Labyrinth (10 page)

Sarah watched with tears of laughter in her eyes as three goblins dueled with each other, helmets over their faces, while the fourth went on cursing his wounds.

“Ouch! I’m being nipped.”

“Help! Lights!”

“Ow. Stop it!”

“Worm rot! Teazel rash!”

The uproar faded as the pack of them pursued each other, yelling and yelping, crashing into hedges, falling over roots.

Sarah wiped her eyes, and her face became serious as she gazed at the great dangling beast. Having delivered it from its tormentors, she had half a mind to leave well enough alone and steal away. But the pity she had felt for the monster was still working in her. She approached it cautiously.

What the shaggy brute saw was another tormentor coming. It let out a terrible roar and aimed a great blow at her.

She was careful to remain just out of reach. All the same, even to stand there and face the gigantic, inverted creature took more courage than she thought she had. She remembered having read somewhere that you have to speak firmly and with confidence to wild animals. So, in her most perfect schoolteacher voice, she told it, “Now, stop that.”

Another great roar was on its way from the depths of the monster’s body, but the beast stopped in mid-roar when it heard itself thus addressed. “Murh?” it said.

Sarah clicked her tongue. “Is that any way to treat someone who’s trying to help you?”

The monster still had its doubts. It tried delivering another bellow and aimed a swipe, but there was not much conviction in it.

“Stop it, do you hear?” Sarah was beginning to enjoy herself. It was a role she played well, having had plenty of time to study those who played it every day in the classroom. It was one of the parts she had liked to perform for her mother’s amusement.

The monster answered, “Huh?”

“Now do you or do you not want me to get you down from that tree?”

The monster hung in there for a bit, reflecting on what its options were. It craned its neck to look up at its tethered ankle, reflected again, then turned its face to Sarah.

“Ludo — down,” it said.

Its voice had become almost deferential. Its face was still fearsome, though — oxlike horns on its head, sunken eyes, an enormous jaw with a fang protruding at each end, and a broad gaping mouth that looked grim.

Sarah steeled herself to approach closely. She felt its warm breath on her face as she stood beside the beast and twisted herself down from the waist to get a look at it the right way up. What she saw surprised her. The great mouth that had looked so grim, with its turned-down corners, had actually been, of course, smiling sweetly at her. Gosh, she reflected, it must often be like that for poor Toby, when people lean over him from the pillow of his crib.

Not only was the monster grinning at her, it now blinked in a goofy sort of way, which just could mean, I-am-in-a-pickle-aren’t-I-but-all-the-same-how-d’you-do-and-thanks-for-being-nice-to-me. Sarah returned a cautious smile. She was not going to credit this monster with being, uniquely in this place, what it seemed to be.

“Ludo — down,” it repeated.

“Ludo,” Sarah asked, “is that your name?”

“Ludo — friend.”

“Uh-uh. I’ve had people say that to me before. So I’m not taking anything for granted. But …” She shook her head and, more to herself than to Ludo, concluded, “Your eyes are just like Merlin’s.”

Feeling safer now, she ruffled Ludo’s ginger head, between his horns. He smiled, and sighed.

She straightened up and looked at the knot tethering Ludo’s leg to the branch. It was a simple bowline, which she could release with one tug. With her hand raised, she paused, and looked down at Ludo. “I do hope you’re not going to turn back into a raging monster the moment I let you down from here.”

Ludo’s response was another roar that made the rocks tremble.

Sarah leaped back. “I knew it! I can’t trust anyone in this place.”

But then she saw that Ludo, far from aiming a blow at her, was using his paws to rub one or two of the most tender places where the goblins had bitten him with their nipper sticks. “Ludo — hurt,” he moaned.

Sarah looked more closely at him. He was covered with little bleeding wounds, under his fur. “Oh,” she cried, “you poor thing!” Quickly she reached up, tugged at the rope, and released him. He hit the ground with a mighty thump.

With deep little groans, he sat himself up, and began to rub his wounded head and the sores inflicted upon him. She watched him, even now uncertain whether she should expect him to thank her or eat her.

“Goblins — mean to Ludo,” he grimaced.

“Oh, I know that.” She nodded, with more assurance than she felt. “They were terribly mean to you,” she told Ludo. She moved closer to him and patted his arm. “But it’s all right now.”

He sniffled, still rubbing. Then his face broke into the most endearing big dumb smile she had ever seen, bigger and dumber even than in any cartoon. “Friend!” Ludo declared.

“That’s right, Ludo. I’m Sarah.”

“Sarah — friend.”

“Yes, I am.” She couldn’t smile big and dumb like that, but she gave him the best she could do. “And,” she added, “I want to ask a favor of you, Ludo.”

“Huh?”

“I have to get to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth. Do you know the way there?”

Ludo shook his great head, still beaming at her.

Sarah sighed, and her shoulders sagged. “You don’t know the way either?”

Again, he shook his head, with a small frown of apology.

“I wonder if anyone knows how to get through the Labyrinth.”

Sarah rested her chin in her hand, philosophically. He was a dear monster, and likely to prove much more trustworthy than that runty, cowardly pipsqueak, but she could have done with a guide. Well, if no one was going to help her, she would find out what she could do on her own.

She stood up. Ludo stood with her, massively towering over her. He may be no guide, she thought, but it’s nice to have him on my side.

Sarah walked past the hanging tree. Ludo, wincing with the soreness of his nipped body, followed.

Behind the tree, two high doorways had appeared, set into a stone wall that seemed to be part of a rough forest hedge. On each door was an iron knocker.

“Well, look at these,” she remarked, glad to have a companion again. It was more fun than talking to herself.

They approached the doorways and looked more closely at the knockers. Each had the form of a repulsive face, with a ring set in it. The knocker to her left had the ring coming out of its ears. The one on the right held the ring in its mouth.

She looked from one to the other. Which to choose? She always found choices hard to make; if there were two kinds of cake at a birthday party, she would contrive to have a bit of each, at a decent interval, naturally, and hoping that no one noticed. Now she looked around the glade, to see if there was some other way past this wall. There wasn’t, so she examined the knockers. “Well, Ludo,” she asked, “which one of these two ugly characters shall we choose?”

“It’s very rude to stare,” said the first knocker, the one with the ring set in its ears.

Sarah jumped, still not accustomed to the habit that normally inarticulate things had, in the Labyrinth, of speaking their minds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she felt that she was scarcely to blame for assuming that a door knocker would have no mind to speak, let alone blunt opinions on acceptable social behavior. “I was just wondering which door to choose, that’s all.”

“What?” the first knocker asked.

Sarah was about to reply that, where she came from, to say “What?” was thought just as rude as staring. But before she could open her mouth, she heard a mumbling noise from behind her.

It was the second knocker, with the ring in its mouth. It said something like “Mmm gli m g any.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” the first knocker said primly.

“Ker glimpfwrt mble mble mble …”

Sarah addressed the second knocker: “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Then she realized what the problem was. “Ah,” she said, “wait a moment.

“What was that?” the first knocker inquired.

Sarah took hold of the ring in the second knocker’s mouth and pulled. It came away easily. The face looked tremendously relieved. It exercised the muscles around its jaw and chin with evident pleasure.

“It’s so good to get that thing out,” it sighed.

“What were you saying?” Sarah asked.

The first knocker, behind her, said, “Huh?”

The second knocker nodded at the first. “I said it’s no good talking to him. Oh, dear me, no. He’s deaf as a post, that one, I can tell you.”

The first knocker said, “Mumble, mumble, mumble, that’s you. You’re a wonderful conversational companion, I must say.”

“YOU SHOULD TALK!” the second knocker yelled back. “ALL YOU CAN DO IS MOAN!”

“It’s no good,” the first knocker said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “I can’t hear you.”

Sarah looked at the second knocker. “Where do these doors lead?” she asked it.

“What?” asked the first knocker.

“Search me,” the second one answered her. “We’re just the knockers.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, reflecting that she ought to have known better than to expect a simple answer.

Well, she had to try either one door or the other. She chose the second one. Having engaged in discourse with it, however slightly, she felt it would somehow have been discourteous to turn her back and choose its neighbor. On the other hand, it could be that the knockers would prefer their doors not to be opened. She shouldn’t take it for granted that the knockers would like people to make use of them. Every either had its or. If she weighed the implications of every alternative, would she ever get to make a choice at all? When one door opens, so does another.

She had committed herself to the second door by now, with her hands against it, so she went ahead and pushed. It didn’t budge. She pushed harder. She leaned her shoulder against the door. It was as solid as the wall it was set in. She thought of asking Ludo to help her. His gigantic bulk would surely open the door.

But she wasn’t sure it was the right door to choose, and so, instead, she asked another question. “How do we get through?”

“Huh?” asked the first knocker.

The second one, with an arch smile, replied, “Knock and the door will open.”

“Ah.” She looked at the ring she held, and went to put it back in the second knocker’s mouth.

He made a face. “Uh-uh, I don’t want that thing back in my mouth.” And he clamped his lips tightly shut, and refused to open them even when she put the ring against his mouth.

“Oh, come on,” Sarah said encouragingly. “I want to knock.”

He shook his head stubbornly.

“Hmmm,” commented the first knocker, morosely as usual. “Doesn’t want the ring back in his mouth. Can’t say as I blame him.”

“Then,” Sarah said, putting down the ring, “I’m afraid I’ll have to bother you instead.” She walked over to the first knocker and took hold of its ring.

“Ow! Ooh,” the first knocker protested.

Sarah took no notice. She knocked twice upon the heavy door. It swung open.

Cautiously, she put her head through the doorway, to see what was beyond. She heard giggles, splutters of suppressed laughter, honks and hoots. Instinctively she started to grin herself, and went farther through the doorway. She turned, waiting for Ludo to follow her. He remained in the doorway, shaking his head.

“Come on, Ludo.”

He shook his head again.

“Well,” she thought, “it can’t do any harm to see where this might lead.” She would come back for Ludo if she spotted the castle.

She was in a sunlit forest, with clumps and banks of flowers, daisy-decked hillocks, dingles and dells, shady trees all around. The laughter was infectious. Giggling, she looked hard for the creatures who were enjoying all this merriment. All she could see were the forest plants. “Who is it?” she called out, chuckling.

From right behind her came a laughing snort. She spun around and saw a tree’s branch moving to cover a hollow in its trunk that just might have been its mouth. “It was the tree,” she declared. “Tree, wasn’t it you?”

That sparked off a tinkle of giggles at her feet. She looked down and saw a cluster of bluebells shivering and shaking together with amusement.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, falling to her knees and giggling with them. They were beside themselves with hilarity now.

The tree above her could hold it in no longer. It exploded in a bellow of mirth. Sarah threw her head back and joined in.

It was the signal for a general outburst. A tree stump nearby was laughing in a deep, cracked voice. Birds on a branch were hopping and cackling. Another tree was rocking. Ferns waved about, squirrels and mice peeped from their holes with tears in their eyes.

Sarah was helpless with laughing. Catching a breath, she panted, “What are we laughing at?”

“I don’t know!” the tree above her roared. “Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

The whole forest shook. Even the grass on the ground was trembling.

Sarah was feeling faint. She sat down. “Oh … please … please, I must stop.” She clutched her sides.

In response, the laughter around her redoubled. It reached a pitch of hysterical shrillness.

“I’ve never laughed so much in my life,” Sarah gasped, flat on her back.

Birds convulsed with mirth fell out of the trees and hit the ground headfirst. She saw their eyes were mad, with pinprick pupils. Other creatures came screaming from under the roots of trees, and as they approached her she managed to sit up, alarmed by their sinister gaping mouths and crazy eyes.

Still laughing, she moaned, “Oh, please, please! I must stop.”

“She can’t stop,” the tree howled, and the whole forest screeched in reply.

She got to her feet. Her body and mouth were shaking uncontrollably, but her eyes were haggard. “Stop!” she whispered. “Stop!” She staggered back toward the open doorway and collapsed.

Shrieking hysteria applauded that.

She raised her head. She could see Ludo just outside the door, and held up her hand for help. He looked very uneasy and wouldn’t come inside the door, but he held his arm out toward her, and nodded his great head in encouragement. Her eyes fixed on him, she dragged herself across the last few yards, until he could bend down, pick her up, take her outside, and shut the door.