‘Thank you,’ he said softly. And his voice no longer quavered. It was richer, deeper.
‘Who are you?’ asked Becky frightened by the strangely transformed figure.
‘I have told you,’ said the man. ‘My name is Doctor Faunus, Doctor Petrus Faunus. Did you forget?’
Becky shook her head. ‘I know your name,’ she said. ‘I want to know who you are.’
The man laughed. ‘Oh, you will discover that in good time,’ he said. Then sitting up with more energy than Becky would have thought possible, he looked beyond her to the trembling figure of Johnny Cadman. ‘But who is this?’ he asked. ‘Another lover of music?’
Johnny appeared to have lost his voice. He nodded.
The man, who hitherto had been pleasant, almost good-humoured, suddenly turned to Becky and said sharply, ‘You should not have brought this boy. No good will come of it!’
His tone was so fierce that Johnny swallowed and paled. However, he stood his ground resolutely. Becky was not sure whether it was courage or terror which kept him there.
The man waved his hand at Johnny as if swatting at an irritating insect. ‘Go! There is room here only for one music lover!’
Johnny swallowed again, but did not move. Becky turned back to him, half-hoping he would spin on his heels and flee, half-hoping he wouldn’t.
‘No!’ Johnny said, with far more determination than he felt.
‘Johnny’s allowed to be here,’ said Becky, feeling she needed to support him. ‘It’s a free country!’
‘A free country is it?’ murmured the Dr Faunus. He shrugged. ‘As you will, then. Play again now!’ He raised his hand as if he were a conductor.
Becky only had time to give Johnny an encouraging smile before she felt compelled to raise the flute to her lips, closing her eyes as she did so.
Some minutes later when she had finished the last sequence of notes she opened her eyes again. There was no mistake this time. The ancient figure had vanished. Sitting before her was a virile man who could have been no more than forty. The hand, which still swayed to the memory of the music, was smooth and steady. The face was no longer lined and the small goatee beard was the deep chestnut colour of polished furniture. Only his eyes, as he stared at Becky, were ancient. They seemed to be dark pools of timelessness and looked so deeply into her she felt that nothing was hidden or could ever be hidden from him.
In this relentless gaze and in the electrifying silence beyond the music Becky felt she could hardly breathe. Just as she thought she’d had more than she could possibly cope with, there was yet a further astonishment.
Dr Faunus jerked the plaid blanket off his legs and, planting a foot on either side of the wheelchair, stood up in one easy movement. It was not, however, his standing up that was astonishing; it was the fact that his legs did not end in carpet slippers or old-man’s boots or anything like that — his stick-like legs were bare and hairy and ended in neat little hooves.
‘Come!’ Dr Faunus ordered. ‘I should reward you for your beautiful music. It has been most rejuvenating. You should have some refreshments as well.’
He turned and began to move towards the house in little skipping steps. Becky turned helplessly towards Johnny. Once again she knew she would not be able to resist a direct order from the creature. Johnny gave her a scared little look, and to her relief stepped towards her. It seemed he, too, was under the thrall of the doctor. Whether his disobedience would later count against him, Becky had no way of knowing, but in the meantime it was clear that Johnny was invited to the party as well.
By now the doctor had reached the bricked path and his hooves made incongruous little clicking sounds on the surface. In his wake, Becky and Johnny once again exchanged nervous, astonished glances.
Some moments later, the figure who had called himself Dr Petrus Faunus stood in the doorway gesturing towards them impatiently.
‘Come along! Come along!’
His tone was so imperative that, despite themselves, Becky and Johnny found they were hurrying. Afterwards, Becky would remember her urgency to obey the summons but could never decide whether she were being pushed or pulled or somehow both at once. In any event, they found themselves in the small porch where a large door with stained-glass panels opened to a dark interior. The doctor, once convinced that they were on their way, had already entered and now stood in the wide hallway, eager apparently to close the door behind them.
‘Hurry!’ he said.
The interior was dim and musky, smelling of the kind of perfume old ladies wear. Rosewater or lavender. Ancient ugly furniture — sideboards, whatnots — gleamed. There was a deeply embossed wallpaper that looked like brocade and dark oil paintings in elaborate frames. Johnny looked about him with a kind of nervous curiosity. It was as if he had entered another world, another century, one before the computer, television, heavier than air flight and the internal combustion engine. He tried to catch Becky’s eye, but already she was following the strange jigging figure down the long hallway, bypassing an elegant staircase as she did so.
And then the doctor stopped and opened a door to his left. Once again he stood, beckoning in an agitated way. With a brief glance behind her, Becky paused at the doorway and then was ushered in. Johnny hurried to catch up.
As soon as they were in the room, the doctor slammed the door shut, leaning against it as if to prevent anyone from following them into the room. At the same time he reached for a light cord and pulled it and the room was lit by a soft yellow light. There was a window but heavy drapes prevented any light from that source.
‘We’ll be safe in here,’ whispered Dr Faunus.
Becky gave Johnny Cadman a quick look.
‘Safe?’ she asked. ‘From what?’
The doctor did not reply, but did put a finger to his lips as if to indicate that they should not make any noise.
‘I’ll be right back. She has gone to the shops. Do not on any account leave this room.’
Becky understood this to mean that the woman Hester Nye was not in the house, but also that in some way this had allowed Dr Faunus to bring them inside. It seemed strange to Becky that while he was able to exert an irresistible power over her, he seemed so dominated by the forbidding woman she had met at the front door. She remembered a cartoon she once saw of a little fish being swallowed by a bigger fish being swallowed by a bigger fish being swallowed by a bigger fish again. In this sequence it looked like Hester Nye was the biggest fish and Dr Faunus was the next biggest fish. He had ambitions though, she realised. That was why he needed the flute and that was why he needed her to play it. He wanted to be the biggest fish.
And Johnny? Was he the littlest fish condemned to be swallowed by all the others? As the door closed behind the doctor, she glanced at him.
Johnny looked troubled, apprehensive. His large brown eyes flickered about him in quick worried glances, often settling briefly on her and then flicking away again; the glances of a little fish in a strange new aquarium. His long fair hair tumbling over his forehead made him look younger and more vulnerable. He was in the same year as Becky though, she remembered, and probably just as old as she was. He could possibly be older.
‘What did he mean?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Becky suddenly realised that Johnny was speaking to her.
‘What did he mean by she’s gone to the shops?’
‘I think it’s the housekeeper or whatever she is. She answered the door once. She’s a real dragon.’
Johnny’s eyes widened. ‘A real dragon?’
Despite her own apprehension, Becky allowed herself to smile at Johnny’s confusion. ‘No, I mean she’s just big and fierce. She kind of bit my head off when she saw me on the doorstep. Something to do with the flute.’
Johnny nodded, but Becky sensed he was not much wiser.
‘Did you see that guy’s feet?’ he whispered.
Becky nodded.
‘Becky, this is very, very weird. I’d like out of this. I’d like out of this right now
.’
‘I know.’
Johnny’s reaction was quite understandable. Becky wanted out as well. She did not like being in this gloomy room, this strange timeless house. Her difficulty was the flute. The flute seemed irresistibly drawn to this house, and she seemed irresistibly attached to the flute. She looked at Johnny a little resentfully. At least he had a choice. He didn’t need to be there.
As if hearing her thoughts, Johnny turned to her again and whispered urgently. ‘I’m getting out. This is too bloody weird.’
‘But …’ She was going to say but the old guy told us not to leave the room but realised immediately how limp that sounded. This Dr Faunus had no right to demand that of them. His doing so turned an offer of refreshments into a kidnapping. It was a free country. They had no obligation to stay in this dingy place.
Johnny had paused as if waiting for her permission.
Becky nodded.
Johnny gave a small, relieved smile and moved to the door and turned the handle. Then his smile vanished. He glanced over his shoulder to Becky.
‘He’s locked the door!’ he exclaimed.
‘What?’
Johnny nodded soberly. ‘We’re locked in.’
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Becky. ‘What is he playing at?’
Their situation was suddenly more worrying. Her mother’s rules were sensible and Becky knew she had already broken one of them. Don’t talk to strange men. How do you define strange? Is it all that strange to grow twenty, thirty years younger simply by listening to flute music? Is it all that strange to have hooves instead of size ten trainers? And not only had she talked to this guy, she’d entered his house; and not only had she entered his house when his minder was out (why did he need a minder?) but she’d contrived to have herself locked in a room with the curtains drawn. It was not a good look. Donna Pym would not be happy when she discovered what Becky had done.
But how would, how could her mother find out where they were? Johnny’s instincts were good. They should get out of here and get out quickly.
‘The window!’ Becky said.
Johnny nodded and together they hurried across the room and pulled the curtains aside. Becky would not have been surprised if there had been bars, or even a brick wall behind the curtain. However, to her relief, there was an old-fashioned double sash window that looked as though it could be lifted open easily.
The urgency of their situation meant that she and Johnny Cadman swung into action as a team. Becky went to the left and Johnny to the right. Johnny undid the catch at the centre and then they lifted at the handholds. Sometimes, Becky knew, old windows like these became twisted and warped or painted over and impossible to lift open. Praying that none of these awful possibilities was operating, she tugged upwards, straining as she did so.
To her enormous relief, the window whistled up easily. Johnny Cadman must have had the same feelings for the sash seemed to gain momentum as they heaved at it and it crashed quite loudly as it reached the top. Becky hardly cared. Before them there was a gaping vacancy and the garden and lawn beyond. The drop was not a worry, only a metre or so. Thank god he hadn’t taken us upstairs, she thought as she scrambled through the window and tumbled out in an undignified way on to a bed of dying delphiniums beneath. Johnny Cadman had launched himself out simultaneously, but with even more purpose and was rolling over on the lawn.
Immediately they clambered to their feet and raced across the lawn. Becky realised that clutched in her swinging right hand was her flute case, and she was tempted to fling it behind her, but some hope that the flute might come right and some guilt at her mother’s sacrifice prevented her. There was no way of knowing how long the doctor would take to return. Becky had taken him at his word and presumed it would only be as long as it took him to go to the refrigerator for a bottle of juice and to the cake tin for a slab of cake. If this were the case he would no doubt be back within minutes.
He was now quite mobile, too. The decrepit, feeble old man was no more. She had been the cause of that. The wheelchair had been dispensed with. He had trotted before them quite agilely, so he could probably run as well. In all likelihood, with those goat legs he could leap and jump with the friskiness and speed of an antelope. Their only hope was to put as much distance between the house and themselves as possible. The best plan would be to get back to the road and on to a bus, to get among other people. Becky suspected that somehow Dr Faunus would be reluctant to reveal to the real world his strange physical condition. Perhaps, once they were on the street even, he would shrink back and return (tail between his legs?) to the house called Arcady.
These racing, tumbling thoughts and hopes had so consumed her she almost ran into the back of Johnny Cadman, who had pulled up suddenly, panting and gasping.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Becky, gasping herself. ‘Got the stitch?’
Johnny turned around to face her, his face confused and frightened.
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s … it’s crazy.’
‘What’s crazy?’ said Becky, eager to keep on running. But even as she asked, she looked up and realised what Johnny meant.
They had quickly sprinted across the lawn, and into a dense shrubbery, and thence into more open woodland beyond. They had been running through these woods, between tall trunks and along an uneven, leaf-strewn surface. Becky glanced ahead. Before her stretched a succession of trees and then she saw that the ground seemed to lift itself into a hill. She looked left. The river should be there. It was only the length of the house and the length of the lawn away, but there was no lawn and no river, only more tree trunks and low dangling branches. To her right instead of the road, which should have been only the length of the front yard away, there were yet more trees, endlessly ranked it seemed with no sight of a street and no sound of traffic. In fact, now she stood and listened there was no sound of the town at all. None of the white noise of engines, swishing tyres, distant radios, trains; there was only a soft soughing of wind in the branches, the faint fluttering of yellowing leaves, and the occasional chitter or cry of a bird.
‘What’s happened?’ she whispered.
The house they had escaped from was a suburban house and while it was bigger than most and in a larger, more gracious setting, it was still just one of a row of houses with their backs to the river and their faces to the street. Each house had a number and a letterbox, once a day a postie would make his way down the street and stop at each box to deposit a letter, a parcel or a bill. Between each house was a paling fence or a hedge or a brick wall.
There had been a fence on each side of Arcady House, she was sure of it. But even if there hadn’t been they should long before now have come upon the next-door neighbour’s house. In fact, when she considered the distance they had covered, Becky realised they should have passed by several neighbouring houses and reached the road and the bridge.
They stared at each other wildly.
It was beyond crazy. It was a nightmare.
‘What’ll we do?’ whispered Johnny.
Becky had no idea why he was whispering. They seemed completely alone in a vast stretch of woodland. All the same, she recognised that she wanted to whisper too.
She thought quickly, shuffling the options. None seemed especially palatable. They could go back; they could stay where they were; or they could press onward. Quickly she dismissed staying where they were, although her outdoor education told her that if you were ever lost that was the best thing to do. However, that presupposed that you were lost in some place where there was a good chance of search parties being sent out to find you. She shivered. There was no search party on the planet likely to find them where they were right now.
Going back was probably the smart thing to do. The only thing sure in this crazy situation was that they’d entered Arcady House from the world they knew: the world of streets and buses and television aerials and schools. They’d entered through the back door. That meant the logical thing to do was to exit th
rough the back door back into that world. It was simple. That meant, of course, returning to Arcady House, clambering through the window again and somehow getting back into the gloomy room. Then there was only the problem of the locked door. If they could get through that, then all they had to do was hurry down the passage and out into the world they’d left behind. The locked door was the problem. But, surely, Dr Faunus had only locked it to stop them exiting while he fetched their refreshments. They’d simply panicked. He wouldn’t have meant to keep them there, prisoners forever. He was probably worried about their getting out and being found in the house by the Hester Nye woman. That was it: he’d locked the door not to keep them in, but to keep her out.
The third option, pressing on, was unthinkable. They had no idea where they were heading. All pressing on meant would be moving further and further away from their only route back into the real world.
Suddenly, Becky felt stupid. What a mess! They should never have given in to that wild fright at finding the door locked and being so crazy as to jump out of the window.
‘We’ll have to go back,’ she said.
Johnny nodded soberly. ‘It looks like it,’ he said. He looked to his left where the river should have been just fifty metres or so away. ‘I’d like to check out the river first though. It should be over there.’
Becky did not like his chances of finding the river, but there was nothing to lose. It was probably not a bad idea to check out every possibility. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You do it.’
‘Do you want to come?’ Johnny asked.
Becky shook her head. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she said. ‘We’ll really get lost if we start angling about all over the place. We ran pretty directly and from here if we go directly back we should find that Arcady House place pretty easily. We haven’t come that far really …’
It was true. She was not sure how far they had run, only as long as it took Johnny to realise that something was wrong.
‘Don’t move then,’ said Johnny.
The Enchanted Flute Page 5
