The Tunnel Behind the Waterfall

by William Corlett

  ‘What do you want, then?’ the Magician asked him sharply, before Mary or Alice could reply.

  William thought for a long moment.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘I can only think of the things I don’t want.’

  ‘And they are?’

  ‘I don’t want some horrible greedy people to come here and spoil everything. I don’t want them to chop down the yew tree and put the badgers on show and build cages for animals in our forest.’

  ‘I don’t want a pretend life,’ Mary said, speaking suddenly.

  ‘Pretend life?’ Stephen Tyler asked her, puzzled.

  ‘That’s what they’re going to make this place into. A pretend place. People dressing up and pretending.’

  ‘So what would you rather have, Mary?’

  ‘I want it to be real. I don’t want to feel separate all the time. It’s like television . . . I know you don’t know what television is . . .’

  ‘Pictures that move and come through the air. I remember. You told me once. I quite liked the sound of it,’ Stephen Tyler said.

  ‘Yes . . . but . . .’ Mary exclaimed. Then she shook her head, unable to explain what she was feeling.

  ‘But?’ the Magician asked, gently.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy are in Africa,’ Alice cut in. ‘And sometimes . . . we see pictures on the news . . . horrible pictures . . . of children dying. So thin . . . with flies on their faces and . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ the Magician asked, turning to look at her.

  ‘They’re starving.’ She shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t really mean anything to me. Not really. I mean . . . I try to imagine what it must be like. I try to care. But, in the end . . . well, they’re just pictures on television.’

  William moved and put his arm round Alice’s shoulder.

  ‘She’s right. Often we see the news when we’re having tea. Not here. Not at Golden House. But when we were at home. We’ll be looking at pictures of people starving . . . and we’ll be stuffing ourselves full of food at the same time.’

  ‘So?’ the Magician asked again. ‘What is it that you want? To starve with these people?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Mary protested, crossly. ‘But we should be able to feel something for them. I mean, really feel.’

  ‘And if we did,’ William added, ‘then maybe help would come to them.’

  ‘But your mother and father, they are helping, aren’t they?’

  William shrugged.

  ‘Dad gets angry about it,’ he mumbled. ‘He says the famine shouldn’t have been allowed to happen in the first place.’

  ‘And why has it happened, William?’

  ‘Well there are lots of reasons. Have you heard of global warming?’

  The Magician frowned and shook his head.

  ‘No. I didn’t think you would have,’ William sighed. ‘Then there’s civil war in the country, so lots of the medical supplies don’t get through . . .’

  ‘Greed, William,’ Stephen Tyler murmured. ‘Greed is making it happen. But you want to . . . stop this suffering?’ the Magician asked him. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Not all the time, no. A lot of the time I don’t even think about it.’

  ‘So what is it that you want?’ the Magician insisted.

  ‘I want the magic to go on,’ Alice said quickly.

  ‘Ah!’ Stephen Tyler sighed, sounding disappointed.

  ‘But – is that wrong?’

  ‘Not in itself. But if you want magic, you must want it for a purpose – and that’s where the problems begin. Morden wants magic . . .’

  ‘To make him powerful,’ William said, remembering.

  ‘You know that?’ the Magician said, turning to him. ‘How?’

  ‘He told me,’ William answered.

  ‘Told you?’ Stephen Tyler thundered, clearly amazed. ‘How – told you? Have you seen him?’ Then a great look of dismay came over his face. ‘He has been here? He has time travelled.’

  ‘No,’ William said, wanting to reassure him. ‘I saw him in his own time . . .’

  As he said this all the animals and birds started to twitter and sigh and growl quietly. Only Spot seemed unperturbed. He stood up, with his tail wagging, and looked round proudly.

  ‘You have time travelled?’ Stephen Tyler gasped.

  ‘No, not exactly. At least, I don’t think so,’ William said, cheerfully. ‘I just sort of . . . saw . . . through the crow’s eyes.’

  After a long moment the Magician said:

  ‘Tell me what happened, William.’

  And so William recounted, as accurately as he could, all that had taken place at the standing stone.

  Stephen Tyler listened to him in silence and when he had finished speaking he walked away, deep in thought.

  ‘You entered the crow, Corvus, by your own will? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ William replied.

  ‘This is very important, boy,’ the Magician continued, using a stern voice. ‘You must tell me how. How did you manage this transference?’

  William frowned.

  ‘Well, I’d been trying to stop thinking – because it’s the thinking that gets in the way, isn’t it?’

  ‘Go on,’ the Magician murmured.

  ‘But . . . when it happened . . . I was angry, I think. You remember your pendulum thing? The crow pinched it from me. I wanted it back. Yes, I was angry. You see the crow had attacked us already. It went for Alice and later, in the tree house, I think it would have gone for us both. But I stopped it.’

  ‘How did you do this?’

  ‘I just sort of . . . told it to stop.’

  ‘And it obeyed you?’

  ‘Yes, it did.’ Alice said. ‘I was there. I saw.’

  ‘It was vicious and evil, and I lost my temper with it. We hadn’t done anything to it you see. Then, when it took the pendulum out of my hand well, I just wanted it back. That’s all that happened.’ The Magician grunted, deep in thought. ‘But, I mean, we’ve seen through the animals before,’ William continued. ‘It was nothing particularly new . . .’

  ‘But you say you saw Morden . . .?’ Stephen Tyler said.

  ‘Yes. The crow was on the standing stone and so in a way was I – because I was seeing through the crow. We had the pendulum in our beak and . . . suddenly . . . I saw him – I suppose it was him. He was wearing red clothes and he had very black hair . . .’

  ‘Yes!’ the Magician cried, joyfully. ‘You have achieved more than my assistant has done in eight years. But more than that – the magic is still here. It isn’t too late. Well done, William! Well done all of you . . .’

  Then he stopped talking in mid-sentence and swung round, looking severely at William.

  ‘But you still haven’t told me what it is that you want; really want.’

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ William replied, breathlessly.

  ‘In that case you won’t achieve anything,’ the old man snapped. ‘Not good enough, idle pupil! Think again.’

  ‘I want to stop Morden,’ William said.

  ‘And no doubt Morden wants to stop you. Not good enough. There you have only action and reaction. Again. What is it you want, William? Really want?’

  William hung his head. Mary moved a little closer to him. She felt sorry for him and couldn’t understand why the Magician was behaving so angrily.

  ‘Minimus – you tell him! Go on,’ the Magician snapped, shaking his head as though he was disgusted with William.

  Alice gasped.

  ‘Me?’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what he wants.’

  ‘Not him! You, child. What do you want? Listen to me. When you ventured alone up the Dark and Dreadful Path – what were you doing it for?’

  ‘The badgers,’ Alice answered indignantly. ‘The men with the dogs were going to kill them.’

  ‘Good!’ the Magician roared. ‘And – all of you – last Christmas, when the child was being born, why did you risk your lives in the blizzard? Why did y
ou, Mary, alone and unaided, deliver a baby, when you’d never even seen one being born before?’

  ‘I wasn’t alone. Jasper was with me . . .’

  ‘Don’t quibble, child! Why did you do it?’ the Magician cried.

  ‘Well, isn’t it obvious? Because somebody had to.’

  ‘At last!’ the Magician hooted with pleasure. ‘You did it for the child’s sake, didn’t you? – for the sake of the badgers? That’s right, isn’t it? So . . . Now, one of you, please, tell me . . . why must we stop these people who would take over our beautiful valley and destroy it? Why, William? Why?’

  ‘Because they only want to do it for their own good; so that they can make money . . .’

  ‘Because they want to take this sacred place and make it into gold for themselves,’ the Magician said, quietly. ‘They have no thought for the animals, for the birds, for the fish in the lake. No care for the violet and the primrose, the bending cherry blossom and the soaring oaks. They see it as a place that they can own and change and destroy – for their own gain, regardless of the lives, the well-being, the very future of the inhabitants of the land or even of the land itself. So what is it that we are against, children? What is it that we have to fight? Selfish acts. That is all. Disregard for the common good. Think about it. Self-motivated behaviour is at the root of all suffering. People kill for greed. People die for gold. Children starve . . . the earth is parched . . . all in the name of greed. This valley must not be allowed to be destroyed in this way. Because, if it goes, there will be one less place on this great globe that is as nature has intended it to be. Look here, at our company of friends,’ as he spoke he gestured to all the birds and animals that surrounded them. ‘Do they not also have the right to live in their land? And if we deny even one of these, our fellow creatures, then shall we not be in danger of being denied ourselves? He who destroys, shall be destroyed. He who causes suffering, shall suffer. It’s a small thing I’m asking of you, William, and of you, Minimus, and also of you, Mary of the big heart – though I fancy your moment of true trial is still in my future. Make Golden Valley safe for generations to come, and your task will be complete. Complete your task and the alchemy will be accomplished. Eschew personal gain; honour justice; act truthfully; that is all that is required. You have all that is needed. The pendulum I left for you will be your touchstone. Don’t let it out of your safe-keeping. Remember; to make gold, you need gold. The pendulum is your gold. The creatures will help you. They are your friends. Make the estate safe from greedy hands, so that I, in my time, may die content, knowing that my task is complete. Do it for my sake, children, not for yourselves. Do it for me and you will gain my constant gratitude. Constant? Your names, I think. You Constant children – now you have the chance to earn that great name. Call me, when all is accomplished . . .’

  And there, in mid-sentence, he disappeared and the children were standing alone, surrounded by a thousand gleaming eyes.

  ‘What do you want us to do, William?’ Jasper hooted.

  ‘Me?’ William exclaimed. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘That is often the way with the Master,’ Jasper trilled. ‘He leaves one speechless. But I have found, over the years, that he never asks one to do something that is not, in fact, within one’s capability.’

  William looked desperate.

  ‘I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do; where we’re to start,’ he stammered.

  ‘Use the pendulum,’ Spot whispered, scratching behind his ear, as though trying to hide the fact that he was prompting William.

  But these words only made William look even more worried.

  ‘Yes, well that’s another thing,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got it.’

  At this the company started to mutter and hiss and tweet and squawk.

  ‘Haven’t got it?’ Jasper asked, mournfully.

  ‘No. I think it must still be on top of the standing stone,’ William said. ‘You see, that’s where I dropped it, when I saw Morden . . .’

  ‘Then I suggest that that’s where we should start,’ Cinnabar, the fox, said. ‘Come on, Will,’ and, as he spoke, he sprang towards William, knocking him off his feet.

  As William rose from the ground he stood on all four feet and felt his body tingle with energy. Then, with a swish of his red-brown tail, he darted towards the dark tunnel and the waterfall beyond.

  17

  The Battle over Goldenwater

  AFTER THE GLOOM inside the cave, the light was dazzling. The fox padded along the narrow rock ledge and then, when he reached the bank of the stream, he paused for a moment, feeling the fine spray from the waterfall soaking his pelt.

  Looking over his shoulder, along the line of Cinnabar’s sleek red back, William saw a crowd of birds of every description issuing from behind the falls. At the same time, running and hopping and scampering along the ledge, came stoats and rabbits, a squirrel, Bawson the badger lumbering slowly, a group of chattering field mice, a couple of toads and, in amongst this strange collection, Spot walking between Mary and Alice. The duck waddled past and, reaching the edge of the stream, took flight on heavy, flapping, wings. A moment later Lutra appeared, running on his short, thick, legs towards the bank.

  ‘See yous all in Goldenwater,’ he called and, with a cheerful wave, he dived over the edge and they saw his lithe body disappear into the foaming pool at the bottom of Goldenspring.

  ‘Best be off, then,’ Cinnabar called. But, before he had turned, Jasper appeared, sailing slowly out from the cave on widespread wings.

  ‘Wait, Fox!’ he hooted. ‘We must have some plan.’

  ‘The plan,’ Cinnabar replied, ‘is to fetch the pendulum and then to make a plan!’ And before the owl could argue with them, he and William turned as one and sped off down the steep hillside.

  Spot pushed up close to Alice, nudging her impatiently with his snout.

  ‘If we hang about here,’ he whispered in her mind, ‘we’ll get stuck with Jasper – and he’ll talk for hours.’

  ‘We’re going with William, Mare,’ Alice said hurriedly and, reaching towards the dog, she saw her own paw hit the turf as she and Spot joined bodies. Together, they raced away over the green spongy ground in pursuit of the fox.

  ‘This is all most irregular,’ Jasper hooted. ‘We are supposed to make plans.’

  ‘Maybe this time Cinnabar is right,’ Mary said, trying to be diplomatic. ‘We should get the pendulum back before somebody else finds it.’

  ‘Quite!’ Jasper whistled, petulantly. ‘Like the assistant, for instance. Who knows what might happen if it fell into his hands.’

  ‘Mary!’ a harsh, guttural voice called, making her look up with surprise. ‘You come with me!’ the voice croaked and the big, black and white magpie that she had first noticed in the cave flapped its wings and landed at her feet.

  ‘Mary,’ Jasper said, sounding slightly haughty, ‘this bird is the Magician’s magpie. The Master calls him Pica. He uses him for doubtful purposes.’

  ‘They’re not doubtful at all, you stuck up owl! He uses me to collect things. I am particularly good at finding gold. You will be very glad to know me. Now, come on Mary . . .’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mary said, doubtfully.

  ‘You don’t want us to miss the fun, do you? If the assistant’s friends are about, anything could happen.’ He chuckled gleefully. ‘I feel in the mood for a bit of a fight!’

  ‘Another thing you should know about Pica,’ Jasper hooted witheringly, ‘is that he’s a bit of a thug. He’s always picking fights.’

  ‘And you’re always glad when I come to your rescue – you miserable old rat-catcher! Come on, Mary. Let’s leave the old windbag!’

  ‘No,’ Mary said, doubtfully. ‘I really should stay with Jasper, he’s my friend.’

  ‘Please don’t stay on my account,’ the owl hooted.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Pica grumbled. ‘Anything could be happening while we stand here arguing.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mary said again. />
  ‘Actually, perhaps you should go with Pica, Mary,’ Jasper said in a mournful voice. ‘I am not at my best in the daylight.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mary repeated for the third time.

  ‘Well?’ the voice rasped in her head. ‘Quite well, thank you. And how are you today?’ And with a harsh, mirthless chuckle Pica stretched his feathered wings, lifting them both up off the ground into the misty air.

  ‘Oh!’ Mary exclaimed, as the ground beneath her receded. ‘You won’t go too high, will you?’

  ‘High?’ Pica croaked. ‘Don’t you like flying?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I don’t do it very often,’ she whispered and then she closed her eyes as Pica banked into a current of air making the whole of Goldenwater tilt sideways in a most unpleasant manner, that made her feel quite sick.

  ‘Just relax,’ the bird whispered in her head. ‘There is no finer experience than sailing through the bright air. Oh-oh!’ he suddenly exclaimed and, as he did so, Mary felt her body swing round and her wings beat as she and Pica climbed together high above the lake.

  ‘What?’ Mary gasped.

  ‘Company!’ Pica croaked.

  As he spoke Mary saw the crow flying towards them.

  ‘Is it Morden?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Difficult to tell,’ Pica answered. ‘Best be a bit evasive, I think.’ And he winged his way in a great are, dropping down once more towards the water. Below them now, they could see Cinnabar and Spot racing along the shore of the lake. Above and behind them, Mary could hear the crow squawking. Pica looked back over his shoulder, and Mary saw the big black bird floating on a pocket of air, his head turned towards the far shore of the lake. Again he squawked, an ugly sound. But this time, faintly at first, came an answering call. And then another . . . and another. A whole chorus of squawking sounds was coming from the direction of the dark fir forest that spread as far as the distant horizon. And, even as Mary and Pica turned their attention to that treeline, a black cloud detached itself from the cover of the firs and rose into the air, moving swiftly towards them.