The Ogre of Oglefort

But the children had no wish to quarrel. They agreed exactly about what they wanted to do: make the castle gardens grow, stock the larder, tend the land. And perhaps—though they did not put this into words—turn the place into somewhere where people would not want to be changed but would be content to be themselves.

“If only we had more help,” said Ivo as they made their way back to the castle. “The kitchen garden needs digging all over and the rose garden needs mulching and Ulf says we ought to be pruning the trees in the orchard. And the Hag gets so tired.”

“Yes, I know. Maybe the animals could help. People used to use animals on farms.”

“But not hippos or gnus or aye-ayes.”

“No . . . but why not? The gnu could pull a cart; it takes ages to wheelbarrow the stuff to the compost. And the hippo could help us to find out what’s going on in the lake. Catching fish would be a big help.”

“We could ask the ogre a bit more about who the animals were—the gnu and the rest. He might remember.”

But the ogre said he couldn’t remember anything like that, and anyway he was far too busy with the arrangements for the funeral.

“I’ve changed my will again,” he told them. “I’m going to leave the castle to the Aunt-with-the-Ears. I’ve thought about it and I think she’ll do better than the Aunt-with-the-Eyes. She dances, you know. She goes around and around when you play a waltz and her teeth flash, and I think it will be jolly when I’m under the mound to have a dancing aunt about the place, don’t you agree? And what about the hearse, how is that getting on?”

He had also changed pajamas again. Not the ones he was wearing, which were turning a rather messy gray color, but the ones he was going to be buried in.

“I think they should be my silk ones. I shan’t be cold if I’m beside Germania. Oh, and there’s the music for the funeral. I think we want a brass band with lots of trombones—I’ve always been fond of trombones.”

So it was no good trying to get help from the ogre. But in the night Ivo woke and remembered something which made him sit bolt upright and disturb Charlie, who was not at all pleased.

The Norns had given them three presents before they set off on their quest. The sword had been useless, and the foot water hadn’t been much good either. So probably the magic beans which would make whoever ate them understand the language of the animals would turn out to be useless, too.

But not necessarily, and as soon as it got light he ran along to Mirella’s room.

“It’s worth a try,” she said. “Do you want to tell the others?”

“I don’t think so. The Hag will only worry—she’ll think we shouldn’t swallow anything that hasn’t been tried. I know where the beans are—in the suitcase she keeps under her bed.”

“Good. Let’s go for it then,” said Mirella.

The beans in the leather pouch looked small and black and . . . well, like beans.

“I suppose we’ll have to eat one each and at the same time, if we’re both to understand what the animals are saying,” said Ivo.

So they took two beans and put the pouch back in the suitcase, and then they shut Charlie in the kitchen and made their way out of the castle toward the walled garden.

They had decided to talk to the gnu first—and they found him in his usual place, dozing in the greenhouse.

“Well, here goes,” said Ivo. He held the enamel mug under the tap in the wall and swallowed his bean and Mirella swallowed hers.

Then they waited.

“Nothing’s happening,” said Mirella. And then, “No wait. I feel sort of . . . fizzy. No, more light-headed.”

“And my ears are buzzing a bit,” said Ivo.

They walked over to where the gnu was lying. Then together they said, “Good morning.”

The gnu opened his yellow eyes and stared at them. He began to squeal and grunt—and then quite suddenly the grunts turned into “And good morning to you.”

It was an amazing moment. Each word was perfectly clear to them. They could even make out the Scottish accent in which he spoke.

“Could we ask your name?” said Mirella, sounding every inch a princess.

“Certainly,” said the antelope. “I’m Hamish Mac-Laren. And who might you be?”

“I’m Mirella and this is Ivo. You’ll have seen us about.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the gnu. “But it is strange that I can understand you suddenly—and you can understand me. Why is this?”

“We’ve eaten some magic beans,” explained Ivo.

And because the gnu sounded so reliable and sensible, they told him of all their adventures, the illness of the ogre, and what they hoped to do in the gardens and grounds.

And in return, the gnu, in his deep, steady Scottish voice, told them his story.

He had been brought up in the Highlands, the youngest of four brothers. His parents died when he was small and he went to live with his grandfather in his stately home. The older brothers fitted in well—they liked doing all the things that Scottish aristocrats did—hunting and shooting and fishing.

“But I couldn’t take to it,” said Hamish. “The whole place smelled of blood: dead pheasants hanging in the larder, carcasses brought in on litters, dead fish with glazed eyes . . .