Over the next few days Chip visited Dr. Gwynn’s island several times, and each time found the old man in very good spirits.
One day, as they sat gazing out at the channel, Dr. Gwynn told Chip about the island’s name.
“There’s a great old story, told by the ancient Sumerians. You can read it in English, if you like. It’s the first great hero story ever recorded. It tells of Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, who lost his sidekick and best friend and tried to find him in the other world. He ended up in Tilmun — a paradise island — where he met Utnapishtim, the Babylonian-Sumerian Noah, who had survived a great flood. On his way home, Gilgamesh found the plant of eternal life, but lost it to a serpent when he fell asleep beside a well. All along the hero had been given very good advice: enjoy life while you can! I guess this is Tilmun, I’m Utnapishtim, and you’re Gilgamesh, Chip. And my advice is the same: enjoy life while you can!”
Chip was tempted to ask more, to get Dr. Gwynn to talk about the past, as his father kept urging, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to raise the question.
Later, Dr. Gwynn showed him photographs of some of his expeditions, then Chip played some piano pieces for him — Grieg’s “To Spring” and a few pieces by Ravel. “Now here’s one for you,” he told Sabrina, “‘Butterfly,’ by Grieg.”
“You play beautifully,” she told him when he’d finished, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Chip returned to Freya’s Island quite late each day; he seemed to be walking on air.
“Dr. Gwynn wants to give a dinner for you and Lawson,” he told his parents one morning. “He’s twisting Rachel’s arm to try to get her to do it. He has a very funny relationship with those two servants of his.”
“Speaking of relationships, how’s lover boy doing with the beautiful Sabrina?” Lee asked with a broad smirk.
“You’re a pest, Sis. Couldn’t you get those Queen’s boys to go water-skiing with you?”
“As a matter of fact, May and I are meeting them at the big music bash in Westport next week. Don’t tell me you and Cinderella aren’t going. Or is she getting bored with you and rushing back to see her Paris boyfriend?”
“Now, hold on!” Mr. Mallory cut in. “Stop the sniping! And listen! Just how long do you two think we’re staying here? I hate to say it, but we have to face the fact that this vacation has to end sometime.”
“Oh, come on, John,” Mrs. Mallory said. “It’s really just begun. You’ve only read one Shakespeare play, gloomy old Macbeth, and I’ll bet you haven’t finished A Midsummer Night’s Dream yet, either. Or The Tempest. Surely we can hang around here until the end of next week. It’s free, for goodness sake, and I think, after what we’ve been through, we deserve it. And it’s so nice to see you break away from all that technology.”
“I agree with you there — it’s surprisingly liberating. And of course, I would like to hang around to meet the mysterious doctor. I still have a few questions for him.”
“And don’t forget,” his wife continued, “we’re helping May get settled with Mr. Bascombe. To have her real father acknowledge her after all these years — to take her out of a horrible environment and agree to pay for her to improve her schooling — it’s quite wonderful, and I want to make sure there are no slip-ups.”
“Those Children’s Aid people are lucky they have you helping them,” Mr. Mallory muttered. “Oh, well, I guess I have my whole life to worry about my business. And I am enjoying fixing up the tower. Haven’t done any serious carpentry in years.”
“Sheba wants to go for a walk,” May told them. The dog heard the words and got up quickly, bounding eagerly around the crowded kitchen.
“Chip, why don’t you go with May?” Mrs. Mallory suggested. “There’s plenty of time to get over to see the Gwynns later.”
“Okay, I don’t mind. How about it, May?”
“Sure. Let’s go right now.”
They wandered along the path toward the far side of the island. It was a blazing hot day, humid, and almost oppressive, and by the time they reached the shore, they were drenched in sweat. They collapsed on the rock-strewn turf and lay side by side, breathing heavily and laughing.
May stretched out, kicked off the orange canvas shoes borrowed from Lee, yawned, and ran her long, white fingers through her dark hair.
Chip tossed some loose pebbles into the water.
“Are you happier now, May? You like the idea of staying in Bascombe, going to school and all that stuff?”
“Sure I do. I didn’t have no love for a place everyone else was so down on. Nobody wants to live in a place they call ‘shanty village.’ And my uncle weren’t no bargain, either.”
“No, I guess not. Well, you’re rid of that kind of guy now. But you handled it really well, May. You’re a terrific rider, too.”
The girl laughed. A moment or two passed in silence, then May said, without looking at Chip, “You’re pretty sweet on that Sabrina, ain’t you?”
Chip found himself blushing. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
May laughed again — a tinkling kind of laughter. “And she likes you too, don’t she?”
“I hope so!”
More laughter from May. He stood up suddenly, feeling very uncomfortable, and wondering where their conversation was going.
May drew her legs up and wrapped them round with her arms. She gazed out over the lake. Chip watched her, thinking how great she looked in the green chino shorts she’d borrowed from Lee, with her dark, curly hair all damp, and her white, ribbed T-shirt clinging to her body.
“Well, Chip, if she likes you, maybe she would do you a favour if you was to ask her.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess she would. It depends, of course…”
May got up so quickly that she started him.
“Well, could you just ask her if she’d let me ride Quicksilver sometime? I promise I’d treat him real good and take real good care of him.”
Chip laughed, somewhat relieved. “Oh, is that all? Sure, absolutely, of course, no problem.”
“That’s just great! You want to swim now? It’s awful hot.”
“You mean… You mean in these clothes?”
“Course not! You got something on underneath, don’t you?”
Chip gulped, looked around, and hesitated. Then he said, “Okay, but don’t you dare tell Sabrina about this!”
Chip pulled off his damp T-shirt, unbuckled his jean shorts, and took a few steps across the rocky ledge, pulling his briefs tight around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw May, in her bra and panties, preparing to dive in.
Chip dived under and May followed. The water was cool and soothing. Chip swam out and looked back, May was dogpaddling around and splashing vigorously; she obviously wasn’t much of a swimmer, but she seemed to be enjoying herself.
A figure appeared on the path — a familiar one. Bespectacled, amused, he stopped at the edge of the lake, mopped his brow, cast a glance at the young people’s discarded clothes, then beamed at them.
“Looks like fun,” Lawson shouted.
May looked up, saw the intruder, waved, and went on splashing. His presence didn’t seem to bother her.
“Nice to see you, Lawson,” Chip shouted. “I was just coming in.” Then he added, by way of explanation, “It was hot, so we took the plunge.”
Chip climbed up on the bank, shook himself off, and began to pull his clothes on.
“I hate to interrupt, but I’ve got some news for you.” Lawson gave Chip a look and lowered his voice. “Maybe better that May doesn’t hear.”
Chip felt suddenly anxious. “Okay.”
Lawson waved to May. “Excuse me, young beauty — Chip and I have to talk about something. We’re going to walk toward the house now. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“Sure, I don’t mind. I’ll be coming along in a little while. See you later, Chip. Nice swim. I feel all cooled off now. ”
“Don’t stay here too long by yourself,” Lawson cautioned. “If anybody turns up in a boat, don’t talk to them. Come straight back to the house.”
“I sure will,” she said, still lolling in the water.
Lawson led the way down the path. Chip felt suddenly hot again, and the insects began to strike. It really was humid weather.
When they had tramped a good distance toward the house, Lawson turned, pointed to a stone ledge beside the path, and motioned Chip to sit.
“I’ve got some news for you,” he said. “But first, tell me how it’s going with the Doc. You’re getting on pretty well, I gather.”
“Sure. But where have you been? We haven’t seen much of you.”
“I’ve been busy. I’ve got my own work, you know. Besides, I’ve made a decision to leave the lake. I’m going down to join some friends in New Mexico. I want to get away from this Near Eastern stuff for a while. And I think I’ve done all I can for Doc Gwynn. What’s your impression of him? The dark clouds all gone away?”
Chip considered the question. “Well, he seems pretty happy. He claims not to be having nightmares or visitations, but I’m not sure. He still hasn’t told me anything much about the past. And Lawson, I haven’t had much chance to talk to you about the other night. Dr. Gwynn won’t say anything about Lamashtu or the statue hidden in the clock. He didn’t know it was there, I’m sure, but it’s almost as if he’s afraid to admit that it really existed.”
“That’s understandable, maybe. An old man like that is used to having control. And maybe he wants to protect the memory of his wife.”
“But who did hide the idol there? If it was Mrs. Gwynn, why did she do it? Why didn’t she just destroy the thing?”
“I’m sure it was Freya who put it there. And she didn’t destroy the statue because she wanted to control it. So long as it was under her control, she thought, she and her baby would be safe. So she found spells to make the demon harmless, believing that by wrapping the statue in spells she’d contained the evil. It’s what they used to call ‘primitive’ or ‘magic’ thinking. Then after her baby died, realizing that her plan had failed, she must have willed the clock to Mrs. Jackson, perhaps to get rid of the past and its spells, perhaps to protect her husband from the evil. She must have sensed that she was in a downward spiral, or possibly even envisaged taking her own life. After Mrs. Jackson’s death the clock came back to Dr. Gwynn. A vicious and near-fatal circle, because the spell wasn’t really positive at all! And Freya’s controls didn’t work, since she killed herself and her husband was haunted through the years. The other night I took a chance and assumed that Freya was wrong, that she herself had really created a source of evil, active all these years and ready to do more damage. You might say I released the demon by casting away the statue. It should have been done years ago. And as a matter of fact, Dr. Gwynn had the right idea. Some time ago he searched the attic, looking for the source of his hauntings, and I went with him. We were trying to locate the source of the ‘sendings.’”
“Sendings?”
“Psychical transmissions. Evil spells cast on the mental plane. Yes, we had an idea, and we looked. But the clock seemed inert and harmless then. It just looked like another dusty antique. We were far too sure of ourselves, not fully believing that such things could happen, that a spell could be locked up like that and get power accordingly.”
Lawson gave Chip a serious, almost sombre look. “I figure now it’s time for me to leave this place. All the same, I don’t want to abandon the old man just when he might be failing. Sabrina called me yesterday and told me she thought he was getting weaker and acting a bit more out of it.”
“You can always get back in a hurry if the old man gets real sick, can’t you Lawson?”
“That’s what I think. But listen, kid, there’s something else. I didn’t want May to hear this, but you’ve got to be extra careful. I already warned your parents. The police called me this morning and told me someone with a big boathouse on the shore side had a break-in last night. A motorboat was stolen. They’re thinking maybe that Garth fellow is still around. This is the area he knows and he might be likely to try to stay here.”
“Garth? Why would he steal a boat?”
“Makes him much more mobile, doesn’t it? He can hide out on any of these islands and steal stuff at night. And remember, the police can’t watch those farms all the time, and they think he’s been back there to pick up some things: food, and clothes, and guns, too, because weapons will come in handy if he decides to visit some people he doesn’t like. You or May, who outfoxed him and his pal; or your parents; or even Dr. Gwynn, if he feels like it. Garth Laberge must be pretty desperate by now, and from what I hear, he was always a sick-minded fellow. There’s no telling what he might do if he gets the chance.”