The 13 Clocks

by James Thurber

  A deathly silence filled the room. The Golux turned a little pale and his hand began to shake. He remembered something in the dark, coming down from Hagga’s hill, that struck against his ankle, a sapphire or a ruby that had fallen from the sack. “One thousand,” groaned the Duke, in a tone of vast surprise. A diamond had fallen from his glove, the left one, and no one but the Golux saw it fall. The Duke stood up and sneered. “What are you waiting for?” he shrieked. “Depart! If you be gone forever, it will not be long enough! If you return no more, then it will be too soon!” He slowly turned to Zorn. “What kind of knots?” he snarled.

  “Turk’s head,” the young Prince said. “I learned them from my sister.”

  “Begone!” the cold Duke screamed again, and bathed his hands in rubies. “My jewels,” he croaked, “will last forever.” The Golux, who had never tittered, tittered. The great doors of the oak room opened, and they left the cold Duke standing there, up to his wrists in diamonds.

  “Yarrow,” said the Prince, “is halfway on our journey.” They stood outside the castle.

  “You’ll need these,” said the Golux. He held the reins of two white horses. “Your ship lies in the harbor. It sails within the hour.”

  “It sails at midnight,” Hark corrected him.

  “I can’t remember everything,” the Golux said. “My father’s clocks were always slow. He also lacked the power of concentration.”

  Zorn helped the Princess to her saddle. She gazed a last time at the castle. “A fair wind stands for Yarrow,” said the Prince.

  The Golux gazed a last time at the Princess. “Keep warm,” he said. “Ride close together. Remember laughter. You’ll need it even in the blessed isles of Ever After.”

  “There are no horses in the stables,” mused the Prince. “Whence came these white ones?”

  “The Golux has a lot of friends,” said Hark. “I guess they give him horses when he needs them. But on the other hand, he may have made them up. He makes things up, you know.”

  “I know he does,” sighed Zorn of Zorna. “You sail for Yarrow with us?”

  “I must stay a fortnight longer,” Hark replied. “So runs my witch’s spell. It will give me time to tidy up, and untie Krang as well.”

  They looked around for the old Device, but he was there no longer. “Where has he gone?” cried Saralinda.

  “Oh,” said Hark, “he knows a lot of places.”

  “Give him,” Saralinda said, “my love, and this.” Hark took the rose.

  The two white horses snorted snowy mist in the cool green glade that led down to the harbor. A fair wind stood for Yarrow and, looking far to sea, the Princess Saralinda thought she saw, as people often think they see, on clear and windless days, the distant shining shores of Ever After. Your guess is quite as good as mine (there are a lot of things that shine) but I have always thought she did, and I will always think so.

  Epilogue

  FORTNIGHT later, the Duke was gloating over his jewels in the oak room when they suddenly turned to tears, with a little sound like sighing. The fringes of his glowing gloves were stained with Hagga’s laughter. He staggered to his feet and drew his sword, and shouted, “Whisper!” In the courtyard of the castle six startled geese stopped hunting snails and looked up at the oak room. “What slish is this?” exclaimed the Duke, disgusted by the pool of melted gems leering on the table. His monocle fell, and he slashed his sword at silence and at nothing. Something moved across the room, like monkeys and like shadows. The torches on the walls went out, the two clocks stopped, and the room grew colder. There was a smell of old, unopened rooms and the sound of rabbits screaming. “Come on, you blob of glup,” the cold Duke roared. “You may frighten octopi to death, you gibbous spawn of hate and thunder, but not the Duke of Coffin Castle!” He sneered. “Now that my precious gems have turned to thlup, living on, alone and cold, is not my fondest wish! On guard, you musty sofa!” The Todal gleeped. There was a stifled shriek and silence.

  When Hark came into the room, holding a lighted lantern above his head, there was no one there. The Duke’s sword lay gleaming on the floor, and from the table dripped the jewels of Hagga’s laughter, that never last forever, like the jewels of sorrow, but turn again to tears a fortnight after. Hark stepped on something that squutched beneath his foot and flobbed against the wall. He picked it up and held it near the lantern. It was the small black ball stamped with scarlet owls. The last spy of the Duke of Coffin Castle, alone and lonely in the gloomy room, thought he heard, from somewhere far away, the sound of someone laughing.

  Looking for more?

  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.

  Discover your next great read!