Mythology Abroad (6 page)

“A lot of the books I checked suggested that some of the things we found were unlikely to turn up in poorer places, like all the jewelry. Sure, they could have been the craftsmen who made them, but if they needed money, they would have sold the goods, instead of keeping them. The village must have been large, because of the number of bones in the garbage dump. I pieced things together from a lot of sources, not to mention the things that Dr. Crutchley has been telling us. I think there’s a similarity between the way we work at home on research papers and the way the archaeological team does here.”

“Keith,” Miss Anderson said firmly, “This course is intended to teach you to respect facts, not hare off after assumptions. For example, the size of the rubbish tip may have been the product of years rather than population. You are on a strict fact-finding expedition. Theories are for those in full possession of those facts.”

“Dr. Crutchley is making speculations,” Keith offered in his own defense.

The teacher sighed, as if she had made this point many times before. “Yes, but he labels them as speculations. He does not
know
anything for which he hasn’t got proof. If you find a jar in an ancient village site, you may assume that one of the ancient folk had
a jar.
You don’t state baldly that they kept stoats in it, unless you have pictorial proof, such as art or hieroglyphs, or actually find a mummified stoat inside one. Dr. Crutchley can make educated guesses based on experience and research. This could be a good learning experience for you. It wouldn’t hurt your everyday life to learn the difference between blind belief and supported theories for which evidence exists.”

“Like whether or not there are really leprechauns and things like that, you mean?” Keith asked innocently, accepting his paper back from the teacher.

Miss Anderson nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I suppose that would be a good example. Evidence separates fantasy from fact.”

“Okay, I get it.” Keith smiled sweetly, feeling as if he had made a point, even if the teacher didn’t know it. “Do you want me to rewrite the paper?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Miss Anderson stated. “You do understand the principles of the expedition, and your guesses are fairly intelligent, though I want you to understand that it is far too early to make such firm assumptions. It smacks of scientific irresponsibility.”

“It won’t happen again. I’ll be as cautious as if I was walking on dinosaur eggs,” Keith promised. “Um, Miss Anderson, how do you handle the grades? I’m carrying a pretty good average at Midwestern, and I’d like to maintain it.”

Her blue eyes twinkled up through the thick glasses, reminding Keith irresistibly of the Elf Master. “The first essay carries far less weight than the following five. It gives us a chance to know one another. Or, you can elect to have the grade recorded as Pass/Fail, if you like. If you’re the sort prone to ulcers over marks, we can make a gentleman’s agreement that you will pass so long as you do any work at all and take part in the discussions.”

“I’m not that bad,” Keith said. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Good for you,” Miss Anderson replied cheerily. “I thought you had the stuff of fighters in you.”

Keith rose, and rolled up his paper. “I’m really enjoying this tour, Miss Anderson. Even the dirt feels more historical than the kind I usually get under my fingernails.”

The teacher laughed. “I’ll look forward to what you have to tell me next week, when your muscles are really sore. Just send Alistair in on your way out, won’t you?” She swiveled her chair to face the pile of papers, and Keith slipped through the door.

***

C
HAPTER SEVEN

Keith bought a handful of postcards and wrote enthusiastic messages to his friends and family as the coach carried them toward the dig early on the second Monday. One for his roommate, Patrick Morgan, one for his parents, one for his resident advisor, Rick, and one for Diane, over which he lingered lovingly, crowding all the detail he could in the small message square. He had saved a special card for Ludmilla Hempert, the old woman with whom he shared the Little Folks’ secret. It was a hot, sunny morning, with just a striping of clouds arching overhead. Slung across his back was a straw coolie hat he had found in one of the souvenir shops the week before and had worn every day since burning his ears and neck. The others laughed at him for worrying about a little sun, and turned down his offer of hats for each of them. None of them wore hats, sunscreen, or even sunglasses.

“No sense worrying about what doesn’t stay long, or hadn’t you noticed?” Edwin asked deprecatingly. “This isn’t the tropics, laddie.”

“Americans worry too much about natural things,” Charles added.

“Skin cancer is natural?” Keith asked pointedly.

“Oh, come off it. In this soft light? You must be made of wax,” Edwin laughed.

“Look at Miss Anderson,” Keith defended himself. “She’s got a hat on.”

“I rarely stay through the afternoon,” the teacher said mildly, adjusting the confection of straw and flowers on her head, “but I concur with Keith. I feel that hot heads make for hasty judgment. But don’t take me as an example. I’m prone to sun-stroke.”

The coach turned off the road and pulled up behind a queue of unfamiliar cars parked at the foot of the hill along the narrow lane. The driver looked quizzically over his shoulder at Miss Anderson. “No place to pull up,” he announced.

Miss Anderson studied the line of cars and bobbed her pointed chin vigorously several times. “They must have the press or guests here today,” she said. “Reverse out, and take the small road to the left. You can let us off there. I saw another path on the leeward side of the bluff.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, nudging up the side of his cap with a forefinger as a sort of salute.

Her students groaned audibly as they saw the path Miss Anderson meant them to climb. It was a muddy, slick trench, almost perpendicular to the road.

“Now, now, you’re all younger than I am. You’ve got the energy to make it up there. Go on, and I’ll be up after you in a wee while,” the teacher urged them cheerfully.

“Holy Mother, we’ll need a ladder,” Matthew complained, standing and gazing upward. Narit, who never complained, pushed past him and started to climb the hill, clutching the long grass as handholds. The boys looked at one another, half amused, half outraged, watching her long plait of hair swaying above them.

“I’m not going to let a mere girl clinch the title,” Martin said, starting after her. “Hoy, it’s not so bad. Come on, lads!”

“The sheep can get up there, and they weigh more than you,” Edwin called.

“Smarter, too,” Max chimed in, and glanced at the others. “Well, what about you slackers?”

“Yar boo sucks,” Matthew answered, good-naturedly. “Coming, Keith?”

“Right behind you,” the American said. “Hey, Holl, do you want to go up ahead of me? That way I can catch you if you slip.”

The elf snorted. “More likely it will be so you don’t fall on me from above with your big clumsy body. I’ll be fine. After you,” he gestured toward the slope, with a slight bow. Keith saluted wryly and jumped for the first foothold, grabbing sheaves of grass with both hands. Holl followed him, less energetically.

“Hey, this is a view we haven’t had before,” Keith said, stopping on a relatively level part and looking around. The others had disappeared over the crest of the bluff, and their voices faded into distant echoes like the cries of gulls. “More fences. I swear that this is the only piece of ground for ten miles that isn’t roped off.” Holl, toiling up behind him, grunted his acknowledgment, but didn’t look up. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith caught sight of a depression in the grass on the hillside across the road, which had been invisible from the road behind stands of underbrush. He squinted under his hand at it. It was the shadow thrown by a small hillock. The inverted bowl-shaped mound was almost perfectly round, and it was surrounded by woodland plants that didn’t encroach on the smooth grass thereupon. Something in his memory went
ting!
“Hey, look over there, Holl. It’s a fairy ring.”

“What?” Holl struggled up to stand next to Keith. “Go on with you.”

“Well, it’s got all the right characteristics. It’s a low, rounded grassy mound, surrounded by little purple flowers and mushrooms.” He wrinkled his nose, wishing he could see more detail under the shadows of the low trees on the other side. “And I think there’s something on the top. Some kind of flower with bell-shaped cups on tall stalks.”

“What? What color are they?” Holl demanded, brimming with hope. Could the object of his quest be so close? Right under his nose?

“I’m not sure. But I’ve got to have a look.” Keith skipped down the track, past an inquisitive sheep or two, and ducked under the wire fence on the other side. His long legs took the slope in easy strides.

“Wait for me!” Holl half-slid, half-ran after him.

As soon as he crossed the road, he felt a wave of malignity smack into him, as if he had hit a wall. Ignoring it, he pulled up the loose wire strand and hurried to catch up with Keith. There was something about the hill he didn’t like, something sinister. It was the same sort of suffocating wash he had experienced on the jet. Perhaps Keith’s fairy ring had its own defenses, a guardian of some kind.

“It’s pink!” Keith’s voice came from above. “Does pink count, or do your flowers have to be white?”

“White’s all I know of,” Holl called up to him. “Wait, and I’ll come up and see.” He reached out to grab a handhold among the plants, and came away with a handful of tiny, red, stinging blisters. “Ow!” A fierce guardian, if these inimical plants were anything to judge by. Hoping he could keep his balance, he wormed his way through the undergrowth.

Keith circled around the low mound, his invisible whiskers erect with excitement. He knew that most things ancient humankind thought of as fairy rings were actually the outward growth from successive generations of some kinds of plants, like mushrooms, but this couldn’t be in that category. The hillock was too perfect to be completely natural. Six inches above the ground, there was a barrier encircling it, consisting of a single wire attached at intervals to small wooden posts, and smaller signs that read “Restricted.” The flowers in the dead center of the mound stood defiant amidst the low grass. That grass was strange in itself; the natural growth on the rest of the hillside would be almost knee high except that it lay flat on the ground. Holl appeared through the underbrush.

“Here, look!” Keith called. “Come on over and tell me what you think!”

Holding his stung hand gingerly, Holl came over and peered at the tall flower stalks. As he approached the mound, the feeling of ill-will was stronger, almost overwhelming. His face fell as he got his first good look at Keith’s quarry. “It’s pink foxglove,” he said. “I’ve seen it before. It wouldn’t be of any use at all. That is to say, it has some medicinal uses, but it isn’t magical.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asked, disappointed. “Well, I’m not going to write the whole experience off as a waste. I’ve never seen a fairy mound before. How about a closer look?”

“No, thank you!” Holl said warily. “Keith Doyle, there’s something about this hillside, something I feel is wrong here.”

“You’re just nervous,” Keith chided him. He peered up at the inviting green grass, hoped that there weren’t dire consequences for intruding. With a quick apology to whatever powers had designed it, he stepped gingerly over the perimeter and up onto the green.

Holl’s mouth formed an
O
of horror. “What are you doing, you silly fellow?”

“It’s okay!” Keith assured him. “Nothing’s happened to me yet. Hey, the hill feels strange under my feet.” He stamped on it, felt the reverberations through his feet. “Almost hollow, like a drum. Come on in, the magic’s fine!”

“Out, you widdy! The place is surrounded by “Restricted” notices. Someone doesn’t want you tramping around on it.”

Struck by a curious thought, Keith looked up. “Yeah! Do you suppose that means the British government believes in magic? Why else would they rope off a hill? What do they know that they’re not telling?”

“Perhaps the grass you’re stamping out of existence is an endangered plant,” Holl pointed out acidly. “Come down from there.” The effort of shouting made him feel faint, and he sat down in the long straw. He felt cold chills, though the sun was shining directly down on them.

“Holl, what’s the matter?” Keith asked, leaping down from the mound. The little man didn’t answer. His chin sagged onto his chest, and he shuddered. “Holl?”

“There’s something powerful in there,” Holl whispered, trying to project his voice. A buzzing started in his ears, and grew louder and louder until he could hear nothing else. He knew Keith was shouting at him, but he saw only the young man’s mouth move. He couldn’t understand the words at all.

Keith reached Holl just as the other started to slump over onto the grass. His skin was red and hot, as if he had been sunburned, but they had hardly been out under the sky long enough to get warm. Keith felt for a heartbeat, and found it: rapid, shallow, and unsteady. What kind of attack was this? Had something evil under the hill reached out at the more sensitive one of the two when Keith broached its barriers? “Holl, can you hear me?” The elf made a sort of choking noise, and Keith pried his jaw open with a thumb, and looked down his throat. His breathing didn’t appear to be blocked by anything physical. “I have got to get you to a doctor. Oh, my God, where am I going to find a doctor out here?” He settled Holl gently into the long grass with the coolie hat over his face to keep the sun off. “You wait here. I promise I’ll be right back.”

He ran down the hill and around the bend, looking for the tour bus. It was long gone from its temporary parking place. Desperation dragged him scrambling up the hill to the dig site. He stumbled over his feet at the top of the rise, and practically fell over the project coordinator’s table, which lay at the end of the site. “Ah, there you are, Keith,” Dr. Crutchley said cheerfully, from the edge of the cut turf where the boys were digging. He waved to the young man to join him. “I wondered what had become of my most energetic worker.”

“When do Miss Anderson and the tour bus come back?” Keith asked breathlessly. The rest of the team stared at him.

“Why, not for several hours at least, son. Haven’t you just arrived? We have a lot of work to do.”

“Holl, my nephew, he just passed out. I have to get him to a doctor!”

“What’s wrong?” Miss Sanders rose from the table, and laid a concerned hand on Keith’s arm.

Keith started, wild-eyed. “He’s got a fever, he’s gasping, and his skin is all red. I don’t know if he had some kind of attack, or what.” He willed himself to calm down. The others hurried over to him.

“Did he swallow something? Is his throat obstructed? Time is crucial if someone is choking!”

“He just said he felt funny, and passed out,” Keith explained helplessly, surrounded by the crowd. He felt he had to move, to do something quickly, or burst. He was responsible for Holl. Holl trusted him.

Matthew came up, offering Keith a small cell telephone, and yanked up the antenna wire. “Here, use my portable. Dial 999 for the rescue squad. They’ll send someone.”

Miss Sanders waved the phone away. “It would take too long for them to find us. I have a car. We’ll take him to the National Health Service clinic. It isn’t too far. I’ll drive you. You bring him to the side of the road, and I’ll pick you up.”

“Thanks, Miss Sanders, I appreciate it,” Keith wheezed, and dashed back to where he had left Holl lying. The others dropped their pans and followed him.

Keith hurried up to Holl. There was no change. Holl was still in a near-somnolent state, responding only with fluttering eyelids to Keith’s voice. The American stuffed the fallen baseball cap in his pocket and picked the young elf up. To his surprise, his friend was very light. “Well, I guess personality doesn’t weigh anything,” he joked out loud, but his insides were twisting in panic. There seemed to be nothing he could do for Holl. What would he say to the Elf Master, to Maura, if something happened to Holl while in his care? Then reality intruded. The others were right behind him. There was no way for him to hide Holl’s most characteristic features. He dropped to his knees, and turned his back on the advancing crowd, laying the elf on the grass, and raising his head gently. “Holl, can you hear me?” he pleaded in a rushed undertone. “I’m going to ask you for the biggest favor ever. I promise, I’d never ask this if it wasn’t vital. I mean, a matter of life and death. Please, make your ears look round.” Holl didn’t respond. “Darn it, do it!” Keith insisted. “You’ve got to hide those points. Otherwise they’ll know what you are and we’ll never get out of here. You don’t want that to happen. If you won’t do it for me, think of Maura.”

The Little Folk’s breath caught once, and Keith held his breath. Before his eyes, the ears changed, shortening, shrinking, the tips receding into the pinnae as if they were withering. Keith touched one, curiously. It felt exactly as it looked. Keith felt a little bit of a shock go through him. That was all it took to remove the Little Folks’ specialness. Without the ears, Holl was a kid. A short, blond-haired kid. Mentally, Keith kicked himself, having fallen into that trap once before, with embarrassing results, and had promised it wouldn’t happen again. It hadn’t, but boy, how deceiving looks could be! Keith hoisted the disguised Holl off the grass and bundled him into the back of Miss Sanders’s small Fiat Uno as the others crowded around him, clucking their concern.

The doctors at the National Health clinic were firm and kind. “An attack of some kind? Does he have any allergies?” a white-coated man asked, writing down facts on a history sheet. Holl’s discarded cap and Keith’s coolie hat lay on a table behind them.