The Stolen Lake

by Joan Aiken

  'I don't want to go to flaming Sul!'

  But nothing she said could elicit any further response from the Guardian; she heard him from time to time chanting and playing on his instruments. Then there was a long silence; perhaps he was away seeing to his beasts.

  The day dragged. It is bad enough at any time being shut up in a room in the dark with nothing to do; but the prospect of being a human sacrifice at the end of it makes the whole situation incomparably worse.

  Dido's thirst, hardly bearable at the beginning of the day, was so acute by nightfall that she could hardly speak when at last the Guardian wrenched open the door and let her out. She had to work her sore throat several times before she could get out the word 'Water!' in a hoarse wheezing whisper.

  'Thirsty, are you?' said Caradog sourly. 'No more than you deserve. Water's not what you need, with a thirst like that; what you need is a cup of my willow-tea.' He had a cup ready brewed, which he handed to her; for the second time within two days Dido thought of Mr Holystone's admonition: 'Always throw away the first cupful from a stranger.' But she was too thirsty to throw away this cupful; she grasped the cup with shaking hands and tipped the contents eagerly down her painful throat, which was almost closed up with dryness. The willow-tea tasted stale and metallic like water that pennies have been soaked in; but then all the Guardian's concoctions tasted peculiar; Dido thought nothing of it.

  'Now I want some cold water,' said she, and before he could stop her walked into the room with the tank and swigged down about four cupfuls one after the other. Caradog wagged his head angrily.

  'Not good, not good!' he said. 'You should go empty to the sacrifice!'

  'Croopus!' said Dido. 'I'm the one as is going to be sacrificed. You oughter be giving me crumpets and plum jam and haddock kedgeree and pancakes.'

  Caradog looked at her as if she had gone mad.

  'Condemned person's breakfast,' explained Dido. 'Who's a-coming to the ceremony?'

  The one thing that had cheered her (and that not much) during her hours of incarceration, had been the thought of a huge crowd with Queen Ginevra, the Grand Inquisitor, the Mistress of the Robes, and the rest of them, come to see her jump to her doom. She would make a speech, which she had been preparing, giving them a piece of her mind, telling them what she thought of them. But the Guardian undeceived her.

  'Ceremony?' he said. 'You mean the sacrifice? Nobody comes. Only you and I. Come along: it is time.'

  He picked up a thing like a witch's broom, a long stake with a bundle of ichu grass tied at one end, and with it gestured Dido towards the doorway. She had intended to put up a vigorous struggle, but to her surprise and rage she found herself obeying him with dreamy docility, walking peacefully along, putting one foot in front of the other.

  'Blister it, Mister,' she muttered, yawning. 'I reckon you put some hocus-pocus in that cup of tea, you wicked old wretch, didn't you? What a noddy I was to go and drink it. Might a known you'd be up to tricks. Should have remembered what Mr Holy told me -' She yawned again.

  'Just keep walking,' said the Guardian.

  Outside it was not so dark as it had seemed in Dido's room; a mild blue dusk filled the silver-cobbled streets; beyond the twin peaks of Ertayne and Elamye the evening star shone clear, and the slopes of Mount Catelonde were turning a soft velvety red. A few birds still keened and whistled overhead, and, when they climbed higher, Dido, looking down, saw that Lake Arianrod had been completely refilled, and now lay among its mountains like a calm steel-blue star.

  'When you think about it,' she said to the Guardian – she could still argue, though she seemed to have lost command over her arms and legs – 'when you think about it, there wasn't no need for Mabon to send back the lake.'

  'Why not?' grunted Caradog.

  Dido, turning to look at him, observed that he had donned formal clothes for the ceremony – a frock coat and black stove-pipe hat.

  'Why not? She wanted it back so her Rex Quondam could come out of it. Didn't she? But he'd already come! And you're throwing me in, like you did all the other poor gals – and hundreds of other Guardians before you, I suppose – so as to keep her alive till he gets back. Well, he's got back. And she's still alive. So what's the point?'

  'Keep moving,' the Guardian said. He gestured with the hand that held the broom. The other clasped a silver-tipped wand of office. He added, 'Even though Artaius has returned, his lady is still of immense age. Married to a much younger king, she will need more care and support than ever before.'

  'Well, I reckon she's lived quite long enough,' said Dido. But despite her indignant feelings, she could not prevent herself from obeying the Guardian; they came to the high stone shaft with the face of Sul; they descended to the terrace below; and here Caradog waited, leaning on his silver-tipped rod and eyeing the horizon, until the delicate slip of the new moon moved out from behind the shoulder of Mount Damyake, with the mysterious shadowy ghost of the old moon cradled inside it, like an egg inside its egg-cup.

  'Now it is time,' he said.

  'Blame it!' expostulated Dido. 'It ain't right for me to die! Have you thought of that, Mister? You're an old gager; you've lived nigh on fourscore years, I shouldn't wonder. You did a whole lot of things and learned a lot o' stuff (though mussy knows, you ain't put it to very good use). But I haven't hardly done nothing!. And I ain't learned much, neither, except the Use of the Globes that Mr Holy taught me, and how to curtsey and cut up whales.'

  At the thought of Mr Holystone her voice, to her shame, began to wobble dangerously; she stopped speaking and drew a deep breath.

  'Cease repining, child, and go down those steps,' said Caradog. 'Do not quarrel with your destiny. If Sul wishes you to die, then it is your time.'

  Dido remembered the story that Bran had told, about the man who picked up the necklace. Well, if it is my destiny, she thought, best not to make a pother about it.

  She walked slowly down the long flight of stone steps, and out on to the rock spur. It was much longer and wider than it had looked from above; it took about twenty steps to reach the end. There she stood, feeling the mild evening breeze, gazing down at the waters of Lake Arianrod, a thousand feet below. One thing the old cuss has forgot, she thought; there ain't any fish in the lake now; their bones was lying all over the sand. So no one's going to nibble me to a skellington; I shall just drown. But still, I don't much want to drown.

  A red light began to glow behind her. She half turned cautiously, and saw that the Guardian had set light to the end of his broom, which was a kind of long-handled torch. He stood at the inner end of the rock spur, holding the flaming brand, presumably to prevent Dido trying to go back, should she have any thoughts of doing so. He was waving the torch in slow circles so that it plumed and sparkled. The sight made Dido dizzy, so she turned her back on him again. How long will it be before I get so fuddle-headed that I topple off? she wondered dismally. Maybe it would be best to jump?

  But I don't want to jump!

  And then, looking up, she thought with a pang of dismay, Blister it, there's Aurocs about. I thought they wasn't supposed to come out after dark? For an unmistakable triangular shape was floating down towards her, silhouetted black against the twilit sky; it must have launched itself from a crag somewhere higher up the hillside.

  'No, really, that's a bit much!' Dido exclaimed. 'Drowning's one thing – but I ain't going to be a bedtime tidbit for no Auroc!' and, taking a deep breath, she tensed her knees, preparing to launch herself off the rock pinnacle, when she was startled almost out of her wits by a very familiar voice.

  'Keep quite still, pray, Miss Twite,' said Captain Hughes. 'Don't kick, don't cry out. Above all, don't wriggle. Just remain calm, and I promise you that in a very short time I shall convey you to a place of safety.'

  And he gripped her very firmly under her arms, and floated off with her above the dark waters of Lake Arianrod.

  12

  Dido and Captain Hughes talked their heads off all the way across the mountain
s.

  'What a naffy idea, Cap'n! A flying machine! How in the world did you ever come to hit on it? Was that how you got out of prison? But how'd you ever make it?'

  'Ahem!' he said. 'As you know, I have always been interested in aerial appliances and such things; I had considered for a long time whether a device might not be constructed, by means of which, if a person were able to commence his flight from some lofty eminence – say a tower, or a mountainside – '

  'But how'd you ever manage to make it in prison?'

  'Very fortunately all the facilities were to hand -materials, drawing implements, besides a skilled and willing helper. But, Miss Twite – I must delay no longer in telling you how creditable – exceedingly creditable, indeed – are the accounts of your behaviour during this expedition that I have received from -'

  'You had a helper in prison? Who was that, then?'

  'In point of fact I had two companions during the period of my confinement. One of them, that dismal fellow Brandywinde, I found to be wholly ineffectual – a wretched milksop! But the other, the man David Llewellyn, known as Silver Taffy to his companions (though a shocking rogue in many ways), proved a most proficient assistant -'

  'Silver Taffy was in the jail too? Did he escape as well?'

  'Why yes; I do not know where he has got to now, however; I believe his intentions were to enter Bath Regis in disguise; he also undertook to look after poor Brandywinde – though I did wonder whether his intentions in that respect were wholly straightforward and trustworthy,' said the captain, sounding a little doubtful for the first time. 'We had to strap Brandywinde into his Aerial Floater with great care, since he had lost the power of his hands. So what use he could be to Silver Taffy I fail to see . . . But is it not a capital device?' Inventor's pride swept away his doubts. 'Made of silk, you see, stretched over cane struts. I shall take out a patent when I return to England; what do you think of the Owen Hughes Patent Aerial Floater as a title?'

  'That sounds first-rate, Cap; you'll make a fortune; – so you jumped outa the windows of the Pendragon Tower and floated away – then what happened?'

  'Why, hearing from Mr Multiple that you and King Mabon's daughter had been recaptured by Queen Ginevra – who, I am shocked to discover, is a wholly discreditable personage – I shall indite a memorandum to His Majesty's Government in the strongest terms as soon as I am back aboard the Thrush – '

  'You heard from Mr Multiple?' Dido's voice almost cracked with wonder and joy. 'But I thought he was dead?'

  'No; I understand that he was on the point of being assassinated – some villains were about to toss him into an underground chasm – when he, very fortunately, recollected that he had a considerable quantity of diamonds about his person; by bribing his assailants with these they were persuaded to release him, and so he was enabled to make good his escape.'

  'Croopus – am I pleased about that!' said Dido.

  Her position was becoming very uncomfortable indeed. As they floated along the valley between the huge dark shoulders of Mount Catelonde on one side and Calabe on the other, the captain had contrived to pass a leather strap around her, under her armpits, and had buckled this to bevels on the under-struts of his Aerial Floater, so that she was tolerably safe, but the strap cut cruelly into her shoulders. Still, the good news about Mr Multiple made her able to disregard such discomfort with ease. She asked,

  'Where d'you come across Mr Mully, then?'

  'I met him in the mountains. He, it seems, had retraced his way from the cave where he was nearly murdered, purchased a peasant's llama with his last small diamond, and was journeying to Lyonesse City to inform King Mabon of the princess's recapture.'

  'Good old Multiple! Those diamonds came in real handy. I guess he got there too late to stop King Mabon sending back the lake; still at least they know about the princess – they'll be out after her by now -'

  'I daresay they will have encountered her by this time,' said Captain Hughes. 'When I met her -'

  'You met her too? How in the name of Nodens did you do that?'

  'If you would not keep interrupting me, Miss Twite, I might be enabled to recount a consecutive narrative,' said Captain Hughes.

  'Sorry, Cap! You go right on. Where'd you meet Elen? Was she all rug? Was she still riding old Lepper?'

  'I was informed by Mr Multiple,' said the captain, 'who had learned it by listening to the conversation of his captors, that your ultimate destination, and that of the princess, was the City of Sul, where you were to be thrown into the lake – a most disgraceful procedure; I shall write another memorandum about that to H. M. Government; since the matter appeared one of extreme urgency I directed my course in that direction, having a very tolerable recollection of its whereabouts, due to my careful study of the Map of New Cumbria.'

  'Yes? And then what?'

  'I was steering a course north-westwards – one can direct these Aerial Floaters with admirable facility and precision hereabouts, owing to the abundance of volcanoes emitting convective thermal currents into the atmosphere – I daresay it may not be quite so easy in Britain,' said Captain Hughes, a certain melancholy entering his voice as he recollected the scarcity of volcanoes in that island.

  'You were steering north-westwards, Cap, yes? And then?'

  'Why, then I observed a young lady scudding across the countryside at a remarkably fast pace upon a snow-leopard. This, as you may know, is a beast of considerable rarity and zoological interest, which, hitherto, has been believed to be resident only in the eastern hemisphere, especially in Central Asia, where it is found in some profusion. Even young Mr Darwin failed to discover its presence in these regions, so I shall take considerable pleasure in writing a Report to the Royal Society -'

  'You saw Elen riding on Happy-Patchy? Did you talk to her?'

  'Indeed yes. She, not unnaturally, was somewhat amazed at being hailed by a voice from the empyrean – and so was her mount; (indeed she had some ado in pacifying him; apparently he took me for an Auroc, for which creatures, it seems, he has an intense aversion),' said Captain Hughes sounding a little ruffled as he recalled the episode. Dido chuckled; she wished she had been there to see it.

  'You talked to Elen?'

  'The Princess of Lyonesse,' replied Captain Hughes repressively, 'was so good as to inform me of the practical sense and unselfishness – I may go so far as to say heroism, Miss Twite – which has distinguished your conduct; of how you planned this means of escape for her and urged her to avail herself of it. I shall certainly indite a Note to H. M. -'

  'Oh bother the note! Do you suppose Elen got to Lyonesse all right and tight?'

  'I should judge so,' replied the captain, 'since the foothills which remained for her to cross presented no particular hazards and were wholly unpopulated so far as I could judge from my aerial viewpoint. I was considerably exercised in my mind over conflicting duties at that point, I must confess; some would say that I should have escorted the princess to her father; but since she appeared perfectly capable of continuing unes-corted, whereas your plight, so far as I could judge, was more perilous -'

  'It was a right near squeak,' agreed Dido. 'I sure thought I was a goner. I'm real grateful to you, Cap'n Hughes; I'd never have thought I'd be so pleased to see you! And I'll never borrow your spyglass again without asking!'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'So what's the plan now?' pursued Dido.

  'Mr Multiple also informed me – though I could hardly believe my own ears – that Holystone – that my own steward — has been acknowledged by several persons of repute, including King Mabon of Lyonesse, as the returned, or reborn Prince of these regions, Mer-curius Artaius Ambrosius, and husband of Queen Gine-vra of New Cumbria.'

  'Yes, that's so,' agreed Dido sadly, wondering, however, if Captain Hughes would call the old Guardian a person of repute.

  'If this is so, it is certainly my duty to H. M. Government to report on such a state of affairs, and discover what occurs when the personages concerned encounter one a
nother.'

  'You mean, when Holystone meets the queen?'

  'If a change of government is indicated,' said the captain, 'H. M. G. should know about it. After all, New Cumbria is our oldest ally.'

  'I daresay Mr Holystone will go to Bath quite soon.' Dido's tone was glum. She added, 'But we better not get there before him, or dear knows what the queen'll do to us. I saw her a couple of days ago, Cap'n. She was in a real rum state – all trembly, and eyes like bits o' looking-glass. You couldn't trust her not to fly right off the handle. The only person she seems to pay heed to is that there Bran, and he was over in Lyonesse.'

  'Well, I daresay that King Mabon, and Holystone, or Artaius, as I suppose one should designate him, will lose no time in sending an expeditionary force to Bath, once they are assured of the safety of the princess. I learned from the man Silver Taffy that in Lyonesse there are a large number of malcontents from the Kingdom of Hy Brasil, escaped from the tyrannical regime there, who may well rally under the leadership of Holy – of Artaius. If you recall, he informed us that he was brought up in that country – '

  'He certainly better not go back to Bath without taking some pals with him,' Dido said thoughtfully. 'It's my belief that it was the witcheries of those old hags -Ettarde and the others – that made him sick when he went there before. I reckon they didn't want him back because then the queen mightn't pay such heed to them. And – when he does go back – you never know – the queen herself might take a dislike to him – '

  'The reality might disappoint her,' agreed the captain. 'Having cherished a figment of her imagination for so long -'

  'What's a figment, Cap? – Hey, look down there!'

  They had come gliding round the shoulder of Mount Damyake, and were now floating, in icy darkness, above the stony upland saucer of plain that surrounded Bath Regis. Away in the distance Mount Catelonde glowed and coruscated; closer to hand, Mount Damask seemed to have caught the contagion, and was shooting a vertical stream of sparks up into the black heavens to join the cold glittering stars that spread a spangled canopy there; and down below on the plain, like a reflection of the Milky Way, a brilliant procession of lights wound slowly in the direction of Bath.