Читать книгу The Owl Service - Alan Garner, Alan Garner - Страница 15

“And the room was so cold,” said Roger. “It was like being in a deepfreeze. But it was the noise that was worst. I thought the ceiling was coming in. And there were scratchings going on round her bed, too, on the wall and then on the iron and her supper tray – you could tell the difference. Is that what you heard when you went up the loft?”

“No, not as bad,” said Gwyn. “But she said it was getting louder. What did you do, man?”

“I called her, but she was fast asleep.”

“What time was it?”

“About one o’clock,” said Roger. “You know how hot it was last night – I couldn’t sleep, and I kept hearing this noise. I thought she was having a nightmare, and then I thought perhaps she was ill, so I went up.”

“The noise was in the loft? You’re sure?”

“Positive. It was something sharpening its claws on the joists, or trying to get out, and either way it wasn’t funny.”

“You’re absolutely certain it couldn’t have been rats?”

“I don’t know what it was,” said Roger, “but it sounded big.”

“How big?”

“Big enough.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing – I funked out,” said Roger. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“How is she this morning?”

“She was all right at breakfast, a bit queasy, but that’s all.”

“Where is she now?”

“She said she was going to find her paper owls. She’s obsessed with those futile birds.”

“Them off the plates?” said Gwyn.

“Yes. Do you know how they got into the loft?”

“My Mam won’t say anything about them – nothing that sticks together: she’s that mad. And the switch Alison put across her! By! It’s making her talk like a Welsh Nationalist!”

“Ali says she didn’t switch the plate.”

“Pull the other,” said Gwyn. “It’s got bells on.”

“That’s what I said to her yesterday. But she didn’t switch.”

“Ring-a-ding-a-ding,” said Gwyn.

“Listen. I fetched two more down from the loft, and when I went into Ali’s bedroom last night they were on the mantelpiece. The pattern’s gone.”

“How did you know?” said Alison. She stood at the door of the billiard-room with the plates in her hand. “I was coming to show you.”

“Er – I thought I heard you having a bad dream last night,” said Roger, “so I popped in. The plates were on the mantelpiece.”

“Yes: they’re the same, aren’t they?” said Gwyn. “Well now, there’s a thing.”

“How can it happen?” said Alison. “Is it tracing the owls that makes the plates go blank?”

“What did you use?” said Roger. “Pumice?”

“Let’s see the owls,” said Gwyn.

“I haven’t any.”

“What?” said Roger. “You’ve done nothing else but make owls.”

“They keep disappearing.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Gwyn.

“Has your mother said anything?” said Alison.

“Not that can be repeated: except she’s made it a condition of staying that the loft’s nailed up permanent.”

“Today?”

“Now there she’s hoist by her own petard, like. It’s stupid. She won’t let Huw Halfbacon in the house.”

“What does she have against him?” said Alison.

“Search me,” said Gwyn. “Anyway, I measure the hatch, then Huw makes a cover, and I nail it up. We can spin that out till tomorrow between us. Plenty of time to bring the plates down, isn’t it?”

“How about leaving them where they are?” said Roger.

“We can’t,” said Alison. “I must make some owls.”

Roger shrugged.

“We’ll have to be a bit crafty,” said Gwyn. “Mam’s propped the kitchen door open. She’d hear us easy if we tried to carry them down.”

“That woman!” cried Alison. “She’s impossible!”

“I know what you mean, Miss Alison,” said Gwyn.

There was a scream from the kitchen.

“That’s Mam!” said Gwyn, and they looked out of the billiard-room. Nancy appeared at the outside door of the larder with a broken plate in her hands.

“Oh!” she shouted. “Oh! Throwing plates now, are you? That’s it! That’s it! That’s it, Miss! That’s it!”

“What’s the matter?” said Alison.

“Don’t come that with me, Miss! I know better! So sweet and innocent you are! I know! Spite and malice it is!”

“What’s the matter?” shouted Roger.

“I know my place,” said Nancy. “And she should know hers. I was not engaged to be thrown at! To be made mock of – and dangerous too! Spite, Miss Alison! I’m not stopping here!”

“It was me,” said Gwyn. “I was fooling about. I didn’t see the door was open, and I didn’t see you there. The plate slipped. Sorry, Mam.”

Nancy said nothing, but stepped back and slammed the door. Gwyn beckoned the other two away.

“Wow,” said Roger. “What was that?”

“Thanks, Gwyn,” said Alison. Gwyn looked at her. “I couldn’t help it,” she said.

“Couldn’t you?”

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on round here?” said Roger.

“Forget it,” said Gwyn. “I’d better go and butter up the old darling. Don’t worry, I can handle her all right. I’m going down the shop this morning, so I’ll buy her a packet of fags to keep her happy.”

“She looked wild,” said Alison.

“Do you blame her?” said Gwyn. “And what’s a clip on the earhole among friends? You go and square your family, put them wise, get in first: just in case. I’ll calm Mam down, and then we’ll see to the loft. She’s touchy this morning because I’m not supposed to speak to Huw, and I must over this job.”

“But what happened then?” said Roger. “That plate was the one she took from Ali’s room yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I know,” said Gwyn. “Where are the others?”

“I put them on the billiard table,” said Alison.

“I’ll pick them up on my way back,” said Gwyn. “We’ll have a good look at them later.”

“Who’s going to deal with which?” Alison said to Roger as they walked across the lawn.

“We’ll each tackle our own, I think, in this case,” said Roger.

“Mummy’s sunbathing on the terrace,” said Alison.

“Right. Dad’s in the river somewhere, I expect, trying out his puncture repairs. Peculiar business, isn’t it? You know just before Nancy yelled – when you were letting off steam about her – a crack went right through that pebble-dash in the billiard-room. I saw it. It was behind you. Peculiar that. It’s the second since yesterday. Dad spotted one last night.”

Gwyn walked slowly. The plate had been on the dresser in the kitchen: his mother had been in the larder: a difficult shot. Who could have done it? Huw was shovelling coke by the stables. Who would have done it?

The smash in the billiard-room was like an explosion. Gwyn ran. The fragments of the plates lay on the floor. They had hit the wall where it was pebble-dashed, and the whole width of the mortar near the top was laced with cracks. Gwyn looked under the table and in the cupboards, but no one was hiding, and the animals were motionless in their glass.

Very gently, and softly, trying to make no noise, Gwyn gathered up the pieces. The morning sun came through the skylights and warmed the oak beams of the roof. They gave off a sweet smell, the essence of their years, wood and corn and milk and all the uses of the room. A motorcycle went by along the road above the house, making the glass rattle.

Gwyn heard something drop behind him, and he turned. A lump of pebble-dash had come off the wall, and another fell, and in their place on the wall two eyes were watching him.