Whirligig

by John Broughton

  At last, over a rise, he sighted The Traveller’s Rest. Stopping for a moment, Palustric gasped in relief, gulping in huge breaths of air. The bitter afternoon wind blew across his face, and Palustric shivered violently with the feeling that the wind was especially keen. He mustn’t stand still soaked with sweat, or he’d finish up in the same condition as Lar. He set off again, as fast as his remaining strength would allow and, at last, he came to the door of The Traveller’s Rest. The door and the window shutters were closed as if no-one was at home. Palustric’s heart sank, and he hammered frantically on the door with his fist. He needn’t have worried because bolts slid back and the ugly, but friendly face of the goblin landlord appeared in the half-opened door. At that moment, the goblin seemed the best-looking person Palustric had ever seen.

  “Well, bless me!” the landlord threw open the door. “I was expecting—” He broke off suddenly as his eyes moved from Palustric’s anxious face to his shoulder draped with Lar’s motionless body.

  They hurried inside where the goblin threw more logs on the fire. “He's got the Moorbane,” the innkeeper muttered. “It's all my fault, I should have warned you, but you’ve done well to bring your friend back here.”

  Palustric gently laid Lar on the rug in front of the fire. The pixy’s eyes were closed, his skin had a ghastly pallor, and he was shivering uncontrollably.

  “Moorbane?” Palustric asked.

  “Ay, in the Old Days, the elves cast a curse into the wind. They reckoned that this, along with the misleading spell laid on the land, would confound any intruders.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, you’ve seen how easy it is for the traveller to lose his way on the moors? That’s the misleading spell. Moorbane’s the curse borne on the wind every fourth day. That’s why I had the door and windows closed just now. The Old Elves reckoned that anyone lost on the moors for more than three days could not possibly be an elf or a Highland goblin and must, therefore, be an outsider. Outsiders to them, at the time, meant danger. Had you not run back here, you too would have been stricken just like your friend and both of you would have died on the open moor. Fortunately, you are stronger than he!”

  “Will he die?” Palustric panicked.

  “Bless me, no! I should think not!” The goblin smiled broadly. “Not now you're back at The Traveller’s Rest. You see, we innkeepers hand down the cure from father to son.”

  “Well, let’s get started! We’re wasting time—” Palustric urged.

  The goblin scowled, his ugly expression reminding Palustric that goblins were strange-tempered creatures. Better be careful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s that I’m so worried about my friend.”

  The goblin’s face softened into gentle ugliness as he smiled. He reached up to the mantelpiece and took down a white earthenware fire-pot with two curved handles at its collar. “There mustn’t be any flower design on it,” the landlord whispered mysteriously to Palustric. “Come into the kitchen.” They left Lar trembling in front of the hearth.

  “Take a knife, cut me three garlic tails and three branches of rosemary.” Meanwhile, he poured red wine into the pot. “Done that? Good! Now slip outside and cut me three elder florets from the tree, but don’t hang about in that wind,” he warned as he reached up to a shelf. Palustric hurried out to find an elder tree. The goblin took down a jar with a yellowing label containing dried red rosebuds. Buds of the Fairy Rose, the label read. Whistling busily, the goblin threw them in the pot. “I collect them on Midsummer’s Day, or it doesn’t work,” he told Palustric, forgetting that he had sent the dwarf outside. He threw three bay leaves into the pot after them and then added the ingredients Palustric had prepared.

  “We're almost ready now,” the goblin said, just as the dwarf came back indoors. He took the elder florets and broke the small flowers into the receptacle. He looked at Palustric’s clothing. “First, we must change,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “No black allowed,” the goblin said, pointing to the dwarf’s trousers. “We have to wear red and white, you know, or else the magic doesn’t work.”

  He led the way upstairs into a magnificent bedroom full of carved furniture where he opened a drawer and, taking out a white shirt, tossed it to Palustric. “Put this on and these,” he said, throwing a pair of red pants onto the bed. They changed quickly and, in red and white, passed by the kitchen to collect the pot before hurrying through to the fireplace.

  “Lift your friend and hold him in a kneeling position in front of the hearth,” the goblin instructed. To Palustric, it seemed that Lar was a lifeless sack, except that the sack was trembling.

  The goblin solemnly placed the prepared fire-pot on the hearth and, turning to Lar, touched him lightly on the head. At the same time, he said three or four magic words that Palustric couldn’t understand, then spat noisily into the pot. They waited silently. Suddenly, to Palustric’s amazement, the fire-pot began to tremble and jump, as if it were on the boil, except that, it had been in front of the fire for only two minutes. In that instant, Lar stopped trembling and opened his eyes.

  “What's happening?” he asked. “And why are you wearing those strange clothes, Palustric? They’re too big for you!”

  Palustric hugged his little friend and then kissed the startled goblin on the nose. After a detailed explanation around the fire, the two friends agreed to abandon the search for Success and to wait, instead, here at The Traveller’s Rest for news of Adam. As the goblin said, “Who leaves the old road for the new, knows what he is leaving, but not what he’ll find.”

  “I’ll add that to my collection of sayings,” Lar said, cheerfully.

  “One thing’s for sure, we’re very comfortable here.” Palustric smiled widely and took another bite out of his gigantic roast pheasant roll.

  Adam tramped all day in the direction indicated by his orb. By evening, he arrived at the lonely farmhouse of an elfin butterfly breeder who made evening gowns for elfin ladies from butterfly wings. His gowns were very costly and fashionable in elfin high-society. He proudly showed Adam his latest creation, whose wonderful sheen changed colours as the elf moved it lovingly in the light. But it was not so much the gown which held Adam’s eye as the splendid brooch pinned upon it. The Fairy Queen’s crown flashed as brightly as the glittering eye of her dragonfly steed.

  Adam discovered that Emily had been there the day before with Success. The brooch was, in fact, a present from the beautiful girl. The farmer had asked for a butterfly brooch, if possible, but the goldsmith didn’t make butterfly brooches, he told Adam sadly. He wasn’t sure why the goldsmith was so famous. True, the brooch was magnificent, but butterflies were far showier than dragonflies, didn’t he think?

  The elf chattered away over dinner about how Success had promised to come soon for him since she too liked his popular gowns. Adam struggled to follow his host’s conversation, as it is difficult to eat soup with a butterfly perching on your nose or fluttering in front of your eyes.

  It was always the same for Adam wherever he went: he had just missed Success with his sister by a few hours or a day—chasing after Success and never finding her.

  17

  It came as a shock to Emily to be abandoned by Success. The fickle elf disappeared one morning without a word. Emily searched for her and pleaded with the elves where they had been staying for help or information. They only conceded a curious smile as if they knew something that she didn’t; yet, they would not tell her. She discovered that the elves were not surprised that Success had upped and left her.

  She went out into the orchard of the house where she had spent the night. Under a pear tree, she sat with her chin on her knee, thinking. What would she do now? She had given away her last brooch the night before. She hadn’t thought it mattered, supposing it was all right while she was with Success. Indeed, it seemed to please Success that Emily was so popular and famous. Was that why the elf had gone? Emily thought for a moment and groaned. Now, she understood
her foolishness. All her jewellery had gone, so Success had vanished. The elfin maiden didn’t want to know her now that she had nothing to offer. All Emily could vaunt now was that she had once been a famous goldsmith, but the point was she couldn’t prove it. Without a single brooch, with nothing to offer but her reputation, Success had left her behind.

  It was no good feeling sorry for herself, she thought sharply. She had been lured away from her brother and friends by Success, and now she had nothing and was alone and unimportant. While she had been with Success, she hadn’t given Adam a thought, which made her feel ashamed and worried. The last she knew of her brother was that he had gone off to face a dragon. He could be dead, for all she knew. She tried to push this out of her mind by dwelling on Success.

  She swore that if ever the elfin maiden came her way again, she would know exactly how to behave. In future, it wouldn’t be so easy for the beguiling elf to make her lose her head—she’d keep her feet on the ground. Absent-mindedly, she crushed a dead pear leaf to powder and blew the dust away. “That leaf represents the past,” she said, standing. “It’s gone. I’m going to make a new start.” She went back into the house and asked the elves the way to the nearest big town. They no longer smiled that knowing smile. Instead, they packed her a meal and drew her a map to follow so that if she hurried, she would arrive before nightfall.

  About the time Emily was sitting under the pear tree, Adam was resting on a rock with similar thoughts passing through his mind. Ever since he had arrived in the Elven lands, he had chased after Success in vain, arriving too late. No wonder the elves had laughed at his questions. What a fool he'd been! It was no good chasing after Success, he could see that now. She had to come to you. At last, he had understood how Emily had met the elf and why. It wasn’t a coincidence: Success had come to Emily because of her efforts and achievements.

  Adam scratched his head and reflected. What had he achieved? Nothing! He groaned. He wasn’t good at anything, except perhaps at catching newts, but that didn’t lead to anything much. He drummed his fingers on his head; it always helped him think. What had he ever done well at? Was there anything that he might do well again to attract Success? He thought and thought, but the only thing he could come up with was the time he had outwitted the dragon on Mount Ember. He didn’t fancy making a hobby out of dragon-tricking. He didn’t know a single successful dragon-tricker, which proved what a difficult job it was. He was probably the only one who had lived to tell the tale.

  Adam sat up with a start—To tell the tale—of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that before? It was obvious! He didn’t have to keep on tricking Lentor the Dragon, only to tell people about how he’d done it. After all, who had outwitted a dragon and lived to tell the tale? “Nobody!” Adam shouted and leapt from the rock. That's what I’ll do, he thought. I’ll tell people all about it, as funnily and cleverly as I know how. We'll see if that doesn’t attract Success!

  He spread out the map the landlord had given him. “Let's see!” he murmured. “Mmm, yes, under Herestar Fell,” (the highest moor) lay Aldebaran, the capital of the Elven lands. “It looks quite far,” he murmured to himself, “so I’d better get started.” He put the map away in his pack and set off down the lane.

  Two days later, on a street corner in Aldebaran, two elves were talking:

  “My cousin went last night. She said he was fabulous!”

  “Well, what sort of things does he do?”

  “I'm not really sure,” the smaller elf said. “Tells stories and teases people. Look at the poster, see?” She read out—ADAM THE TRICKSTER—“There, what did I tell you? He tricks people!”

  The other elf shrugged, puzzled. “I don't see what’s so good about that; my dad’s always tricking me!”

  “Well, I’m going to get a ticket, our Nova said he was brilliant!”

  “You can’t,” the taller elf said smugly, pointing to the poster’s big black letters.

  Her friend studied the poster:

  ADAM THE TRICKSTER

  SEE

  THE ONLY LIVING DRAGONTEASER

  at

  THE STARLIT ROOMS

  Then it gave dates and times, but as the taller elf pointed out with satisfaction, a sticker had been pasted over with bright red letters announcing, SOLD OUT.

  “It’s not fair!” The small elf stamped her foot and, tossing back her golden hair, walked off in a huff.

  That night in the Starlit Rooms, the Dragonteaser was performing his act on stage. Wearing the bold Cross of St George (as all good dragon-slayers should) over his clothes, he commanded the complete attention of his audience, who were hanging on his every word. With a magic lantern show, he had told the Saga of Lentor the Dragon to have them laughing till tears rolled down their cheeks. Now he had come to the highlight of the evening. Every evening, he issued a challenge for money. The Dragonteaser was so inventive that each night the riddle challenge was different. The brain-teasers seemed obvious afterwards, but at the time, they were so tricky. Rich elves flocked to pit their wits and their money against the Trickster. They always lost. Each night their money was put into a big pot so that the prize grew richer. The audiences kept coming to see if anyone could outwit the Trickster and take away his fortune. Up to now, no-one had won the challenge.

  “So,” the Dragonteaser announced, “who will take up my challenge tonight?” He stepped to the front of the stage, and everyone held his breath. No-one moved, and the Trickster’s silver eyes seemed to twinkle brighter than elfin eyes. “Tonight,” he boomed, “I throw open my challenge to every one of you.” He pointed to the pot overflowing with elven coins. “Solve my riddle, and the money is yours. Anyone can try tonight, free! You don’t have to be rich to try—listen carefully to my words, then tell me the solution to the riddle. If you are right, it is yours; if you are wrong, we’ll all have a good laugh!” The audience giggled as the Trickster sat down, but their eyes never left his face.

  “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

  The elfin audience sighed and nodded silently, sitting on the edges of their seats. The Trickster recited his riddle in ringing tones:

  'Four companions travelled together

  Leaving tracks behind them.

  The bird's support moved swiftly,

  Diving into the blue pool,

  Letting the struggling man work on,

  Pointing out the path to all four

  Over the snowy, white landscape.'

  The Trickster smiled a twisted smile at his baffled-looking audience. “Work that one out, and my name isn’t Adam,” he muttered under his breath.

  The audience began to murmur as everyone whispered half-ideas to everyone else. There was much head-scratching, golden lock-tugging, nail-biting and tutting. At last, one young elf leapt to his feet.

  “I know, I know!” he yelled.

  “Well, come up here, then.” Adam hauled the elf on to the stage. “Tell everyone the answer.”

  The elf, trembling with excitement and eyeing the pot of coins which he felt sure would be his. “It’s four wolves in a snowdrift!” he announced triumphantly.

  “Four wolves in a snowdrift!” Adam the Trickster snorted. “Rubbish! The bird's support moved swiftly, where’s that in your snowdrift? Honestly!”

  Elves hate nothing more than being laughed at and love nothing more than laughing at others.

  The Rooms echoed to tinkling elfin laughter. The poor youth went back to his seat with a bright red face and his head bowed. Nobody else dared say anything; the hall went very quiet. The elves were puzzled. One elf on the back row got up silently and positioned himself by the exit.

  “It's not four swans on a frozen pond, is it?” he shouted.

  Adam pulled a face, and the audience burst out laughing. Everyone turned to see who had spoken, but the crafty elf had already dodged out of the door.

  It went terribly quiet again. So, Adam repeated the riddle, in case anyone had forgotten the words, then he pointed temptingly at the overflowing p
ot—a wonderful prize. Slowly, an elfin maiden stood up and walked towards the stage. An awed whisper winged around the audience. They knew her. A peculiar smile played upon the Trickster’s lips as he watched the beautiful creature in a dark blue gown with golden stars climb onto the stage.

  He had seen her before, but only in a portrait: her entrancing turquoise eyes held his and seemed to offer him anything in the world that he might desire. At last, the enchantress spoke:

  “I know the answer to your riddle. And to many others besides,” she smiled seductively.

  Adam snapped out of his trance. “Very well,” he spoke out loudly, “tell us,” but he knew she had the answer.

  “A quill pen and fingers,” she smiled confidently, keeping her back to the audience. “The four companions are the pen, the thumb and two fingers. The quill is the feather that once supported the swift bird. The blue pool is the inkwell, the tracks are the letters in ink, while the struggling man is the arm. The snowy white landscape,” she smiled enchantingly, “is the paper. Am I right?”

  “You know you are,” Adam smiled. “Take the money, it’s yours.”

  “It’s not the money I want,” the elfin maiden spoke softly, “but your company.” She held out her hand to him, irresistibly. Before taking it, Adam picked up the pot and flung some of its contents in a golden arc into the audience. As they scrambled for the coins, the Trickster left silently, one hand clasping the pot and the other holding the maiden’s hand.

  “At last,” he muttered, “even if my name isn’t Adam anymore!” and Success smiled sweetly on him.

  18

  Emily spent a chilly night under a bridge that provided little shelter, so she spent a lot of time thinking instead of sleeping. If she could have done things again, she would have done them differently. It was no use brooding over her mistakes—she would have to be determined and start over again. Her only regret was that she had lost her brother. If only he had half of her intelligence, she consoled herself that whatever had happened to him wasn’t her fault. How could it be?