27 August, 1924 13 страница

'Where are all the others? ' Tom sat up and looked around the clearing. Firelight showed a mound of earth where the pit had been.

'There are no others. There is just you and me. Which is, I assume, what you wanted. '

'Mr. Peet, ' Tom insisted. 'He was here. And a lot of others — with funny names, like a bunch of trolls. Thorn and Snail and Rock and Seed. . . You were all trying to get a badger to come out of its house. There were two dogs — Mr. Peet shot one of them. '

'Did he, now? ' The magician shifted his position against the mound and looked indulgently toward Tom.

'I assumed that you followed me because you wanted to talk. You disobeyed me, that is true. But any good magician knows when to break the rules. And in doing so you demonstrated courage and intelligence, I thought — you were curious, you wanted to see what the terrain was like. '

Terrain meant more than the land they sat on. Tom nodded.

'I think also you must have read some of my posters — relics of my public career. Isn't that right? '

'I noticed them, ' Tom admitted. He thought he trusted Coleman Collins less than anyone else on earth.

'You will hear all about it — this is to be the summer of my unburdening. ' Collins drew up his knees and looked soberly at Tom over their tops, where he had knit his hands together. Suddenly he reminded Tom of Laker Broome. 'As for now, I want to say something about Del. Then there is a story I want you — only you — to hear. Then it will finally be your bedtime.

'My nephew has had an unsettled life. He was on the verge of flunking out of Andover when the Hillmans moved. Now, you may not think much of the Hillmans — you see, I am being very frank with you — but for all their faults, they want to protect Del. And he does need protection. Without a good anchor, without a Tom Flanagan, he will pound himself against the rocks. He needs all my help, all your help too. Watch out for him. But also watch him. '

'Watch him? '

'To make sure he does not go off the deep end. Del does not have your healthy relationship with the world. ' He drew his knees in tighter. 'Del stole that owl from Ventnor School. Had you guessed? '

'No, ' Tom said.

'I heard about the theft from the Hillmans. They know he took it, too. But they did not want him expelled from yet another school. '

'Another boy took it. Some kids saw him do it. '

'Del wanted another boy to take it. Del is a magician too: a better one than he knows, though nothing like the magician you could be. Del stole that owl, no matter whose hands were around it. Watch out for Del. I know my nephew. '

'That's plain crazy, ' Tom said, though a tiny area of doubt had just opened up within him. 'And here's something else that's crazy — all that stuff about my being better than Del. Del is better than I'll ever be. Magic is all he really cares about. '

'He is better at things you will learn very quickly. But you have within you powers you know nothing of, my bird. ' He looked at Tom with a kind of fatherly omniscience. 'You are not convinced. Would you like proof, before your story? You would? ' He turned his head. 'There is a fallen log over there — see it? I want you to pick it up. ' When Tom began to stand, he said, 'Stay where you are. Pick it up with your mind. I will help you. Go on. Try it. '

Tom saw the edge of the log just protruding into the clearing. It was one that Thorn had not thrown on the fire, perhaps three feet long, dry and gnarled. He thought of a pencil on his desk, jerking itself upward, at the end of one of Mr. Fitz-Hallan's classes.

'Are you afraid to try? ' Collins asked. 'Humor me. Inside yourself, say, Log, go up. And then imagine it lifting. Please try. Prove me wrong. '

Tom wanted to say, I won't, but realized how childish it would sound. He closed his eyes and said to himself, Log, go up. He peeked: the log reassuringly sat on the grass.

'I didn't know you were a coward, ' said the magician.

Tom kept his eyes open and thought about the end of the log rising. Still it did not move. Log, go up, he said to himself. Log, go up! The end of the log twitched, and he stared at Collins' amused face. 'A mouse? ' said the magician. Up! Tom thought, suddenly full of rage, and knowing that it would not move. UP!

But the log obediently stood on end, as if someone had pulled a wire. UP! It rose and wavered in the air; then Tom felt a wave of helpless blackness invading his mind like nausea, and the log began to spin over and over, accelerating until it blurred. No. Enough, Tom said in his mind, and the log thumped back down on the grass. He looked at it in dumb shock. His eyes hurt; his stomach felt as though he had eaten spiders. He wanted to run — he feared that he would be sick. He heard handclaps, and saw that Collins was applauding. 'You did that, ' Collins said, and Tom's mouth tasted black.

'I just gave you the tiniest nudge, remarkable boy. Now, listen to the story. One day in a forest, a sparrow joined another sparrow on a branch. They discussed sparrow matters for a time, brightly, inconsequentially, as sparrows do, and then the second sparrow said, 'Do you know why frogs jump and why they croak? ' 'No. And I don't care, ' said the first sparrow. 'After you know, you'll care, ' his companion promised. And this is what he told him. But I shall tell it my way, not the sparrow's. '

Tom saw the log whirling wildly, sickly, in midair.

'The Dead Princess'

A long time ago, when we all lived in the forest and none of us lived anywhere else, a group of sparrows was flying across the deepest and darkest part of the wood, aimlessly flying far from their normal haunts until they began their search for food.

As sparrows do, they paid little attention to anything, and were content to wrangle and chatter with each other, zipping here and darting there, commenting. 'It's quiet, ' said one sparrow, and another answered, 'Yes, but it was much quieter yesterday, ' and another promptly disagreed — and soon they were all agreeing or disagreeing.

Finally they circled through the air above the trees, listening to see how quiet things really were, in order to argue about it more accurately. The sparrows were now, as they had not properly realized before, almost over the palace of the king who ruled all that part of the forest. And there was no noise at all.

Which was odd indeed. For if the forest was normally full of noises the sparrows had known all their lives, the palace was a virtual beehive — horses trampling in their stables, the dogs woofing in the courtyards, the servants gossiping in the open spaces. Not to mention the pots rattling in the kitchen, the banging from the palace workshops, the bing bing bing of the blacksmith. . . Instead of all these sounds the sparrows should have heard, only silence met their ears.

Now, sparrows are as curious as cats, so naturally they all flew down to have a look — they had forgotten all about their argument. Down they came, and down, and down, and still they heard no noise. 'Let's get away, ' said one of the younger sparrows. 'Something terrible has happened here, and if we get too close, it may happen to us as well. '

Of course no one paid any attention. Down they came, down, down, until they were within the walls of the palace. Some sat on the windowsills, some on the cobblestones, some on the rain gutters, some on the stable doors; and the only sounds they heard were those they made themselves.

Then they saw why. Everything else in the palace was asleep. The horses slept in the stables, the servants slept leaning against walls, the dogs slept in the courtyards. Even the flies on the doorknobs slept.

'A curse, a curse! ' shouted the young sparrow. 'Let us go, let us go now, or we shall be just like them. '

'Stop that, now, ' said one of the oldest sparrows, for he had finally heard something. This was the faint sound of a human voice, and not just anybody's, but the king's. Woe is me, woe is me — that was what the king was saying to himself far up in one of the turrets, so despairingly that all of the sparrows immediately felt sad in sympathy.

Then another, very brave sparrow heard another sound. Someone was pacing up and down in the long building beside them. He slipped around the door to see who besides the king was left awake. The sparrow saw a long dusty room with an enormous table right in its center. Beams of light filtered down from the ranks of high windows, each falling in turn upon the back of a woman in a long rich gown who was slowly moving away from him. When she reached the rear of the dining room, for that was what the brave sparrow had entered, she turned about all unseeing and came back toward him. She wrung her hands together; she worked and knotted her brows. The sparrow's whole little heart went out to her, and he thought that if he could help this distraught beautiful lady in any way, he would do it on the spot. Of course, he knew that she was the queen — sparrows are intensely conscious of rank. When she saw him standing before the door, he cocked his head and looked at her with a glance so intelligent and kindly that she stopped in her tracks.

'Oh, little sparrow, ' the queen said, 'if you only understood me. ' The sparrow cocked his head even farther. 'If you understood me, I would tell you of how our daughter, Princess Rose, sickened and died. And of how her death took all the life from the palace — from our kingdom too, little sparrow. I would tell you of how all the animals first fell asleep, so soundly that we could not awaken them, and then of how all the people but the king and I succumbed to the same illness and fell asleep where they stood. And most of all, little sparrow, I would tell you of how the death of my daughter is causing the death of the kingdom, for as you see us now, we are surely all dying, every one, in palace and in forest, king and commoner, wolf and bear, horse and dog. Ah, I almost think you understand me, ' she said, and turned her back on the sparrow and continued her sad pacing. The sparrow nipped around the heavy oaken door and joined his fellows. He whistled to them all to be quiet, and then told them exactly what the queen had said. When he had finished, one of the older sparrows said, 'We must do something to help. '

'Us? Us? Help? ' the younger sparrows all began to twitter, hopping about in agitation. For it was one thing to witness interesting and entertainingly tragic events, another to try to do something about them.

'Of course we must help, ' said the oldest sparrow.

'Help? Us? ' the youngest sparrows twittered. 'What can we do? '

'There is only one thing we can do, ' said the oldest sparrow. 'We must go to the wizard. '

Now, that really pitched them into consternation, and there was a lot of hopping about and quarreling. Even the youngest sparrows had heard of the wizard, but they had certainly never seen him. Besides that, the very mention of him frightened them. One thing everybody knew about the wizard was that while he was fair, he always made you pay for any favor he did you.

'It is the only thing, ' said the oldest sparrow.

Where does he live? Is it far? Can we find him? Does he still live? Will we get lost? A thousand chirping questions.

'I once saw where he lived, ' said the oldest sparrow. 'And I believe that I can find it again. But it is a long way away, clear across the forest and on the other side. '

'Then let us follow you now, ' said the brave sparrow, and they all lifted up and circled away from the dreadful quiet of the palace.

For hours they flew over the thick trees and wide meadows of the forest, over foaming rivers and wandering valleys. Over the caves of bears and the dens of foxes, over hollow logs where ants dozed, over packs of wild ponies asleep on rock cliffs.

Finally they saw a little curl of smoke coming up through the heads of the trees, and the oldest sparrow said, 'That is the wizard's house. ' And they began to circle down, down, down through the trees. And finally saw a nondescript little wooden house with two little windows set beside the front porch.

One by one the sparrows landed on a branch outside one of the windows; when the branch was so full of sparrows it bent, they landed on the next higher; and so on, until sparrows filled the entire tree. Then they all began to sing at once.

The door of the little wooden cottage opened, and the wizard stepped out into the light. He was an old, old man, with skin the color of milk. The dark robes he wore were covered with the moon and stars; once they had been impressive, but now the robes were so threadbare you could see the fabric right through the stars. He looked up at the tree with his clear old eyes and said, 'I see that the sparrows have come to visit. What do they want, I wonder? '

Then the oldest sparrow looked at the brave sparrow, and this fellow spoke up — his voice may have trembled, because the wizard frightened him, and now that they were actually here he wished they were somewhere else, but he told the wizard the entire story, just as the queen had told it to him.

'I see, ' the wizard said. 'And you wish me to give life back to Princess Rose? '

'That is right, ' said the sparrows.

'It is not difficult, ' said the wizard, 'but you must agree to sacrifice something before I will do it. '

Then all the sparrows began to chirp and protest.

'Would you give up your wings? '

Another loud wave of twittering. 'No, that is impossible, ' said the oldest sparrow. 'Without our wings we could not fly. '

'Would you give up your feathers? '

The sparrows' noises were even louder after this question. 'No, we cannot, ' said the oldest sparrow. 'Without our feathers, we would freeze to death in the winter. '

'Would you give up your song? '

The sparrows were quiet for a moment, and then burst out louder than before. 'Yes, ' the sparrows said. 'That will be our sacrifice. '

'It is done, ' said the wizard. 'Return to the palace. '

As one bird, their nervousness giving them added speed, they lifted off the tree and wheeled about over the wizard's cottage and began the long flight across the forest.

Hours later, when they reached the palace, all was as it had been — all the inhabitants of the palace save the queen and king still slept. The sparrows looked at each other uneasily, wondering if the wizard would take their sacrifice but give nothing in return.

Then, from down under the palace, they heard a dusty little voice calling: Momee! Daddee! Momee! Daddee!

And a great wooden door set right down into the ground opened up, and a little girl wandered out, rubbing her eyes.

So the horses woke up in the stables, the dogs woke up in the courtyards, the flies spun awake off the doorknobs, the servants stirred and yawned; and in the deep forest, foxes too yawned and stretched, bears shook their massive heads, wolves stirred beneath trees. At that instant every sparrow in the palace began to feel a transformation within himself: just as if a cold hand had thrust itself down in their innards and were moving bits and pieces about. Their minds grew fuzzy; their bodies plumped out, altered in substance, their beaks softened and spread, their feet grew.

And instead of birds, now there were frogs on the windowsills, frogs on the railings, frogs hopping on the stones.

Fortunately the king witnessed this transformation and understood what had happened. He raised his arms in thanksgiving and said that from that day forth all frogs in his kingdom would be protected, for once they had been sparrows who had gone to the wizard to return the life of his daughter.

''And that is why frogs croak, and why they hop, ' said one sparrow to another on a branch in the wood. 'They were once birds, but were tricked by a great wizard, and now they are still trying to sing and still trying to fly. But they can only croak and hop. ''

'Well, that's your second bedtime story, ' the magician said. 'Now I am afraid I must leave you. You'll be able to find your way back to bed soon enough, I'm sure. ' He began to stand up on the matted grass, but the expression on Tom's face stopped him. 'What are you thinking, Tom? '

'On Registration Day in our school, ' Tom began, his face flushed angrily, 'the headmaster kept Del and another boy in his office. He told each of them a kind of fairy tale. You knew about that. '

The magician stood, put his hands in the small of his back, and stretched from the balls of his feet. 'Think about one thing, Tom. What would you give to save a life? Your wings, or your song? Would you be a sparrow. . . or a frog? '

He grinned dazzlingly at the boy, lifted both arms in the air, and vanished.

'No! ' Tom yelled, and jumped forward — on hands and knees, he scrabbled to the spot where Collins had been standing, and felt only grass and earth. He looked wildly around, expecting to see Collins running through the forest, but saw only the dying fire and the trees. Far off in the woods he saw one of the lights burning over an impromptu stage. There was no sign of Collins. Tom let himself down on the coarse grass, groaning: his mind spun. A dead Rose, sparrows into frogs, the old wizard, what he had done with the log. . . While you are here I am your parent.

Tom picked himself up off the grass; he supposed he could stumble back to the house. But with the first step he took, the forest around him seemed to melt.

At first he thought he was going to lose consciousness again, and find himself in the wrecked train with screams and the rending of metal thick and palpable in the air about him —

and the coffee scorching his back —

(Didn't stain your clothes, all that coffee flying about? )

and he realized that the magician had known at the Hilly Vale station that he was going to put him on the wrecked train (Not just a little spilled coffee, a little bump on the tracks, a little messy commotion? ), and in the second before the forest disappeared as finally as Coleman Collins, Tom had time to think that Collins had somehow caused that wreck in order to put him inside it six hours later.

This is Level One. Any good magician knows when to break the rules.

He could have screamed as loudly as any poor soul on the train, but his fear pinned his screams to his tongue. The trees had blurred like watercolors held under a tap; everything slid and dissolved into a pane of meltingly pale green. Green mist enveloped him, abstract and cool, and he felt as though he were falling from an airplane.

White fluted pillars took shape as suddenly as if blown into being. The ground shifted, became harder, less resilient. With his next step forward, he whanged his leg against the metal back of a padded chair.

'Oh, my God, ' he whispered. He was standing in a large vaultlike room with a curtained stage at one end. Tom himself was halfway up a pitched bank of seats, in the middle of a row. Misty green walls inset with white pillars led down to the stage. A few lights burned high above him.

He was in the big theater where Collins was going to teach them to fly.

'Oh, God, ' he said. 'I wasn't even outside. '

Tom blindly went down the side of the rows of seats and let himself out into the hall. Here too a few lights burned. He was only five feet from the entry to the Little Theater. He clicked the door behind him and looked for its brass plate: Le Grand Theatre des Illusions. Beneath it was a white sheet of paper on which had been written: Go to bed, son.

He weaved down the hall and the lights clicked off behind him. All he wanted to do was to roll into sleep as fast and hard as he could: now he could not begin to puzzle out the hoops within hoops through which Collins had made him jump. And that is why frogs croak and why they hop. They were once birds, but were tricked by a great wizard, and now they are still trying to sing and still trying to fly.

'You answer my question first. '

'No, you answer mine. Tell me about Rose Armstrong. '

'Not until you tell me what you did last night. '

'I can't. '

'Did Uncle Cole tell you not to? '

'No. '

'Then you can tell me. Did you go downstairs? Did you go outside? ' Del pushed his spoon back and forth in a bowl of oatmeal. 'Did anyone see you? '

'All right. I went downstairs. Then I followed all those guys outside. ' —

'You did what? ' Del had completely lost his self-possession. He virtually goggled at Tom.

'I went out. I think I did. Then everything went funny. I wound up back in the big theater. ' 'Oh. ' Del relaxed. 'So you were supposed to go out. ' 'You know that right off? '

'Sure, ' Del said. They were eating breakfast in Del's

room. A tray had appeared outside the door at nine. 'I've

been through this about a million times, remember? He

did some magic on you. You can't even really tell me

what happened because it's all mixed up in your head.

That's normal. That's part of what we're here for. So now

I can relax. I thought you might get us both kicked out. '

'Well, now that you're relaxed, tell me about Rose

Armstrong. '

'What do you want to know about her? '

'Why does she do what your uncle wants her to do? I mean, why would she go out there and sit on a rock in the middle of the night? Doesn't she have better things to do? '

Del pushed his plate away. 'Well, I guess she wants to help Uncle Cole. Why else? '

'But why would she want to? '

'Because he's great. ' Del looked at him as if he had confessed an inability to multiply six by two. 'She respects him. She likes working for him. '

'Does he pay her? '

'Look, I don't know, okay? I know that her parents are dead. She lives in town with her grandmother. You have to know that Uncle Cole is famous up here — he used to travel all around, a long time ago, and up here they still remember that. He's Hilly Vale's celebrity. They love him. Did you read his posters downstairs? '

'No, ' Tom said. 'I want to look at them today. '

'Well, you'll see. He went everywhere. Then he decided he was wasting his talent, and he came here. '

'How old is she? '

'About our age. Maybe a year older. '

'Do you like her? '

'Sure I like her. '

'Do you like her a lot? '

'What do you mean, a lot? '

'You know what I mean. '

'Okay. I like her a lot. '

'Do you ever go out with her? '

'You don't understand, ' Del said. 'It's not like that. '

'Well, is she ever around so you can just talk to her? Can she tell you what your uncle is up to? '

'Yes, she's around and you can talk to her. But she doesn't know the reasons for the things he asks her to do. It's like. . . a big puzzle. She's just one of the little pieces. '

'Well, do you kiss her and stuff like that? '

'That's my business, ' Del said.

'Do you make out with her? She's a year older, huh? Does she let you make out with her? '

'I guess, ' Del said. 'Sometimes. '

'Is she good-looking? '

'You can decide for yourself. '

'You're a real snake in the woodpile, Nightingale, ' Tom said. He was delighted. 'All this time you never told me? She's your girlfriend? You spend all summer making out with a girl a year older than us? Wow. '

'We have to go downstairs, ' Del said sternly. 'Didn't you ever make out with Jenny Oliver? Or with Diane Darling? ' These were girls from Phipps-Burnwood Seminary; Tom had taken both of them to school dances.

'Sometimes, ' Tom said. 'Sure, sometimes. '

'Okay, ' Del said, and stood up.

'You old snake in the woodpile, ' Tom said. He rose too, and they went out into the sunny hall. As they went down the stairs, he said, 'Tell me what she looks like. Is she a blond? '

'Yep. '

'Well? '

'She's a blond, she has two eyes and a nose and a mouth. She's about as tall as you are. Her face is. . . oh, how do you describe someone's face? '

'Try. '

They stopped together just outside the living room. It was immaculate, Tom saw, as if Mr. Feet's trolls had never been in the house.

'Well, she looks kind of. . . ' Del hesitated. 'Kind of. . . well, hurt. '

'Hurt? ' This was far indeed from anything Tom had expected, and he laughed.

'I knew I couldn't explain it, ' Del said. 'Let's go. He'll be waiting. '

Tom glanced over his shoulder at the series of posters on the wall, saw only that they were printed in a variety of old-fashioned typefaces and that none of the names immediately visible were familiar. Then he set off after Del. His mood had risen: full of breakfast, rested, and on a sunny morning he could see the fun of what Shadowland offered, a game more challenging than any he had ever played. He had not been threatened or injured the night before: he had merely been tricked, and tricked in a way only a great illusionist could have managed.

The handwritten sheet of paper was gone from the door. But had it been there at all? Tom wondered, and thought that now he was getting into the spirit of Shadowland.

'Have you ever heard the name Herbie — does it mean anything special to you? ' he asked.

'Herbie? You'll see Herbie, ' Del promised from ahead of him.

Inside the long theater, the walls hung misty and green between the fluted pillars, the seats stood like rows of open mouths; the lighting had been dialed low. Del, in his seat in the front row when Tom entered, laughed at whatever was on stage. Tom turned to see, and was startled by the spectacle of a department-store dummy propped stiffly on a tall chair. The arms jutted out, the legs stuck forward. The mannequin had been dressed in black evening clothes; its face had been powdered or painted white. A curly red wig sat on its crown.

'That's Herbie, ' Del said as Tom slid into the seat next to him. 'Herbie Butter. '

'A doll? '

'Shh. '

One of the doll's hands jerked forty-five degrees up. The movement was a robot's, not human. The head swiveled, blank and perfect, first to one side, then the other. The other arm jerked up with the same robot's angular suddenness. Tom relaxed into his seat, enjoying this.

'The Amazing Mechanical Magician and Acrobat, ' Del whispered.

One leg, then its fellow, bent; the robot-mannequin came out of the chair, and Tom could almost hear the working of gears. It began to slide ridiculously about the stage, at one moment almost tumbling off the edge, then walking with great dignity into the curtains and grinding away in place until the gears shifted again and spun it away.

'Is that your uncle? '

'Of course it is, ' Del whispered.

'He's great. '

Del rolled his eyes. The greatness was beyond question.

For some minutes, Coleman Collins, Herbie Butter, moved — hilariously about the stage, always on the verge of destruction, or surely, it seemed, on the way to it. His eyes were perfectly round and blank, his movements those of a wound-up toy: the face, covered with powder, was sexlessly young — but for the male formal dress, the white face and red hair could have been those of a pretty young woman in her twenties.

Collins then demonstrated another of his capacities.

He strode jerkily to a halt in the middle of the stage, swiveled to face the boys, and remained stock-still for no longer than a second and a half.

'Get this, ' Del said.

Before Del had finished, the robotlike figure was whipping up into the air: it turned over in midair and landed on its. hands. Then it ticked over to one side, spread its legs, and executed a series of flawless cartwheels.