The Midnight Folk Page 12

  Kay went up to a big scarlet fish that had pale goggle-eyes and a collapsing mouth; he tickled its throat; and others knew that he was liking it, because they, too, came to have their throats tickled, till he was surrounded by fish of all colours and shapes, scaled and slimy, finned, or legged, or feelered, all noiseless, most of them strange, many of them most beautiful.

  “Come away, Kay,” the mermaids said. “But first look at the lovely golden lad.”

  Lying among the coral, as though he were resting upon a bank of flowers, was a golden image of Saint George, still holding a white shield with a scarlet cross.

  “We used to sing to him at first,” Sea-Flower said, “hoping that he would wake. The ship was full of golden and silver people at one time. We loved them, they were so very beautiful; but they never answered when we spoke to them. Men came here searching for them in the old days, dragging anchors for them along the sea-floor. At last some Indian divers came down and carried them all away to a yacht, all except this one, which they would not touch, because we had so decked it with flowers.

  “I see that you know who it was who took those lovely things. He was going to take them to a city of evil men near here. We followed his yacht on his way thither, for we were sad to lose our lovely people. But come, Kay, you shall come with us as far as we can go on the way those golden people went.”

  They all set out together, Kay between Sea-Flower and Foam-Blossom, each of whom held one of his hands. Foam-Blossom was a golden-haired mermaid, with bright blue eyes and lovely rosy cheeks; she was always laughing. “Is not this lovely?” she said, as they went swimming along.

  “Oh, it is lovely,” Kay said. Every stroke of their arms took them over some new kind of shellfish, or past some new anemone or waving weed.

  “Come,” Sea-Flower said, “let us go in on the tide, at the surface.”

  They rose up together to the air. There, on the shallow shore, long lines of rollers were always advancing to the beach, toppling as they went and at last shattering. A little river came out to the sea there; its little waves seemed to enjoy meeting the big waves.

  “Come,” Foam-Blossom said, “let us ride on this big roller that is just going in.”

  Together, they sat on the neck of the wave, with Kay between them. Kay felt the wave begin to run like a horse, and to gather speed and to lift. Soon the toppling water began to hiss and foam all about them; the shore seemed to rush nearer, and then they all rolled over and over in boiling bubbles into the cool pool of the river, where the sea shells looked as though they were all made of pearl.

  Soon they were swimming up a river which flowed between ranks of reed and bulrush. Some of the reeds had flowers like the plumes of pampas grass, but pale blue; others had delicate, dangling, yellow tassels. All over these flowers the butterflies were hovering and settling. Giant flags grew among the reeds, with heavy blue, white and golden flowers. Little speckled birds with scarlet crests clung to these flowers while they pecked something within them. Water fowl as big as swans, with orange bills and big black and white plumes on their heads, swam to them to be stroked. In the gloom and zebra striping of the light and shade of the reeds Kay saw long-legged water birds standing ankle-deep, fishing. Here and there, when they passed mud-banks, he saw the turtles enjoying themselves in the cool ooze.

  Presently they left the river and swam up a backwater, where the reeds on both sides gave place to quince trees, which smelt like Arabia from the ripe fruit. At the end of the backwater there was a patch of red mud much poached by the feet of cows that had come to drink there. Beyond the cows was a little roll of grassland.

  “The man took the gold and silver things this way,” Sea-Flower said. “In those days, the river ran this way, through all that grassy piece and for miles beyond it; we often used to swim there. We followed his yacht for a long way, further than we can see from here. He was a rosy-faced man, not old, but his hair was already grey; his eyes were very bright; and his mouth, when one could see it through the beard, was most cruel and evil. He had three Indians with him, who were his divers and sailors, whom he used to beat.

  “When he was in a narrow part of the river, he heard guns, for his city of wickedness was being destroyed. He poled his yacht far into the reeds against the mud, and sent one of his Indians to find out what was happening. As the Indian did not come back, he sent a second Indian; and when the second did not come back he sent the third; but the third did not come back, either.”

  “What happened to the Indians?” Kay asked.

  “They all went home to their village in the sea; they have houses there, built upon piles driven into the water. In the rainy seasons they keep very snug in their hammocks and tell each other stories.”

  “And what happened to Abner Brown, please?”

  “He waited for the Indians to bring him news. When they did not come, he changed his yacht’s hiding-place, by driving her still further into the reeds, and then he set out by himself to find out what was happening. He was captured as a pirate that same night and sent far away.

  “Nobody found his boat, she was too well hidden, but there came great changes which hid her further. At first we used to play in the water near her, hoping that she might soon fall to pieces, so that we might have her gold and silver people again; but then there came the earthquake, which raised the river-bed and buried the yacht in the mud. After the earthquake there came the great summer-floods, which made a new channel for the river and altered all the coast. When the floods went down, the place where the yacht lay was five miles from the water and covered deep with flowers, so the birds told us.

  “The man came back presently to look for his yacht; but with the land so changed he hardly knew where to begin. We used to see him digging sometimes, when we went up the streams. But he was evil, do not let us think of him; let us go to the sea, to play in the rollers as they burst.”

  In a few minutes they were in the shining shallow water across which the breaking rollers were marching. At first, Kay was frightened of the waves as they curled and toppled high over his head. Very soon he was wading to meet them, so that they could break all over him or carry him in to the sands.

  “And now,” the mermaids said, “let us all go down to look at the city under the sea.”

  They all swam for a few minutes; then Kay suddenly saw something very golden in the green of the underwater.

  “Those are the walls,” Foam-Blossom said. “And if you listen, you will hear the bells. Let us wait here.”

  They had paused at what had been the harbour. Three or four little ships had sunken with the city; they were there, still secured to the walls. Sponges like big yellow mushrooms covered one; another was starred all over with tiny white shells; another was thickly grown with a weed like many coloured ribbons. The walls, which had once been of white marble, seemed golden in that dim light. As Kay looked he heard a sweet but muffled booming of the bells as the swell of the water surged and lapsed in the bell-tower.

  “Come, Kay,” the Sea-Flower said, “the city gates have fallen open; we can go in.”

  They passed through the gates, which now drooped upon their hinges from the weight of the shells which grew upon them. Inside the gates was a guard house, with a rack of spears still standing against the wall. Beyond that was a street, with shops open, and fish slowly finning from shop to shop. At the end of the street there was a temple with a bell-tower. No one was in that city. Kay went into two of the houses; in one, the kitchen was set out with pots and pans for dinner; two eggs were in a bowl and the bone of a leg of mutton was on a dish; in the other, the beds in the nursery were turned down ready for the children, and in one of the beds a child had set a doll, on which the little shells were growing. There were gaily painted carvings on some of the walls, showing the racing of children and romps and tugs-of-war.

  “What is this city, please?” Kay asked, “I would love to go all over it, into every house. What is it called?”

  “We call it the Golden City. But
look, here come the merchildren, playing Touch and Tag; let us play with them.”

  At that instant, about twenty little merchildren came darting down the street, at full speed, with streaming hair, bright eyes and laughter. They twisted about like eels, dived down chimneys and through windows, crying aloud from joy in the fun.

  “I wonder,” Kay said, “if we might play Hide and Seek? This would be such a lovely place for it.”

  “Yes,” Foam-Blossom said, “let us all play Hide and Seek; Sea-Flower shall be He. And Kay, you come with me, for I know a lovely place to hide.”

  She took him through one of the houses into what had been a garden. The fruit trees still stood, but were now crusted over with shells. Sponges, anemones and corals, which were so covered with points of glitter that they seemed full of eyes, grew like mistletoe on the branches. There came a sort of cloud in swift movement across the golden light.

  “Look,” Foam-Blossom said, “there’s a ship passing overhead. If you look up, you may see one of the crew looking down.”

  “That reminds me,” Kay asked, “I meant to ask you before. Did you ever see another man taking away those golden and silver people? He may have taken them away in a big barge.”

  “Why, Kay,” she answered, “that is the Plunderer passing. There is the water-rat Captain looking down. You must be quick; and oh, do look at the flying fish.”

  Kay felt a sort of swirl as he rushed past a lot of green bubbles into the light. The billows burst all about him suddenly and the sun made him blink. Foam-Blossom, the lovely merchildren, the city and its gardens, among which the beaked fishes had flitted like birds, were gone. He was sitting on the end of the Plunderer’s jib-boom in the clouds of spray flung up as she sailed. Sheets of spray, as bright as snow, soared and flashed all round him. Then he saw that it was not spray, but a flight of flying fish, skimming and falling like darts, all glittering and quivering. “Oh, how lovely,” he cried.

  As he cried, he heard his window creak; somebody rolled him into bed and the Plunderer went back to the wall. As for the sea, it was not there. When he opened his eyes, Ellen was there, but no water at all.

  “Where did it all run to?” he asked.

  “Where did what all run to? Wake up,” Ellen said. “You are such a one to sleep as I never did.”

  “Well, it was here a moment ago,” he said.

  “I declare, you’re dreaming still,” she said. “Now don’t go to sleep again. Breakfast will be in a quarter of an hour, and you’re not to be late, she said: I was to tell you specially.”

  ☆

  When lessons were over, he went out to Benjamin’s Lair with a little compass, which had been on the schoolroom shelves for years. With this he judged that a point a hundred yards south from the Seekings Stables would be in the Crowmarsh Estate, somewhere near a big fir tree in the spinney. All of the Crowmarsh Estate was an unknown world to him, where spring-guns banged, man-traps snapped, bloodhounds tore the heads off children and the Pimply Whatto had been shot in the leg. Yet it looked quiet enough in the hot summer morning; no bloodhounds and no keepers.

  “I don’t believe that anybody’s there,” he thought. “I’m sure that nobody’s there.” He hovered about, unable to make up his mind to it, until the bell rang for dinner.

  After dinner he wanted to go, but the thought of the bloodhounds daunted him. Then he thought, “From the loft in the stables I may be able to see over into the estate beyond the spinney there.”

  He scrambled into the stable through the harness-room window and then climbed the steps nailed to the wall. The loft was very dark. It was littered with musty straw, in which black walnutty things, which had once been apples, lay. Baskets, hives, a honey extractor, brood-frames, a comb foundation, saddle-trees, decaying top-boots and the catcher of a mowing-machine lay in one corner.

  In the wall, showing light at the edges, was a big wooden shutter, through which the hay and straw had once been hoisted. Through just such a shutter, when he was drunk and wasn’t minding what he was doing, Ellen’s uncle had fallen at the Tuttocks and broken his huckle-bone. However, by being sober and very carefully minding what he was doing, Kay reached the little glazed window at the side without mishap. He looked through over the road and the orchard.

  Old Jarge came by with a pair of steps and a bag of tools on his way to see to Mrs. Tattle’s dove-cot. He explained this to Mrs. Bucket, who was on her way to see her married daughter. They said that it was lovely weather for the crops, though a nice drop of rain would freshen things up a bit. When they had gone, pretty Polly Colway drove past in her dog-cart with a friend. When she had gone, Kay stared at the Crowmarsh Estate. It was all peaceful. In the orchard the grey trees were growing barer of leaves, as the fruit ripened. The birds were moving without alarm, rabbits humped themselves about, nibbling grass at the spinney edge. Somewhere just a hundred yards away was

  S.S.S.

  ——————————

  J.G.Z. R.P.C.

  “I’ll try it,” he said. “I believe it’s safe.”

  Within a minute he was flat on his stomach in the Crowmarsh spinney. “It’s all lies about the keepers being here,” he said to himself. “Nobody ever comes into this spinney. The branches are all covered with that brittle stuff, which hasn’t been brushed away.”

  He looked back at the ruins of barn, brew-house and stable. A hundred years before, Benjamin had lived there; two hundred years before, people had died of the plague there, so Ellen said. There was a mark on one of the doors, which had once been a red cross to show the dead-cart man that a corpse was inside.

  He reckoned up his distance. “Two cricket-pitches still to go,” he thought. He crept through the spinney to look at the other side; there he saw that a hundred yards south from S.S.S. would take him to the middle of a pond in a cemented basin.

  “That is where he put it,” he thought. “People often buried their treasures in ponds. It’s the safest place you can choose really, but I shan’t be able to get it.”

  He looked out in peace at the Crowmarsh Estate, which he had never before seen. Rabbits were nibbling the grass. Just beyond the pond was the old ruin of an elm tree swathed in ivy. Beyond that was a paddock, where hunters were being summered. Beyond the paddock was pasture, in which the Crowmarsh Guernseys were grazing; beyond that was grass, where someone was lunging a chestnut colt. “Those young gentlemen care for nothing but horses,” Ellen had said.

  A pheasant walked out of the spinney close to him. “What lies people tell,” Kay thought. “Of course, there can’t be bloodhounds and spring-guns. The rabbits and pheasants would set them off at once. I’m going down to look at the pond.”

  He crept to the water’s edge to watch the insects and the spinning of grains of sand below the lip by which the water trickled away.

  Looking up, his eyes were caught by a big hole in the ruined elm tree. It was a hole big enough for Kay to get into.

  He was thrilled by holes in trees. Ellen had often told him how they had found the skeleton of a man inside a big hollow oak in Sir Hassle Gassle’s wood. “He was supposed to be a murderer or something, who had got in to hide and didn’t think that it would be hollow all the way down; but it was, so there he was and he didn’t dare to cry out, people thought, for then he would have been taken and hanged, so he just starved to death. Father said that his coat was still on him, hanging by the buttons, and bits of shoes with buckles.”

  Then he had read of a skeleton in armour found inside another hollow tree near one of the battlefields of the Wars of the Roses. The man must have run away, climbed in, fallen down and died there. And other things were found in oak trees. The rector had half a dozen black iron barbed arrowheads, which had been shot into an oak tree in the Butts in the reign of Henry VIII. He had found them when sawing up the logs for firewood. Old Mr. Colway had dug bullets from old trees at Naseby.

  “Very likely,” Kay thought, “Benjamin’s treasure might be in the hollow of the tree, for of course
I can’t tell what S.S.S. is. It might be Stable’s Southern Side. A hollow tree would be as good a place as a pond.”

  At that moment, as he stared upwards, a white dumpy figure sidled into the centre of the hole, stared down at him with big fierce eyes and then, closing both eyes, stood still like a stump of decayed wood. “A white owl,” Kay said. “He’s got a nest there. I’ll climb up and peep in.”

  He was wondering, how painful a peck from that hooked beak would be, when he heard the click of a gate-latch. “It’s the keepers,” he said, “they’ve seen me.”

  Peeping round the tree-trunk through the ivy, he found that it was worse than the keepers. It was young Mr. Crowmarsh and his mother, whom everybody called “The Tigress.” They were about a hundred yards away, coming slowly towards him, deep in talk. If he ran for home, they would recognise him or run him down. And then there was that terrible notice, “Trespassers will be prosecuted.” What was he to do?

  “Get up into my house,” the owl said. “Look alive or they’ll catch you. Oh, my mouse and sparrow, take hold of the ivy and pull yourself up. That’s better. Now the other foot. Now catch a good grip of my claw. Now, oh hoo, a long pull. Up you come. Now here you are in my nice house; just step aside behind the ivy till they’ve gone by.”