 Chapter 7 The Deepest Dungeon Below the Castle Moat The Queen threw three of the red and golden broidered cushions off the throne on to the marble steps that led up to it. "'Just make yourselves comfortable there,' she said, "'I'm simply dying to talk to you and hear all about your wonderful country, and how you got here, and everything, but I have to do justice every morning. Such a bore, isn't it? Do you do justice in your own country?' "'No,' said Cyril. "'At least, of course, we try to. But not in this public sort of way, only in private.' "'Ah, yes,' said the Queen, "'I should much prefer a private audience myself. Much easier to manage. But public opinion has to be considered.' "'Doing justice is very hard work, even when you're brought up to it. We don't do justice, but we have to do scales, Jane and me,' said Anthea, "'twenty minutes a day! It's simply horrid!' "'What are scales?' asked the Queen. "'And what is—' "'Jane!' "'Jane is my little sister. One of the guard at the gate's wife is taking care of her. And scales are music.' "'I never heard of the instrument,' said the Queen. "'Do you sing?' "'Oh, yes, we can sing in parts,' said Anthea.' "'That is magic,' said the Queen. "'How many parts are you each cut into before you do it?' "'We aren't cut at all,' said Robert Hastley. "'We couldn't sing if we were. We'll show you afterwards.' "'So you shall. And now sit quiet like dear children, and hear me do justice. The way I do it has always been admired. I oughtn't to say that, ought I. Sounds so conceited.' "'But I don't mind with you, dears. Somehow I feel as though I'd known you quite a long time already.' The Queen settled herself on her throne and made a signal to her attendance. The children, who springed together among the cushions on the steps of the throne, decided that she was very beautiful and very kind. But perhaps just the least bit flighty.' The first person who came to ask for justice was a woman whose brother had taken the money the father had left for her. The brother said it was the uncle who had the money. There was a good deal of talk, and the children were growing rather bored. When the Queen suddenly clapped her hands and said, Put both men in prison until one of them owns up that the other is innocent. But suppose they both did it?' Cyril could not help interrupting. "'Then prison's the best place for them,' said the Queen. "'But suppose neither did it?' "'That's impossible,' said the Queen. "'Things not done unless someone does it. And you mustn't interrupt.' Then came a woman, in tears, with a torn veil and real ashes on her head. At least Anthea thought so, though it may have been only road dust. She complained that her husband was in prison. "'What for?' said the Queen. "'They said it was for speaking evil of your Majesty,' said the woman. But it wasn't. Someone had a spite against him. That's what it was. "'How do you know he hadn't spoken evil of me?' said the Queen. "'No one could,' said the woman simply, when they'd once seen your beautiful face. "'Let the man out!' said the Queen, smiling. "'Next case!' "'Next case was that of a boy who had stolen a fox.' "'Like the Spartan boy,' whispered Robert. But the Queen ruled that nobody could have any possible reason for owning a fox, and still less for stealing one. And she did not believe that there were any foxes in Babylon. She at any rate had never seen one. So the boy was released. The people came to the Queen about all sorts of family quarrels and neighbourly misunderstandings. From a fight between brothers over the division of an inheritance, to the dishonest and unfriendly conduct of a woman who had borrowed a cooking-pot at the last New Year's festival, and not returned it yet. And the Queen decided everything very, very decidedly indeed. At last she clapped her hands quite suddenly, and at extreme loudness, and said, "'The audience is over for today!' Everyone said, "'May the Queen live forever!' and went out. And the children were left alone in the Justice Hall with the Queen of Babylon and her ladies. There!' said the Queen, with a long sigh of relief, "'That's over! I couldn't have done another stitch of justice if you offered me the crown of Egypt!' Now come into the garden, and we'll have a nice, long, cosy talk. She led them through long, narrow corridors whose walls they somehow felt were very, very thick. The wind was sort of garden-corchard. They were thick shrubs closely planted, and roses were trained over trellises, and made a pleasant shade. Needed indeed, for already the sun was as hot as it is in England in August at the seaside. Slaves spread cushions on a low marble terrace, and a big man with a smooth face served cool drink and cups of gold studded with barrels. He drank a little from the Queen's cup before handing it to her. "'That's a rather nasty trick!' whispered Robert, who had been carefully taught never to drink out of one of the nice, shiny metal cups that are chained to the London drinking-fantons, but at first rinsing it out thoroughly. The Queen overheard him. "'Not at all,' she said. Ritty Marduk is a very clean man, and one has to have SOMEONE as taster, you know, because of poison. The word made the children feel rather creepy, but Ritty Marduk had tasted all the cups, so they felt pretty safe. The drink was delicious, very cold, and tasting like lemonade and partly like penny ices. "'Leave us!' said the Queen, and all the court ladies in their beautiful, many-folded, many-coloured, fringed dresses filed out slowly, and the children were left alone with the Queen. "'Now,' she said, "'tell me all about yourselves.'" They looked at each other. "'You, Bobs,' said Cyril. "'No, ANTHIA,' said Robert. "'No, you, Cyril,' said ANTHIA, "'don't you remember how pleased the Queen of India was when you told her all about us?' Cyril muttered that it was all very well, and so it was. For when he had told the tale of the phoenix and the carpet of the raw knee, it had been only the truth, and all the truth that he had to tell. But now it was not so easy to tell a convincing story, without mentioning the amulet, which, of course, it wouldn't have done to mention, and without owning that they were really living in London about two thousand five hundred years later than the time they were talking in. Cyril took refuge in the tale of the Samyad and its wonderful power of making wishes come true. The children had never been able to tell any one before, and Cyril was surprised to find that the spell which kept them silent in London did not work here. "'Something to do with our being in the past, I suppose,' he said himself. "'This is most interesting,' said the Queen. "'We must have this Samyad for the banquet tonight. This performance will be one of the most popular turns in the whole programme.' "'Where is it?' Anty explained that they did not know. Also, why it was that they did not know. "'Oh, that's quite simple,' said the Queen, and everyone breathed the sigh of relief as he said it. Pretty Marduk shall run down to the gates and find out which guard your sister went home with.' "'Mighty,' Anty's voice was tremulous, mighty, would it interfere with his mealtimes or anything like that, if he went now?' "'Of course he shall go now.' He may think himself lucky if he gets his meals at any time,' said the Queen heartily and clapped her hands. "'May I send a letter?' asked Cyril, pulling out a red-backed penny-account-book, and feeling in his pockets for a stump of pencil that he knew was in one of them. "'By all means. I'll call my scribe.' "'Oh, I can scribe right enough, thanks,' said Cyril, finding the pencil and licking its point. He even had to bite the wood a little, for it was very blunt. "'Oh, you clever, clever boy,' said the Queen, "'do let me what you do it.' Cyril wrote on a leaf of the book. It was a rough, woolly paper, with hairs that stuck out and would have gotten his pen if he'd been using one, and ruled for accounts. "'Hide it most carefully before you come here,' he wrote, and don't mention it, and destroy this letter. Everything is going A-one. The Queen is a fair treat. There's nothing to be afraid of.' "'What curious characters! And what a strange, flat surface!' said the Queen. "'What have you inscribed?' "'I've scribed,' replied Cyril cautiously, that you are fair, and like a, like a festival, and that you need not be afraid, and that she is to come at once.' Ritty Marduk, who had come in and stood waiting while Cyril wrote, his Babylon-ish eyes nearly starting out of his Babylon-ish head, now took the letter, with some reluctance. "'Oh, Queen, live forever. Is it a charm?' he timidly asked. "'A strong charm, most great lady?' "'Yes,' said Robert unexpectedly. "'It is a charm. But it won't hurt anyone till you've given it to Jane, and then she'll destroy it so that it can't hurt anyone. It's most awful strong. A strong as peppermint,' he ended abruptly. "'I know not the God,' said Ritty Marduk, bending timorously. "'And she'll turn up directly she gets it,' said Robert. "'That'll end the charm. You needn't be afraid if you go now.' Ritty Marduk went, seeming only partly satisfied, and then the Queen began to admire the penny account-book and the bit of pencil in so marked and significant a way that Cyril felt he could not do less than press them upon her as a gift. She ruffled the leaves delightedly. "'What a wonderful substance!' she said. "'And with this style you make charms. Make a charm for me!' "'Do you know?' her voice sank to whisper. "'The names of the great ones of your own far country?' "'Rather,' said Cyril, and hastily wrote the names of Alfred the Great, Shakespeare, Nelson, Gordon, Lord Beaconsfield, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, while the Queen watched him with unbated breath, as Antia said afterwards. She took the book and hid it reverently among the bright folds of her gown. "'You shall teach me later to say the great names,' she said, and the names of their ministers. Perhaps the great Nisrock is one of them.' "'I don't think so,' said Cyril. Mr. Campbell Bannerman's prime minister, and Mr. Burns' minister, and so's the Archbishop of Canterbury, I think, but I'm not sure, and Dr. Parker was one I know, and no more!' said the Queen, putting her hands to her ears. "'My head's going round at all those great names.' "'You shall teach them to me later, because, of course, you'll make us a nice long visit now you've come, won't you?' "'Now tell me, but no, I'm quite tired out with you being so clever. Besides, I'm sure it's like me to tell you something, wouldn't you?' "'Yes,' said Antia. "'I want to know how it is that the King has gone.' "'Excuse me, but you should say,' the King may live forever,' said the Queen gently. "'I beg your pardon,' Antia hastened to say. "'The King, may he live forever, has gone to fetch home his four-themed wife? I don't think even Bluebeard had as many as that. And besides, he hasn't killed you at any rate.' The Queen looked bewildered. "'She means,' explained Robert, that English kings have only one wife. "'At least, Henry VIII had seven a rate, but not all at once.' "'In our country,' said the Queen scornfully, "'a king would not reign a day who had only one wife. No one would respect him, and quite right, too. Then are all the other thirteen alive?' asked Antia. "'Of course they are. Poor mean-spirited things. I don't associate with them, of course. I am the Queen. They're only the wives.' "'I see,' said Antia, gasping. "'But oh, my dears,' the Queen went on. "'Such a to-do as there's been about this last wife. You never did. It really was too funny.' "'We wanted an Egyptian princess. The king, male of her ever, has got a wife from most of the important nations. Henry had set his heart on an Egyptian one to complete his collection. Well, of course, to begin with, we sent a handsome present of gold. The Egyptian king sent back some horses. Quite a few. He's fearfully stingy. And he said he liked the gold very much. But what they were really short of was Lapis Lazuli. So, of course, we sent him some. But by that time he'd begun to use the gold to cover the beams of the roof of the Temple of the Sun God. And he hadn't nearly enough to finish the job. So we sent some more. And so it went on. Oh, for years! You see, each journey takes at least six months. And, at last, we asked the hand of his daughter in marriage. "'Yes! And then?' said Antia, who wanted to get to the princess part of the story. "'Well, then,' said the queen, when he'd got everything out of us that he could, and only given the meanest of presents in return. He went to say he would esteem the honour of an alliance very highly, only, unfortunately, he hadn't any daughter, and he hoped one would be born soon. And if so, she should certainly be reserved for the king of Babylon.' "'What a trick!' said Cyril. "'Yes, wasn't it?' So then we said his sister would do. And then there were more gifts and more journeys. And now, at last, the tiresome black-haired thing is coming, and the king, male of her ever, has gone seven days' journey to meet her at Karkamesh. And he's gone in his best chariot, the one in laid with lapis lazuli and gold, with the gold-plated wheels and oints stood at hubs. Much too great an honour, in my opinion. She'll be here to-night. There'll be a grand banquet to celebrate her arrival. She won't be present, of course. She'll be having her baths and anointings and all that sort of thing. We always clean our farm-brides very carefully. It takes two or three weeks. Now it's dinner time, and you shall eat with me, for I can see that you're of high rank. She led them into a dark, cool hall, with many cushions on the floor. On these they sat, and low tables were brought. Beautiful tables of smooth, blue stone mounted in gold. On these golden trays were placed, but were no knives, or forks, or spoons. The children expected the queen to call for them, but no, she just ate with her fingers. And, as the first dish was a great tray of boiled cork, and meat and raisins all mixed up together, and melted fat poured all over the tray, it was found difficult to follow her example, with anything like what we used to think of as good table manners. There were stewed quince's afterwards, and dates and syrup, and thick, yellowy cream. It was the kind of dinner you hardly ever get in Fitzroy Street. After dinner everybody went to the kitchen, after dinner everybody went to sleep, even the children. The queen awoke with a start. Good gracious! she cried. What a time we've slept! I must rush off and dress for the banquet! I shan't have much more than time. Hasn't really Marduk got back with her sister in the Samyad yet? Aunty asked. I quite forgot to ask. I'm sorry, said the queen, and of course they wouldn't announce her unless I told them to. Except during justice hours. I expect she's waiting outside. I'll see. Riti Marduk came in a moment later. I regret, he said, that I have been unable to find your sister. The beast she bears with her in a basket has bitten the child of the guard, and your sister and the beast set out to come to you. The police say they have a clue. No doubt we shall have news of her in a few weeks. He bowed and withdrew. The horror of this threefold loss, Jane, the Samyad, and the amulet, gave the children something to talk about while the queen was dressing. I shall not report their conversation. It was very gloomy. Everyone repeated himself several times, and the discussion ended in each of them blaming the other two for having let Jane go. You know the sort of talk it was, don't you? At last Cyril said. After all, she's with the Samyad, so she's all right. The Samyad is jolly careful of itself, too. And it isn't as if we were in any danger. Let's try to book up and enjoy the banquet. They did enjoy the banquet. They had a beautiful bath, which was delicious. Were heavily oiled all over, including their hair, and that was most unpleasant. Then they dressed again and were presented to the king, who was most affable. The banquet was long. There were all sorts of nice things to eat, and everybody seemed to eat and drink a good deal. Everyone lay in cushions and couches, ladies in one side and gentlemen in the other, and after the eating was done each lady went and sat by some gentleman, who seemed to be her sweetheart or her husband, for they were very affectionate to each other. The court dresses had cold threads woven in them. Very bright and beautiful. The middle of the room was left clear, and different people came and did amusing things. There were conjurers and jugglers and snake-charmers, which last, and they did not like at all. When it got dark, torches were lighted. Cedar splinters dipped in oil, blazed, and copper dishes set high on poles. Then there was a dancer, who hardly danced at all, only just struck attitudes. She had hardly any clothes, and was not at all pretty. The children were rather bored by her, but everyone else was delighted, including the king. For the beard of Nimrod, he cried, Ask what you like, girl, and you shall have it. I want nothing, said the dancer. The honour of having pleased the king, may he live forever, is reward enough for me. And the king was so pleased with this modest and sensible reply, that he gave her the gold collar off his own neck. I say, said Cyril, awed by the magnificence of the gift. It's all right, whispered the queen. It's not his best collar by any means. We always keep a stock of cheap jewellery for these occasions. And now you promise to sing us something. Would you like my minstrels to accompany you? No, thank you. Said Antia quickly. The minstrels had been playing off and on all the time, and their music reminded Antia of the band she and the others had once had on the 5th of November, with penny horns, a tin whistle, a tea tray, the tongs, a policeman's rattle, and a toy drum. They had enjoyed this band very much at the time. But it was quite different when someone else was making the same kind of music. Antia understood now that father had not been really heartless and unreasonable, when he had told them to stop that infuriating din. What shall we sing? Cyril was asking. Sweet and low? suggested Antia. Too soft. I vote for Who Will Or the Downs. Now then, one, two, three. Oh, who will or the down so free? Who will with me ride? Oh, who will up and follow me to win a blooming bride? Her father he has locked the door. Mother keeps the key, but neither bolt nor bar shall keep my own true love from me. Jane, the alto, was missing, and Robert, unlike the mother of the lady in the song, never could keep the key. But the song, even so, was sufficiently unlike anything any of them had ever heard, to rouse the Babylonian court to the wildest enthusiasm. More, more! cried the king. By my beard, this savage music is a new thing. Sing again! So they sang. I saw her bar at twilight, great was God, as safe and sure. I saw her bar at break of date, was God, if there no more. The violets, they were all asleep, and there was there to see. The greeting fell that past there, between my love and me. Shouts of applause greeted the ending of the verse, and the king would not be satisfied until they had sung all their part-songs. They only knew three, twice over, and ended up with Men of Harlech, in unison. Then the king stood up in his royal robes with his high, narrow crown on his head and shouted, By the beak of Nisrock, ask what you will, strangers from the land where the sun never sets. We ought to say it's enough honour, like the dancer did, whispered Antia. No, let's ask for it, said Robert. No, no, I'm sure the others manners, said Antia. But Robert, who is excited by the music, and the flaring torches, and the applause, and the opportunity, spoke up before the others could stop him. Give us the half of the amulet that has on it the name, Ur Hikau Seche, he said, adding as an afterthought, O king live forever. As he spoke the great name, those in the pillard hall fell on their faces, and lay still all but the queen who crouched amid her cushions with her head in her hands, and the king, who stood upright, perfectly still, like the statue of a king in stone. It was only for a moment, though. Then his great voice thundered out, God, seize them! Instantly, from nowhere it seemed, sprang eight soldiers and bright armour and laid with gold, and tunics of red and white. Very splendid they were, and very alarming. Impious and sacrilegious wretches, shouted the king, To their dungeons with them! We will find a way, tomorrow, to make them speak. For, without doubt, they can tell us where to find the last half of it. A wall of scarlet and white and steel and gold, closed up around the children, and hurried them away among the manly pillars of the great hall. As they went, they heard the voices of the courtiers loud in horror. You've done it this time! said Cyril with extreme bitterness. Oh! it will come right! It must! It always does! said Anthea desperately. They could not see where they were going, because the guards surrounded them so closely, but the ground under their feet, smooth marble at first, grew rougher like stone, then it was loose earth and sand, and they felt the night air. Then it was more stone, and steps down. It's my belief we really are going to the deepest dungeon below the castle moat this time! Said Cyril. And they were. At least it was not below a moat, but below the river Euphrates, which was just as bad, if not worse. In a most unpleasant place it was, dark, very, very damp, and with an odd, musty smell, rather like the shells of oysters. There was a torch, that is to say, a copper basket on a high stick with oiled wood burning in it. By its light the children saw that the walls were green, and the trickles of water ran down them and dripped from the roof. There were things on the floor that looked like nutes, and in the dark corners, creepy, shiny things moved sluggishly, uneasily, horribly. Robert's heart sank right into those really reliable boots of his. And he and Cyril each had a private struggle with that inside disagreeableness, which is part of all of us, and which is sometimes called the old Adam, and both were victors. Neither of them said Robert, and both tried hard not to even think it. This is your doing! And they had the additional temptation to add, I told you so! And she resisted it successfully. Sacrilege! An impious cheek! Said the captain of the guard to the jailer. To be kept during the king's pleasure. I expect he means to get some pleasure out of them tomorrow. He'll tickle them up. Poor little kids, said the jailer. Oh yes, said the captain. I've got kids of my own, too. But it doesn't do to let domestic sentiment interfere with one's public duties. Good night! The soldiers tramped heavily off in their white and red and steel and gold. The jailer, but a bunch of big keys in his hand, stood looking pittingly at the children. He shook his head twice, and went out. Courage! I know it will be all right! It's only a dream, really, you know? It must be! I don't believe about time being only a something or other of thought. It is a dream, and we're bound to wake up all right and safe! Said Cyril Bitterly, and Robert suddenly said, It's all my doing! If it really is all up, do please not keep it down on me about it until farther. Oh! I forgot! What he had forgotten was that his father was three thousand miles, and five thousand or more years away from him. All right, Bobs, dull man! Said Cyril, and Anthea got hold of Robert's hand and squeezed it. Then the jailer 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 jailer, pointing to a heap of straw on the corner. Tomorrow comes soon enough. Oh dear, Mr. Jailer! Said Anthea, whatever will they do to us tomorrow? They'll try to make you tell things, said the jailer grimly. And my advice is, if you have 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 drove in vain to render firm. Then he went out, and the three were left alone, and 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, but 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. Nisbet, Nisbet, something, you know, the slave of the great names. Oh, wait a sec. Said Robert. Though I don't know why you want it. Nisrock, Nisrock, Nisrock, 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. Oh, he can't set you. She cried in her fervent voice. Oh, Nisrock, servant of the great ones, come and help us. There was a wasting 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 the drawing shows it exactly as it was, and exactly as the old Babylonians carved it under 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 and the name of Nisrock? We want to go home, said Robert. No, no! cried Anthea. We want to be where Jane is! Nisrock 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 and broidered 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 Samyad, its fur hunched up in an irritated, discontented way. On a blue-covered couch lay Jane fast asleep. Walk forward without fear, said Nisrock. Is there odd else that a 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 earn 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 Nisrock, and they went. Oh my good gracious! said the queen as they stood before her. How did you guess here? I knew you were magic! I meant to let you out 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 can call Ritty Marduk, and he'll let you at the back way, and— Don't rise any body for goodness' sake! said Anthea, except Jane, and I'll rise her. She shook Jane with energy, and Jane slowly awoke. Ritty Marduk brought them in hours ago, really! said the queen. But I wanted to have the same adult 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. Who we can go by our own magic! And you will tell the king it wasn't a jailer's fault. It was Nisrock. Nisrock! echoed the queen. You are indeed magicians! Jane sat up, blinking stupidly. Hold it up, and say the word! cried Cyril, catching up the Samyad, which mechanically bit him, but only very slightly. Which is the east? asked Jane. Behind me! said the queen. Why? Echo! Fetch! 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 place of sand down for the Samyad. 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 she'll never want to go anywhere else. Right-o! said Cyril, but Andia felt she could not have said a word to save her life. Why did you want to come back in such a hurry? asked Jane, returning with the place of sand. It was awfully jolly in Babylon, I think. I liked it no end. Oh, yes, said Cyril carelessly. It was jolly enough, of course, but I thought we'd been there long enough. Mother always says you oughtn't to wear at your welcome. End of Chapter 7 Recording by Porick Chapter 8 of the Story of the Amulet This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Porick Chapter 8 The Queen in London Now tell us what happened to you, said Cyril to Jane, when he and the others had told her all about the Queen's talk and the banquet and the variety entertainment, carefully stopping short before the beginning of the dungeon part of the story. It wasn't much good going, said Jane, if you didn't even try to get the Amulet. We found out it was no go, said Cyril. It's not to be got in Babylon. It was lost before that. We'll go to some other jolly friendly place, where everyone is kind and pleasant, and look for it there. Now tell us about your part. Oh, said Jane, the Queen's man with the smooth face, what was his name? Ritty Marduk, said Cyril. Yes, said Jane. Ritty Marduk, he came for me just after the Samy had bitten the guard of the gate's wife's little boy, and he took me to the palace. And we had supper with the new little Queen from Egypt. She is a dear, and not much older than you. She told me heaps about Egypt, and we played ball after supper. And then the Babylon Queen sent for me. I like her too. And she talked to the Samyad, and I went to sleep. And then he woke me up. That's all. The Samyad, roused from its sound sleep, told the same story. But, it added, what possessed you to tell that Queen that I could give wishes? I sometimes think were born without even the most rudimentary imitation of brains. And the children did not know the meaning of rudimentary, but it sounded a rude, insulting word. I don't see that we did any harm, said Cyril Sulkily. Oh, no! said the Samyad with withering irony. Not at all! Of course not! Quite the contrary! Exactly so! Only she happened to wish that she might soon find herself in your country, and soon may mean any moment. Then it's your fault, said Robert, because you might just as well have made soon mean some moment next year or next century. That's where you has so often happens. Make the mistake! rejoined the Sanferi. I couldn't mean anything but what she meant by soon. This wasn't my wish! And what she meant was the next time the King happens to go out lion-hunting. So she'll have a whole day, and perhaps two, to do as she wishes with. She doesn't know about time only being a mode of thought. Oh, well, said Cyril, with a sigh of resignation. We must do what we can to give her a good time. She was jolly decent to us. I say, suppose we were to go to St. James's Park after dinner and feed those ducks that we never did feed. After all that babble on and all those years ago, I feel as if I should like to see something real, and now! You'll come, Samyad? Where's my priceless woven basket of sacred rushes? asked the Samyad morosely. I can't go out with nothing on, and I won't, what's more! And then everybody remembered with pain that the bass-bag had, in the hurry of departure from Babylon, not been remembered. But it's not so extra-precious, said Robert Hastily. You can get them given to you for nothing if you buy fish and find and market. Oh, so the Samyad very crossly indeed. So you presume on my sublime indifference to the things of this disgusting modern world to fob me off but a travelling equipage that costs you nothing. Very well, I shall go to sand. Please don't wake me. And it went then and there to sand, which, as you know, meant to bed. The boys went to St. James's Park to feed the ducks, but they went alone. And he and Jane sat sowing all the afternoon. They cut off half a yard from each of their best green liberty sashes. A towel-cut and two formed a lining, and they sat and sewed, and sewed, and sewed. What they were making was a bag for the Samyad. Each worked at a half of the bag. Jane's half had four-leaved shamrocks embroidered on it. They were the only things she could do. Because she had been taught her at school, and, fortunately, some of the silk she had been taught with was left over. And even so, and they had to draw the pattern for her. And the aside of the bag had letters on it, worked hastily, but affectionately in chain stitch. They were something like this, Sam's travel-car. She would have put travelling-carriage, but she made the letters too big, so there was no room. The bag was made into a bag with old nurse's sewing machine, and the strings of it were Antia and Jane's best red hair ribbons. At tea-time, when the boys had come home with a most unfavourable report of the St. James's Park ducks, Antia ventured to awaken the Samyad, and to show it its new travelling bag. Hrmph! it said, sniffing a little contemptuously, yet at the same time, affectionately, it's not so dusty. The Samyad seemed to pick up very easily the kind of things that people said nowadays. For a creature that had in its time associated with megatheriums and pterodactyls, its quickness was really wonderful. It's more worthy of me, it said, than the kind of bag that's given away with a pound of place. When do you propose to take me out in it? I should like a rest from taking you or us anywhere, said Cyril. But Jane said, I want to go to Egypt. I did like that Egyptian princess that came to marry the king in Babylon. She told me about the locks they have in Egypt and the cats. Do let's go there, and I told her what the bird-things and the amulets were like, and she said it was Egyptian writing. The others exchanged looks of silent rejoicing at the thought of their cleverness and having concealed from Jane the terrors they had suffered in the dungeon below the Euphrates. Egypt's so nice too, Jane went on, because of Dr. Brewer's scripture history. I would like to go there when Joseph was dreaming those curious dreams, or when Moses was doing wonderful things with snakes and sticks. I don't care about snakes, said Anthea Shuddering. Well, we needn't be in at that part. But Babylon was lovely. We had cream and sweet sticky stuff, and I expect Egypt's the same. There was a good deal of discussion, but it all ended and everybody agreeing to Jane's idea. And next morning, directly after breakfast, which was kippers and very nice, the Samyad was invited to get into his travelling carriage. The moment after it had done so, with stiff, furry reluctance, like that of a cat when he wanted to nurse it, and its ideas are not the same as yours. Old nurse came in. Well, chickies, she said. Are you feeling very dull? Oh, no nurse, dear, said Anthea. We're having a lovely time. We're just going off to see some old ancient relics. Ah, it's a dull nurse. And a royal academy, I suppose. Don't go wasting your money, too, reckless. That's all. She cleared away the kibrabones and the tea-things, and when she had swept up the crumbs and removed the cloth, the amulet was held up and the order given. Just as duchesses, and other people, give it to their coachmen. To Egypt, please! said Anthea, when Cyril had uttered the wonderful name of power. When Moses was there, added Jane, and there, in the dingy Fitzroy Street dining-room, the amulet grew big, and it was an arch, and through it they saw a blue, blue sky and a running river. No, stop! said Cyril, and pulled down Jane's hand with the amulet in it. What silly cuckoos we all are, he said. Of course we can't go. We daren't leave home for a single minute now, for fear that minute should be THE minute. What minute be what minute? asked Jane impatiently, trying to get her hand away from Cyril. The minute when the queen of Babylon comes, said Cyril, and then everyone saw it. For some days life flowed in a very slow, dusty, uneventful stream. The children never could go out all at once, because they never knew when the king of Babylon would go out line-hunting, and leave his queen free to pay them that surprise visit, to which she was, without doubt, eagerly looking forward. So they took it in turns, two and two, to go out and to stay in. The stay-at-homes would have been much duller than they were, but for the new interest taken in them by the learned gentleman, he called Anthea in one day to show her a beautiful necklace of purple and gold beads. I saw one like that, she said, in the British Museum, perhaps. I like to call the place where I sought Babylon, said Anthea cautiously. Pretty fancy, said the learned gentleman, and quite correct too, because, as a matter of fact, these beads did come from Babylon. The other three were all out that day. The boys had been going to the zoo, and Jane had said so plaintively, I'm sure I'm fonder of rhinoceroses than either of you are. That Anthea had told her to run along then. And she had run. Catching the boys before that part of the road where Fitzroy Street suddenly becomes Fitzroy Square. I think Babylon is most frightfully interesting, said Anthea. I do have such interesting dreams about it. At least, not dreams exactly, but quite as wonderful. Do sit down and tell me, said he. So she sat down and told. And he asked her a lot of questions, and she answered them as well as she could. Wonderful! Wonderful! he said at last. One's heard of thought-transference, but I never thought I had any power of that sort. Yet it must be that, and very bad for you, I should think. Doesn't your head ache very much? He suddenly put a cold, thin hand on her forehead. No, thank you. Not at all, said she. I assure you it is not unintentionally, he went on. Of course I know a good deal about Babylon. And I unconsciously come unicated to you. You've heard of thought-reading. But some of the things you say, I don't understand. They never enter my head, and yet they are so astoundingly probable. It's all right, said Anthea reassuringly. I understand. And don't worry, it's all quite simple, really. It was not quite so simple when Anthea, having heard the others come in, went down, and before she had time to ask how they'd like the zoo, heard a noise outside, compared to which the wild beast's noises were as gentle as singing birds. Good gracious, cried Anthea, what's that? The loud hum of many voices came through the open window. Words could be distinguished. Here's a guy. This ain't November. That ain't no guy. It's a ballet lady. That's what it is. Not it. It's a blooming loony, I tell you. Then came a clear voice that they knew. Retire slaves, it said. What she's saying of, cried a dozen voices. Some blind thornning-go, one voice replied. The children rushed to the door. A crowd was on the road and pavement. In the middle of the crowd plainly to be seen from the top of the steps, where the beautiful face and bright veil of the Babylonian queen. Jiminy! cried Robert, and ran down the steps. Here she is! Here, he cried, pluck out, let the lady pass. She's a friend of ours coming to see us. Nice friend for a respectable house! snorted a fat woman with marrows and hand-cart. All the same the crowd made way a little. The queen met Robert on the pavement, and Cyril joined them. The Samyad bag still on his arm. Here, he whispered, here's the Samyad. You can get wishes. I wish you'd come in a different dress. If you had to come, said Robert, but it's no use my wishing anything. No, said the queen. I wish I was dressed. No, I don't. I wish they were dressed properly. Then they wouldn't be so silly. The Samyad blew itself out till the bag was a very tight fit for it, and suddenly every man, woman and child in that crowd felt that it had not enough clothes on. Four, of course. The queen's idea of proper dress was the dress that had been proper for the working classes three thousand years ago in Babylon. And there was not much of it. Look at me! said the marrow-selling woman. Whatever could have took me to come at this figure? And she wheeled her cart away very quickly indeed. Someone's made a pretty guy of you. Talk on guys! said a man who sold bootlaces. Well, don't you talk! said the man next to him. Look at your own silly legs. And where's your boots? Oh, never come out like this! I'll take me sacred! said the bootlace-seller. I wasn't caught myself last night alone, but not to dress up like a circus! The crowd was all talking at once, and getting rather angry. But no one seemed to think of blaming the queen. And he had bounded down the steps and pulled her up. The others followed, and the door was shut. Blowed if I can make it out, they heard. I'm a foam, I am. And the crowd, coming slowly to the same mind, dispersed, followed by another crowd of persons who were not dressed in what the queen thought was the proper way. We shall have the police here directly! said auntie in the tones of despair. Oh, why did you come dressed like that? The queen leaned against the arm of the horse-hair sofa. How else can a queen dress I should like to know? she questioned. Our queen wears things like other people, said Cyril. Well, I don't. And I must say, she remarked in an injured tone, that you don't seem very glad to see me, now I have come. But perhaps it's a surprise that makes you behave like this. Yet you ought to be used to surprises. The way you vanished! I shall never forget it. The best magic I have ever seen! How did you do it? Oh, never mind about that now, said Robert. You see have gone and upset all those people, and I expect they'll fetch the police. And we don't want to see you collared and put in prison. You can't put queens in prison, she said loftily. Oh, can't you? said Cyril. We cut off a king's head here once. In this miserable room, how frightfully interesting. No, no, not in this room, in history. Oh, in that! said the queen disparagingly. I thought you'd done it with your own hands. Girls shuddered. What a hideous city yours is! The queen went unpleasantly, and what horrid, ignorant people. Do you know they actually can't understand a single word I say? Can you understand them? asked Jane. Of course not. And they speak some vulgar northern dialect. I can understand you quite well. I really am not going to explain again how it was that the children could understand other languages than their own so thoroughly, and talk them to, so that it felt and sounded, to them, just as though they were talking English. Well, said Cyril bluntly, and now you've seen just how horrid it is. Don't you think you might as well go home again? Why, I've seen simply nothing yet. Said the queen, arranging her starry veil. I wished to be at your door, and I was. Now I must go and see your king and queen. Nobody's allowed to, said auntie and haste. But look here, we'll take you and show you anything you'd like to see, anything you can see. She added kindly, because she remembered how nice the queen had been to them in Babylon, even if she had been a little deceitful in the matter of Jane and Samyad. And there's a museum, said Cyril hopefully, and there are lots of things from your country there, if only we could disguise you a little. I know, said auntie suddenly. Mother's old theatre cloak, and there are lots of her old hats in the big box. The blue silk-laced trimmed cloak did indeed hide some of the queen's startling splendours. But the hat fitted very badly. Hitted pink roses in it, and there was something about the coat, or the hat, or the queen, that made her look somehow not very respectable. Oh, never mind, said auntie, when Cyril whispered this. The thing is, to get her out before nurses finished her forty winks. She should think she's about got to the thirty-ninth wink by now. Come on then, said Robert, you know how dangerous it is. Let's make haste into the museum. If any of those people you made guise of do fetch the police, they won't think of looking for you there. The blue silk coat and the pink rose hat attracted almost as much attention as the royal costume had done, and the children were uncommonly glad to get out of the noisy streets into the grey quiet of the museum. Puzzles and umbrellas to be left here, said a man at the counter. The party had no umbrellas, and the only parcel was the bag containing the samyad, which the queen had insisted should be brought. I'm not going to be left, said the samyad softly, so don't you think it? I'll wait outside with you, said auntie hastily, and went to sit on the seat near the drinking fountain. Don't sit so near that nasty fountain! So the creature crossly. I might get splashed! And the obediently moved to another seat and waited. Indeed, she waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited! The samyad dropped into an uneasy slumber, and he had long ceased to watch the swing door that always let out the wrong person, and she was herself almost asleep, and still the others did not come back. It was quite a start when auntie suddenly realised that they had come back, and that they were not alone. Behind them was quite a crowd of men in uniform, and several gentlemen were there. Everyone seemed very angry. Now go, said the nicest of the angry gentlemen, take the poor, demented thing home, and tell your parents you're to be properly looked after. If you can't get her to go, we must send for the police, said the nastiest gentleman. But we don't wish to use harsh measures, added the nice one, who is really very nice indeed, and seemed to be over all the others. May I speak to my sister a moment first? asked Robert. The nicest gentleman nodded, and the officials stood round the queen, the others forming a sort of guard while Robert crossed over to auntie. Everything you can think of, he replied to auntie's glance of inquiry, kicked up the most frightful shine in there. Said those necklaces and earrings and things in the glass cases were all hers. What have them out of the cases? Trying to break the glass. She did break one bit. Everybody in the place has been at her. No good. I only got her out by telling her that was the place where they cut queen's heads off. Oh, bobs, what a whacker! You'd have told a whackinger one to get her out. Besides, it wasn't. I meant mummy-queens. How do you know they don't cut off mummy's heads to see how the imbamming is done? What I want to say is, can't you get her to go with you quietly? I'll try, said auntie, and went up to the queen. Do come home? she said. The learned gentleman in our house is a much nicer necklace than anything they've got here. Come and see it. The queen nodded. You see? said the nastiest gentleman. She does understand English. I was talking Babylonian, I think, said auntie Bashvili. My good child, said the nice gentleman. What you're talking is not Babylonian, but nonsense. You just go home at once and tell your parents exactly what has happened. Auntie took the queen's hand and gently pulled her away. The other children followed, and the black crowd of angry gentlemen stood on the steps watching them. It was when the little party of disgraced children, with the queen who had disgraced them, had reached the middle of the courtyard that her eyes fell on the bag where the Samyad was. She stopped short. I wish, she said, very loud and clear, that all those Babylonian things would come out to me here. Slowly, so that those dogs and slaves can see the working of the great queen's magic. Oh, you are a tiresome woman, said the Samyad in its bag, but it puffed itself out. Next moment there was a crash. The glass swing doors and all their framework were smashed suddenly and completely. The crowd of angry gentlemen sprang aside when they saw what had done this. But the nastiest of them was not quick enough, and he was roughly pushed out of the way by an enormous stone bull that was floating steadily through the door. It came and stood beside the queen in the middle of the courtyard. It was followed by more stone images, by great slabs of carved stone, bricks, helmets, tools, weapons, fetters, wine jars, bowls, bottles, vases, jugs, saucers, seals, and the round, long things. Something like rolling pins with marks on them like the print of little bird feet, necklaces, collars, rings, armlets, earrings, heaps and heaps and heaps of things, far more than anyone had time to count, or even to see distinctly. All the angry gentlemen had abruptly sat down on the museum's steps, except the nice one. He stood but his hands in his pockets, just as though he was quite used to seeing great stone bulls and all sorts of small, Babylonish objects float out into the museum yard. But he sent a man to close the big iron gates. A journalist who was just leaving the museum spoke to Robert as he passed. —Theosophy, I suppose? Is she Mrs. Beeson? —Yes! said Robert recklessly. The journalist passed through the gates just before they were shut. He rushed off to Fleet Street, and his paper got out a new edition within half an hour. —Mrs. Beeson and Theosophy, impertinent miracle at the British Museum. People sought in fat black letters on the boards carried by the sellers of newspapers. Some few people who had nothing better to do went down to the museum on the tops of omnibuses. But by the time they got there there was nothing to be seen. For the Babylonian Queen had suddenly seen the closed gates, had felt the threat of them, and had said, I wish we were in your house! And, of course, instantly they were. —The Samyad was furious. —Look here, it said. —They'll come after you, and they'll find me. There'll be a national cage built for me at Westminster, and I shall have to work at politics. Why wouldn't you leave the things in their places? —What a temper you have, haven't you? said the Queen serenely. —I wish all the things were back in their places. That do for you? —The Samyad swelled and shrank and spoke very angrily. —I can't refuse to give your wishes, it said. —But I can bite, and I will if this goes on. —Now then. —Oh, don't, whispered Antia, close to its bristling ear. —It's dreadful for us, too. Don't you, desertus? Perhaps you'll wish yourself at home again soon. —Not she, said the Samyad, a little less crossly. —Take me to see your city, said the Queen, and the children looked at each other. If we had some money we could take her about in a cab. People wouldn't notice her so much then, but we haven't. —Sell this, said the Queen, taking a ring from her finger. They'd only think we'd stolen it, said Seral Bitterly. —And put us in prison. —All roads lead to prison with you, it seems, said the Queen. —The learned gentleman, said Antia, and ran up to him with the ring in her hand. —Look here, she said, will you buy this for a pound? —Oh, he said in tones of joy and amazement, and took the ring into his hand. —It's my very own, said Antia. —It was given to me to sell. —I'll lend you a pound, said the learned gentleman, with pleasure. —And I'll take care of the ring for you. —Who did you say gave it to you? —We called her, said Antia carefully, the Queen of Babylon. —Is it a game? —He asked hopefully. —It'll be a pretty game if I don't get the money to pay for cabs for her, said Antia. —I sometimes think, he said slowly, that I'm becoming insane. —Or that, or that I am, but I'm not, and you're not, and she's not. —Does she say that she's the Queen of Babylon? —Yoneasly asked. —Yes, said Antia recklessly. —And this thought transference is more far-reaching than I imagined, said. —I suppose I have unconsciously influenced her, too. —I never thought my Babylonish studies would bear fruit like this. —Horrible! —There are more things in heaven and earth. —Yes, said Antia, heaps more, and the pound is the thing I want more than anything on earth. —He ran his fingers through his thin hair. —This thought transference, he said, it's undoubtedly a Babylonian ring, or it seems so to me, but perhaps I've hypnotised myself. —I will see a doctor the moment I've corrected the last proofs of my book. —Yes, do, said Antia, and thank you so very much. She took the sovereign and ran down to the others. —And now, from the window of a four-wheeled cab, the Queen of Babylon beheld the wonders of London. Booking him palace she thought uninteresting. Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament little better. But she liked the tower, and the river, and the ships filled her with wonder and delight. —But how badly you keep your slaves! How wretched and poor and neglected they seem, she said, as a cab rattled along the Mile End Road. —They artens slaves, they're working people, said Jane. Of course they're working. That's what slaves are. —Don't you tell me? Do you suppose I don't know a slave's face when I see it? Why don't their masters see they're better fed and better clothed? —Tell me in three words. —No one answered. The wage system of modern England is a little difficult to explain in three words, even if you understand it. Which the children didn't. —You'll have a revolt of your slaves if you're not careful, said the Queen. —Oh no, said Cyril. You see they have votes, and that makes them safe not to revolt. It makes all the difference. Father told me so. —What is this vote? asked the Queen. —Is this a charm? —What do they do with it? —I don't know, said their ass, Cyril. —It's just a vote, that's all. They don't do anything particular with it. —I see, said the Queen. —A sort of plaything. —Well, I wish that all these slaves may have in their hands this moment their fill of their favourite meat and drink. Instantly all the people in the Mile End Road, and in all the other streets where poor people live, found their hands full of things to eat and drink. From the cab window could be seen persons carrying every kind of food, and bottles and cans as well. Roast meat, fowls, red lobsters, great yellowy crabs, fried fish, boiled pork, beefsteak puddings, baked onions, mutton pies. Most of the young people had oranges and sweets and cake. It made an enormous change in the look of the Mile End Road, brightened it up, so to speak, and brightened up more than you can possibly imagine the faces of the people. —Makes a difference, doesn't it? said the Queen. —That's the best wish you've had yet, said Jane with cordial approval. Just by the bank the cab man stopped. —I ain't to go and to drive you no further, he said. —Out you gets! They cut out rather unwillingly. —I want my tea, he said, and they saw that on the box of the cab was a mound of cabbage, with pork chops and applesauce, a duck, and a spotted current pudding, also a large can. —You pay me my fare, he said, threateningly, and looked down at the mound, muttering again about his tea. —We'll take another cab, said Sirle with dignity. Give me change for sovereign, if you please. But the cab man, as it turned out, was not at all a nice character. He took the sovereign, whipped up his horse, and disappeared in the stream of cabs and omnibuses and wagons, but out giving them any change at all. —Already a little crowd was collecting round the party. —Come on! said Robert, leading the wrong way. The crowd round them thickened. They were in a narrow street where many gentlemen and black coatsmen without hats were standing about in the pavement talking very loudly. —How ugly their clothes are! said the Queen of Babylon. They'd be rather fine, men, some of them, if they were dressed decently, especially the ones with the beautiful long curved noses. I wish they were dressed like the Babylonians of my court, and, of course, it was so. —The moment the almost fainting Samyad had blown itself out, every man in Throgmorton Street appeared abruptly in Babylonian full dress. All were carefully powdered, their hair and beads were scented and curled, their garments richly embroidered. They were rings and armlets, flat gold collars and swords, and impossible-looking headdresses. A stupefied silence fell on them. —Oh, say! a youth who had always been fair-haired broke that silence. —It's only fancy, of course, something wrong with my eyes. But you chaps do look so rum. —Rum! said his friend. —Look at you, you and a sash, moat! And your hair's gone black, and you've got a beard! It's marbly if we've been poisoned! You do look a jack-ape! —Oh, Levenstein don't look so bad! But how is it done? That's what I want to know. How is it done? Is it conjuring or what? —I think it is just a very bad dream, said old Levenstein to his clerk. All along Bishopgate, I have seen the common people. Have their hands full of food, good food! Oh, yes, without doubt a very bad dream! —Then I'm dreaming too, sir, said the clerk, looking down at his legs with an expression of loathing. I see my feet in beastly sandals as plain as plain! —All that good food wasted, said old Mr. Levenstein. —A bad dream! A bad dream! The members of the stock-exchanger said to be at all times a noisy lot. But the noise they made now to express their disgust to the costumes of ancient Babylon was far louder than their ordinary row. One had to shout before one could hear oneself speak. —I only wish, so the clerk who thought it was conjuring, he was quite close to the children, and they trembled, because they knew that whatever he wished would come true. I only wish we knew who'd done it! And, of course, instantly they did know, and they pressed round the queen. —Scanderous, shameful, nor to be put down by law! Give her in charge! —Fetch the police! Two or three voices shouted at once. The queen recoiled. —What is it? she asked. They sound like caged lions, lions by the thousand. What is it that they say? —They say, police! said Sirle briefly. I knew they would sooner or later, and I don't blame them, mind you. —I wish my guards were here! cried the queen. The exhausted Samyad was panting and trembling, but the queen's guard in red and green garments and brass and iron gear choked Throgmorton Street, and bared weapons flashed round the queen. —I'm mad! said a Mr. Rosenbaum. —That's what it is! —Mad! —It's a judgment on you, Rosie! said his partner. —I always said you were too hard in that matter of flower to. It's a judgment, and I'm in it, too. —The members of the stock exchange had edged carefully away from the gleaming blades, the mailed figures, the hard, cruel, eastern faces. But Throgmorton Street is narrow, and the crowd was too thick for them to get away as quickly as they wished. —Kill them! cried the queen. —Kill the dogs! —The guards obeyed. —It is all a dream! cried Mr. Levenstein, cowering in a doorway behind his clerk. —It isn't! said the clerk. —It isn't! Oh, my good gracious! Those foreign brutes are killing everybody! Henry hershes down now, and Prentiss is cutting too! Oh, lord! And hoth! and there goes Lionel Conn with his head off, and Guy Nichols has lost his head now! —A dream! I wish to goodness it was all a dream! —And, of course, instantly it was! The entire stock exchange rubbed its eyes and went back to close, to over an either side of seven eighths, and trunks and caffers, and steels common, and contangos, and backwardations, double options, and all the interesting subjects concerning which they talk and the street without seizing. No one said a word about it to anyone else. I think I've explained before that businessmen do not like it to be known that they have been dreaming in business hours. Especially mad dreams, including such dreadful things, as hungry people getting dinners, and the destruction of the stock exchange. The children were in the dining-room at 300 Fitzroy Street, pale and trembling. The Samyad crawled out of the embroidered bag and lay flat on the table. Its legs stretched out, looking more like a dead hare than anything else. —Thank goodness that's over! —said Antia, drawing a deep breath. —She won't come back, will she? —asked Jane tremulously. —No —said Cyril. She's thousands of years ago. But we spent a whole precious pound on her. It'll take all our pocket money for ages to pay that back. —Not if it was all a dream —said Robert. —The wish said all a dream, you know. Panther, you cut up an ask if he lent you anything. —I beg your pardon —said Antia politely, following the sound of her knock into the presence of the learned gentleman. —I'm so sorry to trouble you, but did you lend me a pound today? —No —said he, looking kindly at her through his spectacles. —But it's extraordinary that you should ask me. —For I dozed for a few moments this afternoon —a thing I very rarely do —and I dreamed, quite distinctly, that you brought me a ring, that you said belonged to the Queen of Babylon, and that I lent you a sovereign, and that you left one of the Queen's rings here. —The ring was a magnificent specimen. —He sighed. —I wish it hadn't been a dream —he said, smiling. He was really learning to smile quite nicely. Antia could not be too thankful that the Samyad was not there to grant his wish. End of chapter 7. Recording by Porik