Celandine by Steve Augarde Page A

to show that she would not harm them, that they could trust her, that she would bring no danger. She looked down at Pato, still standing defensively before her, still holding his trident – Freddie’s trident – in readiness. His small brown face looked battered, weather-worn by summer sun and winter wind. Celandine caught a glimpse of the nature of this miraculous world she had tumbled into, though it seemed more a world of hardship than of miracles.
    It was overwhelming – too much to take in – and she must go away and think about it all, if they would only let her. She had to find the right words.
    ‘Do you know what a promise is?’ Celandine looked down into Pato’s eyes and spoke slowly and quietly. ‘A promise? A . . . a vow?’
    She thought she saw a flicker of recognition there, and although there was silence for a long moment, he eventually replied.
    ‘I knows what a vow be.’
    ‘Then if I made a vow to you, would you believe me? If I vowed that I should never tell . . . if I vowed that I should never say
anything
 . . . not to anybody . . . about this . . . about you being here . . . would you believe me? Because that’s what I
do
vow. I shall never tell. Not if I live to be a hundred – I shall never, ever, tell.’
    She saw Pato shift his barefoot stance a little, saw him look sideways at his companions. One or two of them shook their heads. He returned her gaze once more, searching, it seemed to her, for a way out of this.
    Celandine tried again. ‘I know . . . well, I
think
I know . . . what you must be thinking. You must be thinking that if you let me go, I might bring others here. But I never would. I promise . . .’
    ‘You brought another ’un here afore. I saw ’ee. I saw ’ee the fust time, and I saw ’ee agin – wi’ another. Long-seasons since.’
    ‘I’m sorry – what did you say?’
    ‘I saw ’ee afore. Yere wi’ another – arter a way in yere.’
    ‘After a way in here? Looking for a way in, you mean?’ Of course. With Freddie. She’d forgotten all about that. ‘But that was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I was only a child then. We were just playing . . .’
    ‘A child? A chi’? What bist now, if not a chi’? And why were t’other ’un yere, if thee hadn’t already told ’un what thee saw? Now what good’s this
vow
o’ yourn, if ’tis already broke?’
    He was right. What earthly good was it to promise not to tell, when she had already done so?
    ‘Yes,’ she said, and hung her head for a few moments. ‘It’s true. I thought everybody knew you were here. I was only young. I asked them who you were. They didn’t know what I meant, so I told what I saw. I told . . . my brother . . . and my mother . . . and . . . well, it doesn’t matter. They didn’t believe me, anyway.’ Celandine wanted so badly to explain, and it was an effort to remember to speak slowly. ‘They thought it was just a story . . .’ This was no good at all and she felt miserably at a loss as to how to continue.

    ‘A story? Wass that – a tale?’ Pato looked about at his companions and, most surprisingly, they all grinned.
    ‘There’ve been many a tale about we, I reckons,’ said Pato. ‘And few enough believed, thanks be. No. Thee won’t be the fust as’ve see’d us, nor the last neither.’ His face grew serious once more. ‘But thee’m the fust as’ve come in yere, and thass the worry, see. Thass the worry. ’Tis one thing to tell as how ’ee see’d us, but ’tis another to tell where we be.’
    ‘Oh, but I wouldn’t! I promise I wouldn’t.’
    ‘Thass another vow, is it? Well, thee med take thee vows, maidy, and put ’em somewhere safe – and we s’ll take our chance as we always must. Away with ’ee, I say. ’Tis more sense to let ’ee go than to make ’ee stay.’
    ‘She wouldn’t be yere at all, if ’twasn’t for that young zawney o’ yourn, Pato.’ The one with the window-hook spoke, and his