‘You might have seen me motoring my submarine around the lagoon,’ said Escargot.
‘Out of the lagoon,’ corrected Bufo.
‘Quite right,’ Escargot continued. ‘I was checking her ports and mungle bars. She has to be shipshape if I’m to lay her over here for the winter. Wouldn’t want to come along in April and find her at the bottom of the lagoon.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Jonathan, who was happy to go along with the old man’s lie. ‘And will she hold up?’
‘Like a queen. I myself haven’t been upriver for a year. I thought I’d mosey up that way. Funny that you chaps should show up. Tomorrow would have been too late.’
‘I dare say.’ Bufo gave the Professor a knowing look.
Twickenham saw that he had an advantage. ‘Perhaps, Mr Escargot, you’d combine pleasure with business and do us all a grand favor. His majesty would be grateful.’
‘I know that he would, and I’d be delighted to help out. There’s sure to be profit in such a venture.’
‘Profit indeed,’ Bufo almost shouted, still in an ill-humor about the whole thing. But Twickenham shot him a look and shut him up. There was no need to strew rocks in the path, after all.
They clumped across to where the fish still smoked above the fire. ‘There’s lunch,’ said Escargot, pointing at the sad object. All the meat had fallen off into the fire, and only the thing’s skeleton hung there skewered.
‘Looks like a goblin meal,’ Dooly pointed out. ‘Like them fishbones in Willowood among all them smashed up buildings. You should see it, Grandpa. All up and down, there’s goblins about and ghost towns and everyone carryin’ on like crazy people. Makes a fellow wonder.’
‘Is that so?’ asked Escargot. ‘Willowood you say? How about Hightower? Everything well at Hightower, is it?’
‘Worse yet,’ the Professor replied.
‘I see,’ said Escargot. ‘I’d like to visit Hightower again. See what’s up.’
‘That would be capital,’ Twickenham put in. ‘Just the ticket.’ And with that they began rummaging around, breaking camp. Jonathan and Dooly doused the fire, although there was nothing about for it to burn aside from the fish skeleton and skewer stick. Escargot gathered a packful of odds and ends together, paddled out once more to the submarine, then hid his canoe among the rocks out toward the mouth of the cave.
They found the Squire and Stick-a-bush above eating cold fried chicken and a loaf of bread from one of the two baskets of lunch Twickenham had packed. Ahab trotted from, one to the other, helping with the meal. The Squire had gone a long way toward reducing the lunch to nothing, but there was enough left for each of them to have a bite or two during the return flight to Seaside. Escargot ate almost as much as the Squire, seeming happy to have something other than fish for lunch. He was as bluff and merry as any of them – more so, in fact.
Although Dooly’s spirits rose in proportion to his grandfather’s heartiness, Jonathan was just a little suspicious of the whole thing. Bufo was still acting like a sourpuss and was scribbling away in a note pad; pausing now and then to knuckle his brow or to ask Yellow Hat for a word. By the time they were halfway to Seaside, however, Escargot’s cheerfulness had spread fairly thoroughly through everyone aboard, and he and the Squire led the whole party in a chorus of ‘Old Dan’s Demise’. Bufo was persuaded finally to recite his poem about the traveling pickle, and Old Escargot made such a show of appreciation over it that Bufo admitted to Jonathan and the Professor that perhaps he’d underestimated Escargot. Late in the evening they landed finally at Seaside, all of them in fairly good spirits. Twickenham and Escargot disappeared into the palace. Jonathan, Dooly, Ahab, and the Professor set out for the Mooneye, anxious to be gone early next morning.
16
Fishbones at the Mooneye
Lamps were lit up and down the streets, but fog had rolled in to enshroud them and dim their glow. It was a cool and murky night – one of the sort that frazzles your hair and makes you wish you’d put on a sweater under your coat. When the rafters clumped into the Cap’n Mooneye, the dining room and lobby were empty. Although that in itself wasn’t so peculiar, it was odd that no kitchen smells wafted out to greet them as Jonathan had hoped. All of them were powerfully hungry and wanted only to eat and go to bed.
‘Monroe!’ Jonathan shouted, hoping to rouse the innkeeper. But the only answer was a furious banging and kicking above them on the second floor. ‘Monroe is pounding on something upstairs.’
The Professor nodded. ‘I hope he’s tenderizing a chunk of meat.’
The pounding paused momentarily then began again. Someone, Monroe probably, stomping away like crazy. In between knocks a muffled sound could be heard, like someone shouting through a wad of cloth. ‘Mmmph! Mmmph!’ it went, then more pounding. The Professor slumped into a chair by the burned down fire as Jonathan tossed three or four wedges of split cedar onto the coals, squeezing away at them afterward with a bellows until they began to pop.
‘Careless of Monroe to let the fire burn down,’ said Jonathan. ‘He usually has it so warm in here that you can’t breathe.’
‘Just my style.’ The Professor pulled his chair a bit closer.
Dooly and Ahab disappeared up the stairs, off to see what foolishness Monroe was up to. Immediately the stomping and banging ceased, and the muffled sounds were replaced by Dooly’s shouts. Jonathan sprinted up the stairs four at a time, the Professor close behind, and found in the upper hallway poor plump Monroe, trussed up and gagged and making the ‘Mmmph!’ noises through the end of his wadded up shirt that was jammed into his mouth. His eyes bugged out and he had a knot on his forehead where someone had, apparently, clouted him with one of his own frying pans. As soon as his shirt was pulled from his mouth, Monroe began shouting madly about goblins and throwing arms about in an effort to illustrate the tremendous size of the one who had smacked him with the pan.
The hallway roundabout was a clutter of strewn clothes and trash. Jonathan noted disapprovingly that his own tweed coat lay among the debris. Professor Wurzle plucked his oboe device from a pile of nightshirts belonging to another lodger. In the funnel mouth of the thing was a weedy looking fish head, jammed in as if looking down inside for some lost object. Other fish skeletons lay about the hallway, one across the threshold into Jonathan’s room. The Professor was in a rage, almost as much of a rage as Monroe. Wurzle pulled the fish head from the nose of the device and threw it with disgust into a hat that lay upended on the floor. ‘Damnation!’ he cried, furious. Then he swabbed out the funnel with one of the nightshirts. It appeared to Jonathan that the nametag in the hat and in the nightshirt were one and the same, and he hoped that their owner had a sense of humor. He sent Dooly off toward the palace to find Twickenham and to alert King Grump of the goblin affair, for it seemed to him to be a particularly bad portent. Jonathan had heard of no goblin activity of any nature in Seaside. But Dooly wasn’t gone five minutes before dashing back in with both Twickenham and Escargot.
Their rooms were almost as wildly strewn with odds and ends as the hallway had been. Not only were their few clothes tossed about, but a tree limb had been dragged into Jonathan’s room along with a length of clothesline strung with strange undergarments that were a perfect wonder of whalebone stays.
‘Why they’ve been at my wife’s stuff!’ shouted Monroe, waxing furious again. ‘It’s unheard of! What were they after, do you think? If it’s money, they’re a sorry lot by now.’
‘Well it isn’t books,’ said Jonathan, happy to see that his cartons of books in the closet were unharmed.
‘It isn’t anything,’ said Escargot. ‘What could anyone have that goblins want? Tearing things up is enough for them. I would have said it was impossible for them to be this far below the Wood, though. But these are strange times. Very strange indeed.’
‘There’s the chance,’ said Twickenham, ‘that their master put them up to it.’
‘More than a chance,’ agreed Escargot.
‘L
et me at him!’ cried Monroe. ‘We’ll see who he’s master of and who he ain’t!’
Jonathan and the Professor, however, weren’t quite as anxious as Monroe to encounter this master. They were pretty sure they’d run into him in due time. Escargot was a bit on the pale side and looked unhappy – even more unhappy than he had looked when he had first spied them all that afternoon before making his escape in the submarine. ‘Aye,’ said Escargot in low tones. ‘It’s his work.’
They cleaned the place up and tossed trash and fishbones out the window. Jonathan was sure that he heard the cackle of weird laughter through the fog more than once, but after alerting the Professor to it the first time it occurred, he decided to ignore it. There was nothing to do about it anyway.
Around midnight, after a meal of cold meat pie and cheese washed down with a pint or two, they went to bed. Jonathan kept his window locked even though he liked a bit of a breeze at night. He had agreed with the Professor and Escargot that they’d be wise to awaken at six. There was a sort of unspoken assumption since that afternoon that Escargot was to travel along upriver. He himself acted as if he’d been planning to do so for weeks.
Daylight came quickly, and Jonathan was disappointed that he hadn’t insisted on rising an hour or two later. He seemed to have just gotten to sleep. Ahab was fresh as a cucumber, however, and ready to go. It was as if he knew that in a couple of hours they’d be heading for home. Jonathan busied himself with packing – a chore that only took a few minutes since he had almost no clothes with him – and then hauled his books and bag down to the lobby where he found Dooly and the Professor.
Monroe had recovered vastly from the day before; even the lump on his forehead had gone away and been replaced by a purple spot. He brought round mugs of coffee for them all and sat down at the table. ‘That old boy upstairs,’ he said, jerking one thumb over his shoulder back toward the stairs, ‘is a strange one. Carried on fierce last night about three, pacing up and down. Did he have a bottle with him? Crazy-looking old boy with that beard and all.’
‘In fact,’ said Jonathan, ‘the gentleman upstairs is Dooly’s grandfather. As for the bottle, I haven’t any idea.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course, of course. Young Dooly’s grandfather is it? Interesting sort, as I was saying. Must have been struggling with the window. It sticks in the wet weather. Needs a spot of paraffin.’
‘Where is your grandfather, Dooly?’ asked the Professor. ‘Late sleeper is he?’
‘Not old Grandpa,’ Dooly replied. ‘Up with birds is Grandpa. “Time flies like an arrow,” Grandpa used to say, “but fruit flies like bananas.” ’
Monroe nodded assent then thought about it for a moment before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen, shaking his head.
‘Brilliant man, your grandfather,’ said the Professor. ‘He should have been a philosopher.’
‘I’m pretty sure he was,’ Dooly replied. ‘But he didn’t make no money at it.’
‘They never do,’ Jonathan observed, ‘and neither will we if we sit here tossing off coffee all morning. See if you can rouse your grandfather, Dooly. Bring him a cup of coffee.’
Dooly stomped off noisily up the stairs, balancing a cup of black coffee. He always seemed to have a sort of early morning cheerfulness, something Jonathan found vaguely irritating in anyone but Dooly. When Dooly didn’t return for five minutes, the Professor volunteered to see what was up. His shout brought both Jonathan to his feet and Monroe out of the kitchen, and they dashed upstairs in time to find Escargot’s room empty as a balloon. The window was open entirely, and lace curtains blew through on the warm air that was sailing out of the house into the cool morning mists. The bed hadn’t been slept in during the night; it had just been rumpled up by someone sitting atop it.
‘So he took off!’ Monroe almost shouted, not angry really, just astonished at the fact that Escargot had thought it necessary to go through the window and down a drainpipe rather than out of the front door like anyone else would have.
‘The goblins got him,’ said Dooly tearfully. ‘Took him right away, they did. They was lookin’ for him last night.’
That didn’t seem at all unlikely to Jonathan, and in a way, for Dooly’s sake, he wished it were true. The Professor, however, didn’t think much of the idea.
‘You may be right about the goblins last night, Dooly,’ he said, ‘but they didn’t come back and haul off your grandfather. Now I’m no detective,’ he continued, squinting over his glasses at them, ‘but there’s nothing here to show that he fought with any goblins. And that pacing about last night that Mr Monroe spoke of, I don’t like the sound of that. I’m inclined to agree that Escargot made off in the night, blast him, and he could have gone anywhere. I’m damned if we wait around while Twickenham searches for him. If he doesn’t want to go, he won’t go. We can’t hold the man prisoner.’
‘Well we’d best let Twickenham know anyway,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s running the show, after all.’
‘Twickenham knows,’ came a voice from behind them; all turned to see Twickenham standing in the doorway scowling. Elves have a difficult time scowling convincingly, being such cheerful-looking little fellows for the most part, but Twickenham managed nicely.
‘He stole a horse at the south gate about four,’ Twickenham explained. ‘Gave the keeper some sort of sleeping draught and bunged away up the coast.’
‘Back to Thrush Haven,’ said Jonathan.
‘Maybe,’ said Twickenham. ‘But maybe not. Who can say? There’s nothing between here and there but hundreds of miles of forest. We’d be weeks catching him. You’re right, Professor. We’ve delayed you long enough. Your raft and supplies are waiting about two miles up the harbor. We’ll leave now. There’s horses out front.’
‘Horses!’ cried Dooly, who had never ridden a step. ‘Perhaps, sir, begging your pardon, but maybe I’ll just walk and meet you there. I’m powerful quick once I get my knee bones limbered up.’
‘You’ll enjoy the ride,’ said Twickenham in a manner more of command than of simple observation.
They trooped out into the street, arranged their goods in a little dog cart, and, happy to see that the four linkmen were along, clopped away up what were the first miles of the river road. Dooly actually had been fairly accurate in supposing he could move as quickly on foot, for the little dwarf horses weren’t as quick as they might have been – especially the Squire’s horse, which seemed distinctly put out. Dooly’s horse stopped continually along the way to munch at shrubs and grass. Dooly yanked on the reins and yelled the familiar horse shouts, but all to no avail. Finally Twickenham took the reins in one hand and led Dooly’s horse along. Dooly appeared to be slightly embarrassed, but had been happy enough to let the horse eat since it seemed to be enjoying it so.
The raft was moored at a little pier above town. It was much the same as Jonathan’s old raft, aside from the fact that it had added a sail and a larger paddlewheel. They’d be able to make good time, winds or no. They needed only a moment to throw their goods on board, check the supplies and cast off. The saddest part was saying goodbye to the four linkmen, who were themselves ready to set out up the river road toward the Elfin Highlands and linkman territory.
Squire Myrkle seemed so merry, however, that it eased things a bit. ‘We’re off to war!’ he shouted, waving one lumpy arm about his head. ‘We’ll whack them with sticks!’
‘That we will, Squire,’ said Jonathan. ‘We’ll see you lads along the way somewhere, I trust.’
‘More often than you’d care to, probably,’ said Bufo. ‘We’re off to the territory to raise an army, then up to Stooton on a goblin hunt.’
The Squire pulled a short sword from a scabbard attached to his pommel and thrust it this way and that shouting, ‘Avaunt, spooks!’
‘Hey!’ cried Stick-a-bush, nearly speared.
The Squire calmed a bit and replaced the sword. Jonathan could see that all of them were pretty fairly worked up. A good breeze was blowing onshore, and the tide
was rising. The company shook hands all around and, there being no time like the present, as Twickenham pointed out, pushed off and slid out and away from the dock. They waved as the four linkmen pounded away up the road. Twickenham sat on his horse atop the dock while Jonathan unfurled the sail. With the tiller hard over to drive in toward the dead water near shore, the rafters began their journey home. The sails billowed in the breeze, filled, and the raft sailed along. Twickenham watched them disappear upriver. The morning was a good one, and Jonathan found himself vastly relieved that he was moving once again.
17
Mysterious Traveler
The fog never lifted that first day out from Seaside. It was thick and wet, and Dooly spent most of the day in the cabin. Out in the open was like being in a drizzle. Jonathan’s coat was limp with moisture, almost soggy, and his hair curled and sort of frizzed as if it had suffered an electric shock. One thatch of it insisted on dangling itself in front of his eyes, and all the pushing and combing in the world had no effect on it.
Both he and the Professor sat on the deck on two of the three wooden chairs that Twickenham had provided. It made Jonathan feel touristy. If any fishing boats or trade barges had come by with the usual assortment of seafaring types on board, he would have felt positively foolish, sitting there on deck as if waiting to be handed a cup of tea. But it was so foggy that few boats were out at all, and those that were stuck fairly close to midriver, not wanting to run aground. Every now and again Jonathan could see the ghostly shape of a boat somewhere off the port bow, just a shadowy pile of spars and rigging and running lights, crawling its way downriver toward the harbor. The muffled voices of crewmen crept out over the river. He heard one gruff, low voice, even before he could see the shape of the trawler it came from, say in a tired way that it seemed like twenty years since he’d been in at the old Mooneye for a pint. Another voice replied simply, ‘Aye.’ Then there was silence.
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