by Joan Lennon
‘What is it?’ whispered Cam.
‘It’s just an old box,’ said Madlen, disappointed.
Lady Mary spoke without taking her eyes off the object.
‘A very old box,’ she said quietly. ‘There has been a Council to care for the Three Worlds for a rather amazingly long time, my dears, and the box is far older than that. Watch now.’
Lord Metheglin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The light in the room drew in, concentrating on the box. No one dared blink or hardly breathe. The shadows crowded behind them as if trying to see over their shoulders, to see what was to happen next.
Metheglin was speaking now, but so softly they couldn’t hear the words. He began to move his long, thin hands, tracing shapes in the air that glittered for a moment on the eye, like sparklers in the park. At first nothing changed and then, silently, and with an odd old smell, the blackened box heaved itself open like ancient toothless jaws.
Inside were three more boxes, one a ruddy cherry wood, one deep mahogany, one the palest beech. As if in answer to Metheglin’s murmuring voice and the gestures of his hands, the three boxes rose up until they were free of the casing.
They hung there, waiting.
‘Questors.’
The children jumped at the sound of Lady Vera’s voice.
‘Go on.’
Hesitantly, they reached out their hands. There was no question in anyone’s mind which of the boxes to choose. They plucked them out of the air and held them gingerly, Bryn the cherry wood box, Madlen the mahogany, Cam the beech.
Madlen looked up to ask what they were to do next, but it was already happening. Like miniature versions of the casing, the three boxes also opened their mouths.
‘Put in what you have found.’
Madlen slipped the string over her head and held it above the box. She let it and the tiny axe slide through her fingers. The necklace lay against the dark wood, shimmering slightly.
Bryn cradled the box against his body and used his good hand to pull the dragon’s claw out of his pocket. He paused – then placed it gently into the rich, warm interior.
Cam looked at the box in its hand for a long moment. It sensed a rustle of movement outside the circle of light, as if someone had involuntarily reached out, and as suddenly changed their mind.
It didn’t matter. Nobody else seemed real just then; nothing else seemed important. Only the box.
Cam could see every line of the grain in the wood and smell the very faint aroma that the living tree had left behind. It reached out its hand and turned it, open-palmed, over the empty box, and felt the energy pour from one to the other. Then it closed its hand and let it drop to its side.
The box no longer seemed empty.
There was a soft, sourceless sigh and the three boxes closed. Lord Metheglin’s voice was heard again, speaking just below the level of comprehension. The boxes moved back above their casing and sank, seamlessly, into it. The black lid closed with a minute click…
… and that could so easily have been the end of it. Magic and miracle enough. Certainly the Prelates weren’t expecting anything more – Lord Metheglin had already stepped forward with the velvet cloth to cover it all again. But before he could do so –
The casing changed. From an ancient, opaque black, it cleared now into a rich, deep orange colour. It began to glow, as if from an internal light, and it appeared translucent. In its depths, something stirred as if alive, but what it was they couldn’t see.
‘Amber,’ somebody breathed. ‘I never knew it was amber.’
A wonderful warm smell filled the chamber. And then it all faded – the light, the warmth, the scent – and there was nothing left but the ancient black casing, giving no hint as to what it was or what it contained.
Metheglin covered it reverently with the velvet and carried it away. Nobody stirred until he had come again.
Then, as he re-entered the circle of light, the spell broke with an almost audible snap. Bullvador, Mary and Vera clustered round, beaming and thumping him on the back.
‘Well done, Methy!’
‘That was splendid!’
‘Good job!’
Lord Metheglin managed to look suitably solemn and modest for about a second. Then, grinning wildly, he did a dance that showed off his skinny legs and sent his robe swirling.
‘It’s done! We did it! Did you see that?! Fabulous! Hurrah!’
‘Anybody’d think they were the Questors!’ muttered Mrs Mac to Bryn, but there was no sting in her words. He smiled happily back.
‘So… it’s all right now?’ squeaked Cam. ‘We did it right?’
‘I don’t understand!’ Madlen wailed. It was all too much.
The adults instinctively responded to the note of incipient hysteria in her voice.
‘Well now, of course you don’t – how could you?’ cooed Lady Mary.
‘Steady on, girl!’ Lady Vera sounded a bit panicky.
‘Meth! Explain to the children at once!’ boomed Lord Bullvador.
‘Why, of course. Of course. It’s very simple really. Here, I’ll call up the file on Epic Symbols.’ Lord Metheglin, pink-faced, tidied his robe and then busied himself with his palmtop. ‘No… no… not that bit… Right, here we go…’
And he began to read aloud.
‘Objects of Power tend to have a strong metaphorical significance, far beyond the apparent actual value that could be assigned them… blah, blah… Specifics, please… Ah… The Hatchet or Axe, for example, is the weapon of choice of the Hero/Heroine who wishes to set free all those entrapped by spells. See? And then… The Claw of a Dragon is a symbol of balance – one side cuts, the other heals. Perfectly simple… And the Rich Wo/Man’s Empty Hand is the sign of the one who has given up everything for others.’
Lord Metheglin beamed at them all indiscriminately.
‘See? Miss Madlen’s World was enslaved by its own “institutionalized autism”, if I may borrow a phrase from our departed, um, colleague. So the correctly significant Object of Power required would not be the pinnacle of that process – the Ribbon of Abstract Thought – but instead its opposite – impassioned action, as symbolized by the, er, diminutive axe. Master Bryn’s World was in need of healing to balance the unduly violent heroics, and young Emergent Cam’s World needed to face the end of the current political paradigm and so what was required there was not the Fruit of Dreams as was our original postulation –’
‘In other words,’ interrupted Lady Vera, ‘we goofed.’
‘All right, all right. Yes. Though I wouldn’t have put it just that way,’ huffed Lord Metheglin. ‘I admit we were mistaken in inclining to the “pinnacle” approach as opposed to the slightly less obvious “opposite-to-equalize” approach, which has in point of fact proved to be –’
Lady Mary turned to the three children. ‘It’s just as well our poems were as challenging as they were – otherwise you might have been misled.’
The Questors looked blank.
‘What poems?’ said Bryn.
‘We never saw any poems,’ said Cam.
Kate coughed.
‘Um, sorry. Apparently they… never arrived.’
‘WHAT?!’
Lady Vera guffawed and patted Metheglin heartily on the back.
‘And you put all that effort into them, didn’t you! Poor Meth!’
‘Well, actually, Bea did a lot of the work…’ began Lord Metheglin. His voice died away as he realized what he’d just said.
In the embarrassed silence that followed, Cam’s whisper was easily heard.
‘But… what about the future? I want to know what’s supposed to happen now.’
‘Ah,’ said Lord Metheglin. ‘Well. I’m glad you asked me that question. It’s a very good question and it does you credit. It really does –’
‘Oh, Meth, stop drivelling!’ interrupted Lady Vera. ‘Just tell the child!’
Lord Metheglin drew himself up. ‘I was not drivelling!’ he said indignantly. ‘I was simply trying
to encourage a young enquiring mind in its, um, enquiring –’
‘We don’t know,’ said Lady Vera flatly turning her back on her irate colleague. ‘There are any number of computer models to choose from, of course. You’re welcome to review the data. It’s filed under “futures.dowehave1.doc”. But I suspect we’ll be taking the Traditional Option on this one too.’
‘The Traditional Option?’ said Madlen nervously.
‘Yes – you know – Wait and See.’ Lady Vera nodded once, firmly.
‘It’s going to be ever so interesting,’ chirped Lady Mary.
Madlen, Bryn and Cam looked at each other, and at Kate, and burst out laughing.
As his colleagues were busy staring anxiously at the uncontrollably giggling and snorting Questors, Lord Bullvador took the opportunity for a quiet word with Mrs Mac.
‘We’ll need a replacement,’ he said, leaning down to her. ‘Four isn’t exactly a mythic number in these cases, as of course you know, so I was wondering…?’
He looked at her hopefully.
‘No chance,’ said Mrs Macmahonney loudly.
The others looked over and came to join them.
‘Eh?’ said Lord Meth, ‘What’s wrong here?’
Bullvador heaved an irritated sigh.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he muttered. ‘Everything’s grand. I was just speaking with Mrs Macmahonney about the empty place on the Council. It’s not important.’
‘Not important!’ bugled Lady Vera. ‘Not important! Really, Bull –’
‘Of course, there’s always Nigel.’ Lady Mary’s deceptively gentle voice cut across her colleague’s.
There was a general, horrified gasp.
‘You cannot be serious!’
‘Mary!’
‘Oh no!’
The noise they were making managed to cut through the giggling.
‘Who’s Nigel?’ hiccuped Madlen to Kate, who was wiping her eyes.
‘He’s the Periodic Gentleman,’ she whispered back. ‘Used to be this very powerful guy, then he took early retirement. Now he’s a sort of loose cannon at the House. They tell us to stay well out of his way, but they don’t tell us why…’
‘YOU CANNOT PUT NIGEL HETHERINGTON ON THE COUNCIL.’
It was Mrs Mac. She was standing there, fists on hips, eyes sparking, effortlessly the centre of attention.
‘But, Madam,’ murmured Lord Meth, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, ‘what else can we do?’
Lord Bullvador shot him a grateful glance, which he quickly changed to a concerned frown when he realized Mrs Mac was glaring at him. There was a moment’s silence…
‘Oh, all right then,’ she conceded crossly. ‘ON ONE CONDITION.’
‘Anything, dear lady, anything,’ cried Bullvador expansively, though the other Prelates looked worried. ‘Name your terms.’
‘One term,’ said Mrs Mac. ‘One condition.’
‘Which is?’ asked Lady Vera.
‘We meet in the kitchen. I’m not having meals disrupted just because the Worlds need saving all the time.’ She glared around at them, defying anyone to object.
‘Er…’
‘Well, but…’
‘Um…’
‘That’s fine, then. It’s settled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a House to feed.’
Mrs Macmahonney strode out of the room like a stubby Colossus. Nobody got in her way.
‘What a woman,’ murmured Lord Bullvador, and then blushed.
As they came out of the Council chamber, Ben put a hand on Kate’s arm.
‘All right, then?’ he asked.
Kate’s smile was giga-watt.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘Kate?’
It was Madlen calling and Kate moved away without another glance. But Ben was still watching, and Bryn was watching him.
‘Personally,’ he murmured as he came up beside the Agent, ‘I think you should ask her out.’
Ben twitched.
‘Her? What? Who?’
‘Look, if it’s permission you need, consider it given.’ Bryn grinned slyly up at him. ‘By the man of the family.’
Then, with a squeaky giggle, the mighty, manly Questor trotted off down the corridor in search of food.
61
Attic Conversations
It was later on and the three had been sent up to the attic bedrooms, by order of Mrs Mac. Nobody’d argued.
When Kate came in, Madlen hadn’t turned on the light yet. She was standing in the dusk beside the bed, looking up through the skylight at the stars.
‘Amazing,’ said Kate quietly.
Madlen turned. ‘The stars? Yes, they are,’ she said.
‘Er, no. I meant you.’ Kate blushed suddenly and flopped down on the bed. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m new at this family business.’
‘Me too.’ Madlen grinned. ‘Maybe we could practise on each other?’
‘I could try being terribly strict and proper, and you could slam doors, and throw things, and say how unfair it is that nothing ever happens to you,’ suggested Kate.
‘Sure. Sounds like fun! And then we could get over it… and you could show me how you do that make-over thing on yourself in midair!’
‘That is a Deep Dark Secret,’ Kate began solemnly. Then she laughed. ‘Of course I’ll show you how. It’s just a matter of…’
*
In the next room, Bryn was aware of the pleasant murmur of Kate’s and Madlen’s voices, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of the words. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with his drawing things laid neatly out around him. But he wasn’t drawing. Not yet.
Instead, he was looking at his hand. He’d undone Serena’s bandages and put them aside, and now he studied the wound, turning his wrist so that he could observe it from every angle.
Mrs Mac looked in on him but didn’t stop.
Then Kate came. She’d wished Madlen goodnight and left her to get to bed. She felt warmed and full of hope for the future – whatever that turned out to be. But here, in the present, there was her son…
Bryn looked up and saw her hesitating in the doorway.
‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be all right.’ And he held out his hand to her and wrapped her up in his brilliant smile.
‘What’s wrong?’
Mrs Macmahonney filled the doorway of Cam’s room.
‘So… did it happen? Or didn’t it?’
Mrs Mac closed the door and came to sit on the bed. It creaked under her weight.
‘That’s right,’ she said.
‘No, I mean which?… Oh. I see. Both. Sort of?’
Mrs Mac patted it on the head like a clever dog.
‘But that’s not what’s worrying you,’ she said.
There was a long pause.
‘Is it Ivory?’
Another pause and then Cam muttered, ‘Is she – will she be OK?’
‘Well, that depends… on how good you are at forgiving her for your mistake.’
Cam looked up.
‘I thought she was mad.’
‘She was, a bit,’ said Mrs Mac agreeably.
‘Then I thought she was… evil.’
‘She is that too, a little.’
‘I used to think she was perfect.’
‘That’s the one,’ said Mrs Macmahonney.
Cam thought for a moment, then nodded.
‘So what else is wrong?’ asked Mrs Mac.
Cam sighed. ‘It’s… I don’t know what’s going to happen next. When we go back. Back home. I mean, I can see how it’ll be for the others. On Kir, they’ll stop killing each other so much, won’t they? But it’ll still be cold and castle-y and…’
‘… knee-deep in testosterone?’
Cam smiled palely.
‘Yeah. And Trentor won’t be all sort of fascist, but it’ll still be like itself. Just a better version, you know?’
Mrs Mac nodded.
‘That’s plausible,’ she said.
&nb
sp; ‘But, don’t you see – it can’t be like that for us. My World’s over!’ Cam’s eyes were huge. ‘The Holders are discredited because of what happened, and the dreaming’s done because I threw the Corym away. Madlen and Bryn – their Worlds get to go on and – and develop. Get more like the good bits in them. But the dreaming was the good bit for us.’
It looked down at its hands, twisted together till the knuckles showed white. It unclenched and held them out.
‘Our hands really are empty, Mrs Mac,’ Cam said, and let them drop.
There was a moment of silence in the room, and then Mrs Mac stood up.
‘Funny things, hands,’ she said cheerfully.
Cam shifted irritably Hadn’t she understood? Didn’t she care? This was important!
Mrs Mac started to potter about the tiny room, humming a little, and Cam could feel its anger grow.
If she wasn’t going to be sympathetic, she could just leave!
Mrs Macmahonney didn’t appear to notice the change in temperature.
‘So you threw them out of the plane. The apple things, I mean.’
‘I said so,’ grated Cam.
‘And there was quite a high wind.’
‘YES!’
Mrs Mac nodded and began to pace the narrow room, a few steps and turn, a few steps and turn. Then she started to swing her arm back and forth in front of her. The action was vague at first and then became more definite. It was as if she were throwing something away, again and again.
Cam stared at her, then looked away, refusing to ask what she was doing.
Mrs Mac didn’t seem to care.
‘There’s a painting,’ she murmured, almost as if to herself. ‘I’m not sure where I saw it, but I can definitely remember it. There was a stormy sky, and a field, and a man with great huge slabs of hands. He had a bag of seed on one hip and was striding along like a giant, flinging the seed out over the soil.’ She matched her actions to the words and cocked her head on one side, watching Cam. ‘You had the feeling he could have kept it up forever… It was called The Sower, as I remember.’
She stopped in front of Cam.
‘Imagine what kind of area somebody like that could cover, if they had a plane to sow from,’ she said thoughtfully.