Mr. Wicker's Window

by Carley Dawson

  CHAPTER 30

  The night was too clear to suit Chris for the dangerous work that layahead. The eagle bore him up again from the garden, and turning back,lifted high in the air as it neared the maze of walls of the Emperor'spalace.

  Chris longed to fly lower but he was afraid that one of the manyguards might give the alarm. The eagle flying between the palace andthe moon cast a quick-racing shadow over wall and ground. The oneadvantage on such a clear night, Chris thought, when he could beeasily spotted, was in the silence of the magic bird. He bent over topeer down between the eagle's beaked head and widespread, beatingwings.

  Wall after wall, palace and garden within palace and garden, he saw.Windows were lit like fireflies far below him and the series ofcourtyards opened themselves in seemingly endless duplication. How, hewondered, could he ever find the inner garden--well hidden,certainly--where the Princess of China walked under trees and lookedat her goldfish in long clear pools? Then he remembered with a startthe folded paper seized so long ago in a ship anchored on thePotomac. A cabin under a smoking lamp, the strong scent of flowers, amonkey's form, came back into his memory and he felt in the leatherpouch for Claggett Chew's plan.

  His fingers touched it and brought out the creased, finger-markedscrap of paper. In the moonlight he unfolded it, sitting on theeagle's back high above the walls and palaces of the Emperor of China.He found that he could follow, from his height, and check with themap, building by building and one courtyard after another. Movingcautiously forward in the air, he looked at the heavy cross-mark madeby Claggett Chew the night the _Mirabelle_ had set sail. Then, all atonce beneath him, Chris made out walls ahead that seemed higher thanthe others. He flew over temples with gently rocking bells hung attheir curled eaves, and over peaked rooftops of carved stone until,reaching a place apparently identical with the cross on the map, hedared to drop a little lower above a certain courtyard.

  As he did so he saw that the guardhouses were set about on the top ofthe wall, which measured about ten feet from side to side. All facedoutward away from the gardens they protected, hidden now in shadow.

  Why--it's like a prison! Chris thought, except that the guards aren'tallowed to look down at her. The poor kid! Imagine living here allyour days! No wonder she was pleased at being in a processionyesterday!

  No fragrance, except that of cool water, came up from the courtyard toChris. Going higher into the air he hovered there on his eagle's back,watching the guardhouses. He timed the guards, counting. After anhour, he found there were two minutes between the time Guard NumberSix reached his post and Guard Number Seven went back to replace him.Chris waited again, watching the guards and counting half aloud incase he missed that two-minute interval.

  "One--there he goes across to Two. Two. There Two goes back again.Three--there Three marches along to Guardhouse Four. Four--there hegoes to Five--"

  Chris's breath came quickly and his heart began to pound in his ears."Five--Five starts out toward Six. Six--and now they change swords orsomething, and here I go!"

  Pressing on the back of the eagle the bird sank silently into theblack well of the courtyard, past the guardhouse and down, just asGuard Number Seven emerged to walk back to replace Number Six.

  The walls of the Princess's courtyard were indeed as high andforbidding as those of a dungeon. A shimmer of water reflected thenight sky, and looking down, Chris saw a dark, glistening mass beneathhim. It seemed to be trees, but when his dangling legs touched them,sharp edges cut his legs and he quickly veered away. At last, comingdown at the edge of the pool, his eyes became used to the gloom and hecould see about him.

  The garden ground crunched under his feet and glowed in the night, andbending to touch it, Chris's fingertip came away dusted with gold,"Golly Moses!" he breathed, and looked about.

  The edge of the long rectangular pool was of silver; the walk aroundit of jasper and chalcedony, and as he lifted his eyes to lookfarther, he saw that the entire garden was made up of trees with jewelleaves.

  No wonder the leaves cut my legs! Chris thought to himself. They'reprobably emeralds!

  Towing the eagle by its beak, he wandered about. There was neithergrass nor flowers; no true plants or trees. All bushes, borders, andshaded walks were of jewels. They gave out onto the air no scent ofgreenness and no welcoming scent of flowers.

  Gee! Chris almost said aloud, Who'd want to play on ground-up gold?Why, except that it's yellow it might as well be gravel. And notrees--not real ones. Gee! She must be a pretty miserable girl! Iwonder if birds like the jewel trees?

  Looking into shrubs of coral, or jade, or amethyst, Chris found nonests, and shook his head. Guess I brought the right replacement afterall, he decided. Now to work. Which shall I take?

  He made a tour of the jewel gardens, and at the end of the pool,facing the carved jeweled doorway and windows of a pavilion set intothe surrounding walls, Chris found a tree he thought right. Small andround, as if freshly trimmed, it answered Mr. Wicker's description ofmonths ago.

  "Leaves of emeralds, buds of diamonds, flowers of sapphires, andfruits of rubies studded thick with pearls."

  Taking out his magic knife, in a second Chris had cut away a largecircle of earth in a tub shape to shelter the roots, and carried hisheavy burden to the eagle's back. There, he took off something whichhe planted where the Jewel Tree had been, and cupping his hands,watered it from the pool as best he could.

  Just as he finished and was moving away, a movement in the blackrectangle of the pavilion door at the far end of the garden caught hiseye. He had only time enough to pull the eagle, the Jewel Tree, andhimself into the cloaking shadow of a nearby avenue of emerald treesto avoid being seen.

  The movement was pale and slight against the blackness of the opendoor, and the night was very still. As Chris held his breath, thedampened leaves and petals of the bush he had planted sent their greenfragrance lifting and turning on the night air. As if that had beenthe signal it had long waited for, a dust-colored bird flew down toperch on a thorny stem.

  It was a nightingale. Its song started slowly and softly at first, andthen, as it forgot that it was alone, the lovely variations grew,pealing out where no birdsong had ever been heard before. Chris wasnot the only one who had never heard a nightingale. To the otheroccupant of the jeweled garden, it was newer and more beautiful thananything she had ever heard.

  The Princess's tiny feet made no sound on the gold gravel as she edgednearer to the bush and the song. At last the nightingale flew away,and the scent of the roses, drifting toward a princess who had onlybeen permitted flowers of stone, was overwhelming. She went up andbroke off a flower as red as a ruby and as red as her mouth. As red,too, as her blood, for a thorn stabbed her and she nearly dropped therose with a soft cry. But the wonder of it was stronger than the pain,and she buried her face in the freshness of the red rose, the firstflower she had ever seen.

  Behind her, rising gently and quietly out of sight, was a smiling boyand a tree of jewels she would never miss.