The sword in the stone (20 page)

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Authors: T. H. White

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Classics, #Juvenile Fiction, #Children's Books, #Ages 9-12 Fiction, #Legends; Myths; Fables, #Children: Grades 4-6, #Arthur;, #Legends; Myths; & Fables - General, #Adaptations, #King, #Knights and knighthood, #Arthur, #Juvenile Science Fiction, #Arthur; King, #Arthurian romances, #Kings and rulers

BOOK: The sword in the stone
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They had hardly crept for twenty minutes when Maid Marian paused in her tracks, her finger to her lips. She pointed silently towards the left. Neither of the boys had read the book of Sir John de Mandeville, and so they did not know that a griffin was eight times larger than a lion. Now, looking to the left in the silent gloom of night, they saw cut out against the sky and against the stars something which they never would have believed to be possible. It was a young male griffin in its first plumage. I suppose nobody who reads my book will have seen a griffin. The front end, and right down to the forelegs and shoulders, is like a stupendous falcon. The Persian beak, the long wings in which the first primary is the longest, and the mighty talons: all are the same, but, as Mandeville observes, the whole eight times bigger than a lion. Behind the shoulders, moreover, a terrible change begins to take place. Where an ordinary falcon or eagle would content itself with the twelve feathers of its tail, Falco Leonis Serpentis (the Latin name used by ornithologists for the griffin) begins to grow the leonine body and the hind legs of the ravening beast of Africa, and after that a snake's tail. The boys now saw, twenty-four feet high in the mysterious night-light of the moon, and with its sleeping head bowed upon its breast so that the brutal beak lay on the breast feathers, an authentic Falco Leonis Serpentis that was better worth seeing than a thousand condors. They drew their breath through their teeth and for the moment hurried secretly on, storing that majestic vision of terror in the chambers of remembrance.

The next part was exciting, for the castle of Queen Morgan began to dawn against the rising moon. This castle was not like Sir Ector's rambling old fort. It was a single pele tower of about five stories, made out of shiny white marble. It soared straight into the air, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the moonlight, and the window on the top of its conical roof was contrived out of ivory pipes, so that when the wind blew it played unearthly music. It had neon-lights around the front door, which said in large letters: THE QUEEN OF AIR AND DARKNESS, NOW SHOWING.

The boys said good-by to Marian, made sure of the iron in their pockets, and walked bravely up to the bright entrance.

Inside there was a red plush carpet and a large man with epaulettes and gold buttons all over his stomach.

He said: "Walk up," so they did.

On the first floor there was a maroon-colored carpet and the walls were ornamented with brown pillars in sumptuous taste. Twenty Moorish maidens wearing caps and aprons were dancing round a coffee urn with trays of chocolates hung round their necks. There were ginger chocolates, marron glacé chocolates, liqueur chocolates, and chocolates which stuck your teeth together. All these were free, and the twenty maidens offered them in a winning way, singing meanwhile. They sang, in rather cockney voices, this song:

Chocolates, prince, oh chocolates!

You can eat them and fill up your pockets.

They squish in the mouth, oh chockets!

They also squish in the pocolates.

On the next floor there was an orange carpet. The windows were made out of imitation lattice-work and some rafters had been nailed across the roof. In this room there were a great many brass warming-pans, copper toasting-forks, cow-bells, china dogs, cloth rabbits, parchment lampshades, old prints framed in passe-partout, and so forth. There were also twenty old maids wearing wooden beads in it, with trays of muffins slung round their necks, and, as they offered the trays to the boys, they sang through their noses in educated accents and danced a morris dance to their own time. This is what they sang:

Savory toast and a green iced cone,

Sham oak beams and a dainty scone,

Devonshire tea and Ginger Pop,

All together in Ye Olde Tea Shoppe.

On the third floor there was a hush. The carpet, which was six inches thick, was of Imperial Purple, and all the pillars and chairs were gilt. Twenty solemn men in livery stood in a row in front of a buffet, which was loaded down with buckets of iced champagne, thin sandwiches of brown bread and butter, oysters, truffles, olives, croûtes, slices of lemon, soufflés, and so on. The solemn men advanced in perfect rank towards the boys, halted, bowed to the ground, and burst into song.

Duchess, after you With the premier crû.

Duke, have a cigar.

Pass one to the Czar.

Paté de foie, caviar, caviar!

"No, thank you," said Kay, and they went on to the fourth floor, while the solemn men were still singing Caviar, Caviar! behind them, like soldiers in Faust.

The fourth floor was the last from the top, and in it were the worst temptations. It was all shining with white and silver, and the floor was of ivory. At the other end of the room was a huge chromium bar, covered with twinkling crystal taps, out of which there poured incessant streams of whipped cream, fruit juice, boiling chocolate, and ice. Every possible kind of ice-cream sundae was conveyed along the top of this bar, together with plates of cream buns, éclairs, and pâtisseries belges. Behind the bar, twenty charming negro minstrels were singing most soulfully:

Way down inside the large intestine,

Far, far away.

That's where the ice cream cones are resting,

That's where the éclairs stay.

The twenty sundae men went on mixing their sundaes as they sang, and such a delicious aroma of fresh strawberries and cream filled the room that the Wart nearly swooned away. However, he pulled himself together, held his nose, shut his eyes, and, holding tight to his steel blade, dragged Kay out of the chamber. All the negro minstrels rolled their eyes at them as they went.

In the top room of the enchanted castle, they found Queen Morgan the Fay. Since more than half of the things which they had already come across had not yet been invented, they were not particularly surprised at her appearance. She was a very beautiful lady, wearing beach pajamas and smoked glasses. One side of her yellow hair fell over the right optic of her glasses, and she was smoking a cigarette in a long green jade holder as she lay full length on a white leather sofa. All round the walls and on the grand piano there were photographs, signed "Darling Morgy from Oberon," "Best Wishes, Pendragon R.I.," "From Charlie to his own Queenie," "Yours sincerely Bath and Wells," or "Love from all at Windsor Castle."

"Excuse us," said Kay. "We have come to take away Friar Tuck." Queen Morgan took off her dark spectacles, and they were horrified to see that she kept her eyes closed. She looked at them from between the lids.

"We are sorry," said the Wart, "if the iron is hurting you. We will go away as soon as you set the others free."

But the Queen only put her cigarette back in her mouth, and blew a slow puff. Her blind face looked terrible.

"She won't answer," said Kay.

"We must do something."

"Do you think we ought to go up to her and kiss her, or something frightful like that?"

"We could try touching her with the iron."

"You do it."

"No, you."

"Well then, both together."

The boys held hands and advanced upon the enchantress, holding the daggers in clammy palms. But just as they reached the sofa a spasm of agony passed over the Queen's face. She opened her eyes. She vanished from under their very noses, leaving nothing but a whiff of smoke.

"Well," said the Wart, "now what shall we do?"

"We must search the castle."

Not only had the Queen of Air and Darkness vanished, but everybody else in the castle had vanished also. In the sundae room the cream and the chocolate still gushed from the taps, but there were no minstrels: in the room below, the buffet still groaned under iced champagne, but the bowing waiters were gone. No wooden beads clashed in the Olde Tea Shoppe, and the twenty trays of the chocolate maidens stood abandoned on the maroon carpet. Even the man with buttons had disappeared from the bright hall. The loneliness made things more fearful than before, and the sight of Queen Morgan's cigarette burning itself out in an ash tray beside the sofa was too horrible for words.

"Let's go," said Kay. "I can't stand this."

"They must be somewhere," said the Wart.

They were standing in the empty room with its imitation oak beams, and they had been searching for half an hour.

"Do you suppose they could have been turned into something?

"Perhaps they are walled up in the walls, or locked in he cellars."

"I don't think there are any cellars."

"If I had to hide people in this castle," said the Wart, and if I had the power of turning people into things, I should turn them into stones and hide them in the walls."

"But you couldn't do that, because the walls have got their stones already. If you put extra ones in, the whole place would fall over."

"Well, anyway, I should hide them among what there were a lot of."

"Would you?" said Kay. "Then what do you think of this?" He walked up to the imitation mantelpiece, which was right in front of them, and pointed with his finger.

There, among innumerable brass moons off the harness of horses, fancy flower pots containing anemones, sheep bells, menus, Indian gods made in Birmingham, lucky elephants, dogs made out of pipe cleaners, and sets of wooden monkeys called "I-see-no-evil," "I-hear-no-evil," and

"I-speak-no-evil" (they held their wooden hands respectively over their eyes, ears and mouths, and very ridiculous they looked), among all these rarities, the Wart saw what they were searching for. It was a pathetic sight.

Four pairs of eyes were staring mournfully at the boys, four beseeching faces were turned in their direction. Poor Cavall, done up as a china dog with spots on it and a bow, was looking imploringly at his master. The Dog Boy in terra cotta, under the guise of a Neapolitan lad, was holding out a fishing rod with obvious distaste. Old Wat, carved out of wood, was disguised as a Swiss wood-cutter, and had a clock in his stomach which told the wrong time. And the miserable Friar Tuck, as a pink satin Cupid which could be used as a pin cushion, was nervously holding a piece of blue ribbon round his tummy.

"Touch them with the iron," cried the Wart, laughing more than was quite respectful.

"Gor-blimey," said Friar Tuck, stepping off the mantelpiece, mopping his brow, and making quite sure that he was in his monkish habit over again. "Gor-blimey and Coo! Dash my wig if I didn't think you were going to miss us."

"Well, master," said the Dog Boy. "That was a dretful moment." Cavall contented himself with barking wildly, biting their toes, lying on his back, trying to wag his tail in that position, and generally behaving like an idiot. Poor old Wat touched his fore-lock.

"Now then, all," said Kay, "this is, my adventure and we must go home quick."

The waiting bands were expecting them with baited breath, and the castle of the Queen of the Good People grew dim behind them. The neon lights faded away.

"Well done, you two," said Marian.

"And now," said Robin, "for a bit of fun with those griffins."

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE ORDERS were that everybody was to spread out into a circle, and then march outwards from the castle with all possible stealth. The circle would have to get wider, like the rings made when you throw a pebble into water, until it was as wide as the griffin circle which surrounded them. As soon as Robin thought that everybody was in his place, with a griffin or wyvern before him, he would blow his horn, and then, but not till then, they were allowed to begin the battle. Wart was between Kay and Marian, and it seemed a long time before they reached their quarry. When they did reach it, and could once more see the gigantic wings in silhouette against the now bright moon, they lay and waited in the grass for a time which seemed eternity. They fitted their arrows to their bows, so that they would be ready to loose off at the very first note of Robin's horn, but no sound came.

The wyverns and griffins were posted alternately. The former, which were much smaller than the griffins, were the type of dragon which the Wart had been frightened of on his previous visit to the forest: the type which lived under stones and hissed like kettles. They had spiky wings, two legs, and tails like fire-drakes. Marian and Wart had wyverns opposite them, but Kay was opposite a griffin. They could see the circle of sleeping monsters stretching away to left and right.

The Wart was glaring upon his wyvern with every nerve at full stretch, when he suddenly saw it prick its ears. The scaly head, which had been bowed in sleep, sprang upright, and the ears, which were like the wings in being spiked like umbrellas, stabbed the moon. At the same instant the nearest griffin woke up and gave a loud, harsh scream. It was a noise like a railway train letting off its whistle. There was immediately a terrible din of brassy cries, answering or warning, and, on top of the uproar, riding on it proudly like the voice of the Arabian Bird, Robin Wood's fierce horn of silver began to blow.

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