The Box of Delights (4 page)

‘“If I see Someone,”’ Kay repeated, ‘“tell him that Someone’s safe.” I suppose he must mean the Punch and Judy man.’

At this moment Kay caught sight of the village policeman coming from the Beast-Market, and putting on his oil-skin cape.

‘If you please,’ Kay said, ‘have you seen anything of a Punch and Judy man in the Beast-Market?’

‘Why, it’s Master Kay Harker,’ the policeman said. ‘Why, Master Kay, how you’ve grown. You are back for the holidays, I suppose. Now, a Punch and Judy man, now.
Why, I saw one that might be called such with his show on his back. Would it be a one with a brown dog, Master Harker?’

‘Yes,’ Kay said, ‘an Irish terrier.’

‘Well, I did see such an one,’ the policeman said. ‘He was down by Cherry Fields. He will be in one of the pubs, Master Kay, down by Lower Lock, sure to be. He wouldn’t
play in the snow and this bitter cold. It’s going to be a bad fall, by the look of it.’

Kay thanked the policeman and walked on.

The Beast-Market was empty of people, save for one man who had just loaded a pile of hurdles into a cart, and was now turning for home with a horse thankful to be going from the cold.

‘Please have you seen a Punch and Judy man?’ Kay called. The man was singing:

The horse’s excitement, his song, and the noise of the great wheels on the paving kept him from hearing the question. He went on over the ridge and away.

At the top of the ridge, Kay saw the woodland about the camp known as ‘King Arthur’s Court’ standing up black against the West. There was a stab of savage yellow and red over
the wood. Every tree stood out distinct and seemed very near. He thought that he had never seen a landscape look so awful.

Kay went on to Lower Lock, which was a sort of double alley of very old houses near Tibbs’s Wharf where the barges were lying up for Christmas. The two alleys were known as Lockside and
Quayside. There was a brew-house at Lockside, and in between the two alleys was a little public-house known as the
Lock and Key
. A lot went on down at Tibbs’s Wharf, around the
Lock
and Key
. The bargemen used to come there, ‘just like pirates from foreign parts,’ so Ellen said, and would fight the landsmen for half-a-crown or a gallon of ale (or for the fun of
it if times were hard). Then the poachers used to bring their game there, and plan their big drives with the men from the city shops. Then there was cock-fighting, and sometimes dog-fighting; and
men would come in sometimes from the cities, to nobble a horse at the races, or to burgle a house, and so away. No matter at what time of the day or night you came near to Lower Lock you would
always meet a dirty boy doing nothing in particular hanging about on the approaches. If the boy whistled ‘God Save the King’ it was a sign that you were all right, but if he whistled
‘Holy, holy, holy’ all those who felt uneasy used to get under cover.

There was said to be a great deal of cover, in between the two alleys, chimneys which would hide a couple of men, doors which opened from house to house, false floors, under which a man could
hide or a body could be hidden, traps which took one into a cellar, or into a vault or into the big old drain of the monastery: there were hiding-places above and below everywhere, where wanted men
could lie; and in the old brew-house who knew what went on?

However, Kay used to enjoy going down to Lower Lock, to look at the barges and at the small sea-going vessels, colliers, topsail schooners, brigantines, and barquentines which sometimes came
there. He saw the usual dirty boy as he drew near. He recognised the lad as one called Poppyhead, which is the country name for ringworm. Poppyhead was sucking a straw, under the lee of the bridge,
and beating his hands to try to warm them. On seeing Kay, he took the straw from his mouth and stared, but did not whistle. ‘Please,’ Kay said, ‘do you know where the Punch and
Judy show went?’

‘What?’

‘Do you know where the Punch and Judy show went?’

‘Ah.’

‘Where did it go?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Do you know where to?’

‘He went along.’

‘Up this way, was it?’

‘Ah.’

‘Was it this way?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘But did he go this way?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But did you see a man with a Punch and Judy show, passing along here?’

‘Yes, I saw a man go.’

‘Had he a Punch and Judy show with him?’

‘I don’t know.’

A couple of ragged little boys crept out from under the bridge: they stared, with their fingers in their mouths.

‘What does he want, Poppy?’ one of them asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Poppy said.

‘The man with the Punch and Judy show,’ Kay said.

‘He’s not there,’ a woman who was passing said. ‘He’s gone up to Cockfarthings in the Bear-Ward.’ She was all wrapped against the snow in a grey plaid, and
Kay did not know who she was, but he saw a pair of very bright eyes, and noticed a gold ring of odd shape on the bare hand that clutched the plaid close. She passed on over the bridge at once,
without heeding Kay’s word of thanks. Kay turned in the other direction for Cockfarthings. The three little boys called out to him to give them some ha’pennies, and as he did not, they
flung stones after him and called him a Dinjer; but there were not many stones lying handy, nor could they aim well, with the snow whirling into their eyes, like gritty dust.

A very long time before, when the Abbot had ruled there, someone had kept bears for the amusement of the pilgrims coming to the monastery: part of the village was still called the Bear-Ward,
though perhaps no bears had been there for four centuries. Cockfarthings was the name of a man who kept a pub called the
Drop of Dew
there. There had been two brothers Cockfarthings, John
and Henry, but John was now dead. Henry Cockfarthings made baskets when not serving in the bar. So Kay walked up to the
Drop of Dew
and again admired the sign, which showed a drop of dew as
big as your head, all frosty with dust of glass. He went into the bar, expecting to see Henry Cockfarthings, but Henry was somewhere in the backyard doing something with a mallet, it seemed.

The only person in the bar was the little old bright-eyed man for whom he was looking. He sat in the settle by the fire looking at a book, which he closed and put into his pocket as Kay came in.
Kay, who had very quick eyes, noticed that the book was full of coloured pictures. Kay never quite knew why, but as soon as he saw the old man sitting there in the lonely bar he said, ‘If I
saw Someone, I was to tell him that Someone is safe.’

‘Ah,’ the old man said, ‘but I say that that’s more than anyone knows when Wolves are Running, Master Harker.’

‘Please,’ Kay said, ‘will you tell me what you mean by “Wolves”?’

‘If you keep looking out for fun,’ the old man said, ‘you will see the Wolves as like as not. Or won’t you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kay said.

‘And now, Master Kay Harker,’ the old man replied, ‘you want me to go up to Seekings with my Punch and my Judy, and at half after five.’

‘Did Peter tell you?’ Kay asked. ‘Did my friend Peter Jones find you?’ The old man paid no attention to the question.

‘I will be there, Master Harker,’ the man said, ‘with my Punch and my Judy and at half after five. And perhaps,’ he added, ‘maybe I’ll bring more than my
Punch and my Judy, for a travelling man collects as he goes, or doesn’t he?’

‘I should think he would,’ Kay said, not knowing what else to say.

‘Ah,’ said the little old man. ‘You would think he would. You’re one that thinks right, then. And now, Master Harker, as I’ve heard tell that you’re fond of
birds, maybe you will tell me what bird you’d like best to see, of all the birds there are.’

‘There is a bird,’ Kay said, ‘that I’d like frightfully to see, but I’m afraid it doesn’t really exist.’

‘Ah, but perhaps it does exist, Master Harker,’ he replied. ‘Come, look now at the desert sands, where the pebbles are diamonds: look now, the spice tree; smell the spice upon
it.’

As he spoke he pointed at the fire. The kettle on its hob was steaming a little but not enough to dim the glow in the grate. As Kay looked, this seemed to open into a desert all glittering with
jewels. Kay knew that it was an Arabian desert, for, somehow, Egypt with the Pyramids were behind him, and mirages were forming far, far in the distance. Then, lo, in the midst of the desert was
the sole Arabian tree, oozing gum, its leaves dropping crystals of spice, its flowers heavy with scent, and its fruit shedding sweetness. Leaves, flowers, and fruit all grew upon it at the same
time.

As Kay looked, a wind parted the boughs, and, within, on a nest of cinnamon sticks, was a Phoenix. ‘It’s a Phoenix!’ Kay said. ‘And now, I can say I have seen one. Oh, I
wonder, will it begin to sing?’ The Phœnix did begin to sing. She lifted her head, and the plumes changed from white to gold, and from gold to orange. As the song increased, so as to
shake the very house, the plumes changed from orange to scarlet, and, lo, they were no longer plumes, but flames, which burned up the Phœnix, so that the song died away, and at last there was
no Phœnix, nor any nest, only some ash blowing away in the wind and a few embers.

‘Watch now,’ the old man said. Kay watched. Something stirred among the embers. Something was being thrust from among the embers, so that it fell with a little click upon the jewels
at the tree-foot. Kay saw another thing fall, and then saw that these things were white fragments of egg-shell, which the wind carried away.

Then out of the embers in the tree a little unfledged Phœnix rose. It hopped on to a branch, pecked a flower, then pecked a fruit and crowed.

‘There,’ the little old man said, ‘that is the bird you were afraid didn’t exist. But now, Master Harker, Master Cockfarthing is coming; so you shall see me at Seekings,
with my Punch and my Judy and my little dog Toby at one half after five.’

‘Oh, but please,’ Kay said, ‘I was to settle with you how much we were to pay for the performance.’

‘As to that,’ the man said, ‘suppose you were to dig down at Seekings, and found the way into what was, what would you pay for going in?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kay said.

‘And suppose,’ the man said, ‘you were to dig through at Seekings, and found the way into what is, what would you pay for going in? One silver sixpence with a hole in it,
isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kay said.

‘And I don’t know,’ the old man said, ‘that what you give for my great show will be a fair pay for all the wonders seen. But five new silver shillings won’t break
you; that and a biscuit for my Toby, and a dish of eggs and bacon afterwards for me.’

‘Indeed, you shall have all that,’ Kay said.

‘In my box,’ the old man said, ‘that I carry about with me, I’ve other delights besides my show.’ He tapped a little flat wooden box, covered with some black,
shining waxed or tarred cloth against the rain. ‘But perhaps you shall see that later, Master Harker, while I eat my eggs and my bacon, with my good grinder teeth.’

Kay thanked him very much, and went out from the
Drop of Dew
into the snow, which was now powdering the world and making all things dim. ‘How on earth did he show me the
Phœnix and know that I was thinking of it?’ he wondered. ‘And how did he know me, and all about me? I have never seen him before.’

Though he had not been long at the
Drop of Dew
, the storm had grown much worse while he had been there. It was so bad that he thought it wise to take the short cut to Seekings, through
Haunted Lane as it was called, which was a way he did not like, for it was a very dark lane of old houses some of which were still marked with red crosses on their doors to show that within them,
two centuries before, someone had lain sick of the plague.

He was very glad to get out of the lane into the open, and so over the fence into the garden and into Seekings out of the snow. In the house he found Peter.

‘I say, Kay,’ Peter said, ‘I’ve been all over the place and couldn’t find your Punch and Judy man.’

‘I’ve found him,’ Kay said. ‘He’ll be here at five-thirty. And now let’s get ready for Robber Tea.’

Robber Tea was one of Kay’s delights. It was a game only played in winter evenings, in the dark old study that had shelves full of old books, and old guns on the walls above the
shelves.

At the beginning of the game, the window curtains were drawn, so as to make a darkness. Then, the fire was built up with wood and coal, so as to make a hot toasting fire. Then, the table was
pulled to one side of the room against the bookshelves, and some dark curtains were brought down and spread over the table and adjoining chairs, so as to make an inner cave. When the cave had been
rigged, it was lit with some lanterns that had coloured glass slides. When all this was ready, a waterproof sheet was spread on the hearthrug with a supply of toasting forks, sausages, bread,
butter, dripping and strawberry jam. Then, the robbers lay in the glow of the fire toasting bread and sausages, and afterwards eating them in the inner cave.

When they had feasted, the robbers decided to turn in for the night with Peter as a guard outside. The clock on the mantel struck for half-past five. There came a noise of pan-pipes outside the
window.

‘Here is the Punch and Judy man,’ Kay said. ‘I’ll fetch him in.’

As he opened the door a whirl of snow sped in. There was the showman bent under the frame of his show, looking rather like a giant without any head or arms.

‘Do come in out of the snow,’ Kay said. The man came in and stamped the snow from him on to the mats, put down his show, and brushed the sleeves of his coat.

‘Wild weather, Master Harker,’ he said.

‘It is wild,’ Kay said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea before you play?’

‘No, I thank you, Master Harker, but it is as wild a night as any I’ve known, ever; and I’ve been a long time on the roads, Master Harker, first and last.’

‘How long, sir?’ Kay asked, for the man looked very old, although his eyes were so bright.