‘And the dog as well, William. We’ve seen that dog before,’ Mary added, grimly.
‘Are you sure?’ Meg asked.
‘Oh, yes. I’m certain,’ Mary told her. ‘That dog belongs to one of the builders working on Uncle Jack’s house.’
‘From Golden House,’ Meg whispered. ‘Nothing but trouble ever comes from Golden House.’
‘What can we do to help?’ William asked.
‘If you really know this man, then maybe there is hope,’ Meg told them. ‘Come and see me at Four Fields as soon as you’re able.’
They promised they would and said that they’d bring Uncle Jack with them.
‘He’ll help,’ Alice told Meg. ‘He’ll stop the awful men.’
The children collected Spot from the crest of the hill and, leaving Meg still surrounded by the badgers, they hurried down the steep side of the valley through the growing morning light. Then Mary suddenly stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.
‘What, Mare?’ Alice asked.
‘If that horrible dog does belong to Kev, the builder, you know what else it means?’
‘I think I do, yes,’ William said, quietly.
‘It means it was Kev who wrote on the floor in the crypt and . . .’
‘It was Kev who wrote on the mirror in the secret room,’ Alice whispered. ‘Kev has discovered the Magician’s room. Oh, William, Mary – what should we do?’
‘We’ll have to ask the Magician,’ William said, emphatically.
‘But how?’ Mary asked. ‘He’s never there when we need him.’
‘We’ll have to, somehow, contact him,’ William said.
‘But how, William?’ Mary repeated.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered in a forlorn voice.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Alice said. ‘I know it will,’ and she hurried ahead, with Spot limping beside her.
18
The Alchemy Begins to Work
THE CHILDREN DIDN’T manage to get up to the secret room until late in the afternoon of the following day. Arthur and Dan continued to plaster in the Tudor wing and Kev, once he had finished clearing the heavy stuff from the cellars, was sent to join them.
‘He’s no good at plastering,’ Arthur confided in Jack in a mournful voice. ‘But I expect we can find something for him to do. He’s not bright, but he is strong and that can come in very handy in the building trade.’
During the morning the children and Spot were crossing the yard when they came face to face with Kev, who was sitting on the back of the truck with his dog, smoking a cigarette.
‘Yours been in a scrap, has he?’ Kev asked, nodding in the direction of Spot. He climbed down off the van, obviously embarrassed to have been caught not working.
‘Why would you think that?’ Mary asked, a defiant note in her voice.
‘I just thought . . . he’s got a nick on his neck. Here boy, come and show me,’ he said and he held out his hand to Spot, who backed away, growling and slunk off to the far side of the yard. ‘You should train him,’ Kev said. ‘A dog needs to know who’s boss.’
‘He’s very well behaved,’ Alice said. ‘He always comes when he’s called.’
‘There’s more tricks than that you can teach ’em,’ Kev told her. ‘Wonderful obedient beasts. You can get them to do just what you want if you’re firm with them.’ As he spoke, he lifted his hand to his dog, making it shy away, cowering back in the van, its tail between its legs. ‘Look at that!’ he said, proudly. ‘I’ll train yours if you like.’
‘We don’t want our dog to do tricks,’ Alice said, turning her back.
‘What’s your dog called?’ William asked.
Kev stared at him closely, then he grinned.
‘Rover,’ he replied and he went in to start work without another word.
‘Rover!’ William repeated, quietly. ‘I bet he’s got another name when he’s working. Hey!’ he called, turning to look at the dog. ‘Fang! Come on, Fang!’
The dog surged forward barking and growling, stopped from jumping at William only by the bit of rope round its neck. Even so, the immense strength of the dog was alarming and William took a step backwards.
‘Oh, it’s really frightening!’ Mary said, retreating to the kitchen door.
‘It’s the man’s fault,’ Alice said. ‘I feel almost sorry for the dog.’ But she hurried into the kitchen all the same, wanting to get away from the snapping and growling.
The children continued to help clear the cellars with Jack. Then, when all the disposable stuff had been removed and the rest was stacked neatly in piles, they swept out the rooms and brushed down the walls, removing cobwebs and layers of grime as they did so.
When the yard was empty, Spot returned and sniffed round the van. Whatever he discovered there made him growl again and Phoebe, who happened to be in the kitchen, making drinks for them all, called to him to come in and stop the noise.
During the afternoon, a lorry came and took away the skip, which was piled high with rubbish. Then Jack told the children to have a break.
‘Get some fresh air,’ he said. ‘I really didn’t mean you to spend the holiday working.’
As soon as they were alone, they went up to the secret room. They were so used to the steps up the chimney by now that they didn’t bother to bring a torch.
William opened the shutters on both the windows and the light filtered in revealing the dusty, empty space and the dark, cobwebby corners.
‘Now what?’ Mary asked. ‘How do we get the Magician to come?’
‘Maybe if we all think about him really hard,’ William suggested.
But that didn’t work at all.
‘I find it quite hard, just thinking about him,’ Mary observed. ‘I mean, are we supposed to think about how he looks, or his voice, or what he says . . . or, what? I mean, how do you think about something?’
‘I meant concentrate,’ William said, sounding irritable.
‘I know what Mary means, though,’ Alice cut in. ‘I keep thinking about something else all the time, like food or that time Phoebe took her boob out and fed the baby.’
‘Shut up, Alice,’ William said, squeezing his eyes closed and saying the Magician’s name over and over in his mind.
‘I think if we imagined him here, that might work better,’ Alice suggested.
But imagining turned out to be as difficult as thinking and in a short while they were all bored. Mary got up from the floor where she’d been sitting cross-legged and sauntered over to the corner where the mirror was fixed to the wall.
‘You’re so vain, Mare,’ Alice said, not hiding her disgust.
But Mary didn’t rise to the bait. She stood for a moment, silently staring at the mirror, then, without looking round, she said:
‘Come and look. There’s one of those funny drawings on it this time.’
William and Alice hurried over to join her. She was right. Dimly, in the fine dust that covered the surface of the glass, they could just make out a crude drawing of a sun and a moon, divided by a single line.
‘It’s another of those symbols,’ William said, speaking to himself. ‘But who put it there, and why?’
‘Well, it wasn’t there when I came up here,’ Alice said and then she started to blush as the other two turned on her.
‘Did you come up here on your own, Al?’ William demanded, sounding fierce.
‘I was going to tell you,’ Alice said, in a small voice.
‘We have a Solemn Vow, Alice,’ William shouted, immediately losing his temper.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Mary hissed. ‘And anyway, I don’t see how you can be so cross, William. You broke the Solemn Vow twice at Christmas.’
‘It isn’t safe for her, coming on her own,’ William insisted.
‘Well, what else was I supposed to do?’ Alice demanded, losing her temper as well. ‘You were both mooching around. We weren’t getting anywhere.’
‘Oh, shut up, both of you,’ Mary interjected. ‘Losing your
temper won’t help. Did you draw this on the mirror, Alice?’
‘No, of course I didn’t. I expect it was Mr Tyler . . .’
‘That’s it!’ Wiliam exclaimed. ‘Of course. The Magician more or less told us.’
‘Oh, William – what?’ Mary said, losing her patience.
‘This mirror is somehow special – don’t you remember? He said in his time it isn’t this shape – but the other way round, like a bowl . . .’
‘So?’ Mary demanded.
‘I don’t know. Maybe if we . . . use the mirror . . . If we all . . . stare at it and . . . maybe, if we try not to think of anything, but just concentrate on it . . .’
Mary produced a handkerchief out of her jeans pocket and dusted the glass, trying to remove the drawing.
‘That’s odd,’ she said. ‘It won’t come off.’
‘Let me see, Mare,’ William said, taking the handkerchief and wiping the mirror.
But Mary was right. There was no dust on the surface of the glass and the drawing remained however much he rubbed.
‘I can’t move it,’ he said. Then, looking round at the girls with a troubled expression on his face, he added, ‘It’s almost as though it’s drawn on the other side.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Alice asked, alarmed.
‘As though, somehow, the drawing is on the inner surface of the glass,’ William replied, thoughtfully.
The three children stood in a row, staring at the mirror. At first they could see their own faces gazing back at them, the image slightly distorted by the rounded glass, with behind and around them the dusty, empty room. Then, very gradually, their reflections started to fade.
‘Oh!’ Alice gasped.
‘Sssh!’ William hissed.
‘But, we’re disappearing,’ Alice whispered.
As she spoke, their three faces came back into sharper focus.
‘Alice!’ Mary cried.
‘What?’ Alice cried.
‘You’ve stopped it,’ Mary said.
It was true. The reflection of their three faces was returning to normal.
‘It wasn’t me. Why are you blaming me?’
‘You shouldn’t have talked,’ William snapped.
‘But . . . it was so . . . ghosty.’
‘The drawing is still there,’ Mary said.
‘No, wait a minute,’ William exclaimed and, taking the handkerchief he wiped the glass and, as he did so, the drawing was wiped away.
‘It’s on this side of the glass now. But . . . how? I don’t understand. It wasn’t before. What does it mean?’
‘It means,’ a voice behind them announced, ‘that you have come close to time travelling. And I am very, very impressed.’
19
Alice Loses Her Temper
STEPHEN TYLER WAS standing by the front window, leaning with one hand on the sill and holding his silver stick in the other. He nodded, gravely, as they turned to look at him.
‘You’re here!’ Alice exclaimed with delight. ‘We made you come!’
‘You most certainly did not!’ he retorted. ‘I am not at your beck and call! But you have achieved a small degree of expertise. And that is most reassuring. Do you know how you did it?’ he asked them.
The children all shook their heads.
‘That’s a pity. An ignorant skill is a useless gift,’ Stephen Tyler sounded disappointed. ‘It simply means that what you have achieved took place by accident. One cannot rely on it. And yet there was some reasoning there. You, William, tell me what you think happened.’
‘We all wanted you to appear so much that we . . . sort of willed you to,’ William stammered, uncertainly.
‘Willed? I’m not sure about that. It takes a powerful mind to employ the Will. Mary?’
Mary shrugged and blushed.
‘We just imagined you here . . .’
‘No we didn’t, Mary,’ Alice interrupted her. ‘I suggested that but we gave up because we couldn’t do it properly. Actually I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular when our faces started to disappear. I was just sort of . . . at a loss.’
‘Good,’ the Magician said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Very good! Let me tell you about the first stage in the making of gold . . . True gold; the Philosopher’s Gold. The stage is very simple. You take a pound of Mercury and heat it in a crucible until it begins to smoke. That is all. Mercury . . . quicksilver . . . that substance that runs hither and thither and is never still.’ He stared at them with his piercing eyes. ‘Listen to me, my pupils. Mercury is the mind. All you must do, to take the first step on the journey to becoming gold, is to stop the mind from buzzing here and there, pursuing every little thought that enters the head, every little idea, every little craving or sensation. Stop the mind . . . and hold it still. Is that all, you may ask? Believe me it is the hardest bit of the whole process. To still the mind takes years of practice usually. You are doing very, very well. I am pleased. Now, the next stage is, little by little, to warm the Mercury; to warm the Mind. With what should you warm it? Hmm? Is that what you ask? I will tell you a great secret.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The only way to warm the mind is with the heat of the heart.’ He turned and looked out of the window. ‘So – shall we start the next stage at once? It is a hard one. Are you ready for it?’ He turned and looked at them again. ‘Perhaps,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Very well . . .’ and his voice changed to a bright and cheerful tone. ‘Ask me some questions now!’
The children all started speaking at once. There were so many questions that needed to be answered.
‘Has Kev found the secret room?’ William demanded.
‘Ask him,’ he was advised.
‘But, if he has . . .’
‘It will mean nothing to him. All he will have found will be an empty room at the top of the house.’
‘With steps that go down the chimney. Won’t he think that a bit odd?’
‘He will mistake them for the steps of the old tower and he will find the way blocked half way down with the wooden smoke door. I repeat – it will not mean a thing to him. A blocked up attic room and half an ancient staircase. Trust me. People who lack imagination see only what they think is in front of them.’
‘But . . . you said it disturbed you, people coming in here.’
‘Did I? Perhaps. But not in your time. In my time it disturbs me a great deal. Remember that, if you ever come to visit me.’
‘That’s hardly likely, is it?’ William said, grumpily.
‘I would have thought it extremely likely. You are all doing very well. But don’t concern yourself with the future. That is one of the mind’s favourite tricks – it runs off into the future or into the past, and it is rarely if ever, here, in the present moment – now! As for this man . . . just ask him and see what he says. Questions?’
‘How does the drawing on the mirror work?’ Mary said quickly, not wanting William to hog all the attention.
‘Presumably this . . . Kev . . . wrote the strange message. OK?’ Stephen Tyler said, with a smile, and sounding as if he was using a well-rehearsed phrase from a foreign language he was learning.
‘No!’ Mary insisted. ‘You don’t understand. There was something new. Here, today.’
‘Tell me,’ the Magician said.
Again they all started talking at once, explaining to Stephen Tyler what had happened. The room was full of their chattering voices.
‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘You’re like a lot of hens. Hens do not make good pupils!’
Mary was chosen to explain what had occurred because she had asked the original question. Stephen Tyler listened, quietly, to her story.
‘This is very interesting,’ he observed at last. ‘The mirror, as you call it and as I think I have explained before, is in truth the Philosopher’s Glass in my study. It is used for a great variety of things, but mainly as an aid to contemplation. Sometimes, for increased awareness, I sketch symbols on the glass with my fingers. It started off, you say, on my side of the glass – as it were –
and ended up on yours . . .’ He nodded to himself, thinking deeply. ‘I think this confirms that, for a moment, you all were there . . . in my time. And, when you returned, you were concentrating so hard on the symbol that you . . . brought it with you.’ He paused, considering. ‘But who drew the symbol?’ he said at last. ‘That is quite another question. It could only have been me – and I certainly didn’t – or . . . Morden. Morden!’ He repeated the name, his voice rising angrily. ‘That meddlesome assistant!’ and he paced the room, shaking his head and lost in thought again.
‘If he’s so much trouble,’ Mary exclaimed, ‘you should get rid of him.’
‘No, no!’ the old man muttered, calming down a little. ‘I can’t. I also am on this journey, you know. I also hope to be transformed. To make gold it is necessary to employ dross. You cannot get the one without the other. Morden is my dross. Besides, without his sobering influence, I would be in danger of becoming complacent. He is useful to my endeavours because he makes me work harder. Morden is my conscience, my timepiece. He reminds me of how much there is still to do, he keeps me at it. I always need to be one step ahead of Morden. A Magician who works with angels, must have a close knowledge of devils.’
‘Oh, please!’ Alice exclaimed, desperately. ‘Just tell us one thing . . .’
‘And what is that, Alice?’ Stephen Tyler asked her, staring coldly.
‘How can we help the badgers?’ she demanded.
‘The badgers?’ the Magician said. ‘Why are badgers important?’
‘Why?’ Alice exclaimed. ‘The badgers are being killed . . .’
The Magician stared at her thoughtfully for a moment and, when he next spoke, his mood had changed. His eyes flashed and his voice was angry.
‘Little girl,’ he said, ‘we are here to discuss the transformation of your mortal soul and you bother me with badgers?’
‘You told us to care about them,’ Alice retorted indignantly, ‘and besides they’ve never done any harm to anyone. Meg says they haven’t any enemies except the men. They kill them . . . for fun . . .’
‘But, Alice,’ Stephen Tyler said, more gently, ‘nature has ever been cruel. We cannot change that.’ As he spoke he held out his hand, as if inviting her to move closer to him. ‘Come,’ he whispered, ‘we have much more important work to do. Don’t bother your head with this.’
The Door In the Tree Page 14