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

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.

XII 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;