David and the Phoenix

by Dr Edward Ormondroyd

  At the end of the week the Phoenix, after a brilliant display of acrobatics, landed on the ledge, clasped its wings behind its back, and looked solemnly at David.

  “Well, my boy,” it said, “I believe your education can begin forthwith. Are you ready?”

  4: In Which David and the Phoenix Go To Visit the Gryffins, and a Great Danger Is Narrowly Averted

  A chill raced up and down David’s spine as he got to his feet.

  “Do—do you think a week’s practice is enough?”

  “Absolutely, my dear fellow. I am now in the very pink of condition. Not that I was ever out of condition, mind you. It was merely that I—ah—well, to be brief, my boy, I am now ready.”

  “Yes, but—well, you remember the last time.”

  “Yes. Look here—if it will make you feel better, suppose we have a trial flight along the ledge.”

  “Well—all right.”

  David got up as before on the Phoenix’s back. The Phoenix spread its wings and hopped into the air. They glided easily down the length of the ledge, clearing the thicket in the middle by a good two feet.

  “There you are, my boy,” said the bird proudly, as they landed at the other end. “Shall we go?”

  “Let’s go,” said David, as bravely as he could.

  They were in the air again. Once more he felt that rush of wind against his face and heard the pounding of wings. But this time there was no giddy downward swoop. He breathed again and opened his eyes. The world was falling away, and everything on it was growing smaller by the second. The valley could be cradled in two hands; the mountains on either side looked like wrinkles in gray cloth. Now he could see plains in the distance, and little silver threads of rivers. As he looked, the whole world began to revolve slowly. The Phoenix was soaring in a wide circle.

  “Well, my boy,” it called over its shoulder, “whom shall we visit first?”

  “It’s really up to you, Phoenix,” David shouted back, “but how about the—the—Biffens or Whiffens, or whatever you called them?”

  “You mean the Gryffins, Gryffons, and Gryffens, my boy? Very well. We shall visit the Gryffins only, however. It is best to leave the others alone.”

  The Phoenix swung around and began to fly toward the morning sun with such tremendous speed that David had to crouch down to avoid being blown off. The wind screamed past his ears, tore at his shirt and hair, and made his eyes brim over with tears. It was cold, but he was too excited to care. Below them, plains, rivers, forests, and cities rushed across the face of the earth.

  “This is wonderful, Phoenix!” David shouted. The Phoenix’s reply was not clear. “... normal speed ... air stream ... prime days of my youth ...” were the only words David caught, but he could tell from the tone that the Phoenix was pleased.

  The view below was not to last long. Within half an hour they had run into a heavy overcast, and for a long time it was like flying through very wet, cold cotton. David glanced down, hoping to see the fog thin out. Suddenly he caught sight of a black object rocketing up toward them. Before he could call out a warning, the thing hurtled by, so close that its backwash very nearly knocked him from the bird’s back. The Phoenix reduced speed; and the black object, after banking in a wide curve, came cruising up alongside. David was amazed to see that it was a pale but beautiful lady, dressed all in black, sitting on a broom.

  “Hello, Phoenix!” she cried in a teasing voice. “I haven’t seen you in ever so long.”

  “Good morning, I am sure,” the Phoenix replied stiffly, staring straight ahead.

  “Phoenix,” the lady continued coaxingly, “I’m awfully bored. Won’t you race me? Please?”

  “Idle hands find mischief to do,” said the Phoenix severely. “We are making good use of our time, and I suggest that you do the same.”

  “Don’t be so stuffy, Phoenix.” She pouted. “Come and race with me. I’ve got a new broom, and I want to see how good it is. Please!”

  “No,” said the Phoenix sharply.

  “Oh, all right for you!” she said, tossing her head. “You just don’t dare, because you know I’ll beat your tail feathers off!” And she shot back into the mist below.

  “Indeed!” the Phoenix snorted. “Beat my tail feathers off! Ha!”

  “Is she a Witch?” David asked.

  “Yes, my boy, and a shocking example of the decline of the younger generation. She will come to no good end, believe me. Tail feathers, indeed!”

  Just then they burst out of the clouds and into the hot sunlight. Below them, the land was wild and desolate, a vast rolling plain covered for the most part with dry, tawny grass. Here and there were groves of trees drooping beneath the sun. The Phoenix, still snorting indignantly to itself, dropped to within a hundred feet of the ground. They began to soar back and forth.

  “Can you see anything, my boy?”

  David had never seen a Gryffin, of course; so he was not sure what to look for. But he caught sight of something lying in the shade of a bush and pointed it out to the Phoenix.

  “Ah, quite so,” the Phoenix said doubtfully. “It does not look like a—but we can take a closer look.”

  They landed and walked toward the bush. In its shadow sprawled a very untidy animal. Its tail and hindquarters were exactly like those of a panther, its chest and forelegs were like a hawk’s, and it had pointed wings. Burrs matted its dusty fur. Its claws were shabby and split, and numerous black flies were crawling over its haunches. The bush trembled with its snoring.

  “Bah! We are wasting our time here, my boy. This is a Gryffen. A disgusting brute, isn’t it?” And the Phoenix sniffed disapprovingly.

  “Maybe if we wake it up,” David suggested, “it could tell us where the other ones live.”

  “Next to impossible. For one thing, a cannon could not awaken the beast. For another thing, it would not, even if awake, be able to tell us anything. You simply cannot imagine the stupidity of these brutes.”

  “Well, let’s try it, anyway,” David said.

  “Very well, my boy. But it will be a complete waste of time.” The Phoenix shrugged its shoulders, stepped up to the Gryffen, and kicked it violently.

  “Phoenix!” David cried in alarm. “Don’t hurt it!”

  “No fear,” said the Phoenix, delivering another lusty kick. “One simply cannot damage a sleeping Gryffen. Give me a hand, my boy.”

  David took hold of the Gryffen’s wing, and the Phoenix seized its tail. For the next ten minutes they kicked and pulled and pounded, shouting “HEY!” and “WAKE UP!” at the top of their lungs. It was hot work, and David finally admitted to himself that the Phoenix had been right. But before he could say so, the Phoenix completely lost its temper and savagely bit the Gryffen’s tail.

  That did it. The Gryffen opened one eye halfway and said, “Unffniph?”

  “GET UP!!” the Phoenix bellowed.

  The Gryffen struggled into a sitting position and yawned a tremendous and noisy yawn. Then it squinted blearily at David and murmured, “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday,” David said. “Could you please tell us–”

  “Oh, Wednesday,” said the Gryffen. It thought about this for a while, mumbling “Wednesday ... Wednesday ...” to itself. It lifted one leg as if to scratch the fly bites, changed its mind in mid-gesture, and dropped the leg again. “Oh, Wednesday,” it said at last. “So it isn’t Saturday?”

  “No,” said David. “What we want to know is–”

  “Not Saturday,” said the Gryffen, sinking down to the ground with a huge sigh of relief. “Ah! Come back on Saturday. Saturday afternoon. I generally get up on Saturday ... in the ... afternoon....” The words faded into a snore.

  “There you are, my dear fellow,” said the Phoenix. “Just as I said. Oaf! Boor!”

  “A very annoying animal,” said David angrily.

  “I agree, my boy. But the Gryffins are different, I assure you. Now, let me see. Where should we look–”

  “There they come!” David cried sud
denly. “Look!” And indeed, a number of winged creatures were loping down a hillside toward them.

  “Good heavens!” the Phoenix shouted. “Those are the ones we do not want to meet! On my back, quick!”

  “What are they?” David gasped as he threw himself on the bird’s back.

  “Gryffons!”

  The Phoenix rushed along the ground a few feet and sprang into the air. But it was too late. The foremost Gryffons, with powerful strokes of their wings, shot up to meet them. The Phoenix swerved sharply. They missed the snapping beak of the first Gryffon by half an inch and dodged the second—only to smash into a third. David was stunned by the blow and the fall. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in the tight grip of two Gryffons. The Phoenix was struggling feebly with another, and still more were crowding around them, screaming like hawks.

  They looked like the sleeping Gryffen, but were as large as ponies. Their eyes were yellow and unblinking, and their tails twitched like an angry cat’s. Their smell, like the lion house in the zoo, made David feel faint.

  “Well, Phoenix,” said the largest Gryffon coldly, “you know the Rule, I believe?”

  The Phoenix smiled weakly and cleared its throat. “Ah, there, Gryffon,” it said unsteadily. “Fancy meeting you here. Ah—ah—rule? What rule?”

  “Rule 26,” said the Gryffon. “‘No human being shall be allowed to enter the—‘”

  “Oh, that rule,” said the Phoenix, with a careless laugh. “I thought everyone knew that the Council of 1935 had changed it. Can it be that you have not yet heard?”

  “That won’t do, Phoenix. You have also heard, of course, of the penalty for breaking the Rule, which you must suffer along with this human boy?”

  “Now, one moment, my dear Gryffon! I—ah–”

  “Death!”

  The Phoenix quailed, and David’s legs went limp under him. But they had no chance to plead with the Gryffons. Their captors formed two lines, one on each side of them, and at a scream of command from the leader, all began to march. The Gryffon that had been holding the Phoenix winked horribly at David and made a throat-cutting gesture with its wing.

  “Courage, my boy,” the Phoenix whispered. “It is always darkest before dawn.”

  Presently they reached a hillside. David and the Phoenix were marched up to a cave and thrown in. Two of the Gryffons sat down at the entrance to guard them while the others went off to consider the best method of carrying out the penalty.

  David was terribly frightened now, but he did not want to let the Phoenix know it. In a voice which trembled a little he asked, “What are we going to do?”

  The Phoenix frowned. “Do not be downcast, my boy. My brain is equal to any occasion. I shall Think. Silence, please.”

  And the Phoenix, covering its eyes with one wing, Thought.

  To keep himself occupied, David explored the cave. But there was nothing to see. The cave was small and bare. He tested the walls thoroughly to see if there were any places where they might dig their way out. There were none. His feet raised a cloud of fine dust, which got into his eyes and nose and made him sneeze violently. Discouraged, he went back to the Phoenix and sat down. There was a long silence.

  Gradually an idea came to David. It started as a small, faint thought at the back of his mind, wavered, began to grow and expand and fill out—became bigger and clearer and better and—

  “Phoenix!” cried David, jumping to his feet.

  “My boy, my very dear boy,” said the Phoenix, its voice breaking with emotion, “I have Thought, I have Pondered, I have—well, to be brief, it is no use. Stiff upper lip, my boy! We are Doomed.”

  “Phoenix, I–”

  “Let this be a lesson to you, my boy, even though it be your last one. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Ah! who could have said, in the golden days of my youth, that I should come to such an end! Oh, miserable bird! Oh, unhappy boy!”

  “Phoenix–”

  “But we can show them how to die, my boy! We still have that—the last magnificent gesture. Let those who have lived wisely and well show that they can die in the same way! I hope I am to go first, so that you may have an example to follow.”

  “Phoenix!”

  “My boy?”

  “Listen, please!” And David whispered in the Phoenix’s ear.

  The plan had seemed like a good one while it was still in his mind, but put into words it sounded a little too simple. As he whispered, David began to feel more and more foolish, so that finally he stopped altogether.

  “I—I guess it’s really kind of silly,” he stammered.

  But the Phoenix was looking at him with hope and admiration in its eyes. “My very dear chap,” it said solemnly, “I salute you. I humbly await your signal.”

  “Do you really think it will work?”

  “My boy, it must—it can—it shall. Proceed.”

  Poor as the plan now seemed to David, he prepared to carry it out. Holding his breath so as not to sneeze again, he scooped up as much dust as he could hold in two hands. Then he took his position on one side of the cave, nodded the Phoenix toward the other, and glanced out to see if the guardian Gryffons were looking. They were not.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  The cave rocked with their uproar. David screamed at the top of his voice and kicked the walls. The Phoenix let out a series of ear-splitting whistles and squawks and beat its wings frantically. Echoes bounced from wall to wall. The two Gryffons came rushing into the cave, adding to the racket with their shrieking. “Now!” David shouted, and he flung the double handful of dust into the Gryffons’ faces. Instantly they were all choking and sneezing in the thick cloud. He plunged between the legs of the two Gryffons, who in the confusion began to bite and tear savagely at each other.

  David and the Phoenix burst out of the cave together. The other Gryffons, aroused by the noise, were bounding toward them. David flung himself on the Phoenix’s back and shouted “Fly!” and sneezed. From somewhere behind him a set of talons snatched out and ripped through the back of his shirt. He kicked blindly and felt his foot crunch into something which shrieked. “Fly, Phoenix!” he sobbed. The Phoenix was already in the air and needed no encouragement. They heard raucous cries and the thunder of wings behind them. David looked back over his shoulder. The Gryffons were rising from the ground in pursuit, their legs drawn up under them and their wings beating. “Faster!” he screamed.

  “You have seen nothing in the way of flying until now, my boy,” the Phoenix shouted back. “Watch this!” Its wings were two blurs slicing through the air and roaring like kettledrums. The ground below streamed backwards. David looked back again. The Gryffons were falling into the distance. Their cries were getting fainter. Now they looked like a flock of starlings ... now like a cluster of flies ... now like gnats. And then they had faded out of sight, and David and the Phoenix were streaking over the grassland alone.

  Ten minutes later they reached a shore and landed. They flopped on the sand, panting. And David, suddenly feeling very faint, closed his eyes and put his head between his knees. After they had got their breath, the Phoenix patted David on the shoulder and said huskily:

  “I congratulate you, my boy. Your plan was magnificent—precisely what I should have done, had I thought of it first. Needless to say, we shall not go on looking for the Gryffins. But now you know exactly what they are like: midway in size between the Gryffens and Gryffons, and reddish in color. Most amiable souls, willing to do anything for anyone. It is hard to believe that they are all related. But enough, my boy. Let us go home.”

  As soon as they reached the ledge, the Phoenix put David down and prepared to take off again.

  “Where are you going, Phoenix?” David asked.

  “Some business to attend to, my boy.”

  Muttering under its breath something that sounded like “tail feathers, indeed!” the Phoenix soared off. And David, stiff and sore and thoroughly tired, started down the mountainside for home.

 
5: In Which the Scientist Arrives in Pursuit of the Phoenix, and There Are Alarums and Excursions by Night

  The lights downstairs were all on when David got home, and as soon as he opened the front door he could tell that they had company.

  He shouted, “I’m home!” and sneezed. The dust from the Gryffons’ cave still clung to him, tickling his nose.

  “Well, here he is at last,” said Dad’s voice. “Come on in, David.” Then, as David walked into the living room, “Good heavens, Son, what’s happened to you?”

  “Your back, David!” Mother said in a horrified voice. “Your poor back! What happened to you?”

  David felt himself. The back of his shirt was ripped to tatters, and there were three lines of caked blood across his shoulders. He remembered now: it was the Gryffon that had tried to grab him as he and the Phoenix made their escape. But he had promised the Phoenix to keep its secret.

  He stammered, “I—I had an accident.”

  “And dust all over you!” Mother went on.

  “Well,” said David desperately, “it was a dusty accident.”

  “It seems to have been very dusty indeed,” said a third voice. There was a loud sneeze.

  David’s father jumped up. “You gave me such a shock when you came in that I almost forgot, David. We have a guest.” And he introduced David to a very tall, thin man with a bald head. His face and neck were burnt red by the sun,

  and he had on a pair of thick glasses which made his pale eyes look immense. For some reason David took an instant dislike to him, but he shook hands politely and said, “How do you do?”

  “David, eh?” said the man. “Well, well. Are you a good boy, David?”

  Of all the stupid questions in the world, that was the one David hated most. He clenched his teeth and looked the other way.