CHAPTER TWO.
ESCAPE.

Click here for Chapters ONE, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN.

The next day, when their father came home in the evening, he seemed to have forgotten about the story, but Tom and Judy reminded him and demanded a second installment.

“Alright,” said Mr. Baxter, “I promised, didn’t I? How far had we got?”

“Gracinda has gone to work in the Grand Warlock’s palace. She’s a palace filly,” said Tom, “and Knobby has escaped from the camp.”

“And whatever else happens, at least Gracinda won’t be picked by Banseth,” added Judy.

“Well,” said their father, “if you’d like to sit down, I’ll tell you what happened next. When Knobby had gone some distance from the Cantibri camp, he found himself in an area of rolling grassland, with a few trees and bushes and patches of tangled undergrowth.”

“A picture, Dad,” said Judy. “Give us a picture.” Mr. Baxter thought. “You don’t want to look at tangled undergrowth,” he said.

He spread his fingers, the sparks flew, and a picture appeared in the air. It showed a wall that seemed to be made of shiny white marble, with large numbers of black lines running through it. These lines showed some very unpleasant pictures. There were Warlock faces with narrowed eyes and spiteful expressions, and others with mouths wide open as if they were roaring with rage. There were also bats and ravens, as well as birds, lizards, beetles, and all kinds of strange-looking reptiles. Not all these creatures were in the form of pictures. Some were small statues, either standing out from the wall, or set in little alcoves in it. There were also several snakes, that seemed to be wriggling in and out of the solid marble. All the faces looked vicious and angry, as if they were hissing or spitting at the world.

“That,” said Mr. Baxter, “is the outside of the Grand Warlock’s palace. And this,” he added as the picture changed, “is the inside of it.”

They saw a large, very grand-looking room with a high ceiling and a broad, marble staircase that led up to a sort of half-way platform and then divided into two flights of stairs that swept up in a curve on either side. Two unicorns, young female unicorns, who seemed to be palace fillies, were walking down this staircase. One had a small, yellow flag attached to the end of her horn, and the other a light-blue fan. Standing on pedestals all the way up the balustrade, on shelves at the back of the platform, and on the wall of the balcony that overlooked the room, were coloured vases and statues. The statues were mainly of imps, goblins and small demons, and the vases contained either plants with brilliant flowers, long thorns and sharp-pointed leaves, or clusters of gleaming metal spikes.

There were several pictures on the walls. Three were portraits of the Grand Warlock. One showed him dressed for hawking, wearing a green tunic and hat, and with the same huge vulture on his shoulder that they had seen in an earlier picture. Another showed him apparently off hunting, riding a large, black goat, with a whip in one hand and a horn in the other, which he was raising to his lips. In the third he seemed to be dressed for a party, as in the earlier picture, except that his tunic was red, and there was no vulture. Other pictures showed a row of important Warlocks with the Grand Warlock in the centre, and a group of Warlocks who seemed to be having a goat race. That is, they were riding not horses, but billy-goats, bending forward and grasping the goats by the horns.

There were two large, brilliant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Some of the pieces in these were like daggers, clear glass with red streaks running through that looked like blood, and others were shaped and coloured to look like fruit, mouldy oranges and rotten apples.

In the middle of the room there was a massive fountain. The centre was a large, marble statue of a three-headed dog. All three heads were raised. The one in the centre was leaning over backwards, and the other two were bent to either side. The fountain came out of their mouths in three separate jets, which shot up into the air, and then curved down again to disappear into the mouths of three enormous toads, made of green jade. The nasty thing about it was that the liquid was not clear water. It was greenish yellow in colour, and looked like soup – or sick.

Finally, perched in every part of the room, on vases, on statues, on the tops of pictures, and even on the dog in the fountain, there was a great variety of birds, parrots, parakeets, cockatoos, macaws, mynah birds, canaries and many others. They looked as if they were surveying the room, rather than just sitting in it, and it seemed that nothing which happened there would escape their gaze.

“Yuk,” said Judy. She was looking at the fountain. “What a horrible place,” said Tom.

“Well,” said their father as the picture faded, “that room and others like it in the palace was where Gracinda had to go as a palace filly.”

“What happened to Gracinda?” asked Judy. “I’ll be telling you that quite soon, but first I’m going to tell you what happened to Knobby.

Well, as I was saying, Knobby found himself in an area of grassland with a few low hills and a number of trees and bushes. Further away the hills were larger, and in the distance were some really high mountains with snow on their peaks. They seemed to be quite near, but Knobby guessed they were further away than they looked. There were no signs of pursuit, but he wanted to get as far away as possible from the Cantibri camp as quickly as he could. For a time he went up and down small hills, or threaded his way between them, always aiming towards the high peaks, which did not seem to be getting much closer. He paused for a rest, and then decided to get a better view of where he was by climbing the hill directly ahead of him, to get a good view from the top.

When he got there it was rather disappointing, just hills or mountains in every direction. As he stood there, looking around, he realised that the wind was rising and getting stronger at every moment. He felt it cool and strangely comforting against his body. Then he heard it. Starting as a faint moan, it swelled to a howl, now rising, now falling, and constantly changing in tone. Knobby turned to face the full force of it, and as he did so it seemed to be forming words.

Aaaarrrhhh --- Aaaarrrhhh --- Aaaarrrhhh --- gent.

He heard his name in the wind.

Aaaarrr – hhh – gent.

He felt a slight quivering in his horn. Then, suddenly, without warning, he was shaken by a power he had never felt before. It was a strange sensation, frightening and yet at the same time very comforting. There would be many trials in his life, it seemed to say, with tests to be passed and dangers to be faced, but if he succeeded, in the end there would be a great reward. Together with this there was another feeling, a feeling of something beautiful and true that he had known about once, but could no longer quite remember. It seemed to be hovering, so to speak, on the edge of his mind.

Finally the wind began to die down, and he no longer heard his name, but his mind was still full of the experience. He had not realised that such things could happen, or that such feelings existed. Remembering the danger of pursuit from the Cantibri camp, perhaps guardian patrols, he looked around carefully, but there seemed to be nothing. There was no sound but the wind, which was now quite gentle, and no sign of a living creature, except that in the distance he could see a bird, which was just a small, black dot in the sky. It all seemed safe enough, but he knew that he was still at risk, and decided to push towards the mountains as quickly as possible.

Coming down from the hill, he began to follow the bed of a stream, which at this time of year was dry. He had reached a dividing point, where a steep, winding track came down the hillside to meet his course, and was wondering which route to take, when he heard a sound behind him. It was a sudden swishing sound, made, as he realised when the bird had swooped so low down over his head that he felt the wind of its passing, by a large, black raven. It soared up again, swept round in a circle, and with a single harsh croak, flapped heavily back the way it had come.

He watched as it disappeared in the distance, wondering why it had seemed so unfriendly. Then suddenly it dawned on him that it might have been sent by the guardians. There had seemed something purposeful about its movements. Yes, of course, it was a scout, and it had located him. What a fool he had been to pay no attention the first time he saw it, though there was probably nothing he could have done to avoid being spotted.

With a kind of despairing urgency he continued to follow the stream-bed. He was gaining height all the time, and the course was becoming steeper until, after scrambling up a stony gulley, he found himself at the top of a rise, with a new stretch of hillside in view. He heard the cawing before he saw the ravens. There were three of them, wheeling in tight circles right overhead, apparently marking his position. Then he saw the guardians. They were not far away and moving steadily up the slope towards him. One carried a wooden frame attached to his horn-stump, with a raven perching on it. To judge by the size of the frame, the three birds overhead had also come from it. A second guardian carried what looked like a similar frame, though it was hard to be sure, as it was covered with a black cloth.

A distant memory came to mind, something he had heard once about search teams using ravens and bats. There were four other guardians in the group, and instead of the usual whips on their stumps, they all carried long, heavy blades like swords, which flashed and gleamed in the sunlight.

There was no going forward. Wheeling, he plunged back down the gulley and along the route up which he had come. There would probably be more guardians coming up this way, and even as the thought crossed his mind, he saw them. It was a smaller group, just visible in the distance. There were two with frames – he could not make out any perching ravens – and two others with glinting blades. They were planning to trap him, approaching from either side. In view of the ravens, circling and watching above, it seemed hopeless, but he turned and began to climb the steep slope of the hillside on his left. Before long he came to the same winding track that he had noticed on the way up – it seemed to be the same one – and he followed this. There were no sounds of pursuit from behind, but the ravens were still overhead. He reached the top of the hill, and continued down the other side and then up a slope beyond. Each time he looked up the birds were there. He would never shake them off. In desperation he plunged on ahead, down one slope, up another, along a track. The ravens kept their positions, cawing and circling overhead.

After scrambling up yet another slope, he paused for a moment, looking up at the wheeling birds. They were not as clearly visible as they had been. The day was failing, he realised. It was beginning to get dark. With this thought came a sudden feeling of hope. If the ravens could no longer see him, or if the guardians could no longer see the ravens, they would no longer know his position. Then he thought of the frames he had seen the guardians carrying. Were those covered frames the hanging perches for bats, which would take over from the ravens in the dark? He had no way of knowing. Perhaps they were simply trays of food for the ravens. But if there were bats, which could find him by night as the ravens did by day, would they know his position before the ravens left? Or would there be a gap, a time when neither bats nor ravens knew where he was? It was just a hope, a desperate, guessed-at hope. But if there was a gap between ravens and bats, perhaps he could use this time to find somewhere to hide. The ravens found him by sight. The bats, in the dark, would find him by sound. To hide from both he would need to be invisible and silent. It was a distant chance, but the only one he had.

He walked on a few more steps, doing his best to look utterly exhausted, though not much pretence was needed, and then collapsed on the ground. It was clear that he could go no further. He had reached the end. The ravens appeared to have noticed. Their cawing increased, they circled lower down, and two of them, one after the other, swooped just above his head in the same way as the first bird he had seen. Then they flew off in different directions, while the third remained directly overhead. Knobby did nothing. He lay on the grass and waited as slowly, slowly, the day gave way to night. At last, when the daylight was almost gone, the bird above began to show signs of restlessness, flying off a short distance and then returning, until finally, after doing this a number of times, it flew right away.

It was time. Quietly, urgently, Knobby moved down the hillside and then along the track below, hoping that he would find a clump of trees. He listened carefully as he went, dreading to hear the high-pitched squeaking of bats.

He was lucky. The only sound came from the wind, which was starting to rise. The path he was following took him rapidly downwards, and in quite a short time he saw a cluster of low-growing yew trees, whose spreading branches formed some sort of overhead roof. It was the best he could hope for. The leaves and branches would keep him fairly well hidden. He moved quickly into the centre of the clump and, as the night grew steadily darker, he waited – and waited. For the first time since his escape he felt the pain in his back where first Skimmeril and then the two guardians had lashed it. He had felt nothing during the chase, but now it was hurting badly. He did not dare to move, as any movement might attract attention. There was nothing he could do. In pain and fear he simply stood and waited. The wind was still rising, and the only sound he could hear was the swish and rustle it made as it passed through the leaves and branches on every side. It was cold, standing motionless as he was, but still he waited.

Then, after the wind had dropped a little, he heard a sound. It was a high-pitched squeaking that sounded like some kind of bat. If Knobby had kept still before, he now stood like a frozen statue. The squeaking came nearer, moved off again, and finally died away. Then it came again, much nearer this time, and again it moved away. With each moment stretched into an age, there was no way to tell how long this continued. At one time there seemed to be three or four bats flying right overhead, while at others the squeaking was off to one side or in the distance. Throughout it all, despite his fear and discomfort, he kept completely motionless.

Finally, unbelievably, it was over. Apparently satisfied that he was not there, the bats had moved on. Knobby made no move. For a very long time he stood and listened and waited. But he knew he could not stay there all night. Slowly and as quietly as possible he came out from under the trees and began to climb the slope. He expected at any moment to hear the squeaking of bats, but nothing happened. For what seemed ages, several hours, he kept on moving upwards. It was pitch-dark, but he knew he must be high up because the ground was becoming icy. When he came to an obstacle he moved to one side, carefully testing his foothold. In this way he kept on steadily climbing.

Then he realised that he must be on the top of a small mound or hillock. From where he was he could not go up. There was no up. He could only go down. He began to retrace his steps, going backwards down the way he had come. Then he felt himself slipping. A moment later he was sliding down the steep slope, surrounded by great quantities of stones and dirt. There was a terrible crash, as he landed on hard ground, and after that he remembered no more.

And now,” said Mr. Baxter, “we’ll have to leave Knobby there for the time being, unconscious on the mountain, and see what was happening to Gracinda.

It was dark in the Surrabend compound when Gracinda was woken by her mother Pelisse. Getting sleepily to her feet, she looked around her. Her mother was standing near the entrance. She could just see the outline of her creamy white coat.

“Mother,” she said, “what’s the matter? It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s not night, Gracinda. It’s morning.”

Gracinda tried to peer into the blackness outside. “Well,” said her mother, “very early morning.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Gracinda again.

After a pause, her mother answered slowly, “Gracinda, there are two guardians outside. Your father’s talking to them now.”

“What do they want?”

“They want you,” said her mother. “That is, they want you to go with them to the - ”

At that moment her father Dennister came in. “It’s alright,” he said. “We can all go together.”

Gracinda was still in something of a daze. By the time she began to collect her thoughts the five of them, herself and her parents with the two guardians, one in front leading the way, and one following behind, were all walking along Centre Road, which led to the docking field. She had forgotten that today was docking day. But something did not feel right. For the first time since they had left the compound she spoke.

“I didn’t realise docking started this early. It didn’t last year, I’m sure, when Banter and Canter were docked.”

She remembered the two rather plump brothers, who had been in her compound until the previous year, and were now working in an agricultural team. They had left in a leisurely way, apparently with plenty of time in hand.

Her father looked at her. It was growing less dark, and she could see him fairly clearly, the light-brown coat and the garden rake on his horn-stump.

“They were late for the docking,” he said, “the way they were late for everything.”

After a pause he said in a serious tone, “Forget the docking, Gracinda. You're not going to be docked.”

Gracinda almost stopped walking. She felt cold and semi-paralysed, as the truth dawned on her. A palace filly! She was going to be a palace filly. She knew about palace fillies, of course, knew that Knobby’s mother Mellinore had been one, as well as two of the older unicorns in her compound, but this knowledge had slipped to the back of her mind, completely forgotten. She had intended to ask to do leatherwork, or failing that, something connected with plants, small plants that needed care and attention. Now that was all swept away. She had no idea what to expect instead. What was it like to live in the Grand Warlock’s palace? She could scarcely begin to imagine it.

Lost in her thoughts, she said nothing more as they walked along the road. She scarcely remembered the journey, passing various points on the way or fording the river Tan, but at length she realised that they had reached the entrance to the docking field. They did not go in, but continued on past it, and then took another turning on the left. A little way up this they came to a large stone archway spanning the road. A guardian was standing in the centre. His hood was black, not grey, and instead of the usual whip he had a long, heavy blade attached to his horn-stump.

Here they came to a halt while one of the guardians spoke to the black-hooded sentinel, who looked carefully at Gracinda before standing aside to let them pass through the arch. They were moving along the road beyond, when Gracinda suddenly realised that her parents had been left behind. Turning, she saw them standing side by side. She was about to call out to them, but Dennister spoke first.

“It’s just a year,” he said. “Do your work well, and you’ll soon be home. Good- bye Gracinda.”

“I will,” she called, as the guardians hustled her on. “I will.”

They were now on the road leading up to the Grand Warlock’s palace, which she had seen many times before, but only from a distance. Walking steadily upwards, they finally came to a second arch, much like the one below, where there was also a sword-bearing guardian. They passed through this, and then, instead of following the road, which continued in a wide curve round to the right, they went up a short, steep path which led to a broad, flat grassy area bordered by low stone walls. From here they could see up past several levels of formal terraced gardens to the front of the palace. They followed the path through the centre of these, going steeply up and climbing four separate flights of broad stone steps, until they once more came to the road. They were not on the verge of the road but looking down on it, so that it was too far below to be reached from where they were standing. Looking beyond it, Gracinda, for the first time in her life, saw the Grand Warlock’s palace close at hand.

From a distance it had always appeared plain white, but now she could see that the shiny white marble had black streaks in it that made all kinds of pictures. There were nasty-looking Warlock faces, as well as bats, ravens, lizards, beetles, snakes and other creatures. There were even some statues set into the wall.”

“Yes,” said Tom, “you showed us in the picture.”

“Do you want to see it again?” asked his father.

“No, no, carry on with the story.”

“Gracinda thought the palace was horrible, but she had little time to take it all in. Turning right, they moved along beside the road, which was some way below them, until they came to a narrow bridge. They crossed this in single file, Gracinda between the two guardians. Though it was steep at the sides and never entirely flat in the middle, the bridge did not have steps, but simply round ridges in the floor, fairly widely spaced, but close enough together to act as footholds. Between these ridges there were a number of long, thin slots in the floor.

They crossed the bridge and went up a flight of broad stone steps and through a large, high-arched doorway into the palace. Then, after going down a long, wide, rather bare corridor, they finally came to an enormous hall that was filled with unicorns. They seemed to be all fillies, newly chosen palace fillies like herself, Gracinda realised. Looking around, she noticed some that she knew, Kerroty from Eastwork compound, Timbelle and Dingle from Tanford and a haughty-looking filly called Zannerette, whom she knew by sight but had never spoken to, who came from either Westwork or Norrabend. They all looked as wretchedly nervous and miserable and bewildered as she herself felt. Even Zannerette appeared less haughty than usual.

The hall was extremely large, with two low balconies running along each side and a raised platform at the further end. There were guardians standing on both the balconies, keeping a watchful eye on the fillies below, and gently flicking their whips from time to time. On the right-hand side of the hall, in the wall above the balcony, were five or six high windows. They were a strange shape, narrower in the middle than at the top or bottom, and reminded Gracinda of sunken cheeks. On the left-hand side the wall above the balcony was covered in pictures, or rather there was one large picture surrounded by several smaller ones, above and below it as well as on either side. The large, central picture showed a Warlock feast, a group of Warlocks sitting at a long table. They had blue, green or dark-red faces, and glaring eyes of various colours, and they were all laughing or shouting, showing sharp teeth and bright-red tongues. The table was piled high with plates of food and goblets containing some kind of foaming liquid. Some of the goblets had foam overflowing down the sides, and all had wisps of vapour rising from them. One of the Warlocks was picking what looked like a lizard’s tail from a plate, and another had his head tilted back, as he dropped a similar tidbit into his mouth.

The smaller pictures showed scenes of mirth and merriment. One was a Warlock singing a song, though it seemed more like shouting than singing, with two others behind providing an accompaniment on horns, (Gracinda learned later that Warlocks do not have songs. They have gloats and shouts.) Another small picture showed a palace filly with a tray of vaporous drinks. They were of various colours and contained in goblets or cups of elaborate shapes.

Gracinda thought the pictures were horrible, and hoped she would never have to serve at such a feast. She looked round the room again. The two guardians who had brought her had not come with her into the hall. She supposed they must have joined the others on the balconies.

She was about to move across to speak to Kerroty, when suddenly a voice shouted very loudly,

“Stand on a picture. All of you, stand on a picture and do not move.”

At the same time the guardians on the balconies began flicking their whips in earnest. There was confusion among the fillies. They began to move aimlessly about, knowing that they had to do something, but not sure what. Gracinda looked down at the floor and saw what she had only half noticed before. The hall had a hard marble floor and was marked into squares, which were separated by low ridges. Some of the squares were plain colours, brown, yellow or green, while others had pictures of unicorns on them. Palace fillies they seemed to be, with full-length horns, and they were doing what she supposed were palace duties. Some had lanterns attached to their horns. Others had fans, and their heads were either bent low or raised up high in different positions of the fanning motion. Still others had sunshades or light dusters.

Gracinda stepped on to one of these squares and then, realising that it showed a filly with a tray of drinks, she stepped off it without quite knowing why, and quickly found another, whose picture showed a filly with a lantern. Most of the other fillies in the hall were also standing on pictures. The few who were not yet doing so paid the penalty, as the guardians on the balconies were now using their whips with some force.

“Stand on a picture,” came the shout again.

Finally, when the last of them had found a square to stand on, something like silence descended on the gathering. Gracinda saw that the shout had come from a guardian, who was standing on the raised platform at the end of the hall. Like all the guardians, apart from Banseth, he was hooded, but instead of being plain black, his hood was divided into black and white squares. As Gracinda was looking at him he was joined on the platform by a Warlock with a dark-blue, face who was holding what seemed to be some kind of list, and had a bird, a brightly coloured macaw, perching on one shoulder. The Warlock stood on one side of the platform, the guardian on the other.

Then into the centre between them came a unicorn. She looked like a palace filly, but was clearly older than most and a good deal stouter. Her coat was dark-brown with a few flecks of white on legs and neck. She had a short cape over her back, and her long, brown horn had a small flag at the top. Both the cape and the flag were white with a band of brown round the edges. She walked with her head held high, and had a certain air of dignity and importance. Coming to the front of the platform, she stood and looked silently at the fillies in the hall. Finally she spoke.

“I,” she said, “am the Head Filly. You may call me just that – Head Filly. You have all been summoned here to give a year of service – at least a year. It is my duty to make sure that you give of your best.”

Here she paused and looked slowly round the whole gathering before adding pointedly, “Your very best.”

After another pause she said, “There are many things to learn at the palace. Most of them you will learn from daily experience and from your group leaders, whom you will soon be meeting. So I shall just tell you the four basic rules, rules that none of you must ever forget.

One. The palace must always be tidy.
Two. The palace must always be clean.
Three. The objects in the palace must always be intact.”

After a pause she added, “That means they must not be broken.

Four. Everything in the palace must always be in its place.

For another long period of silence the Head Filly stood at the front of the platform and watched the effect of her words. Then she continued.

“Everything in the palace does not only mean the objects in it. It also means the creatures. And that includes you. At every moment of the day you will be told exactly where your place is. You will not be anywhere else.”

She broke off once again and surveyed the assembled fillies. There was a slight stirring among them, but none of them spoke. “These four basic rules are fairly simple, but so, I suspect, are some of you. You have been chosen for your appearance, not for your brains. If at any time some of you forget the rules – any of the rules – it will be our duty to remind you.”

Here she glanced across the platform at the guardian with the chequered hood.

“And the guardians are very good at giving reminders.”

As she spoke the guardian arched his neck and sent his whip shooting out over the heads of the fillies. It made a crack that echoed through the hall.

“And now,” said the Head Filly, “do any of you have any questions?”

None of them did. That seemed to be the end of the matter. Gracinda wondered what would happen next. Were they free to move? Some of the other fillies apparently thought so, and one or two of them actually began to walk away from their places. Instantly whips shot out from the balconies and put them right on that point. The entire assembly stood where they were and waited. They did not speak. They stood and waited.

The Head Filly was showing signs of impatience, when four young unicorns appeared from an entrance at the back, made their way down some steps at the side of the platform and stood just in front of it, evenly spaced across the hall. They were young, just one year older in fact than the fillies in the hall, but were unmistakably their seniors. Instead of being nervous and ill-at-ease, they were confident and knew what they were about. As they took their places the Head Filly introduced them.

“These are your four group leaders, who will be teaching you your work in the palace. For the Reds we have Belzeena.”

She looked at the first of the four, who was neatly built and had a dark-coloured coat with patches of brown and glossy black. Her horn was dark-brown, and she had a small flag on the tip of it, which was similar to the Head Filly’s, except that it was not white but red.

“Then for the Greens we have Cresta.”

Cresta was a light-brown unicorn with a few white patches and a white star on her forehead. She had a yellowish horn, and the flag she carried was green. The Head Filly then went on to introduce the other two unicorns in the same way. Arrabine was largely white with a few dark streaks and patches, a light-coloured horn and a dark-blue flag, while Luminette was brown all over, and her flag was yellow.

“Now,” said the Head Filly, “I am going to call out your names and then the name of one of the leaders. When you receive this information you will leave your place and you will go and stand beside that leader.”

This process took a long time, as there were three stages. First the Warlock, speaking in a quiet voice, read out a name from his list, and followed it with the name of one of the leaders, Belzeena, Cresta, Arrabine or Luminette. The macaw on his shoulder then repeated the names to the Head Filly, who proclaimed them loudly to the assembly. The filly whose name had been called then left her place and went to stand with the leader. Gracinda noticed that the Head Filly, perhaps as some kind of test, called out the names of the leaders, but not the colours of their flags. The new palace fillies were expected to remember the names. When some of them failed to do this, and joined the wrong group, they were rewarded by whips flicking out from the balconies.

One of the fillies, whom Gracinda recognised as Tempeste from Norrabend, was assigned to Belzeena, but went by mistake to Arrabine. When she felt the touch of the whips she whirled round angrily and shouted out, “Why don’t you tell us the colour instead of the name? Then we wouldn’t make mistakes.”

This brought the whips out in earnest, and Tempeste quickly stopped complaining. She stood silently in the group round Belzeena, looking miserable and angry.

About half way through the proceedings there was a lighter moment, when the Head Filly could not hear one of the names. When she twice failed to catch it, the macaw flew across, and perching briefly on the top of her head, shrieked the name into her ear.

“HALLAZINE!”

Gracinda noticed that it had a twisted beak. The Head Filly tossed her head angrily and made stabbing motions with her horn at the macaw, as it flew back to its perch on the Warlock’s shoulder. There was clearly no love lost between them. This caused some tittering among the fillies, which was quickly stopped by the crack of whips from the balconies. When it came to Gracinda’s turn she was also assigned to Belzeena.

When all the assignments were finally complete, she saw that there were five fillies in her group. Apart from Tempeste there was the haughty Zannerette, who was beginning to recover some of her confidence, and two others, whose names she had heard when they came to the group, but had forgotten. They all stood in silence, while the Warlock with the macaw and the chequered guardian left the platform. Then the Head Filly spoke.

“You will now leave the hall in groups with your new group leaders. Follow the leaders, and do whatever they tell you.”

Belzeena’s group was the first to leave, going out through a small door under the balcony on the side of the hall with the pictures. As they left Gracinda asked a question.

“Where are we going now?”

“Be quiet,” said Belzeena, “and follow me.”

Gracinda followed.

And now,” said Mr. Baxter, “we must leave Gracinda in that horrible palace, and come back to Knobby.

When Knobby came round he realised that he was lying on level ground, but when he tried to move he was stopped by the pain. His body seemed a mass of cuts and bruises. He tried again, and then again, and finally managed to get to his feet. Very slowly he moved forward. The ground became smoother, and something about the sound of his footfalls made him think that he might be in a passage or cave of some kind. Then, just for a moment, he saw a light, which vanished again. Painfully he kept on moving. Then he saw the light again, and this time it did not disappear. As he slowly drew nearer, he realised that it was in fact two lights, two round, yellow lights set close together. When he finally reached them he could see that he had just come out of a dark passage, and was now in a roughly circular cave. On the other side of the cave, a little to the right, the passage continued, but directly facing him there was a large alcove in the wall, and the floor of this formed a raised platform. The yellow lights were hovering in the centre of this alcove. Then they seemed to turn sideways, and with a shock he saw what lay behind.

The whole floor of the alcove, which seemed to extend quite a long way back, was covered by the piled-up coils of a gigantic snake. The two yellow lights, he realised, were its eyes, enormous, round, forward-facing eyes. As he watched they turned back towards him and stared straight at him. Knobby was overawed, but for some reason not really afraid. Finally he asked a question.

“Who are you?”

The answer was a long time coming. The great coils shifted with a dry, rasping sound, the head moved slowly from side to side, and the glowing yellow of the enormous eyes seemed to grow brighter. Then he heard a voice. It was a low, soft, leathery, slightly hissing voice. Knobby had the feeling that it was very old, very wise and very gentle.

“I am the custodian of the Cave of Dreams.”

There was a long silence. Knobby was forming another question, when the voice continued.

“Unicorn, you are expected. Your life may hold great things, but first there are some lessons you must learn.”

“What lessons?”

“You will find them in your dreams.”

"In my dreams?” asked Knobby. “What dreams?”

Again there was a long silence. Once more the mass of coils shifted slightly, and the head with the two great yellow eyes swayed slowly from side to side. Knobby stood and waited.

“Unicorn,” said the voice at last. “Unicorn, you can choose. You can go back now, back to the life you know and the world where you were born, or you can go forward. If you go forward you must accept whatever rewards and whatever dangers may lie in your destiny. Choose now, while the way is open.”

Knobby looked into the tunnel, and suddenly he felt afraid. The darkness that had seemed warm and inviting now seemed to be black and menacing, a place of dreams that might be nightmares. To go into it would be like plunging into a deep pool of unknown dangers. Yet he seemed to have no choice.

“How could I possibly go back?” he asked. “I couldn’t go back to the camp, even if I wanted to. I’d be killed.”

“If your approach is right, then it is possible. You could go back now and be accepted. You could continue your life as before.”

Knobby thought about his home, his parents Garromant and Mellinore, and about Gracinda, who was now a palace filly, but who might be out in just a year, and he felt a sudden urge to return as soon as he could. He could be accepted. He could become a responsible. He could have a happy and successful life, doing useful work. He was suddenly filled with homesickness. Surely he must return. Then he remembered Banseth and Skimmeril and all the other guardians, how brutal and harsh they were. He also remembered his experience on the hill and the strange feelings it had given him, the fear, the excitement and the sense of destiny and challenge, of great things waiting to be done. Once more he looked into the blackness of the tunnel. He looked long and hard, and then he heard himself speaking.

“I will go forward,” he said.

Then he was walking. As he walked he began to feel heavy. Gently and quietly he moved onwards into the darkness, into the unknown future, and into his dream.

Well,” said Mr. Baxter, “that will have to do for tonight.”

Tom was looking thoughtful. “So,” he said, “Gracinda has gone to the Grand Warlock’s palace, and Knobby is in the mountains. Goodness knows when they’ll meet again.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” said his father. “Tomorrow, I hope.”

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