The Story of the Amulet

‘We’re well out of THAT,’ said Cyril.

‘Yes,’ said Anthea, ‘but I do wish the poor men hadn’t been driven back before they could get to the King. He might have done something for them.’

‘Not if he was the one in the Bible he wouldn’t,’ said Jane. ‘He had a hard heart.’ ‘Ah, that was the Moses one,’ Anthea explained. ‘The Joseph one was quite different. I should like to see Pharaoh’s house. I wonder whether it’s like the Egyptian Court in the Crystal Palace.’

‘I thought we decided to try to get taken on in a Temple,’ said Cyril in injured tones.

‘Yes, but we’ve got to know someone first. Couldn’t we make friends with a Temple doorkeeper—we might give him the padlock or something. I wonder which are temples and which are palaces,’ Robert added, glancing across the market-place to where an enormous gateway with huge side buildings towered towards the sky. To right and left of it were other buildings only a little less magnificent.

‘Did you wish to seek out the Temple of Amen Ra?’ asked a soft voice behind them, ‘or the Temple of Mut, or the Temple of Khonsu?’

They turned to find beside them a young man. He was shaved clean from head to foot, and on his feet were light papyrus sandals. He was clothed in a linen tunic of white, embroidered heavily in colours. He was gay with anklets, bracelets, and armlets of gold, richly inlaid. He wore a ring on his finger, and he had a short jacket of gold embroidery something like the Zouave soldiers wear, and on his neck was a gold collar with many amulets hanging from it. But among the amulets the children could see none like theirs.

‘It doesn’t matter which Temple,’ said Cyril frankly.

‘Tell me your mission,’ said the young man. ‘I am a divine father of the Temple of Amen Ra and perhaps I can help you.’

‘Well,’ said Cyril, ‘we’ve come from the great Empire on which the sun never sets.’

‘I thought somehow that you’d come from some odd, out-of-the-way spot,’ said the priest with courtesy.

‘And we’ve seen a good many palaces. We thought we should like to see a Temple, for a change,’ said Robert.

The Psammead stirred uneasily in its embroidered bag.

‘Have you brought gifts to the Temple?’ asked the priest cautiously.

‘We HAVE got some gifts,’ said Cyril with equal caution. ‘You see there’s magic mixed up in it. So we can’t tell you everything. But we don’t want to give our gifts for nothing.’

‘Beware how you insult the god,’ said the priest sternly. ‘I also can do magic. I can make a waxen image of you, and I can say words which, as the wax image melts before the fire, will make you dwindle away and at last perish miserably.’

‘Pooh!’ said Cyril stoutly, ‘that’s nothing. I can make FIRE itself!’

‘I should jolly well like to see you do it,’ said the priest unbelievingly.

‘Well, you shall,’ said Cyril, ‘nothing easier. Just stand close round me.’

‘Do you need no preparation—no fasting, no incantations?’ The priest’s tone was incredulous.

‘The incantation’s quite short,’ said Cyril, taking the hint; ‘and as for fasting, it’s not needed in MY sort of magic. Union Jack, Printing Press, Gunpowder, Rule Britannia! Come, Fire, at the end of this little stick!’

He had pulled a match from his pocket, and as he ended the incantation which contained no words that it seemed likely the Egyptian had ever heard he stooped in the little crowd of his relations and the priest and struck the match on his boot. He stood up, shielding the flame with one hand.

‘See?’ he said, with modest pride. ‘Here, take it into your hand.’

‘No, thank you,’ said the priest, swiftly backing. ‘Can you do that again?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then come with me to the great double house of Pharaoh. He loves good magic, and he will raise you to honour and glory. There’s no need of secrets between initiates,’ he went on confidentially. ‘The fact is, I am out of favour at present owing to a little matter of failure of prophecy. I told him a beautiful princess would be sent to him from Syria, and, lo! a woman thirty years old arrived. But she WAS a beautiful woman not so long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, you know.’

The children thrilled to the familiar words.

‘So you know that too, do you?’ said Cyril.

‘It is part of the mystery of all magic, is it not?’ said the priest. ‘Now if I bring you to Pharaoh the little unpleasantness I spoke of will be forgotten. And I will ask Pharaoh, the Great House, Son of the Sun, and Lord of the South and North, to decree that you shall lodge in the Temple. Then you can have a good look round, and teach me your magic. And I will teach you mine.’

This idea seemed good—at least it was better than any other which at that moment occurred to anybody, so they followed the priest through the city.

The streets were very narrow and dirty. The best houses, the priest explained, were built within walls twenty to twenty-five feet high, and such windows as showed in the walls were very high up. The tops of palm-trees showed above the walls. The poor people’s houses were little square huts with a door and two windows, and smoke coming out of a hole in the back.

‘The poor Egyptians haven’t improved so very much in their building since the first time we came to Egypt,’ whispered Cyril to Anthea.

The huts were roofed with palm branches, and everywhere there were chickens, and goats, and little naked children kicking about in the yellow dust. On one roof was a goat, who had climbed up and was eating the dry palm-leaves with snorts and head-tossings of delight. Over every house door was some sort of figure or shape.

‘Amulets,’ the priest explained, ‘to keep off the evil eye.’

‘I don’t think much of your “nice Egypt”,’ Robert whispered to Jane; ‘it’s simply not a patch on Babylon.’

‘Ah, you wait till you see the palace,’ Jane whispered back.

The palace was indeed much more magnificent than anything they had yet seen that day, though it would have made but a poor show beside that of the Babylonian King. They came to it through a great square pillared doorway of sandstone that stood in a high brick wall. The shut doors were of massive cedar, with bronze hinges, and were studded with bronze nails. At the side was a little door and a wicket gate, and through this the priest led the children. He seemed to know a word that made the sentries make way for him.

Inside was a garden, planted with hundreds of different kinds of trees and flowering shrubs, a lake full of fish, with blue lotus flowers at the margin, and ducks swimming about cheerfully, and looking, as Jane said, quite modern.

‘The guard-chamber, the store-houses, the queen’s house,’ said the priest, pointing them out.

They passed through open courtyards, paved with flat stones, and the priest whispered to a guard at a great inner gate.

‘We are fortunate,’ he said to the children, ‘Pharaoh is even now in the Court of Honour. Now, don’t forget to be overcome with respect and admiration. It won’t do any harm if you fall flat on your faces. And whatever you do, don’t speak until you’re spoken to.’

‘There used to be that rule in our country,’ said Robert, ‘when my father was a little boy.’

At the outer end of the great hall a crowd of people were arguing with and even shoving the Guards, who seemed to make it a rule not to let anyone through unless they were bribed to do it. The children heard several promises of the utmost richness, and wondered whether they would ever be kept.

All round the hall were pillars of painted wood. The roof was of cedar, gorgeously inlaid. About half-way up the hall was a wide, shallow step that went right across the hall; then a little farther on another; and then a steep flight of narrower steps, leading right up to the throne on which Pharaoh sat. He sat there very splendid, his red and white double crown on his head, and his sceptre in his hand. The throne had a canopy of wood and wooden pillars painted in bright colours. On a low, broad bench that ran all round the hall sat the friends, relatives, and courtiers of the King, leaning on richly-covered cushions.

The priest led the children up the steps till they all stood before the throne; and then, suddenly, he fell on his face with hands outstretched. The others did the same, Anthea falling very carefully because of the Psammead.

‘Raise them,’ said the voice of Pharaoh, ‘that they may speak to me.’

The officers of the King’s household raised them.

‘Who are these strangers?’ Pharaoh asked, and added very crossly, ‘And what do you mean, Rekh-mara, by daring to come into my presence while your innocence is not established?’

‘Oh, great King,’ said the young priest, ‘you are the very image of Ra, and the likeness of his son Horus in every respect. You know the thoughts of the hearts of the gods and of men, and you have divined that these strangers are the children of the children of the vile and conquered Kings of the Empire where the sun never sets. They know a magic not known to the Egyptians. And they come with gifts in their hands as tribute to Pharaoh, in whose heart is the wisdom of the gods, and on his lips their truth.’

‘That is all very well,’ said Pharaoh, ‘but where are the gifts?’

The children, bowing as well as they could in their embarrassment at finding themselves the centre of interest in a circle more grand, more golden and more highly coloured than they could have imagined possible, pulled out the padlock, the Necessaire, and the tie-clip. ‘But it’s not tribute all the same,’ Cyril muttered. ‘England doesn’t pay tribute!’

Pharaoh examined all the things with great interest when the chief of the household had taken them up to him. ‘Deliver them to the Keeper of the Treasury,’ he said to one near him. And to the children he said—

‘A small tribute, truly, but strange, and not without worth. And the magic, O Rekh-mara?’

‘These unworthy sons of a conquered nation…’ began Rekh-mara.

‘Nothing of the kind!’ Cyril whispered angrily.

‘… of a vile and conquered nation, can make fire to spring from dry wood—in the sight of all.’

‘I should jolly well like to see them do it,’ said Pharaoh, just as the priest had done.

So Cyril, without more ado, did it.

‘Do more magic,’ said the King, with simple appreciation.

‘He cannot do any more magic,’ said Anthea suddenly, and all eyes were turned on her, ‘because of the voice of the free people who are shouting for bread and onions and beer and a long mid-day rest. If the people had what they wanted, he could do more.’

‘A rude-spoken girl,’ said Pharaoh. ‘But give the dogs what they want,’ he said, without turning his head. ‘Let them have their rest and their extra rations. There are plenty of slaves to work.’

A richly-dressed official hurried out.

‘You will be the idol of the people,’ Rekh-mara whispered joyously; ‘the Temple of Amen will not contain their offerings.’

Cyril struck another match, and all the court was overwhelmed with delight and wonder. And when Cyril took the candle from his pocket and lighted it with the match, and then held the burning candle up before the King the enthusiasm knew no bounds.

‘Oh, greatest of all, before whom sun and moon and stars bow down,’ said Rekh-mara insinuatingly, ‘am I pardoned? Is my innocence made plain?’

‘As plain as it ever will be, I daresay,’ said Pharaoh shortly. ‘Get along with you. You are pardoned. Go in peace.’ The priest went with lightning swiftness.

‘And what,’ said the King suddenly, ‘is it that moves in that sack?

Show me, oh strangers.’

There was nothing for it but to show the Psammead.

‘Seize it,’ said Pharaoh carelessly. ‘A very curious monkey. It will be a nice little novelty for my wild beast collection.’

And instantly, the entreaties of the children availing as little as the bites of the Psammead, though both bites and entreaties were fervent, it was carried away from before their eyes.

‘Oh, DO be careful!’ cried Anthea. ‘At least keep it dry! Keep it in its sacred house!’

She held up the embroidered bag.

‘It’s a magic creature,’ cried Robert; ‘it’s simply priceless!’

‘You’ve no right to take it away,’ cried Jane incautiously. ‘It’s a shame, a barefaced robbery, that’s what it is!’

There was an awful silence. Then Pharaoh spoke.

‘Take the sacred house of the beast from them,’ he said, ‘and imprison all. Tonight after supper it may be our pleasure to see more magic. Guard them well, and do not torture them—yet!’

‘Oh, dear!’ sobbed Jane, as they were led away. ‘I knew exactly what it would be! Oh, I wish you hadn’t!’

‘Shut up, silly,’ said Cyril. ‘You know you WOULD come to Egypt. It was your own idea entirely. Shut up. It’ll be all right.’

‘I thought we should play ball with queens,’ sobbed Jane, ‘and have no end of larks! And now everything’s going to be perfectly horrid!’

The room they were shut up in WAS a room, and not a dungeon, as the elder ones had feared. That, as Anthea said, was one comfort. There were paintings on the wall that at any other time would have been most interesting. And a sort of low couch, and chairs. When they were alone Jane breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Now we can get home all right,’ she said.

‘And leave the Psammead?’ said Anthea reproachfully.

‘Wait a sec. I’ve got an idea,’ said Cyril. He pondered for a few moments. Then he began hammering on the heavy cedar door. It opened, and a guard put in his head.

‘Stop that row,’ he said sternly, ‘or—’

‘Look here,’ Cyril interrupted, ‘it’s very dull for you isn’t it? Just doing nothing but guard us. Wouldn’t you like to see some magic? We’re not too proud to do it for you. Wouldn’t you like to see it?’

‘I don’t mind if I do,’ said the guard.

‘Well then, you get us that monkey of ours that was taken away, and we’ll show you.’

‘How do I know you’re not making game of me?’ asked the soldier. ‘Shouldn’t wonder if you only wanted to get the creature so as to set it on me. I daresay its teeth and claws are poisonous.’ ‘Well, look here,’ said Robert. ‘You see we’ve got nothing with us? You just shut the door, and open it again in five minutes, and we’ll have got a magic—oh, I don’t know—a magic flower in a pot for you.’

‘If you can do that you can do anything,’ said the soldier, and he went out and barred the door.

Then, of course, they held up the Amulet. They found the East by holding it up, and turning slowly till the Amulet began to grow big, walked home through it, and came back with a geranium in full scarlet flower from the staircase window of the Fitzroy Street house.

‘Well!’ said the soldier when he came in. ‘I really am—!’

‘We can do much more wonderful things than that—oh, ever so much,’ said Anthea persuasively, ‘if we only have our monkey. And here’s twopence for yourself.’

The soldier looked at the twopence.

‘What’s this?’ he said.

Robert explained how much simpler it was to pay money for things than to exchange them as the people were doing in the market. Later on the soldier gave the coins to his captain, who, later still, showed them to Pharaoh, who of course kept them and was much struck with the idea. That was really how coins first came to be used in Egypt. You will not believe this, I daresay, but really, if you believe the rest of the story, I don’t see why you shouldn’t believe this as well.

‘I say,’ said Anthea, struck by a sudden thought, ‘I suppose it’ll be all right about those workmen? The King won’t go back on what he said about them just because he’s angry with us?’

‘Oh, no,’ said the soldier, ‘you see, he’s rather afraid of magic. He’ll keep to his word right enough.’

‘Then THAT’S all right,’ said Robert; and Anthea said softly and coaxingly—

‘Ah, DO get us the monkey, and then you’ll see some lovely magic. Do—there’s a nice, kind soldier.’

‘I don’t know where they’ve put your precious monkey, but if I can get another chap to take on my duty here I’ll see what I can do,’ he said grudgingly, and went out.

‘Do you mean,’ said Robert, ‘that we’re going off without even TRYING for the other half of the Amulet?’

‘I really think we’d better,’ said Anthea tremulously. ‘Of course the other half of the Amulet’s here somewhere or our half wouldn’t have brought us here. I do wish we could find it. It is a pity we don’t know any REAL magic. Then we could find out. I do wonder where it is—exactly.’

If they had only known it, something very like the other half of the Amulet was very near them. It hung round the neck of someone, and that someone was watching them through a chink, high up in the wall, specially devised for watching people who were imprisoned. But they did not know.

There was nearly an hour of anxious waiting. They tried to take an interest in the picture on the wall, a picture of harpers playing very odd harps and women dancing at a feast. They examined the painted plaster floor, and the chairs were of white painted wood with coloured stripes at intervals.

But the time went slowly, and everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh had said, ‘Don’t torture them—YET.’

‘If the worst comes to the worst,’ said Cyril, ‘we must just bunk, and leave the Psammead. I believe it can take care of itself well enough. They won’t kill it or hurt it when they find it can speak and give wishes. They’ll build it a temple, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘I couldn’t bear to go without it,’ said Anthea, ‘and Pharaoh said “After supper”, that won’t be just yet. And the soldier WAS curious. I’m sure we’re all right for the present.’

All the same, the sounds of the door being unbarred seemed one of the prettiest sounds possible.

‘Suppose he hasn’t got the Psammead?’ whispered Jane.

But that doubt was set at rest by the Psammead itself; for almost before the door was open it sprang through the chink of it into Anthea’s arms, shivering and hunching up its fur.

‘Here’s its fancy overcoat,’ said the soldier, holding out the bag, into which the Psammead immediately crept.

‘Now,’ said Cyril, ‘what would you like us to do? Anything you’d like us to get for you?’

‘Any little trick you like,’ said the soldier. ‘If you can get a strange flower blooming in an earthenware vase you can get anything, I suppose,’ he said. ‘I just wish I’d got two men’s loads of jewels from the King’s treasury. That’s what I’ve always wished for.’

At the word ‘WISH’ the children knew that the Psammead would attend to THAT bit of magic. It did, and the floor was littered with a spreading heap of gold and precious stones.

‘Any other little trick?’ asked Cyril loftily. ‘Shall we become invisible? Vanish?’

‘Yes, if you like,’ said the soldier; ‘but not through the door, you don’t.’

He closed it carefully and set his broad Egyptian back against it.

‘No! no!’ cried a voice high up among the tops of the tall wooden pillars that stood against the wall. There was a sound of someone moving above.

The soldier was as much surprised as anybody.

‘That’s magic, if you like,’ he said.

And then Jane held up the Amulet, uttering the word of Power. At the sound of it and at the sight of the Amulet growing into the great arch the soldier fell flat on his face among the jewels with a cry of awe and terror.

The children went through the arch with a quickness born of long practice. But Jane stayed in the middle of the arch and looked back.

The others, standing on the dining-room carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned and saw her still in the arch. ‘Someone’s holding her,’ cried Cyril. ‘We must go back.’

But they pulled at Jane’s hands just to see if she would come, and, of course, she did come.

Then, as usual, the arch was little again and there they all were.

‘Oh, I do wish you hadn’t!’ Jane said crossly. ‘It WAS so interesting. The priest had come in and he was kicking the soldier, and telling him he’d done it now, and they must take the jewels and flee for their lives.’

‘And did they?’

‘I don’t know. You interfered,’ said Jane ungratefully. ‘I SHOULD have liked to see the last of it.’

As a matter of fact, none of them had seen the last of it—if by ‘it’ Jane meant the adventure of the Priest and the Soldier.

CHAPTER 12. THE SORRY-PRESENT AND THE EXPELLED LITTLE BOY

‘Look here, said Cyril, sitting on the dining-table and swinging his legs; ‘I really have got it.’

‘Got what?’ was the not unnatural rejoinder of the others.

Cyril was making a boat with a penknife and a piece of wood, and the girls were making warm frocks for their dolls, for the weather was growing chilly.

‘Why, don’t you see? It’s really not any good our going into the Past looking for that Amulet. The Past’s as full of different times as—as the sea is of sand. We’re simply bound to hit upon the wrong time. We might spend our lives looking for the Amulet and never see a sight of it. Why, it’s the end of September already. It’s like looking for a needle in—’

‘A bottle of hay—I know,’ interrupted Robert; ‘but if we don’t go on doing that, what ARE we to do?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Cyril in mysterious accents. ‘Oh, BOTHER!’

Old Nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks, and glasses, and was getting the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the chiffonier drawer.

‘It’s always meal-times just when you come to anything interesting.’

‘And a nice interesting handful YOU’D be, Master Cyril,’ said old Nurse, ‘if I wasn’t to bring your meals up to time. Don’t you begin grumbling now, fear you get something to grumble AT.’

‘I wasn’t grumbling,’ said Cyril quite untruly; ‘but it does always happen like that.’

‘You deserve to HAVE something happen,’ said old Nurse. ‘Slave, slave, slave for you day and night, and never a word of thanks. …’

‘Why, you do everything beautifully,’ said Anthea.

‘It’s the first time any of you’s troubled to say so, anyhow,’ said Nurse shortly.

‘What’s the use of SAYING?’ inquired Robert. ‘We EAT our meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. THAT ought to show you!’

‘Ah!’ said old Nurse, going round the table and putting the knives and forks in their places; ‘you’re a man all over, Master Robert. There was my poor Green, all the years he lived with me I never could get more out of him than “It’s all right!” when I asked him if he’d fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words to me was, “Maria, you was always a good cook!”’ She ended with a trembling voice.

‘And so you are,’ cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly hugged her.

When she had gone out of the room Anthea said—

‘I know exactly how she feels. Now, look here! Let’s do a penance to show we’re sorry we didn’t think about telling her before what nice cooking she does, and what a dear she is.’

‘Penances are silly,’ said Robert.

‘Not if the penance is something to please someone else. I didn’t mean old peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the stones. I mean we’ll make her a sorry-present,’ explained Anthea. ‘Look here! I vote Cyril doesn’t tell us his idea until we’ve done something for old Nurse. It’s worse for us than him,’ she added hastily, ‘because he knows what it is and we don’t. Do you all agree?’

The others would have been ashamed not to agree, so they did. It was not till quite near the end of dinner—mutton fritters and blackberry and apple pie—that out of the earnest talk of the four came an idea that pleased everybody and would, they hoped, please Nurse.

Cyril and Robert went out with the taste of apple still in their mouths and the purple of blackberries on their lips—and, in the case of Robert, on the wristband as well—and bought a big sheet of cardboard at the stationers. Then at the plumber’s shop, that has tubes and pipes and taps and gas-fittings in the window, they bought a pane of glass the same size as the cardboard. The man cut it with a very interesting tool that had a bit of diamond at the end, and he gave them, out of his own free generousness, a large piece of putty and a small piece of glue.

While they were out the girls had floated four photographs of the four children off their cards in hot water. These were now stuck in a row along the top of the cardboard. Cyril put the glue to melt in a jampot, and put the jampot in a saucepan and saucepan on the fire, while Robert painted a wreath of poppies round the photographs. He painted rather well and very quickly, and poppies are easy to do if you’ve once been shown how. Then Anthea drew some printed letters and Jane coloured them. The words were: