“Er,” I said, trying not to look at the blue spark I was holding, “you said we had to meet three folks in need. Are you my first?”
“Of course not!” he said. “I don’t need anything. I just want out of here, and you’re my third, so I can go now.”
“Who else did you meet,” I asked, “before me?”
“A goat,” he said. “I kid you not! Joke, joke, ha-ha! Lost its way, you know, and then there was an obnoxious child who said she was hiding from her sin twister—twin sister—and she only wanted me to promise not to give her away.”
“What did you do about the goat?” I asked.
“What can one do for a goat? Turned it round and gave it a push on the rump, I think,” he said. “That’s a bit hazy, to tell the truth, but I know neither of them was half the trouble you’ve been. Do you think you’ve got it now?”
I dared to look down at my hands. There was a cautious little flicker there, about the size of a match flame. I tried willing it larger, but nothing happened. “Sort of,” I said.
He pushed off from the rocks and came staggering across to see. I swear the drink on his breath made the flame twice the size for an instant. “Yes, yes, you’ve got it now all right,” he said. “No need for me to linger. Farewell, for I must leave thee, don’t hang yourself on a weeping willow tree!” By then he was singing again, bawling out a tuneless tune and swaying himself round as he bawled. I thought he was going to walk straight into the rockface opposite us, but there turned out to be an opening there that I hadn’t seen before. He plunged into it, turning it all blue-silver with the flame in his hand, singing his head off. “In his master’s steps he trod,” I heard, booming out of the rocky cleft. “Heat was in that very naughty word which the saint had printed! Print and be damned, I say …”
I giggled a bit and took another look at my flame. It seemed to have settled down quite snugly by this time, enough that it didn’t seem to mind being moved across to my left hand so that I had my right hand free. I waited a bit to make absolutely sure it was going to go on burning; then I set off down the path again.
That part wasn’t nearly so bad. It was such a help to be able to see. I got on quite fast. And when the drizzle stopped and the noises started again, I held the flame up toward where I’d heard them from, and its blue light showed me that there was nothing there. It was all done to frighten people. So I began to stride on and even whistle a bit—and I was a bit more in tune than the old drunk, too—and my flame seemed to like the whistling. It grew bigger. After that I got a lot less nervous of it and began to play about with it, sliding it up my arm and then up past my ear to the top of my head. It burned a lot brighter on my head. I had an idea that I could probably slide it off into the air and have it floating in front of me, but I didn’t quite dare do that in case I lost it. I kept it on my head and had both hands free. I even put my hands in my pockets to try to warm them and really strode out, whistling.
I strode round a corner and met my first person.
She was standing facing me in the path, but she wasn’t really in the path at all. She was in a pale patch of light with scenery in it. The patch was just sort of there. It didn’t light up any of the rocks around or the ground in front of it. She was my age, or perhaps a bit younger, and … well, you know how you have an idea of your ideal girl in your mind. She was mine. She had dark, curly hair that was blowing about in a wind I couldn’t feel and really big blue-gray eyes with nice eyelashes round them. Her face was thin, and so was the rest of her. I remember noticing she was wearing an old-looking gray knitted sweater and leggings that went tight below her knees, but mostly I noticed she was much better-looking than I’d expected my ideal girl to be. But the chief thing about her was that she was one of those girls who look as if they’ve just grown, as naturally as … as a tree or … a hollyhock or something … as if she’d just happened somehow. I always fancy girls like that, even if they’re older than me. It’s my type.
I slowed right down and came up to her step by step. When I was near enough, I saw she was holding a scruffy bunch of flowers in one hand. They were not flowers picked for their looks. I don’t know what most of them were, but I did see that one was a tall thing with blobby yellow flowers in steps down its stalk, and furry leaves. I noticed because a caterpillar dropped off it as I walked up.
By then I was near enough to see that inside the patch of light she was standing somewhere quite high on a hillside. There was low blue distance behind her. And nearer than that, but still behind her, just on the edge of the slope, I could see a much younger kid—a boy—sitting sort of hunched over so that all I could see was his back. He didn’t move, or speak, or even seem to know that I was there.
She knew I was there, though. She watched me walking up to her. Her eyes went to the flame sitting on my head.
“Oh, good,” she said. “You’re a wizard. I asked for a wizard particularly.”
“I’m not really,” I said. It was all so strange that I didn’t feel shy or awkward, the way I would if I’d met her anywhere else. “I’m only just beginning to learn.”
“Well, that may be all right,” she said. “I asked for someone who could help in this situation, so you must be able to do what’s needed. What’s your name?”
“Nichothodes,” I said. It seemed important to tell her my real name. “Nick, usually.”
“I’m Arianrhod,” she said. “A mouthful, just like your name. But I prefer people to call me Roddy.”
I wanted to say that Arianrhod sounded much nicer than Roddy, but that seemed—I don’t know—likely to annoy her, or—now I think back on it—more as if the conversation had to go another way. I went with the way it had to go and said, “What kind of help do you want?”
Her eyebrows came together anxiously. When I think back, I can see she was massively anxious the whole time. “That’s the problem,” she said. “I don’t know how you can help. It almost seems hopeless. Our whole country is probably in horrible danger, and nobody seems to know except me. And …” Her hand went back to point at the younger kid. “Grundoon, of course. Sir James seems to have the Merlin completely under his thumb somehow. Or else the Merlin’s turned bad. Sybil’s in it, too. I mean, I know the Merlin’s quite new, and young, and a bit weak—”
“Hang on,” I said. “Merlin is from King Arthur’s time. An old man with a long white beard. He got locked away by a girl called Nem—Nemesis or something—”
“I daresay one was,” she interrupted me. “A lot of the Merlins have had long white beards. But this one’s young. He’s only just been appointed.”
“No, Nemuë,” I said. “That was her name. You mean to tell me there’s more than the one Merlin?”
“Yes, of course. It’s an official post,” she said impatiently. “The Merlin rules magics the way the King rules the country, except that it looks as if the Merlin’s trying to rule the country, too, now. Or Sir James is, and he’s got hold of the Merlin somehow. Sir James is a really vile man, but the King never seems to notice, and he’s got the King and the Prince doing what he says now.”
“Okay,” I said. I couldn’t really follow all that. “You want me to come and help sort your country out for you.” I heard myself say this, sounding quite cool and efficient, and I thought, Who are you kidding, Nick? You are going to end up with this Merlin and this Sir Someone jumping up and down on your face! But what I thought didn’t make any difference. The old drunk had told me the rules. I had to help Roddy in order to get out of this place. So I put out my hand and sort of pushed at the patch of light around the girl. And somehow it didn’t surprise me that I seemed to hit solid rock just about the place where her odd bunch of flowers was. I was quite relieved actually. “No luck,” I said.
Roddy sighed. “I was afraid of that,” she said. “When will you get here?”
“Um,” I said. “Where are you?”
She looked surprised that I didn’t know. “I’m in the Islands of Blest, of course. How long do you think you’ll be, getting here? It’s urgent.”