The Hounds of the Morrigan (10 page)

‘What does that mean?’ asked Brigit.

‘It means that they’re witches, I think.’

‘But they told Mossie Flynn that they were artists!’

‘I know,’ said Pidge. ‘That must be to throw people off the scent in case they did anything peculiar.’

‘Brazen Liars!’ said Brigit.

They walked on in the heat.

As soon as they were back inside the glasshouse, Melodie Moonlight filled a crystal dish with water. She set it carefully down on the floor and then she sat on a little stool beside it.

Breda Fairfoul sat ready with her harp.

The surface of the water became a picture; a moving picture like a film. It showed Brigit and Pidge as they trailed along the boreen.

Melodie Moonlight laughed.

‘Begin the Calling Music,’ she said.

Breda ran her tapering fingers over the harpstrings.

A faint, delicate music whispered into the air. It was lighter than a summer breeze, it was more quiet than dust-motes in a ray of sunlight, yet its strength was greater than iron chains.

Pidge and Brigit stopped walking. The music touched them and caught hold of them and yet they heard nothing. It began to pull gently. It was inaudible and very powerful, in the same way that electricity is invisible but full of force.

‘Don’t you suddenly feel that it would be very nice to take the footpath across the fields for the rest of the way?’ Pidge said.

‘I feel that nothing in the whole world could be nicer,’ said Brigit.

They climbed over the wall into the field.

As they walked along the little footpath, a wonderful feeling reached the soles of their feet from the earth, so that every step gave a marvellous tingle of pleasure. It came right through the soles of their sandals. The awful heat of the day seemed to lift and the air felt gentle on their faces. It was all part of the way the harp music called them. They began to hop, skip and jump along the path.

Ahead of them, the track split in two directions. One way, turning right, led to home; and the other way, turning left, went to Old Mossie Flynn’s. As they approached this division, Brigit shouted exuberantly:

‘Why don’t we go to the glasshouse and peep in at the witches?’

‘Why not!’ Pidge shouted back, and that was strange from someone as cautious as Pidge. Neither of them gave the matter another thought but skipped along the left-hand way in obedience to the music.

As they neared the glasshouse, they went on tip-toes, making it a game of spying. When they got closer they noticed the closed Venetian blinds,

‘They’ve got some of those slatted blinds, but there might be a place to peep in,’ Brigit said.

Then they noticed the sign saying:

and they burst into delighted laughter.

‘What you laffin’ at?’ said the frog as he sprang into view from behind an old up-turned bucket. Then he remembered that he was on guard and said:

‘Halt! Who goes dere? Friend or Foe?’

Pidge and Brigit were astounded and delighted and they stared at the frog in happy disbelief.

‘You can’t talk,’ Brigit ventured after a while, her eyes wide and her voice full of doubt and hope at the same time.

‘You hear me awright,’ the frog said accusingly.

‘A frog just spoke to us, Pidge,’ Brigit whispered and she looked at him with a broad smile.

‘It’s wonderful! I don’t really believe it,’ Pidge answered with laughter breaking into his speech.

‘You did, didn’t you?’ Brigit asked, gazing down at the frog a little doubtfully.

‘I did, didden I? I’m doin’ it again,’ the frog asserted as though answering a slur.

‘How can you do it?’ Brigit asked in a conspiratorial way. She knelt on the ground beside him.

‘Same as you!’

‘But it isn’t possible,’ said Pidge, kneeling down as well for a closer look.

‘Doan tell me it izzen possible when da times are so queer,’ the frog replied tartly.

Then Pidge asked:

‘What is it? Is it magic?’

The frog looked wildly at the glasshouse before whispering:

‘It’s da queer ones, doan ask me any more.’

‘What do you mean?’ Brigit whispered back.

But the frog pretended not to hear. The children were waiting for an answer to Brigit’s question, and were perplexed when, instead, the frog said:

‘Well?’ loudly, and then nothing else.

‘Well what?’ Brigit demanded after a time.

‘Who goes dere? Friend or Foe?’

‘Neither,’ said Pidge and he laughed.

‘Doan know what to do about a Neither,’ said the frog looking baffled. Then he remembered that he was supposed to say something more.

‘Tress … um, tress … ah! . . passers! Tresspassers will be … will be …’ He forgot the rest.

‘What?’ asked Brigit.

‘Tresspassers will be kilt stone dead!’ the frog said brightly.

‘Oh really?’ said Brigit.

‘Yis!’ said the frog. ‘Thim’s fonda kids, mingled wit’ herbs in a big black pot wit’ onyins bilin’ in it. Thim’s not fonda frogs, thanksfully.’

‘Who do you mean?’ whispered Pidge.

‘Thim two in dere.’

‘Don’t you like them?’ asked Brigit.

‘Hate um. Dey is pisen—pure pisen. Hate um wit’ da whole strength of me back legs, so I do.’

‘Why do you work for them so?’ asked Pidge.

‘Cos of da mallet,’ said the frog. ‘Dey got it inside da door an “One False Move From You” dey said, an’ I get a crack on me pate.’

‘Well, if they’re like that, why are you working for them?’ asked Brigit.

‘Cos I diden know. I haden any idea. Oh, dey shambizzle me nicely,’ was the glum reply.

‘How?’ asked Brigit.

‘Lass night in da gloamen, I wuz hoppen along as is me wont, when what did I see but dis big blue van. Its back doors wuz wide open and dere wuz happy, careless music comen out of it, an’ it made me feel all rollicksome an’ skipperish. An dere wuz a big sign on a Neasel. I hop over to da sign. It said: “Gala Night Tonight. Frogs Free ‘Till Ten O’Clock.” I never even stop to dither. Oh, what a froggy fool I wuz!’

At this point, the frog’s eyes glistened and he looked as sad as a soggy bun.

‘What happened?’ whispered Pidge.

The frog sniffled for a moment or two and then he carried on with his story.

‘All lighthearted, I hop inside. I taught I’d be dancin’ a fundango and de pokey-hokey, an’ atin’ thim Roshyian fish eggs—Havacare, dey’s called or sumthin like that—thim that comes from far away over the Ballthrick Sea—an’ drinkin’ cordials an’ everythin’ until the cows come home. I taught wrong, diden I?’

‘Then what happened?’ asked Brigit.

‘Dey got me inside an’ clang da doors. Den, off on a joy-ride, so I taught, until dey ended up here at dis glasshouse. I knew sumthin wuz wrong, when dey made da van vanish.’

‘The van vanish?’ Brigit repeated in a puzzled voice.

‘Dey made it disappear an’ dere I wuz standen on dis very spot. “Are you up to da mark?” dey said. “What mark?” I ask nawnchalonkly. “No lip from
you
” dey said. I taught to meself, “Dis creshin is da better part of valour,” so I kep’ quiet. “You’re mean an’ ugly an’ you got big eyeballs,” dey said, “You’ll do fine.” I said nuffin. Den, dey learned me all about “HALT” an’ “TRESSASSERS” an’ den dey showed me da mallet. “See dis?” dey said. I seen it awright. “One false move from you an’ you get a crack on yer pate. An’ after you’ve been batted on da crust,” dey said, “we’ll give ya to thim Frenchie Ones an’ dey’ll ate da leggies off ya. Or failen dat,” dey said, “We’ll putcha down a swally-hole an’ you’ll get swoggled.” Oh, dey gev me da wobblies when dey said dat about me legs. Still, dat’s life—as da Philloppytors say.’

The frog made an obvious attempt at perking himself up by means of Philosophy. He managed to look more cheerful.

‘Is that all?’ asked Pidge softly.

‘Dat’s all, an’ if you ask me, it’s moren enuff,’ said the frog.

‘What’s your name? Have you got one?’ Brigit asked.

‘Course I got one! What do you think I am, a nonny mush? I doan go round all nonny mush like a bit of pondweed,’ the frog said scornfully.

‘What is it?’

‘I never tell. Wild Frenchie Cooks cudden drag it outa me.’

‘Then you’re only an oul’ nonny mush, after all,’ said Brigit.

‘No I’m not,’ the frog said. ‘But, “Dis creshin is da better part of valour,” is what I say; an’ I wudden like dem two in dere to find out me name, in case dey got more power over me. Oh! I could end up turned into a prince in a sailor-suit, or sumsuch calamity, if I diden watch out. Oh!’ And he went quite glassy-eyed with horror.

‘I’d look cute in a sailor-suit,’ he continued after a moment, ‘an’ I’d never see Miss Fancy Finnerty, me own true love again.’

‘Who’s she?’ asked Brigit.

‘What? Never heard of Miss Fancy Finnerty? Her what I’ll never see agen?’

‘Of course you’ll see her again,’ Pidge said gently.

‘No I won’t,’ said the frog. ‘I gotta stay here.’

‘Why don’t you just hop off?’ asked Brigit.

The frog gave her a stupid look full of pity.

‘Cos dat’d be one false move, wudden it?’ he said, in a tone that implied that Brigit was a fool who couldn’t see the obvious.

‘But, if you hopped off when they weren’t here, or when they weren’t looking, they couldn’t do anything to you, could they? You’re a bit stupid, aren’t you?’

‘I got me quirks,’ muttered the frog.

‘How much is two and two?’ Brigit asked briskly.

‘A lot!’

‘That’s not the answer.’

‘A few?’

‘No.’

‘Not a lot an’ not a few—dat’s what two an’ two is,’ said the frog.

‘You’re hopeless,’ said Brigit.

‘What are they doing in there now?’ Pidge asked softly.

‘Doan know. Torchurin’ sumthin wit’ dat mallet, I serpose. Or knocken back da crab’s blood cocktail, or da orange juice wit’ sumthin in it to give it a kick.’

‘I’m going to try to get a look inside,’ said Brigit, getting to her feet.

‘Brigit! Don’t!’ said Pidge, scrambling after her.

‘What harm is it?’ she said, and she pressed her nose to the glass where there was a gap between the blinds and the glasshouse frame.

‘Whose little nib is that, pressed against our window?’ called a mocking voice from within.

Pidge froze for a second, then he grabbed Brigit’s hand and prepared to run. To his horror, he found that they couldn’t move. And then, the two women were standing in the door-way.

‘If it isn’t Bo-Peep!’ said Melodie Moonlight. ‘How nice!’

‘It’s the little bogglers!’ said Breda Fairfoul.
‘Delighted
that you could come to tea after all. Do step inside.’

Pidge, still holding Brigit’s hand, stood firmly where he was. They’re not getting us inside that glasshouse no matter what happens, he decided in his mind.

The friendly expression on Breda’s face vanished and was replaced by a strange knowing sort of look that seemed to say ‘We’ll see about that!’ She smiled sweetly and threateningly and turned to the frog.

‘Well, frog?’ she said.

‘I halted urn an’ I whogoesthere’d urn an’ I trespassed urn, so I did,’ the frog said smartly.

‘Clodpate,’ murmured Melodie Moonlight.

‘Scallywag!’ said Breda Fairfoul. ‘Keeping our guests in idle chatter.’

‘Can’t tell the difference between a friend and a foe,’ Melodie said severely.

‘Wouldn’t recognize quality if it jumped up and bit him on the nose,’ said Breda, shaking her head in disapproval.

Pidge felt that he should say something.

‘It’s not his fault. I’m sorry we looked in at you, we didn’t mean any harm,’ he offered politely.

For the moment, the women chose to ignore him and continued to admonish the frog.

‘Setting himself up as a Freethinker with powers of decision over who comes and goes,’ said Melodie Moonlight.

‘Oh, I wudden do dat!’ the frog declared fervently and his eyes seemed to bulge even further than before.

‘I’m afraid, frog,’ said Breda Fairfoul regretfully, ‘there’ll be no Cup for Good Conduct for
you.
Coming here, pretending to be a First Class Watchfrog, indeed! I’ve heard that types like you have been frizzled for less than that.’

‘Oh, I diden! I never did!’ cried the frog in a shocked way.

‘Testimonials from the Tower of London! Said you had watchfrogged the Crown Jewels. Forged, were they?’ asked Melodie.

The frog didn’t answer. He appeared to be dumbstruck.

‘Described himself as six ounces of sheer muscle and sinew, he did. Alleged that he had been a considerable All-in Wrestler working under the name of “The Throttler!” And we now know for a fact that he had a fight with a Daddylonglegs once and
he
lost,’ Breda jeered in a low way.

Two big, fat tears welled up in the frog’s eyes.

‘He is nothing less than a blot on his family’s escutcheon,’ Breda continued. she turned to Pidge.

‘Did you know that two or three of his ancestors were munched in
one
sandwich by Louis fourteenth, a fair toff in his day?’

‘Leave him alone,’ Pidge said.

‘You’re a big brazen bully,’ Brigit said with spirit. She was fingering her daisy chains distractedly.

‘I’m not a blod,’ snuffled the frog, as the tears ran down his face. ‘I’m not a blod on me famblies scutchun, cos it hadden got one.’