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mind, ride deserts and sail oceans. He could not use his power to make the sounds of the night blur until they became anything he chose. He could not turn silence into music and his thoughts into poetry--such poetry as Old Voy learned from his strange friends and sometimes shouted aloud in the woods. He could not make new stars out of an old moon or change the midday sun into a fresh dawn, or the fields into a foreign shore--the strand of Coromandel.
    Coromandel!
    The map was better than a night’s dreaming, far better than Mary’s female warmth. He slid out of bed and felt behind the casement, where he kept a candle. He made a light, lit the candle, and stood it on the floor. He pulled up a loose board in the corner of the room and from the hole beneath drew out a book and the map. He had found this book eight years ago in the lane near Shrewford Admiral, lying on its face and all muddied. He did not know what the name of the book was or who had written it, or what it was about. He put it aside now, after stroking the leather binding and turning over a few of the crackling leaves. He spread out the map beside the candle and lay flat on his stomach to study it.
    He heard the soft footsteps before they reached his door, and shaded the candle with his hands as Molly came in. She slipped down beside him.
    She whispered, ‘Is this the map? How much did you pay for it?’
    ‘Five shillings,’ he said.
    ‘Five shillings! You are a fool, Jason. It’s not worth a groat. Old Voy made it up himself and just waited for some donkey to come along who would buy it. Look at those horsemen! It’s beautiful, Jason. What are you going to do with it?’
    It was night, and the vast world had become enclosed in the circle of candlelight, and they two were alone there. He said, ‘I’m going to Coromandel to find the treasure. I’ll come back here and buy a bigger place than the Pennels’. I’ll give you diamonds and cedar wood, Molly, and ten thousand pieces of eight.’ He felt the ecstasy of giving her those things, and in the dark corners the floor creaked under the weight of the golden coins. It had happened, and now what should they do? He said, ‘You won’t have to marry Ahab Stiles.’
    ‘No! We’ll go to London and find a prince and a princess to marry.’
    ‘I think Mary wants me to marry her,’ he said slowly, feeling less exalted.
    ‘She did a month ago,’ Molly said heatedly, ‘but she doesn’t now that she knows you better--knows you less, she’d say.’
    Jason considered. His sister was probably right, but all the same he must ask Mary to marry him. Otherwise he might hurt her. He said aloud, ‘I don’t hate her, as you hate Ahab.’
    ‘Ahab!’ Molly snapped. ‘Miserable, creaky old thing, always looking at me like a dog that’s just been beaten. Forty years old, and foul-smelling as a badger.’
    Jason hardly listened. He was thinking: What will Mary Bowcher do with a big house where all the wardrobes are full of pieces of gold, and tame lions and peacocks stroll up and down in the garden, and twenty huge blackamoor servants with great swords bring her cider at dinner-time?
    Molly got up suddenly. ‘It’s all pretend, Jason, isn’t it? Isn’t it? The map’s worth nothing, and you paid more than five shillings for it. We’re twenty years old, and we’re going to be here for ever. What’s the use of pretending? A little bit of real happiness that you can touch is better than any dream.’
    Jason whispered furiously, ‘Go back to your own room, Molly. I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone.’
    ‘You’re going to be a farmer here,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m going to be a farmer’s wife in Pewsey. Isn’t Wiltshire good enough for you? Why do you make everyone who loves you uncomfortable when they’re with you? And then angry, because they think they’re missing something you can see and they can’t? Why don’t you leave us alone?’
    Jason breathed almost silently, ‘I’m not