The landing this time was no less bumpy than the one that had brought Polly and Digory into Camelot in the first place, but instead of landing on a thin patch of grass, they scraped and slid into something warm and grainy.
The sun beat down on his face as Digory put his hand up and opened his eyes. If he had been a normal little boy, he would have known the scene at once as a tropical beach; as it was, though, he had never been to the seashore, and only knew about sand and sea because of picture books. We must be nice about it, though, because in the bright blue sky above his head hung not one, but seven suns of varying sizes and shades of yellow.
Polly got up on his left and, shading her eyes, walked a few paces forward to where the turquoise waters met the white sand. "Is this Narnia?" she asked finally.
Digory stood up, bits of sand slipping down into his stockings. "I don't know. I don't remember trees like that there."
Together, he and Polly looked at the perplexing flora that popped up here and there from the sand. They had read about palm trees, of course, but had never actually seen one in person, and so were rightfully puzzled.
"Oh," said Polly suddenly. Digory turned to see what she had 'oh'ed about and saw that she was standing with her back to the water and pointing up at the scenery behind him: three mountains, forested with trees of all imaginable colors, jutted up towards the sky, wisps of white clouds circling the peaks like fluffy hats. It appeared that they were on an island, for in the distance, obscured by fog and mist, were more mountains, but were connected with each other in no conceivable way.
"I don't think this is Narnia," he said frankly.
Polly heaved a sigh. "Oh, this is nice. And that daft magician said he knew exactly what we were talking about! Now where are we?"
"Never-Land," came an answering voice.
Digory and Polly spun around, getting more sand in their stockings. Sitting on a rock jutting from the water's surface a few feet from the shore was a beautiful woman, probably about twice Digory's age, humming gently and playing with her long red hair. Between braiding it and coiling it between her fingers, she looked at Digory with demure smiles.
"Wh-what?" he said, eloquently.
"Never-Land," repeated the creature. "You're in Never-Land."
Polly tugged insistently on Digory's sleeve, and he elbowed her crossly. "Look!" she hissed, pointing at the rock the girl was sitting on.
It took Digory a moment, but at last he realized that, instead of legs, the creature had a glistening silver fish tail!
"A mermaid!" he yelped unintentionally, but the girl only smiled.
"You're observant," she said, abandoning her hair-playing and slipping down into the water up to her shoulders. "I would reward that."
Digory was flattered. "How?"
The mermaid laughed a bit and beckoned to him. "Come and see! I can show you all sorts of beauties and marvelous things, the likes of which you have never seen!"
Polly grabbed for his shirt, but Digory shook free and, removing his shoes and stockings, waded into the water. It was warm, and his skin tingled with the sensation.
"Digory!"
"Oh, shut up, Polly," he yelled back. "If you're too boring to come along, you can just stay here."
The mermaid laughed again and reached for his hand.
Suddenly, there was a whoosh of air, a sharp splash, a shriek, and the mermaid let go of him. Digory was about to turn and shout at Polly for throwing stones or whatever she had done to scare away his new friend, but a loud screeching rent the air, and small but sharp objects began to crash into the water. The mermaid screamed and shook her fist at the unseen enemy, then turned and swam away from what Digory finally realized were handmade arrows.
"Digory, you nincompoop, run!" Polly yelled from the shore.
He didn't need to be told twice. Shielding his head from the makeshift missiles, he slogged through the water and stumbled onto the sand, tripping once or twice before he managed to make it to Polly and grab her by the hand.
"I wish we had stayed in London!" he forced out, jumping with her over a fallen log.
From behind them, there came a loud, rather obnoxious birdcall, almost like a crowing rooster. "After them, boys! Take no prisoners!"
Polly let out a whimper and widened her paces. "Let's to the trees," she said breathlessly. "We might lose them in there!"
Digory had no breath left with which to reply, so he only nodded, ducked his head, and plunged with her right into the underbrush. Almost instantly, the sounds of their pursuers were muted, and Polly's gasping breaths seemed twice as loud in comparison.
"Do you think we lost them?" Digory whispered.
Polly shook her head, and together they hurried further into the foliage, so intent on their escape that they didn't realize that the terrain was gradually sloping upwards: they were headed into the mountains.
Suddenly, from right behind Digory, there was a loud crash, a voice called out triumphantly, "I think I've got 'em, Peter!" and the whole wood was filled with whooping and hollering.
Digory felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and despite Polly's admonitions of "I think we've just got to face this like men, you know," dropped to his knees and wiggled into the contorted roots of an old, purple-leaved tree. Polly joined him in a moment, dirty-faced and rather annoyed that Digory (of all people) would choose now to be a namby-pampy.
"I don't know why—" she began, but Digory shushed her desperately, and so they waited in silence. Their pursuers were good, that much he had to admit. Only the occasional "Not here!" and broken twig gave away their positions.
There came another obnoxious rooster call. "I know you're around here somewhere," cried the voice. "You're not supposed to ruin the fun by hiding, you know! It's not fair."
"I can't help but feel," said Polly in a low voice, despite Digory's silent gestures, "that they're just playing."
"'Playing'?" he hissed. "They shot at us with—with arrows, Polly!"
"They're laughing."
"They're loonies."
She glared at him. "Well, as a wise boy once said, 'if you're too boring to come, you can just stay here.'" And so, without further ado, she crawled out of the hiding spot.
Digory covered his eyes, though it was less with fear of seeing bloodshed than with guilt. Polly had been such a brick—she hadn't deserved his abuse, not one bit! He couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for himself, if only for a minute; as wet and dreary as London seemed, he rather missed it.
"Aha!" came the rooster-calling voice. "I knew you were in there somewhere. Are you going to come quietly or not?"
"Not, I think," said Polly. Peeking out, Digory could just see her shoes, scuffed and dusty from all the unladylike activity they had seen.
"Oh?"
"Yes. I'd rather like it if you'd come down from there and talk to me like a civilized person, too, rather than flitting about in that unseemly manner."
Digory could bear it no longer. If he sprawled on his stomach, he could just see Polly and the person she was talking to, and so he did just that. It was a boy his age, or thereabouts, dressed in the most curious outfit of green vines and cobwebs, and with a jaunty cap of the same material perched on his head. Crowded around him, peering at Polly from over his shoulder and around his ankles, were five or six rag-tag little boys, all garbed in the same uniform as the speaker.
"Much better," Polly was saying. "Now I feel quite more comfortable."
The boy in green walked around her, staring quite openly. Digory couldn't help but get the impression that he wasn't stepping on the ground as much as just skimming it with his toes; but that was quite crazy—children can't fly!
"You're not a redskin," he said.
"Well, I should think not," said Polly indignantly. "I'm from London."
"What's…Lon-Don?" asked the green boy.
"It's a city," she explained.
"I've never been there."
"You should go, someday. Quite lovely. But, who are you?"
He grinned crookedly. "I'm Peter Pan. Who're you?"
"Polly," said Polly stoutly. "And this is Digory." And she reached down and pulled at Digory's hand until he had no choice but to crawl out of his hiding spot and stand rather awkwardly in front of the motley crew.
"'Ello, Digory," they all chorused with such a wave of enthusiasm that he had to take a step back.
Peter Pan stared at them, picking his teeth with a twig. "You're not from 'round here, are you?"
"Not at all," Polly answered.
As if that settled it, Peter Pan put his hands on his hips and nodded to his followers. "They'll have to stay with us, boys!"
The wild band cheered, Polly's face lit up, but Digory's heart fell. "But Polly," he whispered, "what about Narnia?"
"Oh." The glint in Polly's eyes went out. "I'd quite forgotten. I guess…well, it just seems like we won't ever get there, not at this rate."
"Get where?" said Peter Pan. Digory realized with a start that somehow, the boy had thwarted the law of gravity and was hovering right above them, his hat dangerously close to falling off of his head and landing on Polly's.
"Nowhere," said Digory at the same time Polly said, "Narnia."
"Never heard of it," said Peter Pan.
"Well, we want to get there," said Polly. "Do you know how we might get off?"
Peter Pan tilted his head. "Get off what?"
"This island," Digory broke in.
"Why would you want to get off Never-Land?"
This question was posited by one of the scruffy-looking boys, but all the others, including Peter Pan, nodded emphatically.
"It's not so much that we want to get off Never-Land," said Polly politely, "as it is we want to get to Narnia."
Peter Pan flitted about their heads (quite irritatingly, in Digory's opinion). "I suppose that isn't so bad. But I still don't—"
He paused very suddenly, putting his head to one side and apparently listening very intently to something close by.
"I told you," said Digory to Polly, "he's a loony!"
She shushed him as Peter's eyebrows went up. "Tink!" he crowed. "That's brilliant!"
The rag-tag boys gasped and applauded.
"What's brilliant?" asked Digory. "And who's 'Tink'?"
Peter Pan ignored him. "Here's what we'll do," he said, bobbing excitedly in midair. "Fairy dust! Tink will give you some, and you'll fly to Narnia. You know the way?"
"I think," said Polly rather uncertainly. "South?"
Clapping his hands, Peter Pan said, "Then it's settled! Tink—if you please."
Digory wanted desperately to grab Polly's hand and run as fast as he possibly could far away from these strange people, but before he could, there was a tickling sensation at his nose and then all down his back, and he shivered.
"The way you learn to fly," Peter Pan said, flipping upside down and tucking his arms behind his head, "is fairy dust, and your favorite, most happiest memories. Go on, think of them!"
Digory felt quite foolish. Indeed, it is very hard to think of anything at all when you have ten strangers staring expectantly at you, not least one's closest, fondest memories.
But gradually, the less he thought about it, the more he remembered—the day he met Polly and began to have fun again—seeing the Great Lion for the first time—flying on Fledge's back—his mother sitting up in bed for the first time.
Polly gasped. "Digory!"
He then realized that, instead of standing with his feet planted on the ground, he was suspended in midair! Polly was hovering next to him, her bow lifting and settling as she bobbed up and down, holding her arms out like a pair of wings.
"You don't need to do that, you know," said Peter Pan airily, stretching out on his back and drifting past.
Digory started to tilt sideways. "Well, how does one fly, then?"
"You just…fly!"
The advice didn't help Digory at all, but then Polly was suddenly soaring far above his head, laughing and whooping and knocking leaves off of their branches. He was very jealous in that moment, and kicked out with his legs as though he were swimming in his bathtub, and whoosh! he shot upwards.
"You've got the idea!" called Peter Pan.
"Is this all we do?" Polly asked, leaning back as if she were settling into an exceptionally soft feather mattress. "I mean, to get to Narnia and all."
Peter Pan zipped up to hover over Polly. "Why, sure! Although…are you absolutely, positively, definitely sure you won't stay in Never-Land?"
"Absolutely, positively, definitely," Polly said firmly, looking over at Digory with a nod.
"Then tally-ho!"
Peter Pan saluted jauntily, and as if they were of one mind, Digory and Polly pushed themselves higher and higher into the sky, pushing aside the branches of trees until, finally—they broke out into warm sunshine.
"To Narnia?" Digory asked.
"To Narnia!" Polly cried, then took his hand and pulled him with her towards the wide expanse of glittering sea.