They heard distant shouts, as of annoyed people, which naturally encouraged them to keep up a good speed. Gorbo and Baldry helped the children along with great leaps and bounds, and they were soon deep in the silent woods, far from risk of pursuit. There they rested on a mossy bank and took things easily for a time.
“That was a jolly breakfast, you know,” said Baldry, to start the talk well.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Gorbo. “But what will this Gunthorn person say when he finds out about your making so free with the place?”
“I don’t know. And another strange thing about it is I don’t care. And his name’s not Gunthorn—at least I don’t suppose it is. You see I just made it up suddenly.”
“It’s quite a good name for a pretence baron,” said Sylvia.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Baldry was highly pleased at this remark. “It sounds so ruthless. I’m rather good at making up things.”
“I’m glad of that,” Gorbo said, “because perhaps you can make up some way of getting out of this mess. Do you know the way to get across the river?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t know anybody who knows. And I don’t know anybody who knows anybody who knows. I wish I did, because I’d like to go with you and see Life. It’s very dull in these parts; the people have no sense of humour. And that makes it so difficult for me,” he added sadly. “I’m always misunderstood.”
“Never mind, poor thing,” said Sylvia, who had taken a great liking to him.
“The hollow world,” continued Baldry, with a suspicion of tears in his eyes, “believes a jester’s job to be all jollity; but little do they think that there may be an aching heart beneath what I must term superficial gaiety.”
Sylvia stroked his hand soothingly.
“But on the other hand,” he went on in a brighter tone, “there may not be. There isn’t in my case at any rate; though I have had a peck of trouble lately. You see, only yesterday I was the King’s High Jester, and now I am wandering the earth with only three friends to love me. Four to be exact, because I include this little dog.”
“Did you get turned out?” asked Joe.
“No, not exactly; I ran too fast for that. And yet,” he went on, with a return to melancholy musing, “it was a quaint conceit, one that might have pleased. Who would have thought that the King was so obtuse. But that is the worst of tyrants, you never know how they’ll take things.”
“Tell us about it,” said Gorbo, “then you’ll feel better.”
“Well, it was merely a little idea of mine to brighten up Court life, which has a tendency to become dull and stuffy sometimes. You see it is the King’s custom to walk alone through the streets on the day before his birthday so as to show himself to his subjects, and to show that he is willing to unbend from State ceremonial, and so forth. It also serves to brisken their memories with regard to presents.”
“What does he do?” asked Sylvia.
“He just walks along, wearing a crown and in his best robes. And he speaks to people here and there—in a dignified way, of course—and he pats children on the head and asks their mothers how old they are, and if they had mumps—and all that sort of thing.”
“He seems quite a nice king,” Sylvia observed.
“You wait,” said Baldry, with dark meaning. “It’s only once a year that he bothers about mumps. Well, to go on with my unhappy story, I thought out a scheme for making the whole affair brighter. Though I am young and thin and have no hair to my chin, and though the King is middle-aged and fat and has a flowing beard, I so padded myself up with straw and so painted and behorsehaired myself that when I appeared in the public ways, clad in furred and tinselled robes and wearing a brass crown, there were none that did not take the jester for the king.”
“I say, this sounds rather good!” Gorbo exclaimed.
“Oh, it was very good. But listen. In lieu of the customary stately strut of His Majesty, I proceeded in a lively dance, which I have invented myself and which I have named ‘The fawn at play.’ There is in it a great deal of fanciful gesture and nimble leg work. In my right hand I bore a six-hooped pot; my left hand held my robe on high to give free play for my gambols. And thus, with shrill whoops of joy, I pranced among the amazed citizens.”
“Did they laugh?” asked Joe.
“Some few of the keener spirits did; but the general expression was of stolid wonder. I redoubled my efforts. Suddenly, on the completion of a series of backward somersaults, I found myself face to face with the King himself. There was that in his countenance that caused me to turn and flee, but I tripped over my robe and fell. In another instant I was seized by the guards and hurried to a dungeon.”
“What beasts!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Yes, Sylvia, that’s what they were. And when my gossip, the jailer, told me that the King was frothing at the mouth and had sent for his High Executioner, it seemed to me a choice moment to leave his service if it could be done. My prison was in a tower which had, by great good luck, a drain-pipe outside the window, so I washed off all traces of my kingly colour and slipped down. I reached the ground without other mishap than a rasping of my knees and knuckles and fled afar. Better to roam the cold world than to await the vengeance of a tyrant. So here I am, alone with you dear things in the greenwood. And very nice too.”
“Is the King very ruthless?” asked Sylvia anxiously.
“Ruthless! Oh, my! However, I’m not going to go into details because that would only frighten you and serve no useful purpose.”
“We’ve heard that things are pretty bad on this side,” said Gorbo. “And Golithos said the same.”
“Oh, yes, dear old Golithos. You told me you’d stayed a night with him. I’ve never seen him myself, but I thought of paying him a visit.”
“Don’t you do it,” said Gorbo. “He’ll bore you stiff—and there’s nothing to eat at his place but the stuff rabbits eat.”
“Then that settles that,” said Baldry. “Well, where shall we go?”
“We’d better try to find Mother Meldrum somehow. She’ll be able to tell us how to get back home.”
“Dear old Mother Meldrum!” exclaimed Baldry. “Yes, let’s go and find her; she lives somewhere in the dark woods, which are somewhere about here. I’ve always wanted to meet that dear old lady, and now I shall!”
“Is she nice then?” asked Sylvia, rather relieved at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. She’s a witch, and she’s rather noted for blighting crops and injuring folks generally and she makes a fairly good living by selling curses and nobody of any sense will go near her. But she may have her good points. Let’s go at once!”
“Look here, my dear friend,” said Gorbo, “this is all very well for you and me, but what about Sylvia and Joe? You stay here and look after them and I’ll go and see her. There’s no need for all of us to come.”
“No, Gorbo,” cried Sylvia, “we’re going where you go.”
“Of course we are,” said Joe. “Besides, it’d be rather fun to meet a real witch.”
“That’s my way of looking at it,” said Baldry. “Fun is the correct word. Come along, Joe, let’s look for the dark woods. I’ll race you to the top of that tree.”
He ran to an enormous tree a little distance away and Joe ran after him. In another minute the two disappeared among the leaves. Then cries of joy were heard from aloft.
“It’s lovely up here,” called Joe. “Swinging about like Billy O!”
“And the dark woods!” called Baldry. “Miles and miles and miles and miles of dark woods. Oh, this makes life really worth living!” (Certainly he seemed the kind that is easily pleased.) “Come down, Joe, we’ll show them the way.”
The two came scrambling down, and they all went on and on until the trees came to an end at a wide stretch of turf that sloped gently away before them. And about half a mile or so away there were other woods, stretching as far as they could see on either hand. Undoubtedly the dark woods, for nothing in the shape of woods could be darker or more dismal looking.