Alan Garner Classic Collection. Alan Garner
go first, so as I con come back and tell you if theer’s ony snags.) Then you’ll see two paths, one going left, and the other pretty near straight on to the wood. I just hope as how we shanner be the first to have used it today. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll meet you theer.”
“Farmer Mossock,” said Fenodyree. “I see we have a new leader! Your shrewdness will take us to Shuttlingslow better than my slow wits!”
“No,” said Gowther, “it’s just that I like to be doing: so long!”
The sky was clear; he stepped into the road, and walked through the drive gateway, and past the lodge.
Twenty minutes later Susan and Durathror followed, and ten minutes after, Colin and Fenodyree.
“The lodge was bad,” said Susan, “but after the strain of that drive I nearly collapsed when we had to walk out in full view of the big house and all those staring windows.”
“We had to drop flat twice in front of the house!” said Colin. “If anyone was watching, they must have thought we were mad.”
“Ay, it was a bit strenuous,” said Gowther. “How do you think we fared?”
“The birds missed us, I think,” said Fenodyree, “and I saw no one in the rooms. How was it with you, cousin?”
“I saw no one, and heard naught: we have done well.”
But garrulous old Jim Trafford was a small man, and it was his afternoon off. By half past two he was in his accustomed corner in the Harrington Arms, and monopolising the conversation of four of his acquaintances.
“I reckon it’s twice as cowd as it were eleven year back,” he said. “I’ve see nowt like it; it’s enough fer t’send you mazed. Eh, and I think it’s takken one or two like that round ’ere this morning. No, listen! It were nobbut a couple of hours since, nawther. I were up at th’all, going round seeing as they were orreet for coal afore I come away, and one o’ th’fires were low, like, so I gets down fer t’give it a poke. Well, I’m straightening up again, and I ’appens fer t’look out o’ th’winder, and what does I see? I’ll tell yer. Theer was two little fellers, about so ’igh, gooing past th’ ’ouse towards Pyethorne. No, listen! They wore white caps wi’ ’oods as come over their faces, and they kept peering round, and up, and down, and walking ’alf back’ards. I’ll swear as one ’em ’ad a beard – a yeller un it were. It’s th’ gospel truth!
“Well, I shakes me ’ead, and carries me bucket into th’ next room. Fire’s orreet theer, but scuttle wants a lump or two. On me way out I looks through th’ winder, and theer they are again! And this time I sees a good bit o’ beard, but now it’s black!
“Round and round they scowls, then they drops flat on their faces, and pull their ’eads and legs in like tortoises. It’s a fact! You conner ’ardly see ’em agen th’ snow. Well, after a minute two, they gets up, and off they trots, back to back now, if you please! Then smack on their faces again! I tell yer, I couldner ’ardly credit it. I watches them while they’re near to th’ wood, then they puts down their ’eads, and runs! It’s this ’ere frost what’s be’ind it, and no error. Theer’ll be a few like them, I’ll tell thee, if we ’ave much more o’ this … Eh, Fred! What’s to do? Art feeling ill? What’s th’ ’urry?”
The door slammed.
“Eh, what’s up wi’ ’im? Eh, you lot, come over ’ere! See at Fred! ’E’s gooing up th’ avenue as though ’is breeches was on fire!
“I tell yer, it’s this weather!”
Pyethorne wood is not large. Much of it is little more than a neck of land dividing the two lakes of Thornycroft hall, and it was in this part of the wood that Gowther waited for the others to join him. Together again, they decided to rest for an hour or so before exploring the far end of the lake to the east of the hall.
“We must keep guard by turns,” said Fenodyree. “Durathror and I shall divide the night between us, and, until we reach the forest, one of you will watch over the midday halt. Is it agreed?”
They curled up in their muspel cloaks, and forgot the snow. Even their ice-bound feet grew warm, and after such a morning, sleep was not long in coming.
Colin had offered to take the first turn. He sat upon a tree stump, and looked about him, seeing the beauty of the day for the first time. The air was still; and although the sun shone in a cloudless sky, there was not enough warmth in its rays to melt the thin blades of snow that stood inches high even to the tips of the slenderest twigs on every tree. Pyethorne was a wood of lace that day. There had been floes on Redesmere at dawn, but now the ice here was unbroken, thick, and blue as steel.
Out across the ice was an island, so overgrown with trees that it was as though they sprouted straight out of the lake; and at first that was all Colin could see; but as the minutes went by something began to take shape within the trees. The impression was strongest when he did not look directly at the island, but, even so, for long enough he could not be certain that there was anything there. And then, like a hidden figure in a picture puzzle, it came unexpectedly into focus, and Colin gasped. It was a square tower, old, ruinous, so hemmed in by trees that if Colin had had anything other to do than sit and look about him for an hour and a half, he would never have noticed it.
I must see how long it takes the others to find that, he thought, laughing at his own blindness, and he continued his watch.
Then, oddly, the tower began to grow on Colin’s nerves. He felt that it was staring at him with its expressionless eyes. He sat with his back to it, but that made matters worse, and he had to turn round. Imagination, he told himself. A tower could not help but look sinister in that condition; obviously no one lived there. But Colin could not settle unless he was facing the tower.
He began to range his eyes from left to right, across the lake and back again, but never once did he look directly at the island. And, of course, the urge to do so grew stronger. Worse, he thought how unpleasant it would be if he turned his head, and saw – something. Then, in his imagination, he pictured these “somethings”, and from that it was a simple step to believing they really were there. Colin drew a deep breath. Having allowed himself to be worked into such a state, there was only one thing to do. He looked full at the tower.
His yelp of fright brought the dwarfs bounding to their feet. There, not forty yards away, among the outer trees of the island, was a man dressed all in black, and seated on a black horse, and his eyes were fixed on Colin.
“What is wrong?” whispered Fenodyree, but Colin could only point. At this the rider began to walk his horse towards them across the ice. In silence they watched him come.
He was tall, and sparely built, though little of him could be seen under his full cloak. Black riding-boots, silver spurred, came to his knees; on his head was a wide-brimmed hat. His hair, green as a raven’s wing, curled on his shoulders, framing a lean, brown face. Small gold rings pierced his ears; and his eyes were blue – a fierce blue, burning with an intensity to rival the heart of Firefrost.
When he was still some yards away he reined in his horse.
“I have been looking for you,” he said in a deep voice. Yet it was not only deep, but soft also, with a lilt in it that was not Scots, or Irish, or Welsh, but could have been all three. Some of the apprehension that had been gripping Gowther and the children left them.
“Welcome, Gaberlunzie,” said Fenodyree. “Yesterday we saw you from afar, but could not be sure. Will you not come among the trees? The Morrigan and her brood harry us, and the spies are out.”
The stranger looked at the sky.
“I thought they were no birds,” he said.
He dismounted, and brought his horse under the trees.
Fenodyree quickly told their story, and the man called Gaberlunzie heard him in silence.
“And therefore we must be on Shuttlingslow at Friday’s dawn to meet Cadellin Silverbrow,