A Midsummer Tempest (23 page)

That was a parched scream. For the swimmer had drawn alongside, arced up in a cataract of spray, caught the first sunbeams on spear-bright flanks, and shimmered into something else.

Jennifer shrank back. The one who perched on the middle thwart laughed. The sound was like bells, heard far away across summer meadows through dawn-dreams when she was a child; and he sang more than spoke:

“I thank thee for thine invitation, lady, and do accept with pleasure. Pardon me if I surprised thee when I doffed my cloak. I have no few of them—as this—”

Abruptly a dragonfly hovered, the absoluteness of blue. “Or this,” it said, and a dove preened an iridescent breast. “Or this”—a young man, brown, golden-curled, in a brief white tunic, strumming a lyre, wings on his cap and sandals—“or this”—a vortex of radiance, not unlike what had come from the ring before it faded, but whirling, whirling—“or this,” the being said, and returned to the first shape taken aboard, “or many more.”

“What sending art thou,” Jennifer’s words dragged, “and from where, and why?”

“Am I so terrifying in thy sight?” he teased. “I can become a gorgon if thou’d’st liefer.”

Her breathing began to slow. Certainly his aspect could in itself only charm: a boy of seven or eight years, slenderness clad in breechclout and a lily garland across the fair locks, eyes big and cornflower-colored in a countenance dusted with freckles—but less than a foot tall, and winged like a butterfly which had been patterned on a tiger in a field of gillyvor.

No matter his minuteness, she could easily hear him, and read the concern which crossed his features: “Wait. Thou hast sailed too near the edge, I see. No babe has drained thee, but a red-hot vampire, and thou art more a mummy than a mother. Abide a moment.”

He was gone. She stared, opened and closed her mouth, could get forth no noise. Untended, the rudder
waggled idle, the yard-arm rattled, and the sail spilled its wind.

A footman appeared before her. “Milady, tea is served,” he intoned, set a tray on the after thwart, and became the boy-spirit, perched gleefuly in the bows.

She gaped. A pot of China ware steamed upon the brass, next to an eggshell-thin cup; there were plates of cheese, raisins, cakes; beside a pitcher of milk stood one of water, both bedewed from their coldness, and an honest clay mug to pour full.

“Quaff slowly, nibble, till thou’rt wont to life,” he warned.

“I know,” she answered, “but know not how to thank thee.… Oh, thou’st naught against a prayer?”

“Nay, I’ll join.”

Reassured, she knelt for minute, as he did in the foresheets. Meanwhile the sun had come wholly in flight and the sea lay a-flash.

With wondering care, Jennifer started to drink and eat. Her rescuer found a comfortable position against the gunwale, kicked his heels, and said:

“No doubt thou’rt curious about this business. Well, I am Ariel, the airy spirit who once served Prospero upon that isle which thou’st been dogging, till he slipped me free.” Her stupefaction sent him into a gale of mirth. “I read thy mind. Fear not. ’Tis very pure.” He grew solemn. “And thus I learned how Faerie’s faring ill. I’ve kept myself too long in isolation—lost track of time, mine island is so pleasant. Now must I help thy cause and Oberon’s. Else might erelong the foe bestride my holm, his iron passionlessly ravish her, then flense the daisies from her dying flesh and on her bones erect a countinghouse.”

“As has been happening in England,” she said between cautious, marveling sips. “Rupert—”

“What’s in a name?” Ariel scoffed. “Well, names can be important. They should have made him Ernest. Ah, no matter. He clumps well-meaning, if on heavy hoofs. Myself, I like thee better, Jennifer.”

“Speak never ill of him!” she flared.

“That’s what I like,” nodded Ariel.

“But … he’s alive and hale?”

“Aye.”

“God be praised.” Were she not desiccated, she would have wept.

After a while, during which he conjured a sparkling ball into existence, bounced it on his fingertips, and dismissed it, Ariel went on: “Thou know’st our Faerie powers are but slight—illusions, apparitions, some few tricks, forecastings which the stream of time may drown, a whisper of ambiguous advice. Outside mine eyot, I’m a spy, no more. Not only would I not have known of thee, I could not aid thee as I’m doing now hadst thou not by thyself come near my home. Nor can I resurrect those mighty things whereby Duke Prospero first saved, then bound me. I can but show thee where he sank them down, and mortal muscles which may help thee—”

“Rupert?”

Ariel grimaced. “Nay, he sits deep inside a shell of books. I have no strength to winkle him from them, for that whole palace has an iron frame to fence off magic, which its builders feared.” Seeing her crestfallen: “However, by himself he’ll soon creep forth. Meanwhile, I know how it has fretted thee about the lad who cut thy chains in twain and thus did leave his sword unscabbarded. Well, he is in no danger. His companions agree thou didst bewitch his innocence, and anyway, have too much else to think of.” He grinned. “The owner of this boat demands its price of them—a sum left float to bloat, I’m sure—since watchmen state a Puritan did steal it, and furthermore insists on partial rental, although ’tis clear they’ll never use his ship. He threatens lawsuit; whilst they speak no French!” He beat the thwart and whooped.

“How dost thou know these things?” Jennifer wondered.

“The span of time I took to fetch you rations, was enough to follow up the clues within thy mind.” Ariel began to sing:
“Where the eaves drop, there drop I—”
but broke off in apology. “Ah, nay, I pray thy delicacy pardon each single second sere and useless here within this furnace hole of movelessness. I’ll bring an oil which
heals all burns at once.” His words rose to a cry. “Now from the deeps for thee let whirl a wind, lass!”

He flung an arm aloft. The air brawled to life, the waters beneath it. Sail suddenly filled, the boat sprang forward.

THE ISLAND.

H
ILLS
lifted high from wide white beaches and intimate coves. They were bedecked with forest—here pine and juniper, there tall hardwoods—or meadows star-sky full of flowers. Springs gave rise to brooks which tumbled over moss-softened cobbles and rang down cliffsides. Odors of growth, blossom, sun-warmed resin drenched the air. It was always singing, for wings were overhead in the thousands: chirrup, trill, carol, and chant.

Ariel’s medicines had already brought Jennifer close to full recovery. She followed an upward trail. Cathedral coolness dwelt beneath the branches which vaulted it Sunbeams dissolved into green and gold in those leaves, or reached the earth and minted coins among the shadows. The sprite flitted around and around her. Occasionally he zipped aside to startle a ladybird, play tag with a robin, or drain the dew lingering in an orchid cup.

“And have I died,” she asked at last in a sleepwalker’s voice, “to find this Paradise?”

“Nay, it is earthly, though thou well hast earned it.” Ariel descended to perch on her shoulder. “Is not the whole wide world itself an Eden, and man himself its snake and fiery guardian? The first and foremost miracle thou’lt find, here too as elsewhere, is thy living flesh. That it may get its due, I’m guiding thee toward the cell that Prospero had carved from out a bluff, to house him and his girl. We’ll quickly sweep and garnish it for thee, and heap sweet boughs and grasses for thy bed.”

He quivered his wings as he went eagerly on: “Thou’lt find the island fare we bring not simple. Each well we tap has its own icy tang, each honeycomb’s uniquely from one field, each grape’s most subtly blent of sun, earth, rain, while truffles taste of treasures buried
deep and mushrumps have the smack of shade and damp, to emphasize the cunning of an herb or quench the acrid ardor of a leek as apple tartness is made soft by pears. That’s but to name a few of many plants. Our crabs and lobsters clack self-praise enough; the oysters rightly feel they need no boast. Soon hazelnuts and quinces will be ripe, and I could hymn what hymeneal things occur when they are introduced to trout. I think I shall—”

“A moment, pray, kind sir,” Jennifer interrupted. She was coming out of her daze. “Thou speak’st of ‘we.’ Who else dwells hereabouts?”

Ariel arched his brows. “Who dost thou think? … And here he comes to meet me.”

Jennifer cried aloud in shock.

The being which shambled around a bend in the path seemed twice hideous against woods, birds, and elf. He was roughly manlike, somewhat beneath her in height. That was partly due to the shortness of his bowlegs, partly to his hunched stance, for the shoulders were broad. Arms dangled past knees; like the splay feet, they ended in black-rimmed unclipped nails. A matted white shock of hair disguised, at first, how small his head was. It had no brow or chin; the eyes crouched deep in great caverns of bone, the face was mostly muzzle, flat nose and gash of a mouth. His skin, sallow and brown-spotted, was covered by nothing save a filthy loincloth.

“Be not affrighted,” said Ariel: “neither one of ye.”

The creature’s jaw dropped, showing tushes which must once have been fearsome but were now a few yellow snags. “What is?” he asked hoarsely. “What fetch is this thou fetched—” Abruptly he bawled
“Miranda!”
and cast himself forward and down.

Jennifer braced body and spirit. The monster groveled at her ankles. Through his head and his clasping arms she was shaken by his weeping.

“’Tis merely Caliban,” Ariel told her through the ragged sobs, “these many years quite harmless, or at least in check to me. I do confess his outburst’s a surprise.”

“Who’s Caliban?” Her nose wrinkled at the animal rankness rising about her.

“He’s a foul witch’s whelp, that Prospero did find when small, and taught to speak a tongue thou hear’st as English here—and raised to be a servant unto him. A nasty, surly, sneaky one he was, who at the end sought to betray his lord, but soon got tipsy, reeled through foolishness, and later ululated his regret. When Prospero released me and went home, he left this hulk behind as well. What use a Caliban in Italy, except to be such butt of japes and bait of dogs as to ignite his flimsy wits in rage, and make him pluck someone apart, and hang? So he’s grown old alone upon the isle, save now and then when I, in quest of sport or in an idle kindliness, pay calls and make mirages for his entertainment.”

“Miranda, oh, Miranda,” grated the monster, and lifted his wet visage toward Jennifer’s.

Ariel fluttered off to regard her. “Nay, thou’rt not,” he deemed. “Aside from clothes, cropped hair, and all the rest, thou’rt fairer than she was, more tall—Ah, well. She was the only maid he ever saw, and in the many years between, though begged, I never thought it proper to bring back the darling semblance in a show for him.” He pondered what appeared to be a new thought. “So ghosts do age and change in mortal wise?”

Shuddering still, Caliban got up. He flung arms widely and wildly, drummed his breast, broke off at every few words to give a bark of pain. “Thou art not a Miranda? But thou art! This must be a Miranda, Ariel. Thou’rt clever in the tinting of the air, but never has thou wrought a dream like this. Behold how sweetly curved, how finely carved! Thou hast no skill to melt and mold a moonbeam and taper it to make those hands of hers. Couldst thou invent that vein within her throat, as blue as shadow on a sunlit cloud? What melody of thine could sing her walk? And—oh, I’m sorry for thee, Ariel!—thou hast no nose like mine, to drink the breeze that she perfumes; thou knowest common roses, while I could drowse a million happy years within the summer meadow of her breath. Her cheeks are soft as sleep. … Lie not to me! I’ve not forgotten what Mirandas are, and this Miranda’s real—is real—is real!”

He began to hop about, chattering, slavering, baring what was left of his teeth at the sprite. “Thou shalt not
take away this new Miranda!” he screamed. “Thou squirrel, raven, thievish heartless mocker, hast thou not hoarded up bright gauds enough that I may keep one realness of mine own? Come down, thou insect! See, my gape stands wide and bids thee enter—though ’twill spit thee out to make a meal for blowflies!”

“Caliban,” said Ariel sternly, “thou’rt overheated as of yore.” To Jennifer, who had backed off in alarm: “I’ll quench him.”

A whine whirled over the path. Ariel became a tiny thunderhead through which leaped needles of toy lightning. Caliban yammered, raised arms for shield, and crouched. Rain and hail flogged him, bolts jagged into his skin. It was a harmless punishment, to judge by the lack of wounds, but painful, to judge by how he jerked and wailed.

“Don’t hurt him more,” Jennifer pleaded after a minute. “His hair’s too white for this.”

Ariel resumed his usual shape. Caliban lay snuffling. “Why, it was mild,” said the sprite. “I’ve felt much worse than it myself when riding on the rampant gales.” As Caliban dared look at him: “Methinks this is the first of any time thou hast been pitied, since thou wast a pup. Thou might give thanks for that.”

The creature crawled back to his feet. Jennifer saw how he winced, not at the chastisement he had taken, but at the ache of age within his bones. “I do, I do,” he rumbled abjectly. “Aye, sweetness goes with being a Miranda.” He tugged his forelock and attempted a bow in her direction. “Be not afraid. ’Tis I’m afraid of thee. When I was young, and with the first Miranda, I own I terrified her tenderness, but none had taught me better how to be. The thoughts do drop and trickle very slow through this thick bone that sits atop my chine. Natheless I’ve had a deal of years to brood on how ’tis best Mirandas be adored. I’ll clean thy place each day, and bring it flowers, and chop thee plenty firewood, scrub the pots, lie watchdog at thy feet, and if thou wilt, show thee a secret berry patch I have. Or anything, Miranda. Only tell.”

“Come,” said Ariel. “Let us go prepare for her that cell.”

A BOAT AT SEA.

It was a tartane, sharp-snouted and bowspritted, rigged with a jib and a lateen mainsail. That made it less handy than the Dutch jachts Rupert knew; but a boom would have crashed onto an outsize crate near the middle of the mostly open hull. Boxes and casks of supplies left scant room for two men to stretch their mattresses. This was a noontide of white-streaked violet waves beneath a thrumming breeze and overwhelming sun.