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- Author: Edward Ormondroyd
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Book online «David and the Phoenix by Edward Ormondroyd (e novels to read txt) 📖». Author Edward Ormondroyd
Up ... up ... up.... They crawled through the air. The wings flapped wildly, faster and faster. They were gaining—slipping back—gaining again. The Phoenix sobbed as it stretched its neck in the last effort. Fifty feet ... twenty feet ... ten.... With a tremendous surge of its wings, the Phoenix managed to get one claw over the edge and to seize the branch of a bush in its beak. David's legs slipped from the bird's back. He dangled over the abyss from the outstretched neck, and prayed. The bush saved them. They scrabbled up over the edge, tottered there for an instant, and dropped on the grass.
For a long time they lay gasping and trembling.
At last the Phoenix weakly raised its head. "Puff—well, my boy—puff puff—whew!—very narrow squeak. I—puff—"
David could not answer. The earth reeled under him and would not stop no matter how tightly he clutched the grass.
"Puff—I repeat, I am—puff—an exceedingly powerful flyer. There are few birds—none, I daresay—who—puff—could have done even this much. The truth of the matter is that you are a lot—puff—heavier than you look. I hope you are not being overfed at home?"
"I—I don't know," said David, wondering whether or not he was going to be sick.
"Well, my course is clear," said the Phoenix firmly. "I must practice. Setting-up exercises, roadwork, and what not. Rigorous diet. Lots of sleep. Regular hours. Courage, my dear fellow! We shall do it yet!"
And so for the following week the Phoenix practiced.
Every morning David climbed up to the ledge, bringing sandwiches for himself, cookies for the Phoenix, and a wet towel. Then, while he kept count, the Phoenix did setting-up exercises. After this, the bird would jog trot up and down the ledge and practice jumping. Then there would be a fifteen-minute rest and refreshment period. And when that was over, the Phoenix would launch itself into the air. This was the part David liked best. It was a magnificent sight. The Phoenix dashed back and forth at top speed, wheeled in circles, shot straight up like a rocket—plunged, hovered, looped—rolled, soared, fluttered. Now and then it would swoop back to the ledge beside David and wipe the sweat from its brow.
"I trust you see signs of progress, my boy?"
David would wrap the wet towel around the Phoenix's neck. "You're doing better and better, Phoenix. I especially like that part where you twist over on your back and loop and plunge, all at the same time."
"I do perform that rather well, don't I? It is not easy. But just the thing for acquiring (ouch!) muscle tone. Are there any more cookies? Ah, there are. Delicious! As I was saying, let this be a lesson to you, my boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
The Phoenix would take wing again. And David would settle back against a rock and watch. Sometimes he thought of the education he was to get. Sometimes he thought how nice it would be if he could fly. And sometimes he did not think at all, but just sat with his eyes half shut, feeling the sunlight on his face and listening to the rustle of the wind in the thicket.
At the end of the week the Phoenix, after a brilliant display of acrobatics, landed on the ledge, clasped its wings behind its back, and looked solemnly at David.
"Well, my boy," it said, "I believe your education can begin forthwith. Are you ready?"
4: In Which David and the
Phoenix Go To Visit
the Gryffins, and a
Great Danger Is
Narrowly Averted
A chill raced up and down David's spine as he got to his feet.
"Do—do you think a week's practice is enough?"
"Absolutely, my dear fellow. I am now in the very pink of condition. Not that I was ever out of condition, mind you. It was merely that I—ah—well, to be brief, my boy, I am now ready."
"Yes, but—well, you remember the last time."
"Yes. Look here—if it will make you feel better, suppose we have a trial flight along the ledge."
"Well—all right."
David got up as before on the Phoenix's back. The Phoenix spread its wings and hopped into the air. They glided easily down the length of the ledge, clearing the thicket in the middle by a good two feet.
"There you are, my boy," said the bird proudly, as they landed at the other end. "Shall we go?"
"Let's go," said David, as bravely as he could.
They were in the air again. Once more he felt that rush of wind against his face and heard the pounding of wings. But this time there was no giddy downward swoop. He breathed again and opened his eyes. The world was falling away, and everything on it was growing smaller by the second. The valley could be cradled in two hands; the mountains on either side looked like wrinkles in gray cloth. Now he could see plains in the distance, and little silver threads of rivers. As he looked, the whole world began to revolve slowly. The Phoenix was soaring in a wide circle.
"Well, my boy," it called over its shoulder, "whom shall we visit first?"
"It's really up to you, Phoenix," David shouted back, "but how about the—the—Biffens or Whiffens, or whatever you called them?"
"You mean the Gryffins, Gryffons, and Gryffens, my boy? Very well. We shall visit the Gryffins only, however. It is best to leave the others alone."
The Phoenix swung around and began to fly toward the morning sun with such tremendous speed that David had to crouch down to avoid being blown off. The wind screamed past his ears, tore at his shirt and hair, and made his eyes brim over with tears. It was cold, but he was too excited to care. Below them, plains, rivers, forests, and cities rushed across the face of the earth.
"This is wonderful, Phoenix!" David shouted.
The Phoenix's reply was not clear. "... normal speed ... air stream ... prime days of my youth ..." were the only words David caught, but he could tell from the tone that the Phoenix was pleased.
The view below was not to last long. Within half an hour they had run into a heavy overcast, and for a long time it was like flying through very wet, cold cotton. David glanced down, hoping to see the fog thin out. Suddenly he caught sight of a black object rocketing up toward them. Before he could call out a warning, the thing hurtled by, so close that its backwash very nearly knocked him from the bird's back. The Phoenix reduced speed; and the black object, after banking in a wide curve, came cruising up alongside. David was amazed to see that it was a pale but beautiful lady, dressed all in black, sitting on a broom.
"Hello, Phoenix!" she cried in a teasing voice. "I haven't seen you in ever so long."
"Good morning, I am sure," the Phoenix replied stiffly, staring straight ahead.
"Phoenix," the lady continued coaxingly, "I'm awfully bored. Won't you race me? Please?"
"Idle hands find mischief to do," said the Phoenix severely. "We are making good use of our time, and I suggest that you do the same."
"Don't be so stuffy, Phoenix." She pouted. "Come and race with me. I've got a new broom, and I want to see how good it is. Please!"
"No," said the Phoenix sharply.
"Oh, all right for you!" she said, tossing her head. "You just don't dare, because you know I'll beat your tail feathers off!" And she shot back into the mist below.
"Indeed!" the Phoenix snorted. "Beat my tail feathers off! Ha!"
"Is she a Witch?" David asked.
"Yes, my boy, and a shocking example of the decline of the younger generation. She will come to no good end, believe me. Tail feathers, indeed!"
Just then they burst out of the clouds and into the hot sunlight. Below them, the land was wild and desolate, a vast rolling plain covered for the most part with dry, tawny grass. Here and there were groves of trees drooping beneath the sun. The Phoenix, still snorting indignantly to itself, dropped to within a hundred feet of the ground. They began to soar back and forth.
"Can you see anything, my boy?"
David had never seen a Gryffin, of course; so he was not sure what to look for. But he caught sight of something lying in the shade of a bush and pointed it out to the Phoenix.
"Ah, quite so," the Phoenix said doubtfully. "It does not look like a—but we can take a closer look."
They landed and walked toward the bush. In its shadow sprawled a very untidy animal. Its tail and hindquarters were exactly like those of a panther, its chest and forelegs were like a hawk's, and it had pointed wings. Burrs matted its dusty fur. Its claws were shabby and split, and numerous black flies were crawling over its haunches. The bush trembled with its snoring.
"Bah! We are wasting our time here, my boy. This is a Gryffen. A disgusting brute, isn't it?" And the Phoenix sniffed disapprovingly.
"Maybe if we wake it up," David suggested, "it could tell us where the other ones live."
"Next to impossible. For one thing, a cannon could not awaken the beast. For another thing, it would not, even if awake, be able to tell us anything. You simply cannot imagine the stupidity of these brutes."
"Well, let's try it, anyway," David said.
"Very well, my boy. But it will be a complete waste of time." The Phoenix shrugged its shoulders, stepped up to the Gryffen, and kicked it violently.
"Phoenix!" David cried in alarm. "Don't hurt it!"
"No fear," said the Phoenix, delivering another lusty kick. "One simply cannot damage a sleeping Gryffen. Give me a hand, my boy."
David took hold of the Gryffen's wing, and the Phoenix seized its tail. For the next ten minutes they kicked and pulled and pounded, shouting "HEY!" and "WAKE UP!" at the top of their lungs. It was hot work, and David finally admitted to himself that the Phoenix had been right. But before he could say so, the Phoenix completely lost its temper and savagely bit the Gryffen's tail.
That did it. The Gryffen opened one eye halfway and said, "Unffniph?"
"GET UP!!" the Phoenix bellowed.
The Gryffen struggled into a sitting position and yawned a tremendous and noisy yawn. Then it squinted blearily at David and murmured, "What day is it?"
"Wednesday," David said. "Could you please tell us—"
"Oh, Wednesday," said the Gryffen. It thought about this for a while, mumbling "Wednesday ... Wednesday ..." to itself. It lifted one leg as if to scratch the fly bites, changed its mind in mid-gesture, and dropped the leg again. "Oh, Wednesday," it said at last. "So it isn't Saturday?"
"No," said David. "What we want to know is—"
"Not Saturday," said the Gryffen, sinking down to the ground with a huge sigh of relief. "Ah! Come back on Saturday. Saturday afternoon. I generally get up on Saturday ... in the ... afternoon...." The words faded into a snore.
"There you are, my dear fellow," said the Phoenix. "Just as I said. Oaf! Boor!"
"A very annoying animal," said David angrily.
"I agree, my boy. But the Gryffins are different, I assure you. Now, let me see. Where should we look—"
"There they come!" David cried suddenly. "Look!" And indeed, a number of winged creatures were loping down a hillside toward them.
"Good heavens!" the Phoenix shouted. "Those are the ones we do not want to meet! On my back, quick!"
"What are they?" David gasped
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