The Stolen Lake Page 8

  But then he smiled, and seemed more like himself, and even taught her a couple of unfamiliar varieties of cat's-ctadle. And she taught him one invented by herself and christened the Battersea Basket.

  During that day the pace of the river-boat gradually slowed down, as the momentum of the bore decreased, and the rowers had to work harder at their levers. Now flies and mosquitoes came on board – all kinds of terrible little buzzing biting creatures hummed and clustered and plagued the passengers, stinging and piercing every inch of exposed skin, creeping cunningly under the folds of clothes to jab in unexpected and tender spots. Fortunately Mr Holystone's dark-green cactus lotion for repelling cockroaches also proved a useful defence against jungle insects, but there was only just enough to go round. Poor Noah Gusset, a big, pink-faced, tow-headed boy, was bitten so badly that he could hardly see out of his eyes. Dido, small and wiry, did not suffer so much, but by the day's end she was heartily weary of the river.

  Once, as the boat passed through a narrow, tunnellike reach, with the distant mountains lost to view behind dank, massed trees, a sudden commotion in the boughs overhead resulted in a slithering thump and a cry of warning from one of the Cumbrian deck-hands: ? a thirty-foot snake had fallen in a tumble of coils down the companionway with a half-swallowed Iguana protruding from its jaws. While one of the crew seized the Iguana, three others grappled with the snake and tossed it overboard. There was an immediate and frothing convulsion of water where it had fallen; it struck out like an arrow for shore, but Dido saw, almost with disbelief, that before swimming more than a few yards it was picked clean to the bone by the rapacious little river-fish; a white snake-skeleton sank slowly through the brown water.

  'Ain't that something!' she said in wonder to.Mr Multiple. 'No worry getting rid o' garbage hereabouts.'

  But Mr Multiple usually so cheerful, had gone white to the roots of his carrot-coloured hair. 'I – I can't abide snakes,' he gasped. 'Excuse me, Miss Dido – ' and running to the stern of the ship, the poor boy was violently sick over the rail. To draw attention from his sufferings, Mr Holystone said to Dido,

  'It is a custom among the tribes of these forests, I have heard, that when someone dies, the dead person's body is lowered into the river and left for three days. Then the skeleton is drawn up again and placed in a sacred cave, set aside for the dead, up in the mountains.'

  When they sat down for the noon meal, Dido was disgusted to find that the Iguana which had been rescued from the snake's jaws was served up, roasted and sliced. She could not bring herself to try it, but nibbled a little mango and papaya. However, the rest of the crew, even Mr Multiple, now quite recovered, ate up the Iguana and pronounced it first-rate; or, at any rate, better than fried plantain chips.

  During the afternoon they entered a region infested with alligators, or caimans, as the Cumbrians termed them: ugly brown wrinkled brutes lying, sometimes scores together, on sandbanks, or floating with only their snouts and bulging eyes above water. They made a grunting bubbling noise, and sometimes bellowed loudly and dolefully. Dido thought they were quite the most unpleasant beasts she had ever seen.

  Once or twice, as the craft wallowed its way upstream, a heavily-barbed arrow whistled through the air and stuck, quivering, in the soft grey wood of the deck. One of these landed uncomfortably close to the arm of Noah Gusset, who was trailing a fishing line over the side.

  'Lucky that missed you,' said his comrade, the taciturn Plum, 'or you'd a been rolling round like a catherine-wheel in a brace of shakes. The Biruvians that live in the woods tip the barbs with what they call 'angel-juice'; a drop of that 'ud turn you to an angel for sure.'

  'If any of us gets back from this trip, it'll be a wonder,' grumbled Noah Gusset.

  At last they left the forest behind. The huge trees, thick creepers and dangling mosses were replaced first by groves of bamboo and rush, then by wide grassy plains, then by pine-clad foothills. Beyond these, reared against the sunset like ghost-castles, were the true mountains, the Children of Silence, Ambage and Arrabe, Ertayne and Elamye, Arryke, Damask, Damyake, Pounce, Pampoyle, Garesse, Caley, Calebe and Catelonde. And somewhere among them, Dido thought, a girl called Elen. Their sides were so steep that they looked like the fingers of two great hands held up in the air as if to say, 'Stop! There is no way past us.'

  Just as the sun set between the cratered peaks of Ertayne and Elamye, the river-boat came to a stop at a tiny town in the jaws of a deep and narrow gorge. This was Bewdley, where they must leave the river and take to the rack-railway.

  Nobody was sorry to go on shore. They were to spend the night in Bewdley, which seemed a pleasant little place, very ancient, its narrow timbered houses thatched with palm-leaves, or roofed with great slabs of mountain stone. There were wide cobbled quays on either side of the rushing Severn, and thick black pine-forest came down the steep valley-sides to the very garden walls. Market stalls along the river-side, lit by flaring torches, displayed reed mats, fruit, earthenware pots and straw hats. The air blazed with fireflies and buzzed with the sound of six-foot bamboo horns which half the population seemed to be blowing.

  'They are called bocinas,' Mr Holystone told Dido. 'The people blow them at sunset to keep evil spirits away. Otherwise they believe the spirits might climb in your ears during the night.'

  'Well surely they've chased the spirits away by now? They've nigh blasted my ears off my head,' said Dido ungratefully.

  As the party from the Thrush straggled along the quay towards the inn, Dido noticed a very short woman pluck at the arm of Silver Taffy, who was walking by himself. The woman was almost completely shrouded

  in a black shawl; her face could not be seen. Taffy started at her touch, then turned and followed her up a side-alley.

  The other travellers went on to the Black Tree Tavern, where they were to pass the night. This was not such a large establishment as the White Hart. It seemed comfortable enough, but Captain Hughes was affronted to discover that there was no private parlour where he could dine by himself; he must eat in his bedroom, or with the rest of the crew.

  'Vexatious!' he said shortly to the landlord. 'I have not been used to sit down to sup with my own steward!'

  Dido heard this with some indignation. Mr Holystone, she privately considered, was far more gentlemanly than Captain Hughes, and it would do the latter no harm at all to have his toploftiness reduced.

  The captain was due to be further vexed. Just before dinner Silver Taffy came to him and, in a deferential manner but with a very determined look in his eye, requested a week's shore-leave.

  'What, you rascal!' exclaimed the captain. 'At your own request I include you in the shore party, and this is how you repay my kindness? We are under strength as it is – I cannot spare you! A week's furlough? It is out of the question.'

  Respectfully, Silver Taffy reminded the captain that, in a gale off Cape Orange, he had saved the second lieutenant at risk of his own life, and had been promised leave as a reward.

  It was Captain Hughes's pride that he never went back on his word.

  'Oh, very well!' he said testily. 'But a whole week! That is the outside of enough. You may have three days – no more. And you must rejoin the party in Bath Regis.'

  A gleam of satisfaction came into Taffy's eye.

  'Very good, Cap'n,' he said, and speedily left the inn.

  'Very good riddance, I call it,' Dido muttered to Mr Holystone. 'I daresay that was his auntie – the short old girl he was talking to as we came along.'

  Mr Holystone, however, had not seen her. He seemed excessively tired this evening, slow in his movements and troubled in his thoughts.

  After supper – which was a silent and somewhat constrained meal, with nobody in good spirits – Mr Holystone requested a private word with the captain.

  'God bless my soul, now what?' irritably exclaimed the latter. 'Private? There is nowhere to be private in this wretched little hostelry. Oh well, you had best come up to my bedroom. You too, Miss Twite; I daresay whateve
r Holystone has to say is fit for your ears, and if it ain't, it can't be helped; I am not leaving you to be abducted a second time.'

  Rather put out at being considered to be such an encumbrance, Dido followed them to the small room under the eaves which was the best accommodation that could be provided for the captain.

  'Well, Holystone, what is it? Make haste, man; I have my log still to write; and my aeronautical calculations.'

  'Sir,' said Mr Holystone desperately, T believe I ought not to accompany you on this expedition.'

  'What?' The captain stared at him with bulging eyes. 'Oh, stap me – this is too much!'

  'I believe I should return to the ship, sir. My presence with you may be endangering all your lives.'

  'Return to the ship? And leave me without a steward? What is all this about? I won't have it!' said the captain, now thoroughly roused. 'It's bad enough that one of my most able-bodied men should virtually abscond -and now you wish to slope off too! Well, it's not to be thought of! So you may put that in your pipe and smoke it!'

  'Sir, allow me to explain,' said Mr Holystone, who looked miserably ill and shaky, but was endeavouring to maintain his calm. He's sick, Dido thought anxiously; he oughta be in bed. Maybe that's what he's a-going to say.

  'Explain till you are blue in the face,' snapped Captain Hughes. 'It won't make a particle of difference.'

  'Sir, as you are no doubt well aware, the three kingdoms of New Cumbria, Lyonesse and Hy Brasil meet, like three segments of cake, at one point only, the southernmost tip of Lake Arianrod (or Dozmary) which lies among the high mountains to the west of this region.'

  'A geography lesson, now!' grumbled the captain. 'I thank you; you need not teach me my hornbook, man; I daresay I am as well acquainted with the topography of this locality as you!'

  'I doubt that, sir,' civilly replied Mr Holystone, 'since I, as a child, was first discovered lying among the rushes at the southern end of Lake Arianrod.'

  'Oh you were, were you? Well, what is that to the purpose?'

  'The whole extent of this lake,' flatly pursued Mr Holystone, 'is contained in New Cumbria, but Hy Brasil and Lyonesse each claim one yard of shore, where the river Camel (which forms a boundary between the latter countries) flows out of the lake – or did before it was damned.'

  'So?'

  'I was found on the yard of shore pertaining to Hy Brasil. I was discovered at midnight by one of the king's advisers, a wise man who was making astrological observations and collecting medicinal mosses at the time. This man read my horoscope, since it was plain I was but a few hours old. From that and from a birthmark which I have on my forearm he ascertained that I come of very ancient blood. Accordingly the king of Hy Brasil, Huayna Ccapac, took me and had me brought up in the palace with his son Huascar. I was given the name of Atahallpa.'

  'Humph, were you though?' remarked the captain, not best pleased, evidently, to discover that his personal steward came of ancient blood and had been brought up with royalty. 'So why ain't you there still, hey?'

  Mr Holystone laboured on with his tale, speaking more and more slowly.

  'My adopted father – who always treated me with the utmost kindness – had me tutored with his son until I was fourteen. But then -' the level voice faltered for a moment; then he recovered and went on firmly, 'but then my royal foster-father judged it best to send me to a university in Europe. So I travelled to Salamanca with my tutor, and remained there for many years.'

  'Humph,' muttered the captain again. 'Should think all that eddication 'ud fit you to be something more than a steward. Did you never go back to Hy Brasil?'

  'Many times I wished to,' said Mr Holystone simply. 'I wished to see my kind old foster-father and my cousins.'

  'Cousins? Thought you said you were a foundling?'

  'Foster-cousins,' Mr Holystone amended. 'King Mabon, the ruler of Lyonesse, was a cousin of Huayna Ccapac. His children, Artegall, Martegall and Elen, were my playmates and companions when I was small. But no – I never went back. At the death of Huayna Ccapac, twelve years ago, his son Huascar Ccaedmon ascended the throne. He is no friend to me; never has been. My tutor wrote to warn me that if I ever tried to return, Ccaedmon would have me put to death.'

  'Bloodthirsty lot these Incas, whatdoyoucallems,' commented the captain. 'What about the ones in Lyonesse, King Mabon and his brood?'

  'I have heard, at infrequent intervals, from my foster-uncle, King Mabon. There is little love lost between him and Ccaedmon, who is a harsh ruler and a touchy neighbour. At present a doubtful peace obtains between Lyonesse and Hy Brasil; twice, however, Ccaedmon has broken the peace and seized strips of land on the Lyonesse boundary. But Mabon's relations with New Cumbria are even more delicate, and so he hesitates to retaliate.'

  'Aha!' exclaimed Captain Hughes, who, in spite of himself, was becoming interested. 'Has Ccaedmon also committed acts of aggression against New Cumbria? Is that what Queen What'shername's complaint is about, think you? Devil take it, man, why could you not let me have all this information while we were still aboard the Thrush? It is worth twice what that dolt Brandywinde had to tell me.'

  'My position is so awkward,' said Mr Holystone sadly. 'King Mabon sent me a message three years ago, suggesting that I lead a revolt against Ccaedmon. But, who am I, after all? My parentage is unknown. In spite of Mabon's friendship I told him that I had no right to lead a rising against the ruler of Hy Brasil.'

  'What about the queen of New Cumbria?'

  'Cumbria is a closed country,' said Mr Holystone, shaking his head. 'It is a secret land. The port of Tenby is its only entrance. Nobody goes in or out. The queen holds no communication with her neighbours. Citizens of Lyonesse or Hy Brasil may not cross her frontiers. It has always been so.'

  'We got in.'

  'That is because the queen has sent for you.'

  'Well,' said Captain Hughes, 'all this is deucedly interesting (though why you were not prepared to divulge it two weeks ago, bless me if I can see) but what has it to do with your not wishing to accompany us to Bath? That's what has me in a puzzle.'

  Holystone looked at him hopelessly, as if he had come to the end of his strength. The captain reflected, and said,

  'No, I believe I do understand. It is because you might be considered a pretender to the throne of Hy Brasil -is that it, hey? You think it might put me in an awkward spot if you were recognised so near the country you came from?'

  'Just so, sir.'

  'Does you credit, I daresay. Should have thought of it sooner, though. Suppose you were tempted by the chance to revisit these parts, hmn? But then – it ain't all that likely you will be recognised, is it? If you haven't been back since you were fourteen?'

  Maybe he's ashamed, thought Dido. After all, he was a kind of prince, then – only fancy, our Mr Holystone! Well, I alius reckoned there were more to him than met the eye – and he wouldn't want his old chums to see him now he's only a steward.

  Mr Holystone looked very unhappy, but made no direct answer to the captain. 'Pray give consideration to my request, sir,' was all that he said.

  'Well – I will think about it, and let you know my decision in the morning. Meanwhile, kindly see that child goes to bed – and that a watch is kept over her during the night.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Dido's bedroom was even smaller than the captain's – a tiny slip of a room. On the bed was curled something that Dido, for one nervous moment, took, in the dim candlelight, for a large spider. She was still unsettled by the events of the river-trip. But then, with much relief, she saw that the sleeping creature was a small cat, curled up in a tight ball.

  'Hey, puss!' Dido said softly. 'Come to keep me company, have you?'

  She stroked the cat and found, as on the one at Tenby, a collar with a disc, bearing this time the name Tim Toldrum; and a packet consisting of a small scrap of folded paper.

  'Hilloo, Mr Holy!' she called in a whisper. He had made himself up a pallet outside the door, and came directly.

  'L
ook what's here, Mr Holy! Another of 'em.'

  They both studied the words on the small printed page, which said,

  'Chirurgeon. One that cures ailments, not by internal medicines, but outward applications. It is now generally pronounced, and by many written, surgeon.'

  Under this was written, in small desperate dark-brown letters – could they be blood? 'Help! I am a prisoner in a cave on Arrabe. I do not have air for many more days.'

  'Why's she so skint on air?' demanded Dido. 'That's one thing nobody bothers to sell, acos no one 'ud buy it – there's always plenty.'

  'Not in the mountains,' said Mr Holystone hoarsely. He had gone deathly pale; his high forehead gleamed with sweat. He muttered, 'Up on the slopes of Catelonde one must carry enough air to breathe. There are flowers – night-blooming lilies – shepherds always carry them -'

  'Oh, Mr Holy! What can we do for this poor girl?'

  But Mr Holystone was past replying. He had slid to the floor in deep unconsciousness.

  5

  The rack-railway train that was to carry the party from Bewdley up to a height of twelve thousand feet above sea-level was such a strange-looking little conveyance that, when they first set eyes on it, Dido exclaimed,

  'Love a duck! That thing couldn't pull pussy across the parlour!'

  Captain Hughes, equally glum and dubious, observed that it resembled a row of dominoes in process of falling down. The rolling-stock of the little train did indeed have a curiously tilted appearance, since most of its journey would be spent going up the side of a slope like a church steeple; consequently while on flat ground the whole thing leaned forward as if engaged in studying its own toenails. The tiny wood-burning engine carried a top heavy smokestack with a fuelbox and watertank behind. There were three wagons: a baggage-and-mail car, loaded with straw-bales, goats, poultry, salt, and dried fish; a box-car crammed to its thatched roof with standing passengers all wrapped snugly in the local garb of ponchoes and serapes, long cloaks which they called ruanas; and a first-class car which, for the benefit of the foreigners, was supplied with a few narrow wooden benches.