him through the rest of the programme in a dream, scarcely noticing any of it, his ears still filled with the triumph of trumpets, his eyes with the glitter and fierceness of steel points and blades. The castle was flat again, amateurishly painted, yet still to his mind and memory it was stone, four-square and strong against invasion and attack, the picture in his mind more powerful than the one before his eyes.
He dreamed that night; indeed he not only expected, he forced this dream, or had the illusion that he did. He felt all-powerful. He took the holly trees along the fence in their garden, rearranged them in his mind, and sure enough found himself beside a line of holly trees on a hilltop, looking down on the castle now, or so it seemed.
He was close enough to see it in more detail than before. Trees stood near it, leafless still, and the wind blew mightily and threw the trees about. It looked almost as if the castle standing among them turned, spun, as if it revolved on a spool or plinth. There were bushes as well as trees crouched close to the ground like animals – like lions, Hugh thought. Some were bolt upright, some lay flat, yet all were wakeful, watchful. The roaring of the wind sounded like the lions roaring. The whole landscape seemed to have come to life about Hugh today.
And then he saw a man below him galloping towards the castle. It was the man he had seen before, but there was a glitter about him now. Bit, bridle, sword and spear gave off little points of light. Hugh thought he heard sounds from them, clinks, glitters and jinglings, just as he had thought he heard the roaring lions.
Horse and man galloped in slow motion at first, uphill, but they quickened rapidly, the slope levelling out. As they swept faster and faster across the ground, Hugh began running too, stumbling over the prickly grass, while the castle turned in front of him. He thought he saw men on the battlements now, archers with bent bows. He could have sworn there were roaring lions all around – watching the castle instead of his step, as he gasped for breath, he lost footing, stumbled and fell, banging his head severely. He lay with the sky, the earth, the whole world spinning and turning about, then within, his head, then found himself lying giddily, in darkness, in warmth, in his own bed.
He stilled the spinning deliberately, by turning between the sheets. Something prickled him through his pyjamas. He put his hand down and the same something was prickling his hand, several places at once across one small area of skin. He pulled out a holly leaf, and threw it on the floor beside his bed.
CHAPTER NINE
Next morning Hugh provided the forgotten tortoise with a cardboard box and some lettuce leaves. Then he set up an experiment. He had woken with a passionate desire for knowledge; not simply to watch the cupboard working as they had done yesterday, but to understand the mechanics, how and why it worked. Just as he always wanted to paint alone, so now he wanted to do this alone. He peered over the bannister on their landing to make sure that Jean was not on her way upstairs, and then closed the door very quietly and carefully.
The box of buttons was beneath his bed. Hugh pulled it out, opened and searched through it carefully until he found three brass buttons, all identical except that one was less tarnished than the other two. This one Hugh chose to put in the cupboard first, shutting the door on it. He timed the interval by the second hand on his watch and after thirty seconds exactly, opened the cupboard again.
The second button he left for a minute on the same shelf; the third for one minute and twenty seconds. The first button emerged like the button the day before, two lumps of rock veined just decipherably with metal. The second was still a button, but infinitely shinier, as if new from the maker’s mould. The third button, left in longest, came out smelted, liquid, hot. Hugh burnt his fingers and swore out loud as the
He dreamed that night; indeed he not only expected, he forced this dream, or had the illusion that he did. He felt all-powerful. He took the holly trees along the fence in their garden, rearranged them in his mind, and sure enough found himself beside a line of holly trees on a hilltop, looking down on the castle now, or so it seemed.
He was close enough to see it in more detail than before. Trees stood near it, leafless still, and the wind blew mightily and threw the trees about. It looked almost as if the castle standing among them turned, spun, as if it revolved on a spool or plinth. There were bushes as well as trees crouched close to the ground like animals – like lions, Hugh thought. Some were bolt upright, some lay flat, yet all were wakeful, watchful. The roaring of the wind sounded like the lions roaring. The whole landscape seemed to have come to life about Hugh today.
And then he saw a man below him galloping towards the castle. It was the man he had seen before, but there was a glitter about him now. Bit, bridle, sword and spear gave off little points of light. Hugh thought he heard sounds from them, clinks, glitters and jinglings, just as he had thought he heard the roaring lions.
Horse and man galloped in slow motion at first, uphill, but they quickened rapidly, the slope levelling out. As they swept faster and faster across the ground, Hugh began running too, stumbling over the prickly grass, while the castle turned in front of him. He thought he saw men on the battlements now, archers with bent bows. He could have sworn there were roaring lions all around – watching the castle instead of his step, as he gasped for breath, he lost footing, stumbled and fell, banging his head severely. He lay with the sky, the earth, the whole world spinning and turning about, then within, his head, then found himself lying giddily, in darkness, in warmth, in his own bed.
He stilled the spinning deliberately, by turning between the sheets. Something prickled him through his pyjamas. He put his hand down and the same something was prickling his hand, several places at once across one small area of skin. He pulled out a holly leaf, and threw it on the floor beside his bed.
CHAPTER NINE
Next morning Hugh provided the forgotten tortoise with a cardboard box and some lettuce leaves. Then he set up an experiment. He had woken with a passionate desire for knowledge; not simply to watch the cupboard working as they had done yesterday, but to understand the mechanics, how and why it worked. Just as he always wanted to paint alone, so now he wanted to do this alone. He peered over the bannister on their landing to make sure that Jean was not on her way upstairs, and then closed the door very quietly and carefully.
The box of buttons was beneath his bed. Hugh pulled it out, opened and searched through it carefully until he found three brass buttons, all identical except that one was less tarnished than the other two. This one Hugh chose to put in the cupboard first, shutting the door on it. He timed the interval by the second hand on his watch and after thirty seconds exactly, opened the cupboard again.
The second button he left for a minute on the same shelf; the third for one minute and twenty seconds. The first button emerged like the button the day before, two lumps of rock veined just decipherably with metal. The second was still a button, but infinitely shinier, as if new from the maker’s mould. The third button, left in longest, came out smelted, liquid, hot. Hugh burnt his fingers and swore out loud as the
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