7 Michael the Blind Man
Next morning it was only just light when Giles woke his sister up—by throwing a slipper over on to her cot.
‘The thing to work out now,’ said Giles, ‘is, who is to get the shell. “Whoever shall carry the Whispering Shell to the one in greatest need of it shall make his fortune”—that’s what Agnes said. Well, Father is the one most in need. How about him?’
At once, still fuddled with sleep though she was, Anne shook her head hard.
‘Be sensible, Giles,’ she warned. ‘What would Father have to do with anything like this which smacks of magic. Fancy asking such a very—er—sensible man to carry around a shell in his pocket, waiting for it to get hot before he listened to it! No, Giles, we’ve got to be very careful how we go about this business. I would not be surprised if we find it very difficult to get any grown-up person even to take the shell and try it.’
‘Doctor Seymour, then,’ said Giles.
‘Worse still,’ said Anne. ‘I wouldn’t dare even to explain the matter to such a stuffy old grump.’
‘But he fancies himself a very important person,’ said Giles. ‘I should think he would want to know what people were saying about him.’
‘He wouldn’t care to hear what I would be saying about him,’ Anne muttered. ‘No. He’s no good to us. But why should we begin with the high and mighty? If we don’t go carefully about this, we’ll only have the shell taken from us and get a whole lot of trouble, maybe, in exchange. Let’s begin with the poor and lowly, someone who can’t do us any harm if he doesn’t hold by what we’re doing. Agnes didn’t say the fortune would come from the person we take the shell to—only that a fortune would be made. Yet it is certain that the right person can be found. She wouldn’t have given it to us just to fool us. We’ve got to try it out first—on many different kinds of people perhaps—and see what happens.’
‘The poor and lowly?—Humph!’ muttered Giles thoughtfully ... ‘I have it: Michael the Blind Man.’
‘A good idea,’ said Anne. ‘To one who cannot see, it ought to be specially helpful ... Though we may have difficulty even with him. He has a suspicious nature. Well, let’s try him first. Anyhow, he likes us. That’s something.’
So, later in the morning, the children went forth into the town. Michael was one person who could always be found. At the east entrance to Our Lady’s Church he sat within the great arch—with all the saints carved around it—rain or shine, from daylight to dark. Beside him sat his faithful mongrel dog, Timothy, who barked out his thanks when folks put money in the little tin box that hung upon the blind man’s chest. Every morning the dog led Michael to the church and every evening he led him home again.
He wagged his tail in welcome as he saw the children coming. The blind man heard, or felt, the dog’s movements. He lifted his head to face the sky—seeking shadows.
‘Good day to you, Michael,’ said Anne gently.
‘Good morning, children,’ said the blind man, whose quick ears heard two pairs of footsteps.
‘Listen,’ Anne began. ‘We have a shell here which we would like you to keep for a while.’
‘Why should I keep it?’ grunted the old man.
Giles was about to burst out with a long explanation of what the shell could do, but Anne broke in:
‘Take it just as a favour to us, Michael,’ said she. ‘We want you to try it.’
And then she explained to him in what manner the shell worked.
He scowled as she finished.
‘I don’t quite like it,’ said he. ‘Where did you get this thing, child?’
‘Oh, don’t ask me that now, Michael, please,’ said Anne. ‘Just trust us that no harm will come to you from it. After all, you know us, don’t you?’
‘Oh, aye,’ said the old man slowly at last. ‘I’d trust some of you youngsters farther than I’d trust your elders—and that’s the truth. But I have no liking for conjuring tricks, mark you. A blind man’s life is a life of puzzling, anyhow. I’m loath, I suppose, to take over any new riddles. Give me your shell.’
He stretched out his big white hand and Anne placed the shell upon it. It closed with that curious searching feel that the blind use to take the place of seeing.
‘We will come again tomorrow or the next day,’ said Anne, ‘and learn what you have heard, Michael.’
‘Very good, child,’ said he. ‘I will expect you.’
8 Johannes the Philosopher
Two days later the children were back again at the east entrance of the church.
‘Well, Michael,’ said Anne eagerly, ‘what did the shell tell you?’
‘Nothing,’ said he. ‘What could you expect? No one ever talks about me.’
‘But didn’t it ever even grow warm?’ asked Giles with wide-open eyes.
‘Oh, aye, it grew warm once,’ grumbled Michael. ‘And when I listened to it, I heard only Timothy barking. He’d gone out after I was abed—across the river, chasing rats. Afraid he was, I reckon, that he’d not get back in time to take me out in the morning. My own dog barking—talking in his own language—that was all I heard. What else could I hear, Michael the blind beggar?—No one ever talks about me ... Here’s your shell, youngsters. Go, and my blessing with you.’
Sadly the children took the shell and made their way back towards home. For a space neither of them spoke.
‘Well, what do we do now?’ said Giles at last. ‘We didn’t learn much from that. It seems to me, in spite of what you say, we ought to seek some richer person. After all, if we are to make a fortune for Father by means of the shell I suppose it will be by selling it. We couldn’t expect to make anything out of a blind man.’
‘Have patience,’ said Anne. ‘So it often happens in fairy stories—that great fortune came from the last place to be expected. No harm is done—if no good. Remember we must be careful. You know how down they are in this town on anything that smells of magic. You remember how Agnes told us about their hauling her up before the courts for witchcraft. If we were questioned about where we got the shell and had to confess we got it from “Shragga the Witch”, what then? We’ve got to think of her as well as ourselves.’
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right,’ said Giles gloomily. ‘It would almost seem as though this town goes witchcraft-mad every once in a while. Luke told me that even the old philosopher Johannes was not spared from their hunting and meddling. Just because he studies the science of alchemy he had to be brought before the judges. Even harmless old Johannes.’
‘Johannes! That’s an idea,’ cried Anne. ‘He, at least, would not give us away. And he would be interested, too. He does not smell the Devil in everything new. Let’s take the shell to him!’
The philosopher Johannes lived up in the hills behind the town. The children had visited him once before—by accident. They had been hunting blackberries and lost their way. They blundered upon a tiny cabin. At first they had been frightened by the angry red face that popped out of the window. But presently when the angry red face had heard their sad story it invited them to come in, while the road home could be explained to them. And, finally, they had gone away with no feeling of fear in their hearts for this man who lived alone in the hills.
Now, without hesitation, they made plans for a second visit to him. They would have to go home and get lunch first. The clock in the church tower was striking noon as they broke into a run.