“After that I didn’t hear a word Rob and Maree said. They walked along, seriously discussing Rob’s soul, and I shuffled after and had the purple shaking-cold nadgers of sheer terror. I was so scared I wanted to get down on my hands and knees and crawl – I did crawl coming back – but I was ashamed to crawl in front of Rob and Maree when they didn’t mind at all. I didn’t feel better until we got to the hanging gardens.
“We called them the hanging gardens almost at once, and I think that is what they were, but they were not at all like you’d expect. The first we knew of them was that we were walking on spongy, tufty stuff that gave off a lemony smell and seemed to sway a little under our feet.
“Maree said, ‘Lemon verbena! Nice!’
“The tufty surface went up quite steeply, swaying more and more as we went, and after a bit our candles picked out a tower half buried in growing things. It looked like the rook from a chess set, only easily house-sized. After another bit, there was another tower on the other side, and this one looked like a pagoda made of china. The growing things draped everywhere. The candles lit up flowers and the smell was too sweet, worse than a Body Shop. Then there was a tower on the near side again, like a pyramid with too many steps – or maybe that was one of the later ones. Anyway, after the first three towers, the path was going up nearly vertically and the flowery, scented ground was not just swaying, it was swinging about. By then it was quite obvious somehow that all the towers were tall as lighthouses, with their bottom way, way down in an abyss, and that the gardens were hung from the towers high in the air. As soon as you realised that, the swinging ground felt really flimsy.
“Maree panicked and froze. From then on I had to drag and haul her along. Rob couldn’t help me. If he hadn’t had hands to pull himself up with, he would have been really stuck. As it was, there were times when his front hooves were on one swinging bit and his back hooves were on another, and he was just helplessly spreading apart. Before long, I was having to help Rob as well as Maree. I took my shawl off and tied it round my waist. Then I hauled Maree up as high as she would go before she started crying and begging me to stop. I tried to park her near one of the towers most times, where the ground didn’t swing so much, and then I went back down for Rob. I did that over and over again, one-handed, holding the candle up to see my footing and Rob’s. The flower scents kept changing, to sweet, to spicy, to herbal. They made me hot and annoyed. I crunched flowers underfoot to get a purchase while I heaved at Rob, and I lost count of all the towers and the different pretty shapes they were. I just climbed grimly up and down, hauling Maree, parking her, going back down for Rob, until I was exhausted.
“We got to a part that was more open because it was made of thousands of hummocks and pale moss. It was so pale, you could actually see it ahead and to the sides, looking as if it went on for ever. It swung about here worse than any part we’d been through. Maree was happier there in spite of the swinging, but Rob was in real trouble. Some of the trouble was that he could see better here and see his hooves being swung apart. Most of it was just the swinging.
“He was dong a really bad spread, with his front hooves almost under my chin while I hung on to his hand, and his hind hooves right down below, so that he was more or less rearing up, when the whole hillside began swaying, hard.
“‘What’s doing it?’ he screamed.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have told him. But I was panicked too. I looked down past Rob and I saw a candle lighting the leaves below us into that bright green you get when the colour’s too bright on your telly. Whoever was down there was coming up fast, with great leaps, pulling on the plants to help himself up, and that was what was making the swaying. ‘Someone else is coming,’ I told Rob.
“Rob swore and struggled. We were both sure it had to be an enemy. Rob glanced down over his shoulder and saw the light too. ‘I’m no help to you like this!’ he said, and he tried to jump. His back parts sort of bunched and pushed, but he was sore and stiff from his wound and the bunching just spread him worse than ever. Then his hind hooves slipped on the moss and the entire horse-end of him went right through into the space underneath. In no time he was frantically dangling. He dropped his candle and grabbed for a clump of moss. I saw the candle falling, under the moss, and falling and falling and falling. That was when I knew I had better not let go of his other hand. I sat on his front hooves to anchor them, even though that hurt him, and I hung on like mad to his hand. It was awful. I was so tired anyway that my arms felt like string.
“Maree was a house-height above us. She screamed and came scrambling down. And the person below shouted out, ‘What’s the matter?’
“‘He’s falling through!’ Maree screamed. ‘Help!’
“‘Hang on!’ the man shouted. And he came up like a train, making the mosses surge about worse than ever. By then I didn’t care who he was or whether he was friendly, or anything. Rob and I stared at one another by the light of my candle that I’d stuck in the moss so as to hang on with both hands, and I just willed the man to hurry.
“Then he arrived and he was the strange man who had worn different clothes in the mirror. I didn’t even care about that. I was just glad he was strong. He took one look at Rob, stuck his candle in beside mine and knelt down to grab Rob under the arms. ‘You pull too,’ he said to me. ‘One, two, three!’ I almost couldn’t pull. The man did it all himself really, hauling backwards until he was more or less lying up the slope, while Rob came slowly, slowly, up through the moss, then scrambled and found a purchase with a back hoof and pushed himself. And finally he was out on top.
“For a bit, we were all folded up beside the two candles, panting. Tears were running down Rob’s face and Maree was sitting up above us saying, ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you,’ over and over again.
“‘I won’t say “Think nothing of it”. It was hard work,’ the man said, when he’d got his breath. ‘But I’m glad I was here. This is a vile spot for a centaur.’
“‘Worse than some,’ Rob agreed. He found the spare candle Zinka had given us and lit it with Rupert’s spare lighter.
“I said, ‘I saw you. In the Hotel Babylon.’
“Maree said, ‘So did I.’ I remembered then that she thought he was fabulous and I looked up in case she was fainting or anything. She wasn’t. She was looking at the man in a way that was puzzled but sort of understanding as well. ‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘Rupert Venables knows you.’
“‘I’m not sure who I am yet,’ he said, rather ashamed about it. ‘But I used to be the next-door neighbour of Rupert Venables. You know him, do you?’
“‘Met him six weeks ago. Hated him. Met him again at the hotel and feel as if I’d known him for years,’ Maree said.
“I said, ‘Yes, we all know him quite well.’
“‘Then,’ the man said, ‘if you see him before I do, tell him I’ll be in touch.’ He stood up and looked ruefully at the palm of one of his hands. ‘Three grains left,’ he said. ‘The rest went down the way you nearly went, centaur.’ He put the grains carefully in his pocket.
“‘We can give you a few more,’ Rob said.
“‘Three should be enough,’ he said, and he held the hand out to Rob. ‘Come on. I’ll help you up the rest of the way, and these two can help one another.’
“So we set off like that. Rob did much better with somebody helping him all the time, saying things like, ‘Don’t stretch. Use this tuft, it’s bigger. Now jump up to here, but steadily.’ But Maree was really tired and I felt weak as a kitten. Rob and the man got further and further ahead. At last, when their candles were just little twinkles high above, they shouted down that they would wait for us at the top.
“That was the last we saw of them. At the time, it was upsetting. But Koryfos explained to me, back at the hotel, inside the troop carrier, that they had tried to wait, but the place at the top wasn’t arranged for that. Whether they stood still or whether they walked, they went where they were going. And coming back, they found they were going a dif
ferent way. ‘And believe me,’ he said, ‘it was much worse than the way we came. Rob was lucky to survive it.’
“This was because it really was Babylon at the top of the hanging gardens. As soon as we got to it, Maree and I, we knew. But I don’t think I can describe it. Partly this was because it was so many things at once, somehow. I can remember it as just the dark flat top to the mountain, or I can remember it as an absolutely huge tower – that we were inside and outside of, both at once – or I can remember it as just standing in an incredibly bright light. But when I think of it as the light, I think, No, there were colours in it, and some of the colours were ones you don’t see anywhere else and don’t have words for, and they were in ripples like the Northern Lights, except they were like moving signs too. Then I think, No, again, they weren’t ripples, they were pillars. And I simply don’t know. And the oddest thing, which makes it even harder to remember than not knowing the colours, is the way everything had at least twice as many directions it was in as normal. I mean, when I think of Babylon as the tower, I know it went through ten or twelve right-angles, up and down as well as round, just like the hotel, only in this tower I could see all the different directions and it was really strange. And there were other things.
“Maree doesn’t even remember this much. All she can recall is the last bit, when we both think we arrived beside a thing like a stone trough – only it was as strange as everything else because it had all the other directions too, which made a queer shape for a trough. And we thought about it a bit. I said, ‘We can’t just stand and ask. They have to tell us it’s all right to ask first.’
“Maree said, ‘Give me a bottle of water.’ I’d only the one, but I passed it to her, and she carefully poured about half of it into the trough – and you had to be careful, because the water went round all sorts of directions too and made it hard to aim. Then she passed the bottle back to me and said, ‘Now you pour some. Then scatter grain.’
“I did, and it was even harder with the grain. It went all over the place and round all the corners and only a few seeds went in. But as soon as the seeds had gone into the water it all began foaming and sort of growing, until it was rushing like a river at the brims of the trough.
“Then I think a voice spoke. But I’m not sure, because if it was as voice, it was more like notes or chiming. And it seemed to me to tell us Maree could ask first, provided she was in great need.
“I nudged at Maree. She sort of jumped. I whispered at her what to say. She nodded happily and I thought she understood. She pushed her glasses up and said, ‘I ask that my little fat dad should be cured of his cancer.’
“I couldn’t believe it. It was a total waste. I knew I was going to have to ask for the other half of Maree for my own wish and I could have screamed. There was no chance of getting her back if I didn’t, and I would have wasted everyone’s trouble. I think I cried at the waste. But it was pointless to have come all this way and not ask. So I asked for her.
“And there was a sort of chiming. Maree suddenly went the right colour. She even looked heavier. And she seemed to have her mind back properly. Anyway the shape of her face was right again. And I suppose I was glad. Well, yes, I was glad.
“Then there was another chiming, and this one meant we had to go. But I think it gave me a hint too. Anyway, I thought of the stories, Orpheus and so on, and I didn’t look at Maree again. I just turned round and started to go back.
“I’ve no idea how I got so far ahead of her. Maree doesn’t know either. She thinks she had my candle in sight most of the time. I heard her behind me quite often. I heard her scrambling down the moss after me, and I felt it swaying under her. I heard her walking while I was crawling along the ribbon of rock with the precipices on either side. I just don’t understand it.
“Going back was awful. The worst of it was, you knew just what you were in for. The one thing that wasn’t the same was when I was coming down the rocks like the stacks of knives. I never saw the children or the birds there. But the rest of it was all there, waiting. Another difference, now I think, was when I got to the thorns. I kept expecting my clothes to vanish again, but they didn’t. The only thing that did vanish was the shawl made out of the goat’s wool. And when I got to the bridge, there was nothing at the other end, no gateway and no statues. By then I was so tired I almost didn’t notice. I was just glad that nobody tried to stop me, and trudged on. I was so tired that I almost didn’t know I could stop when I got back to Rupert’s room at last.”
[3]
They all listened to me reading, leaning forward, attending to every word. I was so busy reading at first that it took me a while to notice that the sheets of paper were sort of filtering away as I read them. Almost every time I put a page underneath the pile after I’d read it, it went. By the end, I was holding three sheets of paper. I looked. The top one was the part about the birds and the children.
Someone quite a long way down the table asked, “Do you know who those three children were?”
I said, “Yes. They have to have been the Emperor’s other children who were killed.”
“And what do you think the birds were?” another distant voice asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought maybe you did.”
“I wish we did,” the person right beside me at the end of the table said. “This is as strange to us as it is to you.”
Then I had only two pages. The top one was now the bit after I’d come back and we were chasing the quack chicks. My stomach wobbled.
It was one of the people on the side bench against the wall who asked me about that. She was an old, old lady with sucked-in cheeks. She said, “What are your feelings about your mother now?”
I couldn’t answer. I simply didn’t know how – and I’d been trying to work it out ever since Dad and Maree and I went back to Bristol.
The old lady said, “Try to answer. It might help.”
The only way I could manage to answer was to talk about something else. I said, “Last year, I had a boil on my neck. It was quite impressive. It grew and it grew and it was a sort of purple-red. And all the time it was growing it was wonderfully neat and well shaped, quite round and pointed and regular, with a funny little dip in the middle at the top. When I looked at it, I used to think it was such a perfect shape that it almost seemed as if it was a proper part of me and meant to be there. But it hurt more and more, in a dull sort of way, and it made me hold my head on one side. In the end, Dad marched me off to the doctor with it. The doctor took a short look, then he lanced it. That made the most appalling mess and it hurt ten times more. When I got home it looked even more of a mess. It was not even a good shape any longer, and it kept running and felt horrible, but the pain was a much better sort of pain, even though it went on for a long time and I’ve still got quite a mark.”
“Fair enough,” said the old lady.
That left me with only the one sheet. I looked down at it and I sort of clenched. It was the last sheet, and I was absolutely not going to tell them what I’d wanted to wish for. But I wasn’t sure how I could stop them making me.
Somebody right along the table asked. He said, “You’ve left out your motive. You haven’t said why you went through with this.”
“What do you mean?” I said, defending for all I was worth.
“I mean,” he said, “that you’ve made it clear why you hung on to the centaur and asked for the other half of your sister, but there was at least one occasion where you wanted to turn back, and your account shows that you could have done. Why did you go on?”
“Oh,” I said. I tried not to show them how relieved I was. “I went on because I was interested, of course. I wanted to know what would happen.”
That seemed to amuse them all. There was quite a ripple of laughter round the room, and when it stopped, all my papers had gone. Rupert seemed to think we were going to leave then, but they hadn’t quite finished. One of the stern ones in the middle of the table said to me, “One moment. This account of
Babylon contains substantial parts of the deep secret of the Magids that is called Babylon. For this reason, we are going to have to expunge all trace and memory of it from you. Please understand and forgive this assembly for it. It is necessary.”
That is just what they tried to do. I really didn’t remember a thing – though I was puzzled to see that Maree was the right colour again, and couldn’t think why – until I got home and found the note I’d left for myself. Look for disks. So I looked all over and found about twenty of the hundred disks I’d hidden. The rest were gone, and the file wasn’t on my hard disk. But I don’t think the Upper Room realised how cunning I’d been.
You see, after Rupert told me that the computer games people didn’t want my Bristolia game after all – they said it was too complicated! – I decided I’d do a Babylon game instead. Blow that about deep secrets! Rupert and Maree say that the basic job of a Magid is to gradually release all the special knowledge anyway. And besides, I want to remember. It strikes me as one of the best ways of forcing that Upper Room to make me a Magid too. That was what I’d been going to ask for, until I had to ask for Maree instead. Now I’ll have to get to be one another way round.
About the Author
Diana Wynne Jones’ first children’s book was published in 1973. Her magical, humorous stories have enthralled children and adults ever since, and she has inspired many of today’s children’s and fantasy authors. Among Diana’s best loved books for older children are the Chrestomanci series and the Howl books. Her novel Howl’s Moving Castle was made into an award-winning film. She was described by Neil Gaiman as “the best children’s writer of the last 40 years”.
Titles by Diana Wynne Jones
Chrestomanci Series
Charmed Life
The Magicians of Caprona
Witch Week
The Lives of Christopher Chant
Mixed Magics