The Magic City
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Edith Nesbit >> The Magic City
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'You might as well call me Billy,' said the Lord High Islander; 'it's my
name.'
'Well, Billy, then. What is it you're afraid of?'
'I hate being afraid,' said Billy angrily. 'Of course I know no true boy
is afraid of anything except doing wrong. One of the M.A.'s told me
that. But the M.A.'s are afraid too.'
'What of?' Lucy asked, glancing at the terrace below, where already the
shadows were lengthening; 'it'll be getting dark soon. I'd much rather
know what you're afraid of while it's daylight.'
'What we're afraid of,' said Billy abruptly, 'is the sea. Suppose a
great wave came and washed away the castle, and the huts, and the M.A.'s
and all of us?'
'But it never _has_, has it?' Lucy asked.
'No, but everything must have a beginning. I know that's true, because
another of the M.A.'s told it me.'
'But why don't you go and live somewhere inland?'
'Because we couldn't live away from the sea. We're islanders, you know;
we couldn't bear not to be near the sea. And we'd rather be afraid of
it, than not have it to be afraid of. But it upsets the government,
because we ought to be _happy_ troops of gentle islanders, and you can't
be quite happy if you're afraid. That's why it's one of your deeds to
take away our fear.'
'It sounds jolly difficult,' said Philip; 'I shall have to think,' he
added desperately. So he lay and thought with Max and Brenda asleep by
his side and the parrot preening its bright feathers on the parapet of
the tower, while Lucy and the Lord High Islander played cat's cradle
with a long thread of seaweed.
'It's supper time,' said Billy at last. 'Have you thought of anything?'
'Not a single thing,' said Philip.
'Well, don't swat over it any more,' said Billy; 'just stay with us and
have a jolly time. You're sure to think of something. Or else Lucy will.
We'll act charades to-night.'
They did. The rest of the islanders were an extremely jolly lot, and all
the M.A.'s came out of their huts to be audience. It was a charming
evening, and ended up with hide-and-seek all over the castle.
To wake next morning on a bed of soft, dry, sweet-smelling seaweed, and
to know that the day was to be spent in having a good time with the
jolliest set of children she had ever met, was delightful to Lucy.
Philip's delight was dashed by the knowledge that he must, sooner or
later, _think_. But the day passed most agreeably. They all bathed in
the rock pools, picked up shell-fish for dinner, played rounders in the
afternoon, and in the evening danced to the music made by the M.A.'s who
most of them carried flutes in their pockets, and who were all very
flattered at being asked to play.
So the pleasant days went on. Every morning Philip said to himself, 'Now
to-day I really _must_ think of something,' and every night he said, 'I
really ought to have thought of something.' But he never could think of
anything to take away the fear of the gentle islanders.
It was on the sixth night that the storm came. The wind blew and the sea
roared and the castle shook to its very foundations. And Philip,
awakened by the noise and the shaking, sat up in bed and understood what
the fear was that spoiled the happiness of the Dwellers by the Sea.
'Suppose the sea did sweep us all away,' he said; 'and they haven't even
got a boat.'
And then, when he was quite far from expecting it, he did think of
something. And he went on thinking about it so hard that he couldn't
sleep any more.
And in the morning he said to the parrot:
'I've thought of something. And I'm not going to tell the others. But I
can't do it all by myself. Do you think you could get Perrin for me?'
'I will try with pleasure,' replied the obliging bird, and flew off
without further speech.
That afternoon, just as a picnic tea was ending, a great shadow fell on
the party, and next moment the Hippogriff alighted with Mr. Perrin and
the parrot on its back.
'Oh, _thank_ you,' said Philip, and led Mr. Perrin away and began to
talk to him in whispers.
'No, sir,' Mr. Perrin answered suddenly and aloud. 'I'm sorry, but I
couldn't think of it.'
'Don't you know _how_?' Philip asked.
'I know everything as is to be known in my trade,' said Mr. Perrin, 'but
carpentry's one thing, and manners is another. Not but what I know
manners too, which is why I won't be a party to no such a thing.'
'But you don't understand,' said Philip, trying to keep up with Mr.
Perrin's long strides. 'What I want to do is for you to build a Noah's
ark on the top of the highest tower. Then when the sea's rough and the
wind blows, all the Sea-Dwellers can just get into their ark and then
they'll be quite safe whatever happens.'
'You said all that afore,' said Mr. Perrin, 'and I wonder at you, so I
do.'
'I thought it was _such_ a good idea,' said poor Philip in gloom.
'Oh, the _idea's_ all right,' said Mr. Perrin; 'there ain't nothing to
complain of 'bout the _idea_.'
'Then what _is_ wrong?' Philip asked impatiently.
'You've come to the wrong shop,' said Mr. Perrin slowly. 'I ain't the
man to take away another chap's job, not if he was to be in the humblest
way of business; but when it comes to slapping the government in the
face, well, there, Master Pip, I wouldn't have thought it of you. It's
as much as my place is worth.'
'Look here,' said Philip, stopping short in despair, 'will you tell me
straight out why you won't help me?'
'I'm not a-going to go building arks, at my time of life,' said Mr.
Perrin. 'Mr. Noah'd break his old heart, so he would, if I was to take
on his job over his head.'
'Oh, you mean I ought to ask him?'
''Course you ought to ask him. I don't mind lending a hand under his
directions, acting as foreman like, so as to make a good job of it. But
it's him you must give your order to.'
The parrot and the Hippogriff between them managed to get Mr. Noah to
the castle by noon of the next day.
'Would you have minded,' Philip immediately asked him, 'if I'd had an
ark built without asking you to do it?'
'Well,' said Mr. Noah mildly, 'I might have been a little hurt. I have
had some experience, you know, my Lord.'
'Why do you call me that?' Philip asked.
'Because you are, of course. Your deed of slaying the lions counts one
to you, and by virtue of it you are now a Baron. I congratulate you,
Lord Leo,' said Mr. Noah.
He approved of Philip's idea, and he and Perrin were soon busy making
plans, calculating strains and selecting materials.
Then Philip made a speech to the islanders and explained his idea. There
was a great deal of cheering and shouting, and every one agreed that an
ark on the topmost tower would meet a long-felt want, and that when once
that ark was there, fear would for ever be a stranger to every gentle
island heart.
And now the great work of building began. Mr. Perrin kindly consented to
act as foreman and set to work a whole army of workmen--the M.A.'s of
course. And soon the sound of saw and hammer mingled with the plash of
waves and cries of sea-birds, and gangs of stalwart M.A.'s in their
seaweed tunics bent themselves to the task of shaping great timbers and
hoisting them to the top of the highest tower, where other gangs, under
Mr. Noah's own eye, reared a scaffolding to support the ark while the
building went on.
The children were not allowed to help, but they loved looking on, and
almost felt that, if they looked on earnestly enough, they must, in some
strange mysterious way, be actually helping. You know the feeling, I
daresay.
The Hippogriff, who was stabled in the castle, flew up to wherever he
was wanted, to assist in the hauling. Mr. Noah only had to whisper the
magic word in his ear and up he flew. But what that magic word was the
children did not know, though they asked often enough.
And now at last the ark was finished, the scaffolding was removed, and
there was the great Noah's ark, firmly planted on the topmost tower. It
was a perfect example of the ark-builder's craft. Its boat part was
painted a dull red, its sides and ends were blue with black windows, and
its roof was bright scarlet, painted in lines to imitate tiles. No least
detail was neglected. Even to the white bird painted on the roof, which
you must have noticed in your own Noah's ark.
[Illustration: They loved looking on.]
A great festival was held, speeches were made, and every one who had
lent a hand in the building, even the humblest M.A., was crowned with
a wreath of fresh pink and green seaweed. Songs were sung, and the
laureate of the Sea-Dwellers, a young M.A. with pale blue eyes and no
chin, recited an ode beginning--
Now that we have our Noble Ark
No more we tremble in the dark
When the great seas and the winds cry out,
For we are safe without a doubt.
At undue risings of the tide
Within our Ark we'll safely hide,
And bless the names of those who thus
Have built a painted Ark for us.
There were three hundred and seventeen more lines, very much like these,
and every one said it was wonderful, and the laureate was a genius, and
how did he do it, and what brains, eh? and things like that.
And Philip and Lucy had crowns too. The Lord High Islander made a vote
of thanks to Philip, who modestly replied that it was nothing, really,
and anybody could have done it. And a spirit of gladness spread about
among the company so that every one was smiling and shaking hands with
everybody else, and even the M.A.'s were making little polite old jokes,
and slapping each other on the back and calling each other 'old chap,'
which was not at all their habit in ordinary life. The whole castle was
decorated with garlands of pink and green seaweed like the wreaths that
people were wearing, and the whole scene was the gayest and happiest you
can imagine.
And then the dreadful thing happened.
Philip and Lucy were standing in their seaweed tunics, for of course
they had, since the first day, worn the costume of the country, on the
platform in the courtyard. Mr. Noah had just said, 'Well, then, we will
enjoy this enjoyable day to the very end and return to the city
to-morrow,' when a shadow fell on the group. It was the Hippogriff, and
on its back was--some one. Before any one could see who that some one
was, the Hippogriff had flown low enough for that some one to catch
Philip by his seaweed tunic and to swing him off his feet and on to the
Hippogriff's back. Lucy screamed, Mr. Perrin said, 'Here, I say, none of
that,' and Mr. Noah said, 'Dear me!' And they all reached out their
hands to pull Philip back. But they were all too late.
'I won't go. Put me down,' Philip shouted. They all heard that. And also
they heard the answer of the person on the Hippogriff--the person who
had snatched Philip on to its back.
'Oh, won't you, my Lord? We'll soon see about that,' the person said.
Three people there knew that voice, four counting Philip, six counting
the dogs. The dogs barked and growled, Mr. Noah said 'Drop it;' and Lucy
screamed, 'Oh no! oh no! it's that Pretenderette.' The parrot, with
great presence of mind, flew up into the air and attacked the ear of the
Pretenderette, for, as old books say, it was indeed that unprincipled
character who had broken from prison and once more stolen the
Hippogriff. But the Pretenderette was not to be caught twice by the same
parrot. She was ready for the bird this time, and as it touched her ear
she caught it in her motor veil which she must have loosened beforehand,
and thrust it into a wicker cage that hung ready from the saddle of the
Hippogriff who hovered on his wide white wings above the crowd of faces
upturned.
'Now we shall see her face,' Lucy thought, for she could not get rid of
the feeling that if she could only see the Pretenderette's face she
would recognise it. But the Pretenderette was too wily to look down
unveiled. She turned her face up, and she must have whispered the magic
word, for the Hippogriff rose in the air and began to fly away with
incredible swiftness across the sea.
'Oh, what shall I do?' cried Lucy, wringing her hands. You have often
heard of people wringing their hands. Lucy, I assure you, really did
wring hers. 'Oh! Mr. Noah, what will she do with him? Where will she
take him? What shall I do? How can I find him again?'
'I deeply regret, my dear child,' said Mr. Noah, 'that I find myself
quite unable to answer any single one of your questions.'
'But can't I go after him?' Lucy persisted.
'I am sorry to say,' said Mr. Noah, 'that we have no boats; the
Pretenderette has stolen our one and only Hippogriff, and none of our
camels can fly.'
'But what can I _do_?' Lucy stamped her foot in her agony of impatience.
'Nothing, my child,' Mr. Noah aggravatingly replied, 'except to go to
bed and get a good night's rest. To-morrow we will return to the city
and see what can be done. We must consult the oracle.'
'But can't we go _now_,' said Lucy, crying.
'No oracle is worth consulting till it's had its night's rest,' said Mr.
Noah. 'It is a three days' journey. If we started now--see it is already
dusk--we should arrive in the middle of the night. We will start early
in the morning.'
But early in the morning there was no starting from the castle of the
Dwellers by the Sea. There was indeed no one to start, and there was no
castle to start from.
A young blugraiwee, peeping out of its hole after a rather disturbed
night to see whether any human beings were yet stirring or whether it
might venture out in search of yellow periwinkles, which are its
favourite food, started, pricked its spotted ears, looked again, and,
disdaining the cover of the rocks, walked boldly out across the beach.
For the beach was deserted. There was no one there. No Mr. Noah, no
Lucy, no gentle islanders, no M.A.'s--and what is more there were no
huts and there was no castle. All was smooth, plain, bare sea-combed
beach.
For the sea had at last risen. The fear of the Dwellers had been
justified. Whether the sea had been curious about the ark no one knows,
no one will ever know. At any rate the sea had risen up and swept away
from the beach every trace of the castle, the huts and the folk who had
lived there.
A bright parrot, with a streamer of motor veiling hanging to one claw,
called suddenly from the clear air to the little blugraiwee.
'What's up?' the parrot asked; 'where's everything got to?'
'I don't know, I'm sure,' said the little blugraiwee; 'these human
things are always coming and going. Have some periwinkles? They're very
fine this morning after the storm,' it said.
CHAPTER VIII
UPS AND DOWNS
We left Lucy in tears and Philip in the grasp of the hateful
Pretenderette, who, seated on the Hippogriff, was bearing him away
across the smooth blueness of the wide sea.
'Oh, Mr. Noah,' said Lucy, between sniffs and sobs, 'how _can_ she! You
_did_ say the Hippogriff could only carry one!'
'One ordinary human being,' said Mr. Noah gently; 'you forget that dear
Philip is now an earl.'
'But do you really think he's safe?' Lucy asked.
'Yes,' said Mr. Noah. 'And now, dear Lucy, no more questions. Since your
arrival on our shores I have been gradually growing more accustomed to
being questioned, but I still find it unpleasant and fatiguing. Desist,
I entreat.'
So Lucy desisted and every one went to bed, and, for crying is very
tiring, to sleep. But not for long.
Lucy was awakened in her bed of soft dry seaweed by the sound of the
castle alarm bell, and by the blaring of trumpets and the shouting of
many voices. A bright light shone in at the window of her room. She
jumped up and ran to the window and leaned out. Below lay the great
courtyard of the castle, a moving sea of people on which hundreds of
torches seemed to float, and the sound of shouting rose in the air as
foam rises in the wind.
'The Fear! The Fear!' people were shouting. 'To the ark! to the ark!'
And the black night that pressed round the castle was loud with the wild
roar of waves and the shriek of a tumultuous wind.
Lucy ran to the door of her room. But suddenly she stopped.
'My clothes,' she said. And dressed herself hastily. For she perceived
that her own petticoats and shoes were likely to have better wearing
qualities than seaweed could possess, and if they were all going to take
refuge in the ark, she felt she would rather have her own clothes on.
'Mr. Noah is sure to come for me,' she most sensibly told herself. 'And
I'll get as many clothes on as I can.' Her own dress, of course, had
been left at Polistopolis, but the ballet dress would be better than the
seaweed tunic. When she was dressed she ran into Philip's room and
rolled his clothes into a little bundle and carried it under her arm as
she ran down the stairs. Half-way down she met Mr. Noah coming up.
'Ah! you're ready,' he said; 'it is well. Do not be alarmed, my Lucy.
The tide is rising but slowly. There will be time for every one to
escape. All is in train, and the embarkation of the animals is even now
in progress. There has been a little delay in sorting the beasts into
pairs. But we are getting on. The Lord High Islander is showing
remarkable qualities. All the big animals are on board; the pigs were
being coaxed on as I came up. And the ant-eaters are having a late
supper. Do not be alarmed.'
'I can't help being alarmed,' said Lucy, slipping her free hand into Mr.
Noah's, 'but I won't cry or be silly. Oh, I do wish Philip was here.'
'Most unreasonable of girl children,' said Mr. Noah; 'we are in danger
and you wish him to be here to share it?'
'Oh, we _are_ in danger, are we?' said Lucy quickly. 'I thought you said
I wasn't to be alarmed.'
'No more you are,' said Mr. Noah shortly; 'of course you're in danger.
But there's me. And there's the ark. What more do you want?'
'Nothing,' Lucy answered in a very small voice, and the two made their
way to a raised platform overlooking the long inclined road which led up
to the tower on which the ark had been built. A long procession toiled
slowly up it of animals in pairs, urged and goaded by the M.A.'s under
the orders of the Lord High Islander.
The wild wind blew the flames of the torches out like golden streamers,
and the sound of the waves was like thunder on the shore.
Down below other M.A.'s were busy carrying bales tied up in seaweed.
Seen from above the busy figures looked like ants when you kick into an
ant-hill and the little ant people run this way and that way and every
way about their little ant businesses.
The Lord High Islander came in pale and serious, with all the calm
competence of Napoleon at a crisis.
'Sorry to have to worry you, sir,' he said to Mr. Noah, 'but of course
your experience is invaluable just now. I can't remember what bears eat.
Is it hay or meat?'
'It's buns,' said Lucy. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Noah. Of course I ought
to have waited for you to say.'
'In my ark,' said Mr. Noah, 'buns were unknown and bears were fed
entirely on honey, the providing of which kept our pair of bees fully
employed. But if you are sure bears _like_ buns we must always be
humane, dear Lucy, and study the natural taste of the animals in our
charge.'
'They love them,' said Lucy.
'Buns and honey,' said the Lord Islander; 'and what about bats?'
'I don't know what bats eat,' said Mr. Noah; 'I believe it was settled
after some discussion that they don't eat cats. But what they _do_ eat
is one of the eleven mysteries. You had better let the bats fast.'
'They _are_, sir,' said the Lord High Islander.
'And is all going well? Shall I come down and lend a personal eye?'
'I think I'm managing all right, sir,' said the Lord High Islander
modestly. 'You see it's a great honour for me. The M.A.'s are carrying
in the provisions, the boys are stowing them and also herding the
beasts. They are very good workers, sir.'
'Are you frightened?' Lucy whispered, as he turned to go back to his
overseeing.
[Illustration: A long procession toiled slowly up it of animals in
pairs.]
'Not I,' said the Lord High Islander. 'Don't you understand that I've
been promoted to be Lord Vice-Noah of Polistarchia? And of course the
hearts of all Vice-Noahs are strangers to fear. But just think what a
difficult thing Fear would have been to be a stranger to if you and
Philip hadn't got us the ark!'
'It was Philip's doing,' said Lucy; 'oh, _do_ you think he's all right?'
'I think his heart is a stranger to fear, naturally,' said the Lord High
Islander, 'so he's certain to be all right.'
When the last of the animals had sniffed and snivelled its way into the
ark--it was a porcupine with a cold in its head--the islanders, the
M.A.'s, Lucy and Mr. Noah followed. And when every one was in, the door
of the ark was shut from inside by an ingenious mechanical contrivance
worked by a more than usually intelligent M.A.
You must not suppose that the inside of the ark was anything like the
inside of your own Noah's ark, where all the animals are put in anyhow,
all mixed together and wrong way up as likely as not. That, with live
animals and live people, would, as you will readily imagine, be quite
uncomfortable. The inside of the ark which had been built under the
direction of Mr. Noah and Mr. Perrin was not at all like that. It was
more like the inside of a big Atlantic liner than anything else I can
think of. All the animals were stowed away in suitable stalls, and there
were delightful cabins for all those for whom cabins were suitable. The
islanders and the M.A.'s retired to their cabins in perfect order, and
Lucy and Mr. Noah, Mr. Perrin and the Lord High Islander gathered in the
saloon, which was large and had walls and doors of inlaid
mother-of-pearl and pink coral. It was lighted by glass globes filled
with phosphorus collected by an ingenious process invented by another of
the M.A.'s.
'And now,' said Mr. Noah, 'I beg that anxiety may be dismissed from
every mind. If the waters subside, they leave us safe. If they rise, as
I confidently expect them to do, our ark will float, and we still are
safe. In the morning I will take soundings and begin to steer a course.
We will select a suitable spot on the shore, land and proceed to the
Hidden Places, where we will consult the oracle. A little refreshment
before we retire for what is left of the night? A captain's biscuit
would perhaps not be inappropriate?' He took a tin from a locker and
handed it round.
'That's A1, sir,' said the Lord High Islander, munching. 'What a head
you have for the right thing.'
'All practice,' said Mr. Noah modestly.
'Thank you,' said Lucy, taking a biscuit; 'I wish. . . .'
The sentence was never finished. With a sickening suddenness the floor
of the saloon heaved up under their feet, a roaring surging battering
sound broke round them; the saloon tipped over on one side and the whole
party was thrown on the pink silk cushions of the long settee. A shudder
seemed to run through the ark from end to end, and 'What is it? Oh! what
is it?' cried Lucy as the ark heeled over the other way and the
unfortunate occupants were thrown on to the opposite set of cushions.
(It really _was_, now, rather like what you imagine the inside of your
Noah's ark must be when you put in Mr. Noah and his family and a few
hastily chosen animals and shake them all up together.)
'It's the sea,' cried the Lord High Islander; 'it's the great Fear come
upon us! And I'm not afraid!' He drew himself up as well as he could in
his cramped position, with Mr. Noah's elbow pinning his shoulder down
and Mr. Perrin's boot on his ear.
With a shake and a shiver the ark righted itself, and the floor of the
saloon got flat again.
'It's all right,' said Mr. Perrin, resuming control of his boot; 'good
workmanship, it do tell. She ain't shipped a drop, Mr. Noah, sir.'
'It's all right,' said Mr. Noah, taking his elbow to himself and
standing up rather shakily on his yellow mat.
'We're afloat, we're afloat
On the dark rolling tide;
The ark's water-tight
And the crew are inside.
'Up, up with the flag
Let it wave o'er the sea;
We're afloat, we're afloat--
And what else should we be?'
'_I_ don't know,' said Lucy; 'but there isn't any flag, is there?'
'The principle's the same,' said Mr. Noah; 'but I'm afraid we didn't
think of a flag.'
'_I_ did,' said Mr. Perrin; 'it's only a Jubilee hankey'--he drew it
slowly from his breast-pocket, a cotton Union Jack it was--'but it shall
wave all right. But not till daylight, I think, sir. Discretion's the
better part of--don't you think, Mr. Noah, sir? Wouldn't do to open the
ark out of hours, so to speak!'
'Just so,' said Mr. Noah. 'One, two, three! Bed!'
The ark swayed easily on a sea not too rough. The saloon passengers
staggered to their cabins. And silence reigned in the ark.
* * * * * *
I am sorry to say that the Pretenderette dropped the wicker cage
containing the parrot into the sea--an unpardonable piece of cruelty and
revenge; unpardonable, that is, unless you consider that she did not
really know any better. The Hippogriff's white wings swept on; Philip,
now laid across the knees of the Pretenderette (a most undignified
attitude for any boy, and I hope none of you may be placed in such a
position), screamed as the cage struck the water, and, 'Oh, Polly!' he
cried.
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