There in the deep blackness of that room in the Tyrian country house the Amulet was once more held up and the word spoken.
All passed through on to a ship that tossed and tumbled on a wind-blown sea. They crouched together there till morning, and Jane and Cyril were not at all well. When the dawn showed, dove-coloured, across the steely waves, they stood up as well as they could for the tumbling of the ship. Pheles, that hardy sailor and adventurer, turned quite pale when he turned round suddenly and saw them.
“Well!” he said, “well, I never did!”
“Master,” said the Egyptian, bowing low, and that was even more difficult than standing up, “we are here by the magic of the sacred Amulet that hangs round your neck.”
“I never did!” repeated Pheles. “Well, well!”
“What port is the ship bound for?” asked Robert, with a nautical air.
But Pheles said, “Are you a navigator?” Robert had to own that he was not.
“Then,” said Pheles, “I don’t mind telling you that we’re bound for the Tin Isles. Tyre alone knows where the Tin Isles are. It is a splendid secret we keep from all the world. It is as great a thing to us as your magic to you.”
He spoke in quite a new voice, and seemed to respect both the children and the Amulet a good deal more than he had done before.
“The King sent you, didn’t he?” said Jane.