The Treasure Beneath the Hill, chapter 7

Dora spent the night in the Primary School at the bottom of the hill. She didn't feel safe in her own bedroom, which was only separated from the old school by the width of a wall, so she was planning to sleep on the settee in the living room, but a policeman came and knocked on her door.

'I thought I saw a light,' he said. 'I'm afraid you can't stay here: it isn't safe. You'll have to come with me.'

'But what about all my things?' said Dora.

'Just bring what you can carry,' advised the policeman. 'They'll inspect the building tomorrow, and if they decide it's safe you might be able to come back. They might say it's fine: it's only the far end that's collapsed, as far as I can see. They might have to put up some scaffolding to stabilise things. But it's best not to stay here tonight.'

'But what if Grandpa comes back?' said Dora. 'He's the one that lives here really, not me. I'm just staying with him while my Dad's away.'

'And who's Grandpa?' said the policeman.

'He's the church organist.'

'Oh!' said the policeman. 'You mean Jack! I know Jack! I know him from the pub. Why, what's happened to him?'

'I don't know,' said Dora. 'He went out this afternoon and he hasn't come home. I'm worried he might have got stranded in the floods.'

'I'll put out a call for him,' said the policeman. 'He'll be all right. Jack can look after himself. In the meantime, just leave a note on the door: tell him you're at the Primary School.'

'Is that where we're going?' said Dora.

'That's right,' said the policeman. 'You'll find quite a few people staying the night down there, because of the floods.'

Sure enough, the school hall was paved with mattresses and sleeping-bags. It was after midnight and the lights were off, so Dora had to be shown to a vacant bed by a helpful young woman with a torch. She glimpsed some of the others who were spending the night there: a little girl hugging a teddy, a bothered middle-aged woman who glared accusingly at the torchlight, and a skinny bald old man lying on his back with his mouth gaping open, and no sign of any teeth.

'The toilets are just through there,' whispered the helpful young woman, indicating a door at the back of the hall. 'Do you need anything to eat or drink?'

'No, I'm fine.'

'We'll be doing breakfast at about eight. Try to get some sleep.'

Getting some sleep was easier said than done. At least one person in the hall was obviously sleeping soundly, because there was some extraordinarily loud snoring coming from somewhere on the far side of the room; but a lot of other people, possibly because of this, were obviously wide awake. The bothered-looking middle-aged woman, or somebody in her general direction, kept scratching herself, turning over fretfully, and sighing angry sighs. There was a lot of stifled coughing and throat-clearing from all round the hall. One person after another kept getting up and going out through the door that led to the toilets. Then a baby started to cry, the mother attempted to shush it, and eventually she had to go out as well.

Even though she was surrounded by other people, Dora felt more alone than she could remember ever feeling before. Grandpa Jack had disappeared somewhere. She didn't have anywhere to stay that properly belonged to her. She was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and she didn't know when her life was going to get back to normal. She felt unsettled, uncomfortable, empty inside, cast adrift.

A few mattresses away from her, there was a dim gleam of bluish light escaping from inside someone's sleeping bag. Somebody was obviously using their mobile phone. If she'd had her own mobile with her, she could have texted her Dad. But she'd deliberately left it at the house. She didn't feel as if she trusted it any more. If she texted her Dad, the next thing she knew Citrus would be turning up and twisting the text into something horrible that could be used against her.

There was a minor kerfuffle from across the hall, and the loud snoring stopped with a choking splutter.

'What's that? What's the matter?' said a man's voice.

'For God's sake stop snoring,' said another man.

'Snoring? I ain't snoring. I don't snore.'

'You bloody are snoring,' said the second man. 'You're keeping us all awake.'

'Well, I never thought I snored,' said the first man in offended tones. 'Nobody's never complained about me snoring before. I reckon I'd know if I was a snorer. But I'll turn over the other way, if it makes you happy.'

'As long as you stop snoring,' said the second man, 'I'll be deliriously happy.'

'Well,' said the first man, 'I'll turn over the other way.' And he did so, resettling himself with a long series of rustling and rumpling noises. A minute or so later, he was snoring again.

'Jesus Christ,' said the second man.

But Dora had recognised the first voice. It was Henry the pig man. For some reason, the fact that he was here too made the Primary School hall feel completely different - much less alien and lonely - and in a short space of time, she fell asleep herself.

Breakfast the next morning was a drab affair, compared to the nice breakfasts she had at Grandpa Jack's house. They served her with sausage, beans and toast - but she couldn't eat the sausage, because she was vegetarian. There was also a lukewarm mug of tea which was mostly milk and hardly any tea-flavour.

The best thing was that she found herself sitting next to the little girl with the teddy who she'd noticed in one of the beds close to hers the previous night. The little girl was called Beth, and the teddy was called Bruno. Beth ate Dora's sausage, and Dora did Bruno's voice: she'd always been good at doing voices. It turned out that Bruno was fed up, because he wanted to go home to his own house, but he couldn't because it was flooded.

'Even when I do get back, all my things'll probably be wet and muddy,' said Bruno. 'It'll probably take them ages to dry out. On the plus side, though,' he added, holding up his paw, 'there's no school. In fact this is the school,' he said, looking around, 'but they can't do any lessons here today, because it's full of all these ugly-looking grownups.'

'Is your house flooded as well?' said Beth to Dora.

'No, part of it fell down,' said Dora.

'Really?' said Beth, making her eyes go very round. 'Part of your house fell down? Really?' She obviously thought it was totally cool.

'It's not my house, though,' said Dora. 'It's my grandpa's house. I've been staying with him.'

'Where's he?' said Beth. 'Is he here?'

'No, he went out in the rain, and he didn't come back. I don't know where he's got to.'

'I saw him!' announced Bruno. 'I saw him floating away.'

'Shut up Bruno,' said Beth. 'You didn't.'

'Yes I did,' said Bruno. 'I looked out of the window, and I saw him floating down the river. His tummy was sticking in the air, and he was singing a hymn. "We plough the fields and scatter."'

'You can't see the river from our house,' said Beth.

'I can,' said Bruno, 'because I've got special glasses. They were given to me by Father Christmas.'

'You haven't!'

'I have!' said Bruno. 'Except I wouldn't be surprized if they've got lost now, because of the flood.'

He hung his head down sadly.

'Has your grandpa really floated away?' said Beth.

'I don't know. I don't know what's happened to him. I hope he's all right.'

'What's all this?' said Henry the pig man, coming and sitting down across the table from Dora. 'You lost your grandpa, have you? And what're you doing here anyway? You ain't been flooded, I hope, not with you being right at the top of the hill like that.'

So Dora explained to him about Grandpa Jack going out and not coming back, and about the end of the school house falling down in the night.

'That old school house!' said Henry, chewing his sausage. 'That old school house fallen down! That building's been standing there for goodness knows how long. Centuries, I shouldn't wonder. I went to school in that old school house when I was a little lad, years and years ago, just after the war, and it was already old in them days. I'll tell you why it's fallen down: if you ask me, it's because of all this here digging they've been doing in the playground. They've probably gone and disturbed the foundations, I shouldn't be surprized. Fiddling around and changing things and undermining things, when they'd be better off just leaving things alone, that's what I say. Don't ask me what the pig's going to think about all this.'

'The pig?' said Beth, who had gone quiet when Henry turned up. 'What pig?'

'There used to be a pig in a brick shed next to the church,' said Dora, 'and Henry used to look after him.'

'Did you?' said Beth.

'Well, I gave him his food and that,' said Henry. 'If anything, I'd say he looked after me.'

'Looked after you?' said Beth. 'A pig looked after a man?'

'In a manner of speaking,' said Henry.

Beth suddenly burst into a shriek of laughter, and drummed her feet under the table. 'A pig looked after a man!'

'Well it ain't all that funny,' said Henry, although he couldn't help smiling himself. 'Some pigs're very wise, I'll have you know. And this one is a particularly wise one. So he is. Sagacious, that's what I'd call that pig. Dora here knows him. She used to give him apples and biscuits.'

'I rode on his back once,' said Dora.

'So she did,' confirmed Henry. 'She rode on his back, when she was about the same age you are now, little girl. She sat right on his back, and rode around. I held her on.'

'Is he still alive?' said Beth.

'Course he is,' said Henry. 'That old pig? Course he's still alive. But I don't know what he'll think when he finds out about everything that's been going on round here. He didn't like it when they started all the digging. Now the school house has fallen down, and we've got all these floods, goodness knows what he'll have to say. Nobody knows where he's gone, though.'

'Perhaps he's gone the same place as your grandpa,' said Beth to Dora.

'Perhaps he actually has,' said Henry.

Dora borrowed an umbrella, as it was still pouring with rain, and trudged back to the house, to be met by a man wearing a yellow hard hat.

'Sorry, luv,' he said. 'You can't come here. It's unsafe.'

'But this is where I live,' said Dora. 'Or really it's where my Grandpa Jack lives, but I'm staying with him.'

'Oh yeah?' said the man. 'Did you say Jack? You mean old Jack, the organist, the one that's in charge of the choir? I know Jack. He comes in the pub where I drink.'

'Have you seen him?' said Dora. 'Has he come back?'

'Not while I've been here, he hasn't. What's your name then, sweetheart?'

'Dora.'

'Oh, I've heard him talking about you. Well, if he shows up I'll tell him I've seen you. Look, the plan is, we're going to put up some scaffolding, right? Once the scaffolding's up, we'll have another inspection, but I think you'll probably be all right. There doesn't seem to be any structural damage down this end. So maybe in four or five hours, with a bit of luck, you'll be able to get back in. How's that?'

'Thank you,' said Dora.

'In the meantime,' said the man, 'I'd get out of this bloody rain if I was you. I only wish I could do the same.'

She tramped back down the hill, to get some shopping from Tesco's. She thought she'd better get something organized for supper, if she was going to be back in the house that evening. But when she got to Tesco's, the car park was empty and the store was closed.

There was a notice on the main entrance: 'We apologise to our customers for the closure of our store today. Grocery deliveries have been unable to get through because of the floods. We also have a high level of staff absences for the same reason. We hope to be able to re-open tomorrow.'

She turned away from the doors with a sigh, and as she did so she saw an enormous pig trotting across the empty car park in the rain. A moment later, it was gone.

She stood and stared. The rain was pouring down, and the car park was shiny with water and big puddles. There were trolley-bays, concrete bollards, and lights on tall black posts. Nobody around, and no sign of any pig. She must have imagined it. But although it was gloomy, it was plain daylight, and the pig had seemed so real.

She walked slowly down the car park, away from the store. About halfway down, there was an area cordoned off with plastic cones and orange-and-white tape. Inside the cordon was a big black hole in the ground. This must be the sink hole she'd seen on the local news. Surely the pig couldn't have trotted straight into the sink hole?

She went right up to the plastic tape and craned her neck, trying to see into the hole. All she could see, beneath the fractured edge of the tarmac, was blackness. There was no sign of any bottom - no indication of how deep the hole might be. It might have been the entrance to another dimension. She leaned forward a bit further - and without any warning, the ground gave way beneath her feet.

There was a horrible sickening moment when Pan was simply falling through emptiness and waiting for the impact when he hit the bottom. It was exactly like one of those dreams he sometimes had, where he stepped off the edge of a cliff or fell off the top of a ladder, then woke up with a lurch and an explosion of relief, feeling as if by waking up he'd saved himself from being smashed to pieces. And that was just what happened now. He sat up with a lurch, and found himself on solid ground. There was no impact. He was all right. He couldn't quite believe it.

'Got any biscuits?' said a voice next to him.

Pan looked round, and there next to him, sniffing at him in much the same way that a dog sniffs at you when it thinks you might have some food, was the pig.

'Or an apple,' said the pig. 'One of them wrinkly ones you used to bring. I used to like them wrinkly ones.'

Before Pan knew what he was doing, he lifted his hand and found himself scratching the pig on the top of its head, which was bristly and warm, just as he remembered it. The pig gave an appreciative grunt and exhaled a gust of hot smelly breath right into his face.

'No, sorry,' said Pan, 'I haven't got any food. Tesco's was closed.'

'Hmph,' said the pig. 'Never mind. I wasn't really hungry anyway. I just fancied a snack.'

Pan stood up, because he was becoming conscious that the ground on which he sat was rather damp. 'Where am I?' he said. 'I mean, where is this?'

'You're under the hill,' said the pig.

'Am I?' said Pan. 'What's this place called?'

'It's called Under the Hill,' said the pig.

'Oh,' said Pan.

The air was chilly. It wasn't completely dark, but it wasn't light either: there was the kind of in-between light that you get when the stars have faded but the sun hasn't yet come up: everything was swathed in shadow, but things were greyly visible in a pallid and smudgy kind of way.

They were in a big field that sloped downwards to a stretch of grey water. On the far side of this water was a dark-looking upslope, clothed in trees. One thing Pan noticed was that the landscape seemed much more alive than what he was used to. There were numerous fragments of birdsong floating through the air. Clouds of insects hung over the water, moths were flying in blurry shapes all around him, bats were flitting around too, and more moths, small ones with whiteish wings, were tumbling through the grass at his feet.

'Come on,' said the pig.

'Where are we going?' said Pan.

'We're going to fetch your grandpa,' said the pig.

'Are we?' said Pan. 'Does that mean he's under the hill as well?'

'Oh yes,' said the pig.

'How do you know?'

'I know lots of stuff,' said the pig. 'Anyway, I've seen him. He didn't ought to be down here, not really, and for that matter neither did you; but everything's getting properly messed up, because of the way they're carrying on up there. We're going to have to sort things out, before they get into a right muddle. But we'll start by fetching Jack.'

'Where is he?' said Pan.

'He's on the other side of this water.'

'Pig,' said Pan, 'have you always been able to talk?'

'When I'm under the hill I talk,' said the pig. 'When I'm above the hill, I keep it to myself, otherwise it leads to too many questions.'

'Did you ever talk to Henry the pig man?'

'There was no need to talk to him,' said the pig. 'We understood each other.'

As they approached the edge of the water, Pan noticed something white and partially submerged glimmering in the twilight.

'What's that?' he said.

'Don't you recognize it?' said the pig.

'It looks like a car,' said Pan.

'That's what it is,' said the pig.

'It looks like grandpa's car!' exclaimed Pan.

'That's right,' said the pig. 'It's your grandpa's car.'

The car was about twenty feet out, submerged in the flood almost up to the top of its wheels. The current made soft chuckling and gurgling noises as it flowed past the bodywork and in and out of the wheel-arches.

'He isn't in it, is he?' said Pan.

'No, I told you,' said the pig, 'he's on the other side of the water.'

'Then what's his car doing here? He didn't drive into that sink hole, did he?'

Pan had once been through a car-wash with Grandpa Jack, who had somehow managed to get one of his wheels into the black slot in the middle of the floor, where the water drained away. Pan could imagine him doing something similar in Tesco's car park.

'No,' said the pig, 'he came by another route. He got himself lost in the floods. Then Ur-Shanabi came and picked him up.'

'Ur-Shanabi?' said Pan. 'Who's Ur-Shanabi?'

'He's the ferry man,' said the pig. 'You'll see him in a minute.'

Pan looked all around across the water, but there was no sign of a ferry or a ferry man anywhere in the half-light as far as he could see.

'Pig,' he said, 'have you noticed anything different about me?'

'Course I have,' said the pig.

'What?'

'Well, you used to always have an old biscuit or an apple or something,' said the pig, 'and today you've got nothing. I don't really mind. I'm not really hungry. But I wouldn't have said no to a snack.'

'That's not what I meant,' said Pan.

'Oh,' said the pig. 'Why, what else?'

'Haven't you noticed that I'm a boy, not a girl?'

'Are you?' said the pig, staring at him. 'Yes, I suppose you are.'

'Hadn't you noticed before?'

'Yes, of course I had,' said the pig carelessly. 'I noticed straight away.'

'No, you didn't.'

'Well, what do I care?' said the pig. 'I'm a pig. Human beings all look the same to me.'

'Then how can you tell the difference between me and Grandpa Jack?'

'Look,' said the pig, 'here he comes.'

Pan looked around, half expecting to see Grandpa Jack approaching - but instead, there was a dark shape coming towards them over the water. After a bit longer, he could make out that it was a punt, with a man standing on the stern to do the punting. Every time he stooped to push with his pole, the punt leapt forward across the smooth water, and in a couple of minutes its prow ran up against the shore with a soft thump.

'Going across?' said the ferry man.

'Yes please,' said the pig.

'Wait a minute,' said the ferry man, walking down the length of the punt until he was standing on the prow. 'Who's this you've got with you?'

'My name's Pan,' said Pan.

'I see,' said the ferry man. 'Pan, is it? Well that's all very well. Names are one thing. The point is, are you meant to be down here?'

'What do you mean?' said Pan.

'Have you come to stay?' said the ferry man. 'Because if I take you across there, you can't come back.'

'Oh,' said Pan. 'Well, I definitely do want to come back.'

'Then perhaps you shouldn't cross over in the first place.'

'What's the problem?' said the pig.

'You know perfectly well what the problem is,' said the ferry man. 'I'm only supposed to take people one way.'

'Well, you take me backwards and forwards,' said the pig.

'That's different. The rules don't apply to you. You're the pig. I've already taken one person across who didn't look as if he belonged down here.'

'Was that Grandpa Jack?' said Pan.

'Don't ask me what his name was,' said the ferry man. 'He was stuck in the flood, and when I got him on board, it turned out he didn't have a proper coin. I took him across, out of the kindness of my heart, because I thought, well, what harm can it do? But now there's you, and you're another one. I can't keep doing it over and over again.'

'But things are in a mess up above, Ur-Shanabi,' said the pig. 'These are turbulent times. You wouldn't believe it if you saw what was happening. The people up there are disturbing things that shouldn't be disturbed. The old rules are being broken, and the old boundaries are disappearing. Pan here has come down to fetch back his grandpa, and to try to put things right. So help us out this once, Ur-Shanabi, if you'd be so kind.'

'Well, I don't know,' said Ur-Shanabi. 'Have you got a coin?'

'Have you?' said the pig to Pan.

'I'm not sure,' said Pan, and started rummaging through his pockets. There was no coin anywhere to be found. He rummaged again, but he still couldn't find one.

'You can't come in the ferry without paying any fare, and that's that,' said Ur-Shanabi. 'I can't start taking people if they don't pay the fare. That's the rule down here. Up above, they take without giving anything back, but down here, if you take something you've got to give something in return.'

'Can't you find anything?' said the pig.

'No, I can't,' said Pan.

Just as he said it, however, there was a flickering darting black shape in the air above his head, and he looked up just in time to see a bat flying past. Something plopped into the mud at his feet. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small disc of dull metal.

'Now, what's that you've got there?' said Ur-Shanabi in an interested tone.

'I'm not sure,' said Pan, and passed it to him. Ur-Shanabi lit the lamp on the prow of his boat, and all three of them gathered round the light while he examined the object. It was a small copper coin with a picture of a bee on it.

'That's a proper obol, that is,' said Ur-Shanabi.

'Are you friendly with the bats, by any chance?' inquired the pig.

'I did make friends with one the other night,' admitted Pan.

'Well, that takes care of the fare,' said Ur-Shanabi. 'So you'd better come on board, hadn't you?'

Ur-Shanabi poled them across the river.

'You can't come back this way,' he reminded them. 'I only take people one way.'

'Then how are we going to get back home?' said Pan.

'How do I know?' said Ur-Shanabi unhelpfully. 'That's not my problem. Maybe you can't get back home.'

'I thought you didn't want any people down here who don't really belong down here,' said the pig. 'Wouldn't it be better to get them back where they belong?'

'Well, all right,' said Ur-Shanabi, relenting. 'I do have one suggestion. You could go and see my twin brother, Uta-Napishti, the Distant One. He might be able to help you.'

'Where does he live?' said Pan.

'In the distance,' said Ur-Shanabi.

'What does he look like?' said Pan. 'Does he look like you?'

'No! Certainly not! He doesn't look anything like me. Completely different.'

'But you said he was your twin brother.'

'I didn't say identical twin,' said Ur-Shanabi. 'He's not like me at all.'

By this time, they were on the other side of the river. Ur-Shanabi ran the prow up against the shore, and Pan and the pig got out. They were at the bottom of a slope clothed in dark trees.

'Thank you for your help, Ur-Shanabi,' said Pan.

'You're welcome,' said Ur-Shanabi. 'Good luck.'

He pushed the punt away from the shore, and soon he was vanishing into the half-light again.

'Come on,' said the pig, 'follow me.'

He led the way onto a narrow muddy path that led upwards between the trees. It was much darker here, because although it was autumn, the branches and what remained of the foliage blocked out most of the faint light from the sky; and even once his eyes had accustomed themselves to the gloom, Pan couldn't see much more than faint glimmers between the branches overhead, a large pale blob in front which was the pig's back, and a vague winding strip which was the path. The trunks of the trees were just denser shadows, amongst the generality of darkness.

Once again he was struck by how full of life the wood seemed, compared to the woods he was used to. The hooting and tu-whitting of owls punctuated the gloom at regular intervals. In addition there were numerous rustlings and scufflings in the undergrowth, some stealthy and some quite startlingly loud; and at once point, after a particularly loud kerfuffle in the gloom to their right, the pig stopped for a few moments, to let the small humped form of a hedgehog shuffle across the path just in front of his nose.

There was a peculiar quality to the soundscape through which they were walking, and it took Pan quite a while to identify exactly what it was. Then he realized that there was no noise of traffic, which he was used to always hearing as a constant background not very far off, even if he was walking through the countryside; no traffic, and no airoplanes overhead.

The trees gave way to a large clearing full of gravestones, bathed in what seemed like broad daylight after the gloom of the trees, although in reality it was the same dusky twilight as down at the river. In the middle of this clearing was a small flint-and-brick church with a slate roof, and someone in the church was playing Bach on the organ.

As soon as Pan heard the music, he knew it must be Grandpa Jack. There was something about the way the notes came out that couldn't possibly have belonged to anybody else.

The pig led the way between the graves to the church door. Pan twisted the black wrought-iron door handle, the door opened, and they went inside. There was Grandpa Jack, sitting at the church organ. He was so absorbed in his playing that he didn't even notice them until they got right up close: then he almost jumped out of his skin.

'You rotten buggers!' he exclaimed. 'There's no need to creep up on me!'

'Grandpa,' said Pan, 'we've come to rescue you.'

'Rescue me?' said Grandpa Jack. 'Rescue me from what?'

'You've been stuck here for ages,' said Pan. 'You got lost in the floods.'

'Why, how long have I been here?'

'Well, you never came home last night,' said Pan.

'It's true I got stuck in the floods,' said Grandpa Jack. 'My car got stuck. And then a chap came along in a punt, and gave me a lift over the river. It was pitch black when he picked me up, but by the time we got to the shore it was twilight, the same as it is now, and it's been like that ever since. It doesn't look as if anyone's ever going to turn up for that choir practice. I've got no idea how long I've been here for.'

'Time's different under the hill,' said the pig.

Grandpa Jack stared at him. 'Is this the same pig that Henry used to keep in the shed next to the church?' he said.

'Yes, this is him,' said Pan.

'And did I just hear him say something?'

'Yes, you did.'

'Well I'm buggered,' said Grandpa Jack. 'Has he always been able to talk?'

'You can ask me direct, Grandpa Jack,' said the pig. 'You don't have to go via Pan every time.'

'Well I'm buggered,' said Grandpa Jack again. 'This has been a very strange time, ever since Bill fell down and broke his leg, but I never thought I'd be chatting with a pig.'

'You should count yourself lucky,' said the pig.

'I do,' said Grandpa Jack. 'I won't forget this day in a hurry.'

'Have you noticed anything else that's strange, Grandpa?' said Pan.

'Well, this church is strange for a start,' said Grandpa Jack, looking around. 'It's like St Margaret's, but it's not the same. It's most peculiar.'

'That's not what I meant,' said Pan. 'Haven't you noticed that I'm a boy?'

'Are you?' said Grandpa. He stared at Pan thoughtfully for a moment. 'Yes, I suppose you are. When did that happen?'

'It's been happening for a while now,' said Pan. 'Don't you mind?'

'No, of course I don't,' said Grandpa Jack. 'If you want to be a boy, be a boy. When you were little, you quite often used to go up the red stairs as a girl, and come down the blue stairs as a boy. We never minded then, so I don't see why I should mind now.'

'But I'm older now,' said Pan.

'I don't see what difference that makes,' said Grandpa Jack.

'Is there anything to eat around here?' inquired the pig. 'I'm sure I can smell food.''

'As a matter of fact,' said Grandpa Jack, 'there's a lot of food left over from Harvest Festival. I must admit I've been helping myself to a snack or two. I hope nobody's going to mind; but I can't remember the last time I had a proper meal.'

He got up from the organ and led them to the opposite side of the church, where there was a display of food heaped up on and around a table: two sheaves of corn, a basket of apples, a basket of bread rolls, carrots, potatoes, plums, cabbages, beans, onions, a fruit pie, jars of jam, jars of chutney and bottles of home-made wine. At the sight of this food all of them suddenly felt overwhelmingly hungry. The pig helped himself to a carrot, an apple and an onion, while Pan and Grandpa Jack munched their way through an apple and a bread roll each.

'We'll have to leave something in exchange for this food,' said the pig. 'That's how things work down here. If you take something, you've got to leave something in exchange.'

'I haven't got any money,' said Pan.

'Neither have I,' said Grandpa Jack. 'I only had one coin, and I gave it to the ferry man.'

'It doesn't have to be money,' said the pig.

'Doesn't it?' said Grandpa Jack. 'What about sheet music?'

'That'd probably do,' said the pig.

Grandpa Jack reached into his inside pocket. 'Well, I've always got some sheet music on me,' he said. 'What about this? "Let us with a gladsome mind." It's a lovely old harvest festival hymn. The words are by John Milton.'

He sang them a verse:

All things living he doth feed,

His full hand supplies their need.

For his mercies ay endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

'Leave it on the table,' said the pig.

Grandpa Jack put the sheet music on the table.

'Come on,' said the pig. 'We'd better get a move on.'

'I could just do with a nice nap, after that food,' said Grandpa Jack.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' said the pig. 'This is the land of magic, don't forget. If you fell asleep down here, you might get back above the hill and find that you've slept for a thousand years.'

'And we'd better get a move on anyway, Grandpa,' said Pan. 'We've got to stop them digging up the church floor.'

'Digging up the church floor?' said Grandpa Jack. 'Who's digging up the church floor?'

'Abner Brown and Sylvia Pouncer.'

'No, no,' said Grandpa Jack. 'They're digging up the playground, not the church floor.'

'They're digging up the church floor too,' said Pan.

'What! They're never! The rotten buggers!' said Jack. 'Why on earth are they doing that?'

'I'll tell you on the way,' said Pan.

They went out of the church, back into the half-light. Jack was ready to set off down the hill, until the pig explained to him that they couldn't go back the way they'd come. They'd have to go uphill instead.

'We've got to find Uta-Napishti, Ur-Shanabi's twin brother,' said the pig.

'And where's he?' said Grandpa Jack.

'I don't know, exactly,' said the pig. 'Perhaps we'll meet someone who can tell us.'

'Well, I hope it's not too far,' said Grandpa Jack apprehensively. 'I've never been much of a mountaineer.'

'This isn't really a mountain, Grandpa,' said Pan. 'It's only a hill.'

'Well it feels bloody steep enough to me,' complained Grandpa Jack, as the pig led them back into the trees. 'It's like Ben Nevis. And it's pitch black too. I can't see a bloody thing. I'll probably fall down and break my neck in a minute.'

The walk made him out of breath in no time, but he still had enough puff left over to keep up a constant stream of complaints and grumbles until they got to the top of the slope. Before they reached the top the trees thinned out, and by the time they arrived at the highest point they were walking over tussocky grass. The light was getting stronger. When they came over the crest the sun was up, in front of them and to their left, and they found themselves looking into a valley full of wheat fields. The fields had all been reaped, and each of them was now closely striped from one side to the other with parallel lines of stubble.

A family of pheasants were making their way along the edge of the field closest to them; what looked like hares were dashing across another field a bit further away; and numerous birds were passing overhead, including a large stately heron flying from left to right.

'Look down there,' said the pig.

At the bottom of the valley was a white road, and along the road the dark figure of a woman was walking alone, neither fast nor slow.

'Who's that woman?' said Grandpa Jack.

'Let's go and talk to her,' said Pan. 'She might be able to tell us the way.'

'Good idea,' said the pig.

They walked as quickly as they could on a diagonal through the stubble rows of the nearest field. Grandpa Jack found it very difficult to do in his thin-soled shoes. The stubble was stiff and crunchy if you stepped right onto it, and if you pushed it over sideways the stalks were unexpectedly polished and slippery.

When they eventually came out onto the road, which seemed to be made mostly of chalk, the woman was still in sight, a certain distance in front of them, neither far nor near.

'You go on,' said Grandpa Jack. 'I can't cope with all this hurrying. I'll catch you up.'

Home