Whispering in the Wind

by Alan Marshall

  They had been swept behind the table where he couldn’t see them. He was having trouble himself. His stew was ruined. The fire was out and he kept stumbling over submerged kitchen utensils. He barked his shins against the rubbish tin and hit his head on a big coffee-grinder that was screwed to the wall. He stumbled and fell several times and began cursing the kitchen weather in an angry voice.

  Peter yelled out to him but his words were lost in the roar of water. It was carrying them down the kitchen in a series of rapids that tossed them from one part of the room to another. Then they found themselves in a gigantic whirlpool that washed them round and round in a huge circle, bringing them nearer and nearer to the centre from where there came a terrifying gurgle.

  ‘We’re in the kitchen sink,’ cried Peter who suddenly realised that the gurgling was coming from the plug-hole. A wave of water carried them to the sink’s edge where Moonlight managed to clamber out, dragging Peter and Greyfur behind. They had been clinging to the stirrup leathers for support and the pony’s powerful legs lifted them with him. He sprang into the water which flowed past the sink and they were all swept towards the doorway where the floodwater converged for its journey down the passage.

  It was now a powerful river pouring over the doorstep in one immense wave. Moonlight, his head lifted, his nostrils distended, carried Peter and Greyfur with him in a swift plunge over the cascade and into the passage. They shot forward, borne by the raging water, and in a moment were hurled out into the open where the flood spread out over the flat ground and dispersed amongst the grass, on its way down to the creek.

  Greyfur shook herself, freeing herself of the water which clung to her coat. Peter was soaked but as soon as the sun shone upon him he became suddenly dry. He found he was wearing a coat of blue velvet with golden buttons. The plumed hat was back on his head and the fine boots which he had thought would be ruined by water, were dry and polished.

  Greyfur was not surprised at the change in his appearance. ‘You have to get a new pair of trousers yet,’ she said as she looked at him. ‘The whole effect is ruined by your trousers. You still have a long way to go before you become a prince.’

  She was interrupted by the giant, who came out of the castle wringing water from his beard. His boots squelched as he walked. He began apologising for the trouble he had caused them. He was worried over the loss of the stew and wanted to prepare another meal.

  ‘Don’t worry about us,’ said Greyfur. ‘I carry our food supply in my pouch. It is getting late and we must be on our way.’

  ‘Before we go,’ said Peter, ‘you must release the people you have imprisoned in little boxes. Now that you have become a kind giant instead of a cruel one, you must never take any more prisoners. You must help all the people who pass this way and not try and make them all the same.’

  ‘I was going to release them as soon as we had finished our lunch,’ said the Jarrah Giant. ‘We’ll do it now. Follow me.’

  He walked to a small doorway in the castle wall which led down a narrow stairway into a huge dungeon lined with little boxes. Boys and girls and men and women were jammed into these boxes in the most uncomfortable positions. When the prisoners saw Peter and Greyfur they all began shouting, ‘Help us! Get us out of here!’

  ‘I’m going to free you all,’ said the giant. ‘Then I will give you food and help you on your way.’

  Peter and the kangaroo helped him to open the doors. They ran from box to box unfastening the latches and assisting the people to step out on to the ground. They were all stiff and cramped and had to swing their arms and move their feet about before they felt ready to walk again. The giant led them up the dungeon steps and out into the sunshine. They looked up at the sun and the clouds and the tops of the trees, and colour came into their pale cheeks at the thought of being free again.

  ‘We must leave you all now,’ said Peter, ‘as we have a long journey to make. The Jarrah Giant will look after you. He’ll give you food and show you the way.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said the giant. ‘They have nothing to fear from me any more.’

  Peter mounted Moonlight and turned to wave his hand at the giant and the people round him.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he called.

  ‘Goodbye,’ they answered.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ called the Jarrah Giant.

  Peter cantered away, followed by Greyfur.

  6

  Peter and Greyfur are Captured by the Pale Witch

  Sometime later, while going through a broad and scrubby valley, Peter began to feel tired. He looked back and saw that Greyfur was some distance behind him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he called.

  Greyfur hopped slowly along the track and sat down beneath a tree on the edge of a clearing.

  ‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘I feel as if I don’t want to do anything. All I want to do is to sit down under a tree and play a guitar.’

  She pulled a guitar from her pouch and began playing a folk song. Peter dismounted from Moonlight and sat down beside her with his back against a log.

  ‘I feel like that too,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to search for a Beautiful Princess. I’d like to live here and not do anything. I’d like to build a hut beneath these trees and just spend my time doing nothing at all. I wonder why we’ve become like this.’

  A kookaburra suddenly flew out of the bush and perched on the limb of a tree above them. He started to laugh and it seemed to Peter and Greyfur that he was laughing at them.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Well,’ said the kookaburra, ‘I’ve seen many people pass through this bush and they all become tired like you. They don’t want to work. They don’t want to travel. They just sit down and nothing matters any more. It’s because you are in the land of the Pale Witch and she has cast a spell upon you. Peter will forget the Beautiful Princess. You will both lose all ambition. Then the witch will appear and she will seem quite kind to you. She will invite you to her home, then she will kill you both and cook you for dinner. You see she eats people. She is a very wicked witch.’

  Greyfur shoved the guitar back in her pouch and stood up. She was most annoyed. ‘I refuse to be eaten by any witch. What we’ve got to do is to get rid of this terrible feeling that has come upon us. Let us do some breathing exercises and jump around until we feel strong again. We must pull ourselves together.’

  ‘I don’t want to pull myself together,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t want to do anything. It’s too hot.’

  He took off his velvet coat and threw it on the ground beside him. He then lifted the chain from around his neck and dropped it on the ground beside the log. Attached to it was the little leather bag containing the Magic Leaf, which lay hidden in the long grass.

  Now that he did not have the Magic Leaf to give him strength, he grew irritable and began to dislike people. He found himself becoming angry with Greyfur who was bounding to and fro trying to rid herself of her strange fatigue.

  ‘Why don’t you come and sit down?’ Peter yelled out angrily. ‘All that jumping about won’t help you. Don’t be a fool.’

  ‘If I sit down I’ll go to sleep,’ explained Greyfur. ‘I want to watch out for the Pale Witch.’

  ‘Jumping about won’t do you any good,’ growled Peter, whose head was beginning to droop.

  Greyfur looked at him and felt worried. She went over to Moonlight and led him to a patch of green grass. She patted him and said, ‘Don’t leave this place, Moonlight. Whatever happens stay round here.’

  She went back to Peter who was now sound asleep. She realised that the witch must be somewhere about and that her spell was getting stronger. Greyfur was determined to stay awake. She shook Peter and tried to rouse him. She stopped and stood erect, listening. She could hear someone approaching through the bush.

  The kookaburra flew away and disappeared into the trees. From the high limb on which he had been perching he had seen the witch approaching. She was walking slowly with a bent head d
own the narrow pathway that threaded the bush. When she got close to Peter and Greyfur she raised her head and looked at them and her eyes were glowing with malice. She wore a high black hat and a black cloak. She had a hooked nose and a chin that curved up towards it. She carried a broom and there was a crow sitting on her shoulder.

  ‘Ah, my lovely children,’ she said softly. ‘Come with me to my home and see the beautiful things I have for you.’

  She looked them over carefully. She pinched Peter’s arms and legs and whispered, ‘He is very plump and would make a good meat pie. Come and have a meal with me,’ she said coaxingly.

  ‘We would rather not eat with you,’ said Greyfur.

  ‘I think your friend would,’ said the witch. She touched Peter’s shoulder and he opened his eyes. At first he was bewildered and didn’t notice the witch bending over him. Then his eyes became afraid and he sat up abruptly.

  ‘Stand up,’ said the witch in a wheedling voice. ‘Stand up and follow me. I’m your friend. I won’t hurt you. Come on, now.’

  Peter had risen unsteadily to his feet and stood watching her.

  ‘Come! Follow me,’ she said.

  As if against his will Peter began walking after her. He swayed as if he was drunk but the witch’s persuasive voice reassured him and he straightened himself and followed her with a firm step.

  Greyfur hesitated. She could have resisted the witch’s spell and stopped where she was, but she couldn’t leave Peter so she followed them. She noted the pathway so that she could remember it again. She was sure that Moonlight would remain grazing near the log.

  The witch led them to a little hut almost hidden in a grove of wattle trees. It was rather a forbidding hut with a steep roof and small, dusty windows. There was a chimney at one end and a small lean-to porch at the other.

  Peter followed the witch through the porch into the only room the hut contained. It was a strange room. A black cat sat before the fire, an owl perched on a beam beneath the ceiling, a huge cauldron suspended by a chain from a hood in the chimney hung over the log fire. It was steaming quietly.

  In one corner was a big cage with its padlocked door standing open. The witch stepped into this cage and Peter followed her. Greyfur, who was now so drowsy she hardly knew what she was doing, stepped in after them.

  This was what the witch wanted. She whipped round and sprang through the doorway, slamming the door behind her. She locked it and Peter and Greyfur were prisoners.

  They must have fallen asleep immediately since, when they opened their eyes again, it was evening and the witch was sitting on a chair repairing her broom. Their heads were clear and they realised the spell had left them.

  ‘So you are awake,’ said the witch, raising her head to look at them. ‘Good. Now don’t worry. Just enjoy yourselves. I won’t be cooking either of you for a few days and in the meantime I want you to eat well and get fat. In a minute I must set off for the moon. You see, I have to sweep it each night, and since the Americans and Russians keep shooting things there it gets in a terrible mess. The owl, the cat and the crow will keep you company while I am away. I will be as quick as I can.’

  She tucked the broom under her arm and left them. In a moment they heard a swish as she set off for the moon.

  ‘Now we’re in a fix,’ said Peter. ‘I left the Magic Leaf beside that log and there is no way to change her into a good person unless we get it.’

  ‘It’s impossible to break out of this place,’ said Greyfur. ‘We are going to be fattened up, then eaten. She will never let us out until we are ready to be eaten, then we’ll go straight into the pot.’

  They discussed ways in which they might escape but these all depended on winning the witch’s friendship and this they knew to be impossible.

  ‘Why did you take the chain from around your neck?’ said Greyfur, feeling exasperated.

  ‘I just don’t know,’ said Peter. ‘I must have been mad.’ He felt angry with Greyfur. ‘Why didn’t you stop me? You could easily have done that.’

  ‘The Leaf was in your charge, not mine.’

  ‘Maybe it was, but you are just as much to blame as I am.’

  Greyfur was silent.

  After a while Peter said, ‘I wonder where she got all those cameras. See them over there, against the wall.’

  There must have been over a dozen cameras, most of them on tripods, lying on the floor near the wall. Amongst them was a little mechanical shovel worked by batteries.

  ‘She must be fond of photography,’ said Greyfur. ‘I’ll ask her when she returns. We must try to be nice to her whatever we do. I’d hate to make her angry.’

  The witch didn’t return till it was near morning. Greyfur and Peter were asleep when she arrived. She bustled round the room preparing a meal for them but since they had both had a meal supplied from Greyfur’s pouch, they refused to eat it. This annoyed the witch who grumbled something about starving them into submission.

  Greyfur tried to be friendly. ‘Are you interested in photography?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied the witch. ‘I collected all these cameras on the moon. They are taken there by rockets and I remove them when I’m sweeping. The shovel was busy digging a hole when I found it. I brought it back with me but it won’t work down here. Anyway, I have a wonderful collection of photographs if you would care to see them. I developed the film I found in the cameras.’

  ‘Another time,’ said Greyfur, who hated looking at photographic collections.

  Peter had been sitting with his head in his hands trying to think of some way to trick the witch. He suddenly had an idea.

  ‘How are you going to cook me?’ he asked.

  ‘How would you like to be cooked?’ countered the witch.

  ‘I think I would like to be roasted and flavoured with the Bo Bo herb.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said the witch shortly, but she was interested.

  ‘Not heard of the Bo Bo herb!’ exclaimed Peter. ‘Why it’s one of the most sought-after herbs in the world. When placed on top of a roast it gives it a flavour that cannot be described. I heard about it from Crooked Mick and he explained how I could find it in the bush. The taste of it is so wonderful that men spend their lives looking for it. I wouldn’t like to be roasted unless you flavour me with the Bo Bo herb.’

  ‘Where do you get it?’ asked the witch.

  ‘I saw some of it in the bush where you captured us,’ said Peter. ‘Would you like me to get you some?’

  ‘Describe it and I’ll get it myself.’

  ‘You can’t describe it,’ said Peter. ‘I’d have to show it to you.’

  The witch stood in indecision. She was greedy and longed for the herb but she was afraid that Peter might be lying.

  ‘Are you sure it will improve your flavour?’

  ‘Certain,’ said Peter. ‘It will make me the finest dish you have ever eaten.’

  ‘All right,’ said the Witch. ‘You can guide me to the place where it grows but if you try to fool me I will turn you into a toad forever.’

  She unlocked the door and let Peter out. Greyfur, who had been amazed by Peter’s conversation, was left locked in the cage. The only thing that reassured her was a wink she received from Peter as he left.

  When Peter was out in the open, he set off walking to the place where the witch had first cast her spell upon them. He wanted to find the little bag with the Magic Leaf in it. He knew exactly where to look. It was against the log where they had rested.

  He walked along the track with the witch following close behind. He saw Moonlight feeding on a patch of grass, then further on he saw the log. He walked slowly, searching the ground as if seeking the herb.

  ‘Does it grow here?’ asked the witch.

  ‘Near here.’

  He stopped close to the log. He could see the chain glittering in the grass and he stepped towards it but the witch had also seen it. She darted ahead of him and bent to pick it up.

  Peter lost his temper. He could
see his wonderful plan being ruined by this wretched witch. She bent down in front of him to pick up the chain and her position filled him with inspiration. He drew back his foot and kicked her on the behind with all the strength he had.

  The kick lifted the astounded witch off her feet. She sailed over the log and landed on her head. Peter grabbed the little bag, slipped the chain over his neck and took out the Magic Leaf.

  The witch was mad with rage. She screamed and jumped to her feet like a cat. Her face was contorted and evil. She raised her hooked hands and clawed the air, screaming, ‘I’ll change you into a toad forever.’

  Peter was afraid, but he held out the leaf to her and cried, ‘This is the Bo Bo herb. Here it is. Take it before you cast a spell upon me.’

  The witch paused a moment. She stifled the curse she had been about to utter and grabbed the leaf from Peter’s hand.

  ‘Give it to me,’ she screamed.

  Once her hand closed round the leaf great changes began to take place in her, but she had been evil for so long that she fought the magic of the leaf. She did not want to be loved or needed. She wanted to continue hating.

  She flung herself on the ground and struggled as if she were being attacked. She frothed at the mouth and beat the ground with her clenched fists.

  ‘No! No! No!’ she cried. ‘I don’t want to be loved.’

  But the Magic Leaf had stronger power than even she possessed. She rolled over and over and then lay still. In a moment she rose slowly to her feet. Her hideous face had changed and was now touched with compassion and kindness. Her eyes were gentle.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Peter.

  Now that he was again in possession of the Magic Leaf Peter only wished to help her. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘You will feel much happier now. Forget the past. You will learn to love people and they will love you.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll get used to being good,’ said the witch, ‘but it is going to be hard for a while.’