The Elfin Ship by James P. Blaylock Read Free Book Online

had thought to bring wouldn’t be worth much after a few days.
    On the point of rising, Jonathan heard, or thought he heard, a phantom voice mumbling from somewhere far away. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound had come from, but it mumbled along in such low, whispering tones that it seemed the very voice of dread itself. Jonathan sat up very quickly and listened. The voice was still. He determined that somehow the breeze in the rushes had caused the sound, but it was a moment before he thought about being hungry again. Then just as he did, he heard the sound again. It was clearly a voice, somehow muffled. He woke Professor Wurzle, who sat up with a shout, reaching in haste for his awesome weapon. A moment passed before his eyes cleared and he saw that he was on the river adventuring to the sea. Jonathan winked six or eight times meaningfully and pressed his forefinger to his mouth.
    Professor Wurzle was quick to catch on, and the two sat as still as a pair of croquet wickets for the space of a long minute. Just as the Professor began to open his mouth the mysterious sound came again, the MUMBLE MUMBLE MUMBLE that seemed to come from nowhere and yet everywhere, as if it were the spirit of the river or the voices of the lost frogs whispering their dire secrets. Wurzle squinted his eyes and stared away at the tip of Jonathan’s nose for a moment before shoving his ear up against the wooden wall of the hold.
    ‘It’s the bloody dog!’ he cried, leaping to his feet. ‘I swear it!’
    Jonathan was unconvinced, knowing from long experience that Ahab – although he seemed to have the most wonderful sorts of dreams – couldn’t speak. Both men jumped up at the same time and, though the voice had hushed, went creeping around either side of the hold and booted open the door which hung ajar. There on the floor in among the kegs, lay the peaceful Ahab.
    ‘Hello, old Ahab,’ said Jonathan.
    Ahab stood up and, stretching, wandered over. ‘He looks completely innocent,’ Jonathan stated, giving the Professor a look.
    ‘Of course he does, of course he does,’ the Professor replied. ‘It was a little joke of mine. Dogs speaking like men and such. Bit of a joke. Ha-ha! Eh? Rather funny, what?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Jonathan agreed, ‘But we did hear the voice. You don’t suppose, do you … No, I guess not. No,’ continued the Cheeser, ‘that wouldn’t do.’
    ‘What?’ cried the Professor, anxious to hear Jonathan’s explanation and secretly hoping it would be as foolish as his own.
    ‘Do you suppose that a dog might talk in his sleep?’
    ‘Well,’ said the Professor, giving Jonathan a look in turn. ‘No, I don’t suppose he could. At least I can’t see how. I saw a dwarf up in Little Beddlington who had an ape which could shout a poem. But it had to be mesmerized first. Then it would rise up, straight as a mainmast and pipe out “The Madman’s Lament” just as you or I might. Now as a man of science, I never believed such a tale. And yet I’m sure, Cheeser, that in this world of ours, science doesn’t hold the only key; it only unlocks one of the doors – and perhaps the side door at that.’ The Professor looked shrewdly at Jonathan, then philosophically lit his pipe. Jonathan, however, brought the subject back around to his sleep-talking dog theory.
    ‘But I was thinking, Professor, that if a dog had a dream about a man, mightn’t that man say a few words now and again, like men do? And so, if a dog were to talk in his sleep it mightn’t all be dog talk; perhaps the people in his dreams might get a word in now and again.’
    ‘This ape up in Little Beddlington …’ began the Professor. But before old Wurzle could get well into the story of the Beddlington Ape, Jonathan had bolted past the puffing Professor and out the cabin door. The raft had, somehow, worked its way over toward the starboard bank, thick with trees, and with a lurch and a scrape had run aground on a sandbar. Just like