“They’d make a lot of money,” Brenda observed. Gerald made a rude noise.
“Well, it’s better than being drowned,” said Brenda. “And you’re still the rudest boy I know.”
“Good,” said Gerald.
Luckily for the peace of their mission, Brenda saw a bird just then. She shied like a carthorse. “A Dory! Look!”
“It isn’t,” said Gerald. “And what would you expect me to do about it if it was?”
“Shoot it,” Brenda said simply.
“Only if it goes for us,” Gerald said irritably. He sighed, and a gloomy, sick feeling, which he was rather used to, came over him. One way or another, he had shot quite a quantity of birds in his life. He had shot rabbits and hares, and a number of things moving in the long grass which he had never found. Any of them could have been Dorig. Some of the vanished ones could have been Gair’s people. He found himself remembering, with unpleasant clarity, the red blood on the silver leg of the Dorig leader. He wished he had not had to shoot him.
Brenda distracted him by insisting they had missed Garholt. “He said beyond the wood. That’s two woods we’ve passed.”
“When he said wood, he meant wood, not three bushes,” Gerald said grumpily, and kept on.
They passed the steep banks which concealed the village. Soon after, they passed the wood. It was unmistakable.
“There’s nothing,” said Brenda.
Gerald was dismayed, too. He had thought there would be some sign to show Garholt was there. But all there was was a rounded stretch of green hillside. He plodded crosswise up it. Brenda lumbered and gasped behind him.
“Ow!” she shrieked. “There’s bees in holes!”
Gerald slithered back to see. Where Brenda stood sucking her finger, a few bees were buzzing around what seemed to be rabbit holes. A few more came out to investigate Gerald. Gerald retreated hastily downhill, hoping they would realize he meant no harm. But the bees remained out, menacingly, and followed Brenda as she galloped heavily downhill after him. “We’re here,” Gerald called up to her.
“Are you sure?” Brenda puffed, landing squashily in the marshy ground at the foot of the hill. “It’s just part of the hill—not a mound at all, really.”
Gerald was sure. He could see a number of paths, which looked like rabbit paths, converging on this place from above and below. He walked slowly along the soft ground, looking for the door. Gair had said, “You’ll see a stream coming out. Then it’s ten paces to the right.” There was the stream—an oozing trickle, soaking out of the sheer face. Gerald carefully took ten short paces, remembering how much shorter Gair’s legs were than his. Then he and Brenda, rather uncertainly, faced the smooth green hillside. They saw clover, rabbit droppings, trefoil—but no sign of a door.
“You say it,” Brenda said.
Gerald said the words he had used on his own back door.
There was a faint rumbling sound. Quite suddenly, neither of them saw how, there was an arched opening in the side of the hill. It was as tall as Gerald and wide enough to take two Brendas. There was light somewhere inside.
“I told you,” Brenda whispered. “They do do magic.”
They bent forward to look in. They did not see much, except that Garholt was big, much bigger than they had expected. But the main thing they saw was a silvery crowd of Dorig running toward the open entrance. They jumped back, and Gerald faltered out the words of closing as fast as he could remember them. The doorway rumbled again and vanished. The only sign it had been there was a sparse but angry cloud of bees buzzing over the spot.
They looked at one another, shaken and rather glum. There seemed nothing to do but go back and give Ayna, Gair and Ceri the worst possible news.
“Let’s go,” said Brenda. “Ooh-er!”
The doorway was there again. In it was packed a group of silvery, froglike Dorig, whose drawn swords were wickedly sharp close to, and who were blinking unfriendly yellow eyes at them.
“What do you Giants want?” one snapped.
By this time, both Brenda and Gerald were poised to run away. They might have fled in earnest had not the bees homed in then. They fell on the Dorig with angry buzzing and the Dorig, to a creature, were forced to cover their faces with one hand and beat at the bees with their swords. Brenda and Gerald took courage at this.
“We’ve come to find out how many of the Lymen you killed,” Brenda said. “We’ve got friends here.”
Amid zooming bees diving to the attack, the Dorig managed to exchange significant looks. “Yes, we’ve had word they’ve made friends with the Giants,” one said. Then, as a bee settled on his right eyebrow, he added angrily, “Don’t you clumsy great fools know better than to trust Lymen?”
“I’d rather trust them than you lot!” Brenda said. “Sneaking in disguised as sheep, and killing them all before breakfast!”
The bees retreated a little and hung, a much sparser cloud now, buzzing between the Dorig and the two Giants. Most of the Dorig were left with a pale pink swelling somewhere on their pale faces. Most kept a wary eye on the bees as they drew themselves up angrily to face Brenda.
“Watch it, Brenda!” said Gerald. There were at least twenty Dorig, and they were all taller than he was.
“We only killed a few,” a Dorig said contemptuously. “You can talk to one if you like. Which one do you want?”
This offer puzzled Gerald considerably. Dubiously, he said the only name they knew. “Adara?”
“Oh, her,” said one of the Dorig. “If you want. But don’t believe a word she says.”
“Why not?” demanded Brenda.
“She’s a slippery Lyman,” said another of the Dorig. “They all know how to twist you with words until they’ve taken your mind away. They pretend to be friendly, but all they want to do is kill you or use you. You Giants shouldn’t let yourselves be used.”
Brenda and Gerald looked at one another uneasily. They saw that, in a way, Ayna, Gair and Ceri had used them. And there was no question that they could use words in a dozen different ways to bend things to their will. So why not to bend humans?
“Aren’t Lymen like—like people at all?” Brenda asked miserably.
The silvery group in the doorway shouted with laughter. Each froglike warrior had something to say about that, and they all said it, speaking at once, until, what with the scornful hiss of their voices and the whining buzz of the bees, Brenda and Gerald felt quite bewildered. “Lymen aren’t people!” they heard. “They only care about themselves— Can’t shift shape to save their lives— They’re mean and sly— You can’t trust them an inch—They eat caterpillars— They hate water— They’re killers— Speak fair and act nasty.” And when the clamor had died down somewhat, the first Dorig asked, “Do you still want to speak to Adara?”
Brenda thought she did not. Gerald hardly knew. It was not pleasant to think one had been used by three aliens for their own ends. On the other hand, Dorig were not human either. “Look here,” Gerald said, “what do you think of Giants?”
There was the kind of pause that happens when people do not like to say what they really think. “You’re very strong,” one Dorig said politely. “And,” added another “they say you work wonders with the fruits of the earth.”
Gerald felt like laughing. He wondered what the Dorig really thought of Giants. At any rate, he was sure it was not unlike the things they said about Lymen. He took hold of Gair’s collar for encouragement, and he knew it had been given to him in real friendship, as a real honor. “Could we speak to Adara, please?” he said.
The Dorig shrugged, as if they gave him up. Some of them went away inside the mound, while the others stayed. One or two of them looked marvelingly at Brenda’s pink bulk and whispered in a way which made Brenda self-conscious and peevish. Then the other Dorig came back with not one, but two ladies. One was behaving with dignity. The other was rushing along behind.
“Let me through! I insist on talking to them! You’ve no right to stop me!”
 
; “What an awful voice!” said Brenda.
“Just like a duck,” agreed Gerald.
The Dorig in the doorway sighed and seemed to brace themselves. There was a muddle in the entry, and a great deal of quacking. A Dorig said angrily, “What did you bring that duck for?”
“Couldn’t stop her.”
The quacking lady was somehow bounced away farther inside, where she continued to rush about quacking. The other lady was allowed through between two Dorig. They knew she was Adara. She had the same dark hair and big gray eyes as Gair. Her skin was very white, so that the thick, ornate collar on her neck showed up dazzlingly. Though she was not quite as tall as Brenda, she had such dignity that both of them were impressed. She had not the face of someone who would twist you with words. They thought she looked kind.
Brenda drew a deep, wavering breath. “Oh,” she said. “You are beautiful!”
Adara smiled at her. “I was told you wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes,” said Gerald. A little embarrassed because the Dorig were all round watching, with the bees whining overhead, he took Gair’s collar out of his pocket and held it out to Adara. “Do you recognize this?”
Adara’s pale face became much paler, and her eyes widened. “It’s Gair’s. What—?”
“It’s all right, your ladyship,” said Brenda, seeing what she was thinking. “They’re all safe, and they sent us to find out about you. Gair gave us that so that you’d know we weren’t—you know—marauding or something.”
“Oh, I see.” Adara was evidently very relieved. She smiled, but, at the same time, they found her looking at them both in a kind, careful, penetrating way which suggested that she might be at least as clever as the Dorig thought. “Tell Gair,” she said, “that not many of us were killed. But they’re keeping us prisoner. They want us to take the words off the wells here, and of course I’ve told them that no one but Gest can do that. It would help if Gair could go to Gest and tell him. Ceri can find Gest. Can you tell them that?”
They said they would.
Adara said, “I’m very grateful to you. Can you tell me another thing—who is turning the Moor into a lake?” She turned to the listening Dorig. “You did say it wasn’t you, didn’t you?” They nodded and shook their heads and shrugged.
“It’s us,” Gerald said glumly. “I mean, the other Giants in London.”
“I understand,” said Adara. “Not very convenient for you, or for us. Thank you. May I have Gair’s collar, or did he give it you to keep?”
“Er—to keep, I think,” Gerald said. “But you can have it if you like.”
“Did he say words on it?” Adara asked. Gerald nodded. “Then I wouldn’t dream of taking it,” said Adara. She seemed about to say something else, but, at that moment, the quacking lady made a determined effort to break out and the Dorig heaved back against her. The bees, seeing them busy, once more zoomed in.
“You’ll have to finish now,” one of the Dorig shouted over his shoulder, sounding very irritated.
Adara was borne away backward. The next second, the hillside rumbled and became smooth turf again, with bees angrily buzzing against it. They were the only sign that Adara or the Dorig had ever been there.
“Like a dream!” sighed Brenda. “Wasn’t she lovely?”
As soon as the two Giants were on their way, Gair knew he would have to find the chilly pulsing evil in the house. Though he did not want to in the least, he said, “Let’s seal all the doors and windows and explore.”
Ayna and Ceri were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, but they agreed willingly enough. For the next hour or so, they enjoyed themselves more than they had thought possible, rambling through the vast square spaces of the Giant house. The amount of room Giants seemed to need astonished them. “I suppose it’s because they’re so clumsy,” Ayna suggested. But none of them could explain why the Giants needed to possess so many things. Each room was crowded with clocks, candlesticks, boots, guns, jugs and many other things. One room downstairs was full of stiff chairs and dozens of little statues made of varnished and painted clay. They wondered if this meant it was a holy place, and shut the door reverently. Then Ayna opened another door down a short passage.
As soon as she did so, Gair knew they were near the evil thing. The whole square space reeked of it. He was amazed that Ayna and Ceri did not feel it. They were delighted with this room. It was a dark paneled room whose diamond windows looked out on a garden. It had easy old chairs, a shabby desk, big bookshelves and things stacked carelessly in corners. Ayna and Ceri inspected a stuffed pike, which Ceri thought might be a Dorig, and a long wooden thing with a blue blade, which Ayna thought might be a special kind of spade. They opened some of the books. But the writing was quite strange and the only thing they understood was the pictures. Ayna gave the books up and went through the drawers of the desk. She found sets of false teeth in the first and burst out laughing. Then she opened the second.
A wave of cold pulsing horror hit Gair. It was so searingly strong that he had to push his way across the room toward it.
“Oh!” said Ayna. “Look, Ceri. This is almost like Mother’s.” She put her hand out to pick up the thing in the drawer.
“Don’t touch it!” shouted Gair.
Ayna snatched her hand back and stared at him. “Why not?”
“It’s got a curse on it.” Gair brought himself up to the drawer and made himself look in. A beautiful gold collar lay there, rich and lustrous, in spite of a film of dust. It was almost the twin of Adara’s, except that where the knobs at each end of hers were in the shape of hawks’ heads, this one had two staring owls. The cold blast of evil beat off the green gold into Gair’s face. Every twist in the pattern was loaded with horror. It was so strongly bad that Gair felt weak and ill. No wonder the house had pulsed, with a thing like this in it!
“How do you know it’s got a curse on it?” said Ceri. “You’re just guessing.”
“Use your sense,” said Gair, gasping from the deadly cold of the thing. “No one’s wearing it, and you can see by the dust it’s been in that drawer for years. It ought to have gone back to ore ages ago. Only a curse can keep gold like that.”
“Quite right,” said Ayna. “Only you shouted at me before you looked at it.” She began shivering. “I’d rather have your Gift than mine, Gair.”
“Would you?” said Gair. “It makes me feel dreadful.” He stood, turned sideways to look at the collar because the emanation from it seemed easier to bear like that, feeling sick and helpless. He could not touch the thing. He had no idea how to raise a curse, and yet he knew he should try. He owed it to Gerald, for his help, and he was fairly sure this collar was poisoning not only Gerald’s life, but all the lives on the Moor.
“You do look sick,” Ceri said wonderingly.
They all looked sick the next second. There was a violent clattering. A shrill Giant voice shouted, “Gerald, Gerald! What have you done to this door? Let me in at once!”
“Oh dear!” said Ayna, and guiltily slid the drawer shut.
“Gerald!” shrieked the voice. Clatter, clatter.
“We can’t keep someone out of their own house,” said Ceri.
Bunching together for safety, they hurried toward the clattering front door. It was bouncing in its frame. Tremulously, Ayna spoke the words, and they all prepared to run.
The door flew open and a tall Giant lady in an ugly hat darted in before they could move. “Gerald— Oh!” She stared at the three strange little children, wondering why two of them were wearing necklaces. “Who on earth are you?”
Ceri looked at his speechless sister and brother and saw that it was up to him. And it was going to be difficult. This Giantess was tired and cross already, and he could tell she did not care for strangers or like children. He went forward, shamelessly using his most charming smile, and held out his hand politely.
“The Sun bless you. We were waiting for Gerald.”
The Giantess looked puzzled. Her hand came jerkily forward, and
stopped before it reached Ceri’s.
Ceri allowed his smile to fade and his big blue eyes to stare sadly. “I’m glad you’ve come. We were lonely.”
The Giantess’s hand reached out to Ceri’s. An uncertain smile flickered at her mouth and pulled it wider. “Are you all alone in the house? That’s too bad of Gerald! How do you do? I’m Gerald’s Aunt Mary.”
Gair and Ayna did not dare look at one another, but they relaxed and sighed.
The two Giants stopped short, seeing the square brown car beside the moat.
“My aunt’s back,” said Gerald.
“I’d better go home,” Brenda said uneasily.
“No, don’t. We may have to rescue them,” said Gerald.
He left Brenda loitering heavily in the hall and tiptoed to the kitchen, not knowing what to expect. He could hear clattering. The first thing he saw was Ayna and Ceri slowly and seriously buttering scones. Next, he heard Aunt Mary’s voice, more cheerful than he had ever heard it before, calling out to Gair as he pattered about with crockery. And they said they didn’t do magic! Gerald thought.
Aunt Mary saw Gerald. Her face took on its more usual sharp shape. She pulled him out into the passage and began to talk in a flustered whisper. “Really, Gerald, you might tell me when you invite your friends here! It was fearfully awkward. And there’s this Mr. Claybury coming here this evening, too, and you know how important that is!”
“I’m sorry,” said Gerald. He wondered whether they could get Ayna, Gair and Ceri to Brenda’s house without going past the moat where the Dorig lurked. “I’ll take them away, shall I?”
“Don’t be so thoughtless!” hissed his aunt. “Of course they must stay. But Mr. Claybury’s got to have the good spare room, so will the boys mind doubling in with you? Ayna can have the small room next to yours.”