Cart and Cwidder

by Diana Wynne Jones

  They went fifty yards or so—a difficult jerky fifty yards, because Olob was extremely frightened and did not want to move, in spite of the names the soldier called him—and came to a steep road branching to the right. The soldier dragged Olob into it. Moril had forgotten this road. It worried him that Kialan would have to cross it on his way to the last Upland.

  “Where does this road go?” he asked Brid.

  “To a sort of extra valley at one side,” Brid said. “We camped here the year before last. Don’t you remember? Moril, they will let us go, won’t they?”

  Moril glanced down at the soldiers. “We haven’t done anything wrong,” he said carefully. But the wine jar came into his mind as he said it, and he wondered why on earth he had not left it behind somewhere.

  A twig snapped in the wood up to the right. Moril looked up. And looked away quickly, in case the soldiers noticed. He had a very clear sight of Kialan staring down at the cart, alarmed and rather puzzled, as if he had not gathered what was going on. Moril stared at the steep road ahead and tried to will Kialan to cross the road while he had the chance and go on North. But he was very much afraid Kialan intended to follow the cart.

  The trees opened like the end of a tunnel, and they came out into the valley. Brid gave a little moan. Beyond two groups of soldiers, evidently on guard, were tents, weapons, horses, and many more soldiers, as far as they could see. It was a long, thin valley, and winding, so that half of it was out of sight. But they had no doubt that the part of it they could not see was also full of soldiers and weapons and tents.

  The nearest tent was a very large one. There was a chair outside it, and in that chair sat Tholian. His head turned as the cart came out from among the trees. As far as he could tell from this distance, Moril thought Tholian smiled. And he saw that Clennen’s method was not going to help them here. In fact, he doubted if any method was going to be much use.

  “Get down,” one of the soldiers said to Brid and Moril.

  They climbed down, Brid a little awkward in her boots, Moril clutching the cwidder, and stood where they had a lower and even busier view of the teeming valley ahead. Moril dimly remembered that the year before last there had been fields and crops growing here. There was no sign of them now. As they were taken toward Tholian, he saw nothing but men drilling and training, all down the valley. It was filled with orders and curses, and the thick warm smell of many people and horses. The grass, and any crops there might have been, were trampled to earth, except for a green stretch round the large tent where Tholian sat.

  Tholian signaled to the soldiers to make Brid and Moril stand to one side of the patch of grass, and turned his pale eyes from them to the soldiers. “Just these two in the cart?” he asked.

  Moril seized the opportunity to look over his shoulder to see what had become of Olob and the cart. He was glad to find one of the soldiers struggling to tie the unwilling Olob to a tree beside the road.

  “Could I have your attention, cousin?” he heard Tholian say, and he turned back hurriedly. Tholian sounded irritated. But when Moril looked at him, he was smiling. He could have been friendly in spite of his queer, shallow eyes. “We are related, aren’t we?” he said.

  Moril thought about it. “I suppose so. But it’s Mother who’s your cousin.”

  “Once removed,” said Tholian. “Which makes us twice removed, I believe.”

  “I’m surprised you acknowledge it at all,” said Brid. “Considering—”

  “Why not?” said Tholian. “It doesn’t hurt you. But don’t deceive yourselves into thinking your mother’s going to get a penny of dowry out of me. I’m content to do as my grandfather wanted. Ganner’s a fool if he thinks I’m going to make him rich on Lenina’s account.”

  This seemed a very odd thing for Tholian to start talking about. Moril wondered if he was a trifle mad. “I shouldn’t think Ganner does think that,” he said.

  “He’s fond of Mother, you see,” explained Brid.

  Tholian laughed. “Fool, isn’t he?” He was so contemptuous that Brid all but sprang to Ganner’s defense. “But I stayed for the wedding,” Tholian said, before Brid could speak, “which was more than you did. You threw Ganner into a fine old fuss by leaving like that, you know. Your mother took it much more calmly. So I promised them I’d look out for you on the road and send you back to Markind when I found you.”

  “That was kind of you,” Brid said coldly. Nevertheless, both she and Moril were beginning to feel distinctly easier. If Tholian were regarding them simply as silly young relations and himself as doing Ganner a favor, then the position was nothing like as bad as they had feared. It would be exasperating to be sent back to Markind, but at least Kialan, with luck, could get North on foot from here.

  “Didn’t Mother recognize you?” Moril said slowly, rather puzzled at the way Tholian was now being a friend of the family.

  “Of course,” Tholian said, not at all disconcerted. “But as I’m Ganner’s overlord, there wasn’t much she could say. Not that she would. She has a way of saying things in silence, your mother. By the way, what became of your brothers?”

  They saw he had just been showing them how much he knew. It gave them both a jolt. Moril reacted best, because he was able to rely on his habitual sleepy look. He went on staring at Tholian in a vague, friendly way, though he had never felt less vague or less friendly in his life. But Brid was so shaken that she had to put on an act.

  “Funny you should ask,” she said, with artificial brightness. “We don’t quite know—”

  “Yes, we do, Brid,” Moril said, fearing she was going to babble herself into trouble. “Dagner went back to Markind.” It was a risky thing to say, but Moril knew that if Tholian already knew that Dagner had been arrested and why, it did not matter what he said anyway.

  “Did he, indeed?” said Tholian, and there was no telling whether he had heard about Dagner or not. “And what about the other brother—er—Collen, was it?”

  Moril knew Tholian had not seen Kialan in Markind. If he had, none of them would have been allowed to leave. He must have heard Ganner talk about him later. And no one would be surprised to find Ganner had got something wrong. Moril opened his mouth to say they had not got another brother, but Brid, to his annoyance, came in first, with tremendous verve: “Oh, Collen! He’s so stupid you never know what he’ll do! But we think he went with Dagner.”

  “Curious,” said Tholian. His untrustworthy eyes slid over Brid, and over her again. “Now I thought I was reliably informed that there were three of you giving a show in Updale this morning.”

  That had obviously been a fatal mistake. But how could they have known Tholian was so near? The only thing to do was to say that the third one had been Dagner. Moril drew a breath to say it, but once more, Brid rushed in. “Yes, of course. But that’s what I was telling you. Collen went back after that. He said he was going to Neathdale and he—er—he got a lift in a farm wagon.”

  Moril sadly wished that Brid would let him do the talking. Brid was not as clever as she thought she was. No doubt she had thought she was doing very well, but she had first admitted Kialan’s existence and now that he was quite near, and Moril knew there was no need to have done either. Tholian had never seen Kialan in their company. He was only going by guess. But now he was almost certain. He was looking at Brid, worrying her by just looking, and obviously enjoying the way he was worrying her.

  “I don’t think you quite understand the position,” Tholian said when Brid, flushed and alarmed, had dropped her eyes from his pale ones to her boots. “I’m ready to send you both back to Markind safely, in exchange for Kialan Kerilsson. Not otherwise. Is that understood now?”

  “I don’t understand you at all,” Brid said valiantly.

  Tholian looked at Moril. “Do you?”

  Moril tried to repair some of the damage Brid had done by saying, “Not really. Who’s this person you’re talking about?”

  The only result of this was that Tholian turned his eyes back to Brid.
“Keril,” he said, “as I’m sure you know, is Earl of Hannart.” Without bothering to turn round, he snapped his fingers to some of the men near. They came hurrying up. “Listen,” said Tholian. “Kialan Kerilsson is about five feet seven, solidly built, with a dark complexion and fair hair. His nose is aquiline and his eyes are much the same color as mine. Start searching the woods for a boy of that description.”

  The men at once turned and went hurrying farther into the thronged valley. Brid, as Moril knew she would, showed her consternation by saying, with horrible brightness, “What a queer kind of person that sounds!”

  “No, no,” said Tholian. “Just a typical Northerner.” Beyond him, captains waved their arms and shouted orders. In a matter of seconds, quite a surprising number of soldiers left off drilling and moved at a run toward the woods behind Moril and Brid. Moril could only hope that Kialan had had the sense to cross the road and go North as fast as he could. Tholian’s eyes moved sideways to make sure his orders were being carried out and then turned back to Brid. “You seem worried,” he said, and laughed at her.

  “Not in the least,” Brid lied haughtily.

  “But you don’t,” said Tholian, looking at Moril. “Why not?”

  Moril did not see why Tholian should make a game of him. “Why did you kill my father?” he said.

  Tholian was not in the least discomposed. The cool way he took the question upset Moril more than a little. It reminded him of Lenina. “Now, why was it?” Tholian said, pretending to remember. Moril thought of Lenina coolly stopping Clennen’s bleeding and saw an actual family likeness to Lenina in Tholian’s calm face. He wished he had not seen it. “I was having a little trouble finding Kialan,” said Tholian, “as I recall. But I think the main reason I killed him was that it was probable he was the Porter.”

  Brid gasped, which amused Tholian. Moril felt hopeless, though he managed not to show it. “If you thought that, why didn’t you have him arrested?” he said.

  “Legally, instead of murdering him,” said Brid, who was in such despair that she no longer cared what she said.

  “But that would have been a silly thing to do,” Tholian said laughingly. “A man arrested and tried for crimes like the Porter’s very easily becomes a hero. You hang him, and people take his side or even rebel in his memory. Besides, I’ve seen Clennen give his shows in Neathdale. And I really didn’t see why he should be given the chance to put on the biggest performance of his life. He’d have enjoyed it too much.”

  “You—” Brid hunted for the nastiest word she knew. “Fiend!” she said. Tholian, of course, laughed.

  Moril said nothing. Up till then he had disliked Tholian, and he was afraid of him, because he was powerful and had such queer eyes. But after that he hated him, violently and personally. He should have hated him before, he supposed, but the fact was that in an odd way, he had thought of Clennen’s death almost as if it were an accident, unfair in the way accidents were. Now he knew Tholian had intended it to be unfair, he hated Tholian for it.

  “And how did you find Father?” Brid said. “Did Ganner tell you, you murdering beast!”

  Tholian, luckily for Brid, still seemed to find her funny. “Ganner? Oh no,” he said. “I don’t have to rely on Ganner for information. Though I must say, Ganner didn’t seem to be breaking his heart over Clennen when I told him he was dead.” He laughed. “I suppose we put Ganner in a bit of a spot,” he said, “all turning up in Markind almost together that day.” He looked at Brid, to see how she took that. Brid realized Tholian was trying to torment her. She stared haughtily away at the busy soldiers in the valley. Tholian’s eyes looked past her, at something behind them. “One last thing,” he said. “Never try to carry on like your father. It’s stupid, and it never pays. If I’d copied my father, I wouldn’t be here with an army.”

  There was a nasty reasonableness about this that annoyed Moril. “Yes, but you see,” he said, “it was something that needed doing.”

  Tholian was not interested any longer. He stood up. “Bring him here,” he said. “Move, can’t you!”

  A group of soldiers hurried up, dragging Kialan. Kialan was disheveled and red in the face. Twigs were clinging to his clothes. He was resisting, rather, but he also had his head bowed in the sullen way Moril had seen among the prisoners in Neathdale. It was the way you looked, Moril realized, when you were caught. You had it whether you were guilty or innocent. It did not surprise him that Kialan was caught. He had made the mistake of staying near the cart. No doubt he had hoped to help Brid and Moril. Perhaps, since he was now the eldest, he had felt responsible for them. But Moril did not feel one twinge of gratitude. He just felt sad. Kialan had hung about, and Brid had made sure Tholian guessed he was near. That was the trouble with people who thought too well of themselves.

  11

  “Ah! Kialan!” said Tholian. “Nice to see you where there aren’t any other earls to interfere.”

  Kialan looked up at Tholian from among the soldiers, with his head still a little bowed, but did not answer. Moril noticed that it was indeed true as Tholian had said, that Kialan’s eyes were almost the same color as Tholian’s. It made him see the difference between them. For Kialan, scared and sullen though he was, had a direct and living look, and Tholian’s eyes were blank and strange. It was clear that while Tholian thought of Brid and Moril as rather funny and not at all important, he thought of Kialan as quite another matter.

  “I thought you’d appear on this road sooner or later,” Tholian said. “But we were watching the Marshes, too, in case. I’m hoping to let your father know you really are our prisoner. You’ll have to write him a letter.”

  “I’m blowed if I shall!” said Kialan. “Write it yourself.”

  “Very well. I will,” agreed Tholian. “I suppose he’ll recognize one of your ears if I send it with the letter. Hold him tightly,” he said to the soldiers. He took a knife from a sheath at his belt and walked toward Kialan.

  Kialan tried to back away and was held in place by two soldiers. “All right,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll write you a letter if you want.” Moril did not blame him.

  But Tholian took no notice. The blank look in his eyes did not alter. The soldiers screwed up their faces. Moril, sickened and terrified, realized that Tholian just wanted an excuse to hurt Kialan. He clutched the cwidder and wondered what he could do. Kialan, even more frightened, tried to duck his head away from the knife. “Hold him, I said!” said Tholian.

  One of the soldiers took a handful of Kialan’s hair. Brid, without really thinking what she was doing, plunged forward and tried to catch hold of Tholian’s arm. She got no farther than the nearest soldier, who pushed her sharply away. Brid staggered back and bumped into Moril, jolting his right hand on the cwidder, so that he accidentally struck a long humming note from the deepest string.

  An extraordinary buzzing numbness filled the air and seemed to be eating up Moril’s brain. He could do nothing, and barely think. The noise pressed into his head and forced him down on his knees. Everything outside his head was gray and pulsating, burring and blurred, and the feeling went on and on and on. He thought he saw Tholian, looking a little bewildered, stand still and slowly sheathe his knife, while Kialan and the soldiers all shook their heads like people who have been hit. Brid pressed both hands to her eyes. Their movements made Moril feel sick. He knelt with his head bent, looking at the pulsing earth, and wondered if he was going to die.

  Brid knelt down beside him. “Moril, are you all right? It was the cwidder, wasn’t it?” Moril shook his humming head at her, wanting her to be quiet.

  Everyone except Moril seemed to have quite recovered, except that Tholian looked puzzled, as if he had forgotten a word that was on the tip of his tongue. “Tie him up for now,” he said to the soldiers, in a rather irritated way. “Get some rope, one of you.”

  “You made Tholian forget!” Brid whispered. “Do attend, Moril. You might be able to do it again.” But Moril could not attend. His face was so white that Brid
became worried, which meant that she was very cross with him in a harsh, snapping whisper which hurt Moril’s numbed head. Then Brid suddenly jumped to her feet and dashed away from him. “You can’t do that!” she shouted. “It’s cruel!”

  That jerked Moril to his senses. He looked up and saw Kialan had been tied with his hands behind him to one of the stakes that carried the tent ropes. The reason for Brid’s outcry was that Tholian, not satisfied with merely tying him, had put a noose round Kialan’s tied hands and was hoisting them up his back. The effect must have been like having both arms twisted at once. Moril could see Kialan was in agony.

  Tholian turned to Brid as soon as he had made the rope fast. “Can’t?” he said. “Go back to your brother.” When Brid did not move at once, Tholian advanced on her, with his strange eyes blank. “Are you going to do as I said?”

  Brid was frightened enough to turn and run back to Moril. As she came, she mouthed, “Do something!”

  Tholian started off toward where several captains were hovering, wanting to speak to him. “Those two are not to move from there,” he said over his shoulder to the soldiers round Kialan.

  “Moril,” whispered Brid. “The cwidder. Make it undo the rope.”

  Moril wished he could. He was sure the cwidder was quite capable of releasing Kialan, if only he knew how to work it. Osfameron had made it move mountains. But Moril had not the slightest idea how to begin and was very much afraid of making a mistake and bringing that awful humming into his own brain again. Kialan tried to give him a brave look although he was grinning with pain. Moril could see him struggling to get into a more comfortable position when there was no way of doing so. And Tholian might leave him like that for hours. It was worth a try.