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She was taking great care not to stare at Tattoo. After all, she knew that no wild animal likes that either. But Tattoo himself was totally bewitched by all the fabulous creatures standing around him. He had never been so happy before. Or so proud, because he knew he had flown fast enough.
‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked Ben. ‘Show it to them!’
Reaching into his backpack, Ben took out the bag containing the feather that Barnabas had given him. When he took it out, it shone like a sunbeam in his hand. It was almost as long as his forearm, but the quill on which all their hopes were set was not much larger than a pencil, and Ànemos looked at it with an expression that was full of hope and doubt at the same time.
‘Quick! Take the feather to Professor Spotiswode!’ Vita told Ben. ‘He’ll dilute the marrow in the quill so that we can paint the eggs with it. And then…’
Vita didn’t end the sentence.
Then they would see what happened.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The Griffin’s Feather
Life is always a rich and steady time when you
are waiting for something to happen or to hatch.
E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
The glaze that Professor Spotiswode was stirring, made from the marrow of the feather – with some egg white and a few drops of resin, as a recipe from ancient Persia specified – shone like gold, almost as brightly as the feather from which it had been taken.
Ben was just leaving the house with Twigleg to take it to the stable when Lola came running over the yard. She was coming from the direction of the runway that Hothbrodd and two other trolls had built in the meadow, in such a way that it disappeared again after take-off and landing.
‘They’re back!’ called Lola in her shrill voice. ‘The troll has just landed! By the heart of all tornadoes, he must have flown like the devil!’
‘Or like Lola Greytail!’ Twigleg whispered.
The news came as a great relief to Ben. It would be wonderful for them all to celebrate together if the feather worked. And if it didn’t they would all need Barnabas’s encouragement. He was the best of helpers in bad times as well as good.
Barnabas himself, of course, was very glad that Hothbrodd had brought them back on time, but he also had another reason to look cheerful when he and the troll came to the stable.
‘Well, if it isn’t Ben Greenbloom!’ he said. ‘I really wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
And then he hugged Ben for a very long time.
Barnabas had shed a great many tears on the plane, but he and Hothbrodd kept that secret to themselves. And they didn’t tell anyone that instead of coming back to MÍMAMEIÐR, Ben had almost stayed with Firedrake. Even Vita and Guinevere didn’t hear about that until many years later.
Of course they all wanted to see whether the magic of the griffin’s feather would really make the Pegasus eggs grow, but Hothbrodd stationed himself at the stable door, and let in only those who had been involved in either looking after the eggs, or searching for the feather. Hothbrodd himself stayed outside, officially to shoo away all the inquisitive impets and nisses who had gathered near the stable. But the troll wasn’t nearly as thick-skinned as he made out, and the fear that the magic of the feather might not work after all was too much for his big troll heart. Tattoo also stayed outside with Winston and Berulu, because a
dragon really did take up too much space. Raskervint didn’t join the crowd for the same reason (and because she very much wanted to talk to Hothbrodd and Tattoo). Gilbert Greytail and his various informants were working on a map of Iceland, and several geese discovered that the idea of the eggs they had protected so carefully being painted with a magical substance made them too nervous to watch.
All the same, it was very crowded in the stable when everyone whom Hothbrodd had allowed in gathered around the nest.
Barnabas had given Guinevere and Ben the job of painting the eggs with the golden paste. Gilbert had let them have two of his best brushes, but it was not a good feeling to see the foals disappear more and more behind the golden glaze. Ànemos snorted so anxiously that Barnabas put an arm around his neck, and after the first few brush strokes Twigleg, finding the suspense too much for his stomach, stole out of the stable.
The others watched with bated breath as the three eggs slowly changed to gold. They really did look golden when Ben had painted the very last drops of the glaze on Synnefo’s egg. They might have been made of that solid precious metal. Only the tapping of their hooves showed that the foals behind the shells were all right.
‘Now they just need warmth!’ said Vita. ‘May I ask you, ladies…?’
The two geese who were down for the next shift were not enthusiastic about the sticky film that gilded their feathers, but finally, resigned to their fate, they settled on the nest.
‘How quickly do you think it will work?’ Ben whispered to Guinevere.
‘Very quickly, I hope!’ she whispered back. ‘It’s terrible not to be able to see the foals! They must be so frightened!’
In spite of all the spectators, it went very quiet in the stable. Terribly quiet.
