Book I Chapter 15 The Twilight of Magic by Hugh Lofting
The King listens to the shell
The royal command quieted the uproar in an instant. But Giles, now too scared and breathless to speak himself, felt the shell burn in his hand as the hundreds of onlookers put their heads together and whispered about him and his mad deed.
The King patted the neck of the beautiful white horse, which was still tossing its head and snorting nervously.
‘There, there, Africa,’ he was saying, as though talking to a baby. ‘Everything’s all right now. Settle down, my beauty, settle down.’
In silence His Majesty straightened the cap on his head and threw away his broken riding-whip. Instantly one of the noblemen moved forward and gave him his.
‘Listen, young man,’ said the King at length, looking at Giles with a slight frown. ‘You mustn’t jump out suddenly in front of horses like that, you know. You wouldn’t like it, if you were a horse. You gave my Africa a fine fright. What do you want? What’s that in your hand there?’
‘Sh-sh-sh-shell, Your Majesty,’ the boy stuttered out at last.
‘A shell!’ said the King. ‘You risked your neck and scared us all like that for a shell!’
‘I—I—I wanted to give it to you,’ said Giles.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ said the King, a sort of half-smile lurking round his mouth. ‘But what am I to do with it?’
At last Giles, encouraged by the King’s manner, found his tongue. And in a moment he was talking away as though his life depended upon it.
‘It’s a whispering shell, Your Majesty. If you keep it in your pocket it grows warm when anyone speaks of you—anyone anywhere in the world. And if you take it out and listen while it’s hot you’ll hear what’s being said.’
‘Boy,’ said the King, suddenly scowling, ‘if you’re trying to make a fool of me you’ll find yourself in trouble.’
‘Oh, I’m not, Your Majesty, I’m not,’ cried Giles. ‘I beg of you, believe me. I’ve tried it myself and I know.’
The King stared at him hard for a moment. Then he held out his gloved hand.
‘Give it me,’ he commanded.
At that Giles slipped the shell behind his back. And another hushed gasp of astonishment rose from the crowd.
‘Your Majesty—forgive me—I can only do that if you’ll promise me two things.’
‘Saints preserve us!’ muttered someone among the bystanders. ‘He bargains with the King.’
Again His Majesty gave the boy a long, steady look, puzzled. But it ended in another half-smile.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘What are your two conditions?’
‘One is: I must have money. It’s for my father, Your Majesty. He has lost all he has and is about to sell his home to pay his debts.’
‘Oh,’ said the King. ‘So you want to sell me the shell, eh? And what is the other?’
‘The other is that I must have Your Majesty’s promise that you will not ask me where I got the shell.’
‘Indeed! You’re a good business man even if you are small,’ said the King. ‘Very well, then, you have my promise. I’ll pay your father’s debts with two hundred crowns besides. And where the shell came from I will not ask. Now will you give it me?’
‘I thank Your Majesty,’ said Giles with a deep sigh, and he held up the shell.
The King took it in his hand—then instantly dropped it. Giles caught it and gave it back to him.
‘Do not be afraid of the heat, Sir,’ he said. ‘You see so many people are nearly always talking about Your Majesty, that for you it would be warm almost all the time. The more people there are talking, the hotter it grows. But it never gets so hot that it burns the skin.’
The King examined it for a moment and then lifted it slowly to his ear.
‘Oh!’ he said at once. ‘There are so many, many voices. All talking at once. “The King this and the King that.” But I can hardly make anything out plainly. It is all so confused and mixed up. Like a crowd chattering.’
‘Indeed, Sir, that is what it really is: the crowd all about you here whispering and speaking of your escape from accident when I scared your horse. If you will command the people to be silent you will likely hear more clearly. But you will find a better time to listen about midnight, when most folk are abed and only few are talking, even of the King.’
His Majesty seemed now to be quite excited about his new possession and he gave orders to one of the noblemen to bid the crowd be strictly silent. And in the solemn hush that promptly followed he held the shell again to his ear.
‘It is still quite noisy and mixed up,’ Giles heard him mutter . . . ‘Oh, wait now . . . Yes . . . Now I get it . . . Single voices—quite clearly . . .’
Of all the people gathered about the royal party, Giles, standing with his shoulder against the muzzle of the white horse, had the best view of the King’s face. For a long time the slim figure in grey with head bent down to listen was very still. Almost the only sound that could be heard was a gentle pawing on the cobbles—the beautiful Africa was impatient to go a-hunting.
At the beginning, the King’s face had only shown eager smiling interest, almost like a boy trying a new toy to see if it would work. But, as Giles watched, he saw many new expressions pass across it: first a sudden puzzled frown; then, more slowly, a look of horror that changed to anger; next a great sadness, a bereft, almost lonely disappointment; and at last a strange ageing, a hardening, as though in a few moments this gay, handsome youth had grown much, much older.
And Giles knew that the Whispering Shell had brought very serious and important news to the ruler of the land.
But when the King ceased to listen, and raised his head, the crowd saw nothing in his face but proud and calm command. He paused a moment as though thinking out a plan of action. Then he turned and called one of the noblemen to him out of the group behind.
‘Godfrey,’ he said to the young man when he had gained his side, ‘how many have you in this party altogether?’
Although the voices were kept very low, Giles caught every word that was said. The young man (who, Giles afterwards learned, was generally known as Count Godfrey, Keeper of the Great Seal) looked backwards over the line of horsemen before he answered the King.
‘About fifty, all told, Your Majesty.’
‘How many are my men and how many are the Duke’s?’
‘They are all yours, Sire, except the six huntsmen, the Duke’s Head Falconer and the Captain of the Guard.’
‘Good!’ said the King. ‘Send the Captain of the Guard back into the castle on some excuse. Let me see. Tell him to bring me a spare horse. Yes, that’s it. Say I want Midnight, the black mare. Let one of my own grooms ride her. No hurry, you understand. If he overtakes us by midday it will be time enough. Go now and get rid of him. I will await you here. And after you rejoin me, Godfrey, remember if you love me you will stick to my side like a shadow till this day’s over.’
The young man turned and trotted back along the line of standing horsemen. The King remained looking down for a moment at the shell in his hand.
‘Magic?’ he muttered. ‘I thought the days of magic had gone by. Magic or madness?—Or a dream? Yet why not? They still would come to touch me for the King’s evil. Well, there it is: it works. A shell—with a roar of voices in it, instead of the roaring of the sea.’
Then suddenly he handed it back to Giles.
‘But, Your Majesty,’ said the boy, ‘don’t you want to keep it?’
‘Yes, indeed I do,’ said the King. ‘But I want you to carry it for me. I am taking you with us, you see. Can you ride a horse?’
‘Only if he walks, Your Majesty.’
‘Well, never mind. For the present you can ride with Count Godfrey. Get your arms tight around his waist and you won’t fall off. He’s a light weight himself and his horse is stout. Later perhaps you can ride Midnight, my own black mare. You’ll like her. She’s very gentle. Not as fast as my Africa here. But fast enough, clever and sure-footed.—Ah, here comes Count Godfrey back. Now we can start.’