The Box of Delights (23 page)

‘Chop small with best green bacon. Add a pinch of powdered cheese. Add chopped mushroom or, as some prefer, chopped sardine. Serve hot with melted butter.’

He tapped at the door and entered.

Abner said, ‘You anticipate my every wish, David. You bring us more when hope was failing.’

As David closed the breakfast-room door, Kay slipped towards the kitchen and pantry. To his right was the pantry with a chafing-dish from which a savoury smell came; to the left was a big
kitchen where a man’s voice called:

‘Jim, haven’t you done the scullery floor yet? They’ll be inspecting in a minute.’

‘Danger here,’ Kay thought. He turned swiftly back on tiptoe and ran up the main staircase. At the top of the stairs was a long, broad corridor with doors and passages opening to
right and left. All the doors were shut and labelled: ‘Dean’, ‘Sub-Dean’, ‘Prior’, ‘Sub-Prior’, ‘Bursar’. Kay opened the Bursar’s
door very cautiously and peeped in.

A preoccupied voice said, ‘No, no; you must wait just a minute longer. I haven’t finished the accounts.’

He slipped back into the passage and shut the door.

‘Nearly caught there,’ he said. ‘I’m much more likely to be caught than to discover anything.’

Then, as he walked along, a door opened down below and there came a clatter of voices and a rush of feet coming up the back stairs. It came upon him in a flash that these were the younger
members of the brotherhood who had finished breakfast and were running upstairs to tidy their rooms for inspection. They were shouting together like schoolboys, evidently chasing each other and, as
they were coming very fast, he hadn’t an instant to lose.

‘I’ll come back at half-past two,’ he thought, ‘and hear what those two are up to.’

He turned the knob of the Box, so that he might go swiftly. At once, he was sped away from those shouting collegiates, yet not before he was seen. He heard one young man cry out, ‘I say,
look . . . a swallow,’ and a second answered, ‘Rats. Swallows come in April.’ But now he was borne away upon unseen wings back to his late breakfast at Seekings, with the three
girls, each sure that Peter would be all right, and all thrilled at the disappearance of Mr Charity and Dr Dogma.

‘Now,’ Maria said, ‘they have scrobbled every single clergyman attached to the Cathedral. The
Thriller
has got a name for them now: the Red-Hot Atheists: “Red-Hot
Atheists at it again. Wholesale Murder Feared. Shrieks heard from Shuttered House. Bloodstains in the Snow.”’

‘The gang has put the clergy’s backs up now,’ Susan said. ‘I’m simply thrilled to think that Maria and Peter have been scrobbled as though they were clergymen. But
the whole English Church is resolved now, to hold that service tonight. You see what the Archbishops say, “That they are happy to state that five clergy from the diocese have proceeded to
Tatchester to supply the Christmas services if by any unhappy occurrence the rightful Ministers be unable to officiate.”’

‘They ought not to have mentioned that,’ Maria said. ‘Now the gang will scrobble those, too, you’ll see.’

‘I expect they will,’ Kay said, ‘but all the same, they had to let people know that the services will be held.’

‘What makes my blood boil,’ Maria said, ‘is the cheek of the gang, thinking they can prevent the services.’

Kay did not answer this, he was thinking how very powerful the gang was, and how miserable the beautiful Caroline Louisa must be shut up in the rock with two women like she-wolves as guards.

After breakfast, he went round to the Inspector.

‘If you please,’ Kay said, ‘would you like to win the Archbishop’s reward of a thousand pounds? If you would go to the Tatchester Barracks and fall out the Tatshire Blues
and raid the Chester Hills College, you’d find the clergy there, I’m sure you would.’

‘Why, how you run on about the College, Master Kay,’ the Inspector said. ‘This is what in Medical Circles is spoken of as a Hobsession. No, no, believe me, the College is all
full of young Reverends. However would young men like that go scrobbling the very men who’ll ordain them?’

‘By an aeroplane that can turn into a motor car and then back into an aeroplane. And it can hover just like a sparrowhawk and settle down in through the roof.’

‘Ah no, Master Kay, no aeroplane can do that; none. And the roof isn’t that kind, I do assure you. I’ve been all over that College, time and again, at some of their jinkses,
concerts and that; believe me. And as for falling out the Tatshires, Master Kay, that’s un-English.

‘We in the Law, Master Kay, represent the Civil Power. There in the Barracks they represent Armed Force, which is what Foreigners use.’

‘But I saw the aeroplane settle through the roof . . . I did.’

At this moment, a car dashed up to the door. The Chief Constable of Tatshire was there. ‘Are you there, Drew?’ he called. ‘Come along, will you, we need every man we can get:
we’re to give Police protection to the clergy detailed for duty in the Cathedral. Bring a truncheon, you may need it.’

The Inspector unhooked a truncheon and hurried away in the car.

‘He simply will not believe me,’ Kay said. ‘And in a few hours it will be too late.’

He went back in deep distress to his room at Seekings.

‘P
erhaps,’ he thought, ‘if I look into the Box, I may meet with Herne the Hunter again, and oh, if I do, I’ll ask about
Arnold of Todi, for he’s the cause of all this trouble: it’s his Box, and if he had it again then perhaps all this hunt for it and scrobbling folk would stop. So, here goes.’

This time, as he opened the Box, it seemed to him that he was looking between two columns, on which the snow lay thick. Here and there on the stone the snow had partly melted and had again
frozen, so that little icicles dangled from the ledges. Kay passed between these columns into a wintry wood, full of snow, where even the rabbits had turned white. In front of him was what seemed
like the bole of a ruined tree, but it was Herne the Hunter, clad in some pelt, powdered with snow.

‘I know what you want, Kay,’ he said. ‘You want to know about Arnold of Todi. He went back into the Past, looking at it, and was caught in it somewhere and is lost, never able
to get back.

‘And the Past, Kay,’ he added, ‘is a big book with many, many pages; if you go looking for Arnold in the Past, who knows if you will ever find him?’

‘I have this Box. Won’t this Box help me to find him?’

‘No,’ Herne said. ‘Arnold left that Box behind him, because he made another way of getting back, which he liked better. The Box is good for Europe, but Arnold wanted the
East.’

‘Could you take me to Arnold, please?’

‘No,’ Herne said. ‘We do not know where he is. He is somewhere in the Past; that is all we know.’

‘Well, what part of the Past d’you think he went back to?’ Kay said.

‘Well, as to that,’ Herne answered; ‘there’s one part that everybody goes to and that’s the Trojan War.’

‘Could I get down to the Trojan War to ask about him?’ Kay asked.

‘You could,’ Herne said. ‘There are generally people there, and one of them may have noticed Arnold, or heard where he went; he didn’t stay there probably, people
don’t: and if he
had
stayed there he wouldn’t be lost, would he, and we know that he is lost.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The word got about,’ Herne said.

‘How could I get to the Trojan War to ask?’ Kay asked.

‘I could get you there,’ Herne said, ‘but you must leave the Box behind you, and I strongly advise you to do no such thing. You may never get back, if you once get there. I
can’t be sure that I can get you back.’

‘I expect I could get back,’ Kay said.

‘I’m not so sure of it. You’re bent on going?’

‘Yes, please,’ Kay said.

‘Well, in a way, it won’t be you that goes, it will only be a shadow of you: the rest will be asleep. The you that goes will cast no shadow. People won’t like that,
you’ll find.’

‘I shan’t mind,’ Kay said.

‘
They
may,’ Herne said, ‘and they’re a pretty rough crowd in parts of the Past.’

‘I’ll chance it,’ Kay said.

‘It’s a dangerous thing to get mixed up in the Past,’ Herne said, ‘but if you must, you must.’

He beckoned to Kay, and Kay felt that he became two Kays, one asleep at Seekings, the other beside Herne.

He noticed then that the sea had come almost up to where they stood. There, running into the sand at his feet, was a strange black ship, looking rather like a dolphin. She had one mast and one
big sail and a lot of men sitting on benches with the oars. The captain of this ship was a fierce-looking man with long yellow hair. He had a curious breastplate of some blue metal on which a wolf
had been inlaid in gold.

‘If you are for Troy, step on board,’ this captain said.

Kay stepped on board, and, instantly, the rowers began to row and the sail filled and the ship leaped like a dolphin. The men sang as they rowed. They went past island after island, all bright
in the sun and, presently, they were beached on the sandy shingle between two rivers. All the beach was lined with ships of different sorts, all rather like the ship in which he had travelled.
There were lanes between the lines of ships and in these lanes there were huts, where men were cleaning their armour, cooking, or washing their wounds.

Beyond the lines and huts and ships was a stockade. Going through the gate of this and crossing the beach Kay saw on a little hill beyond them the wall of some castle from which a dense smoke
was rising. As he went towards this, he saw more soldiers, wearing those blue breastplates with the inlaid wolves. These were driving down parties of unhappy men, women and children, laden with
packages of booty.

‘Goodness,’ Kay said. ‘This is really Troy. There are the walls and that’s the Tower over the Skaian Gate, and I have come just too late: the city has been
sacked.’

He came presently to the river, but he saw at once that, as a road led from it on the other side, it could be easily forded. There it was very shallow and did not do much more than cover his
ankles. There were plenty of little fish in the clear water.

Beyond the river there were marks of frequent fighting: the graves of men marked by broken spears with helmets on them, fragments of broken weapons or chariots and some dead horses. The ground
rose from this point, and out of the Skaian Gate, coming towards him, were the last of the Trojans being beaten forward by the butt-ends of the spears of their conquerors.

‘Oh dear,’ Kay said. ‘There are all the poor Trojans driven into captivity and the beautiful walls all racked and ruined.’

After the party had gone past with the wailing captives and cursing guards, Kay went into the Skaian Gate and looked about him at the desolation. The doors of all the houses were open; the
things which had not been worth carrying away lay smashed or torn in the ways. There was nobody left in the city except a stray cat or two, mewing in misery. The pigeons which had once nested in
the temples were flying about in the smoke. As Kay went up towards the temples a gust of wind caught the fire; it burst out with a savage crackle and fierce flame.

He noticed then that an old, old crone was sitting at the corner of the ways. She looked as though she had been too old to be taken away.

‘You are looking for Arnold of Todi?’ she said. ‘He was here, but he has gone.’

‘Where did he go?’ Kay asked.

‘He went with the Wolves,’ she said.

‘Has he gone long?’ Kay asked.

‘A matter of five hundred years ago,’ she said.

It did not seem very hopeful to Kay, but he went back down the hill and across the ford to the beach, but the beach now was deserted. The ditch had fallen in, the stockade was gone and all the
space where the ships had lain now seemed ruined by floods from the two rivers.

But there, drawing near to the shore, was a boat manned by long-haired, dirty men, most of whom wore earrings. The boat had a name painted on her bows in clumsy red letters. Presently, as she
drew near, Kay read this as
Seawolf.
As the boat touched the shore the man who was steering hailed him and said:

‘Are you sick of the Mediterranean? We are.’

Kay said he did not know very much about it, but the man said, ‘You will, if you stay. Come on board.’

Now that he could see their faces, Kay was not very eager to come on board. He remembered to have seen, in an old print, by Hogarth, of the ‘Idle Apprentice,’ a representation of a
boat-load of evil-looking men. It seemed to him that the men in this boat might have been the brothers of those whom Hogarth drew. There was a pale and toothless look about them that was very
awful. They looked at him slantwise, and spat sideways in a very crooked manner. Perhaps he would not have gone aboard their cutter, had he not seen that a party of spearmen, wearing breastplates
stamped with the images of wolves, were slinking down the beach as though to seize him. They were coming down the sands behind and on both sides of him; they were closing in on him. Though they all
made a pretence of looking for shells, or watching the sky, it was quite plain that he was their mark. He did not like the looks of the cutter’s crew, but these Wolf-men terrified him, so he
climbed aboard the cutter, which at once shoved off into the sea. The Wolf-men at once turned back: plainly, they
had
been after him.

Kay saw that the cutter was heading for a ship in the channel. As he sat in the stern-sheets, looking at the crew, he found their eyes fixed on him. He had seen a cat looking at a little bird
with that sort of look; he had heard that snakes will look at mice with that sort of look. He began to notice their dress: they wore short buckled shoes, no stockings, rude red canvas petticoats or
kilts, and canvas jackets. In their belts were stuck pistols, knives and hangers. The boat was old, dirty, and had once been painted red.

He looked a little anxiously towards the ship. He had heard that Mediterranean cruises are delightful, and that the ships in which they are made are spotlessly clean, brightly lit and very
comfortable. There was nothing of all this about
this
ship. For one thing, she flew no colours; for another, she was not in any sort of order. There was a sort of green grass at her
water-line; the paint had long since gone from her sides. It seemed, too, that she had been in action not long before, for splinters had been torn off her planking, leaving white wounds, sometimes
jagged and irregular, sometimes round like the shot which had caused them. She was rolling slightly to the swell; some of her gear gave out a melancholy creak as she rolled. One of the rowers in
the boat spat some tobacco juice over his shoulder and said, ‘She creaks, just like Old Bill after he was hanged in chains.’