The Steps up the Chimney

by William Corlett

  ‘Shut up, both of you,’ William interrupted them. ‘I’m thinking.’

  ‘You see?’ Mary grumbled. ‘That’s typical male behaviour.’

  ‘Right,’ William said, ignoring her. ‘I vote we go to see the Magician.’

  ‘Now?’ Mary said.

  ‘Why not?’ William asked her. ‘I won’t be able to sleep until I know about the rat.’

  ‘Oh, William,’ Alice whispered. ‘Will the baby be safe from the rat?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ William answered her. ‘That’s what we need to ask the Magician.’

  They hurried from the kitchen out into the hall.

  The fire had crumbled to dull red ashes and the candles on the Christmas tree had guttered and were smoking.

  ‘It looks like after a party,’ Mary said, sadly. ‘We never really had Christmas.’

  ‘And we never got to eat,’ Alice complained, which wasn’t strictly true. She had just consumed two bowls of thick soup and a whole heap of mince pies, as William pointed out to her. ‘But that doesn’t count. You’re supposed to have too much to eat at Christmas. Proper food: turkey and stuffing and plum pudding and trifle for supper and little sausages and sprouts – which you can leave if you don’t like them which I don’t – and what’s that red stuff, Mare? Smoked salmon if it’s sent by those people from Scotland and . . .’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Alice,’ William said, desperate to stop her. This list could go on for hours; it usually did once Alice got into full spate.

  They crossed to the hearth and walked into the warm sweetly smelling, smoky chimney.

  The climb to the secret room was surprisingly uneventful. Once the steps had been discovered the mystery about them ceased somehow to amaze the children. Like a short cut or a little-known path through the woods becomes quickly familiar, so now they climbed in single file to the smoke door and through it, knowing that the inner catch was the metal ring set into the wall.

  Only Alice hesitated for a moment, as she remembered the rats.

  ‘They’re not there, are they?’ she whispered to William, who was walking ahead of her.

  ‘No,’ he reassured her.

  Then the silvery light started to filter down from the top of the steps and eventually, puffing and out of breath, they all stepped into the room.

  The window-mirror at the front of the house reflected the moonlight so that the room was flooded with its thin rays.

  ‘Hello?’ William called.

  But no answer came to him.

  Disappointed, the three children wandered round the room, surprised at how empty and dusty it was.

  ‘But . . .’ Mary said, in a puzzled voice. ‘I thought it was full of furniture and things. I’m sure I remember a chair and a table and . . .’

  ‘Books,’ Alice said, sadly. ‘It was full of books, like Miss Atterton’s study at school. Oh, Will – what’s happened?’

  William didn’t know the answer any more than they did, and he felt equally disappointed.

  ‘It’s as though it never happened,’ he said. ‘As though we dreamed it.’

  ‘But we didn’t,’ Mary protested. ‘I know we didn’t.’

  ‘So – where has everything gone?’ William demanded.

  Then Alice, who was searching in the dark corners, in the hope of finding some clue to what was going on, let out a cry of surprise.

  ‘What is it?’ William and Mary said in unison, running to join her.

  ‘Oh, look!’ their younger sister cried.

  She was pointing at a circular mirror, hanging on the wall, its frame made of dark wood.

  ‘It’s just a looking glass, Alice,’ William said, and then he was surprised that he should have chosen such an old-fashioned word. Why not ‘mirror’? he thought.

  ‘Yes, but – don’t you see?’ Alice insisted.

  Mary stared at the glass, puzzled. There was something funny about it, Alice was right. And then she also realized.

  ‘Oh!’ Mary cried.

  ‘What?’ William sounded impatient.

  He walked up to the mirror, which was hanging at an angle above his head, and stared into it.

  No reflection stared back.

  William waved his hand.

  No answering wave showed on the mirror’s surface.

  ‘We aren’t there,’ he said.

  They peered in puzzlement at the scene through the glass. It was so dark and dusty that it was almost impossible to see anything at all. But gradually images began to form of the room in which they were standing. But the room looked totally different because it was furnished.

  Mary looked over her shoulder, to be sure that the room hadn’t somehow changed. But it was empty and dusty and dark. She looked back at the scene through the mirror.

  A fire was burning in a grate.

  ‘There isn’t a grate,’ Mary said to herself.

  ‘Yes,’ Alice told her. ‘Over here,’ and she ran to show them a small stone hearth, empty and cold.

  They looked again into the mirror.

  ‘What does it mean?’ William asked.

  They frowned and pondered and were silent.

  ‘We’ll have to ask the owl,’ Mary said at last.

  ‘Or the fox,’ William said.

  ‘Spot will know,’ Alice said, to herself.

  ‘But even the animals have gone away,’ Mary said. ‘In fact, if there isn’t a baby sleeping beside Phoebe’s bed, I shall really think that we dreamed it all.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alice sighed, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. ‘I don’t want it all to have been a dream. That’s why I hated Alice in Wonderland. It’s such a cheat if it’s all a dream. Oh, please, Mr Magician. Come back. Please!’

  In the mirror, the fire in the hearth flared up and then a shadow seemed to cross the mirror as though someone was looking into it from the other side. Some unseen face was staring at them through the round frame.

  ‘D’you feel that?’ William asked, speaking all their thoughts.

  The girls didn’t reply, but they seemed to agree. All three of them knew that in some strange way they were being looked at through the mirror and that they were as surprising to the mysterious viewer as the furnished room and the fire was to them.

  ‘What’s happening?’ William asked, trying not to panic.

  ‘I think we’re being tested,’ Mary said.

  ‘But I thought . . . wasn’t everything that’s happened the test?’ William argued.

  Mary shook her head, solemnly.

  ‘I think we were supposed to be tested in order that we could do what we have already done. I think that the time has got muddled up.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ William said in despair. He couldn’t bear not understanding.

  ‘Neither do I, really,’ Mary said, wearily.

  ‘Well, who can tell us, then?’ William demanded.

  ‘The Magician?’ Mary suggested, tentatively.

  ‘But the rat said there was another magician. His magician,’ Alice said. ‘A bad magician. I think he’s looking at us now. I feel all goose-pimply – like when the rats came. William! Mary!’

  They turned and looked at her.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ William said. ‘We can’t work this out on our own. The Magician must help us or we won’t be able to help him, which is what he said he wants. Well I’m sick of trying to work things out on our own. Come on. I agree with Alice. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.’

  And so saying, William turned and walked back towards the door in the chimney.

  ‘But won’t we ever see the Magician again?’ Alice asked, sadly.

  ‘I’m sure we will – when he needs us,’ William replied.

  ‘Don’t we have any say?’ Mary asked, crossly. ‘That’s so typical of a man. Expecting us to hang about waiting on his beck and call – whatever that is!’

  ‘I know,’ William agreed. ‘But then, I don’t know what I’d ask him if I saw him.
’

  ‘I do,’ Mary said, sadly. ‘I’d like to have gone in an animal like both of you did. I mean, if I’m honest, it was incredibly interesting and all that when the baby was born. But it wasn’t exactly magic, was it? I’d like to have travelled with the fox or with the dog. Or,’ she ended, wistfully, ‘maybe I could have flown with the owl.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ a voice hooted over her head, ‘if that’s all you wanted, you should have asked. Come on. No time like the present.’

  The owl was sitting on his perch with the round window open in front of him. Outside, the crisp winter night was full of wind and stars and animals.

  ‘William,’ Mary called, fearfully.

  But even as she spoke, it was too late. The owl stood up, staring at her. Then, spreading her wings, Mary launched herself off the perch and through the opening, out into the dark.

  23

  The Return of the Magician

  MARY OPENED HER eyes with a start. The room was full of light, but it wasn’t this that had woken her. There was a strange noise, a throbbing, beating, swishing sort of sound, and it was coming from outside the window.

  She sat up and shivered. It was very cold in the room. Alice’s bed was empty, and the door was wide open on to the landing.

  She got up quickly and scrambled into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater. Then she pulled on some woollen socks.

  The sound she could hear was a machine. But what kind of machine? She crossed to the window and peered out. Whatever it was was not in view from the bedroom window. She shivered again and ran a hand through her hair. As she did so a white feather, caught in her hair the previous night, floated down in front of her face and landed on the floor.

  At once she remembered her dream. She had been flying, out in the night. She remembered the feeling of icy wind on her arms and the view of the snow-covered ground over which she had sailed. The tops of trees came into the picture: firs, rising to needle points tipped with snow, and the big leafless oaks and ashes all a jumble of branches and twigs, which held pockets of snow and were suspended with glittering icicles.

  Then she saw the mouse. It was no more than a tiny dot on the white ground. It was searching for food, she supposed. Going about its business, doing no one any harm. From a great height, Mary fell through the crackling night. The wind whistled in her ears and tiny particles of frozen air settled on her cheeks. At the last moment before hitting the ground, she turned her body and saw her great talons reaching out and grabbing the tiny creature up from the snow. It screamed once, a minute gasp of terror. Then Mary carried its limp body beneath her to the ledge of the dovecot, where she settled and started to tear its body with her beak . . .

  Mary sat down, with a gasp, on the side of the bed. She covered her eyes with her hands, trying to blot out the picture that her memory was recreating. She could even taste the blood . . .

  Rising quickly, she ran to the bathroom and was sick into the lavatory. Then she knelt on the floor and started to cry.

  Later William came to her, breathless with running.

  ‘Come on, Mare!’ he said. ‘The doctor wants to meet you,’ and he ran out again, back down the narrow stone steps, without even noticing that she had been crying.

  Mary splashed cold water on her face and dried herself on a towel. Then she hurried down into the hall. The front door was open and she could hear voices coming from outside. She crossed to it and went out on to the porch.

  A helicopter was standing on the lawn, with its engine switched off. Jack was being helped aboard by the pilot. William and Alice were standing watching and there was a man whom Mary didn’t recognize, standing with them. As she stepped out of the porch this man turned and looked at her.

  ‘So this is the young lady, is it?’ he said to William, as he walked towards her.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ William replied. ‘This is my sister, Mary.’

  ‘And it is you who delivered the baby?’ the man asked.

  ‘Well, I helped a bit,’ Mary replied, feeling her cheeks turning to scarlet.

  ‘Congratulations,’ the man said. ‘If you ever think about becoming a nurse, I’m sure you’d stand a good chance of making a fine one.’

  ‘No, I’d rather be a doctor, I think,’ Mary replied.

  Actually, she’d never thought about being a doctor. But the man seemed to suggest that nursing was a good job for women – he had a distinctly sexist look about him.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to be a doctor, I’d better look to my laurels,’ he replied with a grin. ‘You’ll do me out of a job in no time.’

  ‘Where’s Uncle Jack going?’

  ‘I have to set that leg,’ the doctor explained. ‘I can do it here – but I’ll do a better job at the hospital. We’ll get him back by nightfall. And with a few provisions for you. It’ll be a day or two before they get the roads open.’ The doctor turned to William. ‘Now, you’ll be all right, won’t you? Your aunt will be here with you. I would have taken her and the child in as well. But she’s a very stubborn woman.’ He looked at the surrounding countryside. ‘What possesses people to tuck themselves away in such remote areas, I never can fathom. Though I dare say this place has its enchantment. Keep the mother and the baby warm and no harm will come to them.’

  Then he said goodbye to them and crunched across the hard snow to the helicopter. Once he was aboard, the blades started to turn, slowly at first and then faster until it seemed to be going backwards and the air from it raised the loose snow in a cloud off the ground.

  As it rose into the air, the children saw Jack waving to them from a window. Mary looked away, fighting back the memories of flying and the terrible nausea that accompanied them.

  Eventually the clattering noise died away and they were left, standing on the white lawn, with their backs to the house, facing the great bank of trees.

  The Magician was standing in the shelter of a spreading yew, leaning heavily on his silver rod, staring at them.

  Later Mary would recall how, for a moment, it was as though they could see him and he couldn’t see them.

  He was wearing a long black cloak and his thin fuzz of red hair moved in the breeze left by the helicopter.

  Alice was the first to speak.

  ‘There he is!’ she cried, in a delighted voice.

  Maybe she saw him a moment before the others; later none of them could be sure. What is certain is that her voice, breaking the silence, seemed also to start the ensuing scene.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘What a lot of trouble you’ve caused. I can’t stay long. Now what is it you want?’

  The children were rather surprised by this speech. It seemed to suggest that they had summoned the Magician, which wasn’t true at all.

  ‘Well? Well?’ he said, impatiently. ‘Hurry up. It’s taken me years to learn how to materialize like this; and the concentration is very demanding. It is particularly difficult out of doors. Tell me about the baby.’

  ‘It’s a girl.’ Mary was surprised at how loud her voice sounded.

  ‘So I believe. Jasper told me. Jasper was responsible for the birth.’

  William frowned.

  ‘Who’s Jasper?’ he asked.

  ‘The owl is called Jasper. The fox is called Cinnabar. The dog . . .’

  ‘The dog,’ Alice interrupted him hurriedly, ‘is called Spot.’

  The Magician looked at her and frowned. It was a fierce face, but Alice was determined not to show if she was frightened, which needless to say, she was.

  There was a moment of terrible silence. Then the Magician continued speaking.

  ‘And the dog is called Spot,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ William said, ‘Jasper didn’t get it quite right. It was Mary who delivered the baby.’

  ‘No, Will,’ Mary stepped towards him, ‘the owl helped.’

  ‘I haven’t got time for this bickering,’ the Magician snapped. ‘Now listen to me carefully. I had naturally hoped for a man child in your age. I find women difficult to train.
You can’t have a woman magician, their minds are too engrossed. They see the problems. They make good witches. But I didn’t want a witch in your time. Obviously the mother got it wrong. There have been far too many women Tylers. The father is a Green. He should have known better. And, as for you three! Constants used to be reliable. My best assistant was a Constant. Matthew Constant. He was killed in a riding accident. I had to replace him with Morden. Morden is my assistant now. Beware of Morden. He knows too much. He’s bright – but he works for himself. I should stop him. But I need him. He has acquired many of the arts. I thought he was conscientious. I thought that was why he worked so late and so long. But he is greedy. Beware the greedy. They would make gold. You understand?’

  The Magician turned and walked towards the trees. The breeze caught the folds of his cloak and the sun, as it broke through the clouds, shone round him like a halo of light.

  ‘But did you notice,’ Mary would tell them later, ‘he had no shadow? The sun was shining, but he cast no shadow on the earth.’

  Then the Magician turned and spoke to them again.

  ‘The baby will be vulnerable, until I can start to teach her. I am entrusting her into the guardianship of you three Constant children. When you are not here then it will be up to you to instruct Jasper and Cinnabar and . . .’

  ‘Spot,’ Alice prompted him.

  ‘Spot,’ the Magician repeated, with a certain distaste in his voice. Then he sighed. ‘Does it have to be Spot?’

  Alice nodded firmly.

  ‘Very well,’ he sighed again. ‘Spot! You must instruct them to look after the family for you,’ he continued. ‘The father, Green – your uncle – must be handled with care. He also is a magician of a sort – but one of your modern ones. What is it you call us now? A scientist? Poor language! What have you done to it? It has no poetry in it. Ah well. That isn’t my job at the moment. What was I talking about? Oh, yes. Your uncle – he has some good ideas. But first he must unlearn a great deal . . . The mother, being a Tyler, naturally understands, but without really knowing very much – if indeed she knows anything at all. She’s like a person who knows that she’s been dreaming, but can’t quite remember the content of the dream. She may learn, I suppose. That’s why I gave her the talisman, in the hope that it would help her to recall . . .’