They wrapped a loin cloth around me, in curious folds and knots. Then they trilled and twittered and laughed, and danced. Sri had my clothes and belt. I didn't want to lose them, so when we started off I kept close behind him. Soon we stoppedin front of Evalie's lair. After a while there was a great commotion, singing and beating of drums, and along came Evalie with a crowd of the little women dancing around her. They led her to where I was waiting. Then all of them danced away. That was all there was to it. The ceremony, if cere- mony it was, was finished. But, somehow, I felt very much married. I looked down at Evalie. She looked up at me, demurely. Her hair was no longer free, but braided cunningly around head and ears and neck. The swath- ings were gone. She wore the little apron of the pygmy matrons and the silvery cobweb veils. She laughed, and took my hand, and we went into the lair. Next day, late in the afternoon, we heard a fanfare of trumpets that sounded rather close. They blew long and loudly, as though summoning someone. We stepped out into the rain, to listen better. I noted that the wind had changed from north to west, and was blowing steadily and strongly. By this time I knew that the acoustics of the land under the mirage were peculiar and that there was no way of telling just how close the trumpets were. They were on the far side of the river bank of course, but how far away the pygmies' guarded slope was from the river, I did not know. There was some bustling on the wall, but no excitement. There came a final trumpet blast, raucous and derisive. It was followed by a roar of laughter more irritatingly mocking because of its human quality. It brought me out of my indifference with a jump. It made me see red. "That," said Evalie, "was Tibur. I suppose he has been hunting with Lur. I think he was laughing at you, Leif." Her delicate nose was turned up disdainfully, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips as she watched my quick anger flare up. "See here, Evalie, just who is this Tibur ?" "I told you. He is Tibur the Smith, and he rules the Ayjir with Lur. Always does he come when I stand on Nansur. We have talked togetheroften. He is very strongoh, strong." "Yes ?" I said, still more irritated. "And why does Tibur come when you are there ?" "Why, because he desires me, of course," she said tranquilly. My dislike for Tilbur the Laugher increased. "He'll not laugh if I ever get an opening at him," I muttered. "What did you say ?" she asked. I translated, as best t could. She nodded and began to speakand then I saw her eyes open wide and stark terror fill them. I heard a whirring over my head. Out of the mists had flown a great bird. It hovered fifty feet over us, glaring down with baleful yellow eyes. A great birda white bird. . . . The white falcon of the Witch-woman ! I thrust Evalie back into the lair, and watched it. Thrice it circled over me, and then, screaming, hurtled up into the mists and vanished. I went in to Evalie. She was crouched on the couch of skins. She had undone her hair and it streamed over her head and shoulders, hiding her like a cloak. I bent over her, and parted it. She was crying. She put her arms around my neck, and held me close, close. I felt her heart beating like a drum against mine. "Evalie, belovedthere's nothing to be afraid of." "Thewhite falcon, Leif !" "It is only a bird." "NoLur sent it." "Nonsense, dark sweetheart. A bird flies where it wills. It was huntingor it had lost its way in the mists." She shook her head. "But, Leif, Idreamed of a white falcon . . ." I held her tight, and after a while she pushed me away and smiled at me. But there was little of gaiety the remainder of that day. And that night her dreams were troubled, and she held me close to her, and cried and murmured in her sleep. The next day Jim came back. I had been feeling a bit uncomfortable about his return. What would he think of me ? I needn't have worried. He showed no surprise at all when I laid the cards before him. And then I realized that of course the pygmies must have been talking to one another by their drums, and that they would have gone over matters with him. "Good enough," said Jim, when I had finished. "If you don't get out, it's the best thing for both of you. If you do get out, you'll take Evalie with youor won't you?" That stung me. "Listen, IndianI don't like the way you're talking! I love her." "All right. I'll put it another way. Does Dwayanu love her ?" That question was like a slap on my mouth. While I struggled for an answer, Evalie ran out. She went over to Jim and kissed him. He patted her shoulder and hugged her like a big brother. She glanced at me, and came to me, and drew my head down to her and kissed me too, but not exactly the way she had kissed him. I glanced over her head at Jim. Suddenly I noticed that he looked tired and haggard. "You're, feeling all right, Jim?" "Sure. Only a bit weary. I'veseen things." "What do you mean ?" "Well," he hesitated, "wellthe tlanusithe big leechesfor one thing. I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen them, and if I had seen them before we dived into the river, I'd have picked the wolves as cooing doves in comparison." He told me they had camped at the far end of the plain that night. "This place is bigger than we thought, Leif. It must be, because I've gone more miles than would be possible if it were only as large as it looked before we went through the mirage. Probably the mirage foreshortened itconfused us." The next day they had gone through forest and jungle and cane-brake and marsh. They had come at last to a steaming swamp. A raised path ran across it. They had taken that path, and eventually came to another tran- secting it. Where the two causeways met, there was a wide, circular and gently rounded mound rising from the swamp. Here the pygmies had halted. They had made fires of fagots and leaves. The fires sent up a dense and scented smoke which spread slowly out from the mound over the swamp. When the fires were going well, the pygmies began drumminga queerly syncopated beat. In a few moments he had seen a movement in the swamp, close by the mound. "There was a ring of pygmies between me and the edge," he said, "and when I saw the thing that crawled out I was glad of it. First there was an upheaval of the mud, and then up came the back of what I thought was an enormous red slug. The slug raised itself, and crept out on land. It was a leech all right, and that was all it wasbut it made me more than a bit sick. It was its size that did that. It must have been seven feet long, and it lay there, blind and palpitating, its mouth gaping, listening to the drums and luxuriating in that scented smoke. Then another and another came out. After a awhile there were a hundred of the things grouped around in a semicircle, eyeless heads all turned to ussucking in the smoke, palpitating to the drums. "Some of the pygmies got up, took burning sticks from the fire and started off on the intersecting causeway, drumming as they went. The others quenched the fires. The leeches writhed along after the torch-bearers. The other pygmies fell in behind, herding them. I stuck in the rear. We went along until we came to the bank of the river. Those in the lead stopped drumming. They threw their smoking, blazing sticks into the water, and they cast into it handfuls of crushed berriesnot the ones Sri and Sra rubbed on us. Red berries. The big leeches went writhing over the bank and into the river, following, I suppose, the smoke and the scent of the berries. Anyway, they went ineach and all of them. "We went back, and out of the marsh. We camped on its edge. All that night they talked with the drums. They had talked the night before, and were uneasy ; but I took it that it was the same worry they had when we started. They must have known what was going on, but they didn't tell me then. Yesterday morning, though, they were happy and care-free. I knew something must have happenedthat they must have got good news in the night. They were so good-natured that they told me why they were. Not just as you havebut the sense was the same" He chuckled. "That morning we herded up a couple of hundred more of the tianusi and put them where the Little People think they'll do the post good. Then we started back and here I am." "Yes," I asked suspiciously. "And is that all ?" "All for to-night, anyway," he said. "I'm sleepy. I'm going to turn in. You go with Evalie and leave me strictly alone till to-morrow." I left him to sleep, determined to find out in the morn- ing what he was holding back; I didn't think it was entirely the journey and the leeches that accounted for his haggardness. But in the morning I forgot all about it. In the first place, when I awoke, Evalie was missing. I went over to the tent, looking for Jim. He was not there. The Little People had long since poured out of the cliffs, and were at work; they always worked in the morningafternoons and nights they played and drummed and danced. They said Evalie and Tsantawu had gone into council with the elders. I went back to the tent. In a little while Evalie and Jim came up. Evalie's face was white and her eyes were haunted. Also they were ntisty with tears. Also, she was madder than hell. Jim was doing his best to be cheerful. "What's the matter ?" I asked. "You're due for a little trip," said Jim. "You've been wanting to see Nansur Bridge, haven't you ?" "Yes." I said. "Well," said Jim. "That's where we're going. Better put on your travelling clothes and your boots. If the trail is anything like what I've just gone over, you'll need them. The Little People can slip through thingsbut we're built different." I studied them, puzzled. Of course I'd wanted to see Nansur Bridgebut why should the fact we were to go there make them behave so oddly ? I went to Evalie, and turned her face up to mine. "You've been crying, Evalie. What's wrong ?" She shook her head, slipped out of my arms and into the lair. I followed her. She was bending over a coffer, taking yards and yards of veils out of it. I swung her away from it and lifted her until her eyes were level with mine. "What's wrong, Evalie ?" A thought struck me. I lowered her to her feet. "Who suggested going to Nansur Bridge ?" "The Little People . . . the elders ... I fought against it ... I don't want you to go ... they say you must. . . ." "I must go ?" The thought grew clearer. "Then you need not gonor Tsantawu. Unless you choose ?" "Let them try to keep me from going with you." She stamped a foot furiously. The thought was crystal clear, and I began to feel a bit irritated by the Little People. They were thorough to the point of annoyance. I now understood perfectly why I was to go to Nansur Bridge. The pygmies were not certain that their magicincluding Evaliehad thoroughly taken. Therefore I was to look upon the home of the enemyand be watched for my reactions. Well, that was fair enough, at that. Maybe the Witch- woman would be there. Maybe TiburTibur who desired EvalieTibur who had laughed at me Suddenly I was keen for going to Nansur Bridge. I began to put on my old clothes. As I was tying the high shoes, I glanced over at Evalie. She had coiled her hair and covered it with a cap ; she had swathed her body from neck to knees in the veils and she was lacing high sandals that covered her feet and legs as completely as my boots did mine. She smiled faintly at my look of wonder. "I do not like Tibur to Iook on menot now!" she said. I bent over her and took her in my arms. She set her lips to mine in a kiss that bruised them. . . . When we came out, Jim and about fifty of the pygmies were waiting. We struck diagonally across the plain away from the cliffs, heading north toward the river. We went over the slope, past one of the towers, and put feet on a narrow path like that which we had trod when coming into the land of the Little People. It wound through a precisely similar fern-brake. We went along it single file, and, perforce, in silence. We came out of it into a forest of dose-growing, coniferous trees, through which the trail wound tortuously. We went through this for an hour or more, without once resting, the pygmies trotting along tirelessly. I looked at my watch. We had been going for four hours and had covered, I calculated, about twelve miles. There was no sign of bird or animal life. Evalie seemed deep in thought and Jim had fallen into one of his fits of Indian taciturnity. I didn't feel much like talking. It was a silent journey ; not even the golden pygmies chattered, as was their habit. We came to a sparkling spring, and drank. One of the dwarfs swung a small cylindrical drum in front of him and began to tap out some message. It was answered at length from far ahead by other tappings. We swung into our way once more. The conifers began to thin. At our left and far below us I began to catch glimpses of the white river and of the dense forest on its opposite bank. The conifers ceased and we came out upon a rocky waste. Just ahead of us was an out- thrust of cliff along whose base streamed the white river. The out-thrust cut off our view of what lay beyond. Here the pygmies halted and sent another drum message. The answer was startlingly close. Then around the edge of the cliff, half-way up, spear tips glinted. A group of little warriors stood there, scrutinizing us. They sig- nalled, and we marched forward, over the waste. There was a broad road up the side of the cliff, wide enough for six horses abreast. We climbed it. We came to the top, and I looked on Nansur Bridge and towered Karak. Once, thousands or hundreds of thousands of years ago, there had been a small mountain here, rising from the valley floor. Nanbu, the white river, had eaten it awayall except a vein of black adamantine rock. Nanbu had fallen, fallen, steadily gnawing at the softer stone until at last it was spanned by a bridge that was like a rainbow of jet. That gigantic bow of black rock winged over the abyss with the curved flight of an arrow. Its base, on each side, was a mesasculptured as Nansur had been from the original mount. The mesa, at whose threshold I stood, was flat-topped. But on the opposite side of the river, thrusting up from the mesa-top, was a huge, quadrangular pile of the same black rock as the bow of Nansur. It looked less built from than cut out of that rock. It covered I judged about half a square mile. Towers and turrets both square and round sprang up from it. It was walled. There was something about that immense ebon citadel that struck me with the same sense of fore-knowledge that I had felt when I had ridden into the ruins of the Gobi oasis. Also I thought it looked like that city of Dis which Dante glimpsed in Hades. And its antiquity hung over it like a sable garment. Then I saw that Nansur was broken. Between the arch that winged from the side on which we stood and the arch that swept up and out from the side of the black citadel, there was a gap. It was as though a gigantic hammer had been swung down on the soaring bow, shattering it at its centre. I thought of Bifrost Bridge over which the Valkyries rode, bearing the souls of the warriors to Valhalla ; and I thought it had been as great a blasphemy to have broken Nansur Bridge as it would have been to have broken Bifrost. Around the citadel were other buildings, hundreds of them outside its wallsbuildings of grey and brown stone, with gardens ; they stretched over acres. And on each side of this city were fertile fields and flowering groves. There was a wide road stretching far, far away to cliffs shrouded in the green veils. I thought I saw the black mouth of a cavern at its end. "Karak !" whispered Evalie. "And Nansur Bridge ! And Oh, Leif, beloved . . . but my heart is heavy . . . so heavy!" I hardly heard her, looking at Karak. Stealthy memories had begun to stir. I trod on them, and put my arm around Evalie. We went on, and now I saw why Karak had been built where it was, for on the far side the black citadel commanded both ends of the valley, and when Nansur had been unbroken, it had commanded this approach as well. Suddenly I felt a feverish eagerness to run out upon Nansur and look down on Karak from the broken end. I was restive at the slowness of the pygmies. I started forward. The garrison came crowding around me, staring up at me, whispering to one another, studying me with their yellow eyes. Drums began to beat. They were answered by trumpets from the citadel. I walked ever more rapidly toward Nansur. The fever of eagerness had become consuming. I wanted to run. I pushed the golden pygmies aside impatiently. Jim's voice came to me, warningly: "Steady, Leifsteady!" I paid no heed. I went out upon Nansur. Vaguely, I realized that it was wide and that low parapets guarded its edges, and that the stone was ramped for the tread of horses and the tread of marching men. And that if the white river had shaped it, the hands of men had finished its carving. I reached the broken end. A hundred feet below me the white river raced smoothly. There were no serpents. A dull red body, slug-like, monstrous, lifted above the milky current; then another and another, round mouths gapingthe leeches of the Little People, on guard. There was a broad plaza between the walls of the dark citadel and the end of the bridge. It was empty. Set in the walls were massive gates of bronze. I felt a curious quivering inside me, a choking in my throat. I forgot Evalie; I forgot Jim; I forgot everything in watching those gates. There was a louder blaring of the trumpets, a clanging of bars, and the gates swung open. Through them galloped a company, led by two riders, one on a great black horse, the other upon a white. They raced across the plaza, dropped from their mounts and came walking over the bridge. They stood facing me across the fifty- foot gap. The one who had ridden the black horse was the Witch-woman, and the other I knew for Tibur the Smith Tibur the Laugher. I had no eyes just then for the Witch-woman or her followers. I had eyes only for Tibur. He was a head shorter than I, but strength great or greater than mine spoke from the immense shoulders, the thick body. His red hair hung sleekly straight to his shoulders. He was red-bearded. His eyes were violet- blue and lines of laughter crinkled at their comers ; and the wide, loose mouth was a laughing mouth. But the laughter which had graven those lines on Tibur's face was not the kind to make the bearer merry. He wore a coat of mail. At his left side hung a huge war hammer. He looked me over from head to foot and back again with narrowed, mocking .eyes. If I had hated Tibur before I had seen him, it was nothing to what I felt now. I looked from him to the Witch-woman. Her corn- flower-blue eyes were drinking me in ; absorbed, wonder- ingamused. She, too, wore a coat of mail, over which streamed her red braids. Those who were clustered behind Tibur and the Witch-woman were only a blur to me. Tibur leaned forward. "WelcomeDwayanu !" he jeered. "What has brought you out of your skulking place ? My challenge ?" "Was it you I heard baying yesterday ?" I said. "Haiyou picked a safe distance ere you began to howl, red dog!" There was a laugh from the group around the Witch- woman, and I saw that they were women, fair and red- haired like herself, and that there were two tall men with Tibur. But the Witch-woman said nothing, still drinking me in, a curious speculation in her eyes. Tibur's face grew dark. One of the men leaned, and whispered to him. Tibur nodded, and swaggered forward. He called out to me : "Have you grown soft during your wanderings, Dwayanu ? By the ancient custom, by the ancient test, we must learn that before we acknowledge yougreat Dwayanu. Stand fast" His hand dropped to the battle-hammer at his side. He hurled it at me. The hammer was hurtling through the air at me with the speed of a bulletyet it seemed to come slowly. I could even see the thong that held it to Tibur's arm slowly lengthening as it flew. . . . Little doors were opening in my brain . . . the ancient test. . . . Hai! but I knew that play . . . I waited motionless as the ancient custom prescribed . . . but they should have given me a shield ... no matter . . . how slowly the great sledge seemed to come . . . and it seemed to me that the hand I thrust out to catch it moved as slowly. . . . I caught it. Its weight was all of twenty pounds, yet I caught it squarely, effortlessly, by its metal shaft. Hai ! but did I not know the trick of that ? ... The little doors were opening faster now . . . and I knew another. With my other hand I gripped the thong that held the battle-hammer to Tibur's arm and jerked him toward me. The laugh was frozen on Tibur's face. He tottered on Nansur's broken edge. I heard behind me the piping shout of the pygmies. . . . The Witch-woman sliced down a knife and severed the thong. She jerked Tibur back from the verge. Rage swept me . . . that was not in the play ... by the ancient test it was challenger and challenged alone. . . . I swung the great hammer around my head and around, and hurled it back at Tibur; it whistled as it flew and the severed thong streamed rigid in its wake. He threw himself aside, but not quickly enough. The sledge struck him on a shoulder. A glancing bow, but it dropped him. And now I laughed across the gulf. The Witch-woman leaned forward, incredulity flooding the speculation in her eyes. She was no longer amused. No! And Tibur jerked himself up on one knee, glaring at me, his laughter lines twisted into nothing like mirth of any kind. Still other doors, tiny doors, opening in my brain. . . . They wouldn't believe I was Dwayanu . . . Hai! I would show them. I dipped into the pocket of my belt. Ripped open the buckskin pouch. Drew out the ring of Khalk'ru. I held it up. .The green light glinted on it. The yellow stone seemed to expand. The black octopus to grow. . . . "Am I Dwayanu ? Look on this ! Am I Dwayanu ?" I heard a woman screamI knew that voice. And I heard a man calling, shouting to meand that voice I knew too. The little doors clicked shut, the memories that had slipped through them darted back before they closed. . . . Why, it was Evalie who was screaming ! And Jim who was shouting at me ! What was the matter with them ? Evalie was facing me, arms outstretched. And there was stark unbelief and horrorand loathingin the brown eyes fastened on me. And rank upon rank, the Little People were closing around the pair of them barring me from them. Their spears and arrows were levelled at me. They were hissing like a horde of golden snakes, their faces distorted with hatred, their eyes fastened on the ring of Khalk'ru still held high above my head. And now I saw that hatred reflected upon the face of Evalieand the loathing deepen in her eyes. "Evalie!" I cried, and would have leaped toward her. . . . Back went the hands of the pygmies for the throwing cast; the arrows trembled in their bows. "Don't move, Leif! I'm coming!" Jim jumped forward. Instantly the pygiriies swarmed round and upon him. He swayed and went down under them. "Evalie !" I cried again. I saw the loathing fade, and heart-break come into her face. She called some command. A score of pygmies shot by her, on each side, casting down their bows and spears as they raced toward me. Stupidly, I watched them come ; among them I saw Sri. They struck me like little living battering rams. I was thrust backward. My foot struck air The pygmies clinging to my legs, harrying me like terriers, I toppled over the edge of Nansur. BOOK OF THE WITCH-WOMAN CHAPTER XIII KARAK I HAD sense enough to throw my hands up over my head, and so I went down feet first. The pygmies hanging to my legs helped that, too. When I struck the water I sank deep and deep. The old idea is that when a man drowns his whole past life runs through his mind in a few seconds, like a reversed cinema reel. I don't know about that, but I do know that in my progress into Nanbu's depths and up again I thought faster than ever before in my life. In the first place I realized that Evalie had ordered me thrown off the bridge. That made me white-hot mad. Why hadn't she waited and given me a chance to explain the ring! Then I thought of how many chances I'd had to explainand hadn't taken one of them. Also that the pygmies had been in no mood for waiting, and that Evalie had held back their spears and arrows and given me a run for my life, even though it might be a brief one. Then I thought of my utter folly in flashing the ring at that particular moment, and I couldn't blame the Little People for thinking me an emissary of Khalk'ru. And I saw again the heart-break in Evalie's eyes, and my rage vanished in a touch of heart-break of my own. After that, quite academically, the idea came to me that Tibur's hammer-play explained old God Thor of ibs Norse and his hammer Mjolnir, the Smasher, which always returned to his hand after he had thrown it to make it more miraculous the skalds had left out that practical detail of the thong ; here was still another link between the Uighur or Ayjir and the AesarI'd talk to Jim about it. And then I knew I couldn't get back to Jim to talk to him about that or anything else because the pygmies would certainly be waiting for me, and would quite as certainly drive me back among the leeches, even if I managed to get as far as their side of Nanbu. At that thought, if a man entirely immersed in water can break into a cold sweat I did it. I would much rather pass out by way of the Little People's spears and darts or even Tibur's smasher than be drained dry by those sucking mouths. Just then I broke through the surface of Nanbu, trod water for a moment, clearing my eyes, and saw the red-slug ba