“Why, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Penelope, drawing a deep breath. “I'd never imagined it would be anything like this.”
“Look at the colors,” said Simon. “Aren’t they fabulous?”
“And the sky,” said Peter. “Those clouds look as though they’d been arranged.”
“They are,” said Parrot, “and rearranged five times a day, so that we don’t get bored. We also have four different sunsets: one, as it were, at each corner, so that those who like their sunsets red can watch one side, while those that like theirs orange or yellow or green can watch the other sides. It’s very convenient.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” said Penelope. “No wonder you’re proud of it.”
“Well, well,” said Parrot, embarrassed. “I’ve lived here a long time, you know. One grows fond of a place. That’s why I don’t want to see those darned Cockatrices take over.”
“Quite right,” said Peter, “and the sooner we get cracking on that, the better. What do we do now, Parrot?”
“Well,” Parrot said judiciously, “if we follow this stream down, it joins the main river, and there we can launch the boat. Then, if my memory serves me right—and I could kick myself for not having brought a map—we travel down the main river, through Phoenix Valley, until we reach the Mooncalf Hills and Unicorn Meadows. There we’re just below the Crystal Caves, and it’s only a fairly short walk. However, I must warn you there are two rather nasty rapids in Phoenix Valley, and I don’t see how we can avoid them. I do hope you know how to handle that dinghy of yours.”
“We’ll be all right,” said Peter airily.
“Let’s hope we’ll be all right,” said Simon. “With both of us paddling we should be able to manage to get through.”
“Well, off we go,” said Parrot. “Let’s keep to the trees as much as possible, just in case there are any Cockatrices about. And remember, they can shoot out flames to a distance of about eight feet.”
“Eight feet!” exclaimed Peter. “Good heavens, that’s like a flamethrower.”
“Exactly,” said Parrot. “In the old days, of course, they used to be able to kill with their glance, too, but H.H. put a stop to that when he created Mythologia, because—really—enough is enough, as H.H. said. It was bad enough when they went round burning up everything they came in contact with by careless breathing, without killing everything they glanced at as well.”
“I don’t know why you allowed them to come to Mythologia,” said Penelope. “What do you want with a lot of horrible creatures like that?”
“Ah, no, you can’t pick and choose,” said Parrot. “Mythologia was created for mythical animals, and we couldn’t show any favoritism. All we could do was to control their numbers, of course, which helped, and keep them in places where they did as little harm as possible. It’s just unfortunate that the Cockatrices have got a bit above themselves. Anyway, with your help I’m hoping that we will put a stop to that.”
As they talked, they’d been walking down the valley, following the little waterfalls and the tiny stream, and now they reached the first scattering of trees at the edge of the wood. The children looked at them in amazement.
“Ah,” said Parrot. “Surprised, eh? Thought you might be. They’re cork trees. Now, in the outside world, the whole business of obtaining cork is very prehistoric—if I may be allowed to criticize. First of all, you have to peel the bark off the tree, and then you have to cut it into corks. Oh, it’s a very laborious process. So, when we came here, H.H. decided he’d create cork trees that saved a certain amount of time and energy. Here, as you can see, the corks grow directly on the bark of the trees, and in different sizes.”
Looking round them, the children could see that Parrot was perfectly correct. On the trunk and on the branches of each tree grew corks in numerous shapes and sizes: there were tiny corks such as one would use for very small medicine bottles; there were champagne corks, wine bottle corks, and great big flat, fat corks such as you’d use for corking up jars of preserved fruit or jam, or perhaps honey.
“Saves a lot of time, I can tell you,” said Parrot. “As soon as you’ve made your jam, or whatever it happens to be, you just come out into one of these cork tree forests and cut yourself off enough corks of the right shape and size. They grow again almost immediately, too, so you have an endless crop. It’s rather like the grass, which grows again as soon as it’s eaten by the Unicorns or Mooncalves, and it never grows any longer than it is. Anyway, a nice, comfortable length, not long enough to get all damp and catch round your ankles. And the flowers, too, they’re one of H.H.’s inventions. A very, very inventive magician he is, I can tell you. Here, you just pluck some, and you’ll see what I mean.”
Penelope bent down and gathered a small bunch of the beautiful multicolored flowers.
“Smell them,” said Parrot.
Penelope put them up to her nose, and thought that she’d never ever in her life smelt a smell so sweet and delicious as the scent of these little flowers.
“Everlasting,” said Parrot. “Stick ’em on your dressing table and they’d be there forever, and they’ll smell forever, too; but if you get bored with them, just throw them away. Go on, just throw them down anywhere.”
Penelope threw the flowers onto the purple grass, and immediately each one stood upright, grew little threadlike roots which delved down into the earth, and there, lo and behold, where there’d been a scattered bunch of flowers was a little growing patch of them.
“Waste not, want not,” said Parrot, winking one eye. “It’s the same with the trees. If you want to light a fire, you just cut off a couple of branches of any tree that happens to be handy, and the branch grows again almost immediately. It saves the tree having that awful amputated look that trees have in the outside world. That’s why everything looks so new and fresh.”
Presently the stream they were following led them through the cork forest and out onto the banks of the main river.
The river was quite broad and slow-moving, and its golden waters were so transparent that, standing on the bank and looking down, the children could see porcelain white and green crabs walking about on the bottom, together with scarlet, black, and yellow striped water beetles swimming to and fro, all busy about their business.
“Is this where we set out?” asked Peter.
“Yes,” said Parrot. “It’s about three miles from here to Phoenix Valley and then about another five miles before we reach the Mooncalf Hills.”
Simon put down the dinghy and spread it out, and he and Peter and Penelope took turns pumping it up. At length it was ready, and they launched it onto the golden waters, put Parrot’s cage and all their supplies into it, and then scrambled on board and pushed off.
Of all the scenes that Penelope later was to remember of Mythologia, probably the one that lived most vividly in her memory was that first trip down the river toward Phoenix Valley. The banks with their purple grass bestrewn with multicolored blossoms; the strange, misshapen cork trees, their upper branches trailing long wisps of gray green luminous moss and great fronds of what appeared to be coral pink and green orchids; the soft sound of the water and the long trailing fronds of yellow water weed and the crabs and the busy beetles she could see beneath the boat. It was a magical experience.