But they did not cross-question him at once.
Hadlett was the center of attention, concern for him blotting out
all else, though Jean brought Nick a bowl of hot soup, which he ate
greedily. She, of course, made more of a fuss over Crocker, though
Nick believed she tried to make those attentions not too
obvious.
Nick was back safely, something he would have given much to
achieve last night, or earlier yesterday. Now—he did not know.
Though the others were within touching distance if he wished, he
felt curiously detached.
But he had made no bargain. Unless—unless in following the
Herald’s hint he had somehow crossed a line between the old
life and a new. Nick put down the empty bowl, studied his hands as
they rested on his knees.
They were scratched, dirty, stained with berry juice. The rest
of him was probably in keeping. But he was human still and not a
creature of the People.
He was still hungry. But knowing the state of their supplies,
Nick did not ask for more. As he leaned over to pick up the bowl
again, he saw Jeremiah. The cat had appeared out of nowhere after
the fashion of felines, and sat watching Nick with probing
intentness that could disconcert a human at times.
Nick stared back. There was some reason for the cat’s
singling him out, he guessed. What did Jeremiah want of him? If the
cat could communicate, he was not trying now. Nick disliked that
cool stare, but he refused to let it ruffle him.
“How much, Jeremiah,” he asked in a whisper,
“do you really know?”
On Nick’s knee, beside his hand, there was a shimmer as if
the air took on substance in a small whirlpool of energy. It
thickened, held so for a moment, then vanished.
But it had been there, and Nick knew he had in that moment seen
a mouse.
Jeremiah! The cat could somehow use the same energy that Nick
had tapped to free himself in the woods to materialize a
representation of his most common prey. He was astounded. That an
animal could—
Answering his astonishment came a cold thrust of near anger.
Jeremiah’s ears were flattened to his head, his eyes
slitted.
“Animal? Who is an animal?”
The words did not form as such in Nick’s mind, but some
impulse brought them to the surface there. Indeed—who was an
animal? In this place where all the old certainties had been swept
away, could anyone make claims that could not be overturned?
Another idea came to him. Could—could Jeremiah’s species
(Nick tried to avoid “animal” and after all humans were
animals, too) accept the Herald’s terms? Was Jeremiah now a
part of Avalon even though he stayed with Mrs. Clapp and the
others?
Once more that swirl of air that was not air, the swift
formation and disappearance of an object Nick had only an instant
to sight—an apple! Then Jeremiah was—What? A spy?
Nick dismissed that at once. A guard? Against them? For
them?
Jeremiah yawned, arose, and, with a flirt of his tail tip, which
was firm dismissal of the whole subject, he stalked off.
“Now then.” Mrs. Clapp came away from where she had
settled Hadlett by the fire, his feet rubbed dry and newly
fashioned moccasins on them. She stood over Nick, one of the
handleless clay cups in her hand. An aromatic steam arose from it.
“You drink this up! It’ll roast the chill out. We want
no lung fever hittin’.”
She stood over him, in fact between him and the rest who were
gathered about the Vicar, while he drank. And he found her gaze as
searching as Jeremiah’s had been. Did she know what her cat
now was?
“You’re a lucky lad, that indeed you are. With
himself an’ Barry out to hunt you.”
Her voice was sharper than Nick had heard it before. He
understood that, in her eyes, his late adventure was a disgrace,
mainly because it had involved trouble for the Vicar.
“I know.” Nick tried to be meek.
“Knowin’ afterward is not doin’t beforehand.
I’m takin’ it on me to say this—we’ve stayed
together now for long an’ we’ve managed. Because we
think about how what we do is for all of us, not just for one. In
this place you can set a foot wrong an’ stir up trouble
fast.” The longer she spoke the softer her voice became.
“There now, I’ve had my say. You’ll hear it from
the others without doubt, but they have a right to such
sayin’—they knowin’ all that’s around us here.
You—What in the wide world were you doin’ to get that
now?”
Her hand caught his, dragging it forward to bring his ridged,
raw wrist into the full light.
“Oh, that happened when they tied me up.” Nick tried
to free himself from her hold, but she kept the grip with
surprising strength.
“Raw that is—an’ you could get a nasty infection.
The other one is as bad, too. You stay right here ’til I get
some o’ my heal powder.”
Nick knew it was futile to protest. He waited and she was
quickly back with two large leaves on which was spread a greasy
salve.
“Should have us some bandages, but we ain’t got
’em. These leaves work good though. Now hold up your hand,
lad—that’s the way.”
She was quick and deft, and Nick soon had two green cuffs about
his maltreated wrists. It was not until she had finished he
remembered his own first-aid kit in the saddlebags. But already the
stuff she had smeared over his abraded skin was drawing out the
sting, and he was content with her treatment.
“Now.” Mrs. Clapp tied strings of tough grass
tightly enough to keep the wristlets in place. “You keep
those on today an’ tonight. Then I’ll have another look
at ’em. Should be as good as healed. Those there herbs worked
into fat, they’ve got a lot of good in ’em.”
She did not go away, but stood there, her supplies in her hands.
There was no sternness in her expression now, rather a concern that
made Nick more uncomfortable than her scolding had done.
“You’ve had a bad time—”
He summoned a smile. “You might say I deserved
it.”
“Nobody deserves bad, less they give it. To my mind
you’re not one of those who do. But you’re young, you
don’t want to believe what you hear ’til you try it out
for yourself—”
“And,” he interrupted, “in that trying I might
hurt more than myself next time?”
“That I said an’ meant it.” Mrs. Clapp nodded.
“But I’m thinkin’ you’re not a stupid lad.
You don’t need no second lesson once the first has been
swallowed down.”
“I hope, Mrs. Clapp, that I shall deserve that
confidence.”
“Maude!” Lady Diana called, and his nurse hurried
back to the group about the Vicar.
Nick sat down once more, his leaf-enfolded wrists before him.
They thought that they were safe here, perhaps they were. But with
their supplies dwindling they might be forced out. And he had no
faith at all in the river plan. He had not seen Stroud since their
return and wondered if the Warden still skulked about the site of
their raft.
Stroud did not return until evening. And it was with news to
dash their faint hope of making use of the river. The land was
alive with bands of drifters and the sky with saucers whose crews
preyed upon those in the open. The Warden had witnessed the
sweeping up of two such parties, one being a squad of men wearing
British uniforms of World War I vintage.
“Couldn’t see their badges,” he reported
between mouthfuls of the nut-flour cakes Mrs. Clapp had ready for
him. “But I remember m’ Dad had him an outfit like
that. Just a nipper I was when he had embark-leave the last time.
Off to Turkey for the fightin’, he was, an’ reported
missin’ in action. We never had no more news of him, though
Mum, she up an’ tried to get some word hard enough. They kept
tellin’ her after the war was over the Turks ’d have to
let their prisoners loose. Only after the war was over an’
they did—m’ Dad weren’t one as they had any record of.
Lot o’ poor chaps never did get found.
“But I remember how m’ Dad looked—an’ these
chaps those saucer tykes netted, they were wearin’ the same
sort o’ gear, that I’ll swear to! Could I have gotten
close to ’em maybe we might’ve had a chance to get
together.” He shook his head.
“This migration and hunting has taken on unusual
proportions,” the Vicar observed. “Are the saucer
people trying to make a clean sweep of the whole
country?”
“Well,” Stroud had finished eating,
“there’s that, of course. But I don’t altogether
think that’s the right of it, Vicar. We’ve had hunts
before, but not like this. I seems to me it’s more like
somethin’ else started all these drifters on the move,
something up north. They’re comin’ down from that
direction an’ they’re not movin’ slow at all, but
pretty steady—like something was pressin’ on their tails.
“Anyway, we’d best stay in cover, do we want to stay
free. The saucers are takin’ good advantage of all this
movin’. To get out on the river in plain sight is as good as
askin’ to be caught.”
“Nicholas.” The Vicar summoned the American.
“What did Avalon say when he warned you? Remember his exact
words if you can.”
Nick closed his eyes for a moment, summoning memory to provide
him with the words Hadlett wanted to hear. He could see Avalon
vividly. Now it was as if he could hear the Herald’s
emotionless voice so that he need only repeat word for word what
the other had said.
“Avalon is no man’s enemy. It is a place of peace
and safety. But if one remains without, then comes darkness and
ill. This has happened before, the evil lapping at the land. Where
it meets Avalon and Tara, Broceliande and Carnac, then it laps
against walls it cannot overflow. But for those without the walls
there is peril beyond reckoning. Alternately the evil flows and
ebbs. This is a time of the beginning of the flow.”
“Avalon?” Stroud repeated.
“The Herald.” Crocker spoke up and there was
silence. Nick knew they looked at him now, but he met no eyes save
Hadlett’s.
If the others accused him, and he thought that they did, that
was not to be read in the Vicar’s expression.
Stroud got to his feet and moved in until his weather-tanned
face was not far from Nick’s.
“You had words with the Herald now, did you?” To the
Warden that fact must be of major importance. “Yes,”
Nick replied shortly, adding no explanation. “You was pally
enough to have him give you a warnin’?” Stroud
continued. All Crocker’s disbelief was intensified in that
red-brown face. The vast moustache bristled with antagonism.
“If you mean, did I accept his offer of safety,”
Nick returned, “I did not. However, he saved my
life.”
“That’s not the way you told it before,”
Crocker cut in. “You got away by yourself—in a way that took
some doing, too.”
“He pointed the way.” Nick kept the lid on his
temper, but the irritation Crocker could ignite in him threatened
his control. “If he had not—”
“It is all a very likely tale,” Crocker snapped.
“Let them listen to it—all of it—now. And see what they think
of it!”
Hadlett nodded. “Tell them, Nicholas, from the
beginning.”
With the Vicar and Crocker listening, Nick could not alter his
story, even if he wanted to. Which now he did not, that stubborn
streak in him making sure that they must hear it as it happened and
then believe or reject him.
Once more he told his adventure in detail from his first sight
of Avalon to the meeting with Crocker and the Vicar. He had no more
interruptions, but their full attention. As he finished, he waited
for the voicing of disbelief, suspicion, complete rejection.
“You—you just thought—and you got that knife?”
Stroud opened the examination.
Nick pulled the blade in question from his belt. He had already
passed over to Hadlett and Crocker the other weapons dropped when
the medieval band went to their unknown fate.
“I have this.”
Stroud snatched it from him, studied it carefully, and then
threw it to clatter on the rock floor some distance away.
“There’s your miracle knife,” he said.
“Now let’s see you get it back by
thinkin’!”
A fair enough test, Nick gave him that. He turned to face the
blade. Now he tried to set out of his mind everything but his need
for the knife. He must have it—How had he done it before? A hand—a
hand to take it up—and then an arm—
Nick concentrated on the need for the hand. But, though his mind
ached under the lash of his will, nothing formed in the air. No
mist thickened to put forth fingers closing about the hilt. He
fought to produce that hand, but it did not come. There was
something here that had not been in the clearing, a barrier against
which his will fruitlessly beat.
“I can’t do it.” How long he had struggled he
did not know. But something here short-circuited all his efforts.
“It won’t work this time.”
“Because”—there was triumph in Crocker’s
voice—“it never did! That story was a lie from the start, I
knew it!”
A hand grabbed Nick’s shoulder with force enough to hurt
and swing him around before he could fight back. Then
Stroud’s face thrust very close to his.
“You sold out to the Herald! Then you came back to get us.
Not openly the way Rita did—you crawlin’ worm!”
Nick tried to dodge the blow. His effort was enough so that
Stroud did not knock him out, but sent him reeling, half-dazed—to
bring up against the wall. He was dizzy from the force of the
punch, only half-aware that Hadlett had stepped between them.
“Sam!” the Vicar’s tone was a command, which
the Warden answered with a growl. But he did not try to push past
to be at his victim again.
“He sold out, came back to get us,” Stroud said
thickly. “You know that, Vicar.”
“You are prejudging, Sam. All of you.” Hadlett spoke
not only to the Warden, but to the others who had moved in as if
they were ready to join Stroud in whatever vengeance he proposed to
take, their faces ugly. Fear came to life in Nick. He had heard of
the hysteria that gripped mobs. Was this the same horror?
“Listen to me carefully, all of you,” Hadlett
continued. “This is of the upmost importance—not just to
Nicholas and to you because you propose to mete out what you
conceive to be justice, but because it may also determine our
future.”
He was answered by a sound, not quite words of protest, but
certainly expressing that. But they no longer moved forward, and
Stroud dropped his ready fist to his side. Now the Vicar
half-turned to address Nick.
“When you brought the knife to your aid you were
alone?”
“As—as far as I know.” Nick tried to control his
voice to steadiness.
“There was no counter power of disbelief there,”
Hadlett commented. “But when you tried just now—what did you
experience?”
“It was as if there were a barrier.”
“Just so. A barrier raised by disbelief. Or so I think. Do
you understand that?” He asked his question not of Nick but
of the others.
Nick saw Lady Diana nod her head, reluctantly, he was sure. And
Mrs. Clapp’s lips formed a “yes.” The others
stood stolidly. But someone spoke from Nick’s right.
“If we believe in him, then he can do it?”
Linda moved out. On one side of her paced Jeremiah, on the other
Lung bounced along, his silky ears flapping.
“Nick.” She did not wait for Hadlett to answer.
“Nick, take my hand!”
That was no request but an order, and, without meaning to, he
obeyed. She drew him away from the wall, and the others fell back
to let them past. Once more they approached the knife. But Linda
did not relax her hold. Instead she said:
“Try it again—now!”
Nick wanted to resist, but that seemed petty. Somehow, a new
confidence was flowing into him. The knife—to move the knife—
Concentrate—see only that sliver of steel—a hand—fingers to
grasp the hilt—pick it up—
There was still the barrier, but also—a new strength flowing
into him. That came from the clasp of hands, from others—Linda—the
two furred bodies at his feet Nick had a moment of wonder and then
shut that out. All he must think of was the knife.
Once more he saw that thickening in the air. From it developed
the ghostly hand, building up finger by finger, not misty
now—seemingly solid. From the hand his thoughts went to an arm.
That, too, appeared inch by inch, a chain reaching from him to the
hand.
“Come!” He thought that order.
The arm shortened, drew in toward him, and with it came the
hand, fingers laced about the knife hilt. It drew back to his feet
and then was gone. The knife clattered on the rock.
Linda’s hand dropped from his. But it was she who rounded
on the others.
“You saw that!” she challenged. “And I have
been under your eyes all the time, I have had no dealings
with Heralds! But I loaned Nick my energy to combat the wall of
your disbelief, and so did these two.” She stooped to scoop
up Lung, laid her hand for a moment between Jeremiah’s
ears.
“Do you now judge all of us liars?” she added.
“Jeremiah!” Mrs. Clapp moved forward. The cat had
turned his head at her call. She lifted him as if she feared him
injured in some fashion and he moved his head to touch her cheek
with his nose. Then he stiffened his forelegs, pushing himself out
of her hold. But he stayed beside her, rubbing against her
skirts.
“The two of you—” Hadlett began, but Linda corrected
him instantly.
“The four of us! And I believe you can all do this—but you
haven’t tried. Nick had to, to save his life, and now you
want to punish him for it!”
“He did it all right.” The Warden picked up the
knife, weighed it in his hand as if to assure himself that it was
just what it appeared to be. “I saw it.”
“Yes, he did it,” the Vicar agreed. “My
dear,” he spoke to Linda, “you may be very right. We
have never been put to such a test ourselves, so how could we know.
Are you really sure about the animals?”
Nick had regained some of the strength the concentration had
drawn out of him. He was not as worn by it as he had been the
previous tune, perhaps because the others had backed him up.
“The animals—they know—” He was puzzled—what could
he say for sure that Lung and Jeremiah knew? His only contact had
been with the cat. Would they believe Jeremiah had materialized a
mouse? As for Lung’s abilities, he had only Linda’s
assurances as to those.
“They know,” he began again, “a lot—how much I
can’t say. Jeremiah can materialize things.” Nick again
braved disbelief and told of the mouse. But he said nothing about
the apple, having no intention of turning against the cat the fury
he had earlier faced himself.
“Jeremiah did that!” Mrs. Clapp gazed down.
“But how—how could he, sir?” she asked the Vicar.
“He—he’s a cat. I’ve had him ever since he was
born. He’s old Floss’s last kitten. She had a bad time
an’ she died. I couldn’t let him, too—the poor mite! I
got me a little doll bottle an’ fed him milk an’ egg
an’—an’—Jeremiah’s a cat!” She ended
explosively, as if to think any differently would mean an end to
all security.
“Indeed he is, Maude.” Lady Diana put her arm around
the bent shoulders of the older woman. “But it could be that
this world changes animals somehow. See, he’s worried about
you now.”
The big cat was sitting up oh his hind legs, his forepaws
reaching above Mrs. Clapp’s knee, as he hooked claws in her
skirt to balance himself. He opened his mouth in a soft sound that
was not quite a mew.
“Jeremiah!” She hunkered stiffly down on the floor
to gather him into her arms. This time he did not push against her
to gain his liberty, but butted his head against her chin and
sounded a rumble of purr.
“I don’t care if he can do strange things,”
she declared a moment later. “He wouldn’t do no harm,
not Jeremiah. He did good—lettin’ us know that the lad was
tellin’ the truth. Jeremiah’s a good cat.”
Hadlett and Lady Diana between them drew her to her feet, still
holding Jeremiah.
“Of course he is, Maude. And like all cats,” the
Vicar continued, “he doubtless sees things in a more sensible
way than do a great many humans. Don’t you worry about
Jeremiah.”
Stroud brought attention back to Nick. “Look here,
mate.” He held out the hand which, fist hard, had left the
darkening bruise on Nick’s face. “If you want to dot me
one for what I gave you, you’re welcome to do it. I shot off
then before I aimed. I’m willin’ to say it.”
Nick met the hand with his own. “No hard feelings,”
he gave ready answer. “I thought no one might believe me, I
hardly believed it myself. And I don’t want a crack at your
jaw in return.” He laughed a little too loudly in relief.
“What I would like is for you, all of you, to listen to
something I have been thinking about—”
Whether this was the time to be frank he did not know. But they
were predisposed in his favor now just because they had been so
quick to misjudge him. Suspicion might rise again and he had better
make his plea while they still felt a little guilty and ill at
ease.
“And what’s that?” Crocker’s voice was
neutral. He, Nick guessed, was not feeling guilt.
“Just this—you heard me repeat what the Herald told me.
Stroud has reported what he saw. You all know the drifters are on
the move and that trouble seems to be coming from the north. There
is only one place of real safety that we know of—the
city.”
Nick waited for their anger to rise again. What he was
suggesting was opposed to all their ways.
“You mean—take the Herald’s bargain?” Crocker
asked fiercely. “I think not! You see what he’s
doing?” the pilot demanded of the others. “Just because
he pulled that knife across the floor doesn’t mean he
didn’t sell out! I say he did—let him prove
otherwise!”
They had drawn away again. Nick had made the wrong choice after
all. Would Stroud be as ready with his fists? And the Warden had a
knife in hand—“How can I prove it?” Nick countered.
Stroud was not looking at him but to the Vicar. “Best have
him do that, if he wants to, sir. It’ll stop all the
trouble—”
“Yes.” Hadlett sounded tired. “If you will
come with us then, Nicholas—”
He did not know what they wanted of him, but as Stroud had
suggested, he wanted the matter settled. Either they accepted him
now or he would have to clear out. And he found himself disliking
the thought of exile very much.
Stroud and Crocker fell in behind as the Vicar led the way into
the small cave they used for storage, though the supplies there now
were pitifully few. Inside Crocker spoke.
“All right. You said you’d give us proof.
Strip!”
“What?” Nick was confounded.
“There are certain physical changes. I believe I spoke of
them to you, Nicholas,” the Vicar explained. “They
appear very shortly after the bargain is concluded. It has been
well over two days since you admittedly saw the Herald. If you have
accepted his offer, you will reveal these.”
“I see.” Nick began to pull off his shirt. If they
wanted proof they would get it now.
But they did not cross-question him at once.
Hadlett was the center of attention, concern for him blotting out
all else, though Jean brought Nick a bowl of hot soup, which he ate
greedily. She, of course, made more of a fuss over Crocker, though
Nick believed she tried to make those attentions not too
obvious.
Nick was back safely, something he would have given much to
achieve last night, or earlier yesterday. Now—he did not know.
Though the others were within touching distance if he wished, he
felt curiously detached.
But he had made no bargain. Unless—unless in following the
Herald’s hint he had somehow crossed a line between the old
life and a new. Nick put down the empty bowl, studied his hands as
they rested on his knees.
They were scratched, dirty, stained with berry juice. The rest
of him was probably in keeping. But he was human still and not a
creature of the People.
He was still hungry. But knowing the state of their supplies,
Nick did not ask for more. As he leaned over to pick up the bowl
again, he saw Jeremiah. The cat had appeared out of nowhere after
the fashion of felines, and sat watching Nick with probing
intentness that could disconcert a human at times.
Nick stared back. There was some reason for the cat’s
singling him out, he guessed. What did Jeremiah want of him? If the
cat could communicate, he was not trying now. Nick disliked that
cool stare, but he refused to let it ruffle him.
“How much, Jeremiah,” he asked in a whisper,
“do you really know?”
On Nick’s knee, beside his hand, there was a shimmer as if
the air took on substance in a small whirlpool of energy. It
thickened, held so for a moment, then vanished.
But it had been there, and Nick knew he had in that moment seen
a mouse.
Jeremiah! The cat could somehow use the same energy that Nick
had tapped to free himself in the woods to materialize a
representation of his most common prey. He was astounded. That an
animal could—
Answering his astonishment came a cold thrust of near anger.
Jeremiah’s ears were flattened to his head, his eyes
slitted.
“Animal? Who is an animal?”
The words did not form as such in Nick’s mind, but some
impulse brought them to the surface there. Indeed—who was an
animal? In this place where all the old certainties had been swept
away, could anyone make claims that could not be overturned?
Another idea came to him. Could—could Jeremiah’s species
(Nick tried to avoid “animal” and after all humans were
animals, too) accept the Herald’s terms? Was Jeremiah now a
part of Avalon even though he stayed with Mrs. Clapp and the
others?
Once more that swirl of air that was not air, the swift
formation and disappearance of an object Nick had only an instant
to sight—an apple! Then Jeremiah was—What? A spy?
Nick dismissed that at once. A guard? Against them? For
them?
Jeremiah yawned, arose, and, with a flirt of his tail tip, which
was firm dismissal of the whole subject, he stalked off.
“Now then.” Mrs. Clapp came away from where she had
settled Hadlett by the fire, his feet rubbed dry and newly
fashioned moccasins on them. She stood over Nick, one of the
handleless clay cups in her hand. An aromatic steam arose from it.
“You drink this up! It’ll roast the chill out. We want
no lung fever hittin’.”
She stood over him, in fact between him and the rest who were
gathered about the Vicar, while he drank. And he found her gaze as
searching as Jeremiah’s had been. Did she know what her cat
now was?
“You’re a lucky lad, that indeed you are. With
himself an’ Barry out to hunt you.”
Her voice was sharper than Nick had heard it before. He
understood that, in her eyes, his late adventure was a disgrace,
mainly because it had involved trouble for the Vicar.
“I know.” Nick tried to be meek.
“Knowin’ afterward is not doin’t beforehand.
I’m takin’ it on me to say this—we’ve stayed
together now for long an’ we’ve managed. Because we
think about how what we do is for all of us, not just for one. In
this place you can set a foot wrong an’ stir up trouble
fast.” The longer she spoke the softer her voice became.
“There now, I’ve had my say. You’ll hear it from
the others without doubt, but they have a right to such
sayin’—they knowin’ all that’s around us here.
You—What in the wide world were you doin’ to get that
now?”
Her hand caught his, dragging it forward to bring his ridged,
raw wrist into the full light.
“Oh, that happened when they tied me up.” Nick tried
to free himself from her hold, but she kept the grip with
surprising strength.
“Raw that is—an’ you could get a nasty infection.
The other one is as bad, too. You stay right here ’til I get
some o’ my heal powder.”
Nick knew it was futile to protest. He waited and she was
quickly back with two large leaves on which was spread a greasy
salve.
“Should have us some bandages, but we ain’t got
’em. These leaves work good though. Now hold up your hand,
lad—that’s the way.”
She was quick and deft, and Nick soon had two green cuffs about
his maltreated wrists. It was not until she had finished he
remembered his own first-aid kit in the saddlebags. But already the
stuff she had smeared over his abraded skin was drawing out the
sting, and he was content with her treatment.
“Now.” Mrs. Clapp tied strings of tough grass
tightly enough to keep the wristlets in place. “You keep
those on today an’ tonight. Then I’ll have another look
at ’em. Should be as good as healed. Those there herbs worked
into fat, they’ve got a lot of good in ’em.”
She did not go away, but stood there, her supplies in her hands.
There was no sternness in her expression now, rather a concern that
made Nick more uncomfortable than her scolding had done.
“You’ve had a bad time—”
He summoned a smile. “You might say I deserved
it.”
“Nobody deserves bad, less they give it. To my mind
you’re not one of those who do. But you’re young, you
don’t want to believe what you hear ’til you try it out
for yourself—”
“And,” he interrupted, “in that trying I might
hurt more than myself next time?”
“That I said an’ meant it.” Mrs. Clapp nodded.
“But I’m thinkin’ you’re not a stupid lad.
You don’t need no second lesson once the first has been
swallowed down.”
“I hope, Mrs. Clapp, that I shall deserve that
confidence.”
“Maude!” Lady Diana called, and his nurse hurried
back to the group about the Vicar.
Nick sat down once more, his leaf-enfolded wrists before him.
They thought that they were safe here, perhaps they were. But with
their supplies dwindling they might be forced out. And he had no
faith at all in the river plan. He had not seen Stroud since their
return and wondered if the Warden still skulked about the site of
their raft.
Stroud did not return until evening. And it was with news to
dash their faint hope of making use of the river. The land was
alive with bands of drifters and the sky with saucers whose crews
preyed upon those in the open. The Warden had witnessed the
sweeping up of two such parties, one being a squad of men wearing
British uniforms of World War I vintage.
“Couldn’t see their badges,” he reported
between mouthfuls of the nut-flour cakes Mrs. Clapp had ready for
him. “But I remember m’ Dad had him an outfit like
that. Just a nipper I was when he had embark-leave the last time.
Off to Turkey for the fightin’, he was, an’ reported
missin’ in action. We never had no more news of him, though
Mum, she up an’ tried to get some word hard enough. They kept
tellin’ her after the war was over the Turks ’d have to
let their prisoners loose. Only after the war was over an’
they did—m’ Dad weren’t one as they had any record of.
Lot o’ poor chaps never did get found.
“But I remember how m’ Dad looked—an’ these
chaps those saucer tykes netted, they were wearin’ the same
sort o’ gear, that I’ll swear to! Could I have gotten
close to ’em maybe we might’ve had a chance to get
together.” He shook his head.
“This migration and hunting has taken on unusual
proportions,” the Vicar observed. “Are the saucer
people trying to make a clean sweep of the whole
country?”
“Well,” Stroud had finished eating,
“there’s that, of course. But I don’t altogether
think that’s the right of it, Vicar. We’ve had hunts
before, but not like this. I seems to me it’s more like
somethin’ else started all these drifters on the move,
something up north. They’re comin’ down from that
direction an’ they’re not movin’ slow at all, but
pretty steady—like something was pressin’ on their tails.
“Anyway, we’d best stay in cover, do we want to stay
free. The saucers are takin’ good advantage of all this
movin’. To get out on the river in plain sight is as good as
askin’ to be caught.”
“Nicholas.” The Vicar summoned the American.
“What did Avalon say when he warned you? Remember his exact
words if you can.”
Nick closed his eyes for a moment, summoning memory to provide
him with the words Hadlett wanted to hear. He could see Avalon
vividly. Now it was as if he could hear the Herald’s
emotionless voice so that he need only repeat word for word what
the other had said.
“Avalon is no man’s enemy. It is a place of peace
and safety. But if one remains without, then comes darkness and
ill. This has happened before, the evil lapping at the land. Where
it meets Avalon and Tara, Broceliande and Carnac, then it laps
against walls it cannot overflow. But for those without the walls
there is peril beyond reckoning. Alternately the evil flows and
ebbs. This is a time of the beginning of the flow.”
“Avalon?” Stroud repeated.
“The Herald.” Crocker spoke up and there was
silence. Nick knew they looked at him now, but he met no eyes save
Hadlett’s.
If the others accused him, and he thought that they did, that
was not to be read in the Vicar’s expression.
Stroud got to his feet and moved in until his weather-tanned
face was not far from Nick’s.
“You had words with the Herald now, did you?” To the
Warden that fact must be of major importance. “Yes,”
Nick replied shortly, adding no explanation. “You was pally
enough to have him give you a warnin’?” Stroud
continued. All Crocker’s disbelief was intensified in that
red-brown face. The vast moustache bristled with antagonism.
“If you mean, did I accept his offer of safety,”
Nick returned, “I did not. However, he saved my
life.”
“That’s not the way you told it before,”
Crocker cut in. “You got away by yourself—in a way that took
some doing, too.”
“He pointed the way.” Nick kept the lid on his
temper, but the irritation Crocker could ignite in him threatened
his control. “If he had not—”
“It is all a very likely tale,” Crocker snapped.
“Let them listen to it—all of it—now. And see what they think
of it!”
Hadlett nodded. “Tell them, Nicholas, from the
beginning.”
With the Vicar and Crocker listening, Nick could not alter his
story, even if he wanted to. Which now he did not, that stubborn
streak in him making sure that they must hear it as it happened and
then believe or reject him.
Once more he told his adventure in detail from his first sight
of Avalon to the meeting with Crocker and the Vicar. He had no more
interruptions, but their full attention. As he finished, he waited
for the voicing of disbelief, suspicion, complete rejection.
“You—you just thought—and you got that knife?”
Stroud opened the examination.
Nick pulled the blade in question from his belt. He had already
passed over to Hadlett and Crocker the other weapons dropped when
the medieval band went to their unknown fate.
“I have this.”
Stroud snatched it from him, studied it carefully, and then
threw it to clatter on the rock floor some distance away.
“There’s your miracle knife,” he said.
“Now let’s see you get it back by
thinkin’!”
A fair enough test, Nick gave him that. He turned to face the
blade. Now he tried to set out of his mind everything but his need
for the knife. He must have it—How had he done it before? A hand—a
hand to take it up—and then an arm—
Nick concentrated on the need for the hand. But, though his mind
ached under the lash of his will, nothing formed in the air. No
mist thickened to put forth fingers closing about the hilt. He
fought to produce that hand, but it did not come. There was
something here that had not been in the clearing, a barrier against
which his will fruitlessly beat.
“I can’t do it.” How long he had struggled he
did not know. But something here short-circuited all his efforts.
“It won’t work this time.”
“Because”—there was triumph in Crocker’s
voice—“it never did! That story was a lie from the start, I
knew it!”
A hand grabbed Nick’s shoulder with force enough to hurt
and swing him around before he could fight back. Then
Stroud’s face thrust very close to his.
“You sold out to the Herald! Then you came back to get us.
Not openly the way Rita did—you crawlin’ worm!”
Nick tried to dodge the blow. His effort was enough so that
Stroud did not knock him out, but sent him reeling, half-dazed—to
bring up against the wall. He was dizzy from the force of the
punch, only half-aware that Hadlett had stepped between them.
“Sam!” the Vicar’s tone was a command, which
the Warden answered with a growl. But he did not try to push past
to be at his victim again.
“He sold out, came back to get us,” Stroud said
thickly. “You know that, Vicar.”
“You are prejudging, Sam. All of you.” Hadlett spoke
not only to the Warden, but to the others who had moved in as if
they were ready to join Stroud in whatever vengeance he proposed to
take, their faces ugly. Fear came to life in Nick. He had heard of
the hysteria that gripped mobs. Was this the same horror?
“Listen to me carefully, all of you,” Hadlett
continued. “This is of the upmost importance—not just to
Nicholas and to you because you propose to mete out what you
conceive to be justice, but because it may also determine our
future.”
He was answered by a sound, not quite words of protest, but
certainly expressing that. But they no longer moved forward, and
Stroud dropped his ready fist to his side. Now the Vicar
half-turned to address Nick.
“When you brought the knife to your aid you were
alone?”
“As—as far as I know.” Nick tried to control his
voice to steadiness.
“There was no counter power of disbelief there,”
Hadlett commented. “But when you tried just now—what did you
experience?”
“It was as if there were a barrier.”
“Just so. A barrier raised by disbelief. Or so I think. Do
you understand that?” He asked his question not of Nick but
of the others.
Nick saw Lady Diana nod her head, reluctantly, he was sure. And
Mrs. Clapp’s lips formed a “yes.” The others
stood stolidly. But someone spoke from Nick’s right.
“If we believe in him, then he can do it?”
Linda moved out. On one side of her paced Jeremiah, on the other
Lung bounced along, his silky ears flapping.
“Nick.” She did not wait for Hadlett to answer.
“Nick, take my hand!”
That was no request but an order, and, without meaning to, he
obeyed. She drew him away from the wall, and the others fell back
to let them past. Once more they approached the knife. But Linda
did not relax her hold. Instead she said:
“Try it again—now!”
Nick wanted to resist, but that seemed petty. Somehow, a new
confidence was flowing into him. The knife—to move the knife—
Concentrate—see only that sliver of steel—a hand—fingers to
grasp the hilt—pick it up—
There was still the barrier, but also—a new strength flowing
into him. That came from the clasp of hands, from others—Linda—the
two furred bodies at his feet Nick had a moment of wonder and then
shut that out. All he must think of was the knife.
Once more he saw that thickening in the air. From it developed
the ghostly hand, building up finger by finger, not misty
now—seemingly solid. From the hand his thoughts went to an arm.
That, too, appeared inch by inch, a chain reaching from him to the
hand.
“Come!” He thought that order.
The arm shortened, drew in toward him, and with it came the
hand, fingers laced about the knife hilt. It drew back to his feet
and then was gone. The knife clattered on the rock.
Linda’s hand dropped from his. But it was she who rounded
on the others.
“You saw that!” she challenged. “And I have
been under your eyes all the time, I have had no dealings
with Heralds! But I loaned Nick my energy to combat the wall of
your disbelief, and so did these two.” She stooped to scoop
up Lung, laid her hand for a moment between Jeremiah’s
ears.
“Do you now judge all of us liars?” she added.
“Jeremiah!” Mrs. Clapp moved forward. The cat had
turned his head at her call. She lifted him as if she feared him
injured in some fashion and he moved his head to touch her cheek
with his nose. Then he stiffened his forelegs, pushing himself out
of her hold. But he stayed beside her, rubbing against her
skirts.
“The two of you—” Hadlett began, but Linda corrected
him instantly.
“The four of us! And I believe you can all do this—but you
haven’t tried. Nick had to, to save his life, and now you
want to punish him for it!”
“He did it all right.” The Warden picked up the
knife, weighed it in his hand as if to assure himself that it was
just what it appeared to be. “I saw it.”
“Yes, he did it,” the Vicar agreed. “My
dear,” he spoke to Linda, “you may be very right. We
have never been put to such a test ourselves, so how could we know.
Are you really sure about the animals?”
Nick had regained some of the strength the concentration had
drawn out of him. He was not as worn by it as he had been the
previous tune, perhaps because the others had backed him up.
“The animals—they know—” He was puzzled—what could
he say for sure that Lung and Jeremiah knew? His only contact had
been with the cat. Would they believe Jeremiah had materialized a
mouse? As for Lung’s abilities, he had only Linda’s
assurances as to those.
“They know,” he began again, “a lot—how much I
can’t say. Jeremiah can materialize things.” Nick again
braved disbelief and told of the mouse. But he said nothing about
the apple, having no intention of turning against the cat the fury
he had earlier faced himself.
“Jeremiah did that!” Mrs. Clapp gazed down.
“But how—how could he, sir?” she asked the Vicar.
“He—he’s a cat. I’ve had him ever since he was
born. He’s old Floss’s last kitten. She had a bad time
an’ she died. I couldn’t let him, too—the poor mite! I
got me a little doll bottle an’ fed him milk an’ egg
an’—an’—Jeremiah’s a cat!” She ended
explosively, as if to think any differently would mean an end to
all security.
“Indeed he is, Maude.” Lady Diana put her arm around
the bent shoulders of the older woman. “But it could be that
this world changes animals somehow. See, he’s worried about
you now.”
The big cat was sitting up oh his hind legs, his forepaws
reaching above Mrs. Clapp’s knee, as he hooked claws in her
skirt to balance himself. He opened his mouth in a soft sound that
was not quite a mew.
“Jeremiah!” She hunkered stiffly down on the floor
to gather him into her arms. This time he did not push against her
to gain his liberty, but butted his head against her chin and
sounded a rumble of purr.
“I don’t care if he can do strange things,”
she declared a moment later. “He wouldn’t do no harm,
not Jeremiah. He did good—lettin’ us know that the lad was
tellin’ the truth. Jeremiah’s a good cat.”
Hadlett and Lady Diana between them drew her to her feet, still
holding Jeremiah.
“Of course he is, Maude. And like all cats,” the
Vicar continued, “he doubtless sees things in a more sensible
way than do a great many humans. Don’t you worry about
Jeremiah.”
Stroud brought attention back to Nick. “Look here,
mate.” He held out the hand which, fist hard, had left the
darkening bruise on Nick’s face. “If you want to dot me
one for what I gave you, you’re welcome to do it. I shot off
then before I aimed. I’m willin’ to say it.”
Nick met the hand with his own. “No hard feelings,”
he gave ready answer. “I thought no one might believe me, I
hardly believed it myself. And I don’t want a crack at your
jaw in return.” He laughed a little too loudly in relief.
“What I would like is for you, all of you, to listen to
something I have been thinking about—”
Whether this was the time to be frank he did not know. But they
were predisposed in his favor now just because they had been so
quick to misjudge him. Suspicion might rise again and he had better
make his plea while they still felt a little guilty and ill at
ease.
“And what’s that?” Crocker’s voice was
neutral. He, Nick guessed, was not feeling guilt.
“Just this—you heard me repeat what the Herald told me.
Stroud has reported what he saw. You all know the drifters are on
the move and that trouble seems to be coming from the north. There
is only one place of real safety that we know of—the
city.”
Nick waited for their anger to rise again. What he was
suggesting was opposed to all their ways.
“You mean—take the Herald’s bargain?” Crocker
asked fiercely. “I think not! You see what he’s
doing?” the pilot demanded of the others. “Just because
he pulled that knife across the floor doesn’t mean he
didn’t sell out! I say he did—let him prove
otherwise!”
They had drawn away again. Nick had made the wrong choice after
all. Would Stroud be as ready with his fists? And the Warden had a
knife in hand—“How can I prove it?” Nick countered.
Stroud was not looking at him but to the Vicar. “Best have
him do that, if he wants to, sir. It’ll stop all the
trouble—”
“Yes.” Hadlett sounded tired. “If you will
come with us then, Nicholas—”
He did not know what they wanted of him, but as Stroud had
suggested, he wanted the matter settled. Either they accepted him
now or he would have to clear out. And he found himself disliking
the thought of exile very much.
Stroud and Crocker fell in behind as the Vicar led the way into
the small cave they used for storage, though the supplies there now
were pitifully few. Inside Crocker spoke.
“All right. You said you’d give us proof.
Strip!”
“What?” Nick was confounded.
“There are certain physical changes. I believe I spoke of
them to you, Nicholas,” the Vicar explained. “They
appear very shortly after the bargain is concluded. It has been
well over two days since you admittedly saw the Herald. If you have
accepted his offer, you will reveal these.”
“I see.” Nick began to pull off his shirt. If they
wanted proof they would get it now.