13. The Source of The Mysterious.
Another dawn came to Neverland, and another breakfast time -- which meant another adventure, or two or three, were sure to take shape.
Michael jumped out of his hammock onto the bed below, roused his sister in the room next door, and went to breakfast. The twins were at it when he sat down, and their conversation didn't make sense to Michael. They seemed to be talking about Mrs. Ippy's source.
"Who's Mrs. Ippy?" asked Michael.
"It's a river, lad. We're talking rivers. It took great explorers to find the top end o' the Nile, and the Amazon, and probably the Thames too. We've got time and talent here, so we're going to follow a hunch and go looking up the source of the Mysterious River, the great waterway of Neverland."
"Why do they call it mysterious?" asked Michael.
"That's 'cos nobody knows where it comes from, exactly. It pops up on the plain below Pillow Hill. If it's from the lakes on Headboard Ridge and the hill, how does it get there? There's no waterfall from the lakes down to the river."
The other twin agreed. "It just... starts," he said, making a welling-up gesture with both hands.
"So how do you think it... starts?" said Michael, repeating the gesture.
"Mysteriously," said a twin.
"Yup, mysteriously," agreed the other. "But we think it might be underground caverns from the lakes. That would do it. So, now Peter's house is finished and we have some time for a holiday, we plan to find a cave over there, near where it... starts," gesturing again.
"We're off to spelunk!" said the first. "Haven't gone spelunking in years. Hopefully we won't get lost this time."
"Not to worry, mate. If we get lost, we'd only end up back here anyway, right?"
"Oo, right. Sounds like a plan, then. It'll be just like looking for the source of the Nile, only no crocodiles. Shall we?"
"We shall. I think we deserve it for our hard work."
A yawning Melicent had plopped down in a chair by the twins, eyes half-open. "Could I ask you a question, too?"
"You just did," answered a wide-awake twin. "So in my estimation, you could, yep."
"Oh. Well, could I ask another one?"
"You did, again," answered the other twin. "So it's yep again."
"So could I... oh. Um, I'm going to ask you a question."
"I'm sure you are," said one twin.. "You've asked two very good questions already. What's one more, as enlightening as the other two. Certainly. Go right ahead, dear."
"One thing was missing in Wendy's book. Since I came, I still haven't heard the answer. Could you tell me, please -- what are your names?"
The twins looked at each other. "Now there's a stumper. Bit of a long story to answerin' that, eh?" said one.
"Well, since she asked, I s'pose we should fill'er in," the other suggested.
"I s'pose there's nothin' for it. Tell her, in all its glory."
"Of course. Melicent, old girl, it's like this. We... were born.. identical... twins."
He paused, as though the question had been answered, and sipped his tea. The other twin nodded, sipping also.
"I got that part," she observed. "And...?"
"Ooh, and we were born in two different countries," said one.
"And in two different years," said the other.
They paused again, sipping tea, and nodding as though the matter was settled.
Michael, who enjoyed winding his sister up from time to time, watched amused as the twins did it without even fibbing, just pausing. He was studying at the feet of two masters of the art.
"Pardon?" said our sleepy heroine.
"What? Ooh, yes! Well, our parents were on holiday in France, and headin' home on the Weymouth steamer on New Year's Eve. It was a bouncy run for Mum."
"Yeah, very bouncy, with those waves and all. Poor Mum. So almost halfways across the channel, in French waters, I was born before midnight..."
"And a half-hour later, in English waters, I was born past midnight."
"Okay so far," said Melicent the not-a-twin.
"So I was born in France on 31 December 1872..."
"...and I was born in England on 1 January 1873."
Melicent, coming a little more awake, chuckled. "So that's why you were having cake and punch when I first met you! I'm late with it, but happy birthday!"
"Thank y', Missy." Another pause, more tea, more nodding.
"Um... about your names?"
"Ooh, yes. Well, here we were, identical twins, and yet, by birth we were as different as night and day."
"So when they went to name us, they named us --
".. Night..."
".. and Day. Does that answer your question?"
"Yes, thank you! Those are very nice names. Uh.. I'm almost afraid to ask, but what was your family name?"
"Tyme," they said together.
She laughed. "Night Tyme and Day Tyme! I love it! And how can I tell you apart next time I see you, so I call you by your proper names?"
"You can't," said one. "Even now, we're still identical."
"And we like it that way," said the other. "So do like everybody else. Just call us..."
"...the Twins," said both.
The others in the room were glad to play Confuse-a-Child too, which was always just for the fun of it. "Hmmm," said Tootles by the kitchen window. "Looks like it'll snow."
"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that,"answered Nibs, munching. "Peter needs a wet cellar."
"Right. And I need another beehive. Good time for a snowstorm."
Melicent looked at them, blankly, and summed it up in one word. "Huh?"
Nibs turned. "Sorry. See that, will you? I've already forgotten you're new around here! The snow seems to follow the Vikings around the sea; don't know why. So if it snows around here, that means the Vikings are coming. So Tootles can get a beehive, and Peter can get a wet cellar."
More pausing and nodding. "Another huh?"
Tootles chuckled. "City kids! Okay, let's explain. I'm a baker. A beehive, for me, is a dome-shaped outdoor oven. I'd be able to make more bread and pies if I had another one. And a wet cellar is a place to store milk, butter and whatnot for a long time. Peter needs one for the new house, 'cos they hain't got ice boxes here, y'know. That's why the girls have to shop for fresh food every day. Now the Vikings know how to build some very nice stone chambers. Sooo..."
Melicent's eyes darted about as she thought it over. "So you'll just tell them where, and they'll build them for you?"
"Right," said Nibs. "Paying them helps, too."
"Well, the Vikings sound like very nice people, then."
"Don't be fooled, Melicent," said Tootles, getting serious. "There's more to them. They aren't nice all the time, and they aren't all real Vikings. Their leader is a mean one called Denny, and that's not his real name, if you ask me. While you think these "Vikings" are doing you something good, behind your back they're doing something underhanded. Oh, they're coming here for the fair, and they'll build us their little chambers, and it all sounds good, but you watch. In the end, we'll be sorry they came."
"What do they do that's bad?"
"Why, anything they please. You've read Wendy's book, have you? Then mind this: Many of us think their leader George Denny is actually James Hook, the one-time leader of the pirates!"
"That can't be. The book says Peter kicked Captain Hook into the crocodile's jaws, years ago."
"I know, I know, it sounds impossible. Then again, a lot of things here are impossible, aren't they? What if Hook fought his way out of those vengeful jaws, and is still here?"
"Wouldn't he be really old?" asked Michael.
"Wouldn't I be old? Wouldn't Wendy, and all of us? Wouldn't Peter? Michael, m'boy, they don't call it Neverland for nothing. Time is not so simple a thing around here. Yes, it could very well be Hook again. Watch 'im like a hawk."
-o-
So, as everybody headed off for their day, the twins went spelunking, Nibs and Tootles thought about stone chambers, and Melicent borrowed her little brother to help her set up shop at the fair.
As it was, the first sign she made was for her own booth. On their table at the fair, she put out her shingle, all by itself. Naturally, it said SIGNS. When passers-by asked what in the world it was, Michael told them. Meanwhile, Melicent made Tootles' BAKERY sign, with a drawing of his baker's hat, and they also displayed that. One man wanted to buy it just because it was so pretty and original, but he finally settled for one that said CHANDLER, which was what he was. She didn't know what a Chandler made, and asked him, then added a sketch of a candle.
She soon had to made a PUB (with a mug), a SMITHY (with an anvil), a POTTERY (with pots) and a SHOES (with a boot). There was a PAPER for Nibs (who also made paper for maps and pictures and wrapping fish'n'chips, but she didn't think a picture of a blank piece of paper would help), and several others for the shops in the village.
One proud farmer preferred to be known as an AGRICULTURIST. First she talked to Nibs, to be sure she spelt it right. Then too, it was so long it took two shingles, AGRICUL and TURIST, and she had to mark them on the back so he wouldn't put them up backwards.
Another fellow lived at the first door at the end of the road, and settled for a sign saying 1. That set off a flurry of number sales. Some folks had to go home and count the houses from Number 1 to find out what number they were, as it had never really mattered before. Melicent ran to the village and mapped the street in a few minutes, which made the task easier. She was pleased to discover that Peter's new house would be Number 14, by happy coincidence.
Very few of the coins being used were Slightleigh's. Most were Neverland's simple tokens with a leaf on one side.
After a few hours, they ran out of leftover shingles. Melicent smiled at that; she knew exactly where to send Michael to fetch more, because she had sold one fellow both a 7 and a SHINGLES that morning, and had him on her map. The man brought an assortment of long and short ones, and said she could return any that weren't sold. He was very happy with this new use for his product. (He might have thanked Michael for turning his SHINGLES sign right-side-up, but he never noticed the difference.)
One man raised an good question for Melicent. He owned the vacant land at the end of the street -- that is, just beyond Number 1. He wondered what his number would be if he built a house on it.
That stopped Melicent for a minute. She could say Number 0. But, then, what would happen if another man came along who owned vacant land just beyond Number 0?
She thought about maps and signposts she had seen, and asked the man if he had a compass. He didn't, but went away and asked around. He finally borrowed one from a fisherman friend, then brought it to Melicent.
The compass only raised another question. She saw where the arrow pointed, and looked up at the late afternoon Sun. If this was correct, the compass pointed straight east -- or the Sun was going to set in the southeast in January. Neither possibility made sense. I certainly am in Neverland! she thought.
She found the fisherman who owned the compass. He was no help, because he couldn't read the letters on the compass; he only knew that the needle pointed to their fishing buoy, and home was in the other direction.
Since Tootles was the most educated of the lost boys, she asked him. Judge Tootles wisely ruled that the Sun definitely rose the same way here that it did in England. If east was the direction the compass pointed, so be it; for his second unofficial ruling, he proclaimed that compasses point east in Neverland.
With that, Melicent was ready to make her first street sign. She took a long shingle to the road by number 1, saw that the compass was pointing up the street, and painted:
«-West Road ---- East Road-»
After putting it up on the proper side of the street, she returned the compass and informed the landowner that the village was East Road, and his future house would be Number 1, West Road. He was very happy at being Number 1 at something, rather than being nought or less than nothing, and bought a 1, West sign for the vacant land to that effect.
-o-
The snow began gently in late morning, building to a localised rain-snow squall over the shoreline by mid-afternoon. Peter and the young boys knew when it was time. Bundling himself up in a warm blanket, Michael left Melicent and went with them to the stormy shore.
It was quite a show. The tide was high, rocking the pirate ship from side to side, wildly, and the floating docks heaved with every wave. But the most dramatic sight was offshore. A few miles out, bound directly towards them, a Viking ship climbed high and fell deep with each wave.
"The helmsman 'uld be swept off the deck in these seas," said one boy. "Bet they've got him lashed to the rail."
"If I was going to grow up," said another, "that's what I'd want to be. A Viking! Or a pirate, one of the two." "Yeah," agreed several. "They should be over the reef and anchoring soon," said the first, "and coming ashore for the fair and the pub. We can play Vikings and Pirates later! Maybe we can row out to see the ship tomorrow."
Michael nodded to all this, knew he'd be a Viking back home, if the toy shop in London had a set of Vikings for his birthday in March.
-o-
After only a few hours, Melicent's sign business had slowed up considerably, as almost everyone who could want a sign now had one. However, in late afternoon two Vikings finally arrived, the first off the ship to reach the fair. Among others, they were looking for the signmaker!
They asked for signs reading GOKSTAD and DUCHESS, but on wooden boards, much larger than a little shingle. Denny had written out the words (thank heavens!), and gave her the dimensions and colours, all of which impressed Melicent. She promised Michael would deliver them in a day or two.
"What's a Gokstad?" she wondered out loud.
"That's the name of their ship," answered her returning brother, who had waited to see the Vikings come ashore.
"Viking ships have name signs on them?"
"They will now! Maybe they saw your Lily Pad sign and got jealous." That referred to the boys' rowboat in the lagoon which now had a shingle reading H.M.S. LILY PAD (with a picture of a frog) on the stern.
"Then, what's Duchess?"
"That's the old pirate ship."
"But that's not his ship. Why would he want to put a sign on it?"
"Don't know."
We'll find out, won't we? But first, the Duchess has another role to play, and the story was unfolding at that very minute.
The snow had let up, and it was a bright day again. Peter and the boys were on the deck of the Duchess, swinging from the ropes and pretend-dueling. It was the Vikings versus the Pirates, and the battle went back and forth, until a boy noticed something odd off shore, and everything came to a halt.
It was a rowboat, adrift... and it looked like someone was slumped inside.
Our lost oarsman had become another foundling in Neverland.