Mr. Flattery appeared at a fork in the road. He wore very white clothes and, from a distance, looked a little like the messengers they had met. Only when he came closer did Chris recognize the man who had always spoken so smoothly at Vanity Fair.
Flattery saw nothing wrong with that. He said he had left the fair long ago, then praised Chris as an unusually brave boy. “People ahead are waiting to meet you,” he said. “They heard about your rescue and want you to tell them all about it. Come this way. It’s quicker.”
The idea that people wanted to listen stirred something in Chris. Before, nobody at home or in the street would hear him. Perhaps if many people believed him this time, he could find more help.
Hopeful took out the map, but Flattery waved it away. “Maps are for ordinary people. A boy like him should have a special welcome.” As he spoke, he looked only at Chris, as though Hopeful did not matter at all.
Chris already felt uneasy, but he did not stop. He followed for a few steps and was about to ask exactly where they were going when the ground suddenly gave way. A fine net rose from the grass. Both boys fell into it. The more they struggled, the tighter it became.
Flattery tied the net to a tree and began demanding their scrolls. “Without those, you can’t go anywhere. Hand them over nicely, and I’ll let you down.”
Chris protected the pouch close to his body. Hopeful caught a branch to stop the net turning and called to Chris to keep still. After a while, a real messenger passed, heard their cries, and cut the ropes to free them. Flattery escaped into the woods, leaving no more pleasant words behind.
The messenger asked why they had not checked the map. As Chris explained how he had felt about the praise, his voice grew smaller. The messenger did not mock him. He simply asked Chris to read the warning on the map: Beware of those who praise you but will not let you ask the way.
“I got Hopeful trapped too,” Chris said.
“Then you should tell him that, not just me.”
Chris turned to apologize. Rubbing his hand where the net had hurt it, Hopeful said they must question any guide who told them not to check the map. Together they flattened a folded corner and put the map safely away.
That evening they met a man called Atheist. He had walked a long way without finding the Celestial City, so he said nobody could find it. Chris asked whether he had passed through the narrow gate or knew the shepherds’ mountains. But he would not check again. He turned and went back.
Chris did not chase him to win an argument. He knew he had not reached this place by getting everything right along the way. He and Hopeful laid the scrolls beside the map and carefully read about the next stretch. Neither comforting words nor discouraging ones could look at the road for them.
