THE BREADCRUMB TRAIL.

by Nina Kiriki Hoffman.

Only breadcrumbs mark the trail-.

Breadcrumbs, which the waiting birds Like as much as anything.

When stones led the way home, stones lay undisturbed.

White stones are valued only by themselves and children.

Breadcrumbs invite all the world to eat.

When all we have in our pockets is bread, And we are led into the woods to die, Our only hope of salvation is to follow our own trail home.

All we have is breadcrumbs to mark our trail And night is coming.

We enter this dark forest of the mind Led by the only person that we trust Who leaves us Leaves us here with shadows And witches And dangerous sweets.

We have spent our last bits of home To mark our trail.

Spent, and brought birds who fly away.

Nothing is safe here.

Every shadow hides a tooth.

The sky is dark. The ground is damp.

The trees are too tall to climb.

We scuff up leaves And hide beneath them Hoping for warmth from this place of fear.

In the morning our crumbs are gone.

The tale would lead us deeper into the forest To the house of the witch Who waits for unwary orphans Who offers us food in order to feed Who offers us shelter in order to cage Who teaches us to fear the forest And everything in it.

But we have slept deep and we have dreamed earth.

Last night we left a trail of bread, Brought birds who flew away And left behind Little star-shaped footprints Little four-toed presses Into earth.

Earth can tell us where we walked yesterday For we have left footprints too Where our prints and the birds' lie There is the path we need If we are careful and watchful.

There is the path we can follow, Though it no longer leads to home and safety For at its other end are the ones who left us here.

Still, the trail takes us back to where we started So we can pick our own path next time.

SUSANNA CLARKE.

Susanna Clarke lives in Cambridge, England, where she spends most of her time editing cookbooks and watching people take photographs of food. For her stories she likes to blend history with magic. She is currently working on a novel set in a nineteenth-century Britain where magic is a respectable profession, more or less. Her other stories appear in the anthologies Starlight and Neil Gaiman's Sandman: Book of Dreams.

According to Susanna Clarke "On Lickerish Hill" is set in East Anglia in the seventeenth century, when the distinctions between superstition and scientific investigation were not as clear-cut as they are today. The Brief Lives and Miscellanies of Miranda's "deare Friend," John Aubrey, are full of accounts of fairies and spirit-possession that he got from "eye witnesses." Confusion between the fairies they heard about from their neighbors and the Pharisees in the Bible was commonplace among country people.

ON LICKERISH HILL.

by Susanna Clarke.

When I waz a child I lived at Dr Quince's on the other side of Lickerish Hill. Sometimes in a winters-twilight I have look't out of Dr Quince's windowe and seen Lickerish Hill like a long brown shippe upon a gray sea and I have seen far-awaie lights like silver starres among the dark trees. The Pharisees live there but I never once sawe one.

My mother was mayde and cook to Dr Quince, an ancient and learned gentleman (face, very uglie like the picture of a horse not well done; dry, scantie beard; moist, pale eyes). This good old man quickly perceived what waz hid from my mother: that my naturall Genius inclin'd not to sweeping dairies or baking cakes or spinning or anie of the hundred thinges she wish'd me to know, but to Latin, Greeke and the study of Antiquities, and these he taught me. He alwaies meant that I should learne Hebrew, Geometrie, the Mathematiques, and he would have taught me this yeare but Time putt a trick on him and he died last summer.

The day after the pore old doctor died my mother baked five pies. Now malicious persons will open their mouths and lies will flie out and buzz about the World, but the truth is that those pies (which my mother baked) were curiously small and, for certaine pressing and private reasons of my owne (a Great and Sudden Hunger) I ate them all, which was the cause of a quarrel betweene my mother and me. Angrilie shee foretold that terrible Catastrophes would befall me (povertie, marriage to beggars and gypsies, etc., etc.). But, as Mr Aubrey sayz, such Beautie as mine could not long remain undiscover'd, and so it waz that I married Sir John Sowreston and came to Pipers Hall. Pipers Hall is the loveliest old house-alwaies very smiling in the sunshine. It waz built long ago (I thinke in the time of King Solomon). About the house are many lawns where stand ancient trees that overtop the roofs like Gracious and Gigantique Ladies and Gentlemen from more Heroique Times, all robed in dresses of golden sunlight. Its shadie alleys are carpeted with water-mint and thyme and other sweet-smelling Plantes so that in a summers-twilight when Dafney and I walke there and crush them with our feet 'tis as if an Angell caress't you with his Breath.

Sir John Sowreston is two-and-thirty yeares of age; size, middling; eyes, black; legges, handsome. He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same. Since a boy he haz been afflicted with a Great Sadnesse and Fitts of Black Anger which cause his neighbours, friends and servants to feare him. It is as if some Divinitie, jealous of the Gifts Heav'n haz bestowed on him (Youth, Beautie, Riches, etc., etc.) haz putt an eville Spell on him. There waz a little dogge borne upon our Wedding-daye. At three or four weeks old it would always goe a little sideways when it walked and would climb upon Sir John's shoulder when he sat after dinner and sleep there, as if it loved him extreamlie. But, being frighted by a horse looking in at the windowe, it fouled a coat belonging to Sir John with its excrements and Sir John putte it in a sack and drowned it in the horse-pond. We called it Puzzle because (Dafney sayd) whatsoever happen'd puzzled it sorely. (I thinke it was puzzled why it died.) Now Sir John haz gott three great blacke dogges.

Two months after Sir John and I were married we travelled to Cambridge to seek a cure for Sir John's melancholie from Doctor Richard Blackswann, a very famose Physitian. We took with us a little cristall flask that had some of Sir John's water in it. Dr Blackswann went into a little closet behind a curtain of blacke velvet and prayed upon his knees. The Angell Raphael then appearing in the closet (as commonly happens whenever this doctor prays) peer'd into Sir John's urine. Dr Blackswann told us that the Angell Raphael knew straightway from the colour of it (reddish as if there waz bloude in it) that the cause of Sir John's extreame Want of Spirits was a lack of Learned Conversation. The Angell Raphael said that Sir John muste gather Scholars to his howse to exercise their Braines with Philosophie, Geometric, Rhetorique, Mechanicks etc., etc., and that hearing of their schemes would divert Sir John and make his thoughts to runne in pleasanter courses.

Sir John waz very much pleased with this Scheme and all the way home we sang Ballads together and were so merry that Sir John's three great black dogges raised their voices with us in praise of learned Dr Blackswann and the Angell Raphael.

The evening we came home I waz walking in the garden by myselfe among the Heroique Trees when I met Mrs Sloper, my mother. Mrs Abigail Sloper, widow; person thin and stringy; face the shape of a spoon and the colour of green cheese; cook and nurse to the late Dr Hieronymous Quince; made nervous by Dr Quince's talking Hebrew on purpose to discompose her (she mistook it for incantations)-a cruel Satire on her Ignorance, but I could not gett him to leave off; talkes to herselfe when in a fright; haz two old English Catts (that are white with some blewnesse upon them)-Solomon Grundy (four yeares old) and Blewskin (ten yeares old) and a Cowe called Polly Diddle (one yeare old); in 1675 she buried a little blew pot of shillings at the bottom of Dr Quince's garden, under some redd-currant bushes, but he dying shortly after and the house being sold very suddenly, she was cast into a Great Perplexitie how to recover her monies which she haz not yet resolved.

"Good Evening, mother, my deare," sayz I. "Come into the howse and have some vittles and drinke."

But she would not answer me and cast her Glances all over the garden, a-twisting and a-twisting of her apron. "Oh!" sayz she (with her eyes fix't upon a Beech-tree, so that she seemes to address it). "My daughter'll be so vex't."

"No, I won't," sayz I. "Why are you in such a pickle? Take time, my deare, and tell me what you're afeard of."

But instead of a Replie she rambled about the Garden, complain'd to a Briar-rose that I am Ungrateful to her, told two little Oringe-trees that I doe not love her.

"Oh, mother!" sayz I. "I doe not wish to be angrie, but you will make me so if you doe not tell me what the matter is."

At this she hid her head in her apron; wept very piteously; then suddenly reviv'd.

"Well!" sayz she (apparently to a monument of Kinge Jupiter that look't downe on her with much contempt). "You remember the day after the pore old doctor died I baked five pies and my daughter ate 'em all, first and last!"

"Oh! Mother!" sayz I. "Why doe you perpetuate these old quarrels between us? Those old pies waz such tiddly little thinges!"

"No, they warn't" sayz she to Jupiter (as if he contradicted her). "Howsomediver," sayz she, "I were so vex't an' I muddled about an' I told little old Solomon Grundy and old Blewskin . . . " [she meanes her Catts] " . . . I sayz to 'em, My daughter haz ate five pies today! Five pies! And I lookes up and I sees Sir John Sowreston a-sitting on his hobby-horse-as bewtiful as butter. And he sayz to me, 'What are you a-saying of, Mrs Sloper?' Well! I knowed Sir John Sowreston waz extreamlie in Love with my daughter an' I knowed he'd come to looke at her through the holes in the old Elder-hedge an' I didn't like to say as how my daughter had ate five pies. So I sayz, right sly like, I sayz my daughter haz spun five skeins o' flax today . . . "

"Mother!" sayz I. "You never! You never told Sir John such a lie!"

"Well then," sayz she, "I did. An' there ain't nothing but good come to my daughter a'cos of it. Sir John Sowreston lookes at me with his bewtiful Eyes like two dishes o' Chocolate a-poppin' out of his Head and he sayz to me Stars o' mine! I never heerd o' anyone as could do that! Mrs Sloper, I'll marry your daughter on Sunday.-Fair enough, sayz I, an' shall she have all the vittles she likes to eat and all the gowns she likes to get and all the company she likes to have? Oh yes! sayz he. All o' that. But come the last month o' the first year she must spinne five skeins o' flax every day. Or else . . . "

"Or else what, mother?" sayz I in a Fright.

"Oww!" she cries. "I sayd as how she'd be vex't! I knew she would! I have made her a Grand Ladye with such a bewtiful Husband and all the vittles she likes to eat and all the gowns she likes to get and all the company she likes to have-and her never a bitt grateful. But," she sayz a-tapping herselfe upon the nose and lookinge sly, "no harm will come to my daughter. Sir John Sowreston is still extreamlie in Love an' he haz forgott those old skeins of flax completely . . . "

Then, having vindicated her-selfe in the Opinions of all the rose-bushes and Beech-trees and monuments in the garden, my mother went away againe.

Now Sir John Sowreston does not forget anie thinge and I knew very well that, sure as there are Pharisees on Lickerish Hill, come the first daie of the last month of the first yeare of our marriage, he would aske me for those skeins. I waz very much tempted to sit down and weep oceans of bitter tears but then I thought of the noble and virtuous Roman matrons that Dr Quince told me of, who never wept no matter how great their sufferings; and I thought how I had a very ingeniose head and alwaies a thousand notions flitting about inside it and how I waz besides as beautiful as an Angel!. I dare say, sayz I, there is some verie cunning way to overcome this Fate. And I determined to discouver what it waz very suddenlie.

Sir John went to London to seek out Ingeniose Gentlemen to cure his Melancholie. In this he waz shortly successful for nothing is so agreeable to a Scholar than to goe and stay in a rich man's howse and live at his expense. Mr Aubrey and Sir John Sowreston gott acquainted, and Sir John waz very pressing with Mr Aubrey to come to Pipers Hall and Mr Aubrey who waz pressed another way (Great Debts he could not Pay and Danger of Arrests!), waz glad to come immediately.

Mr Aubrey is writing downe all that he can remember of the customes of former times. He smells of brandy and chalke and is finely spotted all over with Inke. He haz pieces of paper in all his pockets on which he is writing his Histories. He is a Member of the Royal Society. He is my deare Friend. He is putting down all the lives of Great and Ingeniose men so that their Genius may not be forgot. Mr Aubrey sayz that he is like a man plucking out spars and relicks from the Shipwreck of Time and tossing them upon the sand. But, sayz Mr Aubrey, the Waters of Oblivion have the best of it.

For severall years Mr Aubrey haz wish'd to come into this Countie which is stuff't with Ancient Persons who, as Mr Aubrey sayz, may suddenly die and cheat Posterity of their Remembrances, if some Publick-spirited and Ingeniose man does not come and sett them downe; and Mr Aubrey wish'd very much to carry out this Design but was prevented, having no money and no friends residing in this part of the Countrey whom he could suddenly delight by arriving for a good long visit. Mr Aubrey waz once a very rich man with lands; estates; pleasant farmes; cowes; sheepe, etc., etc., and (I thinke) great boxes of silver and gold. But he haz lost it all through Law-suites, Misfortunes and the Unkindnesse of his Relations. Mr Aubrey sayz that nothing so distracts a Scholar or drawes so many teares from a Scholar's head as Law-suites. But, sayz Mr Aubrey, I am now very merry, Miranda, my Troubles are at an end. And he asked me to lend him three pounds.

The other noble Scholars arrived shortly afterwards. They are all very memorablie famose. Mr Meldreth, a sweet, shy gentleman the colour of dust, is for Insects and haz 237 dead ones in a box. Mr Shepreth haz discovered the date upon which the Citie of London waz first built. This, being like to its Birthe-daye, haz enabled him to caste its horoscope: he knowes all its Future. Dr Foxton haz shewne by Irrefutable Arguments that Cornishmen are a kind of Fishe. His beard curles naturallie-a certaine sign of witt.

All winter the Learned Conversation of the Scholars delighted Sir John extreamlie. But it is part of Sir John's Affliction that whatever pleases him best at first, he most detests at last. In spring he began privately to calle them Raskall-Jacks, Rumble-Guts, Drunke, Ungrateful; complain'd that they ate too much, despised their Learning and frowned very blacke upon them at dinner until the poor Scholars had scarcely anie Appetite to date so much as a bit of Breads and all sat with a Kinge of Lowness on their Spirits. Summer came againe and it waz almost a yeare since Sir John and I were married. I tried very hard to conjure a cunning Scheme out of my Head but could think of nothing until the verie last daie.

Upon that daie the Scholars and I were sitting together beneath the great Beeches-tree which stands before the doer of Pipers Hall.

Mr Meldreth sighed. "Gentlemen," he sayz, "We are very poor physic. Poor Sir John is as unhappy as ever he waz."

"True," sayz Mr Shepreth, "but we have made Lady Sowreston . . . " [he meant me] " . . . very merry. She loves to heare our Learned Conversation."

"There is no merit in that," sayz Mr Aubrey. "Miranda is alwaies merry."

"Mr Aubrey," sayz I.

"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.

"'Tis a very curious thinge, Mr Aubrey," sayz I. "I have lived all my life Deare Lickerish Hill, but I never once sawe a Pharisee."

"A Pharisee?" sayz Mr Aubrey. "What doe you Meanes, child?"

"They live on Lickerish Hill," sayz I. "Or under it. I doe not know which. They pinche dairymaids blacke and blows. Other times they Sheepe the floor, drinke the creams and leave silver pennies in shoes. They putte on white capes, Cripe Horse and Mattock, flue through the aire on Bitts of Strawe-generally to the Kinge of France's wine-cellar where they drinke the wine out of silver cups and then off to see a wicked man hanged-which person they may save if they have a minde to it."

"Oh!" sayz Dr Foxton, "'tis Fairies she meanes."

"Yes," sayz I. "That is what I sayd. Pharisees. I have never seen one. Dr Quince haz told me that they are not so common as once they were. Dr Quince haz told me that the Pharisees are leaving and will never more be seen in England. For my-selfe I never sawe one. But many Ancient Persons worthy of Belief have seen them on Lickerish Hill, trooping out of the World on Ragged Ponies, their heads bowed downe with Sadnesse, descending into dark hollows and blows shadowes betwixt the trees. My Opinion is," sayz I, "that there can be no better taske for an Antiquarie than to discouver all he can of the Pharisees and I thinke there can be no better place in all the World to look for Pharisees than Pipers Hall under Lickerish Hill, for that is where they live. Mr Aubrey," sayz I, "Doe you know anie Spells to conjure Pharisees?"

"Oh, several!!" sayz Mr Aubrey "Mr Ashmole (who is a noble Antiquary and haz made the Collection at Oxford) haz putt them downe in his Papers."

"Mr Aubrey," sayz I.

"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.

"Will you shew me the Spells, Mr Aubrey?"

But before he could answer me Mr Meldreth ask'd with a Frowne if they worked?

I doe not knowe," sayz Mr Aubrey.

"Who shall we conjure first?" askes Dr Foxton.

"Titania," sayz Mr Shepreth.

"A common Pharisee," sayz I.

"Why, Miranda?" askes Mr Shepreth.

"Oh!" sayz I. "They can doe a hundred clever thinges. Bake cakes, gather in flockes of sheepe, churne butter, spinne flaxe . . . "

All the Scholars laugh't very much at this.

"So can your mayde, Miranda," sayz Mr Shepreth. "No, 'tis fairie politics we chiefly wish to learn. And for this purpose the Queen is best. Besides," sayz Mr Shepreth, "she may give us presents."

"Tut," sayz Mr Meldreth. "'Tis onlie young men with handsome faces that she woos with presents."

"We are handsome enough," sayz Mr Shepreth.

Dr Foxton sayd that it waz one of the many inconveniences of discoursing with Fairies, that they may at anie moment disappear and so the gentlemen agreed to draw up a list of questions-so that when they discouvered a Fairie willing to speak to them all pertinent questions should be convenient to hand.

Quaere: if the Faeries have anie Religion among them?

Oh! sayd Dr Foxton. There waz a Fairie-woman in Cornwall who heard a Reverend gentleman saying his prayers. She asked him if there were salvation and eternal life for such as shee? No sayd the Reverend gentleman. With a cry of despair she instantly threw herself over a cliff and into the foaming sea. This, sayd Dr Foxton, he gott from a very Pious person who all his life abhorred Lying. Dr Foxton sayd he would not believe it else and Mr Meldreth, who is of a sweet and gentle nature, wept a little to think on't.

Quaere: if they have anie marrying among them?

Mr Shepreth sayd he believed they did not live together like Christians and turtle-doves, but had all their ladyes in common. Tut! sayz Mr Meldreth. Ha! cried Mr Aubrey and wrote it down very fast.

Quaere: if it is true (as some people say) that they are a much-decayed people and not so strong as they used to be?

Quaere: their system of Gouvernment: if a Monarchic or a Cornmonwealthe?

Quaere: if a Monarchic then whether it is true (as we have heerd tell) that the Queen and King of the Pharisees have quarrelled?

Quaere: if it is true that the Queen cannot in one thinge gouverne herselfe?

This went on until the Scholars all fell a-quarrelling, having now gott fortie-two questions to ask the poor Pharisee when they found it and Mr Foxton sayd a Christian could not bear to be so putt upon let alone a Fairie. Mr Aubrey sighed and sayd he would trie to reduce the number.