The Story of the Amulet - E. Nesbit (smart books to read TXT) 📗

we’re bound to wake up all right and safe.”

“Humph,” said Cyril bitterly. And Robert suddenly said⁠—

“It’s all my doing. If it really is all up do please not keep a down on me about it, and tell Father⁠—Oh, I forgot.”

What he had forgotten was that his father was 3,000 miles and 5,000 or more years away from him.

“All right, Bobs, old man,” said Cyril; and Anthea got hold of Robert’s hand and squeezed it.

Then the gaoler came back with a platter of hard, flat cakes made of coarse grain, very different from the cream-and-juicy-date feasts of the palace; also a pitcher of water.

“There,” he said.

“Oh, thank you so very much. You are kind,” said Anthea feverishly.

“Go to sleep,” said the gaoler, pointing to a heap of straw in a corner; “tomorrow comes soon enough.”

“Oh, dear Mr. Gaoler,” said Anthea, “whatever will they do to us tomorrow?”

“They’ll try to make you tell things,” said the gaoler grimly, “and my advice is if you’ve nothing to tell, make up something. Then perhaps they’ll sell you to the Northern nations. Regular savages they are. Good night.”

“Good night,” said three trembling voices, which their owners strove in vain to render firm. Then he went out, and the three were left alone in the damp, dim vault.

“I know the light won’t last long,” said Cyril, looking at the flickering brazier.

“Is it any good, do you think, calling on the name when we haven’t got the charm?” suggested Anthea.

“I shouldn’t think so. But we might try.”

So they tried. But the blank silence of the damp dungeon remained unchanged.

“What was the name the Queen said?” asked Cyril suddenly. “Nisbeth⁠—Nesbit⁠—something? You know, the slave of the great names?”

“Wait a sec,” said Robert, “though I don’t know why you want it. Nusroch⁠—Nisrock⁠—Nisroch⁠—that’s it.”

Then Anthea pulled herself together. All her muscles tightened, and the muscles of her mind and soul, if you can call them that, tightened too.

“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” she cried in a fervent voice. “Oh, Nisroch, servant of the Great Ones, come and help us!”

There was a waiting silence. Then a cold, blue light awoke in the corner where the straw was⁠—and in the light they saw coming towards them a strange and terrible figure. I won’t try to describe it, because Mr. Millar will draw it for you, exactly as it was, and exactly as the old Babylonians carved it on their stones, so that you can see it in our own British Museum at this day. I will just say that it had eagle’s wings and an eagle’s head and the body of a man.

It came towards them, strong and unspeakably horrible.

“Oh, go away,” cried Anthea; but Cyril cried, “No; stay!”

The creature hesitated, then bowed low before them on the damp floor of the dungeon.

“Speak,” it said, in a harsh, grating voice like large rusty keys being turned in locks. “The servant of the Great Ones is your servant. What is your need that you call on the name of Nisroch?”

“We want to go home,” said Robert.

“No, no,” cried Anthea; “we want to be where Jane is.”

Nisroch raised his great arm and pointed at the wall of the dungeon. And, as he pointed, the wall disappeared, and instead of the damp, green, rocky surface, there shone and glowed a room with rich hangings of red silk embroidered with golden water-lilies, with cushioned couches and great mirrors of polished steel; and in it was the Queen, and before her, on a red pillow, sat the Psammead, its fur hunched up in an irritated, discontented way. On a blue-covered couch lay Jane fast asleep.

“Walk forward without fear,” said Nisroch. “Is there aught else that the Servant of the great Name can do for those who speak that name?”

“No⁠—oh, no,” said Cyril. “It’s all right now. Thanks ever so.”

“You are a dear,” cried Anthea, not in the least knowing what she was saying. “Oh, thank you thank you. But do go now!”

She caught the hand of the creature, and it was cold and hard in hers, like a hand of stone.

“Go forward,” said Nisroch. And they went.

“Oh, my good gracious,” said the Queen as they stood before her. “How did you get here? I knew you were magic. I meant to let you out the first thing in the morning, if I could slip away⁠—but thanks be to Dagon, you’ve managed it for yourselves. You must get away. I’ll wake my chief lady and she shall call Ritti-Marduk, and he’ll let you out the back way, and⁠—”

“Don’t rouse anybody for goodness’ sake,” said Anthea, “except Jane, and I’ll rouse her.”

She shook Jane with energy, and Jane slowly awoke.

“Ritti-Marduk brought them in hours ago, really,” said the Queen, “but I wanted to have the Psammead all to myself for a bit. You’ll excuse the little natural deception?⁠—it’s part of the Babylonish character, don’t you know? But I don’t want anything to happen to you. Do let me rouse someone.”

“No, no, no,” said Anthea with desperate earnestness. She thought she knew enough of what the Babylonians were like when they were roused. “We can go by our own magic. And you will tell the King it wasn’t the gaoler’s fault. It was Nisroch.”

“Nisroch!” echoed the Queen. “You are indeed magicians.”

Jane sat up, blinking stupidly.

“Hold It up, and say the word,” cried Cyril, catching up the Psammead, which mechanically bit him, but only very slightly.

“Which is the East?” asked Jane.

“Behind me,” said the Queen. “Why?”

“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” said Jane sleepily, and held up the charm.

And there they all were in the dining room at 300, Fitzroy Street.

“Jane,” cried Cyril with great presence of mind, “go and get the plate of sand down for the Psammead.”

Jane went.

“Look here!” he said quickly, as the sound of her boots grew less loud on the stairs, “don’t let’s tell her about the dungeon and all that. It’ll only frighten her so that she’ll never want to go anywhere else.”

“Righto!” said Cyril; but Anthea felt that she could not have said a word to save her life.

“Why did you