“By Alexander Graham’s Bells, Mary, they’re huge! B-b-but why aren’t they swimming?” croaked Roger in disbelief.
“I don’t know,” Mary whispered. “But don’t shout, just lie flat and keep very still, O.K.”
Roger did as he was told and then heard a deep but rather pleasant voice calling out.
“Come along, Lutie, my dear, do move them along please, we don’t have all day, you know. We can’t keep the Tree-King waiting,” the big Daddy Otter pleaded to his wife, who was trying to shepherd her noisy family along the riverbank’s edge.
“Oh, those horrible Humdrums!” came another, shriller voice, “Always butting in where they’re not wanted, they are; with their smelly wood-mills an’ all their wasteful nonsense. What do they want to go an’ poison another bit of our lovely river for, eh? I ask you, Artie, what sense is there in that, eh?”
“Yes, I know, dearest, I know, there’s just no understanding the Humdrums at all these sad days, but we’ve got to keep moving as best we can, we have to get to the meeting on time.”
“Harrumph!” snorted the harassed Lutie, with a sardonic air and reluctant agreement, as she nosed a dawdling otter pup along in front of her, despite its own preferred intention being to explore a nearby water-rat’s hole.
The big male Otter, Artie, now forged on ahead of them, closely followed by his family, his ever-complaining wife Lutie, and their three energetic offspring.
Roger held his breath as they went on by. After a short while, the Otter family had passed, disappearing among the roots and reeds further along the riverbank. Roger watched in silence and wide-eyed wonder, mouth agape and looking like a startled marmoset.
“By B-B-Bunsen’s Bakelite Burners! Those animals were t-t-talking,” spluttered Roger. “Wh-wh-what’s going on here? Erf Animals d-d-don’t talk!”
“Well, these ones obviously do,” whispered Mary.
Mary had heard all the old stories about animals that talked; and of other creatures as well, belonging more properly to myth and legend, but this was her first time of really experiencing any in the flesh. (With the exception of Jemima, their pet South Amerigan Parrot of course!)
As for Roger, he was now sitting upright and furiously wiping his glasses. For him it was somehow, something even harder to come to terms with.
“After all, it isn’t at all Scientific, is it?” he thought. “Maybe I’m just suffering from some sort of delayed nervous reaction or, or something!”
But before Roger had a chance to get his head fully around the strange procession he’d just witnessed, there came yet another loud noise; a cra-a-a-ash and cr-r-r-runching sound, but this time from the woods right behind them.
“By Aristotle’s ’airy Armpits!” Roger exclaimed. “Now what?”
(Roger had taken to swearing in his own indomitable fashion a lot more than usual, which was a sure sign that things were indeed, most definitely not ‘as usual,’ at all.)
This time though, there was a much bigger commotion occurring in the wood, much more widespread than the Otters had made at the riverbank. And it was a lot stranger too.
Trees were swaying and shedding their leaves, and twigs and branches were bending and crackling noisily. And, whatever it was, was getting nearer and nearer to them every second.
“Oh, my fizzly-figs, this looks a lot bigger than Otters,” Mary yelped, pulling at Roger to get up and run to some nearby rocks and take cover from the advancing monster.
Roger threw himself down behind the rock next to Mary, and just barely in time, to see the first ‘monster’ breakthrough into the open, just above the rocks where they both lay hidden.
Roger couldn’t believe his own eyes. It wasn’t a monster at all. In fact, it wasn’t just one creature, but a whole galloping herd of them. More and more of the strange and furry beasts now came into view. What he was seeing was a large troop of wild Satyrs or ‘Goat-men’ as Humdrum’s called them in their myths. They were half man and half goat. (They, of course, had their own name for their kind, which the Humdrums knew nothing about, and anyway, Roger, as with all Humdrums, had always considered them mere fantasies of Myth).
Roger heard various yells, yowls, and yips, coming from out of the woods, as more of the Goat-men came into view. Soon the full troop of Satyrs was clearly visible.
They gathered together down by the River Quaggy, just a stone’s throw away from where Roger was watching, now barely daring to even breathe.
“By Einstein’s Eyebrows!” he exclaimed. “First, it’s talking Giant Otters, and now this… a troop of galloping Goat-men! I just don’t believe it,” he finished, still open-mouthed and staring, wide-eyed with utter disbelief.
“What on Erf’s going on here, Mary?” he whispered to her anxiously, cowering behind the protective rocks, “talking animals and now these … goat-men creatures. They just don’t exist. Everybody knows that!”
Mary turned toward him. “I know! But I’ve heard about these creatures, Roj,” she replied, earnestly whispering to him. “My Gran’s told me lots about all the mythical things like these; they’re called Goat-men now, but in Myths, they’re usually called Fauns or Satyrs.”
“Well, they’re not supposed to exist, that’s all I know,” Roger answered her.
“Well, they do, and my Gran says her people up North calls ‘em Goat-men an’ they tells stories about ‘em to scare their kids. ‘Ow they come an’ steal away babies to roast ‘em on their fires an’ eat ‘em at their wild, all-night parties in the woods.”
“Bu-bu-bu-bu-bu….” was all Roger could manage.
The Satyrs had now gathered into a group; there were about forty of them, Roger counted, (always the Mathematician), and they seemed to be taking a breather. Some went down to the water’s edge for a drink, and others just idled about sitting on the nearby rocks and chatting.
After a short while, one of them trot-walked over towards the exact rock where Roger and Mary happened to be hiding, whistling nonchalantly as he approached them.
Roger and Mary both stifled a gasp.
“Just what would these creatures do if they were discovered?” Roger thought, anxiously. He really didn’t want to end up as a Satyr’s Sunday Roast!
The strange goat-like creature, the top half, man, and the bottom half, hairy goat, stood above them and started humming to himself. He then brought out a set of wooden pipes and started to play a jaunty tune. Its lilting little melody caught Roger’s attention, and as he listened, he felt more and more caught up in its strange, hypnotic rhythm. It was having the same effect on Mary too. Roger could feel her tapping her fingers to its beat and humming along… and then he realized he was doing exactly the same thing.
Roger snapped himself awake and lay rigidly still, biting his lip, and quickly and quietly dug his elbow into Mary’s side to jolt her awake from the trance-like effect he could see the Goat Man’s music was having on her.
The problem now was to keep as still and as silent as they could and not be lured into any sleepy state of mind from the strange pipe music. But they also had to be ready to run for it if they were discovered.
Roger was the closest and carefully peeked up at the musical Goat-man; ready to give Mary warning if they were about to be discovered. As he looked, he heard a deep, wild sort of a voice, coming from another of the Satyrs, who now came trotting into view.
Roger could see that this one had shaggy, gingery hindquarters, whereas the nearer Satyr was more of a chestnut brown in colour. Both though, had long, pointed ears and two short, goat-like horns, sticking out from their crinkly, brown-weathered brows.
“Don’t go wandering off now, will ye, Taog; We don’t want to go annoying the Cap’n now, do we, me bothersome little brother?” said the newcomer gruffly.