The Hounds of the Morrigan (38 page)

The painted eyes of the metal man filled with tears of liquid metal that gathered into the corners and became solid and looked rather like ball-bearings. They spilled from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks and they rattled on the slates of the carthouse roof.

Again he lifted his hat.

‘Regret to hear of your sad loss; but thank you for your esteemed inquiry. The matter will be dealt with as soon as poss,’ he said.

He replaced his hat with another clang and said: ‘Ow!’ And with ball-bearings spraying out in all directions, he spun round again.

Pidge and Brigit had to leap backwards to escape being struck by the little metal balls.

The metal man still creaked but not as badly as before.

When he stopped, he said:

‘Dear sir, In answer to your valued inquiry, I beg to state that your little woman had gone home to her mother to make a complaint; but that you may expect a happy outcome, as even now, your lady wife is returning to you and the babbies. She is on the wing, sir. Her mother told her not to be silly.’

‘There’s a deal of power in your nose,’ the blackbird said, and he flew away to meet his wife.

‘Really?’ Needlenose shouted after him. He was so pleased that he stopped crying at once.

‘Sunwise!’ he cried joyfully, and away he went again into a spin.

‘Everytime you do that or lift your hat, you knock water out of my teeth,’ Brigit said to him when he had stopped.

‘Do you tell me so?’ he replied, sounding even more pleased.

‘Yes. You make the teeth want to run out of my mouth,’ she said.

‘One good turn deserves another,’ the metal man said by way of answer and he went round and round again.

This time he was facing away from them when he stopped.

‘Care for a bearing, madam? North, South, East, West—the Cardinal Points as they’re called? The half points, the quarter points—any fraction you like! A course, an alignment, a diagonal, sir?’ he called out, apparently to the empty air.

In answer, a group of swallows appeared and flew in darts around the metal man’s head.

‘What’s the news about the winds for Africa, Needlenose?’ they asked.

Off came the hat with the now familiar creaking of the elbow joint.

‘Beg to acknowledge your most welcome request for information. It will be complied with at the earliest. Yours faithfully,’ he said, and back on went the hat with the usual clang and then he said the usual: ‘Ow!’

When he had stopped spinning once more, he said:

‘In reply to yours—beg to state that your request is unseasonable and winds you require are not in stock at present. Please try again later, in triplicate. With compliments. Your obedient servant!’

The swallows thanked him and flew away.

Now he was facing the children again and he said:

‘Good prospects up here, sir. But I know what you’re going to say!’

‘What?’ asked Pidge.

‘Everyone’s got good prospects when they stand on top of a roof—or a hill. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’

‘I suppose it is,’ Pidge answered doubtfully, not too sure of the metal man’s meaning.

‘I knew you were clever like me the moment I saw you, sir. I did, indeed. Can I be of assistance? May I help you, madam?’

‘Yes. Could you find a direction for us, please?’ Pidge asked.

The hat was raised.

‘I welcome the favour of your custom. The matter will receive earliest attention,’ he said.

The hat was replaced and he said: ‘Ow! That’s another headache I’ve got. First today!’

‘Do you get many headaches?’ Brigit wondered.

‘About a dozen every day.’

‘You shouldn’t take your hat off so often.’

‘Politeness can sometimes cost a lot,’ the metal man said, and he spun.

‘It must cost him a fortune in aspirins,’ Brigit muttered sympathetically to Pidge.

The metal man stopped.

He stood silently for a moment and then he spun again.

He stopped.

Once more he spun, going wildly round and around.

When he stopped this last time, he took off his hat and scratched his head in puzzlement. The noise was so awful, Pidge and Brigit had to put their fingers in their ears. They saw him return his hat to his head and say: ‘Ow!’ Then they removed their fingers again and waited to hear what he would tell them.

‘Confess that I am at a loss. Regret, am unable to comply with your request. Please state precise destination, or nearest town or village.’

‘Could you speak more plainly? I don’t understand what you are saying,’ Pidge said.

‘Yes. Stop talking all lumpy. Talk in a straight line, Mr Needlenose, please,’ Brigit said.

‘Oh!’ the metal man said, sounding surprised. ‘I’ll try. Could you tell me where exactly you want to go?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Pidge said guardedly.

‘Ah, that explains it. Destination Unknown. Category—Lost Property.’

‘You’re at it again!’ Brigit said accusingly.

‘Beg pardon. What I mean is—you must be Lost Property. I could direct you to the nearest Lost Property Office, if you like. You could sit on a shelf until you’re claimed, on production of a receipt. See under—”Conditions Of Acceptance”.’

‘We’re not Lost Property,’ Pidge said laughing.

‘Indeed we’re not. We’re on a journey for the Dagda,’ Brigit said severely.

If I’d realized that she was going to say that, I could have tried to stop her, Pidge thought ruefully.

But he was reassured at once to see that at the mention of The Dagda’s name, the metal man’s hat went high up in the air.

‘Great Guardian Of The Seasons; all honour to the Good God,’ he said, with the deepest respect possible. ‘You must be Pidge and Brigit.’

‘I’m Brigit all right,’ she agreed, nodding.

‘How do you know who we are?’ Pidge wondered.

‘I know because the winds bring me all the news. See, it is written at my feet: “NEWS”.’

He pointed downwards and sure enough, on top of the little spire on which the metal man was balanced, there were four arrows arranged in a cross and at the tip of each one, there was a letter.

‘Don’t they mean North, South, East and West?’ Pidge asked politely.

‘They point to the world’s ends beyond doubt, as a help for travellers who want to go a little or a long way: and it is from the world’s ends that the winds come screaming or whispering to me, gathering up every little scrap of news on the way.’

‘We are travellers. Could you give us a direction, please?’ Pidge asked.

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why couldn’t you?’ Brigit demanded to know.

‘I am not a master of the secret way you go. I can find a direction for the whole world but not for you.’

‘Why can’t you find it for us? Other people have helped us and you should be better at it than anyone else at all,’ Pidge persisted, feeling baffled by the metal man’s refusal.

‘Take my best advice and hold your own course unchanged.’

‘I was thinking of going—’ Pidge began to say.

The metal man butted in quickly.

‘Hush! A wrong ear could be listening. Now I have given you a timely warning and my best advice, and I can do no more.’

This seemed to be so final that Pidge felt obliged to accept it.

‘Well, thank you anyway,’ he said.

‘You’re very welcome. Before you leave, may I invite you to come up and admire the view?’ the metal man asked, as though it meant a lot to him.

‘Well that would be very nice another time, but not now. We should be moving on. I’m sorry,’ Pidge said.

‘Come up, do. I believe it would do you good, lovely fresh air up here. Please come,’ the metal man insisted; and falling back into his old way of speaking, he added: ‘Please accept my kind invitation as a refusal often offends. Dress Optional. R.S.V.P.’

‘I suppose I could spare a few more minutes. What do you think, Brigit?’

‘You go up. I want to do something else myself,’ she said, and grasping the hem of her dress in bunches in her left hand, she held it out before her, making a sort of bag or hammock, which she then started to fill with some stuff that was growing near to the garden.

From the broken wall it was easy to get onto the roof and then get across to the friendly figure that stood on the little spire. When Pidge was close to him, the metal man bent over with a terrible groaning creak, whispering into his ear through the deafening noise:

‘Take a good look and spy out your way, silently. The best of good luck to you and to Brigit.’

‘Oh, thank you, sir!’ Pidge said in gratitude as he understood now why the metal man had insisted that he should come up, and as he realized how the creaking noise was a hindrance to a wrong ear.

‘Call me Needlenose as all my friends do,’ the metal man said.

Through a rift in the mist the mountains could partly be seen. In spite of the distance that the Elk had taken them, he saw that they seemed no nearer, but he was pleased to see that at least they were no further away. He examined the country between the carthouse and the mountains for landmarks that they could use as pointers, if the mountains should ever be hidden again. He saw that if they travelled directly cross-country, they would eventually come to what looked like a very large wheatfield; but he couldn’t be sure of what lay after that, as the ground seemed to fall away into some kind of valley from an edge. Beyond that, the mist still lingered.

‘You’ve been very helpful after all, Needlenose,’ he said.

‘Most honoured to be of service,’ Needlenose replied.

‘Here!’ Brigit shouted, her head appearing just above the roof-eaves. ‘Stuff this in his hat to stop him getting headaches.’

She had gathered a thick sheaf of long grass and numerous lumps of moss.

Pidge crossed over gingerly, wishing that he had rubber soles on his sandals, and took them from her. He did as she had suggested while Needlenose watched with hopeful interest.

‘When the hat is full, put the rest of it on top of his head,’ she said.

When next the metal man put on his hat, there was a gentle, muffled thump and Brigit told him that he could always get the birds to gather some for him, from then on.

‘This is wonderful,’ Needlenose said with his eyes filling. ‘What a good, kind girl you are.’

‘The winds must have told you,’ she said.

‘Quickly! Get down! I can’t hold back the tears and they could hurt you!’ Needlenose said, and he sobbed.

Pidge scrambled down off the roof and they moved away only just in time.

‘Goodbye, Needlenose!’ they shouted as they struck off across the fields.

‘Goodbye! Goodbye!’ the metal man cried, as the ball-bearings poured out of his eyes and clattered down the roof to bounce off the ground. ‘In conclusion, I affectionately bid you farewell. Your loving friend, Kiss Kiss, Needlenose.’

For a long time they could still see him whenever they looked back. Each time they gave him a farewell wave and he responded by lifting his hat and waving back to them gaily.

I
T
was somewhat later than midday, when they arrived at the wheatfield.

In the time that had passed since they had left the metal man, Pidge had been trying hard to understand about Needle-nose. But no matter how many times he went over it in his mind, he just couldn’t puzzle out why the metal man had not been able to help with a direction; and it was all the more baffling when he was so openly friendly towards The Dagda and themselves. In the end, all that he could do was to blame himself, for not properly explaining about how much they had been helped already by The Dagda’s friends.

If only I’d told him about the kite and the white birds; and the way that Finn and Daire had taken us to the Hidden Valley and how they helped us, it might have made a difference, he thought remorsefully. I’m sure I made a bad mistake in not trying harder to explain. But it’s done now. And it was something after all, to see so plainly where the mountains were, from that good spying-out place on the carthouse roof—and it’s no good crying over spilt milk, and maybe we are not doing too badly, I hope.

He followed Brigit in over a dry stone wall.

From ground level, they faced a solid wall of yellow, ripe wheat that had grown very tall, much taller than Pidge. A narrow strip of headland ran between the boundary wall and the wheat; and Pidge said that they would walk along it, to see if they could find a path that would allow them to cut through to the other side. He knew that when the seed was being sown in the spring it was often the custom, if the field were very big, to leave a path unsown for use as a short-cut after the shoots had appeared; otherwise a person would have to walk the whole way around the perimeter.

Poppies grew everywhere and the wheat was the best that he had ever seen. The day had turned hot and the whole field shimmered and rustled in a slight breeze.

There was a path.

As soon as they came to it, Pidge went back up on the wall to spy out which way it might lead.

The wheatfield was very big indeed; as big as a small lake, he thought. It spread and spread and he could see the line of the path quite clearly. It went straight as a die and could easily be distinguished as a dark stripe all the way across. With this kind of path, all that could ever really be seen was the break between the two walls of wheat; the growth being always too tall, even when the wheat was only of normal height, to allow the path itself to be seen.