The Castle in the Attic (11 page)

The day was already warm, and William was grateful for his loose tunic. He and Sir Simon walked in companionable silence for a long time. William wanted to ask where the attic had gone and whether the knight recognized the neighborhood and how he knew which road to take, but he held back his questions. He didn't
want to interrupt the knight's meditations.

They stopped for lunch by the side of a wide river, which flowed slowly between high muddy banks.

“The water is low,” Sir Simon said. “In the spring, that bridge we just crossed is often washed away by the melting snows.”

“You know where we are, then?”

“Oh, yes,” Sir Simon said between mouthfuls of bread. “We should reach the edge of my land by noon tomorrow. But we have to go through the forest first. You must stick close by me then.”

“Is it dangerous?” William asked.

“It can be,” was all the knight replied. He made an effort to get to his feet but was unsuccessful. “Your hand, my squire.” William leaped forward and pulled the knight up with both hands, to the clanking of his shin guards. “Oh, I do long for a mount, young William. A true lord does not wish to return to his people walking like a squire.”

“Did you have a horse before, Sir Simon?”

“A horse?” the knight thundered. “Our stable was famous for the speed and breeding of our horses, one hundred in all. And I had the best, a silver stallion named Moonlight.”

“Is that why you are called the Silver Knight?”

“Yes. When Moonlight and I entered the lists at the
tournaments, the ladies cried with delight. He was the strongest and yet the most graceful of horses. Our bodies moved together as if we were one. Oh, do not remind me of it, William.” The knight looked so sad that William changed the subject.

“Let me carry your helmet, Sir Simon. You don't need it yet, do you?”

“No, I expect not. That would lighten my load considerably,” he said, handing over the plumed object, which William tucked under his arm.

As they moved away from the river, the land became wilder. The road narrowed with every step. Sir Simon's armor protected him from the thorns of nearby bushes, but William had to stop often to untangle his tunic from their grasp. The song of sparrows had been replaced by the raucous call of the rooks that sat, black and motionless, in the thick trees above them. William had the eerie feeling that the birds were passing word of their progress along to someone ahead.

Sir Simon stopped so suddenly that William bumped into his back. He peeked around the knight to see what lay ahead. The road now looked like a tunnel running into the darkness of the forest.

“My helmet, William. Your hands must be free to reach your dagger. Stay close to me. The forest will be full of the noise of animals. Strange apparitions
will tempt you on every side, but no matter what, you must stay on the path. They say that the noise often drives people mad because it is so constant. Talk to yourself if you have to shut it out. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” William said. He was pleased that his voice sounded stronger than he felt.

They set off again, more slowly this time. The trees grew close together above their heads. Even though the sun was still high in the western half of the sky, it seemed as if night had already fallen. Once William looked behind him, but the road had turned a corner and he couldn't see where they'd entered the forest. Small animals rustled and stirred in the undergrowth, and more than once, William felt a warm, furry body rush by his legs. The view ahead was blocked by the clanking silver form of his companion. William wondered how Sir Simon could possibly see which way the path went in the darkness. It seemed to twist and turn about until William had lost all sense of direction.

He tried to duck away from the branches that slapped back in Sir Simon's wake, but often they caught him full in the face, raking his cheeks with their claws and poking him in the eyes. The cry of the rooks mingled with strange growls and snarls on all sides, so that the noises around them became as thick as the forest itself. Just when William thought he couldn't stand it any
longer, he saw a spot of light.

“Sir Simon,” he cried. “Look. It must be the way out.”

The knight stopped. “Close your eyes, William,” he said, his voice echoing from inside the helmet. “It is only a trick to tempt you off the path.”

William obeyed, and when he looked the next time, the spot was gone and darkness had closed down around them again.

They stumbled on for what seemed like hours. William's feet hurt, and the scratches on his face and his arms had begun to sting. Meanwhile, the noises grew more intense with every step. William kept his hands over his ears whenever he could.

Neither of them had eaten or drunk anything since their stop by the river, and he longed for a drink of water. The more he tried to forget about his thirst, the more desperate he became. Suddenly, above the animal noises, he could distinguish the gurgling of a stream off to his left. He peered in the direction of the noise, and in the murky darkness he saw the glint of silver water as it fell over stones.
Surely, this isn't an apparition
, he thought. The stream turned and ran close by their feet.
I'll stop to take a drink
, he said to himself.
I need the feel of water on my tongue for a moment
. He stooped down, and in an instant he felt Sir Simon's hands roughly pulling him back.

“I just wanted a little drink,” he cried.

“Shut your eyes, William,” the knight whispered. William could feel the cold steel of Sir Simon's helmet next to his cheek. “Do as I say,” he ordered again. William obeyed. They stayed that way until William had gathered enough strength to resist the gurgling stream. When he struggled to his feet, it was gone.

“I'm sorry, Sir Simon,” he said.

The knight patted him clumsily on the shoulder, and they started down the path once more. William had to concentrate very hard on lifting one foot, putting it down again, lifting the other. Every now and then, he reached up and touched the knight's back for reassurance.

He was shaken out of his dreamlike walk by a joyful cry from inside the knight's helmet. Only one word. “Moonlight.” Before William could stop him, the knight had plunged into the forest after a silver horse that William couldn't see. It was only the knight's warning about the path that kept William from rushing after him.

“Sir Simon,” William cried. “Don't leave me.” He called over and over again into the darkness in case his voice might lead the knight back to the path. At last, when his voice grew hoarse and he was too tired to stand, he sank to the ground and cried until he fell asleep.

When William woke, he sat up slowly, stiff from his cramped position between the two thick roots of a tree. It was impossible to tell the time of day because of the darkness in the forest. The noises, which seemed quieter at first, began to grow in intensity again, as if the animals had been gathering strength while he slept.

He slid open the strings of his leather pouch and pulled out an apple and another hunk of bread. As he sat there, biting into the sweet, crisp fruit, he thought about Sir Simon. Maybe the knight had stumbled back to the path a little farther on and they'd meet when William found his way out of the forest. The thought cheered him, and he pulled himself to his feet. After hopping up and down a bit to get the blood moving through his legs, he set off, watching carefully for the dim outlines of the path.

The juice of the apple had helped quench his thirst, but it was hard going without Sir Simon's silver shape to guide him. He stopped once or twice to make sure he was still on the path. What if he stumbled off? There would be nobody to pull him back, nobody to come looking for him. He would wander around in this forest forever, until he died of starvation or went completely crazy from the noise. The noise. The cacklings mingled with roars, grunts, groans, moans, the scream of a hyena, the far-off whistle of a bird.
All around him, he heard the beating of animals in the underbrush, and he imagined their claws reaching out to scrape his unprotected legs, their sharp fangs. . . . “Be quiet,” he screamed, but there was no relief. He sat down again to rest.

He wanted to give up, to stay there forever with his hands pressed over his ears. Anything to lessen the noise. Suddenly he remembered the recorder. He knew the thin, reedy notes were not loud enough to drown out the animals, but if he could just listen to something else for a while, he might be able to go on.

He pulled the recorder out, ran his tongue over his lips, and blew a couple of notes. The silence was instantaneous, but as soon as he stopped playing, the noises began again, slowly at first and then building up. He played five more notes. Silence.

“Well, now,” he said, feeling much happier. “I've never had such a good audience. Any requests?” His voice was drowned by the growing roars and growls. But when the animals heard the notes of his recorder, they kept still.

William walked along, his eyes on the path, playing every song he had ever learned. “Hot Cross Buns.” “Scarborough Fair.” “Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore.” After a while, he started on Christmas carols. “Away in a Manger.” “Silent Night.” The familiar tunes made him think of home, of the tinsel-covered
tree they always set up in the corner by the bookshelf, of the first snowfall, when he and Mrs. Phillips always made a snowman with a carrot nose and two pine cones for ears.

Slowly he became aware of the gloom lifting ahead of him, but he didn't dare look too closely in case he was being tempted again. When he did at last glance up, he could see blue sky through the twisted branches of the trees. After a few more songs, the road led him out into the middle of a large field.

William slipped his recorder into his pouch and turned a cartwheel right there in the middle of the road. “I did it,” he cried. “I made it through the forest all by myself.” Then he turned two more cartwheels and a front handspring to congratulate himself once more.

“Not bad,” said a voice from the side of the road.

William pulled his tunic down and straightened his dagger while he looked for the speaker. At last, he saw a small boy sitting on a stone wall. His head was topped with a circle of blond hair, and he was whittling a stick with lazy strokes.

“Good morning. I didn't know anybody was watching me,” said William.

“Not many travelers make it through the forest alone,” the boy said.

“Actually, I was with someone, but he . . . he took a different path,” William said. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” said the boy. “And I expect I never will. There's only one path through the forest, and you were on it.”

William decided to say no more about Sir Simon. “I'm looking for the castle of the wizard Alastor. Can you tell me how to get there?”

“You'd do better to go back into the dark forest,” the boy said casually. “Everybody else I've seen is trying to get away from Alastor.”

“I have important business with him,” William said, standing as straight as he could.

The boy looked him up and down and shrugged. “From what I hear, Alastor only does business with the devil, but suit yourself.” He cocked his head to the right. “Follow this road and you'll find your way soon enough. The wizard has left his mark on the land.”

“Thank you,” William said, starting off in the direction the boy had indicated. “If you see my friend, will you tell him which way I've gone?”

“What's he look like?” the boy asked.

“He's a knight with a silver helmet.”

At that, the boy scrambled off the fence. He ran up to William and looked around him quickly before speaking again. “You mean the Silver Knight has come back?” he whispered, holding on to William with both hands.

William didn't answer right away. “What's it to you?”

“My grandmother was the Silver Knight's nurse when he was a baby. We know that Alastor defeated him with magic, but my mother says he will return and take back his kingdom. Then our troubles will be over.”

“What troubles?” William asked.

“Ever since Alastor made himself lord, the crops have not grown well. The animals have gotten sick and died. The cows haven't given milk. Even the wells have gone dry. They say that Alastor has a storeroom of gold in the castle, but each year he demands higher and higher rents from us. People disappear in the middle of the night, and we never see them again.” The boy stopped his frenzied whispering and glanced about him. “They say everybody is Alastor's spy.”

William could see the fear dancing in the little boy's eyes, and a shiver ran down his back.

“Can I trust you?”

“I told you the story of Alastor, didn't I?” the boy said.

“All right, then. You must stay here and wait for the Silver Knight. Tell him I have gone ahead and shall meet him at the castle. Tell him he must disguise himself so that Alastor doesn't know he's coming.”
William pulled the boy's hands. “You mustn't tell anyone that he's near. Do you hear me? No one. If Alastor is warned . . .”