The Wizard in the Tree

by Llyod Alexander

  "Stop that immediately," snapped Arbican, pulling his head free of Burdick's grip. "I may have no say about my shape, but I'm not required to be pinched and prodded by some ignorant rustic who calls me ugly, into the bargain!"

  Mallory threw her hands up in despair. Her best hope had been somehow to convince the stubborn Burdick to disbelieve his own ears. Arbican's bad temper and wounded vanity had wrecked any chance of that; all the more since the enchanter kept on with his tongue lashing, beyond the possibility of anyone's mistaking his power of speech.

  Burdick, instead of taking offense, only seemed immensely pleased at finding his judgment so fully borne out. He nodded his head, as though he had seen dozens of such creatures and was deeply knowledgeable in all their ways:

  "Yes, that's one of them poll-piggies, all right. Where'd you get him?"

  "Nowhere," Mallory answered hastily. "I mean, I found him in the woods." She said no more, for her one wish was to get Arbican as far as she could from Burdick, before the enchanter's tongue brought him worse grief. But the farmer was not to be put off:

  "He must be worth a little something, eh? My old dad says he paid threepence to hear that poll-parrot. Why, folks should give half a crown to hear this fellow, for he's ten times the size of a bird. Whoever owned him could make a fortune on market days, just showing him off."

  "Half a crown, indeed!" muttered Arbican. "'Whatever that may be worth, it's hardly ample compensation. Merciful moon, to be made a spectacle for a crowd of yokels!"

  "They'd come for miles to hear him," Burdick went on. "From as far as Castleton." He narrowed his eyes at Mallory. "What will you take for him?"

  "He's not for sale. I told you he isn't that kind of pig."

  "That's a shame and a waste," replied Burdick. "To keep a curiosity like him and not turn some profit from it? A man would have to be a born fool if he let a prize like that go by."

  Mallory saw a crafty look come into Burdick's face. She moved closer to Arbican, meaning to pick him up and be gone before Burdick could think any further on the matter. The farmer, however, was quicker on his feet than Mallory had expected. He darted past her, snatched Arbican by the hind trotters, tucked him firmly under his arm, and plunged through the bushes.

  Shouting for him to stop, Mallory raced after the fleeing Burdick. Even with her strong legs and all the speed she could muster, she could not overtake the farmer, who rapidly outdistanced her and vanished into the woods. She could heard the pig squealing and bawling at the top of its voice. Following the cries, she soon reached the edge of a clearing, where she caught sight of Burdick, with Arbican kicking and sputtering under his arm, loping with great strides across a plowed field.

  Burdick was racing to the farmhouse that lay a short way ahead. Doubling her efforts, Mallory stumbled over the furrows, leaped a wall of stones, sped past the outbuildings and halted near the barn. Arbican's outcries had ceased, and she glanced around, uncertain where Burdick had taken him. In another moment, she heard voices, ran toward them, and found herself in a rutted yard near the stock pens.

  There, Burdick was shouting excitedly at the burly, gray-headed Farmer Tench, who was studying the pig with keen interest, weighing the struggling animal with his eyes, and giving much less attention to his son, frantically jigging up and down.

  "You see what I brought you, old dad?" Burdick cried. "You see this fellow here? You know what he is?"

  The elder Tench leaned on his rake, thoughtfully worked his jaws for several moments, then curtly nodded:

  "Pork." At this, his offspring chuckled and wrinkled his face into a knowing grin. "There's some as might say that."

  "I say it," replied Farmer Tench. Finishing his silent calculations, and appearing highly satisfied with them, he cocked a thumb toward the pen:

  "In there with him. Light a fire under the scalding vat and I'll sharpen my sticker."

  CHAPTER 9

  At that, Burdick hooted gleefully, as if he had succeeded in playing an enormous joke on his elder. "Stick him? You'll stick away a fortune! He's better than any pork you've ever seen, old dad. You'll be ever grateful I found him."

  "You didn't find him!" cried Mallory, who by this time had run to join the two farmers. "You stole him!"

  She would have tried then and there to snatch Arbican from Burdick; but the latter spun away to take refuge behind the solid bulk of his parent:

  "Don't you listen to her, old dad! He's a stray. He's as much mine as hers. More, as he was closer to our land."

  Tench eyed Mallory as he had previously eyed the pig. "What are you doing out of the cook shop? Does Parsel know what you're up to?"

  "I was tending my pig-" Mallory began. "Parsel don't keep pigs," answered Tench. "So he can't be yours."

  "I found him in the woods. He belongs to me and I want him back."

  "Hold on there," said Tench, fending off Mallory, who was still trying to come to grips with his son. "You tell me what you were doing in these parts to begin with."

  "That's right, old dad," put in Burdick. "She's got no business around here, coming to take our fortune away from us."

  "Stop rattling, boy," commanded Tench. "I'll get to the bottom of this. She might have a claim and she might not."

  "Don't you listen to her, whatever she says," cried Burdick. "She'll do us out of bushels of gold! Don't you know what I've got here? It's a poll-piggy!" Tench frowned at his son, who hurried on:

  "You remember that green bird you told about? That talked as clear as a man? Well, this one's the same."

  "Boy," said Tench, "if you think this pig's a green bird, you go straight away and cool your head under the pump. You tell me: Do you see one feather on him?"

  "No, no!" protested Burdick. "I mean he talks. Talks, do you hear? Like you and me. I caught a treasure for us!"

  "You lock that pig in the pen," said Farmer Tench. "Then get yourself to bed and I'll give you a fluxion. You caught a brain fever, that's what you caught."

  "I tell you this poll-piggy talks," Burdick insisted, as he lifted Arbican over the wooden fence and dropped him into the muddy enclosure. "You should've heard him when I was bringing him here. He called me every spiteful name he could think of."

  "So he should," replied Tench. "And did he call you a jackass for thinking a swine can talk?"

  "You just listen to him," declared Burdick, hauling his father closer to the railing. Mallory at the same time clambered hastily into the pen, where she knelt beside Arbican and threw her arms protectively around his neck. "Go on, old dad, have a word with him You'll see how he answers back. He'll make your ears burn."

  Tench hesitated and shook his head. Burdick, however, so pushed and prodded him that he grudgingly cleared his throat, and loudly demanded:

  "Now, pig, speak up."

  Mallory held her breath, expecting Arbican would be more than willing to give Farmer Tench a piece of his mind. Instead, to Mallory's relief, the enchanter wisely held his tongue and merely stared wordlessly at his captors.

  Tench turned angrily to his son. "That's what you're up to, eh? One of your pranks? To have me make a fool of myself?"

  "Give him a chance, old dad," said Burdick. "You're too quick with him. He's a skittish creature. You've put him off, going at him so short." With that, Burdick doffed his hat, bent down, and went on in a cajoling voice:

  "How do you do, sir? You're looking well, Master Porker. That's a fine curly tail you have, sir. Now, I don't hold it against you, what you said to me. We're friends, us two. We'll both have our fortunes made. On my word, you'll be well looked after. A pail of swill every day, that's what you'd like, eh? Now, what do you say to that?"

  In reply, the pig turned away and began rooting among the clods in the pen. Tench flung down his rake, seized his son by the scruff of his neck, and hauled him to his feet:

  "Leave off! You've more to do than pass the time of day with a pig."

  Seeing his prize betraying him, and the fortune in danger of vanishing before it had even come in
to his hands, Burdick shook his fist at Mallory:

  "That's your fault! You're egging him on to hold his tongue. You make him speak up like he did before."

  "I told you pigs don't talk," Mallory flung back.

  "I heard what I heard. Unless you were tricking me some way. Enticing me to think he was a true poll, piggy, and then fob off any sort of dumb swine!"

  "I didn't ask you to steal him," returned Mallory, hoping Arbican's refusal to speak had convinced the Tenches there was no profit in keeping him. She was about to open the gate of the pen while Burdick continued to upbraid her for cheating him. Farmer Tench, who had gone off to the shed, now reappeared.

  "You do as I say," he told his son. "You set that scalding vat bubbling."

  "What for?" cried Mallory, horrified to see a long, thin-bladed knife in the farmer's hand. "You can't mean to butcher him!"

  Tench stared at her, puzzled. "That I do," he said. "I'll have some use out of this fellow. We don't get meat like this from one month to the next."

  "Stay away!" cried Mallory, running to the side of Arbican. "Don't you touch him!"

  "Now, lass," replied the farmer in a soothing voice, "no cause to take on like that. I'll set matters right with Parsel. You'll have a nice bit of fresh ham to take back to him; some chops, too. That's a fair share, as I have all the work to do."

  Burdick clapped his hands. "Hear that, you worthless poll-piggy? You had your chance. Now it's the pork barrel for you!"

  Mallory caught up the pig in her arms. "Tell them who you are," she whispered in his ear. "Try to turn into something else! Anything! They're going to slaughter you!"

  Arbican only snuffled; and now it was Mallory's turn to beg him to speak. Burdick, meantime, whooped and shouted mockingly:

  "Souse and sausage! Bacon and lard! Serves you right! Now you'll squeal a tasty tune!"

  In spite of Mallory's urging, Arbican voiced no more than a desperate grunting. His plump cheeks had gone red with his efforts and, in growing terror, Mallory realized his powers had once more failed him.

  Farmer Tench, with Burdick following eagerly, strode into the pen. From his smock, he pulled out a length of cord as he told Mallory:

  "That's right, you hold him fast. I'll tie up his trotters. Then let him kick all he wants."

  "No!" cried Mallory. "He's not a pig!"

  Tench squinted at her and sadly shook his head. "I thought my boy was addled. Poor thing, you're worse off than he is. Look there at that snout. Pure pig, if ever I've seen one. Look there at that twisty tail. Now, if he's not a pig true as all nature, you tell me what he is."

  "An enchanter!" blurted Mallory, seeing only disaster in keeping Arbican's identity a secret. "He's a wizard. He changed into a pig and now he can't change back. Before, he was a stag-"

  "Sure he was," replied Tench, agreeably. "Or a fox, a badger, whatever suits your fancy. Wizard, you say? Then, so he is; and we'll have wizard for supper, smoked and salted."

  "You can't kill him," insisted Mallory. "That's murder!"

  "That's meat!" said the farmer, brandishing his knife. "Witless or no, you're not keeping food off my table. Now, do as I say, girl, or I swear I'll carve him where he is."

  Mallory tightened her hold on Arbican, whose frantic squealing convinced her all the more that his power of speech had vanished. However, by no means had he lost his understanding, for the look in his eyes told her he knew very well what the farmer intended.

  "Carve him?" cried Mallory. "You'll have to carve me, first!"

  His face reddening, Tench shook the knife under Mallory's nose. "Is that how Parsel brought you up? To back-talk your elders? Rub me the wrong way and you'll see what you get."

  "That's right, old dad," shouted Burdick. "You tell her! She did us out of our fortune, she's not going to do us out of our bacon!"

  Tench hesitated, not really willing to carry out his threat; but uncertain how to deal with Mallory, who had stubbornly planted her feet and never budged an inch from where she stood. Seeing his father's puzzled frown, Burdick snatched the knife away and with a bloodcurdling yell, made as if to plunge it into Mallory's throat.

  The blade stopped a hair's breadth from its mark, but it was all Mallory could do to keep herself from flinching. Trembling though she was, she looked Burdick boldly in the eyes, hoping her fear showed less than her determination.

  "Stop it!" ordered Tench. "Fools, both of you!" He beckoned to his son. "Put down that sticker. Give me a hand before you do harm past mending."

  Dropping the knife, Burdick joined his father, who now tried by sheer force to pull the squealing pig from Mallory's grasp. Though Arbican kicked sharply, and Mallory did her best to break free, she was no match for the two farmers. Burdick pummeled and buffeted her, Tench tugged with all his might at the enchanter; until at last Mallory's strength gave way and she fell, sobbing with anger, to the muddy ground.

  "You got him, old dad!" Whooping triumphantly, Burdick ran from the pen and started for the shed. Mallory scrambled to her feet and threw herself upon Farmer Tench. Taken unawares by this new assault, Tench stumbled to his knees and flung out a hand to break his fall. The pig wriggled loose and darted through the gate.

  Tench bawled for his son to head off the fleeing animal, who scurried with all the speed of its flying trotters out of the yard and across the field.

  Mallory would have followed; but, as she raced from the enclosure, a horse-drawn wagon lumbered into the farmyard. Before she could spring aside, the driver jumped down and blocked her way.

  "Never mind the girl!" shouted Farmer Tench. "Get the pig!"

  The wagon driver paid no attention to the farmer's yelling. Instead, blinking in astonishment, he caught Mallory by the arm.

  "What have you done?" cried Mr. Parsel. "Squire's got all the village looking for you!"

  CHAPTER 10

  The face of the would-be innkeeper puckered and he looked as unhappily surprised to see Mallory as she to see him.

  "Oh, Mallie," cried Mr. Parsel. "Where have you been? What have you done? Mrs. Parsel nearly had a seizure, she's that upset. Squire's put up a reward for you, like a common criminal."

  "I've done nothing but help an-an old man," Mallory returned. "That's no crime, whatever Scrupnor says."

  "Old man? Why, he's the brute who did away with poor Sorrel. Squire caught him dead to rights-and you along with him. Oh, poor girl, what have you got yourself into? Good thing I came to buy vegetables from Tench. Who knows what would happen if someone else found you!"

  From Mr. Parsel's expression, Mallory judged he was desperately wishing he had never found her in the first place. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, as though fervently hoping that when he opened them again, Mallory would have disappeared.

  "I won't go back to the village," Mallory declared. "My friend's in worse trouble than I am. I have to find him. Scrupnor's a liar. He's blaming Arbican for something he didn't do."

  "Who's Arbican?" Mr. Parsel hastily added, "No, no, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Things are in enough of a stew. If you don't come back, you'll make matters worse."

  "How could I do that?" Mallory replied bitterly. She braced herself, ready to fend off any attempt by Mr. Parsel to force her into the wagon. Mr. Parsel, however, showed no sign of wanting to pit his strength against Mallory's determination, but only looked all the more woebegone.

  "Well, then," said Mr. Parsel, "what shall you do?" He glanced uneasily behind him, as if he were afraid Scrupnor might overhear him or, worse, Mrs. Parsel, and added in a low voice:

  "Mallie, you're not a wicked girl, whatever anyone says. If there's a way to help you-"

  By now, having given up any hope of recapturing the pig, Farmer Tench and his son came to join Mr. Parsel. While Burdick glared at Mallory, Tench burst out angrily:

  "Parsel, your wench cost me some fine ham and pork chops-and you might have had a share of them, too. My boy found her with a pig on my land. Stolen, for all I know; but she had no business with it in the fi
rst place. If it hadn't been for her stubbornness, I'd have him curing in the smokehouse this very moment."

  "That's right, old dad," Burdick put in. "And she tried to make fools of us with a poll-piggy that couldn't even speak his own name."

  "Don't tell me anything about stolen pigs," said Mr. Parsel. "I don't want to know about that, either."

  "Well, you'll want to know she needs a good whipping," Tench said, "and I mean to give her one."

  As the farmer made to unbuckle his belt, Mr. Parsel choked, gulped, and at last managed to declare with uncustomary boldness:

  "No, you won't. If she's to be punished, I'll see to that myself." At the same time, he took Mallory's arm and drew her to the wagon. Taken aback by Mr. Parsel's show of authority, Tench spat and grumbled, but did nothing to carry out his threat.

  For her part, Mallory was only too glad for any means that would get her away from Tench and Burdick. She jumped quickly to the seat beside Mr. Parsel, who slapped the reins against the horse's flanks and sent the wagon creaking out of the farmyard.

  "If you want to help me," said Mallory, once they were out of sight, "you can drive me fast as you can to the edge of that field."

  As the wagon jolted along the rutted lane, Mallory peered past the hedgerows, hoping to catch some glimpse of Arbican.

  "What are you looking for?" Mr. Parsel asked, urging the horse to a brisker pace. "My friend," Mallory answered. "He ran into the woods. He may be looking for me, too."

  "The murderer?" Mr. Parsel's cheeks paled, and he seemed ready to halt the wagon and take to his heels. "I told you he's done no harm," said Mallory. "If we find him, you'll see for yourself."

  At the prospect of coming face to face with a wanted fugitive, Mr. Parsel trembled violently. "No, no thank you," he said hastily. "I want nothing to do with that fellow."