by Enid Blyton
Jack got out of the box and made his way cautiously to a window. He saw the children just below, getting into a big car. The man with the eyeglass appeared to be in command, and gave an order to the chauffeur as he got in. The man was holding open the door and bowed. He saluted too, and repeated something after the man with the eyeglass.
‘Borken!’
Then he got into the driving-seat and drove swiftly off the field to a large gate in the distance.
‘Borken!’ said Jack to himself. ‘Now would that be the name of a place – or just a Hessian word for “Thank you” or something? Well – they’ve gone. Kiki, you and I are on our own in a strange land whose language we don’t know. And we have only got a few English coins in our pocket – so what do you suppose is the best thing to do?’
‘Send for the doctor,’ said Kiki, putting up her crest and looking very wise. ‘Send for the doctor. Put the kettle on.’
Jack went on looking out of the window. It seemed to him that everyone had walked off to a little wooden building at one end of the airfield – to get refreshments, perhaps? Jack felt that he would like some too!
He went cautiously into the other part of the plane. Not a soul was there. In fact, not a soul was to be seen anywhere, even on the field or in the distance.
‘I think the time has come for us to go, Kiki,’ said Jack. ‘Ready for a sprint? I hardly think we’ll get away without being noticed – but at any rate we’ll have a good start, if the men have to come from that wooden building right over there.’
He went to the landing steps and ran down them. Then he sprinted at top speed across the field to the entrance. Nothing happened for a minute or two, and then two men appeared at the door of the distant building. They shouted loudly, and then began to run after Jack.
But he had a wonderful start, and the men gave up almost at once, and returned to the building. ‘Just a boy longing for a close look at an aeroplane!’ they said to one another.
Jack ran out of the entrance and found himself on a wide, deserted road. No one was in sight. He could not even see any houses. This must be a very lonely airfield! He began to walk along the road, Kiki on his shoulder. He was very hungry indeed now.
‘Why isn’t anyone about?’ he thought. ‘Not a car to be seen so I can’t get a lift. I wonder where the others are by now? Wish I was with them!’
He suddenly remembered that it was very early in the morning. Of course no one would be about yet. The sun had only just risen. Possibly he might meet a workman or two soon.
He met a man cycling along the road after a while and held up his hand to stop him. The man put one foot on the road, and stopped his bicycle.
‘Eglinoota?’ he said. At least, that is what it sounded like to Jack. He looked astonished to see Kiki.
‘I’m English,’ said Jack, trying to speak slowly and clearly. ‘Where is the police station?’
‘Eglinoota?’ said the man again, looking bewildered. ‘Oota? Oota?’
‘Parp-parp,’ said Kiki, suddenly. ‘Parp-parp!’ It sounded exactly like the hooter of a car! Jack laughed.
‘Did you think the man kept saying “hooter”?’ he asked Kiki. ‘Well, he wasn’t. Goodness knows what he was saying! I wish I knew what “food” was in the Hessian language!’
‘Powkepotoplink?’ said the man, trying again. He pointed to the parrot. ‘Powkepotoplink? Ai, ai!’
He suddenly took out a notebook and a pencil and began drawing something on a page. Jack wondered what it was. The man tore out the page and gave it to him.
The drawing looked like a small map showing various roads. There was something that looked like a pond also, and something else that looked like a church spire. At the bottom of the map the man had drawn what looked like a tent. He jabbed at it with his pencil.
‘Powkepotoplink,’ he said again, very loudly, as if that might help Jack to understand.
‘Plink-plonk, plink-plonk,’ said Kiki, at once, and went off into a cackle of laughter. The man looked at her in admiration. He undid a bag and took out a small sugared cake. He presented it to Kiki, who took it with her right foot, making a sudden clucking noise like a hen.
Jack looked at it with hungry eyes and the man noticed the look. He delved in his bag again and brought out an enormously thick sandwich with some kind of bright red meat in it. He presented this to Jack, who was thrilled.
‘Thank you,’ said the boy. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Cheepalikkle,’ said the man, incomprehensibly, and rode off, waving. Jack walked on, munching the huge sandwich. Kiki put out her parrot-tongue and licked the cake. She didn’t like it and gave it to Jack. In return he gave her some of her favourite sunflower seeds, of which he always kept a supply in his pocket. She sat happily on his shoulder, cracking them.
Jack looked at the map. What did it mean? Why had that man drawn it? He must have thought there was some particular place Jack wanted to go to – but Jack himself didn’t know of any place in Tauri-Hessia that he wanted to find, except the place where the others had gone. And that might be Borken and it might not. Borken might mean anything in this unknown Hessian language!
He walked on and on for miles, feeling much better for the sandwich. He decided that he must look for a police station if ever he came to the end of this wide, deserted road. It looked as if it had only been built to lead to the airfield! Except for the man on the bicycle he met nobody at all.
But at last he saw houses in the distance. Ah – he was coming to a village – no, a town, because as he came nearer he saw that it was far too big to be called a village.
‘If I could just find somebody who spoke English, it would be such a help,’ thought Jack. ‘I could ask for a police station then, and get a telegram – or a cable – sent to Bill. I wish he’d come out here and help. I wonder what happened to him. I bet those fellows knocked him out.’
He came into the town and looked around him with interest. The shops were small and dark, the houses were whitewashed or pink-washed, and seemed to run to curls and squiggles and much decoration – rather ‘fretworky’, Jack decided. Curly roofs, squiggly bits of woodwork here and there, and windows whose sills were covered with decorated flower boxes.
The people looked like farmers and were dressed in bright, simple clothes. No woman wore a hat, but many wore shawls. The men wore rather tight trousers, and had some kind of sash round their waists. Their waistcoats were gaily embroidered, and somehow they reminded Jack of bull fighters though he didn’t quite know why.
The children were very thin, and simply dressed. Even the little girls wore long, rather raggedy skirts, and the boys wore tight trousers like their fathers but had no embroidered waistcoats. Instead they had very bright red, blue or yellow shirts.
They soon saw Jack, and ran to him. The parrot fascinated them.
‘Powke, powke!’ they yelled, pointing at Kiki, who was delighted at being the centre of attention. She put up her crest and lowered it, and even did a little hoppity dance on Jack’s shoulder.
‘Powke – that must mean parrot,’ thought Jack. ‘Hey, you kids – where’s the police station?’
They didn’t understand a word, of course. They followed Jack, talking together, still entertained by Kiki, who was showing off tremendously.
Then a small boy with a little wooden gun ran up. He pointed it at Jack, and shouted ‘Pop-pop-pop!’
That was quite enough for Kiki. She stood up on her toes and shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Pop! POP! BANG-BANG-BANG! Pop goes the weasel! Powke, powke, powke.’
There was an awed silence after this effort of Kiki’s. Everyone stared, still trotting after Jack.
Kiki went off into one of her idiotic bouts of laughter, and the children all began to laugh too.
‘Wipe your feet, blow your nose!’ shouted Kiki, and then made a noise like an express train in a tunnel.
This made a tremendous impression. The children fell back a little, startled. But they soon caught up again, yelling ‘Po
wke, powke, powke’, and soon the crowd was considerably bigger, and Jack began to feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin with so many children following him.
Then an official-looking person stopped him at a crossroads, and addressed him quite sternly, pointing to the crowd that had now gathered round him. Jack didn’t understand a word.
‘I am English,’ he said. ‘English. You speak English? Yes? No?’
‘Ha! Ingleeeeesh!’ said the person, and took out a black notebook which immediately told Jack what he was. Of course – a Hessian policeman!
‘You speak English?’ said Jack, hopefully.
The policeman rattled off something at him, and held out his hand. He still had the notebook in the other one. Jack hadn’t the faintest idea what he wanted. He shook his head, puzzled. The policeman grew annoyed. He slapped his hand with the notebook and shouted again.
Jack shook his head once more. Kiki shouted back at the policeman. ‘Pop goes the weasel, put the kettle on, pop!
All the children laughed. There were a good many grown-ups around now, watching. One suddenly put his hand into his pocket and drew out a worn, doubled-over card. He showed it to Jack, and made him understand that that was what the policeman was asking him for.
Jack saw that it was a kind of passport or identity card. He hadn’t got one on him, of course, so once more he shook his head. Kiki shook hers, too, and the children roared.
The policeman shut his notebook with a snap and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He fired a sentence at him in sharp Hessian and pushed him in front of him smartly.
‘Now where do we go?’ thought Jack. ‘What a colourful policeman – blue trousers, red shirt, blue sash, an imposing kind of flower-pot helmet – really!’
But he didn’t think things were quite so happy when he saw where the policeman was taking him. There was no doubt about it at all. It was a police station, a small, square, whitewashed place, sober-looking and severe, with a good many more stern-faced policemen standing about.
‘Look here! You can’t put me into prison!’ cried Jack, struggling away. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong! You let me go!’
15
The map comes in useful
Jack was pushed firmly into a small, square room with one bench in it against the wall. He was made to sit down on this, and the policeman went to report at a big, untidy desk. He spoke very quickly, and it all sounded like a lot of Double Dutch to Jack.
It did to Kiki too, and she sat on Jack’s shoulder and sent out such a stream of unending nonsense that every policeman in the place stared in admiration.
Nobody was standing in Jack’s way to the door. He looked at it. He thought he would make a dash for freedom, and try to get away from these awkward policemen. He was half-afraid he might be locked up for weeks. Perhaps they thought he was a beggar or a tramp? Perhaps it was a great crime not to have some kind of card to say who he was?
He saw his chance, when nobody was looking at him, and raced for the door. He was down the steps and into the street before a policeman stirred! He heard shouts behind him but he didn’t look back. Down the dusty street he ran at top speed, turned a corner, ran down an alley, and came to a big door.
He ran inside and looked round. No one was there. A squawk attracted his attention, and made Kiki look round in interest. Jack saw a parrot in a cage, a very colourful one with blue and green and yellow feathers.
Kiki flew to the cage and stood on the top. She bent her head down and looked inside excitedly. Another parrot!
‘How-do-you-do, how-do-you-do!’ said Kiki. ‘Good morning, good night! Pop goes the weasel!’
The other parrot gave another squawk. It seemed rather scared. Then Jack heard the sound of footsteps, and before he could move, a voice spoke – a gentle voice, soft and kind.
A girl stood there, aged about twelve. She was beautifully dressed in bright silks, and her long dark hair was woven in and out with bright ribbons. She stared at Jack in surprise.
‘Eglinoota?’ said the girl. ‘Oota?’
Jack wished he knew what this ‘oota’ word meant. He really didn’t know what to say. He pointed to the parrots and smiled cheerfully. ‘Powke, powke!’ he said. The girl looked at the two parrots and laughed.
Then, to his delight, she slowly spoke a few words in English. ‘Where – you – go?’ she said. ‘You – English – yes?’
Jack fished out the bit of paper the man on the bicycle had drawn him. It would look as if he really was going somewhere, if he showed her that! She took it and nodded her head.
‘Come,’ she said, and took him to the door.
‘Listen – do you know anyone who speaks English well?’ asked Jack, eagerly. The girl didn’t understand, though he repeated it several times. Then she heard a voice from somewhere in the house, and she gave him a push, pointing down an alley, and then to the right. Jack thanked her, called Kiki and went out. He ran down the alley and came to the end. Then he turned to the right and went quickly along a narrow, dusty street with high walls each side.
He stopped at the end and looked at his map. He supposed he might as well follow it. Obviously the bicyclist must have had some reason for drawing it. It might lead somewhere useful!
In front of him was what would be, in England, a village green. But this green was parched and dusty, and three skinny hens wandered over it looking thoroughly miserable. At the side was a big round pond in which dozens of small children were paddling. Jack looked at his map again.
‘Ah – the pond! Yes, I must be on the right road. I’ll go down here, and see if I can spot the thing that looks like a church tower.’
He went on for some way without seeing anything like a church tower. At last he stopped a kindly-looking old woman and showed her the map. He pointed to the drawing that looked like a church.
She nodded her head at once. She took his arm and pointed across a field. There was a path there. It led upwards towards a hill. On the hill Jack saw a building with a great tower. He couldn’t imagine what it was, unless it was a Tauri-Hessian church.
He went on again, over the field and up to the tower. He looked at the map again – it showed a winding road from the tower and this road led to the drawing on the map that looked rather like a tent. Jack looked up from the map and recognized the winding road, going down the other side of the hill on which the tower stood. But what could the tent-like drawing be?
An old man sat on a bench, dozing. Jack went cautiously up to him and sat down. The old man opened an eye, saw the parrot and sat up at once.
‘Good. He’s awake,’ thought Jack, and pushed the map in front of him, pointing to the tent-like drawing, and trying to make the man understand that he wanted to get there.
‘Ahhhh!’ said the old fellow, in a hoarse voice. ‘Pikkatioratyforg. Ahhhhhh!’
‘Very helpful!’ thought Jack. The old man got up and tottered a little way down the path. Then he pointed with his stick.
‘Surkytalar,’ he said. ‘Surky.’
‘Surky,’ repeated Jack, and looked where he was pointing. Then he stared hard. He knew why the bicyclist had drawn the tent now! In a big field were crowds of tents and vans! It must be a circus of some kind – a travelling circus!
‘Of course! Surky – he means circus,’ thought Jack. ‘It’s a circus. That’s why that fellow on the bike directed me there. He thought I wanted the circus – thought I was trying to make my way to it, because I’d got a talking parrot. Well, well, well! I’ve solved that puzzle!’
He thanked the old man and thought he might as well make his way to the circus. Somebody there might possibly speak English. Circus people knew all kinds of languages. Anyway they were usually kindly folk, they might give him a meal and help him a bit.
So Jack, suddenly feeling very hungry again, went down the long winding road to the field where the circus was.
It took him about half an hour to reach it and when he got there he saw that it was packing up to move on. The tents were being taken down, hors
es were being put into some of the vans and there was a great deal of shouting and noise.
Jack leaned over the gate. A boy came by, carrying a load of boxes that looked very heavy. As he passed, the pile toppled over, and he dropped about four of them. Jack leapt over the gate and went to help.
The boy was about his own age, swarthy and black- eyed. He grinned at Jack, and said something he couldn’t understand. He said it again, in another language. Still Jack didn’t understand.
‘Merci beaucoup,’ said the boy, trying again this time in French. Ah – Jack understood that!
‘Ce n’est rien!’ he answered. The boy looked at Kiki and rattled off something in French again, asking Jack if he was a circus boy and had come to ask for a job there.
Jack answered as best he could, for his French was not really very good. ‘I should like a job,’ said Jack, in French. ‘Better still, I should like a meal!’
‘Come with me then,’ said the boy, again in French, and Jack followed him to a van. A woman sat there, peeling potatoes.
‘Ma!’ said the boy, in English. ‘Here’s a hungry kid. Got anything for him?’
Jack stared at the boy in astonishment. Why, he was speaking English! ‘Hey!’ said Jack, ‘why didn’t you speak English before? I’m English!’
‘My dad’s English’, said the boy, grinning. ‘My ma’s Spanish. We don’t mind what language we speak, really. We’ve picked them all up in our wanderings around. Ma, give this boy something to eat. Do you think he can get a job with us? Where do you want to go?’ he asked Jack.
‘Well – is there a place called Borken anywhere about?’ asked Jack, hopefully.
‘Borken! Yes, we’re on the way there,’ said the boy, and Jack felt suddenly cheerful. ‘It’s a big town, and outside there’s the Castle of Borken on a hill.’
Jack drank all this in. A castle – would that be where the others had been taken? This was a bit of luck after all his set-backs. He would certainly go with this travelling circus if they would have him.