by Nina Bawden
‘Are you really a witch?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I can see through walls and round corners …’ Perdita began happily, but Tim stopped her.
‘Oh, I know all that. But can you see in the dark. Could you get us out of here?’
Perdita was silent.
‘Try,’ Tim urged her. ‘Shut your eyes and try …’
Perdita shut her eyes. ‘What do you want me to see?’
‘Just … just if you can see the way out.’
She stood still, her eyes obediently closed. Her face was expressionless and secret, and, watching her, Tim felt a sudden lifting of his heart. Suppose there were witches, after all? He didn’t believe in them, at least, he hadn’t believed in them, but now he wanted to, very much. Perhaps that was a part of magic: if you believed in a thing, it would help it to come true. Determinedly, he shut his own eyes and stood, tense and rigid, while his lips moved silently. ‘I believe in witches, I believe in witches, I believe in witches …’
‘What are you doing?’ Perdita asked in an amazed voice. He opened his eyes and saw she was staring at him.
‘Nothing,’ he said self-consciously. Then, ‘Was it any good?’
She shook her head. ‘I tried to think about the way we came in. But I can’t. I couldn’t find my way out in the dark. Not in the pitch black.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘What if no one comes with a light?’ she said, her eyes wide and startled.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ Tim said gently. She looked so little and thin, as young as Janey …
‘I’m not …’ Perdita stopped. She had a new feeling, one she could not remember having before, a sort of icy shudder, running down her chest and into her stomach as if she had just swallowed something very cold. ‘Am I frightened?’ she whispered, and all Tim’s pity vanished, and he had a brutal desire to shake her.
‘If you’re not, you ought to be,’ he said. ‘If he doesn’t tell anyone where we are, or tells them too late …’ Of course he wouldn’t telephone from Trull, he suddenly realised. It wouldn’t be safe for him. He would wait until he got to Glasgow or London or some airport where he could get a direct connexion to South America. He might wait even longer: Tim had a horrifying vision of Toffee Papers’ tender conscience acting in a week’s time, on the other side of the world. ‘Then we’ll die,’ he said bleakly. ‘We’ll be dead of cold and starvation …’
Perdita’s lip began to tremble. He said quickly, ‘What kind of magic can you do? I don’t mean seeing round corners or thinking you’re flying …’
Perdita said slowly, ‘I can make Annie do things sometimes. If I stare and stare. Or, if I’m in bed, I can make her come upstairs and say goodnight to me.’
That wasn’t magic, Tim thought resignedly. Sometimes, when his mother and father had been angry, and sent him to bed in disgrace, he had done that sort of thing himself: concentrated hard and willed them to come up to him. It usually worked, but only, he recognised regretfully, because they were sorry they had been mean to him. Still, it was a chance. Their only chance.
‘Could you make Annie come here?’ he said.
Perdita laughed. It was an odd sound in that murky cave. ‘Oh she couldn’t,’ she said. ‘She’s too rheumaticky. She gets it in her knees terribly badly, this time of year.’
Tim thought this a curiously practical argument for a witch. But perhaps she knew her own business best. ‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘someone else, then. Anyone would do, though perhaps it would work best if it was someone you knew well. I mean, you can fix your mind on them better.’
‘I don’t know anyone else, except Mr Smith,’ Perdita said.
Mr Smith. Mr Smith was a crook. The leader of the gang. This much Tim had gathered when he was listening to Toffee Papers, but he had not paid the discovery much attention until now: he had been far too worried about their immediate plight. Now, he thought a minute. All that talk of Mr Jones’s about hiding the loot in a safe place—well, Skua was a safe place, wasn’t it? As safe as you were likely to get. There was no policeman. No one came, or hardly ever. If you just sat still and minded your own business …
‘When did Mr Smith come to Skua?’ he asked.
Perdita thought. ‘Not last summer, not the summer before, but the summer before that. The summer I was eight.’
‘Three years.’ Tim whistled softly. ‘He must be the leader of the gang?’
‘What is a gang?’ Perdita asked and Tim tried to explain to her about gangs and jewel thieves and organised robberies. It was as difficult as explaining about Africa. Tim realised that although she had listened to him, when he read out the newspaper story on the beach, she had not really understood what it was about. There were no criminals on Skua and Perdita had never seen television or read a book. Understanding this, he tried to make his explanation as simple as possible, but her expression remained perplexed.
‘But Mr Smith’s not a bad man,’ she said finally. ‘He’s been good to me and Annie.’
Tim drew a deep breath and began to say that perhaps even a bad man could be good in parts, when Janey called to him.
‘Tim, Tim … where are you? I’m bored with singing.’
‘Coming,’ he shouted across the cave, and then whispered to Perdita, ‘Make Mr Smith come to find us then. Try hard.’
He went over to Janey who was looking sulky. ‘You’ve been away ages,’ she complained. ‘And I’m getting cold and I’m getting hungry.’
‘We weren’t far. Just the other side of the cave.’
‘Looking for rubies? Did you find one?’ Janey asked eagerly.
‘No. I don’t think there are any.’
Although he had determined not to worry or frighten Janey, he could not quite keep the misery out of his voice. She felt for his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. ‘Never mind, Tim. When the police catch our burglar, you’ll get your own ruby back, won’t you?’
Precious little chance of catching Toffee Papers, Tim thought glumly. By the time they got out—if they got out—Toffee Papers would be miles away on the other side of the world. And the jewels, too—or rather, his share of them. Tim sighed. If only they could escape before Mr Smith disappeared, too! He sighed again, longingly: newspaper headlines flashed in front of his eyes. BOY CAPTURES JEWEL THIEF. MYSTERY OF MISSING JEWELS SOLVED—BY TIM HOGGART. QUEEN REWARDS GALLANT BOY DETECTIVE. SUPERINTENDENT SAYS: THIS IS THE KIND OF BOY WE WANT IN THE POLICE FORCE.
Perhaps that last headline was a bit long. It could be put under one of the others, in smaller print. Tim sat, his eyes half-closed, dreaming.
‘I tried,’ Perdita said beside him. ‘But I don’t think it will work.’ She paused. ‘Mr Smith said, if I played with other children I’d lose my Powers,’ she said. Then her face crumpled. ‘I don’t want to stay here, Tim …’
Tim glanced apprehensively at Janey, but she said composedly, ‘If Perdita wants to go now, I don’t mind. I’m getting a little bit cold. Shall we go, Tim?’ And she stood up, waiting. Waiting for Tim to take her hand and lead her out of the cave and home.
Tim looked at her helplessly and the full horror of their predicament really dawned on him for the first time. ‘We’ll die,’ he had said to Perdita, but he hadn’t really believed it then: it had just seemed like a story he was telling himself. Now, looking at Janey, he knew it wasn’t a story.
‘Oh—don’t let’s go yet. It’s such fun here.’ He heard his own voice as if it belonged to someone else. A scared someone else.
‘What’s the matter? You sound funny.’ Janey put her head on one side and frowned, the way she did when she was trying to hear what people meant, rather than just what they said.
Tim swallowed hard. He mustn’t tell her the truth, not yet. The best thing would be to keep her happy, playing with her and singing, until she got tired and went to sleep. There was no point in frightening her unnecessarily. Someone might come to find them after all. And, even if they did not, there was still no point in Janey knowing how really terrible their situation was. Even
if she came to understand in the end, it might be easier for her when she was weak and apathetic with exhaustion and hunger. That would be like being ill, perhaps. When he had had measles, last year, he had felt so weak afterwards that he would not have minded much if someone had told him he was going to die. As long as he stayed with her and held her close, it might not be so dreadful for her. As long as he stayed alive long enough, so she could die in his arms …
There was a horrible great lump in his throat. He forced his voice over it. ‘Let’s sing something, shall we? All together? What about Row, row, row down the river …’
Janey touched his hand. ‘Have you got a stomach ache?’
‘He’s frightened,’ Perdita said. ‘I’m frightened, too. It’s a horrible feeling, like feeling sick. I never had it before.’
Tim said quickly, ‘It’s because she’s stopped being a witch and become like an ordinary person. Witches are never frightened and they don’t have shadows and their hands are always cold. Hers aren’t cold now.’
‘They never were,’ Janey said. She was not to be diverted. ‘Why is she frightened, Tim? Why are you frightened?’
Tim pulled a warning face at Perdita, but he was too late: she had already begun to speak. ‘Because we can’t get out of the cave,’ she said. ‘Mr Jones brought us in here and left us here and he’s gone away with the light. And Mr Campbell too. Tim says it’s because Mr Jones is a jewel thief and a bad man and …’
‘Toffee Papers!’ Janey said in a loud, excited voice. ‘Was he the burglar, Tim? Did he steal your ruby?’
Tim told her what he had learned, spinning out the tale as long as possible, hoping that she had not really understood the full meaning of what Perdita had said, or, if she had, that she would forget it in the excitement of hearing the mystery solved.
‘He ought to be put in prison,’ she said when he had finished. ‘Knocking our Dad down. And if that Mr Smith is a robber too, he ought to be put in prison. We’ll tell Mr Tarbutt and he’ll see to it, won’t he? Let’s go back and tell him now.’
Tim could not speak. When he didn’t move to take her hand she bent, groping for him, and tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Come on. Oh—you are lazy,’ she scolded.
‘We can’t …’ Tim looked despairingly at Perdita.
‘We can’t get out of the cave,’ she cried. ‘Oh Janey, don’t you understand?’
She stood between them, looking puzzled. ‘Why can’t we?’ she asked. ‘Why can’t we just go back the way we came?’ Toffee Papers did, didn’t he?’
‘He had a torch,’ Tim said. ‘He could see. We can’t, it’s dark …’ It seemed impossible to explain this to Janey. ‘We can’t find our way back in the dark,’ he mumbled.
For a moment, Janey said nothing. She seemed to be puzzling something out. Then she said, slowly, ‘I think I could, though. I don’t mind the dark.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
A KIND OF MAGIC
SOMETIMES TIM TRIED to imagine what the world must seem like to Janey. He would close his eyes and walk about, listening and feeling. But it was impossible for him to know what darkness was really like for her, as impossible as knowing, even though you could swim under water, what water must be like for a fish. Or air for a bird.
Or dark, for Janey. Looking at her, he caught his breath. When someone said ‘I can’t see in the dark,’ it must seem very strange to her, as strange as it would to a fish—if you could talk to a fish—if you said, ‘I can’t breathe under water.’
‘Are you sure you can find the way back?’ he asked slowly. She only needed to be shown round a strange house once, but if she got lost there were always people to help her. Once in the tunnel there would be no one. He and Perdita would be helpless. Blind.
Perdita said, ‘But how can she find her way?’
‘Just the same way I always do,’ Janey said. She was silent for a minute, as if wondering how to explain what that way was. Could he explain, Tim thought, how he could see with his eyes? Janey smiled suddenly. ‘It’s like Perdita’s second sight, I suppose.’
They led her to the mouth of the tunnel. Once there, she put her hand on the wall. Tim put his hand on her shoulder and Perdita clutched the back of his wind cheater. They began to walk down the rocky stairs. For the first few yards, while the light lasted, Janey’s pace seemed slow to them; then, as soon as the last blue glimmer vanished and they were in the dark, it seemed terrifyingly fast. They stumbled, panic stricken.
‘Go slower, Janey,’ Tim begged.
‘I’m going slow,’ she said indignantly. ‘Why don’t you walk properly, ‘stead of banging about all over the place?’
‘I don’t know how,’ Tim said humbly. It was true. Walking in the pitch dark was different—and frightening: you lifted your foot and it was like stepping off a cliff into black, empty air.
Janey stood still. ‘Feel,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Feel with your feet. That’s what I do.’
She moved on again. The two behind her began to learn. Keeping one hand on the wall, they slid their feet forwards, feeling with their toes and the balls of their feet. Their progress became steadier and their panic ebbed a little.
‘That’s better,’ Janey said. ‘You’re doing fine—just fine.’
She spoke in the bright, encouraging voice her mother sometimes used to her, when she was trying to do something that was hard for a blind girl to do.
Once she stopped. ‘I’m listening,’ she explained, and Tim and Perdita tried to listen too, but though they strained their ears, they heard nothing. It was horrible standing still and waiting in that cold, silent blackness. Tim remembered the ravine they had passed over. That terrible drop! Janey had not seen it, she couldn’t know how dangerous it was.
He whispered hoarsely, ‘Janey—there’s a sort of hole in the rock, with water a long way down.’
‘I know,’ she said, quite calmly. ‘Wait a minute.’ She stamped with her feet. ‘It’s soon—can’t you hear? The ground’s sort of hollow.’
She was right. They couldn’t hear—or feel—the hollowness, but a few steps later they heard the water. Miles below them, miles and miles … Tim stood still suddenly, and Perdita bumped into him.
‘Come on,’ Janey said. ‘It’s all right close to the wall.’
She led on and they followed, fearful but trusting her. They had to trust her. They went on, slowly shuffling, and the water sounded loud on their left. They were crossing the ravine. Tim tried so hard to see into the darkness that his eyeballs burned.
‘Past it now,’ Janey said.
On a little further. ‘Tim,’ Perdita said. ‘Tim …’
‘Yes?’
‘Tim …’ she repeated slowly, and then the words tumbled out in a rush. ‘You know what you said about Mr Smith. Well, if you tell Mr Tarbutt, will he go to prison?’
‘I expect so.’
She let out a long sigh.
Tim felt uncomfortable. ‘If he’s a thief, he ought to go to prison. We’ll have to tell Mr Tarbutt what we know, and I expect we’ll have to tell the police, too.’ This prospect was rather exciting. Surely Perdita would find it exciting, too? ‘Perhaps they’ll want to talk to you as well. Perhaps you’ll have to give evidence.’ She made no response and he went on, encouragingly, ‘You might even have to be a witness in court. Tell them how Mr Smith wouldn’t let you go to school or mix with other children. That shows he had something to hide, you see, so it will be important evidence. You might even get your picture in the papers …’
‘Oh, do shut up,’ Janey wailed. ‘How can I see if you talk?’
One more tentative step, then another. Was it his imagination, or was Janey’s progress less certain now? She seemed to be stopping more often. She had stopped now, and they all stood still, rigid, waiting …
Fear grew in Tim’s mind. He should never have let Janey attempt this … this madness. Of course she thought she could do it, but she was only nine, she had no real idea of danger. Less idea, perhaps, than most chil
dren: although she had always been encouraged to be independent and do things for herself, there had always been someone close at hand to see no harm came to her …
Perdita said, ‘Go on, Janey.’ Her voice was impatient, not frightened. That was because she believed in magic, Tim thought. He knew—had a glimmering, anyway—of how Janey could find her way. Perdita had none: it was a kind of magic to her.
Suddenly Janey shouted. ‘Aaaaaaah …’
Tim almost screamed with fright. Hysteria rose up in him. He tried to suppress it and speak in an ordinary voice. ‘What on earth did you do that for?’
‘This is one of the places where we shouted,’ Janey said. ‘I think I can tell where we are, by the echo.’
They began to shout. Their cries rang back at them from the unseen walls. Then they stood silent and listened to the echoes die away.
‘Once more,’ Janey said. They shouted again. And listened. Janey gave a little sigh. She left the wall and walked slowly, her hands spread out. She bumped into rock, sooner than she expected, perhaps, because she gave a little cry. Then her shoulder moved under Tim’s hand as she began to feel the surface of the rock, stroking and patting and muttering under her breath. ‘There was a little crack, my fingers went in it, only it was the other hand because I was going the other way, and there was a bit jutting out lower down, I banged my knee on it and it bleeded a little and stuck up my sock so it must have been a bit sharp …’
Tim held his breath. Then Janey gave a low, triumphant giggle. ‘I’m right,’ she said. ‘This is the right place. In a minute, we’ll be able to hear the sea.’
And they did. But before they heard the sea, they saw the light, at first just a faint paling of the darkness ahead and then the darkness seemed to form round to make a shape, an arch. It was the mouth of the tunnel that led into the main cave and out to the beach and the sea …