The Ogre of Oglefort

But when they walked into kitchen, the Hag told them that Ulf had taken the little dog to the forest and probably wouldn’t be back for a while. The evenings were long and light still, and there was no sign of Charlie or Ulf at the time they usually went to bed. Ivo had gone to his room, and Mirella was just saying good night when there was a scratching at the door, and when they opened it, Charlie rushed into the room—tired, happy, muddy, and ready to share his busy day in the forest.

The children looked at each other. Time to begin. So far Charlie’s barks had sounded as they always did, but it had been the same with the others at first—the gnu’s grunts, the aye-aye’s screeches had taken a moment to become understandable as human speech.

“Charlie,” said Mirella very seriously, taking the plunge and looking into the dog’s eyes. “We’re able to understand the language of animals now, so would you tell us who you are? Or rather who you used to be.”

And they waited, holding their breath.

But whoever Charlie had been, it was obviously not someone very quick on the uptake. He wriggled free of Mirella’s grasp and began to play his favorite game, leaping over the footstool and waiting for them to catch him.

“Please, Charlie,” said Mirella, “speak to us. Tell us about your past. We have to know.”

Charlie rolled on his back and let his paws go limp, ready to have his tummy tickled.

But the children felt they had to go through with it now—and how could they scratch the stomach of someone who might presently tell them that he was a High Court judge?

“Charlie, please try,” Mirella begged again.

But it was no use, and now Charlie had jumped onto the bed and begun his evening rearrangement of Ivo’s pillows.

“Of course,” said Ivo suddenly. “I know what’s gone wrong! All those magic things usually stop working after the sun has gone down. And it has gone down—look—there’s not a ray to be seen.”

Mirella ran to the window, and it was true. The evening star had just risen on a darkening sky.

“We’ll have to wait till the morning,” said Ivo.

The relief was tremendous. Neither of the children had admitted how frightened they were of hearing Charlie’s story.

So Mirella said good night and went along to her room, but as she passed the open door of Dr. Brainsweller’s bedroom, Mirella heard voices.

“Ridiculous person,” said a woman’s voice, “appearing like that and calling him Bri-Bri—and those absurd spectacles. No wonder the poor man gets upset—you did quite right, spinning a web over her face. We’ll have to keep an eye on him—wizards are highly strung, everyone knows that.”

Mirella looked in at the open door. At first she thought the room was empty. Then she looked up at the ceiling where two large spiders were sitting close together and conversing.

Mirella hurried on. She had understood the spiders quite clearly. So what on earth was the matter with the little dog?

She decided to wait till the morning, but as soon as it was light she crept back to Ivo’s room and told him what had happened.

“So it wasn’t that the beans had stopped working, because I understood the spiders as clear as anything.”

They couldn’t make it out. They tried again, asking Charlie simple questions, talking clearly and slowly—but all he did was scratch at the door and indicate that it was time he went out for his morning run.

“We’ll have to go and see the ogre,” said Mirella. “And I don’t care if he’s in a state about his funeral pajamas or the trombone—we’ll make him tell us who Charlie was. Now we’ve started we can’t just stop.”

So they went to see the ogre, who was just finishing his breakfast. They explained about the beans and the animals and demanded to know the truth about Charlie.

The ogre wrinkled his vast forehead.

“Charlie?” he said. “Who’s he?”

“The little white dog. The one who follows us everywhere. You must know who he is. White with a brown patch behind his ear.”

“Oh, him,” said the ogre. “He’s a mongrel. Been around for a while.”

“Yes, but who was he?” said Mirella urgently. “Who was he before you changed him?”

The ogre shrugged. “He wasn’t anybody. He’s just a dog, always has been. Now about the hearse—I think it should have my name on the side and a little poem. The kind you get on gravestones.”

But the children weren’t listening. They were hugging each other, then dancing around the room—and Mirella’s eyes had filled with tears of relief and happiness.

Charlie was a dog. Charlie was himself and nothing else. Charlie was Charlie!

CHAPTER18MUSTERING PRINCES

The Grumblers, who had fled from the dungeon, were on their way back home. They had managed to get a fishing boat to take them to the port of Osterhaven and were waiting for the overnight ferry bound for Great Britain, when Mr. Hummock pointed to a notice on the harbor wall.

“My goodness, look!” he said. “It’s that wretched girl who tried to get ahead of us with the ogre and told us about the blood and the syringes and all that. Princess Mirella.”