The Kingdom of Carbonel

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘But I thought you couldn’t take reference books home?’ said John.

  ‘Well, of course you can’t, but the girl in charge that day was one of my old pupils, and I persuaded her to let me, just this once. Oh dear, what have I done?’

  The invisible basketwork gave a protesting creak as Miss Dibdin heaved miserably in the chair. ‘Think of the fine I shall have to pay the library! And whatever will Katie say to the disappearance of all her furniture?’

  She jumped up and felt anxiously along the mantelpiece to reassure herself that the book was still there. But it is difficult to pick up a large invisible book which is propped insecurely on a narrow shelf. There was a slithering sound, as the book was dislodged by her fumbling fingers, and it slipped off the mantelpiece. It hit the saucepan handle with such force that the pan overturned, and the liquid slopped on to the hearth. The rag rug promptly disappeared. What sort of noise the book made when it fell on to the hearth rug nobody noticed, because of Miss Dibdin’s loud cry of distress.

  ‘It’s all upset. Oh, how clumsy of me! All that lovely vanishing mixture! And after so much trouble!’

  ‘And what a mess!’ said John. ‘It’s all over me. Lend me a hankie, Rosie!’

  Rosemary turned and held out her handkerchief. But John was nowhere to be seen. The handkerchief was taken from her limp fingers by his invisible hand, and she watched fascinated, while it seemed to float unaided in the direction of his voice. When it reached the place where his waist would have been, the handkerchief, too, disappeared.

  ‘John, don’t! Oh, do come back!’ said Rosemary in distress.

  ‘Come back? What on earth do you mean?’ said John.

  Rosemary swallowed hard.

  ‘You’ve gone invisible, too!’

  16

  Invisible

  ‘Don’t be so silly!’ said John crossly.

  ‘It’s not silly, you are invisible!’ said Rosemary, and she put out her hand to see if she could feel him. To her relief she could. He felt reassuringly warm and solid.

  ‘Well, you needn’t put your finger in my eye!’ he said.

  ‘Oh, my dears, how exciting!’ said Miss Dibdin, her depression forgotten. ‘An invisible boy! Who would have thought I could do it!’

  ‘Well, I certainly wish you hadn’t!’ said John. ‘What on earth is going to happen to me now?’

  ‘It’s a pity I can’t make the counter-spell, of course,’ said Miss Dibdin, ‘but I expect you’ll soon get accustomed to it, dear. It may even have its uses, you know!’

  ‘I don’t want to get accustomed to it,’ said John, sulkily, and then he went on in quite a different voice, ‘But pr’aps you’re right! I may find it quite useful!’ His voice came from somewhere near the hearth rug, as though he was stooping to pick something up.

  ‘Now then,’ he went on. ‘Suppose you tell us where the royal kittens are hidden!’

  This time his voice came, unexpectedly, a few inches from Miss Dibdin’s ear, and she started uncomfortably.

  ‘They aren’t hidden,’ she said, ‘and although I’m grateful to you for taking such an active part in my little experiment, it’s as much as my life is worth to tell you where the kittens are. Personally I’m thankful to be rid of them.’ She rubbed her scratched hands tenderly as she spoke.

  ‘Well, if you don’t tell us,’ said John, ‘I might have to make you invisible, too. There is just about enough of the mixture left at the bottom of the saucepan!’

  Rosemary turned to where a paper-thin pale-green disc lay on the hearth rug. She supposed this was all that was left at the bottom of the invisible saucepan. Fascinated, she watched it rise from the floor and heard John’s voice keeping pace with it as it advanced toward the retreating figure of Miss Dibdin. The liquid frothed and winked in a hundred bubbles as John twirled the invisible pan. Miss Dibdin had her back against the wall now, and above her head the mixture had taken the shape of something that is just about to be poured.

  ‘No!’ she said, putting up her hands to ward it off. ‘No! No! I don’t want to be invisible.’

  ‘I expect you’d get accustomed to it!’ said John. ‘And it may even have its uses! That’s what you said to me, you know. But I won’t do it if you tell me what you’ve done with the kittens!’

  ‘All right! All right! I’ll tell all I know, if you’ll only put the saucepan down!’

  Almost as anxiously as Miss Dibdin, Rosemary watched the green liquid right itself to a disc again and sink slowly on to the table. Miss Dibdin tottered across the room and sat heavily on the bed whose broken, but invisible springs jangled in protest.

  ‘I’ll tell you all I know, but it’s not very much,’ she said. ‘Katie went off to sell them both this afternoon, somewhere in Broomhurst, because she said no one was likely to look for them there, and she might as well make a bit of money out of them. When I asked her where she was taking them she just laughed and said something about two pins in a packet, and two peas in a peck. That’s all I know about it,’ she ended sulkily.

  ‘Thank you!’ said John. ‘Come on, Rosie.’

  The handle of the door seemed to turn of its own accord, and the door itself swung open. Wide-eyed, Rosemary squeezed through as much as possible to one side. The door closed behind them.

  ‘You needn’t behave as though I had the plague!’ said John as they went down the uneven stairs. ‘Being invisible may have its uses, but it’s jolly unpleasant.’

  ‘Oh, John, I’m so sorry!’ Rosemary felt for his hand, and in the dimness of the little downstairs room she threw her arms around him and gave him a hug, a thing that ordinarily she would not have dreamed of doing.

  ‘All right! All right!’ said John uncomfortably. ‘You needn’t choke me!’ But he said it in a voice that sounded comforted. ‘Come on, you old Rosie!’

  They opened the front door and went out into the sunlit street.

  ‘Let’s get home as quickly as possible,’ said Rosemary to the sound of John’s feet padding beside her. ‘I’m glad you didn’t do it, you know. I mean, I don’t like Miss Dibdin much when you can see her, but invisible –! You don’t think she’ll start brewing any more from that book of hers, do you?’

  ‘She won’t!’ said John cheerfully.

  ‘But if she can make it uninvisible again?’

  ‘It wouldn’t help her much if she could, because she hasn’t got it any longer. I picked it up from the hearth rug where it had fallen. But, of course, you couldn’t either of you see it. And, my good girl, if you used your eyes you’d see that I’ve got the remains of the invisible mixture, too! She’s done quite enough mischief with it already.’

  Rosemary backed away nervously as the pale green circle floated toward her. ‘Here, you’d better carry the saucepan. This book needs both arms,’ said John. Rosemary felt gingerly for his arm and slid her fingers down on to the handle.

  ‘But can you read it and find the counter-spell so that you can stop being invisible?’ she persisted.

  ‘Of course I can! Let’s find somewhere quiet where we can sit down and I can have a look!’

  ‘I’d much rather go home,’ said Rosemary.

  ‘I dare say, but you aren’t invisible,’ said John tartly.

  A man in a bowler hat, carrying a brief case, bumped heavily into him and looked after them in a puzzled way.

  ‘Oh, do come on!’ said Rosemary. ‘Poor man, it must be horrible to walk into an invisible boy.’

  ‘And it’s pretty horrible for an invisible boy to be walked into by a great hulking visible man. He trod on my foot, but I don’t get any sympathy. Oh, no!’

  Rosemary began hotly, ‘Well anyway –’ and then she stopped. ‘Oh, don’t let’s squabble. If ever there was a time to stick together, it’s now. Come on. Let’s cross the road and go into the public gardens over there. We can sit on the steps of the statue.’

  ‘If somebody thought they were going to sit on a seat and found themselves sitting on an invisible me, I should think they’d g
o potty,’ said John gloomily.

  Keeping close together they crossed the road. It was a small garden, bright with flower beds. In the centre was the statue of a departed benefactor of Fallowhithe. He stood forever leaning on a marble column. There were several mothers sitting on the wooden seats near by, knitting and gossiping in the sunshine, while their small children slept in prams or played around them.

  ‘How silly marble trousers look!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Never mind the statue!’ said John, and pulled her down beside him on the top step. She put out her hand, and although she could not see it she felt the powdery leather of the book’s ancient binding and the little breeze made by the paper as John hurriedly flicked the pages over.

  ‘It’s terribly difficult to read,’ he said. ‘The writing is all cramped and spidery. Now then, “Iniquity, invective,”’ he read. ‘Ah, here it is. “Invisibility”.’

  ‘Go on, read it!’ said Rosemary, and John read out slowly. ‘“First take the pan or pipkin formerly used for the Brew of Invisibility, and scour it thoroughly. Put in it seven eggshells full of water, so clear that it doth appear not to be there, and in the water place some transparent substance that by boiling will consume itself. When the water is at the boil, then by the light of a dwindled candle, seethe it until it shall have disappeared, stirring the meantime widdershins, and intoning this incantation…”

  ‘Don’t let’s bother about the incantation now,’ went on John. ‘What does “widdershins” mean?’

  ‘Widdershins means counterclockwise, like this,’ said Rosemary, and she stirred an imaginary saucepan.

  ‘I don’t think it does,’ said John. ‘It means the other way.’

  ‘No, this way!’ said Rosemary impatiently.

  ‘I bet it doesn’t,’ said John. ‘And what does “intoning” mean?’

  ‘It means singing, like this,’ and she proceeded to show him. ‘More or less li-i-i-ke this, like they do in chur-ur-urch!’

  She stood up the better to show what stirring widdershins meant and intoned. ‘And anyway, I thi-i-i-ink we’d better go home to di-i-i-inner!’

  She broke off as a soothing voice behind her said, ‘Yes, dearie, I should. The very best thing you can do!’

  She turned around. Looking up at her were three of the mothers.

  ‘Poor little thing! Talking to herself and waving her arms about,’ said one. ‘I noticed her when she came in, and I thought then she looked a bit queer,’ said another.

  ‘I don’t look queer!’ said Rosemary indignantly.

  ‘They ought not to let her out alone!’ said a little old woman with a bulging shopping basket. ‘They do say that talking to yourself is –’

  ‘But I wasn’t talking to myself,’ Rosemary broke in.

  ‘Then who were you talking to, dear?’ said the first woman, in a voice that was meant to soothe, but only maddened Rosemary.

  ‘Why, to John!’ she said unwarily. ‘He’s sitting beside me on the steps here, only you can’t see him, he’s invisible. Oh, don’t pull my skirt!’ she went on, ignoring John’s warning tweak, and pushing away the hand that no one could see.

  A short fat woman nodded to her tall friend. ‘I thought so, poor kid,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and fetch a taxi, and you and Mrs Podbury see she doesn’t come to any harm while I’m gone. Look after baby, Ida!’ she called over her shoulder, and bustled off.

  By this time a crowd of people had collected from nowhere, as crowds do, surrounding the statue and agreeing that it was a shame and that something ought to be done about it.

  ‘Now you’ve done it!’ said John under cover of the hum of discussion.

  ‘Whatever shall we do?’ said Rosemary desperately. Her face was red and her voice shook, but nothing would have made her give way to tears in front of so many people all oozing with unwanted sympathy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ whispered John. ‘But I’ll stand by you!’ and the hand he slipped into hers gave a heartening squeeze.

  From their vantage point on the steps they could see over the heads of the crowd. A taxi had stopped just outside the entrance, and the short fat mother was hurrying toward them.

  ‘Somehow we’ve got to create a diversion!’ said John.

  ‘Whatever’s that?’ asked Rosemary.

  ‘You’ll soon see!’ answered John. ‘Here, give me the saucepan!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t make somebody else invisible!’ said Rosemary in alarm.

  ‘Not somebody, something!’ said John from between tight lips. ‘It’s the only way!’

  Mrs Podbury was advancing from the crowd.

  ‘Now just tell me where you live, dear, and we’ll take you home in a nice taxi!’ she said in a cooing voice.

  But Rosemary did not have to answer. With a twist of his wrist John tipped the remaining green liquid over the marble statue. There was a little hiss, and suddenly the steps were there, the pedestal was there, but the statue of Sir Bartle Boole, J.P., had vanished into thin air.

  There was a moment’s pause and then a gasp rose from the crowd, which wavered and fell back.

  ‘I think it’s time we went home to dinner!’ said the short fat mother faintly, and seizing her pram in one hand and the protesting Ida in the other, hurried away.

  It suddenly seemed that no one in the crowd wanted to meet the eye of anyone else.

  ‘Quick!’ said John as the crowd began to melt. ‘Now’s our chance! Scram!’

  Together they ran for the gate. Rosemary looked back once. The knot of people had disappeared as completely as the statue of Sir Bartle Boole, J.P. They dashed past the taxi, whose driver was looking angrily around for his fare, down the road and around the corner as fast as they could go.

  ‘Let’s go home!’ panted John, ‘before anything else happens! What a morning!’

  17

  Adelaide Row

  When they reached home, without a word John and Rosemary made for the Green Cave. Rosemary flopped down with a sigh of relief. She could see where John was sitting by the sudden flattening of grass and fallen leaves beside her. A couple of beetles scuttled away from his invisible weight, protesting in shrill, startled voices.

  ‘I’m sorry we disturbed you!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Nice manners! Nice manners!’ chirruped a sparrow as it hopped on to the next bush.

  ‘Now then,’ said John. ‘I’ve been doing some pretty hard thinking. We’ve got so many problems to solve that we shall just have to take them as they come. The first is, what are we to say to your mother about me? I can’t go in to dinner like this!’

  Rosemary frowned.

  ‘Couldn’t you send a note to say you’ve been called away on urgent business?’ she suggested.

  ‘Oh, be your age, Rosie!’ said John. ‘You know very well that your mother would want to know what the urgent business was. And if you told her, she wouldn’t believe a word of it. I shouldn’t blame her, either.’

  ‘Well, supposing… I know! Go to the telephone box at the end of the road, ring up the Williamses in the flat below, and ask if you can speak to Mum. All you need do is remind her that you were going to see your aunt one day, and would it matter if you did not come home for dinner, and then ring off quickly before she asks awkward questions. I’ve got tuppence.’

  John had a penny, and two halfpennies which a kindly passer-by changed for them. Rosemary went with him to the call box. She watched the receiver apparently leap into the air and remain suspended, as John clamped it against his ear. She heard the pennies drop and saw the dial whizzing around of its own accord. After a pause the receiver floated down again and the door suddenly burst open, bumping her painfully on the nose.

  ‘Sorry,’ said John. ‘I forgot you couldn’t see I was coming out. It’s all right. Your mother didn’t seem to mind a bit. But you’d better hurry up because dinner has been ready for half an hour and it’s spoiling. It’s my favourite, steak and kidney pie and chocolate blancmange. Just my luck.’

  ‘I’l
l bring you some to the greenhouse,’ said Rosemary, ‘as soon as I can. You’d better see if Woppit has had any message from Blandamour.’

  It was rather an uncomfortable meal, spent in heading her mother off the subject of John’s sudden passionate desire to see an aunt of whom he was not usually very fond. After dinner, Rosemary was just putting a generous helping on a plate for John when her mother said, ‘Really, darling, I don’t think we can feed Woppit on steak and kidney pie! I’ve put some fish scraps on the cracked dish in the meat safe for her. Wash the dishes for me, dear, will you? I’ve promised to go around to old Mrs Hobby to fit her for a new summer frock. You know she can’t get out much now. I’m afraid you’ll have to see to your own tea, darling. I hope you won’t be lonely.’

  ‘I shall be too busy looking for the kittens, Mummy. We simply must find them,’ said Rosemary.

  When she reached the greenhouse carrying the cracked dish, she found Woppit curled up asleep on John’s knee. She was getting used to seeing the things that he was holding floating in the air. It seemed that the old cat had accepted his invisibility quite calmly. To her it was just another example of the unaccountable way that humans behave. She opened her eyes and jumped down at the word ‘dinner’, wriggling and writhing in a way that Rosemary found quite alarming until she realized that the cat was only rubbing herself against John’s invisible ankles. She explained about the dinner.

  ‘I’m afraid you and Woppit will have to share it.’

  ‘If so be you can swallow into an invisible stomach,’ said Woppit, ‘you can have all mine and welcome. You’ve done your best for my little furry favourites, according to your lights. I’ll say that for you.’