his son and took one for himself. He tapped it on the window ledge of the carriage and began to peel it, tossing the shards out the window.
They talked of what they would see in Egypt and how ley travellers were expected to comport themselves on their journeys. “We must always be respectful of the people we meet. It is their world, and we are guests. We never do anything to call unwanted attention to ourselves. We try to be good guests. We mind our manners.” He regarded the boy, willing him to understand. “Promise me you’ll always mind your manners, son.”
“I promise, Papa.”
“Good,” said Arthur. “Now look outside. You can see Black Mixen Tump from here.”
The great hulking eminence of the Stone Age mound stood out as an ominous dark shadow. A hill in a landscape of hills, it was a place apart, sacred to the ancients who had built it. Early-morning mist wreathed the broad base and swirled up along the winding trail leading up the steep slope to the strangely flattened top. The Three Trolls—the trio of great old oak trees guarding the top—stood out against the greying dawn sky. Black Mixen still kindled in Arthur a singular dread, in spite of his long familiarity with the place. What power the site contained, he hardly knew; but he suspected he had only skimmed the surface of its manifold energies.
Timothy brought the coach to a halt on the west side of the mound and waited while his passengers climbed out. Then, handing down the leather satchel his employer always carried, he said, “I will wait until you have gone, sir. Just to make certain no one comes by—if you know what I mean.”
“Thank you, Timothy,” replied Arthur. He reached out for Benedict’s hand. “Ready, son?”
The boy pulled his hand away. “No.”
“Now, son.”
“I don’t want to go.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring balefully at the great conical hump of Black Mixen rising before them.
“Why?” said Arthur. “We’ve come all this way.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Arthur assured him.
“I’m afraid.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of.”
“I don’t like the trolls.”
“The trolls are trees—just ordinary trees. Now come along, and stop this foolishness at once.”
“Excuse me interrupting, sir,” said Timothy, speaking up. He indicated the sky with a tilt of his head. “The sun is coming.”
“We must go. It is time to be a brave boy,” Arthur said firmly. “Now, take my hand and come along. I will be right here beside you. There is nothing to fear.”
The two travellers followed the serpentine trail to the summit, and Arthur quickly located the stone he had planted a few years ago to mark the location of the prime energy field. Taking his customary stance on the stone, he placed his son before him and said, “Put one hand to my belt.” The boy did as he was told and snaked his fingers around his father’s wide leather belt; with the other hand he held tight to his father’s free hand. “That’s right. Now, whatever happens, do not let go. Remember what I told you about the wind and rain?”
“I remember—the wind will scream and the rain will sting. And I will feel a bump.”
“A bump, yes. Who told you that?”
“Mum said.”
“She is right. You will probably feel a bump—like a little jump—but do not worry. You won’t fall. I will be there with you to catch you.”
“And I won’t throw up.”
“You might,” his father advised, slinging the satchel strap over his shoulder. “But if you do, it is nothing to worry about. Just go ahead and throw up, and you will feel better.”
Clasping his son’s hand tightly, Arthur raised his arm in the air above his head. He felt the familiar shimmer of the force field on his skin; the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck stood up. The air crackled with the presage of lightning, and a heavy mist descended around them. The wind howled down as if descending from distant, blizzard-scoured heights. “Hold on!” he cried, shouting into the whirling maelstrom of forces writhing around them. He tightened his grip on the boy’s hand. “Ready! Here we go!”
The familiar English hilltop dimmed, and the rain flew sideways in stinging torrents. Arthur felt his feet leave the marking stone, but only for an instant—the lurch between steps on uneven ground—and the solid ground of a new land rose beneath them.