Boneland by Alan Garner Page B

the rod into a triangle, leaving the two ends long so that he could turn them back and weave and lock them between the three sides. Then he crumpled a sheet loosely in the grate and laid the triangles on the paper. He built grids of kindling on top at right angles to each other. ‘The secret is to make plenty of room for air.’
    ‘Where did you learn all that palaver with rolling the paper?’ said Meg.
    ‘At the farm, I imagine.’ Colin chose small logs, arranged them above and around the kindling, and lit the loose paper. ‘The rule is, “One log can’t burn. Two logs won’t burn. Three logs make a fire.” And mix them. Ash, thorn and oak are best, if it’s heat you want. Birch, holly and fir for brightness.’
    The rolled sheets were red, and blue flame spurted from their ends. The kindling caught.
    ‘Brilliant,’ said Meg. ‘Strange how things often come in threes, isn’t it?’
    ‘Simple physics, in this case.’
    ‘But who worked out the trinities? Ash, thorn, oak. Birch, holly, fir. Timber. Logs. Firelighters.’
    ‘Empirical pragmatism,’ said Colin. ‘Nothing mystical or esoteric; though some would have it so. Now let’s have a whiff of adventure, shall we?’ He fitted a head torch on his brow and opened the door.
    The hut sat in a corner of the quarry, and at the junction of the two sides was a tunnel into the rock. It had a gate of iron bars. He unlocked the gate and pushed it open.
    ‘I want to show you something special. I think there’ll be enough daylight. There it is. Look along the wall near the floor to the right. What can you see?’
    ‘Rock,’ said Meg.
    ‘What’s on the rock, just at the edge of darkness?’
    ‘Oh, yes! It’s beautiful! The rock’s glowing. Green. Green jewels.’
    ‘Go and touch them.’
    Meg went into the tunnel.
    ‘They’ve scarpered! There’s nothing here!’
    ‘Come back to the entrance and look again,’ said Colin.
    ‘Yes! I can see them! What is it?’
    ‘Goblin gold,’ said Colin. ‘More correctly,
Schistostega pennata
. It’s a moss; quite rare. It grows at the limit of photosynthesis, where there’s no competition. The effect’s caused by the protonemata, which have adapted to capture the light in a narrow focus; a bit like cats’ eyes on a road. So when you’re at the right distance and angle they reflect. But when you go up close they appear to vanish; hence the popular name.’
    ‘You’re a rum little devil, our Colin,’ said Meg.
    ‘Party tricks. I don’t really “know” very much, if anything, at all.’
    ‘Well, you know more than me.’
    ‘Don’t we all tend to dismiss our own areas of expertise?’
    Meg looked at him. ‘Now that’s insight. Though I still don’t see why an astrophysicist needs to know about moss. You’re daft, but you’re not stupid.’
    ‘The electro-magnetic spectrum is what’s in common,’ said Colin. ‘Now let’s get ourselves something to complement the meal.’
    He stepped up into the tunnel and switched on his torch.
    ‘What is this?’ said Meg.
    ‘Questions, always questions,’ said Colin. ‘It’s a trial adit to test the quality of the rock. It runs along the horizon between the conglomerate and the dimension stone.’
    ‘So the next question is: what’s dimension stone?’
    Colin laughed. ‘Now that is a very good question. Which is it? Eighth? Ninth? Eleventh? Twelfth? Nth? Who can tell? But it’s only the term the quarrymen used for the fine unlaminated sandstones that cut well in all directions. They drove the adit to see whether it was worth extending the quarry. It wasn’t; so they stopped after twenty-seven metres. But it still has its worth. It makes an excellent cellar. Come along.’
    ‘The way the pebbles catch the light,’ said Meg. ‘They’re big, too.’
    ‘Yes; and fine specimens. But we need to be further in, where it’s darker.’
    The entrance to the adit was round and wide, and became a narrower slot where Colin had to stoop.
    ‘Here should be