Diana Wynne Jones’s Fantastical Journeys Collection

I must have sounded like my mother, her sister, and she’d gone back to her childhood in a sort of way. She looked up and said, “It’s in the beast’s food of course. And if you pull my hair I’ll tell Gran.” Their grandmother brought them up, Beck and my mother, you see.

The boys fell on Moe’s sack of oats and began plunging their hands into it as if it were a lucky dip. Before they could spill it all, I grabbed up the nosebag, just in case. And it was far heavier than it should have been. Aunt Beck had stowed the purse cunningly near the top so that it would not show as a bulge. Poor Moe had been having to eat around it. I pulled it out in triumph. “Here it is!”

We were able to stay at the inn after all. But we discovered that, in order to get my aunt to eat, or to wash, or to get into bed, I had to speak like a cross sister to her. “Beck, eat your supper or I’ll tell Gran!” I snapped. Then, later, “Beck, get ready for bed this instant!” And finally, “Beck, lie down and go to sleep, unless you want your hair pulled!”

By then, I was sick of snapping. I did so hope she would wake up as her grown-up self in the morning.

She didn’t.

I had to begin snapping all over again. “Beck, take your nightgown off. Beck, get your stockings on or there’ll be trouble! Get to the outhouse, Beck, before you wet yourself! Eat that porridge, Beck! Beck, get up in the cart or I’ll spank you!”

Finn and the boys watched and listened, mouths open sadly. “What a comedown for a great Wisdom,” Finn said, shaking his head.

This was all the three of them could think of. It was me who had to pay our bill and it was me who remembered to ask the road to the Straits of Charka, but at least one of us did.

The Straits, they told me, were south-east of there. Take the left turn at the big crossroads, they told me, and make for the town of Charkpool where the ferry was. While they talked, I thought of the map our Dominie was always drawing of the islands with fat Bernica straight up and down and Gallis a long thin island slanting away from it south and east. And I realised we probably had not far to go. I thanked the inn people very politely and went out to where Ogo was busy harnessing Moe to the cart. Aunt Beck was sitting on a stone, while Ivar marched up and down in front of her. We were all afraid that she might take it into her head to wander off. Finn stood anxiously behind her.

“Good news,” I told them. “It sounds as if it’s not far to Charkpool.”

“And what do we do when we get to Charkpool?” Ivar demanded.

“Get on the ferry to Gallis,” I said. “The Straits are not wide.” And I hoped that, as soon as we set foot on another land, Lady Loma’s spell would be lifted from Aunt Beck. Some magics are like that.

“But isn’t Charkpool a port?” Ivar said. “We could get a boat to Skarr there, couldn’t we? I don’t think we’re doing any good with Beck like this. I think we should go home.”

I think we all gasped. I felt as if Ivar had given the side of my head a great blow. Home! I thought. Skarr! And I longed to go home so that I ached. I wanted the smells and the food and the mountains and safety. Somewhere where I knew how the magics worked and where there were proper kings and Wise Women were respected. I wanted it all so much that I nearly cried.

Finn, looking utterly dismayed, said, “But young prince, are we not on a mission?”

Ogo seemed appalled. “Give up, you mean?” he said. “We’re not even halfway yet.”

As he said this, I felt Plug-Ugly come violently up against my legs. I almost fell over.

“Yes,” said Ivar. “I think we should give up and go home. We’re not likely to get anywhere without a Wise Woman to guide us. Don’t look like that, Ogo. You just want to get back to Logra if you can. And you can’t.”

“I didn’t mean that!” Ogo said. “And what would become of Finn if we all get on a boat bound for Skarr?”

“Oh, I shan’t suffer,” Finn assured him. “There are monasteries all over, and all would be honoured to house Green Greet. No worry, young sir.”

Meanwhile, I was feeling as if Plug-Ugly had given me a jolt in the opposite direction to Ivar’s. For the first time, I really put together the things that had happened before we reached Bernica: the way we had been sent off so secretly with a bag of stones instead of money; the way Seamus Hamish had nearly left us on the islet where we found Plug-Ugly, and the way his cook had frankly told us that the captain would be rewarded for coming home without us; and – if I started thinking honestly – the way Ivar’s own mother seemed to have tried to poison him, let alone the way she had tried to bewitch Aunt Beck and me. And it all added up to the fact that we were not expected to return to Skarr. In fact, if we did return, Skarr would not be a place of safety. Far from it. I could not see why, but I could see that.

“My father will look after Beck,” Ivar was saying. “It makes sense, don’t you see, to go home now we have no Wise Woman—”

“Ivar,” I said, “stop talking nonsense. I am a Wise Woman and of course we are going on.”

“You?” Ivar said, laughing. “You’re only a child! A fat lot of guiding you can do! I tell you – and I’m a prince and I’m in charge now – we are going home to Skarr.”

“And you’ll admit you’ve failed?” I said, trying to touch the pride I knew he had.

“I was tricked into coming on this stupid mission,” he retorted. “There’s no shame in admitting failure after that.”

“Well, I would be ashamed,” I shot back. “Of all the cowardly—”

“Oh, peace, peace!” Finn said, wringing his hands. Green Greet was on tiptoes on his shoulder, opening and shutting his wings.

“I tell you what,” Ogo put in, “why don’t we consult Green Greet?”

This struck me as a strange but clever idea. But Ivar snorted, “Consult a parrot?” he said. “Isn’t that just typical of you, Ogo?”

“He is not a parrot!” Finn said, scandalised. “How can you think so, when he is known all over Bernica for a wise oracle!”

“Wise oracle, is he?” Ivar said unpleasantly. “All I’ve ever heard him do is to echo the last words anyone says. Listen. I’ll show you.” He swung around Aunt Beck and stood in front of Finn and the green bird on his shoulder. “What say, Green Greet?” he asked. “Do we go home to Skarr? Home to Skarr, home to Skarr?”

Green Greet tipped his head sideways and stared at Ivar out of one round eye. “No,” he said very clearly and distinctly. “Go to Gallis, go to Gallis, go to Gallis.” It was almost as if he were making fun of Ivar, I swear it.

Ivar went quite pale with astonishment. I said quickly, “That settles it then. Ogo and Finn and I will go on anyway. If you want to get on a boat for Skarr in Charkpool, Ivar, you can, but you’ll have to work your passage because I don’t think we’ve enough money for a fare.”

I felt great relief to say this, but scared too. The responsibility of getting us all to Gallis was heavy upon me as we set off, with Aunt Beck sitting in the cart with Finn to mind her and Ogo driving. Ivar refused to drive. He stalked behind, muttering. I walked next to Ogo, trying to chat cheerfully. It was one of those times when I wished I had never fixed on Ivar for my chosen mate. But I didn’t feel I could go back on my word to myself so I put it out of my mind and thought instead how lucky we were to have escaped the dangers of Skarr, whatever they were.

It rained of course. But it rained in short showers and the sun shone between. That day we saw more rainbows than I had seen in my life up to then. They looked truly lovely over the deep green of Bernica. One – a great double rainbow – made both Ogo and me exclaim. Two great misty coloured arches. Then we exclaimed again as a third rainbow shone gently into being inside the other two.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Ogo said.

“That is a promise from the gods,” Finn told us, as all three rainbows faded away.

“Promises, promises!” Ivar muttered sourly from behind.

I’d hoped the promise was that we’d reach the coast soon, but it was not so. The land went on and on after we had taken the left-hand way at the crossroads, and we had to stay at an inn again that night. Or we tried to. For some reason it was very crowded, so they directed us to a house in the village where we spent the night next door to a herd of cows. It was very restless. Aunt Beck would hardly do a thing I told her and I grew sick of snapping at her. But the food was good. We set off in quite good spirits into next day’s rain and when the clouds cleared we saw the sea again at last, just briefly, between two low hills.

We discovered then why the inn had been so crowded. People came pouring past us, faster than Moe could go, all of them in holiday clothes. The women had layers of different coloured petticoats and skirts hitched up with ribbons to show them off. The men had ribbons everywhere and hats with feathers. Most of them called out to us cheerfully, “Going to the fair, are you?” or “Bound for Charkpool Fair then?”

If it was me that answered, I said, “Maybe.” Finn said nothing. But Ivar and Ogo both called back joyfully that of course they were going. At which I sighed and looked around at us all. None of us looked like people on holiday. Aunt Beck was draggled and sagging, nothing like her usual neat self. I had made a mess of helping her do her hair that morning and she was wisps all over. Goodness knows how my hair looked, but my dress was grubby. Ogo’s fine new clothes had become worn old clothes. Ivar was mud to the waist from kicking along behind the cart. Even Finn’s ragged green robes were the worse for wear. Ah well, I thought. No one can travel as we have done and stay new and tidy. But it made me very self-conscious.

The road took us around a hill and there was the fair in front of us in a wide green meadow, with the town beyond that. Beyond that I could actually see Gallis as woods and mountains, blue with distance. Then I could think of practically nothing else but that there, quite near, was my father’s birthplace, as beautiful as he always said it was. I could hardly be bothered with the fair.

And that was silly because it looked fun. There was a mass of coloured tents and a mass of animals and an even greater crowd of people. On the grass in front of me they were dancing to a band of fiddlers. The tunes were fast and jolly and never seemed to end. People dropped out of the dance, panting and laughing, when they had had enough, threw coins into the hats the fiddlers had out in front of them, and then went to the nearest tent for drinks. As for the fiddlers, they played on and on, grinning, and amazed me and Ogo by the speed at which their arms and fingers moved.

“Oh, let’s dance!” said Ivar. “Money, Aileen. Give me money!”

“Me too,” Ogo said. There was a crowd of fine-looking girls standing nearby, obviously waiting for partners. He and Ivar were already edging that way, but Ogo stopped to ask Finn politely if he was going to dance too.

Finn laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think Green Greet would enjoy it.”

“You could leave him perched on the cart,” Ogo was suggesting, when Aunt Beck suddenly jerked her head up and glared at the dancers.

“What is this wickedness?” she said. “Stupid carrying on to music. Barbary—” She had taken to calling me Barbary, which was my mother’s name. “Barbary, come away at once. Gran will half kill us if we stay here!” And she began trying to climb out of the cart.

“Stay where you are, Beck!” I snapped at her. “Gran isn’t here.”