The Door In the Tree

by William Corlett

  ‘What happened?’ Alice said again.

  In front of them, out of the air, the kestrel dropped to the earth, claws outstretched, silent and deadly. From the centre of a patch of tall grasses it lifted the tiny, wriggling body of a mouse. Holding the squealing creature securely, the bird flew away over the garden wall and disappeared from view.

  ‘Wow!’ William exclaimed. Then he shook his head, no words seeming adequate to express what he wanted to say.

  ‘Has it gone?’ Mary asked, her eyes closed again.

  ‘Yes,’ William said. ‘Didn’t you see? It caught a mouse.’

  ‘What happened?’ Alice said for the third time, her voice rising into surprised disbelief. ‘I mean – we were up there. We were, weren’t we? You both felt it, didn’t you?’

  ‘But I saw us standing here,’ William protested.

  ‘Who saw us?’ Alice demanded. ‘I did and you did and Mary did. But how? How could we all be up there and down here at the same time? Oh, will somebody please tell me what happened?’

  Beyond the wall, in the yard, Spot suddenly started to bark and a moment later the sound of a motor announced the return of Uncle Jack.

  ‘It must be nearly lunch time,’ William said, glad to be able to change the subject, and he rose and hurried towards the gate.

  ‘Mary,’ Alice said in a small voice. ‘Why won’t Will talk about it?’

  ‘I think maybe he’s afraid.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of not being able to explain what’s happening,’ her sister replied.

  ‘But that’s so stupid. None of us can.’

  ‘I know,’ Mary said, turning to follow William out of the garden. ‘But it’s worse for him. You know what he’s like. He has to be able to work things out. When he can’t . . . he gets all moody.’

  ‘All the same,’ Alice said, following her, ‘I’d like to know what is going on. I mean – how did it happen, Mare?’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Mary said with a shrug. ‘But . . .’

  ‘What?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Well . . . Maybe it was just a bit of magic,’ she replied, quietly. ‘Like I wished for.’

  ‘Oh, of course it was,’ Alice wailed. ‘I know that!’

  ‘Well, you can’t explain magic, can you? It just . . . happens,’ Mary said and she put an arm round Alice and walked with her through the gate.

  13

  Alice Goes It Alone

  ALICE PULLED ON her jeans and searched in the dark for her sweater. She didn’t know what time it was but she could hear Mary breathing steadily and deeply in the next bed and, outside the window, the sky was dark.

  She picked up her trainers and tiptoed across to the door. As she opened it, Mary stirred in her sleep.

  ‘What’s that?’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Alice whispered. ‘It’s only me.’ Then she slipped out of the room on to the landing and closed the door behind her.

  William’s door was ajar. She could hear him snoring quietly inside. She went into the bathroom and switched on the light. By leaving the bathroom door open she was able to see dimly into the interior of William’s room. His torch was on the bedside table. She crept stealthily across the room, picked it up and carried it back with her out on to the landing. Then, after closing William’s door and switching off the bathroom light, she ran lightly down the spiral steps to the gallery and on down the broad stairs to the hall below.

  Spot was asleep in his basket, but he sat up as soon as she entered the kitchen and padded over to greet her, with his head on one side and his tail wagging slowly, as though he was asking what she was up to.

  Alice put a finger to her lips and beckoned him to follow her. They went quickly across the hall and into the chimney. As they started to climb up the protruding slabs to the ledge, the clock in the kitchen chimed four.

  Alice led the way up the chimney with the thin beam from the torch picking out the steps in front of her. When she reached the wooden door she pulled it open and held it for Spot. She felt his warmth as he squeezed past her and let her hand run lightly along the length of his back, glad of his company and wanting to tell him so. The dog looked back over his shoulder and gave her fingers a reassuring lick. Then, together, they continued the steep climb to the top of the chimney.

  The secret room was in darkness. Alice crossed to the front window and reached up to unfasten the wooden shutters. But the clasp was out of her reach. She looked round, hopefully, for something to stand on. But the room was empty of all furniture except the round mirror fixed to the wall in the corner.

  ‘You know,’ she whispered to Spot, ‘the first time we came up here, last Christmas, I’m sure the room was full of furniture . . . all cluttered and cobwebby. I’m sure it was.’

  ‘That was then,’ the dog growled.

  ‘But – where has the furniture gone?’ she whispered.

  ‘This is now,’ the dog growled.

  Alice sighed and shone the torch at his head for a moment. Then she frowned to herself. Spot could sometimes be really maddening. He had a way of seeming to know things that she didn’t, but of not telling her what they were. She could see his eyes glowing in the beam as he stared deeply at her. Then he blinked and turned away from the light as though it was dazzling him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, and she stroked his head, lovingly, and sat down on the floor beside him and shivered. It was cold in the room. For a moment she wished she was back in bed and that she hadn’t decided to go it alone.

  ‘But I had to,’ she explained to Spot. ‘William’s gone all moody. I don’t think he can cope with the magic, somehow; and Mary . . . well, she’s all right, but she seems to think thatwe have to wait for things to happen to us. I’m sure that’s not right. I’m sure we’re meant to make our own adventures as well.’ Then she smiled and changed the subject, saying excitedly; ‘When we were flying, it was really fantastic, Spot. Have you ever?’

  ‘Flown?’ the dog said, looking round at her, with a shocked expression. ‘Certainly not. I’m a dog.’

  Alice got up and walked across to the mirror in the corner and stared thoughtfully up at it.

  ‘It was like nothing I’ve ever had happen before,’ she continued, speaking more to herself than to Spot. ‘It was like every ride you’ve ever been on at the funfair and yet quite different at the same time. Because it was . . . quiet. You know how at the fair everything is noisy? Well, you probably don’t know, but it is, anyway. Well, when we were flying it was the opposite. It was quiet, except for the sound of the breeze and . . .’ she frowned again, trying to remember precisely what it had been like. ‘I think we could hear birds sometimes and the kestrel talking – oh, and when one of us thought . . . we could all hear it . . .’

  ‘Ssssh!’ the dog hissed, sharply.

  ‘What?’ Alice asked, stopping in mid stream and listening intently.

  ‘That’s better,’ Spot growled.

  ‘What, Spot?’ she asked him, puzzled. ‘What is it? I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘Precisely,’ the dog said. ‘I’ve never known so much talking. No wonder the Magician finds it hard to get through.’

  ‘Through?’ Alice asked.

  ‘While you’re chattering all the time, you miss the important things,’ Spot explained, then he stretched himself and settled down again with a sigh of contentment.

  Alice pulled a face and turned her back on him. Even Spot was being more irritable than usual with her. He was supposed to be her friend, but he nagged her just like William. She sighed and put her hands behind her back, switching off the torch as she did so. But, as the beam went out, the light didn’t entirely disappear. For a moment Alice thought that the sun must have risen and that the daylight was finding a way through the shutters, but looking back over her shoulders she saw that the room behind her was in total darkness. What little light she had noticed was coming from the corner of the room.

  Turning slowly, and feeling her heart beginning to race
, she looked towards the mirror. The glass glowed dully in the dark. She took a step towards it, surprised at what she saw. The circular wooden frame contained an area of light that was growing stronger as she watched. She moved closer, until she was standing directly in front of the mirror. It hung on the wall at a height above the level of her head, but not so high up that she wasn’t able to look into it with ease. At first all she saw was the strange glow that gradually suffused the room in which she stood. It was a bit like standing outside a house with curtains drawn across the windows, so that although you knew that there was light within, you were unable actually to see into the rooms.

  Alice stared at the glass, transfixed, as the light grew stronger – like the sun rising imperceptibly over the edge of the horizon – until, at last, it was strong enough for her to be able to see the room on the other side. It was a steeply pitched attic with a door at one end, leading out into a dark space. To the right and left of the door, high up in the roof, were two circular windows. Candles were burning in sconces in front of both the windows and behind the candles were circles of burnished metal, so that the light from them was intensified. There was a lantern burning on a low table, and a log fire glowing and sometimes erupting into flame in a small hearth.

  Alice recognized at once that it was the room that she was standing in. But it wasn’t a reflection she was looking at because she couldn’t see herself in the glass and besides the room was altogether different. Through the mirror, the room was furnished and lived in, whereas on the side she was standing it was forever empty and abandoned.

  Then, just as she was beginning to admire all the different features – the shelves of books, the strange, globe-like ornament on a side table, the bottles and jars, the piles of manuscripts on the desk and charts pinned to the wall – Stephen Tyler appeared through the door she could see at the back of the room. He was breathing heavily and he leaned on his silver stick as though he was exhausted by the steep climb up the steps in the chimney.

  14

  The Swallows Have Come

  ‘AH! THERE YOU are,’ the Magician said, coming into the room.

  Alice turned quickly and discovered him walking from the door to the front window.

  ‘But . . .’ she gasped.

  ‘But?’ he queried, opening the shutters. ‘But? What sort of a welcome is “but”?’

  Spot rose from the floor and sauntered over to him, with his tail wagging.

  ‘You were . . . I saw you in the mirror . . .’

  ‘My reflection. You saw my reflection,’ he told her, stroking the dog’s head with the back of his hand.

  ‘No,’ Alice insisted. ‘It wasn’t like that. I saw you through the mirror, coming into that room. You were there and . . .’

  ‘And now I am here.’

  ‘No. You don’t understand. Here and there were quite different. I was looking in the mirror and I saw this room . . . but with furniture and . . . and the fire was alight and . . . candles . . . I saw you come into the room . . . but not this empty room . . .’

  Stephen Tyler walked slowly over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I know. I know,’ he said gently. ‘It is very, very confusing. I find it to be so myself. It is all to do with time. Layers of . . . time. I’m sure I’ve explained this before.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve explained it,’ Alice said, rather crossly. ‘Or rather, you’ve talked about it. But,’ she shrugged and pulled a face, ‘I’m not sure I ever understand anything you say. Not really. I expect William does. But I don’t,’ and she shrugged again and walked away from him, wishing that Spot would come and join her instead of sitting at the Magician’s feet in such an adoring fashion.

  ‘I’d better try again, then,’ the Magician said, using a patient voice, that made Alice feel more cross than ever. ‘This room is both furnished and not furnished, ruined and not yet built . . . The perception of it depends entirely upon where you are looking from.’

  ‘Perception?’ Alice asked, wearily. ‘Long words may be clever, but they don’t help, you know.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the Magician said, now sounding contrite. ‘Perception means . . . Well, I wonder what it does mean. The seeing of an object or event; or the recognition of it; the becoming aware of it in one way or another. It is the same with most things, you know. The perceiving of magic is very similar. If you find you are flying as a kestrel . . . you must just fly! If your mind says “this cannot be, it isn’t possible” . . . then that thought may just persuade you that what is taking place isn’t possible. Then what would happen?’

  ‘We’d come whizzing out of the sky and end up where we started from – in the walled garden.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stephen Tyler nodded, ‘that could be how it seemed to you. In fact all that happened was that the magic stopped.’

  ‘So – what are we supposed to do?’

  ‘Nothing! Do . . . nothing. Just allow things to be. Don’t interfere. Don’t . . . get in the way. It’s really perfectly simple. Do you know how you breathe? Do you know how your body functions? Do you know where dreams and ideas and inspirations and laughter and tears and feelings come from? Of course you don’t. Start asking how? and where? and why? . . . and you could stop the lot. Then where would you be?’

  Alice pulled a solemn face.

  ‘Dead, I suppose, if I stopped breathing,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ the Magician said with an emphatic nod, then he frowned and seemed to consider the statement, ‘ . . . and at the same time, maybe no. The concept “death” is very complex.’

  ‘Concept?’ Alice snapped the word, as an irritated question.

  ‘Idea,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, then . . .’ Alice began, but he held up his hand and silenced her.

  ‘You are absolutely right to protest. Words are inadequate and long words are more inadequate than most. I have not very often had the privilege of conversing with a mind as untrammelled as yours . . .’

  ‘What?’ Alice shook with frustration. ‘There you go again! Ooooh!’ and she stamped her foot and walked away from him. ‘It’s worse than useless when you talk to me like that. Because I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  The Magician immediately looked dejected and Alice felt almost sorry for him.

  ‘Can’t you see what it’s like for us?’ she said. ‘We’re not used to all this. We go to school and eat sausages and have a perfectly normal life most of the time. Then, all of a sudden we’re here. Things “happen” as you say . . . But we don’t know what’s going on, or why. We don’t know what we’re supposed to do, or think or anything. It really is a bit weird, you know. And you’re the only one who can explain things to us and when you start to . . . you use words that don’t mean anything – not to me, anyway. Oh, please, Mr Tyler,’ she said, surprising herself with the intensity of her feelings. ‘I really do want to understand and I am trying, honestly I am. But . . . this time it isn’t going how I thought it would at all. William is in such a muddle that he’s gone into one of his working-out moods; Mary is . . . oh, I don’t know what Mary’s doing. She’ll probably cut her hair quite soon and ask to borrow Phoebe’s make-up – if she wears any, which I don’t suppose she does . . . What would a vegetable want to look pretty for? Anyway, when Mary goes quiet she usually decides to change her image. You should have seen her when she went Gothic. She wore black eye shadow and black nail varnish at school. She was called in by Miss Atterton and made to wash it all off and . . .’

  ‘Little girl!’ the Magician cried, putting his hands to his ears. ‘Stop! You are now making about as much sense to me and as much noise as a duck would do if it tried to sing plainchant.’

  ‘What?’ Alice cried. ‘A duck? What’s a duck got to do with anything?’

  ‘About as much as black shadows and Gothic images and vegetables looking pretty have,’ Stephen Tyler snapped. Then he sighed. ‘This is without hope,’ he said. ‘Utterly without hope.’

  ‘When you met us last Christmas, you told
us we had important work to do. And then, yesterday, you said so again. Well, why can’t we get on and do it?’

  ‘But you are. Don’t you see? This is it,’ Stephen Tyler cried. ‘I have come from another age and I am speaking to you. You are my eyes and my ears. I am experiencing through you. It is all . . . most remarkable.’

  ‘But I want adventures and . . . magic,’ Alice exclaimed. ‘Not hanging around the house with Phoebe in a bad mood and Uncle Jack too busy to really bother with us. And another thing,’ she continued, her words coming out faster as she grew in confidence. ‘William says that we’re bound to want to work things out – because we’re humans . . . and that’s what humans do best.’

  The Magician nodded.

  ‘Well then?’ Alice demanded.

  ‘It is, as I told you, very confusing. The problem is the magic. Over that we have little control . . .’

  ‘Not even you?’ Alice demanded.

  ‘Oh, to an extent, perhaps. I know how to make certain things come about . . . but I have no control over the events themselves. I cannot make the spring turn to autumn, nor the day to night. In magic, as in life, nature and her laws will always have to be obeyed. And that is what you are learning . . .’

  ‘I am?’ Alice asked, surprised at the suggestion. She didn’t feel that she was learning anything at all and nor was she sure that she wanted to. Learning sounded far too close to school work, and it was the holidays after all.

  ‘You particularly,’ Stephen Tyler told her. ‘The others – your brother and sister – will take longer. The boy, William, is all head. But I will crack him open, given time. And the other girl . . . Mary, is it? She is all heart, and that is going to take longer. Longer, but she will be most effective when her time comes. But you, little girl . . .’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that,’ Alice interjected. ‘I really hate it. I’m only little because I’m the youngest, and as far as being a girl is concerned . . .’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Stephen Tyler thundered and his eyes flashed with anger and he raised his silver stick as though he would strike her with it.