Sir Ian Peters

by Kevin P Pearson

  Chapter 15

  The end of the week drew near. Day time jaunts had produced other unexpected wonders, but I hadn’t seen much success with James’ proposal. On the other hand I had been lucky enough to have spoken to most of the villagers present during my stay. People were naturally polite and clever, seeming uninterested in wealth. Most chose to exist rather modestly, yet could have had castles in the hills if they desired. Many spoke gaily of the untold beauty of their village late at night, warming me to the idea of a midnight jaunt.

  Today was Thursday the 24th of June 1920, eleven pm, though lord knows what date it was back on earth. Rose and Brian had retired for the night. Since there was no fear of fire Rose had opted for candlelight inside, so I stood in the front room marvelling at her striking art work again. One elaborate candelabrum hung in the centre of the room, lighting the place with a warm, friendly glow.

  Strange noises drifted from the garden. I cracked the front door open quietly, finding two medieval torches placed in metal brackets set at either side. One crackled into life to a pungent, resinous smell. Just what I needed! I held it aloft, watching fiery globules drip onto the grass. Thick shrubs rustled and parted behind. “Bah, shucks, caught!” Jacob cried, dashing across the lawn.

  “Gran is waiting to tuck you in!” I called after him.

  “Yeah, see you Sam. Come on Jess.” He took off towards town, melting into the growing darkness. Only rocks plunging into the stream broke the wonderful, dreamy silence. I followed the path slowly, marvelling at mysterious, shadowy shapes created by the burning torch. Soon the thick night air grew lighter, smelling clean, fresh and invigorating. Before I knew it I’d taken the turning off the main path and arrived at the beautiful isle.

  Tonight the tiny wooden gate across the small divide lay open, showing a lively group of cute creatures had gathered in a circle just beyond. One stood in the centre on tip toes, rising above the rest. From faint whispering sneaking round the trees I guessed he was finalising plans. His whiskers stiffened as he elegantly bounded backwards. The moment he landed cleanly each half of the circle broke up, slipping left and right and swirling patterns in the grass. The performers whirled faster and faster, while others gracefully leaped over them, shooting sparkling rainbows between the trees.

  “Excellent!” I applauded loudly, hoping for an encore. Instead the gifted troupe formed two parallel columns. I carefully negotiated the gap between them, making sure not to accidentally tread on any of the fragile little fellows. Their path led between two moving bushes. Blinding flashes shook the ground and whooshes of wind swept the trees. My next memory was sitting on the moonlit island, looking out at the silent woods. Ground felt soft and warm, tiny unnameable animals bounded near and a gorgeous firefly briefly lighted on my outstretched hand. I glanced behind, seeing that the glorious isle stretched far off into the distance; way further than it possibly could to an observer across the bridge. If only I had more time!

  A rigger’s fog horn sounded down towards the village – mischievous little Jacob still hadn’t made it home. Its faint toot reminded me I had to move on. I still needed sleep as well and had promised to meet James bright and early. When I stepped off the island back onto the bendy village path my torch relit, weirdly lighting tops of the smaller trees. Its soft tones shone a ways into the vegetation at either side, creating a fantastical feeling of unreality to the shimmering woods.

  Presently I arrived at the village entrance. Through the glowing gate all lay dark and quiet. All the torches burst into life one by one in a big circle, just enough to light the square with a dull, welcoming glow. Low murmuring sprung from near the angel figure. I found no known cause, but at the front of the base just below the soil line, I discovered a finely chiselled set of numbers: Fifteen, eleven. Bright blue moonlit streamed through the taller trees behind the guardian. His long beams highlighted the musical instrument resting in her left arm.

  My thumb throbbed softly, giving a weirdly strong compulsion to investigate the marvellous harp further. The feeling grew stronger still. Whilst I stood deliberating in the dim light the need grew even more intense. The town clock struck twelve once. I prayed none of the villagers would peer out of their windows to see me clambering all over their golden saviour. Any credibility gained thus far would be destroyed forever. In a flash I’d climbed half way up. Gold proved very slippy, and I ended up clinging frantically to her chest in an embarrassing embrace.

  Fresh winds came calling from far out to sea, shattering my weak grip. I fell to the ground in slow motion, squealing like a startled young girl. My freaky cry resonated shrilly round the square, reverberating with the grating whine of an air raid siren. I scrambled to my knees, expecting bedroom lanterns to light up. Luckily this never happened.

  Whether it was the peculiar tone of my desperate scream resonating through the delicate strings, or the natural undulations of the whispering wind, the harp started playing a haunting tune, as if plucked by ghostly hands. Sadly the noise was louder than mine earlier. These people had been awfully kind, so I had no wish to disturb their sleep or mediation with such childish foolishness. But what was this? The tune continued, yet the strings had stopped vibrating. Soon it became obvious the strange, mounting melody was audible only within my head.

  I’d report this to James tomorrow as agreed. No doubt he’d make far more of it than I could. The hour was late and I could hear the northern sea calling gently. This would have to be my last call. I slipped silently past gran’s house, witnessing a small shape slipping through the front window with the guile of a ninja master.

  I navigated to the beach by moonlight, following a smooth sandy path thick with curious plants that thrived on such powdery manure. From the oceans depths a vast turtle army had sailed ashore.

  Right up to the grassy bank legions of blinking eyes shone like fallen stars. Far to the right I noticed a single gap in an otherwise unbroken line – that poor fellow only had one eye! Moonbeams danced across the shells, tracing multi coloured arches that gleamed brilliantly. I strained for mile upon mile, without spying a single speck of unoccupied sand. For a moment the open sea lit up behind the relentless charge. In those dream filled waters floated more, and behind more still. I became so overwhelmed by the incredible scene I felt faint. For quite some time all I heard was the constant churning of soft sand, the delicate plops of millions of eggs being placed carefully in their cradles, and foamy waves lapping gently against the heaving shore.

  Jutting out a ways to the left I made out a small wooden quay which lay empty, but seemed very interesting. When I drew near an odd mist formed in swirls of grey and white, quickly covering the length of the deck. Such vaporous haze dissipated, slowly revealing masts of a sleek sailing ship, and a spotless deck shining brilliantly. Her lower hull was gay with mottled weed of the deep and festooned with coloured barnacles dripping with salty odours of ancient sea water, from countless voyages across a million timeless oceans. This magnificent white ship had been built for speed and longevity.

  Up on the quay nary a soul could be found. I remembered such a ship from a weird tale in a magazine. An adventurous lighthouse keeper named Basil Elton had taken to the sea on such a fine vessel long ago, and had been dreaming on it ever since. But if the story were true he wasn’t here now, and I had to head back home.

  As I passed through the square an urgent hiss darted from James’ back door.

  “Mary and I love watching the turtles on the full moon. At a stretch we can see them from our bedroom window. Every year I tell her we can get a splendid view from down on the beach, but she is worried we may startle them. Well, you know, perhaps next year,” he sighed with a grin. “I saw your little display – most amusing by the way. Quick, tell all.” James seemed delighted at the night’s occurrences, promising to stay up all night thinking it through.

  “That’s it 15, 11 – music! I told you didn’t I? Good boy Sam, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I can do this, just two more days! See you t
omorrow, or rather today, bye.”

  His outside lamp went out with imploding puff, and he’d vanished. I heard a table being knocked over in the dark, then nothing. James was a rare character. I still laugh out loud when thinking of him.