I heard the tinkle of broken glass as the basket hit the ground, but it scarcely registered. I stared up at the pigeons—ordinary grey ones with the sheen of green on their necks, dark bands across their wings—as they strutted above my head. They nodded to one another, fluffed up their feathers, nothing more.
I stooped to pick up the basket, then it came again.
"Croo-oo-ool," came the soft voice. "Too-oo-oo coo-oo-l for the Eg."
I was trembling violently. Now I was hearing voices! As if in answer the ring on my finger started to throb. I looked down at the ring, up at the pigeons, remembered a flight of them passing over when I threw away the Eg into the bracken. Could it . . . ? No, it couldn't. But the Ky-Lin had said . . .
There was no-one about, no humans anyway. "Right," I said out loud to the birds. "If you're so clever, just tell me exactly what I'm supposed to have done?"
"Yooo-oo-oo know," crooned the pigeons. "Yooo-oo-oo knoo-oo-w!"
It was true! Either that or I was mad or dreaming. I pinched myself: no dream. And I didn't think I was mad. Then all that fantasy the other night must have been true. That little creature that called itself a Ky-Lin must have been speaking the truth.
To say that I was devastated was an understatement. I was terrified, exhilarated, awed and humbled at one and the same time. Being a logical girl, or so I believed, I had accepted fairy tales as just that: pretty fiction. To suddenly find that there was another dimension demanded a tremendous leap of faith, a conversion into the suspension of disbelief.
I needed to give myself time to think; routine things first. I picked up the basket and took it into the kitchen, emptying it carefully on the table. The glass tumbler was broken, as was the plate. I wrapped these carefully in the sandwich paper and put them on the draining board. Luckily the stone lemonade bottle was intact. That, together with the knife used for paring my apple, I placed in the sink, and the apple peel on the fire, remembering too late that Mr. Early might have used it on his compost-heap.
So far, so good. I was calmer now. Perhaps I should put the kettle on the stove and make myself a cup of tea. Mrs. Early should be back soon, and—
The kitchen cat walked past, her tail in the air. "Murderesssss!" she hissed.
I sat down at the kitchen table and burst into tears.
After a lonely evening, trying to read and failing, and a restless and disturbed night, I awoke the following morning with stomach pains. Of course I knew what it was, the curse of all women, but this time the gripes were worse than usual, so much so that I declined breakfast, but once Mrs. Early had found out what was the matter she insisted I spend the rest of the day in bed, with hot stone bottles, a drop or two of laudanum and a light diet.
"Used to suffer the same way myself, miss, and in those days there was no excuse for not carrying on with your jobs. Swore that if I ever met someone the same, I'd treat them different."
No point in telling her that this didn't happen every time, that I believed in my heart that it was some kind of retribution for my doings of the day before. But of course she didn't know the Eg and Ky-Lin were somewhere out on the hillside, open to all the vagaries of the weather. Now I really knew what it felt like to feel guilty!
And it didn't help that the sermon the following morning appeared to point directly at me: "Repent ye, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand . . ."
We went to church in the trap, tying the pony to the rail outside. The church, probably Norman in origin, was comfortably full, but to my surprise the churchwarden led us to a private pew near the front, which had belonged to my uncle. I saw many of the congregation turn to each other and murmur as we took our places. I was wearing my best skirt and jacket in navy blue, and had trimmed my bonnet with black rosettes and ribbons in deference to the mourning for my uncle. Once the service started I was soothed by the familiarity of the words, and comforted by the sunlight striking through the stained-glass windows and casting patterns of soft reds, greens and blues on the aisles. These did much to soften the harshness of the half-hour sermon, which seemed to strike at the root of my guilt, and I found myself wriggling uneasily.
Once the service was over, as was the custom, those in the closed pews at the front left the church first. Most of the congregation was soberly and sensibly dressed, with the odd coloured ribbons or checked jacket, but the party I now saw for the first time might have been dressed for a garden party or a wedding. As they passed our pew there was no disguising their curiosity. They stared quite openly. A middle-aged couple, two somewhat older, two young men, three young ladies, followed by probably a ladies' maid and a governess, all looked at me as if I were an exhibit in a sideshow.
Only a week ago I would have blushed and lowered my gaze; today as my uncle's representative I returned their gaze steadily enough, inclining my head infinitesimally in acknowledgement of their interest. Mr. and Mrs. Early and I were a were a few paces behind their party as we moved towards the church porch, so I was in a perfect position to hear the following exchanges; there was no attempt to lower their voices.
Taller of two young men: "Quite a nice-looking gel, wouldn't you say, Mater?"
Mother: "Passable, I suppose, if you like that somewhat sallow complexion. But remember, she hasn't two farthings to rub together. From what I heard, her uncle left her penniless."
Smaller young man: "Have to sell up, I suppose. There's a nice piece of rough shooting at the back."
Older man: "Reasonable stand of timber, too . . ."
Father: "We'll see, we'll see. Shouldn't think she'll quibble over a price."
One of the girls to the others: "My dears, did you see that awful bonnet? And she was wearing boots . . ."
By now I was crimson with both embarrassment and anger, conscious that everyone within earshot must have heard. How dared they!
But Mrs. Early was whispering in my ear. "Take no notice, miss. Both families made their money in trade, and can't keep staff above a week or so."
But unfortunately that was not the point. They had the money, so believed they could behave as they wished. One thing was for certain: if ever I was in a position to have any say in the disposal of Hightop Hall, then the very last people to be allowed to bid for it would be the people who had behaved so condescendingly.
I needed a diversion. "Will you show me where my uncle is buried?"
Mrs. Early led me down a side-path in the churchyard to a secluded spot shaded by an ancient yew tree. Here were no urns, vaults, stone angels, crosses with wreaths or elaborate railings; just a green mound, the turves beginning to knit together, and at their head a curiously shaped slab of stone, rather like a broken tooth. It was streaked and striated with green, and could have been malachite. On its surface were some deep indentations, which if looked at from a certain angle could have formed a cross. Inset in the stone was a small bronze plaque bearing my uncle's name and dates of birth and death, nothing more.
Mrs. Early considered it, her head on one side. "I'm getting quite used to it, but it looks—looks . . ."
"A bit pagan," I supplied with a wry smile.
"I'm sure that was the word I was looking for," she agreed. "Brought that stone back from his travels, he did, many years ago. Set it up against his bedroom wall and said: `That's my headstone, Mrs. Early. I expect the vicar will object, but that's what I want. You can see it bears the symbol of the cross.' Morbid I thought it was, having it there, and I couldn't dust it without a shiver. Looks better in the open."
As it was still fine I elected to walk the couple of miles home—strange, "home" was now its name in my mind—and I picked sprays of hips and haws and a twist of Old Man's Beard to replace those depleted by Ky-Lin two nights ago, and put them in a silver-rimmed glass in the centre of the study table, before changing into my working-clothes for Sunday lunch.
"Rain later," said Mr. Early, coming in to wash his hands. "Wind's getting up. Cold snap coming—more berries'n usual."
I hoped the rain would hold off until I had done what I had to do.
I found I had a good appetite from my walk back, and tucked into a typical Sunday luncheon: Brown Windsor Soup, roast beef and horseradish sauce, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, gravy, boiled cabbage and carrots, with apple tart to follow.
As I climbed upstairs I could hear the wind getting up: I must hurry. Putting on my cloak and boots, I decided against a bonnet, "awful" or not—it would probably blow away in the wind. I should be gone at least a half-hour, so decided to check that the fire in the study was made up before I left.
But this was not the first thing I noticed. To my utter astonishment there, on the table, finishing his second rose-hip and fishing out the seeds and laying them out in a neat row with his delicate antennae, was Ky-Lin!
"Absolutely delicious!" he said enthusiastically. "How nice of you to think of me. Someone threw out the last lot of seeds, but we will save these to plant when we go out—"
I rushed forward and picked him up, hugging him fervently. "You came back!"
"Of course. I—"
"You knew I would come and look for you, didn't you?"
"I knew you were very upset—"
"I was all mixed up! I didn't realise that what you had said was the truth—about the ring and the Eg. But then I heard . . . How did you get back, anyway?"
"Pigeon Post. This morning . . . Er, do you think I might get down? I'm afraid I'm not used to being hugged."
I apologised and set him back on the table. "But how did you get up here?"
"The pigeons dropped me off—literally—in the stable-yard and the cat gave me a lift upstairs, carrying me as she would one of her kittens. A little hazardous . . ." A tiny forked tongue came out and flicked fastidiously over his hide.
"I was coming to find you before it started raining," I said. "You and the Eg." I explained how I had become convinced he had been telling me the truth about the ring. "I felt—sort of guilty. I shouldn't have lost my temper. So you needn't worry, I'll make sure you and the Eg find a safe haven, wherever and whenever."
He looked inordinately pleased. "I was sure you would decide correctly," he said. "I must thank you in advance."
I waved away his thanks. "Please don't do that: it may take some time to get you both settled."
He nodded. "Then shall we go and pick up the Eg before the weather worsens? I know exactly where it is—I watched over it in my larger guise last night."
I tucked him in my cloak till we were away from the hall, then he sat on my shoulder as I climbed the hill.
"Exactly how big can you grow?"
He considered. "About pony-size, maximum. Normally I travel round as small as I can, and in the most convenient material: ivory, stone, wood, amethyst—I have been all those."
I couldn't think of anything to say. If he were to be believed—but why not? Everything he had said so far was apparently true.
"Here we are," said Ky-Lin.
I lowered him to the ground and he darted off through the bracken. As I followed I noticed he avoided actually touching living growth, just jumping from pebble to bare earth to stone. I stooped down and picked up the round Eg and examined it as best I could.
"It hasn't come to any harm, has it?" I asked anxiously.
Ky-Lin waved his tail dismissively. "Take more than a roll down a hill and a night in the open to harm that. Whatever is in there is well insulated. Your uncle tried to break it and crack it with a hammer, but it wasn't hurt."
By the time we reached the orchard the rain had started to fall, and Mr. Early was so busy fetching in the last of the wood and Mrs. Early the washing, that neither of them noticed that I was carrying something in my cloak, so I had time to arrange everything nicely on the table in the study, including paper, pen and ink, before Mrs. Early came in with my tray of tea. Even Ky-Lin had reverted to his ivory shape, but as soon as she had gone I was witness to a remarkable transformation.
First his outline seemed to blur and soften, then expand. For a moment it trembled on the brink then suddenly his head, then his body, emerged from its covering like a chicken from its egg. Last of all were legs and tail; he was having trouble with his right fore-leg however, which initially seemed reluctant to grow as long as the others but finally, after an all-over shake, all the pieces came together.
"Getting better," he said. "Only twenty-five seconds."
"Would you like a sip of tea, after all that exertion?"
"China?"
"Lapsang Souchong."
"A sip would be nice."
I let it cool in the teaspoon before I offered it to him, then watched as the forked tongue, each side working independently, emptied the teaspoon without spilling a drop.
"What do you eat and drink at home?" I asked.
"A little rice every now and again, cheese, nuts, windfalls—that sort of thing. We Ky-Lins are not allowed to eat flesh or pluck anything that is actually growing."
"And can you fly?"
He shook his head. "We leave that to creatures like the dragons, among us so-called mythical creatures. They fly, we don't; they eat meat, we don't; they collect treasure on earth, we don't; they are aggressive and unforgiving, we are not. Different outlook. Different life-style."
He hesitated, then continued. "But I'm afraid I can't tell you much more about them than that. I have seen them flying in the distance, usually at night, although they normally keep away from human habitation. I think that nowadays they are afraid that with all the modern ways you humans have developed for killing, they may one day become targets themselves. While once they were fearsome enough to terrify whole towns and villages, their shape and brain-size hasn't developed from what you would call their `prehistoric' days, whereas you humans have changed with the times." He added, "I've never seen one close to, nor do I wish to, and I believe their language is incomprehensible."
"Then why . . . ?" I hesitated.
"Did I become involved with the Eg? I thought I had explained. First, it is Summer's egg: unfinished business. Secondly, I volunteered. Unofficially, of course. Besides, it's an egg, not a dragon—yet." He sat down on his haunches. "And now that the explanations are done, hadn't we better get to work? You'll need paper, pen and ink."
"What for?"
"To plan our strategy, of course. Better to have it all written down. And then there's the letter to your solicitor—"
A step outside, a tap at the door, and Mrs. Early entered, carrying a small packet wrapped in oilskin.
"I'm sure I don't know what that young gentleman is about, sending young Jem from the inn out in this weather! Like a drowned rat he is, and told he's to wait for an answer!"
"What is it?"
"A letter from that Mr. Hamperhutch, the one from the solicitors!"
I opened the letter. "Miss Leigh," it read. "Today is Sunday, and tomorrow will begin the second week you have sojourned at Hightop Hall. May I remind you that your stay was only intended for you to confirm the acceptance of the moneys left by your uncle. My employers await your decision with some impatience, in order that they may arrange your return to London. If you will do me the honour of inscribing a few lines to the effect of your intent, I shall ensure that the letter leaves on the stage in the morning. Your humble servant, Claude Cumberbatch." Hmm, a bit more polite than the last. But there was a postscript. "PS: If you would be kind enough to give the boy, the bearer of this, a couple of pence, I should be obliged."
"The cheek of the man!" I crumpled the note in my hand angrily, then thought for a moment. "Mrs. Early, the boy—would you see he dries out by the fire, please? And perhaps a glass of your raspberry cordial and a slice of cake . . . Any chance of the rain slackening off?"
"Mr. Early says perhaps a half-hour or so, though it'll be back before morning."
"Then I shall write an answer to this immediately!"
As soon as the door closed behind her I drew a sheet of paper towards me, grabbed a pen and opened the inkwell, to see out of the corner of my eye what had been an ivory figure a few minutes ago, turn once more into a living creature.
"Right, Ky-Lin! Just for that young man's impudence I shall stay until Saturday at least!"
He looked flabbergasted. "But we can't possibly be ready by then! It'll take at least a fortnight longer!"
I turned to him, puzzled. "To do what?"
"To get ready to take the Eg back to China, of course . . ."