"The spoor of the Surrey Beast." explained Potkin. "At dusk it can be heard stalking through these woods and the whisper of its breathing silences the birds."
"But only at dusk." asserted Josie, seeking reassurance.
"Mostly." replied Potkin casually.
Josie spent much of the time looking over his shoulder as they moved onwards, and as a consequence twice walked into an inconveniently placed tree. He was also listening intently for heavy breathing, but eventually realised that the eery muffled thumping was his own heart beat. It was a relief when they came upon an aging plank bridge and a clearer path that led uphill away from the river and its menacing undergrowth.
“I think we’ll go this way.” said Potkin.
“So long as we’re still following our noses,” Josie felt it was the right decision, but wanted to be sure they were still following the only advice they had had so far.
As the ground levelled out they came upon a pond hidden amongst the blackberry thickets and long grass. It was round, still and very green with its carpet of duck weed.
“Like a billiard table,” said Josie, who had never seen one, “It looks as if you could walk on it.”
“Want to try?” Potkin countered.
“YoYo Pond,” a voice croaked.
Josie and Potkin looked round and the frog continued, “It’s called YoYo Pond or The Vanishing Pond, because it disappears as soon as you hop away and isn’t there when you hop back.”
“We met a girl like that,” said Josie, “Is it interdimensional?”
“We think she was a fairy,” added Potkin.
“Beats me,” said the frog, “but the people in the pond only age while its here. Some of them are hundreds of years old.”
“People in the pond, what people in the pond?”
“Just people.” Even for a frog he did not philosophise greatly. “If you look down into the water you will see them.”
“I want to see.” squealed Josie, tugging Potkin by the fur, “Come on lets have a look.”
Potkin held back, “I don’t do water, I’ll just stay here.”
Josie stepped up to the edge of the water, parted the cover of green weed with the tip of a paw and peered into the darkness. At first he could see only reflections on the surface, but slowly he began to discern movement below. The world down there was shadowy and indistinct. A mottle of light or dark specks drifted back and forth, plant like shapes wafted in slight, thermally driven currents, something animal darted and lurked. Then Josie noticed the perfectly circular, tiny patch of pale blue far down in the depths. He moved so close that his toes and nose were touching the pond. He stared as hard as he could. It was sky, a circle of sky. He could see clouds and the dot of a skylark. He could hear its song echoing faintly. Tiny, chubby fingers curled at the edge of the circle and a face looked in. A girl child, with curls and a strange form of bonnet was staring up at him with shining, emerald eyes. Her features rippled with excitement.
“Mummy! There’s a pussy cat down the well.”
Josie was tipping forwards. In drawn out slow motion he was plunging. His head swelled and began to spin. His tail twanged taught and he was jerked backwards. Twisting his neck round in amazement Josie could see Potkin tugging with all his might on the tufty, tabby end of his tail.
“OK, OK, I’m back, you’ve saved me.”
“We thought you were going in. What did you see in there?”
“I don’t know, nothing much. I think I came over a bit peculiar.”
“You’ve still got a strange look in your eye. Come away from the edge,” said Potkin in a concerned tone, “Perhaps we should continue on our journey.”
“What’s all the excitement?” asked the frog indifferently as he leaped towards the water.
He landed on his back in a tuft of grass as Potkin and Josie opened their eyes.
“It’s true then. It really does disappear when you’re not looking.”
“You looked away, didn’t you?” the frog croaked angrily, “Now I’ll have to sit here until the pond returns. I really fancied a gentle swim and a juicy larva snack.”
Our grinning and rather self-satisfied adventurers felt it was time to 'hop' off. They were whistling a sea shanty in duet as they swaggered on their way.
Their path led up to a low ridge and then descended into an area of coppiced trees, shrubbery and hedges. A small blue-grey bird was flying just ahead of them chat-chattering in annoyance. A crack of breaking twig echoed loudly from a copse to their right and through the hedge crashed something very unexpected.
A huge black horse wheeled ahead of them, it’s long and equally black, crinkled mane streaming in every direction. Surmounting the horse and struggling to control it, was a towering, darkly uniformed man. A breastplate gleamed. A bright steely helmet topped with a massive, scarlet plume obscured the face.
"Le Blucher est-il arrivé encore? Meard alors! Êtes-vous avec les Allemands?"
“Wha…” said Potkin who had lost the use of all his limbs and the power of speech.
“Parlez vous Anglataire? Je ne compredre pas,” tried Josie in what he hoped was his best French.
The cuirassier threw up his shoulders in a Gallic shrug, uttered a, “Poof!” and regaining mastery of a steed that was now thrashing limbs and streaming horsehair in so many directions it seemed about to lose coherence and fly apart, wheeled it about and thundered back into the undergrowth. There was an inrush of air, and a flurry of leaves and twigs wafting to the ground behind him.
“Wha’ the?” managed Potkin.
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