The Story of the Amulet by E. Nesbit (important books to read txt) 📕

“Very well,” said the learned gentleman, now quite certain that he was dreaming.

Anthea held out her soft, pink hand. He took it. She pulled him gently to his feet. Jane held up the Amulet.

“To just outside Atlantis,” said Cyril, and Jane said the Name of Power.

“You owl!” said Robert, “it’s an island. Outside an island’s all water.”

“I won’t go. I won’t,” said the Psammead, kicking and struggling in its bag.

But already the Amulet had grown to a great arch. Cyril pushed the learned gentleman, as undoubtedly the firstborn, through the arch⁠—not into water, but on to a wooden floor, out of doors. The others followed. The Amulet grew smaller again, and there they all were, standing on the deck of a ship whose sailors were busy making her fast with chains to rings on a white quay-side. The rings and the chains were of a metal that shone red-yellow like gold.

Everyone on the ship seemed too busy at first to notice the group of newcomers from Fitzroy Street. Those who seemed to be officers were shouting orders to the men.

They stood and looked across the wide quay to the town that rose beyond it. What they saw was the most beautiful sight any of them had ever seen⁠—or ever dreamed of.

The blue sea sparkled in soft sunlight; little white-capped waves broke softly against the marble breakwaters that guarded the shipping of a great city from the wilderness of winter winds and seas. The quay was of marble, white and sparkling with a veining bright as gold. The city was of marble, red and white. The greater buildings that seemed to be temples and palaces were roofed with what looked like gold and silver, but most of the roofs were of copper that glowed golden-red on the houses on the hills among which the city stood, and shaded into marvellous tints of green and blue and purple where they had been touched by the salt sea spray and the fumes of the dyeing and smelting works of the lower town.

Broad and magnificent flights of marble stairs led up from the quay to a sort of terrace that seemed to run along for miles, and beyond rose the town built on a hill.

The learned gentleman drew a long breath. “Wonderful!” he said, “wonderful!”

“I say, Mr.⁠—what’s your name,” said Robert.

“He means,” said Anthea, with gentle politeness, “that we never can remember your name. I know it’s Mr. De Something.”

“When I was your age I was called Jimmy,” he said timidly. “Would you mind? I should feel more at home in a dream like this if I⁠—Anything that made me seem more like one of you.”

“Thank you⁠—Jimmy,” said Anthea with an effort. It seemed such a cheek to be saying Jimmy to a grown-up man. “Jimmy, dear,” she added, with no effort at all. Jimmy smiled and looked pleased.

But now the ship was made fast, and the Captain had time to notice other things. He came towards them, and he was dressed in the best of all possible dresses for the seafaring life.

“What are you doing here?” he asked rather fiercely. “Do you come to bless or to curse?”

“To bless, of course,” said Cyril. “I’m sorry if it annoys you, but we’re here by magic. We come from the land of the sun-rising,” he went on explanatorily.

“I see,” said the Captain; no one had expected that he would. “I didn’t notice at first, but of course I hope you’re a good omen. It’s needed. And this,” he pointed to the learned gentleman, “your slave, I presume?”

“Not at all,” said Anthea; “he’s a very great man. A sage, don’t they call it? And we want to see all your beautiful city, and your temples and things, and then we shall go back, and he will tell his friend, and his friend will write a book about it.”

“What,” asked the Captain, fingering a rope, “is a book?”

“A record⁠—something written, or,” she added hastily, remembering the Babylonian writing, “or engraved.”

Some sudden impulse of confidence made Jane pluck the Amulet from the neck of her frock.

“Like this,” she said.

The Captain looked at it curiously, but, the other three were relieved to notice, without any of that overwhelming interest which the mere name of it had roused in Egypt and Babylon.

“The stone is of our country,” he said; “and that which is engraved on it, it is like our writing, but I cannot read it. What is the name of your sage?”

“Ji-jimmy,” said Anthea hesitatingly.

The Captain repeated, “Ji-jimmy. Will you land?” he added. “And shall I lead you to the Kings?”

“Look here,” said Robert, “does your King hate strangers?”

“Our Kings are ten,” said the Captain, “and the Royal line, unbroken from Poseidon, the father of us all, has the noble tradition to do honour to strangers if they come in peace.”

“Then lead on, please,” said Robert, “though I should like to see all over your beautiful ship, and sail about in her.”

“That shall be later,” said the Captain; “just now we’re afraid of a storm⁠—do you notice that odd rumbling?”

“That’s nothing, master,” said an old sailor who stood near; “it’s the pilchards coming in, that’s all.”

“Too loud,” said the Captain.

There was a rather anxious pause; then the Captain stepped on to the quay, and the others followed him.

“Do talk to him⁠—Jimmy,” said Anthea as they went; “you can find out all sorts of things for your friend’s book.”

“Please excuse me,” he said earnestly. “If I talk I shall wake up; and besides, I can’t understand what he says.”

No one else could think of anything to say, so that it was in complete silence that they followed the Captain up the marble steps and through the streets of the town. There were streets and shops and houses and markets.

“It’s just like Babylon,” whispered Jane, “only everything’s perfectly different.”

“It’s a great comfort the ten Kings have been properly brought up⁠—to be kind to strangers,” Anthea whispered to Cyril.

“Yes,” he said, “no deepest dungeons here.”

There were no horses or chariots in the