by Joan Aiken
Dido felt extremely sorry for Herodsfoot; she suspected that he was terrified of what was going to happen next and was making use of this distraction to keep himself from thinking about it, and from the ever-widening gulf between him and Talisman. His eyes were fixed on her piteously whenever she came near him.
Dido heard John King ask his daughter: “Should I bring some notebooks to Regina? In case – in case I can’t hear what people say to me?” and Talisman’s reply: “No, Father! You can hear very well now – as well as anybody. And, if you are in any doubt about what somebody has said, you can always ask me. I shall always be there.”
Always, Dido thought.
“Now we must move the boat to the cliff edge,” Talisman said. “Look at the sky.”
It was early morning on their third day. The sun had risen behind a huge, inflamed angry cloud. A high rustling wind whined briefly over the cliff-top and was gone. When it had fallen, the air became intensely sultry and humid. Talisman decreed that they must all put on cork jackets; Dido, stifling in hers, felt sweat trickling between her shoulderblades.
“How are we ever going to get that boat to the cliff edge?” demanded Herodsfoot.
“I have a certain skill at carrying weights,” Talisman quietly reminded him. “If you, my father, will go to the starboard quarter, you, Francis, and Tylo to the port, Dido at the prow—” she placed them all well forward and then went with Tala’aa to the stern. “Are you all ready? When I give the word, lift!”
And somehow, astonishingly, the boat was in the air, its entire weight apparently born by Talisman and Tala’aa at the stem, while the bearers at the front did no more than keep it steady and balanced. They moved out of the boat-yard at a slow but regular pace and covered the short distance to the area marked by bamboo wands in three minutes. Lowering was anxious: first the two women knelt, carrying the weight on their shoulders; then, with cracking muscles, the other three let down the bows. The Lass of Cley lay on her side, leaning away from the red and angry ocean at the foot of the cliff, which seemed hungry to receive her.
This is a pretty hare-brained business, thought Dido. Suppose the boat gets smashed in the landslide? Or is swamped by rocks falling on it? Or turns turtle and fills up when it hits the water? And us? How can we fall as far as that without getting knocked about?
Oh well, can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.
“Now we must go on board,” said Talisman.
They did so, King helped by Herodsfoot and his daughter. Dido noticed that he never even turned back to look at the house where he had lived for so long.
“The craft has three whaleskin flotation tanks below its deck,” he said encouragingly to his passengers. “If it should capsize, it will still float on its side, or upside down, and we may make shift to paddle round to Regina.”
Oh, thanks a handful, mister, thought Dido, and what about the sharks? But King seems to think the whole thing is a big junket.
Indeed King was calm and smiling and seemed entirely pleased by the adventure. Well, thought Dido, it must make a change for him after all those years at Limbo Lodge.
They stuffed themselves into the cabin and shut the door. There were four small portholes. Dido looked through one and saw an odd, copper-coloured cloud take shape over the southern horizon and come hastening towards them. In a moment the sky was darkened by a choking, coppery haze, the cliff-top outside turned rust-colour, and the Loss of Cley was turned to a ship of copper.
“It is dust,” said Tala’aa, “from the volcano.”
The dust came filtering into the closed cabin. They all began to gag and choke, and hurriedly tied cloths over their mouths and noses.
Talisman was holding a straw between her two palms and watching it intently. It quivered once. “There!” she said. “That was it. Listen!”
They listened, straining their ears in the muffling silence which had fallen with the dust. A dozen times Dido thought she heard a sound which turned out to be no sound at all. When at last it did begin it was so tiny that she thought she had imagined it. But it grew from a rustle to a whisper, from a whisper to a murmur, from a murmur to a sigh, from a sigh to a high continuous note, which went on as long as it takes to peel an apple – and then suddenly the bottom seemed to fall out of the world, the blood creaked and stammered in their ears, and the red dust that was everywhere in the cabin flew up and dashed against the ceiling.
There was no time for speech as they hurtled down. Herodsfoot started to say “What—?” and then with a bone-wrenching crash they hit the water and furrowed their way into a green hill of sea. Dido saw the dark green shoot across her port-hole, and thought, I never expected to die this way. I shan’t see Blackfriars Bridge again, (why she picked out Blackfriars Bridge she could not have said) and then the green gave place to a bright grey, the boat righted itself with a long shuddering heave, and Talisman, fighting her way upright, cried, “Quick! We must get a sail on her or we shall be thrown against the rocks!”
They flung themselves out of the cabin into the cockpit. The well was half full of water. Tylo seized a gourd and began bailing furiously.
John King took the tiller.
“We shall do, now,” he said. “When she gets a bit of way on her.”
Talisman had scrambled out of the cockpit and was busy on the cabin roof with the jib sheet, Herodsfoot helping her. In a moment the canvas unrolled and the ship began to slide through hillocks of water, running southwards towards that ominous gleam of steel-coloured light in the southern sky. The wind whistled in the shrouds.
“What about the mainsail?” shouted Herodsfoot, gesturing overhead.
“Not yet,” said King. “This wind will strengthen.”
Dido found another gourd and helped Tylo bale.
“The planks are dry,” King told them. “You’ll have to keep doing that until they swell up.”
“Why are we steering south?” Herodsfoot wanted to know.
The high black mass of cliff was slipping away from them, and presently they could see Manati harbour and its anchorage.
“We want to catch the onda from Mount Ximboë,” King said. “We need to get clear of the island.” He passed the tiller to his daughter and said, “Keep her steady with the wind on your left cheek.”
Talisman smiled at Herodsfoot. Her face was brilliant with happiness.
“You never expected it would be such a lark as this, did you?” she said, through the black hair that was blowing about her face.
The Lass of Cley was slipping through short, hurrying seas, each one trailing a white mass of bubbles, while the wind poured their crests sideways. The waves came from the south, they were becoming larger and uglier, but King looked at them with approval.
“Soon we shall see the onda,” he said. “Many’s the time I’ve watched it from Limbo Lodge. We want to stay well to eastwards till the front of it has passed us.”
There was now not more than an inch of water in the cockpit. Tylo went to the cabin and brought out some food; dried bananas and ukka cakes. He and Dido took turns to eat and bale.
“Ah,” said Aunt Tala’aa. “Look.” She pointed south.
They seemed to be staring up an immense hillside of water – a hillside composed of innumerable smaller hillocks, all moving steadily towards them. The whole ocean was tilted. At the top of the slope was a single, vast heap of sea, a single wave larger than Mount Fura itself, weighing heaven only knew how many thousands of tons, rolling in terror and majesty, driving the smaller seas before it like a flock of hurrying sheep.
“There’s the onda,” said King comfortably. “We are very well placed for it.”
To Dido it seemed that they were placed exactly where that hastening mountain of water would descend on them and demolish them. Her mouth went dry, her skin crept.
“Very well placed,” King repeated placidly. “Has the cockpit stopped taking water? Good. Dido and Tylo, be ready to help haul up the mainsail when the onda has passed us. The wind drops, whe
n it has passed. But the seas will be dangerous. Talisman, find a couple of oil barrels and spike them.”
“It will be a speedy end,” Talisman said cheerfully to Herodsfoot as they balanced on the cabin roof, watching the approach of the onda. Then, noticing his expression, she added, “It won’t pass within three miles of us. My father knows what he is about.”
Up went the mainsail, and, as it did so, a huge flock of birds suddenly passed over the boat with a disconcerting whistle of wings, audible even above the sound of the water. One moment they were there, the next, helped on their way by the wind, they were specks over the water to the north, hastening to take shelter in Aratu. King went back to the tiller.
And, after all, when the onda passed them nothing terrible happened, only the distracted sea took a new direction and began to pull at them instead of pushing. The sail was fully hoisted. The boat was bucketing wildly in a shifting tumble of broken foam; snarling, worrying breakers bit and clawed at them and King had to use all his strength, which was considerable, to keep the Lass of Cley heading the way she should go.
Tylo and Herodsfoot ladled oil over the side; it seemed impossible that should do any good, but they felt the benefit at once. The torn, hurrying water round them smoothed out and gentled; instead of slapping over the sides the waves rubbed silkily along the bulwarks like fawning cats.
King held on a westward course for another half hour, then changed direction and let wind and current drive the boat north like a feather in a gale.
During three hours they sailed, and saw nothing, for mountainous seas hid the coastline of Aratu from them.
As soon as they were steady on their course, King declared, “Now I must sleep. Do not call me unless there is any cause for disquiet.” He gave the tiller to Talisman, said to Herodsfoot, “Stay with her and help her,” then rolled into the cabin and lay down on one of the two bunks. In a moment he was fast asleep.
“Where is Aunt Tala’aa?” Dido asked Tylo, suddenly anxious. “Is she asleep on the other bunk?”
He shook his head. “Aunt Tala’aa travel on ahead.”
“How could she? You mean, she has left the ship?”
“She think we hunky-dory now.” (That was a phrase he had caught from Dido.)
“But – how did she go?”
Tylo shrugged. “With Aunt Tala’aa, you never see. One moment she here, next she gone.”
Dusk came early that day.
“Always early dark after Mount Ximboë throw up,” Tylo said. Dido supposed it was the dust in the atmosphere. A few stars, only the brightest, shone out in the sky.
There was a lighthouse on the northernmost tip of Aratu. Far ahead, now, they could see the loom of its beam wheel across the horizon.
“We better wake Sovran King,” Tylo said, but King came out just then of his own accord, sniffed the air, studied the stars, and said, “Now it is time to alter course to the northeast. Give me the tiller and you all be ready to get the sail across.”
Getting the sail across was a fierce struggle, and at one point the swinging boom knocked Dido into the sea. Herodsfoot, without the least hesitation, looped a line over his arm and dived in after her; he grabbed her and had her back on board before she had time to remember that she could not swim, or only a few strokes; the last time swimming had been required was when she had been cast away off a ship called the Dark Dew in the English North Sea.
“Thanks, Frankie!” she gulped as he dumped her over the rail.
“That was deedily done, Francis,” Talisman said, and John King scolded Dido. “Be more careful, child, another time!”
“Croopus, mister, I jist hope there ain’t another time,” Dido protested.
“If Lord Herodsfoot had not pulled you out, that current would have taken you up to Amboina!”
“Well, that’s where we aim to go – supposing Cap Sanderson has got his ship back.”
Meanwhile, thanks to John King’s skilful steering, they had slipped eastward, out of the onda current, and were now rounding the northerly tip of Aratu. Ahead of them lay the long harbour, with a few distant lights twinkling. Dido remembered how they had sailed in on the Siwara, and how a careless sailor had dropped a copper weight, his wedhoe, on to Mr Multiple’s head. Now it occurred to her to wonder – had the man done it on purpose? To oblige the Siwara to stay in harbour for several days? Could Manoel somehow have got hold of the man and bribed him beforehand?
Well, I’ll never know about that, thought Dido, but anyway Manoel is under hatches, and that is a right good thing.
Now they were sailing down the long harbour, and as they did so a miscellaneous flotilla of tiny little crazily rigged boats came out and passed them.
“Fishermen,” explained Tylo. “Always the fishers go out soon after onda pass by – much, much fish then.”
The little ships wanted information about the Lass of Cley – who sailed in her? – and Tylo, leaning over the side, supplied it. When he told who was on board a wild burst of ragged cheering broke out, and several of the craft turned round to accompany them into port.
The drumming, which had been noticeable as soon as they rounded the lighthouse point, became louder and louder. More lights flashed out, all across the town and the harbour front.
“I guess word has got about,” Dido said to Tylo. “Do you think that is good or bad?”
He reflected. “I think it is good. Aunt Tala’aa will have spread news.”
John King was gazing ahead at the lights of Regina as a man studies a long-lost treasure, rediscovered after many years.
“Why,” cried Dido, as they rounded the harbour bar, “look, there’s the Stwara!”
Wearing a somewhat haphazard and dishevelled appearance, the old tramp lay in her previous berth. There was just enough breeze in the harbour for John King to steer in neatly and bring to between the Siwara and the pier. A man stood keeping guard on the Siwara’s foredeck.
“Who is your master?” King called up to him, as the Lass of Cley lost way and came gently to a stop.
“Senhor Manoel.” Then the man suddenly realised who he was talking to, and gasped. “Senhor King! Your Excellency!”
At this moment hubbub broke out on the harbour front. A respectful, interested crowd had been gathering at the top of the stone landing-steps that led down from the quayside. Now at the sight of King standing on the cabin roof, his eyes gleaming in the lamplight, and his hair shining bright silver, murmurs of astonishment changed to joyful shouts of welcome, which rose up to a burst of cheering.
Dido, Tylo, and Herodsfoot quietly set about mooring the Lass of Cley while King and Talisman climbed the harbour steps.
Reaching the top of the steps, King addressed the crowd.
He said: “My friends, after my long illness I have come back to you. I am well – strong – restored – happy to look after you and live among you as I did before. There will be no more strife and dispute. All shall be done with justice and reason. Better – I have with me my dear daughter Talisman, child of my beloved wife Erato, whom you all remember. Talisman will be my eyes and ears, and your best friend. She is also a Kanikke and will heal you when you are sick.”
There was another burst of cheering. Just one or two voices could be heard asking, “And Manoel? Where is Manoel?”
King said: “My brother – is no longer with us. There was a curse on him from long ago – it caught up with him. He is dead. Aunt Tala’aa will tell you the whole story. Now – I and my friends – who have come up from Limbo Lodge riding on the onda – we are weary and need a house to sleep in. Can such a house be found?”
But easily, fifty voices told him. The town was half empty. There was a fine house right here on the front which had once been a hostel for pilgrims coming to visit the Place of Stones. It was his to command.
It was called the Maison Dieu.
Before the crew of the Lass of Cley had finished mooring, furling the sails, coiling ropes, fastening ties, tidying the cabin, making all fit to be left, the c
rowd had spread a pathway for John King across the harbour front to his temporary home. At first Dido thought it was made from white petals of flowers, scattered across the stone paving, but as she followed behind King and Talisman, she saw that the pale shapes were playing-cards with all kinds of emblems on them: bulls, leaves, clubs, swords, hearts, pikes, paving-tiles and trefoil.
It’s the fortune-telling pack, Dido remembered. That my aunt Tinty Kirlingshaw used to fetch out when she told folks’ futures. And the trump card in that was called the Maison Dieu, with a picture of a tumbledown tower. I wonder why?
The Maison Dieu in Regina town was not precisely tumbledown, but plainly it had not been used for some time; the courtyard was full of old nets, oars, fishing tackle, and coils of rotten rope. However, sheets, beds, chairs and furnishings were soon brought by the welcoming crowd, lamps were lit, and a festive meal provided.
Talisman thanked the hospitable crowd, and politely asked them to leave.
“My father is only just recovered from a long illness, he is tired, and has had a hard, dangerous trip from Mount Fura. Tomorrow he will be glad to welcome all who wish to see him, and he particularly wishes to see the Town Fathers of Regina, the leaders of the Civil Guard, and any Forest People who care to come. Now he bids you goodnight.”
The crew of the Lass of Cley were glad to retire early. It had been a long and strenuous day.
But Dido, for some reason, found herself reluctant to settle to sleep in any of the rooms of the old Maison Dieu. It smelt dank and musty, it reminded her too much of Quinquilho ranch. She made herself a bed from unravelled ropes, frayed nets, and scraps of canvas, in a sheltered corner of the arcaded courtyard.
First thing in the morning, she thought, I go looking for Cap Sanderson and Mr Mully. Maybe they’ll know up at the hospital. And she fell deeply asleep.
She was destined to wake before day, though. In the small hours the moon came glinting down into the courtyard, making the shadows blacker and the patches of light sharper, waking Dido with its brilliance. And into the middle of this black-and-white scene stole a frail, thin black figure.
