The Gorgon's Gaze

  “Col! Col! It’s me, Rat!” The familiar sharp face bobbed up by the side of the stretcher. “I’ve come to tell you that I’ve got something of yours. Don’t worry, I’ll look after it for you!”

  “What?” Col asked in confusion as Rat was pushed back by a policeman. “What’ve you got?”

  “I’ve got your—” But the doors of the ambulance were slammed shut, and Col did not hear the answer.

  Mrs. Clamworthy wheeled Col out of hospital later that day to the waiting taxi. He had spent many hours in the emergency room having his right leg encased in plaster from the ankle to the thigh, the cut on his back dressed, and his other injuries cleaned up. The nurse who dealt with his back marveled over the extent of his injuries.

  “You tell me you didn’t fall?” she said doubtfully as she dabbed his wound with disinfectant. “But this is the strangest cut I’ve seen in a long time—all lacerated as if you’ve been hit by a saw. And your costume—completely shredded! Very strange.”

  “Yeah, weird,” agreed Col, deciding that blank incomprehension was his best defense.

  Mrs. Clamworthy helped Col slide into the back of the taxi.

  “Right, home and bed for you, young man,” she said firmly.

  “No way. Not till I find out what’s happened to Skylark.”

  “But there’s no word of him, Col dear, as I told you,” Mrs. Clamworthy said in a low voice, glancing nervously over at the driver.

  “Then we’re going back to the wood. I’m not giving up just because I’ve taken a bit of a battering.”

  “A bit of a battering!” Mrs. Clamworthy exclaimed, forgetting to keep her voice down in her indignation. “You’ve got a broken leg and stitches in your back. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “But I am alive, and I have to find out if Skylark is, too.”

  Mrs. Clamworthy sighed. She could not in all honesty say she would not have been demanding the same thing if it had been her companion at risk.

  “All right, Col, but only for an hour—no more. Then it’s—”

  “Yes, I know: home and bed.”

  The picnic spot was quiet when the taxi turned in, as the festival was now in full swing and everyone had gone to listen to the bands on the main stage. Col could hear the music booming from the speaker system. Lights arced in the sky, dancing on the clouds.

  “What exactly do you think you’re going to do?” his grandmother asked him in an exasperated tone as Col began to hobble on his crutches over to Rat’s bus. “Too much of that and you’ll split your stitches!”

  Col knocked on the door with a crutch but there was no reply except a torrent of furious barking from Wolf.

  “I’m going to the clearing,” he told his grandmother, swinging himself around. “It’s where he fell.

  Mrs. Clamworthy’s face lightened as she saw someone approaching through the trees, a cane tucked under one arm. “Look, here’s Captain Graves. He’ll be able to give you the latest news and stop you from doing anything rash.”

  “Col, my boy, delighted you’re up and about!” barked Captain Graves, his neat moustache twitching with a smile on seeing his pupil. “Actually, I’m pleased to see you for another reason. We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands.”

  “Skylark?” Col asked anxiously.

  “He’s…er…well, you’d better come and see for yourself.”

  “But, Michael, Col’s injured!” Mrs. Clamworthy protested. “He’s got a broken leg. He can’t go hopping off without causing himself more damage.”

  “Wait a second.” Captain Graves gave a piercing whistle, and Mags trotted out of the trees. “Intelligent animal, this one,” he said with approval. “You can still sit on a horse, can’t you, my boy?”

  “Yeah,” Col replied. Captain Graves helped Col onto Mags’s back, his leg sticking out awkwardly in its plaster.

  “Off we go.” Captain Graves took the horse’s halter. “Are you coming, Lavinia?”

  Mrs. Clamworthy, who had long since decided that she was not going to let her grandson out of her sight again that day, followed them along the woodland track that led to the clearing.

  “Skylark’s all right, isn’t he, Captain?” Col asked hopefully.

  “He’ll be all right now. We could’ve used the universal to help Windfoal heal him, but apparently she’s incommunicado at the moment. No, the problem is that itwasn’t us who found him.”

  “And Argand—the golden dragon?”

  “She’s been found, too. Tough as old boots are dragons—even young ones. Her pride rather than her body was injured—that’s what Dr. Brock says.”

  “So, who did find Skylark?” Col asked, though he could guess the answer.

  “You’ll see.”

  Mags stepped out of the lengthening evening shadows into the clearing. There was a nip in the air. Col shivered in the breeze that drove drifts of seed heads across the open ground like snowflakes. On the far side, in the shelter of the large chestnut tree, he could see a huddle of people gathered around something on the ground. He could sense a presence, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle—it was Skylark!

  Urging Mags through the waist-high bracken, Col dismounted heavily onto his good leg, swearing softly as his wounds protested, and collapsed beside his friend, throwing his arms around Skylark’s neck and burying his head in the pegasus’s mane. Instantly, their connection was re-forged. Col and Skylark rejoiced to be together again after they both had feared the other dead. Skylark’s right wing was broken, but he had managed to control his tumble with his left and landed heavily, spraining his right foreleg. He had been fortunate; the wing had been set in a splint and his other injuries cleaned and dressed, even before the Society had found him.

  “Who did this?” Col wondered. He looked up and saw Rat grinning down at him.

  “That’s an amazing beast you’ve got there, Col Clamworthy.” Rat laughed. “I told you I’d look after it for you.”

  Col could see Dr. Brock and Captain Graves exchange a worried look. This was a major problem—a mythical creature had been exposed to an outsider and there was no way of hiding the truth from him. They could not even pretend it was some elaborate costume, as the boy had tended Skylark and knew all too well that he was made of flesh, blood, and bone.

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me now that that dragon on your helmet was real, too,” Rat continued. Dr. Brock stuffed something deeper inside his jacket.

  “Um…” said Col.

  “Don’t worry, Col,” Rat said, “I won’t tell anyone your little secret. I see things like this all the time. Me dad thinks I’m mad but I’ve seen the little people in the trees and rivers.”

  Col looked up at Dr. Brock. Surely Rat must have the gift? How else would he have seen all these things? Skylark had sensed something in him already when they had first met. Dr. Brock nodded, understanding Col’s unspoken question.

  “Thanks, Rat. Thanks for looking after Skylark,” Col said. “Would you mind not telling anyone about this?”

  “No worries! I’ve already said I won’t.”

  “And would you be interested in meeting some more friends of mine—some people who’d like to find out more about you?”

  Rat looked suspicious.

  “Not to do anything to you,” Col added quickly, “but to see if you might want to join our Society?”

  “Is that where you got this winged horse from?”

  “Sort of. I didn’t get him—I don’t own him—he’s a friend and a member of the Society, too.”

  Rat shrugged. “You’re cracked, Col Clamworthy, but it sounds as if it might be a laugh. I’ll meet your friends.”

  “Now, Col, I really insist that you come home with me,” Mrs. Clamworthy broke in. “Sitting on the damp ground—riding horses—you’ll be back in the hospital in traction if you’re not careful.”

  “You’d better do as the lady says,” said Rat with a respectful nod to Col’s grandmother. He had always been scrupulously polite to he
r whenever he had visited Col’s home, having a healthy fear of matriarchs. He helped pull Col to his feet and gave him his shoulder to lean on as Col hopped back to Mags. “There was a dragon, wasn’t there?” he said quietly in Col’s ear. “And I know—I have to keep quiet about that, too, don’t I?”

  Col floundered for an answer but Rat cut him short by giving him a wink. “No one would believe me even if I did tell them,” he said. “They’re so used to hearing my stories, they just think I’m cracked. It’s good to know that you’re cracked, too.”.

  20

  Hescombe

  Tense silence reigned at the breakfast table at Lionheart Lodge. For once, Godiva was completely innocent—she had been very quiet since returning from Mallins Wood. The protagonists in this scene were Connie and her parents. The feelings of relief that had let Connie off any explanations the previous evening had been replaced this morning by a determination on the part of her parents to “get to the bottom of things,” but they were being met with evasive answers from their daughter. She neither wanted to explain clearly where she had been nor give reasons for her abrupt departure from her great-aunt’s home.

  “But if it wasn’t so very bad, as you maintain, Connie,” said her mother with a note of sharpness in her voice, “why on Earth did you run away? You can’t tell me you were so worried about a few trees you put us through all this agony.”

  Connie looked down at her cereal, which was sagging in the milk untouched. She had no appetite.

  “I don’t think you realize what a fuss you’ve caused,” her father said angrily. “You’ve had the police of half the country out looking for you, national appeals—you can’t even begin to imagine what your mother and I have suffered—and you have the gall to sit there without giving us a single word of credible explanation.”

  What could she say? Connie thought miserably. They were right to be cross with her. Everyone would be cross with her—even the Society members who knew the truth—because she had foolishly wandered into a trap. She now saw that she should have gone to someone first for advice—Evelyn, for example—and saved everyone a lot of heartache and danger. Of course, she had not meant to be away so long. She had meant to return at once with Col and apologize for disappearing for a weekend, accepting the inevitable punishment handed out by Godiva. She had not meant for it to end like this.

  From the other side of the table, Godiva was watching her niece closely. Hugh was absent-mindedly buttering and re-buttering the same piece of toast, deeply uncomfortable.

  Godiva suddenly spoke up. “Beryl, Gordon, have you asked yourself whether Connie is able to give you a ‘credible explanation’ as you put it?”

  Connie flinched, sure that her great-aunt was about to begin another diatribe about the madness induced by the Society.

  “It looks to me as though she doesn’t really know why she did what she did, but she does seem sorry for it.” Connie’s jaw dropped—Godiva, defending her! “But I can tell you a few things that I know now: she’s not happy here, she’s happy in Hescombe with her friends. Your daughter is not…well, not entirely normal, but that’s not always a bad thing.”

  Beryl and Gordon looked at each other in astonishment. Hugh put his toast down and stared at his sister. Slowly, his face broke into a grin.

  “If you are not going to take her back with you to Manila…” continued Godiva.

  Beryl tutted. “That isn’t possible, Godiva. What would we do about schools for a girl like Connie? And we can’t afford to give up our jobs without having new ones to come back to.”

  “I know. As I was saying, if you aren’t taking her back to Manila, then I’m afraid I cannot take her back here where I know she’ll be miserable. There is only one answer: she’ll have to go back to Evelyn’s, who I know will have her. As for school, well, after all, she originally had a place at Chartmouth. I’m sure it’s just a question of having a quiet word with the principal.”

  “But what about you?” asked Gordon. “I thought you were weaning her off her Society-thing.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be doing that anymore.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Godiva smiled at Connie. “I’m going to Brazil.”

  “You’re what!” exclaimed Gordon.

  “You heard me. I’m joining a team trying to save the Amazonian rainforest.”

  Gordon choked on his coffee.

  Hugh clapped his hands. “Good for you, Iva. What persuaded you?”

  “I’ve decided it’s time I made up for past mistakes. I’m sorry, Connie, that I’ve been so hard on you, but I think you of all people know what I was running from.”

  Connie nodded. “Yes, I do. I think I’d run from him myself if I had the choice.”

  “What’s all this?” spluttered Connie’s father. “Who’s she talking about?”

  “Our family inheritance,” said Godiva briskly. “Now, what are you going to do about your daughter?”

  “Well, I…” Gordon turned to Hugh. “Are you going to Brazil, too?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Hugh with a fond smile at his sister. “I don’t think she’ll need me anymore.”

  “So, can Connie stay with you here?”

  “Oh, no,” said Godiva, “I’m going to shut up Lionheart Lodge—let the garden run wild for a while.”

  “It’s too big a place for me on my own,” agreed Hugh. “You’ll have to send her back to Shaker Row.”

  Gordon and Beryl both looked doubtful.

  “But what about that man—the biker-jester man? He’s to blame for half of what went on yesterday according to the papers,” Beryl said with an anxious glance at her daughter.

  “No,” said Connie, “that’s all wrong. As I told the policewoman last night, he was trying to help me down but I got up too high.” She felt cheerful about this half-lie, knowing that the whole business was absolutely not Mack Clamworthy’s fault.

  “And I’ve been thinking,” said Hugh. “I’d like to be nearer to the sea. A friend of mine, Horace Little—you know, Godiva, the man who took Connie out with his grand-daughter?—he and I, well, we’ve been putting together a little scheme to set up a boat together—he likes swimming apparently, must be mad—so I was thinking of getting a little cottage somewhere on the coast not too far from Evelyn. Connie’s brother could come and stay during his vacation time if he liked. What do you think, Connie?”

  “I think it’s a dream come true,” Connie said, smiling at him through glistening eyes. She could not believe this turn of events. It was as if her great-aunt and uncle had waved a magic wand and made all obstacles to her happiness disappear. She felt like leaping across the table and hugging them.

  “Well, I suppose you could help Evelyn keep an eye on Connie for us,” said Gordon, beginning to see the benefits of this scheme. “Monitor developments. Make sure she’s not getting into anything dangerous again.”

  “That’s settled then,” said Hugh. “Now, how about some toast, Connie?”

  “Yes, I’d like that,” she replied. “But perhaps with a bit less butter.”

  After lunch, Connie approached her parents as they were setting off to fetch her brother, Simon, from his school. They were planning for the whole family to spend some time together before they all had to return to their normal lives.

  “Would it be okay if I called on Col?” she asked. “He’s at home with a broken leg and I really want to see if he’s all right.”

  Her parents exchanged looks. “I suppose if you go back to Hescombe we can’t stop you from seeing people in that Society of yours, can we?” her father said severely.

  “It would be difficult not to see them,” agreed Connie humbly.

  He sighed. “All right then. But I need hardly remind you that your great-uncle will be keeping a close eye on what you get up to from now on.”

  With a gleeful nod, Connie dashed out to the shed and pulled out the bike. Riding past the wood, she saw that the fields were still teeming with festival-goers, and the bull
dozers had retreated back down the hill. Not a tree had yet been felled.

  Free-wheeling down the hill into Hescombe, she sang at the top of her voice, rattled into Col’s road, and dumped her bike at the gate. As she paused to knock at the kitchen door, she heard a babble of voices inside and realized that they must have a houseful at the moment. No one heard her tap, so she pushed the door and entered. The room fell silent when the people inside saw her standing in the doorway. Dr. Brock, Evelyn, Mack, Mrs. Clamworthy, and the Trustees—Kira Okona, Kinga Potowska, and Eagle-Child—were all clustered around Col, who sat enthroned in an armchair by the stove, plastered leg up on a footstool. Mack, as usual, was the first to recover from her abrupt appearance.

  “Hey now, if it isn’t our universal! Come on in, darling.”

  “Connie, we’re delighted to see you!” Mrs. Clamworthy exclaimed.

  “But a bit surprised,” added Dr. Brock. “We thought you’d been taken away for good by your parents.”

  She shook her head shyly in front of all these watching eyes. “No, and it’s better than that.” She knelt beside Col. “I’m back.”

  “You’re what?” he burst out.

  Evelyn swooped down and gave her a hug. “That’s great, Connie!”

  “I’m back—back in Hescombe, going to Chartmouth School—I’m back.”

  “And the Society?” Dr. Brock asked quickly. A golden snout peeped out of his jacket pocket and sniffed the air.

  “We haven’t worked out the finer details yet,” Connie admitted, reaching to take Argand from him.

  “But that’s good enough for now!” Col said happily as Connie cradled Argand and scratched the dragonet’s neck, causing her to shiver with pleasure. “So, I’ll see you at school next week then?”

  “Absolutely.” Connie beamed.

  The following Wednesday, with the seagulls calling raucously outside, welcoming her back to Hescombe, Connie put on her new uniform in her bedroom in the attic. Tying her school tie in the mirror, Connie smiled at herself. Yes, it was going to be okay.