I didn't scream. I didn't faint. I didn't panic.
I could have done all three quite easily; why didn't I? Perhaps because I was too frozen with shock, perhaps because a curious calm seemed to be descending around me, which appeared to emanate from the ring on my finger. I looked at it. It was more sparkly than ever and seemed to be throbbing a little, in time with my heartbeat. Then I looked again at the mess of spilled ink and those alien words in an alien hand and I suppose at that stage I wasn't really surprised to see that they were fading even as I watched, and now were gone.
Even three days ago I would have been utterly fazed by all this, but I felt my whole life was changing by the minute and that shortly I shouldn't be surprised if someone told me that the earth was flat and the moon was made of green cheese. Perhaps that is why I found myself talking to something that couldn't possibly be there.
"All right," I said. "Fun's over. Come out, come out, wherever you are . . ." It was like being back at the Charity School again, looking for some child who had hidden rather than return home.
There was a pause, a log settled on the fire; I went and put on another, and returned to the table.
"I'm going to close my eyes," I said, "And count to ten, slowly. When I open them again I expect everything to be back to normal. If so, I won't take any more action. But if it isn't, and there's a coach or train tomorrow, then you won't see me for dust."
"That would be a great pity," said a tiny but perfectly clear voice, (in my head, of course), "after all the trouble we took in getting you here in the first place."
I closed my eyes, and kept them firmly shut. Of course! I told myself, there's a perfectly simple explanation to all this. You had a good supper of chicken and stuffing, stayed on to hear Mrs. Early's reminiscences of your parents and fell asleep as soon as you started your letter to the solicitors. You are dreaming now, but in about half an hour Mr. Early will be bringing up your hot water and Mrs. Early your toddy. You can go on dreaming until then, so why not enjoy it? See what happens. Play along. People this room with elves and fairies. Let yourself go. Pretend this is a palace and you the princess. Fly out of the window—no, not a good idea, what if you were sleep-walking?
"I'm going to start counting now," I said. "One, two—"
"Buckle your shoe . . ."
My eyes snapped open, then I closed them as quickly. If it came to playing games, then I could play with the best.
"Three—"
"What will you see?"
"Four—"
"Knock on the door."
"Five, six—"
Silence. Then: "Do you really want things as they were?"
"Of course! Have you any better suggestion?"
"Yes," came the tiny voice. "Open your eyes and see things as they could be."
I considered, my eyes still shut. "No. Four, five—"
"Look alive! You've already said that . . . Just try. It can't hurt. Stop counting and open your eyes."
"I'll open my eyes when I've finished counting, and not before."
"And you want your dull, lonely, cramped, circumspect life to continue as it was?"
My eyes flew open. "It wasn't—isn't—dull and circumspect! Who are you to judge, anyway?" I shut my eyes again. "Five—"
"You've said that."
"Right!" I was getting distinctly annoyed. "Six, seven, eight—"
"It could be too late . . ."
"Rubbish! Nine—"
"Rise and shine!"
"Ten!" I opened my eyes, expecting to see everything as it had been before I started dreaming. Some dreams you can control, make them turn out the way you wish, and at first sight this looked like one of those, but, unfortunately, it held one or two surprises. The ring pulsed on my finger, the Eg glowed in the lamplight, and the pros and cons lists were as they had been originally. And there, in the middle of the table was the missing ivory figure—
Only it wasn't. It was neither ivory nor a carving. It was alive! There might have been a superficial resemblance to the original figurine but it was only superficial.
About the size of a clenched fist—my fists were clenched right at this moment—it had the body and hide of a deer, the hooves of a horse, antennae flicking back and forth on either side of its mouth, a mini-horn in the centre of its forehead and a long and sumptuous buffalo's tail, with a large plume at the tip, almost as big as itself. This was now waving back and forth like the tail of an annoyed cat.
But it was the colour that was the most arresting.
Legs and tail were dark grey, it had a bright yellow belly, the antennae were pink and the hide on its back bore various shades of blue, purple, brown and rose. The plume of its tail was the brightest of all: crimson, green and gold.
"Who on earth are you?"
The creature regarded me with bright, brown eyes. "I am a Ky-Lin."
The name sounded familiar, though for a moment I couldn't place it. "What's a Kiling?"
"Lin. Ky-Lin." He nodded. "I am in the transcript your uncle made. I am a mythical creature, if you prefer it that way. My Master is the Prince Siddhartha, whom men call Buddha, and I come from China. When my Master graced the earth with his presence he had a group of my brethren as his companions, his disciples, his bodyguard. We were trained by him to respect life in any form, right down to the ant in the grass, the grass itself. We were taught never to injure or kill anything living, however insignificant it might seem to be . . ." He broke off and coughed delicately. "Might I trouble you for a bite to eat? My throat is rather dry after all these years . . ."
What did you give a creature like this in your dreams? I glanced around wildly. "I'm afraid I only have—er, ink or water in that vase. Or a bit of—candle?"
The creature shook its head. "Not really sustaining . . . Now if you would lift me up onto the mantel—no, better still, if you would bring the vase down onto the table, then I can break my fast."
I went over to the mantel and fetched the vase containing the sprays of berries and watched, fascinated, as the creature chewed the pulp from the hips, haws and blackberries as if they were manna from heaven, though I noticed he spat out the seeds tidily onto the piece of paper I had intended writing to the solicitors on.
He saw my look. "I am leaving the seeds so that you may sow them in the garden tomorrow, to make other plants."
If he imagined I was going to—but he obviously did. Better humour him. "But of course. Would you kindly tell me what you are doing here, after all these years?" Thousands, if he really had anything to do with the Buddha.
The creature hesitated for a second. "There is always one bad apple in the barrel. My companions attained Nirvana, but I wasn't good enough. I was careless and broke some of the rules: truth was, I liked the world and wanted to stay in it. My Master gave me a chance to expiate my sins by helping a young girl called Summer to attain her Quest. After that I thought to have rest, but received a message that my task wasn't done. You could call it a piece of unfinished business, I suppose: Summer's egg must be returned to the dragons." He put his head on one side. "And you are the person to do it."
"Rubbish! I'm not the only person in the world! What you need is an experienced traveller, someone like my uncle was—"
"What we need is you!"
"Why me? And who's `we'?"
" `We' is me, the Egg and the Ring." He pushed the rejected seeds into a neat pile, fluffed out the plume on his tail and sat down on his haunches. "If you had a little patience, I'll tell you how we all fit in. Firstly, I accompanied young Summer to the place this is destined to go, so I know the way—"
"But that was hundreds of years ago!" I was glad to note that, although this was all a dream, I was answering logically.
"Years, your years, mean nothing to such as we. We are all some centuries old."
"But why does the Eg have to go back right now, after all this time?"
"Because, after lying dormant for many, many years, it has started to grow, and this means it will soon be ready to hatch. If you have read your uncle's transcript you will know that this egg is the product of a liason between Summer and her dragon-lover, and that she and Jasper, for that was his name, took the egg to the Blue Mountain, where the remnants of the dragons live, to trade it for a promise that Jasper might retain his human shape during Summer's lifetime. As you also know, it all went disastrously wrong when the egg was stolen at the crucial moment. Summer lost her life, together with that of her lover, or so I believe, and the dragons lost their egg. If they know where it is, and that it is about to hatch, then they will come to find it, and that cannot be allowed to happen . . .
"Er . . . Could you possibly tip the vase a little? I find that talking after all this time is thirsty business . . . Thank you."
"You say you know the way, but there are maps . . ."
"I can grow larger, large enough to carry burdens on my back. I speak all the tongues known to man, and eat and drink very little. I also know the places to avoid, the dangers one might come across."
"In that case," I said frivolously, "you and I and the Eg could set off tomorrow, and you could carry us there and bring me back in a week or so!"
He shook his head. "It would take far longer than that . . ." Didn't he have a sense of humour? "Besides, you forget we have to take someone from the solicitor's to ensure fair play, and that young detective as well."
"And if they took one look at you," I said, "either large or small, they would swear off spirituous liquors forever and refuse to go anyway!"
"Not necessarily. I can change in a few seconds—or at least I will be able to after a little more practice; more than a few years in any one shape and one grows somewhat stiff."
"Have some more berries," I suggested.
"Not at the moment, thank you. I have had an elegant sufficiency."
"This size-changing—is that how you disappeared yesterday?"
"Of course. When I opened the cabinet—metal-bending is one of the things one learns early on—I found difficulty in the latter stages of the change. That is when I had to whisk behind the curtain and you found me resembling a rat. So, regress again and back to the cabinet."
"But I looked all over for you!"
"Down and around, yes, but not up. I was on the ceiling."
"Oh." There was no answer to that. I went back to the beginning again. "But why especially me? I know my uncle had this bee in his bonnet, but—"
"Because you are the Chosen One: the Ring-Bearer." He sounded as though that explained everything.
"This? This tatty bit of horn?" I held up my finger.
He looked scandalised. "That's not just a `tatty bit of horn,' as you call it! That is a precious sliver from the horn of a fabulous Unicorn, who lived over a thousand years ago, and sacrificed his immortality for a love you couldn't hope to comprehend! He left behind the Ring to future generations to use for the good of the world. It has been passed down from generation to generation. Summer used it on her travels, and when she had no further use for it she left it in my safe-keeping. And the next wearer is you."
"But anyone could wear it—"
"Your uncle couldn't, neither could the housekeeper or her husband. The Ring chooses its own wearer. If you don't believe me, try and take it off."
"I can't. It seems stuck."
"Exactly!"
"What do you mean?"
The Ky-Lin sighed. "As I intimated, the Ring only fits those it has chosen. You could offer it to anyone in the world, of any race, colour or creed, large or small, male or female, fat or thin, young or old, and the Ring would still discriminate. I have no idea why it chooses whom it does, but it selects that person who is most fitted for the task to be undertaken. And it has special properties, you know."
"Such as?"
"It can warn you of danger. It can calm you down, make you think logically. It conserves your energy, keeps you young. Most and best of all, it allows you to communicate with the animal world. And if you weren't wearing it now, you wouldn't understand me."
I looked at it with more respect. I believed what he said—one did in dreams. Magic ring . . . "Does it do anything else? Can I have three wishes, for instance?"
He looked disgusted. "You're not being serious!"
"Oh, I am! This is the best dream I've had in ages!"
He bounced over the table towards me. "You're not dreaming! Listen to me. Everything points to you being the one to return the Eg. Your uncle bought us all at auction, in a lot I had taken care to be included in. Although he wasn't the one we looked for, he translated the manuscript and realised we should all be kept together. He couldn't solve the problem, but something told him you could."
"But he didn't even know me! How could he expect me to do what he could not?"
"I don't know. Perhaps because he knew and admired your mother's—his sister's—spirit of adventure. Perhaps because he knew your father must have had special qualities to keep her happy all those years. Perhaps because he liked what he heard when he had you investigated." He hesitated. "Perhaps just because you were family . . ."
Footsteps on the stairs, the clank of a bucket. Mr. Early bringing up my hot water. I gathered the papers on the table together, the sheet with the seeds on top, turned up the lamp, put away the pen and ink. In came Mrs. Early with my hot drink. She glanced at the table.
"Been busy, miss?"
I was awake again, and yawning. "I think I dropped off for a while," I said. I picked up the Eg and the ivory and put them back in the cabinet, locking them in and putting the key in my pocket.
The following morning I checked the study before I went down to breakfast. Mrs. Early had cleaned, dusted and laid the fire, but everything else was as I had left it. Even as I checked, I had allowed myself to acknowledge that I had almost been persuaded by that dream last evening to believe I had held a converation with a small creature with a colourful tail called a Ky-Lin, and that I wore a magic ring that allowed me to talk to animals . . . How ridiculous! I looked for the seeds, but they had gone, of course.
I decided to try out the ring on the kitchen cat, a fat, lazy creature who spent most of its time by the fire. "Good morning, cat! How are you this morning? Caught any mice lately?"
The cat stared hard at me, as well it might, then stomped off, its tail twitching irritably. So much for magic rings, I thought triumphantly. So much for dreams . . .
"Anything special to do today, miss?"
I shook my head. "Nothing planned, Mrs. Early." I peered out of the window. "Looks like a nice day; I might go for a walk, to clear my mind."
"Good idea, miss. Nothing like fresh air, your uncle used to say. They are coming for the rest of the statues and papers today, so I've got two girls from the village to give everything a good scrub now the place will be empty. Would you mind cold cuts for luncheon?"
"That'd be fine . . . Tell you what: I could take out a picnic, like I used to do in London. Some sandwiches and lemonade, perhaps."
"No sooner said than done, miss! I'll have a basket ready for you."
I went upstairs to change into my serviceable boots, to hitch up my skirts some two inches higher and collect my cloak. No need for bonnet or gloves, as the sun was shining and there was little wind. I decided I would explore the pine wood and search for mushrooms in the pasture behind the Hall. I would take Westward Ho! with me and read of the further adventures of Amyas Merion. I would have a day in which I worried about nothing, put letters and decisions to one side. I would just be holidaying . . .
Picking up my book and giving it a hug in anticipation of the pleasure it would bring, I crossed over to the study, just to make sure everything was as it should be before I left for the day. Downstairs I could hear Mrs. Early giving instructions to the village girls, with much clanking of buckets; Mr. Early had gone out to the orchard earlier to prune the cherry trees, and no-one, apart from Mrs. Early's cleaning, had been upstairs, not even the cat, which made it all the more frustrating to find that someone—or something—had ripped all my papers to pieces; pros and cons, the start of the letter to the solicitors. Torn them all into bite-sized pieces and scattered them on the neatly laid fire, and that since breakfast!
Running back into my bedroom and snatching the key from from my reticule, I went back into the study and opened the cabinet. Inside all was as it should be, but I was so angry that I picked out both the Eg and the ivory and dumped them on the table, shouting: "I've had enough of all this! You're mine to dispose of as I will, and that is exactly what I am going to do!"
And with that I picked them both up again and, wrapping them in my cloak, stormed down to the empty kitchen, snatched up the picnic basket and set off past the kitchen-garden and orchard, feet stamping so hard on the path that I saw Mr. Early suspend action with the pruning-shears and scratch his head in puzzlement.
I set off to climb towards the back of the wood, but before long I was hot and sticky, so I transferred the ivory and the Eg, which seemed to weigh a ton, into the corner of the picnic basket, taking care not to squash the sandwiches.
The wood was stifling. Inches of dead pine-needles hindered my feet, red squirrels dashed the branches overhead, chattering angrily at my intrusion, and the trees only offered intermittent shade from the bars of suddenly hot sunshine that struck down on my bare head, so that I felt sick with heat.
At last I broke through into the open, and I saw ahead of me to the right a bracken and gorse-covered hillock. It could have been part of the grounds of the Hall or not, but at that stage I didn't care. I climbed a stile, ripping my skirt as I did so, struggled a few yards up the hill and then sat down, exhausted. The head-high bracken, with its fusty-dusty smell and autumn russet dress almost met over my head and golden gorse was still a-buzz with bees . . .
I lay back and closed my eyes. "Kissing's out of fashion, when the gorse is out of bloom," I recited sleepily, relaxing at last, with only the hum of insects and the plaintive cry of a curlew to disturb my rest.
I don't know how long I slept, but when I looked at my watch it was a quarter to midday, and for a moment I felt disoriented. Then I remembered where I was and what I had to do. Struggling to my feet I hitched up my skirts into my belt, picked up the basket and started to climb the hill again, hampered by the strands of bracken. At last I reached an outcrop of rock near the top, which I though would serve my purpose.
I undid the straps to the picnic basket and there was the Eg, glinting in the sunshine. I hesitated for only a moment, then picked it up, still marvelling at its weight and warmth, and then deliberately let it tumble from my hands down the hill, where it cut a momentary swathe through the bracken before the reddish stems closed behind its path. Something stabbed at my right hand, but I ignored the sting—a mosquito, perhaps, or more likely a midge, this high up.
"Goodbye and good riddance!" I called out after the vanished Eg. "Hatch your dragon out here if you feel like it! I'm not travelling half round the world just for you . . ." A flock of pigeons flew overhead, probably from some stubbled field, the clap-clap of their wings disturbing the air with a momentary chill.
I paused for a moment, then picked the ivory figurine from the basket. "And as for you . . . !" But words failed me. "Just disappear from my life, that's all!" and with all my strength I hurled it away, till it disappeared into the heart of a distant gorse-bush. There was another stab on my right hand. If I climbed right to the top of the hill the insects probably wouldn't bother me so much.
Once there I found I was looking down on the back of Hightop Hall. The stick-like figure in the kitchen-garden must be Mr. Early, and way down the drive I could see two horsedrawn pantechnichons apparently carrying away the last of my uncle's artifacts. A plume of smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, but that was the only other sign of life. I opened my book, but the sun hurt my eyes, and my stomach felt empty, although it was only twelve-fifteen.
I felt better for doing as I had, of course I did, so why did I feel so—so empty?
Of course it couldn't be guilt, could it? I had done nothing to feel guilty about, had I? Absentmindedly I opened and ate my sandwiches: home-boiled ham with mustard, egg and pot-grown cress, late, sweet tomatoes, an apple and a slice of plum cake. I finished with a drink of lemonade, but after it all I still felt empty, and everything seemed to have tasted the same. I must have been sickening for something.
I looked for mushrooms, but only in a desultory fashion, and found none. Afterwards I left the basket and my book at the top end of the orchard and walked down the drive, turned left and walked until nearly sundown. Once back I retrieved the basket and went towards the kitchen door. Two pigeons were cooing to one another on a corner of one of the outhouse roofs; they glanced at me as I passed.
"C-r-oo-l," said one.
"Th-r-oo them away," said the other. "S-a-a-a-w her . . ."
I dropped the basket onto the cobbles.