“And I couldn't ’ave, miss,” said Ethelred earnestly. “ ’Onest, I’d ’ave been a roast Toad if it ’adn’t been for you. Grateful I am, miss, very grateful indeed.”
“Well, let’s get back to H.H.," said Parrot, “and see if he can
make head or tail of this spell. I’m sure I can’t. It’s too confusing.”
So, having regained their breath, they made their way back through the crystal tunnels to where H.H., Tabitha, and Dulcibelle anxiously awaited their return.
Weasels and Griffons
“You’re back! You’re back! Thank goodness,” cried H.H. when he saw them. “Were you successful, you brave creatures?”
“Highly successful,” chortled Parrot. “Very highly successful.”
“And was the model of any use?” asked H.H. eagerly.
“The model was what you might call an electrifying effigy,” said Parrot.
“We’ve got the spell,” said Penelope, handing H.H. her little notebook. “Though whether it will make any sense to you, I don’t know.”
“Well now, well now,” said H.H., adjusting his glasses and sitting down. “Let me just study it a minute.”
They watched him as he read the instructions, his lips moving silently.
“Did you see my eggs?” whispered Tabitha.
“No,” said Penelope, “but we saw that they were very safely locked up.”
“Well,” said Tabitha, sighing. “I suppose that’s something.”
“This is most interesting,” said H.H. at last. “Most curious spell indeed. Now, who would have thought of Weasels as a method of getting rid of Cockatrices?”
“Certainly not I,” said Parrot. “Never thought much of the Weasels—dull, decadent lot, eccentric and effeminate. Before this spell came to light, the only reason for getting them on our side was that there’re a lot of them. How many were there at the last count, H.H.?”
“Seven hundred and seventy-seven,” said H.H.
“Why, if we got them on our side, that would be splendid,” said Peter, his eyes shining.
“Yes; with the Unicorns, surely we’d be strong enough to attack?” said Simon.
“Har! har! har!” laughed Parrot. “Har! Har har! Ho ho ho! Pardon me, but the very idea of Weasels fighting, har! har! har!”
“But what’s so funny about it?” asked Penelope. “I mean, there’re seven hundred and seventy-seven of them; surely they’d be of some help. What’s wrong with them?”
“Wrong with them? Why they’re a pack of layabout sissies, that’s what,” said Ethelred. “They’d be as much use in a fight as a bunch of overripe bananas.”
“A vulgar way of putting it,” said Parrot. “But I’m afraid he’s right. The Weasels have as much fight in them as a handful of apple blossoms.”
“However,” said H.H., “we must not overlook the business of the rue. It’s a plant that I’ve had little to do with, but according to this it seems to make the Weasels become . . . urn . . . um . . .
“Belligerent?” suggested Parrot.
“Just so, belligerent,” said H.H., “enough to attack Cockatrices. Now if this is true, and one cannot doubt the Great
Books, there must be some reference to it in the History of Weaseldom.”
“But if this rue stuff really does make the Weasels bellig . . . bellig . . . what you said,” said Penelope, “then why don’t we just go and get some and make them eat it, and then join us?” H.H. pulled his spectacles down to the end of his nose and frowned at her.
“That’s all very well, my dear,” he said. “The rue grows only on Werewolf Island, and that is a very long voyage from here, and, moreover, one of the most unsafe and unpleasant bits of Mythologia. There’s no point in going on such a long and dangerous journey to collect the rue unless we are sure that the Weasels will eat it. It says here that it is bitter. I’m sure they wouldn’t like that. Although I suppose I could add sugar.” “Surely the first thing to do is to approach the Weasels,” suggested Simon. “If we explained to them how dangerous the Cockatrices are getting, surely they’d help.”
“I very much doubt it,” said Parrot gloomily.
“So do I,” said H.H. “But I suppose it’s worth trying.” “How far away do the Weasels live?” asked Penelope.
“Oh, not very far,” said Parrot, “about five miles away, on a very nice promontory in the Bottle Forest. They call it Weaseldom, the silly creatures.”
“Well,” said Penelope, “what I suggest is that we all try to get some sleep, and then tomorrow morning we go and see the Chief Weasel or whatever he’s called.”
“Duke Wensleydale,” said Parrot, with a snort. “Stupid animal.”
“Well, Duke Wensleydale, then,” said Penelope. “I’m sure if we talked to him, we could persuade him.”
As no one could think of a better plan, they all went rather gloomily to bed.
Early the next morning the three children set out on their private Unicorns, accompanied by Parrot, who rode on Penelope’s shoulder, and Ethelred, who rode behind Penelope, holding onto her very tightly and trying to pretend he wasn’t afraid. At first they rode through the cork forests; then they came to a most curious type of country. Here the red rocks were heaped up higgledy-piggledy on top of one another in tall, tottering piles, and in between them grew the most extraordinary-looking trees, the trunks of which were shaped like long-necked wine bottles.
“Bottle trees,” explained Parrot, when Peter remarked on them. “Another of H.H.’s inventions. The trunks are hollow and water-tight. You just simply choose a bottle the size you want, trim the branches off, and there you are. On the way home you can cut yourself a cork to fit it.”
“I really do think H.H. is extraordinary, the way he thinks of these things,” said Penelope admiringly.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Parrot airily. “Over on the northeast wre’ve got two sorts of box hedges.”
“Two sorts?” asked Simon.
“Yes,” said Parrot, “cardboard and wooden. Just pluck the size you want straight off the hedge. All with lids, of course.” By this time the path had led them onto a promontory high on the hills from which there was a wonderful view over Mythologia, lying misty in the dawn below them, and the great, golden, shining sea with its clusters of islands dotted about as far as the eye could see.
“This is Weaseldom,” said Parrot, with a wave of his wing. “In many ways one of the nicest parts of Mythologia. I keep telling H.H. he ought to build himself a little weekend cottage up here. The Weasels wouldn’t mind.”
They wended their way through the groups of bottle trees and round a great tottering pile of rock. There in front of them, with his back toward them, stood a Weasel sentry, holding a very large, cumbersome-looking spear over his shoulder. He was dressed in a blue velvet uniform with brass buttons, and on his head was a hat with a long, green feather in it.
“Ahoy there!” shouted Parrot. “Ahoy!”
The effect on the Weasel was immediate. He leapt almost his own height in the air, dropped his spear, uttered a piercing shriek, and leant back against the rocks with his eyes closed and a hand to his heart.
“I give in,” he screamed. “I surrender. I’ll give you anything, tell you anything. Only please, please don’t harm me.”
“Silly creature, it’s me, Parrot,” said Parrot.
“If you don’t harm me, the Duke will reward you,” the Weasel babbled on, his eyes still firmly shut. “My mother and father will reward you . . . my aunt will reward you . . . my three nephews will reward you ...”
“You infuriating, idiotic beast,” shouted Parrot. “It’s me, Parrot.”
“What?” said the Weasel, his eyes still closed. “Parrot?” “Yes,” said Parrot. “Don’t keep on so.”
The Weasel opened one eye cautiously, and then he opened both eyes and blinked.
“It really is you, Parrot,” he said. “But what are those creatures you’ve got with you?”
“Children,” said Parrot.
“Do they bite?” asked the Weasel in a trembling voice, picking up his spear and pointing it at Penelope and the boys. “If they bite, I don’t want to have anything to do with them. Tell them I shall fight to the death. Tell them how sharp my spear is. Tell them what a temper I’ve got when aroused.”
“They’re perfectly harmless, you ninny,” said Parrot impatiently. “Now let us by, we’re here to see Wensleydale.”
“Pass, friends, all’s well,” said the sentry in a trembling voice. “Second on the left by the next pile of rocks.”
“I must say, I do see what you mean about them not being very brave," said Peter as they rode on.
“Yes,” said Simon. “It would take an awful lot of rue to make that sentry fight.”
They rounded another great pile of rocks and suddenly came upon a sight that made them all gasp with surprise. A large flat area had been cleared and laid out like a formal garden with carefully kept hedges and trimly raked gravel paths, neatly weeded flower beds ablaze with flowers, fountains and ornamental lakes. In the middle of it stood a lovely half-timbered Elizabethan house with beams as black as jet, snow white walls and a tiled roof, twisted chimney pots in the deepest of fox red. The numerous windows glittered and gleamed in the sunlight.
If the children had come across it in the English countryside, they would have thought it a remarkable old house, but to find it suddenly in the curious landscape of Mythologia was extraordinary. What made it even more surprising was that the whole thing was in miniature. The hedges were only six inches high, the fountains were the size of wash basins, and the house itself was like a gigantic doll’s house.
“Har,” chuckled Parrot at the children’s astonishment. “Surprised, eh? Well, it’s a nice enough house in its way. Weasel Court, residence of Wensleydale, the Duke of Weaseldom.”
“Why is he called Wensleydale?” asked Simon.
“His father was devoted to cheese,” explained Parrot. “He actually wanted to call him Gorgonzola, but his mother put her foot down. Great eaters, the Weasels. Now, we’d better leave the Unicorns here. We don’t want them stamping all over the garden with their great hooves.”
So the children got down from the Unicorns and picked their way carefully through the beautifully tended gardens.
“Ain’t ’alf posh, miss,” said Ethelred, rather overawed by his surroundings. “Wouldn’t mind ’aving a ’ouse like this meself.”
“It’s lovely,” agreed Penelope.
Parrot marched up to the front step, lifted the knocker with his beak, and knocked loudly.
“Go away,” screamed a shrill voice from behind the door. “Go away! There’s not a soul at home, so there. And all valuables have been transported to the mountains, and there are fifty bloodthirsty Weasels armed to the teeth guarding the house. And there’s nobody here, so go away.”
“Wensleydale, stop being a nincompoop,” shouted Parrot. “It’s me, Parrot. I want to talk to you.”
“Parrot,” said the voice. “Parrot? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” said Parrot, exasperated.
“How do I know you’re Parrot?” asked the voice.
“Would I say I am Parrot if I wasn’t?” asked Parrot.
“You’re absolutely right,” said the voice. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Well, open the door,” said Parrot.
There was the sound of a great many keys jangling, bolts being withdrawn, bars removed, and then at last the door opened and out came Wensleydale, the Duke of Weaseldom. He wore a scarlet velvet coat and knee breeches and a scarlet hat with a curling yellow feather, and he had a great deal of lace at his throat and his cuffs. He was followed by a lady Weasel who was most attractively dressed in a pale mauve crinoline and wore a diamond tiara between her neat little ears.
Wensleydale embraced Parrot with every symptom of delight. “My dear fellow,” he said. “My very dear fellow. How wonderful to see you alive and well. We heard the most dreadful stories about what had happened to you—how the Cockatrices had burnt you up and stolen the Great Books and turned H.H. into a very small and insignificant cloud. And of course, my dear, we were simply incensed, weren’t we, Winifred?”
“Yes,” said the Duchess. “I’ve never known him so incensed.”
“Black with fury I was, I do assure you. Shaking with uncontrollable rage, wasn’t I, Winnie?”
“Yes, Wensleydale,” said Winifred, “uncontrollable.”
“ ‘I must go with my trusty followers and put these ignorant Cockatrices in their place,’ I said, pounding the table and frothing at the mouth, didn’t I, Winnie?”