Boneland by Alan Garner Page A

here.’
    ‘That’s what I’ve got,’ said Meg.
    ‘Well, I haven’t,’ said Colin. ‘This is as far as I can go.’ He sat on one of the ledges, away from the drop.
    Meg went to the tip of the point and looked down and about her. ‘Wow.’ She spread her arms. ‘Wow! Whee!’
    ‘Please,’ said Colin.
    ‘What a view,’ said Meg. ‘And the wind’s great. I could fly.’
    ‘Don’t,’ said Colin.
    ‘Geronimo!’
    ‘Please come back, Meg.’
    She began to whistle a tune.
    ‘What’s that?’ he said.
    ‘Something we used to sing in the playground at school.’
    ‘I’ve heard it before.’
    ‘I shouldn’t wonder. You were a kid once. We all were.’
    ‘Please come away from there,’ said Colin. ‘You’re making my insteps hurt.’
    Meg turned round, her back to the drop. ‘It can’t harm you,’ she said. ‘The rock has no opinion.’
    ‘Hasn’t it? Please.’
    ‘You great mardy. You’re frit.’ But she came and sat by him and looked to the hills. She hummed the tune.
    ‘What is that?’ said Colin.
    ‘You know,’ she said, and began to sing quietly and slowly.
    ‘The wind, the wind, the wind blows high.
    The rain comes pattering down the sky.
    She is handsome, she is pretty,
    She is the girl of the windy city.
    She has lovers, one, two, three;
    Pray will you tell me who is she?’
    ‘I know it. Somewhere,’ said Colin. ‘Yes. Bert whistled it. But I have heard it before, too.’
    ‘I tell you what,’ said Meg. ‘I’m ready for that lamb.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Colin.
    ‘Come on then. Let’s go. Doesn’t the telescope look good from here?’ Away to the south the structure stood out from the land as a bowl, pointing straight up. ‘What’s it doing?’
    ‘Nothing at the moment,’ said Colin. ‘It’s in the zenith; what we call “parked”.’
    ‘At this distance it’s a goblet, or even a chalice. It could be the Grail.’
    ‘It’s certainly a Questing tool,’ said Colin.
    They left Castle Rock by a shorter way and came to Church Quarry from the side and down a path to the hut. Colin hung up his gown and opened the oven door.
    ‘Mm. Smells delicious,’ said Meg.
    Colin tried the meat with a fork. ‘Perfect.’ He lifted it out and set it to stand.
    The table was already laid.
    ‘I like your silver,’ said Meg.
    ‘It needs to be used.’
    ‘Couldn’t agree more. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, that’s my motto.’
    Colin put an oil lamp on the table. He lifted off the globe of frosted glass, and removed the clear chimney. He set them side by side and took a pair of scissors and trimmed the two wicks, lit them, and turned them down until they burned a low flame. He left it for a while, then he fitted the chimney back on.
    ‘What I can’t stomach about period films,’ he said, ‘is that no one knows how to light a lamp. They’re always flaring and smoking and the top of the chimney’s black with soot. It kills all credibility. You have to start cool, wait for the glass to warm, and turn the wick up gently to give a clear flame. Like—’ He checked that the wicks were level, and lowered the globe over the chimney. ‘—so.’ He chose wood to put on the fire.
    ‘You can’t beat a log fire, can you?’ said Meg. ‘It’s atavistic.’
    ‘And it warms you three times,’ said Colin. ‘Once fetching, once splitting, once burning. But you have to know how to use that over there.’
    ‘Hey. Some axe.’
    ‘Scandinavian. They’re the best. But you can’t fool around with them. If you do, you’re dead.’
    ‘It must be four foot, if it’s an inch.’ Meg went to the corner where the axe stood and put her finger to the edge. ‘Sharp as a razor. I see you keep it greased.’
    ‘If you let it get dull the energy is dissipated through friction,’ said Colin. ‘And if rust takes hold you might as well thump wedges. Here’s another lost art.’ He took sheets of newspaper and rolled each tightly across from corner to corner to make a thin rod. He bent