The Sea Monster ducked its head and blushed. A wave of fiery red
started at its nose, traveled rapidly back over its ears, down its
neck, along the body, and fanned out to the tips of its flippers and
the extreme end of the barb in its tail.
Even its whiskers turned pink.
"Well--uh--glad to help--uh--nothing to it, really," it mumbled. Then
it turned abruptly, galloped down to the sea, plunged into the surf,
and was gone.
7: _In Which the Phoenix's Plan Is Carried Out, and There Are More
Alarums and Excursions in the Night_
[Illustration]
"Now, my boy," said the Phoenix, when they got back to the ledge that
afternoon, "are the shops still open?"
"I think they're open till six," said David, shaking the sand out of
his shoes. "Are we going to buy something?"
"Precisely, my boy. A hardware store should have what we need. Now,
you will take our gold and purchase the following." And the Phoenix
listed the things it wanted, and told David which to bring to the
ledge and which to leave below.
"... and a hatchet," the Phoenix concluded.
"We have one at home already," said David. "Now, listen, Phoenix,
_can't_ you tell me what all this is for? What are we going to do with
it?"
"My boy, the feline's existence was terminated as a direct result of
its inquisitiveness."
"What did you say?"
"Curiosity killed the cat," explained the Phoenix.
"Oh. But--"
"Now, run along, my boy. A very important Thought has just come to me.
I must Meditate a while." The Phoenix glanced at the thicket and hid a
yawn behind one wing.
"Oh, all _right_," said David. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
It wasn't until he got home that he thought of something. He couldn't
spend pirate gold pieces, or even show them to anyone, without being
asked a lot of embarrassing questions. What to do? Ask Dad or Mother
or Aunt Amy to lend him some money? More embarrassing questions....
Well, he would have to rob his bank. But wait--why hadn't he
remembered? Just before they had moved, Uncle Charles had given him a
ten-dollar bill as a farewell present. He had been saving it for a
model airplane, but the excitement of the last few days had driven it
completely out of his mind. Of course the Phoenix's Plan was more
important than any model plane could be.
So he kept the gold pieces tied up in his handkerchief and took his
ten dollars to a hardware store, where he bought what the Phoenix
wanted--a coil of rope, an electric door bell, a pushbutton, and one
hundred feet of insulated wire. Then he brought the package home, hid
it behind the woodpile in the garage, and sat down to think.
Wire--bell--pushbutton. What could the Phoenix possibly want with
them? And what was the rope for? And the hatchet? The more he puzzled
over it the more confused he became, and finally he just gave up.
There was only one thing he was sure about: whatever the Plan was,
they would have to carry it out as soon as possible. Two days had
passed since the Scientist had shown up. The new gun he had ordered
might arrive at any time now. Perhaps even today, when they had been
digging up the pirate treasure, the Scientist had got his new rifle
and had started to hunt through the mountains.
The thought gave David a creepy feeling on the back of his neck. They
certainly would have to hurry.
* * * * *
Early next morning David climbed up to the ledge, bringing with him
the coil of rope and the hatchet. As an afterthought he had added a
paper bag full of cookies.
"Here's the stuff, Phoenix," he called out as he stepped onto the
ledge. "Where are you?"
There was a crash from the thicket as though someone had jumped up in
it suddenly, and the Phoenix stumbled out, rubbing its eyes.
"Ah, splendid, my boy! Yes. I was just--ah--Thinking."
"Phoenix," said David, "I'm not going to ask you again what your Plan
is, because I know you'll tell me when it's time. But whatever it is,
we'd better do it right now. The Scientist may show up any minute."
"Precisely, my boy. Never put off until tomorrow what can be done
today. One of my favorite proverbs. We shall begin immediately--" Here
the Phoenix caught sight of the bag in David's hand and added hastily:
"But, of course, we must not forget that first things come first."
"You might have brought more," said the Phoenix, fifteen minutes
later.
"There weren't any more in the jar," David said. "Phoenix, please tell
me what we're going to do. I don't care if curiosity _did_ kill the
cat. I've been thinking about the rope and wire and bell all night,
and I can't make heads or tails out of it."
The Phoenix gave a pleased laugh. "Of course you cannot, my boy. The
Plan is far too profound for you to guess what it is. But set your
mind at rest. I shall now explain the rope and hatchet."
David leaned forward eagerly.
"Now, scientists, you know, have fixed habits. If you know those
habits, you can predict just what they will do at any time. Our
particular Scientist is a daytime creature--that is to say, he comes
at dawn and goes at dusk. His invariable habit, my boy!"
"Well?"
"There you are, my boy!" said the Phoenix triumphantly. "_We shall
sleep during the day and continue your education at night!_"
"Oh," said David. He thought about this a while, then asked, "But
suppose the Scientist comes up on the ledge during the day and catches
you asleep?"
"Aha! That is where the rope and hatchet come in. Never fear, my
boy--I thought of that also. We are going to construct a snare at each
end of the ledge."
"How?"
"Hand me that twig, my boy." The Phoenix took the twig, found a bare
spot of earth, and sketched a picture. "First we find a sapling and
clear the branches from it with the hatchet--like this. Next we get a
stake, cut a notch in it, and drive it into the ground--so. The
sapling is bent down to it and fitted into the notch, which holds it
down. You see, my boy? Now we make a noose--so--from a piece of rope,
tie it to the end of the sapling, and spread the loop out on the
path--this way. The whole snare is hidden under grass and leaves." The
Phoenix beamed and flung out its wings in a dramatic gesture. "Just
picture it, my dear chap! The Scientist, smiling evilly as he skulks
along the path! The unwary footstep! The sapling, jarred out of the
notch, springing upward! The tightened noose! And our archenemy
dangling by the foot in mid-air, completely at our mercy!
Magnificent!"
"Golly, Phoenix," said David, "that's pretty clever."
"_Clever_, my boy? Better to say 'a stroke of genius.' Only I,
Phoenix, could have thought of it. And consider the poetic justice of
it! This is exactly the sort of trap that the Scientist once set for
me! Well, shall we begin?"
[Illustration]
The Phoenix had made the snares sound delightfully simple, but they
soon discovered that the job was harder than it sounded. First they
had to find the right kind of sapling, springy and strong. The sapling
had to be in the right place--one by the goat trail, the other at the
far end of the ledge. When they had been chosen, David had to shinny
up them to lop off their branches. That was a very awkward business;
the saplings swayed and trembled under his weight, and he could only
use one hand for the hatchet. Then he had to make two stakes from
stout, hard wood, cut a notch at one end, and drive them into the
ground with the flat of the hatchet. But the hardest part was trying
to bend the sapling down to the stake and fitting it into the notch.
It took the weight of both of them to bring the sapling to the ground.
If they got the slightest bit off balance, it would spring up again.
Once David fell off; the sapling went _swish!_ back into the air,
flinging the astonished Phoenix thirty feet up the mountainside.
It was not until afternoon, when the sun had turned ruddy and shadows
were beginning to stretch dark fingers across the land, that they
finished the job. But at last the saplings were set in the notches,
the nooses were formed and fastened on. Grass and leaves were strewn
over the snares; chips, hewn branches, and other evidences of their
work were removed. They sat down and looked proudly at each other.
"My boy," said the Phoenix, "I have had a wide, and sometimes painful,
experience with traps; so you may believe me when I say that these
are among the best I have seen. We have done well."
"They're sure strong enough," David agreed, flexing his fingers to
take the stiffness out of them. "But what are we going to do if the
Scientist does get caught in one?"
"We shall burn that bridge when we reach it, my boy. Now, do you have
the pliers, wire-cutters, and screw driver below?"
"Yes, they're down in the cellar. What are we going to do with them,
Phoenix?"
"Patience, patience! You will be told when the time comes. I shall
meet you tonight after dark, as soon as it is safe for me to come
down. I trust you will have everything ready?"
"Are you coming _down_?"
"Precisely, my boy. A risk, I admit, but a necessary one. There is a
hedge at the back of your house, is there not? Splendid. You may await
me there."
* * * * *
David, sitting in the shadow of the hedge, jumped when he heard the
Phoenix's quiet "Good evening, my boy."
"Phoenix," he whispered, "how did you do it? Golly, I didn't see you
at all, and it isn't even dark yet."
"I have been hunted long enough, my boy, to have learned a few tricks.
It is merely a matter of gliding close to the ground, selecting the
best shadows, and keeping a sharp lookout. Well, let us get on with
the Plan. Have you the tools here?"
"Yes, here they are."
"Splendid! Now, my boy, since we must continue your education during
the night, it is necessary that we have some way of getting in touch
with each other. If you climb the mountainside in the dark, you may
unwittingly fall into our own snare. It is far easier for me to come
down than it is for you to go up, and under cover of darkness I can do
it quite safely. The question now is, how will you know when I have
arrived? That, my boy, is the nub, or crux, of the situation. A
difficult problem, you will admit. But I have worked out the
solution."
The Phoenix lowered its voice impressively.
"My boy, we are going to install this bell in your room, and the
pushbutton on the base of that telephone pole. When I arrive here at
night, I shall press the button to let you know that I am ready to go.
A magnificent idea, isn't it?"
It did not seem very practical to David. "Well, Phoenix, that's a good
idea," he said carefully. "But how are we going to hide the wires?
And what about the noise of the bell?"
"Nothing to it, my boy! The wires? There are wires between your house
and the telephone pole already--one more would not be noticed. The
noise? You have a pillow on your bed, under which the bell can be
muffled."
"Yes, that's true." It still sounded impractical.
"Just imagine it!" the Phoenix continued enthusiastically. "Perhaps
later we can install another bell at this end. Then we could learn
Morse code and send messages to each other. Exactly like a private
telephone line!"
Put in this way, the idea had a certain appeal, and David found
himself warming to it. But there was another thing to consider.
"How about electricity, Phoenix?"
"Look above you, my boy! The telephone pole is simply loaded down with
power lines waiting to be tapped."
The Phoenix was evidently set on carrying out the Plan, and David did
not want to wear out the bird's patience with more objections.
And--well, why not? There should be no harm in trying it out, anyway.
They gathered up the tools and walked along the hedge to the telephone
pole, which was in one corner of the yard. The Phoenix began to
uncoil the wire, while David gazed up doubtfully at the shadowy maze
of lines and insulators on the cross-arms.
"Electricity," said the Phoenix thoughtfully, "is a complicated and
profound subject. There are amperes, and there are volts, and there
are kilowatt hours. I might also mention positive and negative
and--ah--all that sort of thing. Most profound. Perhaps I had better
investigate up there. Screw driver, please."
The Phoenix took the screw driver in one claw and flew up to the top
of the pole. David could hear the creak of the lines under the
Phoenix's weight and the rattling of the screw driver against the
porcelain insulators. For some minutes the Phoenix investigated,
clicking and scraping about, and muttering "Quite so" and "_There_ we
are." Then it fluttered down again and rubbed its wings together.
"The whole situation up there is a lot simpler than I thought it would
be, my boy. The power lines merely come up to the pole on one side,
pass through the insulators, and go away from the pole on the other
side. Child's play! The covering on the lines is rather tough,
however. We shall have to use the wire-cutters."
The Phoenix returned to the top of the pole with the cutters, and
worked on the wires for five more minutes. Bits of debris began to
shower down on the hedge. One of the wires vibrated on a low note like
a slack guitar string.
"We must not forget the difference between alternating and direct
current, my boy," said the Phoenix as it flew down again. "An
important problem, that. Where is our wire? Ah, there we are. The
pliers, please."
"Do you need any help up there?" David asked.
"No, everything is coming along beautifully, thank you. I shall have
everything finished in a flash."
Trailing one end of the wire in its beak, the Phoenix flew up into the
darkness once more. The tinkering sounds began again, and a spurt of
falling debris rattled in the leaves of the hedge.
Suddenly it happened. There was a terrific burst of blue light, a
sharp squawk from the Phoenix, and a shower of sparks. Another blue
flash blazed up. The lights in the house, and down the whole street,
flickered and went out. In the blackness which followed, each stage of
the Phoenix's descent could be heard as clearly as cannon shots: the
twanging and snapping as it tumbled through the wires, a drawn-out
squawk and the flop of wings in the air below, the crash into the
hedge, the jarring thud against the ground. Broken wires began to
sputter ominously and fire out sparks. A smell of singed feathers and
burning rubber filled the air.
[Illustration]
By the light of the sparks David saw the Phoenix staggering to its
feet. He jumped to the bird's side, but the Phoenix waved him away
with its wing.
"Quick, my boy," it gasped. "We must make a strategic retreat! Meet me
on the ledge in the morning. Ouch!" The Phoenix beat at the smoldering
sparks in its tail and flew off, leaving a trail of acrid smoke
hanging in the air.
David had the presence of mind to gather up all the tools, the wire,
bell, and pushbutton, and one of the Phoenix's feathers, which had
been torn out during the fall. He slipped through a cellar window, hid
the equipment under a stack of old boxes, and ran noisily up the
stairs into the kitchen.
"Hey!" he shouted. "The lights are out!"
"Is that you, dear?" came Mother's anxious voice from the dining room.
"The telephone's dead!" Dad shouted from the hall.
Aunt Amy came bumping down the stairs with a candle. "It's that
burglar!" she cried. "Turning out all the lights so he can murder us
in our beds!"
"Look!" David shouted, "the line's broken in our back yard!"
They could hear the wailing of sirens now. Fire trucks, repair trucks,
and police cars pulled up in front of the house. Everyone in the block
turned out to see what had happened. It took the repair men an hour to
untangle the wires and fix them. And all the time policemen were
going through the crowd, asking questions and writing things down in
their notebooks. They were looking rather haggard, David thought.
8: _In Which David and the Phoenix Visit a Banshee, and a Surprise Is
Planted in the Enemy's Camp_
[Illustration]
Next day Mother asked David to help her straighten out the garden,
which had been trampled by the repair men; so he could not go to see
the Phoenix until after lunch. But when that was finished, he rushed
up the mountainside as fast as he could, wondering all the way what he
and the Phoenix were going to do now.
The ledge was empty when he got there. He shouted, "Phoenix!" and
listened.
"Hel-l-lp!" came a faint answering cry from the other end of the
ledge.
David jumped through the thicket. A pitiful sight met his eyes. There
was the Phoenix, dangling by one foot from the snare, its wings feebly
struggling and its free foot clawing the air. The feathers of its
wings and tail were singed. Great beads of sweat rolled from its
forehead into a puddle on the ground below. The snared foot was blue
and swollen.
"Get me down," gasped the Phoenix weakly.
David took a running leap at the sapling, which broke under the sudden
increase of weight, and the two of them crashed to the ground. He
unfastened the noose and dragged the Phoenix to the shadiest, softest
spot on the ledge.
"Hoist with my own petard," said the Phoenix bitterly. "Rub my foot,
will you? Oh dear oh dear oh dear! Hurts."
"What happened?" David asked as he rubbed the swollen foot. "How long
have you been caught?"
"Missed my way in the dark," said the Phoenix, wiping its brow.
"Thought I was on the other side of the ledge, and landed right on
that fool trap. Hung there all night and all morning. Thought you
would never come, my boy. Oh dear, oh dear, what a horrible
experience! My tail was still on fire when I landed, too. I fully
expected to be burned to a crisp." A large tear rolled down the
Phoenix's beak.
David murmured soothing words and continued to chafe the Phoenix's
foot. "Does it feel any better now?"
"The feeling is coming back, my boy," said the Phoenix, gritting its
beak. "Ouch! All pins and needles." It flexed its toes gingerly. "Rub
a bit more, please. Gently."
The swelling began to go down. With a handful of damp grass David
soothed the marks left by the noose.
"That stupid Electric Company!" the Phoenix suddenly burst out.
"Putting everyone in danger with a short-circuited power line! Let
this be a lesson to you, my boy. Anything worth doing is worth doing
well. They will hear from us, believe me! We shall write them a stiff
complaint!"
"Well, Phoenix," said David hopefully, "we can set the snare again if
we can find another good sapling; and we still have the other one, so
we're pretty well protected. And why couldn't we meet every night by
the hedge, the way we did last night? The bell was a good idea, but
we _could_ get along without it."
The Phoenix sighed. "I suppose you are right, my boy. There is no use
crying over spilt milk. One must set one's jaw and--good heavens, my
boy! _Duck!_"
The Phoenix threw itself to the ground and wildly motioned to David to
do the same. He flattened himself out beside the bird and said, "What
is it, Phoenix?"
"Down the mountainside," whispered the Phoenix. "Look! Do not stick
your head over too far."
David wormed his way to the edge, peered down, and gasped. Below him,
on the grassy slope at the foot of the scarp, was a figure clad in
khaki. It was the Scientist.
"Do you think he saw us?" the Phoenix whispered.
"I don't think so," David whispered back. "He's looking off to the
left. Oh, Phoenix, what if he comes up here? What'll we do?"
"Listen," hissed the Phoenix, "run down there. Talk to him, lead him
away, distract his attention, anything. Only be quick!"
"All right!"
The Phoenix melted into the thicket, and David jumped to his feet. As
he dashed down the trail his brain whirled with questions. What should
he do? What could he say? How could he lead the Scientist away? Where
would the Phoenix go?
In his haste he forgot one important thing. His foot tripped over the
pile of grass and leaves on the trail. The released sapling sprang
upward, the noose tightened with a cruel jerk around his ankle, and he
was snatched into the air. As the blood rushed to his head he lost
control of himself and began to struggle wildly and shout at the top
of his voice.
The flat dry voice of the Scientist drifted to him as if through a
long tunnel. "What's all this? What are you doing here? Who set this
snare?"
"Get me down," David choked. "Please!"
A hand seized him by the scruff of the neck. A knife flashed through
the air and cut the rope. David landed on his feet, but his legs gave
way and he dropped to his knees. He felt dizzy as the blood rushed
away from his head again.
The Scientist tilted his sun helmet back and said, "Well,
well--David," in a disagreeable tone. His eyes narrowed behind the
spectacles. "What is this snare doing here?"
David struggled to his feet and clutched a bush for support. "Thank
you for cutting me down," he said.
The cold blue eyes found David's and held them in a hypnotic stare.
"What is this trap doing here? Who set it?"
"I--I was coming down the trail and--and--I was caught in it," David
stammered.
"You are avoiding my question, young man," said the Scientist.
"Who--set--this--snare? Answer me!"
There was a brilliant flash of gold and blue in the sunlight, the
whistle of feathers cleaving the air, the sharp _thwock!_ of fisted
talons striking. The Scientist pitched forward with a surprised grunt
and lay still across the trail--and the Phoenix, executing a flip in
the air to check its speed, settled down beside David.
"View halloo!" it shouted excitedly. "Yoicks and Tallyho! Did you see
that stoop, my boy? By Jove, the best-trained falcon could not have
done better! Believe me, I have been saving that blow for a long time!
By Jove, what a magnificent stoop! I think I shall take up
Scientist-hunting as a regular thing!"
"Thank goodness, Phoenix!" David exclaimed. "Another minute and you
would've been too late! But I hope you haven't--hurt him very much."
"Nonsense, my boy," said the Phoenix. "A head so stuffed with
scientific fact cannot be injured. He will come to in a short while."
The Phoenix lifted the Scientist's sun helmet and examined the back of
his head. "A large lump is developing, my boy. A most pleasant sight!
I fear the sun helmet is now useless--crushed like an eggshell." And
the Phoenix smiled proudly.
[Illustration]
"Well, I hope it isn't serious," David said doubtfully. "Anyway, we'll
have to do something."
"Precisely, my boy. But I think we should have a drink first." The
Phoenix detached a canteen from the Scientist's belt and took a deep
swig. "Ah, delicious! Our friend is well prepared, my boy." And
indeed, the Scientist had all sorts of things with him: a hand-ax, a
sheath knife, a compass, a camera, binoculars, a stop watch, notebooks
and pencils, a coil of rope, maps. There was also a packet of
sandwiches, which the Phoenix opened and began to eat.
"Now, listen, Phoenix, we have to do something."
"Quite right, my boy," the Phoenix mumbled, with its mouth full. "Have
a sandwich--spoils of war--peanut butter--very nourishing. The fact is
that I have just thought of another plan, which cannot fail. Have we
any money left?"
"Yes, four gold pieces. Why?"
"Splendid. Now, my boy, I shall leave you. When the Scientist wakes
up, you will help him down to wherever he lives. Find out where his
room is. I shall meet you by the hedge at midnight. Be sure you have
the gold pieces with you."
"All right. What are we--"
"Sure you will not have a sandwich?"
"No, thank you. What are we--"
"Very well. Farewell, then, my boy. Till midnight."
David poured what was left in the canteen over the Scientist's head
and fanned him with a notebook. Presently the man stirred and groaned.
Then he sat up and muttered, "What hit me?"
"Can you stand up yet?" David said.
Too dazed to ask any more questions, the Scientist got up, groaning,
put on his broken spectacles, collected his scattered equipment, and
leaned on David. The two of them proceeded slowly down the trail
together, frequently sitting down to rest. The Scientist murmured the
name of his hotel and pointed out the direction.
Townspeople stared at them as they passed, but no one stopped them or
asked questions, and they reached the hotel without further incident.
They entered the lobby, and the Scientist sank into a chair.
"Let me help you to your room," said David.
In a few minutes the Scientist got up again, and they took the
elevator to the fourth floor. David closely watched the direction they
were going, and when they came into the Scientist's room, he looked
quickly through the window. There was a fire escape just outside. He
had the information now: fourth floor, west side, fire escape by
window.
The Scientist eased himself onto the bed with a groan.
Then he turned to David and said severely: "There's something strange
about all this, and I intend to get to the bottom of it. You'll be
hearing from me, young man!"
"All right," said David, closing the door. "And you'll be hearing from
_us_," he added in an undertone, "if I know the Phoenix!"
* * * * *
Flying at night was colder than flying by day, but it was more
thrilling, too. They whistled through an immense blackness. Stars
glittered overhead, and quicksilver patches of moonlight and shadow
flashed across the clouds below. They were going to Ireland, but why,
David did not know. The Phoenix was playing its wait-and-see game
again.
In an hour or so they shot out over the edge of the cloud mass, and
David could see a rocky coast below, dark and cold in the half-light.
The Phoenix began to slant down toward it, and presently they landed
in a little meadow. One side of the meadow ran down to a bog filled
with reeds, and on the other side was a gloomy wood. Everything was
dark and indistinct, but David thought he could tell why the Phoenix
had called this the Emerald Isle. The grass beneath their feet was the
thickest he had ever felt. He touched a boulder and found it furry
with moss. With the wood and the reed-choked bog, the whole place
would be rich with various greens in the daylight.
Just then they saw a little man approaching them from the wood. He was
three feet tall, dressed all in green, and had a long white beard.
When he reached them he raised his cap politely and said, "Good
evenin' to you."
"A fine evening to you, my good Leprechaun," said the Phoenix. "Could
you kindly tell us--"
"Will you have a cigar?" the Leprechaun interrupted.
With a surprised "Thank you very much," the Phoenix took the cigar,
bit off the end, and popped it into its beak. The Leprechaun lighted
it, and the Phoenix puffed away.
"Stick o' gum, lad?" said the Leprechaun to David, holding out a pack.
"Why, yes, thank you," said David. He took the stick of gum from the
pack, and was immediately sorry for it. The stick was made of wood and
had a small wire spring, like a mouse trap, which snapped down on his
finger and made him yelp with pain. At the same instant the Phoenix's
cigar exploded, knocking the startled bird backwards into a bush.
"Haw haw haw!" shouted the Leprechaun, rolling on the ground and
holding his sides. "Haw haw haw!"
In a trice the Phoenix had pounced on the Leprechaun and pinned him to
the ground.
"Let him up," said David furiously. "I'll punch his head for him."
"I think, my boy," said the Phoenix coldly, "that I shall carry the
creature up into the clouds and drop him. Or should we take him back
with us and hand him over to the Scientist?"
"Now, don't take offense, Your Honor," said the Leprechaun. "I thought
you'd look at it as kind o' comic."
"Exceedingly comic," said the Phoenix severely. "I am quite overcome
with mirth and merriment. But perhaps--_perhaps_--I shall let you off
lightly if you tell us where the Banshee lives."
"The--the Banshee of Mare's Nest Wood?"
"The same. Speak!"
A new light of respect and fear came into the Leprechaun's eyes.
"She's a terror, she is. What'll you be wanting--"
"None of your business!" roared the Phoenix. "Where is she?"
The Leprechaun had begun to tremble. "Follow the path yonder through
the wood until you reach the cave, Your Honor. You're not friends o'
hers, are you? You'll not be telling on me? I'm real sorry for those
jokes, Your Honor."
The Leprechaun's fright was so genuine now that the Phoenix relented
and let him go. The little creature dashed off like a rabbit into the
bog.
"Let that be a lesson to you, my boy," said the Phoenix. "Beware the
Leprechaun bearing gifts. But I wonder why the thought of the Banshee
frightened him so?"
They followed the path until they came to the mouth of a cave under a
heap of rocks. The Phoenix plunged in, and David nervously followed.
The cave turned out to be a long passageway which led, after several
turns, into a chamber.
From the ceiling of this rocky vault hung an electric light bulb,
which glared feebly through drifts of smoke. All around the walls were
wooden boxes, stacked up to make shelves and cupboards. These were
filled with an astonishing array of objects: bottles, vials, alembics,
retorts, test tubes, decanters, cages, boxes, jars, pots, skulls,
books, snake skins, wands, waxen images, pins and needles, locks of
hair, crystal balls, playing cards, dice, witch-hazel forks, tails of
animals, spices, bottles of ink in several colors, clay pipes, a
small brass scale, compasses, measuring cups, a piggy bank which
squealed off and on in a peevish way, balls of string and ribbons, a
pile of magazines called _The Warlock Weekly_, a broken ukulele,
little heaps of powder, colored stones, candle ends, some potted
cacti, and an enormous cash register. In the middle of the chamber a
little hideous crone in a Mother Hubbard crouched over a saucepan,
stirring it with a wooden spoon. The saucepan was resting in the coals
of an open fire, and smoke and steam together spread out in a murky,
foul-smelling fog.
The crone peered at them over the top of her spectacles and cackled,
"Come in, come in, dearies. I'll be with you as soon as ever I finish
this brew."
The Phoenix, who had been gazing around the chamber in surprise, said,
"My dear Banshee, since when have you taken up witchcraft? This is
most unexpected."
"Ah, 'tis the Phoenix!" exclaimed the hag, peering at them again.
"Well, fancy that now! Och, you may well ask, and I'll be telling you.
'Tis a poor life being a Banshee--long hours and not so much as
sixpence in it for a full night's work, and I got that sick of it! So
I changed me trade. 'Sure, you'll never make a go of it,' they told
me, 'and at your age,' they says, 'and once you've got your station
in life,' they says, 'there's no changing it.' 'It's in the prime of
me life I am,' says I, 'and I'll not be changing me mind for all your
cackling,' says I, 'and if certain mouths don't shut up,' says I,
'I'll cast spells that'll make certain people wish they were dead.'
That set them back on their heels, you may be sure. Well, 'twas the
best decision of me life. The money pours in like sorrows to a widow,
and I'll be retiring within the year to live out my days like a proper
queen."
Then the Banshee caught sight of David and hobbled over to him,
peering into his frightened eyes.
"Ah, the wee darling," she crooned, "the plump little mannikin. What a
broth he'd make, to be sure." She pinched his arm, and he started back
in terror. "So firm and plump, to make the mouth water. Sell him to
me, Phoenix!"
"Nonsense," said the Phoenix sharply. "What we desire--"
At this instant the contents of the saucepan began to hiss and bubble.
"Whoops, dearies, the brew is boiling!" shrieked the Banshee, and she
hobbled back to the fire to resume her work. She looked in a recipe
book, stirred, clapped her hands, sang hair-raising incantations in a
quavery voice, and added a pinch of salt and sulfur. She sprinkled
spices from a shaker, waved her wand, popped in a dead toad, and
fanned up the fire with an ostrich plume.
[Illustration]
"Now for the hard part," she said, grinning at them toothlessly. She
measured out a spoonful of green powder, weighed it in the scales, and
flung it into the saucepan. There was a loud explosion. A huge blast
of steam flared out and engulfed them. When it had cleared, they saw
the Banshee tilting the saucepan over a small bottle. One ruby drop of
fluid fell into the bottle. It darted forth rays of light as it fell,
and tinkled like a silver coin rolling down flights of marble steps.
[Illustration]
The Banshee corked the bottle and held it up proudly to the light.
"Will you look at that, now?" she crooned. "The finest ever I brewed.
Ah, the mystic droplet! Some swain will be buying that, now, and
putting it in a lassie's cup o' tea, and she'll be pining away for
love of him before the day's out."
She put the bottle on the shelf, pasted a label on it, and turned to
them with a businesslike air.
"Now, dearies, what'll you be wanting? Philtres? Poison?--I've a
special today, only five shillings a vial. A spell? What about your
fortunes?--one shilling if seen in the crystal ball, one and six if
read from the palm. A hex?--I've the finest in six counties. A ticket
to the Walpurgis Night Ball?"
"We want a Wail," said the Phoenix. "And we shall accept nothing but
the best and loudest you have."
"Ah, a Banshee's Wail, is it?" cried the hag. "You've come to the
right shop, dearies, to be sure. Now, let me see...." She hobbled to a
shelf which contained a row of boxes, ran her finger along them,
stopped at one, and took it down. "Here we are--key of C-sharp, two
minutes long, only five shillings threepence."
"No, no," said the Phoenix. "A larger one. We have something more than
mice to frighten."
"A bigger one? Och, here's a lovely one, now--five minutes long,
ascending scale with a sob at the end, guaranteed to scare a statue.
Yours for ten and six. I call that a real bargain, now!"
"Bah!" said the Phoenix impatiently. "Enough of these squeaks! We want
a real _Wail_, my dear Banshee--such a Wail as never before was heard
on the face of this earth. And stop this babbling about shillings and
pence. We are prepared to pay in gold." The Phoenix took the four
pieces of gold from David and carelessly tossed them into the air.
The Banshee's eyes flew wide open, and she twirled herself around like
a top. "Och, the sweet music of its tinkling!" she exclaimed. "The
lovely sheen of light upon it! _There's_ a sight for eyes used to
naught but silver! Ah, but dearies, I've no Wail worth four pieces of
gold. I'll have to make one up special." She hobbled rapidly around
the chamber until she had found a box as large as a bird cage, and an
ear trumpet. She opened the box, shook it to make sure it was empty,
and put in two heads of cabbage. ("Such monstrous appetites these
Wails do have!" she explained.) She fastened the lid carefully with a
catch-lock, and inserted the ear trumpet in a hole in one side of the
box. Then she disappeared through a sound-proof door, which they had
not seen before on account of the smoke.
Fifteen minutes later the Banshee came out with the box, plugging up
the hole in its side with a bit of wax. She was pale and trembling,
and beads of sweat covered her face. She smiled weakly at them, seized
an earthen-ware jug, and drained it in one gulp. The color began to
return to her face.
"Wsssht!" she gasped, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her Mother
Hubbard. "Ah, dearies, that was the effort of me life! 'Tis a Wail to
make one burst with pride, though I do say it meself. Thirteen minutes
long by the clock, with a range of ten octaves! 'Twould frighten the
Old Nick himself!"
"Splendid!" said the Phoenix. "The fact is, I sometimes suspect that
that is precisely with whom we are dealing at home."
The light suddenly dawned on David. "Phoenix!" he cried. "I bet we're
going to give the Wail to the Scientist!"
"Precisely, my boy!" The Phoenix beamed.
"Oh, golly golly golly!" David sang as he danced around.
"And I'll guarantee it, dearies!" the Banshee cackled. "One hundred
per cent satisfaction or your money back!"
"Defeat and confusion to the enemy!" the Phoenix shouted, giving the
special squawk which was its battle cry.
The Banshee received her gold. The Phoenix told David for goodness
sake not to drop the box or let the lid pop open, or they would regret
it to their dying day. David, hearing the rustle of the Wail as it
ravenously attacked the cabbages inside the box, assured the Phoenix
that he would be careful. The Banshee said, "Ah, Phoenix, do sell the
laddie to me," but her tone was more teasing than serious, and they
all laughed. Good-bys were said all round, and David and the Phoenix
left. The last thing they heard as they felt their way up the dark
passage was the happy cackling of the Banshee and the clang of the
cash register.
* * * * *
They got back to the hotel before dawn and very carefully crept down
the fire escape into the Scientist's room. They put the box on the
bedside table, stuck out their tongues at the sleeping Scientist, and
crept out again. Then they went home, the Phoenix to the ledge and
David to bed, where he fell asleep instantly.
The Wail was wildly successful. The Scientist released it from its box
at seven o'clock in the morning. People living in the hotel thought
the world had come to its end. The rest of the town wondered if it was
a riot, or an earthquake, or both with three steam calliopes thrown
in for good measure. David, who lived twelve blocks from the hotel,
stirred in his sleep and dreamed he was riding a fire engine. Even the
Phoenix claimed later that a kind of moan was borne on the breeze all
the way up to the ledge.
The hotel burst into activity like a kicked anthill. People poured
down the fire escapes, shot out through the doors, lowered themselves
into the street with ropes of knotted blankets. Others barricaded
themselves in their rooms by piling furniture against the doors and
windows. One guest found his way to the cellar and hid in an ash can
for two days. The manager crawled into the office safe and locked the
door, without even bothering to remember that he was the only one who
knew the combination. The telephone exchange was jammed as calls
flooded in to mobilize the Boy Scouts, the Red Cross, the Salvation
Army, the National Guard, and the Volunteer Flood Control Association.
When the Wail finally died out (which was not until seven-thirty,
because it had devoured both cabbages during the night and had grown
to more than twice its original size) the police entered the hotel in
force, armed to the eyebrows. They found nothing. At the end of a
three-hour search the Chief handed in his resignation.
As for the Scientist, he disappeared completely. A farmer living three
miles out of town said he saw a man, dressed in a nightshirt and
head-bandage, running down the valley road. The farmer guessed the
man's speed to be thirty-five miles an hour. But, he added, there was
such a cloud of dust being raised that he could not see very well.
"It might have been fifty miles an hour," he said.
No one doubted him.
[Illustration]
9: _In Which David and the Phoenix Call On a Faun, and a Lovely
Afternoon Comes to a Strange End_
[Illustration]
The Phoenix was dead tired. And no wonder--all in one week it had
escaped from Gryffons, raced with a Witch, made round-trip flights to
the Pacific Isles and Ireland, been caught in a snare, got burned by a
short circuit, and been knocked down by an exploding cigar. Even a
bird as strong as the Phoenix cannot do all these things without
needing a rest. So the traveling part of David's education was
stopped for a while to let the Phoenix recover.
The days went by pleasantly on the ledge. Summer was at its height.
The sun fell on them with just the right amount of warmth as they
lolled on the grass. The air was filled with a lazy murmuring.
"Listen," the murmuring seemed to say, "don't talk, don't think--close
your eyes and listen." Below them, the whole valley danced and wavered
in the heat waves, so that it seemed to be under water.
There were long, lazy conversations that began nowhere and ended
nowhere--the wonderful kind in which you say whatever comes to your
head without fear of being misunderstood, because what you say has
little importance anyway. The Phoenix told of the times and adventures
it had had. Of the forgotten corners of the world where life went on
as it had from the beginning, and of friends who lived there. Of
Trolls who mined metal from the earth and made from it wondrous
machines which whirred and clattered and clanked and did absolutely
nothing. ("The best kind of machine after all, my boy, since they
injure no one, and there is nothing to worry about when they break
down.") Of Unicorns ("Excellent chaps, but so frightfully melancholy")
which shone white in the sun and tossed their ivory horns like
rapiers. Of a Dragon who, having no treasure to guard, got together a
pathetic heap of colored pebbles in its cave. ("And really, he came to
believe in time that they were absolutely priceless, and went about
with a worried frown of responsibility on his brow!") David, in turn,
told the Phoenix about the games he used to play when he lived in the
flat country, and all about school, and Mother and Dad and Aunt Amy
and Beckie.
He could not help laughing now and then over the Scientist's defeat.
But whenever this came up, the Phoenix would shake its head with a
kind of sad wisdom.
"My boy, there are certain things, such as head colds and forgetting
where you have left your keys, which are inevitable--and I am afraid
that the Scientist is, too."
"Oh, Phoenix, you don't think he'll come back, do you?"
"Yes, my boy, I do. I can see the whole train of events: He will
recover from his fright. He will be curious about the Wail, and will
return to investigate it. Once here, he will remember us, and we shall
have to take him into account once more."
"Oh. Do you think it'll happen soon?"
"Oh, no, my boy, nothing to worry about for the time being. But we
must remember that it will happen some day."
"Yes, I guess you're right. I think he's hateful!"
"I cannot disagree with you there, my boy. Of course, I have no doubt
that, in general, the advancement of science is all to the good.
Knowledge is power. But on days like this I sometimes wonder.... Does
it not seem to you that the highest aim in life at the moment is to
enjoy the sunlight and allow others to do the same?"
"You're right, Phoenix--but then, you always are. I was just thinking
the same thing. It's funny ... I mean ... well, _you_ know. Why can't
people leave other people alone--and--and--well, just _enjoy_
themselves and lie in the sun and listen to the wind?"
"That is the way of the world, my boy. Getting and spending, and all
that sort of thing. But come! Why should we worry over the follies of
the rest of the world? A day like this was made for living, not
thinking. Begone, dull care!"
And they would forget the Scientist and watch a pair of butterflies
chase each other instead.
But one day the Phoenix suddenly stood up with a startled expression
on its face. "My dear chap!" it exclaimed. "I have just remembered!
Tomorrow...."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Why, my boy, tomorrow another century rounds its mark. To be brief,
tomorrow is my birthday. My five hundredth birthday."
"Well, congratulations, Phoenix!"
"Thank you, my boy. Five hundred.... Destiny.... Have I mentioned
before, my boy, that I have a magnificent destiny?"
"No. What is it, Phoenix?"
"I--well, it is strange, my boy, but I do not know ... but that it is
magnificent no one can doubt."
"Do I have one too?"
"Of course, my boy. We all do."
David was glad of that. He did not know exactly what a destiny was,
however, and he tried to think of how one would look. But the only
picture which came to his mind was that of a small, mousy creature
(his destiny) looking up in admiration to a splendid thing of flame
and gold, dazzling to the eyes--the Phoenix's mysterious destiny.
He said, "We'll have to do something special tomorrow to celebrate,
Phoenix."
The Phoenix looked thoughtful. "I think we had better do whatever we
are going to do _today_," it said.
"Well, we can do something today _and_ tomorrow, then," said David.
"After all, a birthday only comes once a year, and it seems a shame to
spend only one day on it. Especially when it's a five hundredth
birthday."
"Tomorrow ..." said the Phoenix doubtfully. "I have a strange feeling,
my boy--for once, I find myself unable to explain--most odd, _most_
odd ... five hundredth birthday...."
"Ah, well," it went on more cheerfully, "I shall undoubtedly remember
later. The pressing question is, what shall we do now?"
David got up, thought for a while, and suddenly flung his arms wide.
"Oh, Phoenix," he cried, "it's such a beautiful day, I wish it could
go on forever! Couldn't we go somewhere--somewhere where we--oh, I
don't know. I can't explain it. Anywhere _you_ say, Phoenix."
The Phoenix looked at him for a long time. "I think I understand, my
boy. Yes.... How about one of the forgotten places I told you about?
Should you like to meet a Faun?"
* * * * *
It was a green valley, completely enclosed by the barren mountains
which towered above it. At one end a waterfall hung on the face of a
cliff, a misty thread pouring into a rainbow-arched pool. A brook
serpentined through fields and groves of trees. There were flocks of
sheep and goats in the fields. Here and there were strange ruins of
marble and red granite--columns, peristyles, benches carved with
lions' heads, and pedestals.
They landed in a little glade, and David got down in silent
wonderment. The very stillness of the air was enchanted. The grass,
dappled with sun and shadow, wore a mantle of flowers. Clouds of
butterflies sprang up at their approach and swirled about them. To
their right stood two broken columns, half-hidden beneath a wild
tangle of vine and clusters of purple grapes. Beyond was the forest,
dark and cool and silent, with shafts of sunlight in it like golden
spears pinning the forest floor to earth. There was no breeze. And as
David stood there, scarcely daring to breathe, they heard the sound of
shepherd pipes coming from the edge of the wood. It was a minor tune,
but somehow lilting too, with the rippling of water in it, and the
laughter of birds flying high, and the whisper of reeds as they bend
together by the edge of streams, and the gaiety of crickets by night,
and the pouring of summer rain.
The piping died away, and the Phoenix beckoned to the spellbound
David. Together they walked across the glade, leaving behind them a
wake of swirling butterflies. An immense oak stood at the edge of the
forest. At its foot, on a bed of moss, sat the Faun.
He was the same size as David. From the waist down he was covered with
shaggy hair like a goat's, and instead of feet he had cloven hooves.
The hair on his head was black and curly, and tumbled around small
pointed ears and a pair of short horns. His eyes were slanted slightly
upward, and he had a pointed chin and a snub nose.
The Faun waved his pipes saucily at the Phoenix and gave a wry smile.
"Hullo, Phoenix! Back again to honor us with your wit and wisdom? What
gems of advice have you got for us now?"
"My dear Faun," said the Phoenix stiffly, "I have brought my friend
David, who is acquiring an education. We--"
The Faun smiled at David. "Want to race?" he said.
"Sure," said David. "Where to?"
"One moment," harrumphed the Phoenix. "What we--"
"Down to that pedestal and back," said the Faun.
"All right. Wait till I tie my shoe."
The Phoenix harrumphed again. "This is all very well in its place, but
we _should_--"
"Ready?" said the Faun. "One, two, three, _go_!"
[Illustration]
They dashed for the stone marker. It was an even race until they
reached the pedestal, but there David tried to turn without slowing
down, slipped on the grass, and went sprawling on his hands and knees.
The Faun knew better. He sprang at the pedestal with both hooves,
bounced from it like a spring, and began to race back to the oak. But
then he too fell, tripping over a vine, and David shot past him and
touched the oak one jump ahead of him, shouting "First!"
They sat down on the moss, panting. The Faun said, "You can really
run! I'm sorry you fell."
"Well, you fell too, so that makes us even," said David. They looked
at each other and for some reason burst out laughing. They rolled
around on the moss and laughed until tears came, while the Phoenix
fidgeted in reproachful silence.