It did not take long to reach the spot where the first few twisted trees were growing. They were wonderful things, with thick smooth grey trunks and smooth grey branches that touched the ground here and there like great quiet serpents. Leaves grew only on the higher parts, but they were thick and matted like a thatch and made it rather dark and creepy underneath. Gorbo led them along to where there were more and much better specimens of this wonderful flora, and Sylvia and Joe were proud that they of all the children had had a chance of seeing them.
Gorbo said it was time to get back and he turned and led the way. Suddenly he stopped and looked about under the writhing grey branches and over them; then he turned in another direction. Again he stopped, and this time he had a particularly silly smile.
“I’d better be careful,” he said, “or we’ll get lost.”
He went on again and the children followed him, hoping that he would find the way out soon, as breakfast was a thing they wanted quickly. But it was getting dark; the sky was now hidden by a roof of matted leaves, and on all sides and above them the thick smooth branches twisted and crossed and locked together. The air was damp and smelt of mould and old moss, and there was a horrid silence. A great leather-skinned bat flickered past them, almost brushing against Sylvia’s hair, so that she ducked and gave out a little squeal.
Gorbo at last swarmed up one of the bigger trees and, after a lot of struggling, managed to force his way out through the leaves, disturbing numbers of bats that came flopping and wheeling about. Joe had to put his arms round Sylvia’s head and hide it as well as he could until the foul things had gone to settle elsewhere. A minute or two later, Gorbo came sliding down.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I couldn’t see much else but leaves, but I saw the sun so I know which way to go now. The sun is just over”--here he stopped and thought and scratched his head. “Yes, I think it’s over that way. You see I got twisted round a bit coming down.”
They followed him again, working their way over and under the branches. After a time he stopped and thought again, and then began climbing and creeping in another direction—it was all climbing and creeping now. Then he stopped and looked at them in dismay. The horrible writhing grey trunks surrounded them on all sides like an ugly giant net, in a gloom so deep that their shapes were lost to the eye a dozen yards away. Gorbo, the clever one, the woodsman, had done this thing. They were lost.
He did not look at them for long; the sight of Sylvia’s scared face as she crept from under one of the grey limbs roused him up.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” he said. “They’ll find we’re missing, and this is the first place they’ll look for us in. You see they’ll start shouting and yelling, and then we’ll start shouting and yelling and work our way to where we hear them. It’s quite easy. But won’t the King go for me! No Brazen Nutmeg for poor old Gorbo. There’s a little bigger space over there; let’s go and see if we can find a place to sit down comfortably.”
They worked their way on, and sure enough there was a little space ahead that was more open owing to there being a huge tree which had, so to speak, pushed all smaller ones out of its way. It was gloomy enough, but there was at least room to stand upright and move about if they felt like it.
“Look!” said Sylvia and Joe suddenly, both together.
Gorbo turned and then stared. In the big tree was a door about four feet high, a queer looking door with mighty iron hinges and clasps, all red with rust or green with moss. In the deep shadow and at a little distance away it was difficult to distinguish it from the trunk.
Gorbo scratched his head and continued to stare. “I’ve never heard of any door,” he said at length. “The Kelps never made any door; they hadn’t sense enough; all biting and screaming and killing, I’ve heard. And it’s ever so much too small for Golithos.”
“Who’s Golithos?” asked Joe quickly.
“Golithos’ an ogre,” replied Gorbo, truthfully, but like the silly fool he was. Sylvia gave a scream and clutched hold of Joe.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” said Gorbo in a hurry. “He was an ogre, but he’s not now. He’s reformed. Besides, he’s been on the other side of the river for ever so long. Don’t be frightened.”
He went to the door and gave a good pull at a great iron knob. The door swung open quite easily. He poked his head inside.
“Very dark and smells of cheese,” he said after a moment.
He went in a little way. “No, it’s not quite dark; there’s a light coming from somewhere. There’s a little flight of steps going down. Come and look.”
Joe picked up Tiger and, taking Sylvia by the hand, stepped with her inside the door.
“See,” said Gorbo, “there’s the steps. Shall we go down and see what we can see?”
“Yes,” said Joe eagerly. “Let’s!”
“N—n--no,” said Sylvia at the same time. “I don’t like it.”
“Anyway,” went on Gorbo, “we’ll make sure that the door doesn’t shut behind us. I’ll push it wide open and then----”
He did not finish what he was going to say, for the door had gently closed. He flung himself furiously at it, but, strong as he was, made no more impression on it than if it had been a stone wall.
Gorbo, that lout, had really done it this time.
Part II