by B G Denvil
“Three more cows, he means,” Joan explained. “They just wandered into one of our fields, looking for our sheds for some reason or other. In they come, give a few calls of greeting, and go to join our others. I must say these five new ones all look identical. Maybe all twins, like you say I’m having.”
“But she swears she’s not,” chuckled Alid. “Just one mighty big healthy lad. And we’ll be calling him Richard.”
“So your own four original cows,” I said as if I was just as excited as them, “and a whole five more, and all good milkers. You must be in good profit at last.”
“Definitely,” Alid said, nodding vigorously. “We’ve started making six times, and being winter, there’s those coming to us what would normally go elsewhere. Not just the village folk, but strangers from the big towns. We got a little smoked bacon put aside ready for the Christmas sales, but I reckon we don’t even need that now. We might eat it ourselves.”
“And nobody has complained about lost or stolen cows?”
“Not one.”
“And I wonder,” I added on the way out, having discussed cows and milk for about as long as I could stomach it, “did you have a look at those nice trees that sprung up from your bottom hedge?”
“I most certainly have,” Alid said, still joyful. “I can’t be sure not having seen any before, but I reckon they’re fig trees. Now that would be another great form of profit, if it’s true. Brin’s down there pruning them at the moment. A great lad, our Brin. We’re hoping he’ll stay. Says he’s looking forward to seeing the twins. Says they should be Richard and Brin.”
I laughed dutifully. “You’ll be rich farmers soon.”
“Once I’d have called you a crazy dreamer,” Alid said as the nodding continued. “But now I reckon ‘tis a real possibility.”
“Four sweet healthy cows kept us going before,” said Joan, now cuddling her stomach as if the babies were in need of an embrace. “Now we have five more. That’s a whole herd. A lucky nine. My goodness, those beautiful beasts will make us a comfortable family, even with our new little boy to clothe and feed.”
“And if those trees are figs, as I guess, things will get better and better. Figs aren’t in season for almost another year, but,” and now Alid seemed to be almost jumping up and down, “by next autumn we’ll be building our boy his own bedchamber.”
That had put my mind very much at rest. I might be able to do more the following year, but in the meantime, they were economically safe, and their prospects were healthy, even if I got cursed and could do no more. Actually, I felt quite pleased with myself and wondered if I ought to do something nice for Rollo. Or even Dickon. They had all treated me with kindness at one time or another. But nothing had been said, good or bad, regarding the wretched Alice, neither woman nor bug.
Although the weather was its usual November gloom, the afternoon sunset was imminent, I walked slowly. A crescent of silver slithered behind one cloud, so I knew the moon had risen before the sun had surrendered, but a gloaming of shivering light behind them, had silhouetted the trees in their stark black leafless beauty. No stars. The clouds were too determined, but a spillage of moon glow promised something and I remained there, watching.
Behind me the tiny pinkish reminder of daytime still lingered, as though unsure, although expecting something. Not knowing, and not even confident I’d like what eventually came, I also waited for whatever that last sprig of light felt was inevitable.
One star found a tiny crack, and shone for a blink, then gone. Now the sun had also gone, but its echoes hung there in the west, a lilac tinge turning to soft golden haze, and then, tired of the romantic pretence, disappeared entirely.
Even the gloaming turned black. No light for shadows, but a sombre dignity of pure darkness. The sliver of moon was hiding now, and the solitary star had been blown out.
He came down the street towards me, not as I had expected, but as if he was a stranger. Yet still him in every other way.
Neither squirrel nor ghostly translucence, Whistle now wore a body exactly as he had before death. Not too tall, not too short. Slim but muscular on those points that showed, the rest being camouflaged in striped silk, black velvet, deep blue damask and thin knitted stockings within pointed black shoes. Half in fashion, and half utterly eccentric. He came nearer. I smiled, but I didn’t run towards him. There was something wrong.
His eyes were bright, yet his focus was glazed as though delighting in seeing something that was not and never had been there. At his sides, his hands hung loose but were twitching. It was almost as though he planned to strangle me, embrace me, or just impatient for something in another world.
He passed me. He didn’t see me although I was a fingertip away.
“Whistle, are you home?” Whispering, I stood still, but he neither saw nor heard, and strode onwards, searching for something entirely different.
I stood silent for some time, wondering and finding no explanation. Turning back and heading for home, seemed a depressing and empty ending to a difficult day.
Twenty-Two
Just in time for supper, I flopped onto my chair at the table, and as I was about to reach over for the nice big serving spoon—ready to help myself to creamy leeks, spinach and herring roe, a chicken bone which I secretly handed down to Wolf cuddled at my feet beneath the table, and eyed the delicious codlings which I’d promised myself I could have afterwards—I looked up abruptly and gasped. I almost dropped my leeks.
At the head of the table sat Whistle, appearing like Peg after one of those confused journeys of hers, landing back home with tousled hair, clothes askew and the facial expression of a cherry tree in full blossom suddenly realising it was winter.
Yet he saw us all and smiled, delighted, waved to me, checked to make sure his hands were attached, drew his chair up closer to the table and all that food, smiled again and began to help himself to dinner.
I watched him, spoon hovering, until I quickly brought my coherence back into focus and started to fill my own platter. But I also paused one moment, calling, “Had a good holiday, Whistle?”
That sent him into a flurry again. “Holiday? Benidorm? No such thing. I’ve been here thinking about my plans.”
“As a squirrel?”
He clearly had no idea what I was talking about, and this not only confused me, but worried me considerably. “I like squirrels,” he said, gulping down some spinach. “But – well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one here. Do you have a new resident?”
Now everyone was staring at him, spoons in the air and driblets of food oozing back to their platters. There was no resident here who had not seen Whistle as a squirrel.
Mandrake called, “You got a headache, Whistle?”
And even Montague coughed, saying, “Not sure you look quite the same as last time, being as there’s a subtle difference, my friend.”
“Haven’t even cut my hair,” said Whistle, still puzzled.
“Do you remember seeing me on the village street half an hour ago?” I asked him.
He shook his head, as I had now expected. “No, definitely not. You’re dreaming my dear. I’ve not been to the village all day.”
“I think,” I added softly, “I need to talk to you after dinner, Whistle. But I must say, it’s great to have you back.”
“Back? Not front?” Whistle took a huge mouthful of figgy suet pudding with cream, and swallowed with pleasure.
I decided to grab him once supper was over, and although abysmally confused, I was so thrilled to see him again. I could only assume the events at Stonehenge had been so momentous, they had blocked his mind from other things. I wondered if he had taken that terrible red spoon to the High Cloud Court, or whether he had decided to hide it elsewhere, even perhaps keep it for studying, and whether such a thing would have entirely disrupted his memory and his brain. Yet how had he managed to look once more fully alive in his own form? Was that the result of the red spoon as well, I certainly hoped not.
I watched h
is joyful return to food. I watched every mouthful. I even watched him chew. Yet it seemed he was entirely oblivious of me. So, I waited.
Once supper was finished, and everyone scraped back their chairs, leaving the table, I hurried after Whistle, desperate to speak with him in private. He no longer had rooms here, but he seemed to be climbing the stairs as if heading for the top floor where his rooms once were. He wasn’t flying. I scurried after him on foot. I reached to top floor behind him, still seeing the last little flicker of his shadow. But then – to my horrified consternation – he was gone. I rushed into Edna’s rooms, which had once been rented by Whistle, and stopped in the middle, looking around.
Edna had arrived over my head since she had flown. “What on earth is the matter?” she demanded. “I assume you’re delighted to have Whistle back, but entirely confused, as I am.”
“He’s gone again,” I gasped.
Edna, Peg running in after us, and I all grunted, sat down, then stood again and stared at each other.
Peg said, “The shadow power?”
“Stonehenge?”
“I saw him there,” I said. “Just a vision, but it gives me an idea, and Alice fits in, Angdar too. There are ways of doing things I don’t think any of us knew before. Now I’d discovering weird things, like this Forest of Ways, Angdar and his axe and him being a ghost but coming back to being solid and alive. Then Alice, able to reproduce herself from the past when she was a witch while ignoring the her and now – as a Troilus bug. And now Whistle seemed to be several versions of himself from various pasts?”
“You must be shocked,” said Edna with a grin, “because you didn’t number them all.”
I threw a cushion at her. “But I saw a young slim Whistle in his clothes from before, and he was just walking up the street. We almost bumped into each other, but he didn’t see me and didn’t know me. Now this disappearing again.”
“Oh dear,” said Peg. “We’ll have to catch him and sort him out. Tie him up in the hall, and do all the spells we can think of.”
“Meanwhile Harry skips off to that terrible forest,” said Edna.
“And I have to find Alice,” I added.
“Tie all three up together and fling them in with the rats,” sighed Edna.
I remembered. “Which reminds me – ”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Back in the grounds later that day, I was walking with Bertie discussing the rats, which seemed to have settled at last, when Whistle popped up again. He still wore more or less the same clothes, but this time he seemed to think it was summer. His feet were bare, showing off the crow tattoos he had on the soles of both feet. He wore his usual striped trousers, but above them he wore simply a thin white shirt.
Pretending it wasn’t a shock to see him so abruptly again, I said casually, “Aren’t you a bit chilly, Whistle?”
“Why?” he demanded. “It’s a beautiful day.” And he promptly disappeared.
Now Bertie was interested too, and we both found a warm corner of the main hall together, and settled there to discuss what we thought had happened. Edna and Peg soon joined us, and so did Harry, which was a slight surprise.
Harry actually interrupted us. “You’re talking of Whistle? I believe he’s experimenting. You know, bringing himself back from various moments in his own past, seeing what he can actually keep going.”
“What an excellent notion,” I told Harry, impressed.
“To see what he could hold on to without having to be a squirrel?” said Bertie.
“And stay safely solid, neither squirrel nor ghost,” said Peg.
Edna nodded eagerly. “That’s it. I’m sure you’re right. He’s been given some extra power either from his own experiences at Stonehenge, or when he took the red spoon up to the Cloud Court.”
Now quite excited I jumped up and ran off to my rooms, coming back with Oswald. When I came back, Oswald was squeaking while I clasped him in my hand, I found Bertie, eyes shut, trying to call Whistle up again. Edna and Peg were silently waiting. But when Bertie finally surrendered and opened his eyes, I set my hatpin down before us on the small table, and asked the pin who was more Whistle than ruby, and should therefore know the answer.
“Well, Oswald,” I said, “I’m fairly sure what I need to know. Tell us all about it.”
“It’s obvious,” Oswald told us with an ungracious grunt. “Whistle knows almost everything and wants to know the rest. Having seen Angdar return, he is discovering how he can reshape himself. He will try a few more before he decides on which one works best. But you’ve lost your squirrel. He’ll be himself again.”
I grinned at Harry. “You are quite right, Harry. Brilliant. You don’t need any horrible forest.”
He grinned back. “It was Fanny’s idea. But she’s in the wash tub, so I came instead.”
“Very honest of you,” I said, somewhat disappointed. “So how do we help Whistle? Just let him come and go? Or say something to him each time he appears?”
“Maybe talk to him,” said Edna.
“Though he might disappear mid-sentence,” added Peg.
“And tell him whatever problem we notice about him,” continued Edna.
“Oswald,” I asked the ruby, now glimmering on the table, “have you any other suggestions?”
“Thousands,” said Oswald, “but you can work it all out yourselves. Just when he turns up, tell him what’s obvious. You know, ‘You look too young.’ ‘You still have rabbity ears.’ ‘Do you remember who I am?’ ‘What about talking to Oswald?’ Things like that.”
“So, you want me to give you back to him,” I laughed. “Well, if you can help him, then I’m happy to do it. The next time he pops in, I’ll hand you over.”
The ruby sparkled. Oswald was clearly delighted.
Indeed, it worked quite well. Two days later, Whistle appeared wrapped in two rugs, purple and turquoise, with a bright blue woolly hat and gloves of soft pink leather. Beneath his rugs were the usual striped trousers. He was crouched on a small stool next to the fire in the hall, so I hurried over. Starting to unpin Oswald from the top of my bodice, I called to Whistle, and was reassured to see him smile.
“My dear Rosie,” he said. “How pleasant to see you again. You’re certainly growing up fast.”
“How old do you think I am?” I asked.
Clearly, he wasn’t sure. “Fifteen, perhaps, my dear? Sixteen?”
Sitting opposite, I presented Oswald on the outstretched palm of my hand. “I’m twenty-five, Whistle, dear,” I told him. “And this is yours. Do you remember Oswald?”
It took a moment, but then he did, taking the hat pin from me, staring at it, then rubbing it. “Well, well, well,” he said softly, more to Oswald than to me, “my small friend again. I thought I’d lost you.”
Oswald made a tutting sound, but flashed several times. I was sure they were both so very pleased. At first, I hesitated, but then said, “You’ve come at a good moment, Whistle, dear. You remember me. You remember Oswald. You know it’s winter, and you’ve come directly to where we always light the big winter fire. Do you personally feel this is a good time?”
There were the usual indented lines, as Whistle attempted to unravel what I was talking about, but he held onto Oswald. “A good time? Yes, except for the cold.” He managed to smile again. “But fixing the year will help.”
“1483, last few days of November.”
Whistle actually whistled. “So, I’m dead,” he remembered, “but I’m also most seriously alive.” He rubbed his eyes, as though wondering if he was seeing correctly. “I think,” he looked up again, eyes bright, “it’s working.”
And promptly disappeared.
But he had Oswald, and now we all understood what we were up to. Actually, I knew I’d miss the squirrel, but perfectly understood how Whistle would prefer to be himself. Yet it wasn’t simply I wanted the best for Whistle himself, and hoped he’d be back as a helpful friend, I was also longing to know exactly what had happened on
his last journey to Stonehenge, taken secretly without telling Edna, Peg and myself. That was going to be an interesting discussion. In the meantime, he was enjoying his experiments, and would hopefully soon turn up solid, without fur and a bushy tail.
The next time I saw him, I was actually in the middle of one of my lists, and he was right there at number one. “Number one, help Whistle and get him back. Number two, now I’ve lost Oswald, find out what my birth cup and my sceptre can do. Number three, Alice. And what about Alice, you may ask. Which I did. Alice needs to be kept as a feeble bug, and not allowed to change into anything else. Number four, Harry. But he seems quite happy now, and certainly isn’t dashing off to the forest. I’ll have to see if they’re going to get married soon. Two wiccans for once, that will make a nice change. No church for sure, and not that miserable priest I used to like. Is there a number five? I’m happy with Alid and Joan and even Brin – a good job well done.”
Then I looked up with a jolt. Whistle was sitting right next to me at my little table in my own bedchamber, and he was definitely not a squirrel.
“What number was I?” he demanded.
“Number one,” I giggled.
“I don’t believe you.” Whistle wore Oswald on his belt, and Oswald looked very shiny. “But my twists and turns are working out very nicely. I now remember most of the past, some of the future and all of the present. Which means sitting here with you, because I’m dead, and we got rid of Alice. There are just a few small winds of change to duck beneath, and then I’ll be done.”
“What will it mean, exactly, apart from acknowledging that you’re a genius?”
“Meaning? That I can look alive, even though I’m dead, convince other humbler folk I’m a normal living person, but no one can kill me. Now that’s a definite advantage.”
“But you’re really you?”
“Indeed I am,” he said. “And I can come and go at will. I may disappear if I wish. I may reappear two blinks later or two weeks later. I can be a snake or a squirrel, if I wish, and I can overhear other people’s conversations without being noticed. Indeed, I am a genius, as you say, although a dead one.”