Power of Three (23 page)

Mr. Masterfield said, “You really can't get water any other way?”

“If I could,” said Mr. Claybury, “I'd be using it now. If someone came to me—now—tomorrow—next week— and told me I could get it some other way, I'd cancel all plans for the Moor—like that! That's a promise, Jerry. But no one will. There
is
nowhere else. I know. You'd have to be some kind of amphibian to know more about water than I do.”

Gerald's head came up, as if he had been struck by an idea. “Mr. Claybury, is that a real promise? If I told you how to get water another way, would you cancel the plans?”

“I really would,” said Mr. Claybury. “Provided you were right.”

“Go to bed, Gerald,” Mr. Masterfield said irritably. “Take your friends with you.”

Gerald stood up, looming among the little statues, wished everyone goodnight, and took Ceri, Ayna, Gair, Brenda and the coffee cups out to the kitchen. An extremely noisy magic box was washing the crockery there, using precious water, as Brenda bitterly pointed out. Gerald seemed to want to have some kind of conference, but the others were too tired. Ceri tried to go to sleep under the table. Gair sat miserably on a stool, suddenly longing for his lost windowsill. And Ayna, who felt as if her best efforts had gone for nothing, said tearfully that they had to find Gest first thing tomorrow.

“I'll get my old man to drive you anywhere Ceri says,” Gerald promised. “But you'll have to promise to help me, too, with a sort of idea I've got. After all, you owe us for our help.” They could not but agree they did. “Come back first thing tomorrow,” Gerald called to Brenda, as she took her poker from a corner and gloomily opened the back door.

“O.K.,” said Brenda. “Look at that, now! It's raining. You'd think it rained enough in this blessed country to turn us all into Dories. Where does it all go?”

Chapter

12

THEY SLEPT LATE IN THE SOFT GIANT BEDS.
They awoke in the bright rain-specked mid-morning to find that their own clothes had dried overnight, somewhat shrunk and wrinkled, particularly their boots. Nevertheless, they put them on with relief and went downstairs feeling much more like themselves. Ayna thought Mr. Claybury looked rather sharply at them, but he and Mr. Masterfield were busy bustling off for a tour of the Moor in Mr. Masterfield's car. They seemed the best of friends, and there was a strong suggestion that they were going to pay a visit to Brenda's Auntie Marianne. Ayna could not imagine that she would be pleased to see them. Aunt Mary was also driving off, to a place called Church, so, when Brenda crashed into the kitchen brushing toast-crumbs off her generous front, Gerald and his three visitors were alone there having breakfast. Brenda promptly had more breakfast with them.

Gair had waked with his head full of disturbing thoughts. He felt weak and inadequate, and blamed himself for not explaining to Mr. Claybury. And he did not want to see Gest yet. He was glad both cars had gone, and ashamed of being glad. For some reason, it did not occur to him to connect these feelings with the fact that he had spent the night close to a powerful source of evil. The nearest he came to it was to think constantly of the way Mr. Claybury had counteracted the curse. It seemed to him that the Giants had behaved better than people would, and he longed to know why.

“What do you Giants do,” he asked, “to stop being enemies?”

They did not quite understand him. “We talk,” Gerald said gloomily. “Peace conferences, summit conferences, conferences. Talks about talks, preconference talks, treaty-talks, talks.”

Brenda said, “I think we use talk the way you lot use words.”

“Does it work?” Ceri asked, in surprise.

The two Giants looked at one another. “I think it stops the big wars,” Gerald said, after a moment.

“Talking to old Claybury hasn't stopped the Moor being flooded,” Brenda said dismally.

“That's more or less my idea,” Gerald said. “Talk. We didn't do any good with Claybury, so what if we talked to the other lot who want the Moor flooded?”

“The Dories?” said Brenda. “What good would that do?”

Gerald looked at Gair. “Didn't you tell me the Dorig managed to flood whatsit—Otmound? Doesn't that sound as if they might have control of a water supply somewhere?” Gair nodded, beginning to feel much more cheerful. “So if we talk,” Gerald said, “we might just settle the flooding and your war as well, if we played it right. We know there are nine Dorig in the moat at the moment. Can you think of any way we can get them out and talk to them?”

“I think you've got some hopes!” Brenda said frankly. “The Dorig are these lot's deadly enemies. They want them flooded out. And don't forget you shot one. He won't love you for that.”

As Gerald began to look gloomy and obstinate, a perfect idea came to Gair. It was so good that he chuckled. “I can catch a Dorig,” he said. “All I've got to do is sit on that bridge as bait and wait for them to grab me. You can all hide behind the hedge and grab him as he grabs me.”

“And then talk to him!” said Gerald. “Or use him as a hostage to make the others talk. Bravo, Gair!”

Though the others exclaimed at the risk, the idea took their fancy thoroughly. They had all been longing to turn the tables on the Dorig, and the fact that the idea was peaceful seemed to justify it. The real trouble was that the Dorig would certainly shift shape when he found himself grabbed. Some time was devoted to persuading Ceri to shift it back with a Thought. Ceri refused obstinately, until Ayna took a hand.

“Mother isn't dead, so it's not a sacred promise, stupid!” she said. “You know that as well as I do. You're just scared.”

“Yes, I am,” said Ceri shamelessly.

“Well, it's Sun day. You shouldn't be,” said Ayna.

“What's Sunday got to do with it?” said Gerald.

“It's our day,” said Ceri sulkily. “The Sun's on our side. All right. I'll do it. But I'm still scared.”

Gair was scared, too, when he went out onto the bridge, in spite of it being Sun day and in spite of Aunt Mary's clothesline tied round his waist, with the other end in Gerald's hand behind the hedge. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gerald's large hands tying the rope to the gatepost. He did not really think that would do much good. Once he was in the water, he was as good as drowned. He had not the first notion how to swim. None of his people had. He sat cautiously down on the bridge, with his shrunk and battered boots hanging just above the blue sparkles and peat-brown shadows of the moat, to give the Dorig a good chance. They were certain to recognize him. Apart from his missing collar and Gerald's watch softly and rapidly ticking on his wrist, Gair was the same small figure in Moor-colored clothes whom they had chased and surrounded yesterday.

He was fairly sure the Dorig were in the moat. He looked casually round, as if he was admiring a fine fresh day, and he could see nothing that looked like a Dorig. White mist rose distantly, from the marshes beyond the trees. A few birds twittered. The mild dog lay on the gravel and slept as if there was no enemy for miles.

“They're not here!” Brenda hissed in a huge whisper.

“Shut up!” Gerald hissed back.

Gair waited, pretending to be deep in thought. Behind the hedge, the rest waited, too. Nothing happened. After a while, Gair dared to look down into the water of the moat, where the soles of his battered boots were reflected, and his white face in the distance between them. But the water inside the reflections was deep, dark and impenetrable. Like the Dorig themselves, it was fearsome and it gave nothing away. Gair thought that one reason he was sitting here, scared and tense, was that he wanted to know more about the Dorig. They were so mysterious.

It did not occur to him that the main reason he was sitting there might be that collar, though he looked up at the dark bricks of the house and thought about the thing itself. He could feel it lying inside, like a cold pocket of poison under a tooth. He knew he owed it to Gerald to do something about it if he could, but for that moment he thought of it only as the thing which had first made him aware that he had a Gift. And it seemed to him he was really sitting there because the Gift had made no difference at all. He had had it all along without knowing it, and now he knew of it, he was still ordinary.

Something jumped in the water.

Gair's head jerked round in time to catch ripples spreading away from something about five feet from the bridge, something which was already sinking out of sight. He waited, tense as a cat. Behind the hedge, they had seen it, too. Gair heard Brenda breathing as noisily as a Giant tractor. He looked across the placid moat and tried to hum a tune.

The fish jumped again—if it was a fish. And it was nearer.

The ripples faded. There was nothing. For a long time there was nothing at all. Gair tried to look at the water while seeming to look at the sky, until his eyes ached. He was forced to rub them. And while he did, there was movement in the reflection of his feet. Gair stared, with his hands at his eyes. The water there swirled and piled into a hummock. There was a grayness. A long thin hand reached up out of it and seized Gair round the ankle.

Tense as Gair was, it happened so quickly that the Dorig all but got him. The thin gray hand had dragged his leg underwater before he could move. But the cold water filling his boot brought Gair to his senses. He shouted. He felt the clothesline jerk as somebody hauled on it. Then he rolled sideways on the bridge and grabbed down into the water beside his leg. His fingers met something slippery and firm. He seized it and pulled with all his might. The water boiled and seethed. Gair was soaked in seconds, but he had hold of what seemed to be an arm and he did not let go. He felt the bridge tremble as Brenda and Ayna dashed from behind the hedge and hung over the edge of the bridge to pull, too.

Gair was astonished how light and weak Dorig were. By the time Brenda seized it, he had the gray Dorig body half out of the water single-handed. One heave from Brenda, and it was on the bridge. The next second, it was not a Dorig any longer, but a yard-long green pike, flailing and snapping and almost back in the water again. Brenda fell on it. The whole bridge juddered.

“Ceri!” Gair shouted.

Ceri appeared in the gateway, white with concentration.

The pike let out a piercing yell and became a Dorig again at once, without the usual dissolving. A wave of cold air rolled between it and Ceri, and the Dorig yelled again. Gair had an idea that it hurt it to change so abruptly. But no one had much time to think. The Dorig, though it was not much taller than Ayna and probably lighter than Ceri, fought Ayna and Brenda like a tiger and screamed piercingly for help. The mild dog woke up and hovered anxiously around, getting in Gair's way, and the bridge became dangerously slippery with the water splashed in the first struggle. Gerald stormed out from behind the hedge, bellowing at the dog and bawling to Gair to untie the rope before it swept everyone off the bridge.

“Hafny,
help
!” screamed the Dorig. “They've stopped me shifting shape!” Gerald pounced on it and held its beating arms to its sides.

“Get it into the house before any more come,” Gair said, scrambling out of the rope.

But it was too late. The water was surging again some yards away beside the bank. Glistening gray hands seized the stones there, and another thin, silvery Dorig body slid upward onto the gravel. This one seemed smaller than the first, though it was hard to see for sure, for it remained crouched where it was, with water rilling off it, staring at the crowded bridge. The mild dog, to Gair's disgust, ambled up to it wagging its elderly tail. That dog did not seem to know an enemy when it saw one. It actually let the crouching Dorig pat it.

“Don't just sit there!” screamed the captured Dorig, twisting in Gerald's hands. “Do something!”

“What do you want me to do?” the smaller Dorig asked, rather unhelpfully.

The captured Dorig wailed with annoyance. “Stupid! Go and tell someone. Quick! Before they stop you shifting shape, too.”

“Ceri,” said Ayna.

“I already have,” said Ceri.

“I can't tell anyone,” said the smaller Dorig. “You know we—”

“Oh be quiet and do as I tell you!” howled the larger one, and tried to bite Gerald.