The Elfin Ship (27 page)

‘No, the Beddlington Ape,’ said the Professor.

‘At the fair at the City of the Five Monoliths,’ Thrimp replied. ‘The “Thing on all fours” I have no wish to see.’

‘But science, my good Thrimp,’ the Professor, brought the discussion back round to his original point, ‘has a place for the Beddlington Ape. It’s a matter of rays emanated from the lower reaches of the eyeball. Somnambulism it’s called, as you are no doubt already aware. But science, with its charts and forces, has no room in it at present for the flight of an airship. No, Mr Thrimp, I prefer a scientific explanation, and would like to have one in regard to the operation of this ship.’

Thrimp nodded. ‘I suppose I can arrange it, Professor. You are, of course, absolutely correct. I’ll ask Twickenham for permission to tour the propulsion apparatus room.’

‘This is more like it,’ the Professor said to Jonathan as Thrimp disappeared through the door which led to the forward compartment, the room with the emerald walls. ‘I can barely imagine the gyros and combines and anti-force apparatus that operate this machine.’

‘They must be compact,’ said Jonathan, unable to determine where such things could be hidden on the tiny cylindrical ship.

‘Oh, elves are immensely clever,’ said the Professor. ‘Especially with miniatures.’

Thrimp returned and beckoned to Jonathan and the Professor to follow him. They passed through the door into a room of glowing green light where Twickenham and another elf engaged in conversation. Twickenham doffed his hat and bowed.

‘Professor,’ he said. ‘I have infinite respect for a man of science. It’s not to anyone that I’d reveal the workings of our craft which is, you’ll find, very deceptive and improbable. But to you and Mr Bing I’m honored to grant such a boon.’ Twickenham bowed again as did Jonathan and the Professor and Dooly, who, fearing to be left behind, had followed his two companions forward. Ahab, who didn’t care a penny for either science or airships, remained sleeping in Dooly’s seat.

Jonathan noticed a rather small door in the side of the ship which, anyone would assume, led into empty space. In fact, swirls of clouds were visible through the deep green of the emerald from which it was cut. Thrimp led them toward that door which seemed to swing open by itself, or rather to simply fade from green to blue to black – the same sort of black the night is made of. The three companions peered into the darkness. Then the Professor began to step through, but Thrimp put a hand on his arm and restrained him.

‘I can’t see a thing,’ the Professor reported.

‘It’s cold,’ said Dooly.

‘It’s dark as pitch,’ the Professor said, ‘but I think I hear the hum of the devices.’

Jonathan held his breath and could hear, very faintly, a roaring sound – more the shouting of wind in a deep canyon than the hum of a machine. He began to wish he were elsewhere.

The darkness, however, either began to brighten or their eyes began to grow accustomed to the dark. They could make out the vague outlines of a vast, dimensionless room without any observable walls or floor or ceiling. The echoes of shouts and creaking ropes and the clacking operation of vaguely outlined machinery became clearer and clearer – great millwheel devices and a slowly spinning cube suspended in air; a forest of hanging ropes and chains attached to pulleys and cranks were almost invisible in the air above. A host of little men dressed in leather coats and white aprons, many with pencils stuck behind ears, scribbled on paper note pads and shouted incoherent orders to one another. Jonathan could hear words and phrases which he supposed the Professor understood. Things like, ‘Treppan the lumen!’ and ‘Haul on the crank-about!’ and ‘Overcome the sky tides!’ were tossed back and forth by the little men in a haphazard but essential way as they worked furiously, yanking on pulleys and twirling little merry-go-round apparatus that glowed in the deep reaches of the room miles and miles away, it seemed, like wild pinwheels.

Thrimp, somehow, shut the door, and the three found themselves looking at clouds through an emerald wall.

‘That’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen.’ Professor Wurzle had a look of awe on his face. ‘What were those spinning devices?’

‘What do you suppose?’ asked Thrimp.

‘Why I’ve no doubt they’re gyros of a sort,’ Wurzle replied.

‘That’s exactly it. Gyros is what they are. As many as you please.’

‘Ah.’ The Professor shook his head, obviously puzzled. ‘As many gyros as I please,’ he muttered as they trooped out and resumed their seats.

Jonathan wasn’t sure what he’d just seen, but he was fairly sure that whatever it was, it had very little to do with the running of the ship. Or perhaps, it had everything to do with it. Perhaps he had seen the secret of the operations of everything – of all of the Professor’s forces and laws and such. Who could say?

Soon they found themselves flying above Thrush Haven – nothing more than a section of rocky shoreline, smashed in the winter by long north swells that wrapped around the tip of Manatee Head and made it idiotic to bring a ship of any size within a half mile of shore. Jonathan thought it peculiar that the place was called a ‘Haven’ since it was so clearly the opposite, and neither the Professor nor Thrimp nor any of the linkmen could explain the thing. Although it was a pleasant enough day now that the clouds were far behind, the surf appeared to be running high; waves broke against the mountainous rocks along the shoreline, sending cascades of spray fifty feet into the air. Beyond the surfline, spotted seals sat about in clumps, one now and again sliding off into the water and disappearing, no doubt, in search of a passing fish.

‘Tough way to make a living,’ Jonathan pointed out. ‘You’d think those seals would have seen through this “haven” business and moved on long ago.’

‘Seals haven’t any sense of irony,’ the Professor said. ‘And they trust anyone – rather like old Ahab here.’

Ahab’s ears wiggled at the sound of his name. He seemed fairly pleased to be compared favorably with seals.

The airship zoomed along above the sea but below the tops of the cliffs that rose several hundred feet above the shore. Sea birds by the thousands, nested along the cliff face, were dashing off in all directions, skimming over the tops of the waves and soaring on the breeze.

‘Thrushes?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Not a one,’ answered old Wurzle, who, as a naturalist, knew about that sort of thing. ‘There aren’t any thrushes this far down the valley. Never have been.’

‘I see,’ said Jonathan.

The airship circled once, and Thrimp pointed out a dark slash at the base of the cliffs. As the surge washed out, it was revealed as the mouth of a long, low cave. Jonathan could see enough to realize that the thing must be sixty or eighty yards long. When the surge
whooshed
back in, the opening disappeared and only the arched top of the mouth was visible.

Dooly watched the activity below as if he wished he were back in Twombly Town. Jonathan felt bad about the whole thing. Although he knew that Dooly had not, in effect, betrayed his grandfather, Dooly’s guilty face and general slump made all the logic in the world beside the point. Jonathan half hoped that Old Escargot would be long gone – off stealing emeralds from the jewel elves or trapping nautili and frog fish in the kelp-choked seas south of the Wonderful Isles.

The ocean disappeared behind them as the airship topped the cliff and settled onto the grasses of the heath beyond. Jonathan half expected the ship to go sliding in, bouncing on rocks and lurching over hillocks, but it simply ceased to hum all of a sudden and sank groundward at a leisurely rate, barely bumping at all when it settled.

‘Smooth landing,’ Jonathan said to the Professor, who was crammed against the window so as to get a clear view of their descent.

‘That would be the gyros.’ The Professor looked to Thrimp for support.

‘Of course it is.’ Thrimp hopped up, then headed off down the aisle toward the hatch. Squire Myrkle bulked out behind Thrimp, squeezing between the seats. He made a sound like bubbling laughter. ‘Thrimp, blimp, gimp, wimp, dimp.’ Thrimp responded in kind, calling over his shoulder, ‘Squire, wire, cauliflyer.’ Then he popped on through to open the hatch and down the stairway onto the meadow. Dooly perked up at the cheerful mood of Thrimp and the Squire. Watching Dooly laugh at all the name calling, it occurred to Jonathan that the Squire and Dooly had the same sense of humor – a very peculiar sense of humor to be sure, but one which seemed to make any situation a bit lighter. That, as far as Jonathan was concerned, was always a good idea.

It seemed as if Dooly had forgotten for the moment that his grandfather, although no doubt looking forward to seeing his favorite grandson, would frown at the idea of being visited by a party of elves and linkmen intent on persuading him to undertake a difficult and dangerous task. Worse, even, Old Escargot obviously wasn’t hiding from enemies of any sort, but from himself. And Twickenham was determined to change all that.

What they would accomplish by strolling on the meadow, however, Jonathan couldn’t say. He followed along as Twickenham, urging Dooly along ahead of him, made off toward a stand of blown and bent cypress trees that formed a forest of sorts in a little valley between two grassy hills. Twickenham pointed and gestured while Dooly shrugged repeatedly as if he had an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t reach. Finally Dooly nodded and seemed to slump a bit, whereupon Squire Myrkle patted him on the back and cheered him. Jonathan could never be sure about the Squire, who seemed to be the dimmest sort of good-natured half-wit one moment, then oddly shrewd another. He was a marvelous sight though, hurrying along at the head of the procession, his arms swinging about his body as he lumbered puffing forward on bulky legs.

They paused in the midst of the stand of cypress, and Twickenham began stomping about with one hand cupped at his ear and prodding and poking with his walking stick as if searching for a buried clam. He thumped, finally, against something hollow and wooden. Then with the help of Bufo and Dooly, he scraped away dirt and brush from atop what turned out to be a trapdoor made of heavy wooden planks, worm-eaten and dark from having been buried. The whole thing was nestled into a hole in the earth. Mr Bufo, a theorist in the manner of the Professor, found two rocks nearly the same size – and shape, in fact – as the Squire’s head; he hauled them over. They set one at each of two corners, and using two oak walking sticks pried away at the heavy door until it popped loose. A dozen hands hauled back the door to reveal a dark passage dug out beneath the twisted roots of the cypress and shored up with heavy timbers. A ladder of sorts led down into the depths.

‘Is this it?’ Twickenham asked Dooly.

‘Yes, sir,’ Dooly answered. ‘Begging your honor’s pardon, sir, but old Grandpa described just such a hole, and it ain’t a goblin hole neither, but leads to the caves.’

‘Shall we?’ Twickenham asked the company in general. Everyone nodded and chattered and gathered round the mouth of the hole as Twickenham scrambled down. Each one followed in turn until only the Squire and Ahab remained above, peering down at them grinning. Clearly, when Squire Myrkle stepped onto the first rung, the ladder would be tried fearfully by his weight. It bowed downward, creaking and snapping; those below pushed back deeper into the dark corridor.

‘Hold on, Squire!’ Bufo shouted. ‘Don’t come any farther!’

‘Here comes the Squire!’ the Squire shouted and lowered himself a bit farther, one leg swinging ponderously back and forth as he groped for the second rung.

‘Wait, Squire!’ Bufo shouted again. ‘You’ll break it all to smash, and none of us will get out!’

The Squire stopped and peered back down into the darkness. ‘The Squire will stand guard outside, with the beast,’ he said, as he crawled out of the hole.

‘Me too!’ shouted Stick-a-bush, who scrambled out after him. ‘I’ll keep the Squire company.’

‘Me too!’ cried Dooly, charging after Stick-a-bush, but Twickenham latched onto his belt and brought him to an abrupt stop. ‘Maybe I won’t,’ said Dooly, scratching his head. ‘Maybe two guards is enough.’

‘Perhaps so,’ said Twickenham. With Dooly in tow, he led away downward. A blast of sea air, moist and salty, blew up the tunnel at them. The walls were wet with it and mossy to the touch. Each member of the party hung on to the belt or shirt of the one in front of him so as not to fall behind or take a wrong turning. When Twickenham stopped abruptly, everyone pummeled together like toppling dominoes; Jonathan fell in a heap on top of Bufo and the Professor. There was a general shouting and scuffling, but when things were sorted out, Jonathan marveled at the sight that lay spread out before them.

It was a tremendous vaulted cavern, wide and deep enough to house a fleet of ships. Sunlight streamed in from shafts in the rocky ceiling, and great stone pillars angled away toward the cathedral ceiling a hundred feet overhead.

Below them and away to the right a path stretched over the stone, chiseled clear here and there and leading past what appeared to be other tunnels cutting away into the cliffs. Directly below was a wide and peaceful lagoon, green and murky within the twilight of the cavern. The mouth of the cavern, which they had seen during their flight along the cliffs, was visible in the distance, a sliver of light which opened to a half circle as the surge ebbed, then closed again to a sliver a minute later. At each surge a glassy swell humped across the face of the lagoon, swishing quietly up onto the rocks some few feet beyond and below where Jonathan stood with the rest of the company.