The Whispering Mountain

by Joan Aiken

  “Certain sure that’s Telyn Teirtu herself, though she have been tuned and fettled up sweeter than ever she was in Granny’s day,” Tom said. “Was it you put her in such good order?” Abipaal nodded. “Then I do bow to you, friend,” said Tom, and did. His fingers wandered over the strings again and found a sweet, chiming tune, the “Bells of Aberystwyth.”

  “Eh, that’s bonnie,” said the prince, simply.

  Little Abipaal seemed dumbstruck that such music could exist; he had fallen into a dream, rocking slowly to and fro. Every now and then he heaved a huge sigh, as if his heart were too big to be contained inside him.

  “Dinna gie o’er, man! Play us anither tune while we wait for the lads tae return wi” yon lost one,” urged the prince. But Tom, who had almost forgotten, under the influence of poetry and music, that someone was missing, jumped up and said,”Better it would be, indeed, if I were to help hunt. Who might this lost boy be, and how did he come to enter the cave by night?”

  “Why,” said the prince, “it is a canny, braw lad by name Owen Hughes, who helped carry me a” the road here from yon Fforest Mwyaf. Why he had tae gang stravaging off into this unchancy spot then, gude kens, but I guess ‘twas someway connectit wi” yon Harp o’ Teirtu whilk has thrown ye a” into sic a dickery-dookery. And I maun say,” he added handsomely, as Tom’s fingers absently pulled out another enchanting strand of melody from the harp,”here’s Prince Davie Jamie and-all-the-rest-of-it Tudor-Stuart winna say it wasna waurth the trouble!”

  “Owen Hughes? Eh, dear, the poor lad,” Tom Dando said, and had just handed the harp carefully back to Abipaal, who still seemed bemused, when several persons arrived upon the scene with dramatic suddenness.

  Firstly Bilk and Prigman, closely followed by Garble, burst out of one of the openings in the sloping wall and with a shout of triumph rushed towards Abipaal as he stood still regarding the harp in his hands with a doubtful, melancholy expression. He started at the sound of their voices and retreated to the very edge of the Devil’s Leap.

  But now another, larger group, consisting of Luggins, Hwfa, Mog, and Dove, appeared from a second opening.

  “Haihwchw, lads!” exclaimed Dove. “There’s those two scaff that Mog and I followed. How in wonder did they manage to get out of that house when the cliff tumbled in on it? More lives than Auntie Blodwen’s old Tomalkin they must have!”

  “Never mind how!” said Mog. “Likely they have poor Owen trussed up somewhere. Strangle the pair of them, shall we, till they tell us where?”

  “Just let me get at them,” said Hwfa.

  They flung themselves on Bilk and Prigman, before the latter could reach Abipaal. The cave re-echoed with thuds and yells; Garble came to the assistance of Bilk and Prigman, but even so the three men were far outmatched by the four massive boys. Mog and Dove together tackled Bilk, Hwfa hurled Prigman to the ground with an expert cross-buttock throw, while Luggins pulled Garble down by sheer weight, and then sat on his chest, nearly crushing him.

  The prince, in the meantime, was watching with the keenest interest.

  “Gude lads! Gude lads! Gie the rogues a bonnie loun-dering!” he cried joyfully. “Gin I hadna this lammit leg I’d be in there aiding ye!”

  Presently the fight abated.

  “Stunned, my boyo is,” Hwfa said with satisfaction. “Bit of cord, have you, Mog, man? Tie him up tidy, I will, before he do come round.”

  The boys pooled their string resources. Mog had quite a long piece, which did for Prigman; Dove contributed a neckerchief, which was used to tie Garble’s hands behind him; Luggins, rather shamefacedly, produced from his pockets a number of short lengths of cord to which horse chestnuts had been attached, and began removing the chestnuts and tieing the lengths together.

  “Hurry up,” said Hwfa crossly, “before I will give you a good clip on the ear. Conkers, indeed! Shame you have brought on us, boy.”

  In guilty haste, Luggins dropped the last two conkers and handed over the joined strings; Bilk was tied up.

  “Tidy job, to be sure,” Tom Dando said, with approval. “But where is young Owen Hughes?”

  “Not a sign of him have we seen,” Hwfa said. “Maybe these scum can be telling.” Threateningly he turned on Bilk, and asked him, “What have you done with our mate, and do not try to tell me a lie, or there is clear down your throat I will push your nasty teeth.”

  “B-b-blest if I know where the little micher has got to,” stammered Bilk, looking scared to death. “We h-heered him a-letting out a whoobub down yonder, but that was hours agone; since then we haven’t seen him, and that’s Ticklepenny’s truth!”

  In spite of all threats he stuck to this story, and his listeners began to believe that it must be true.

  “Perhaps he have fallen down a hole? Maybe we should fetch the fire-brigade,” Luggins said, looking worried.

  But at this moment Owen himself rushed out from one of the passages, pale with haste and exhaustion.

  “Where is Abipaal? Is he all right? And the harp? Ah, thank goodness!” he cried with a gasp of relief, observing first the boys and then the small figure, huddled with the harp on the rocky brink. “I thought for sure he would come back here! But where have Bilk and Prigman got to, and that other fellow?”

  Luggins stepped back to exhibit the captives.

  “Tied up we have got them like a lot of old mailbags,” he said proudly.

  “No thanks to you,” Hwfa muttered.

  Prigman was beginning to stir in his bonds; Bilk and Garble eyed their captors balefully.

  “Aweel, aweel,” exclaimed Prince David, “now we’re a” thegither ance more, and the bonnie harp findit that’s been the cause of sic a muckle clamjamfry, let’s e’en gan awa” oot this murky hole. Fetch up the harp and the wee mannie, but ye can leave yon ruffians bide; we’ll syne send the justices for them. Perdition on this doited leg; I fear ye’ll hae tae carry me yet again, lads.”

  Accordingly, the boys approached Prince David to pick up his improvised litter, but before they could reach him a voice from above cried, “Stand!”

  Halfway up the side of the cave, at the head of one of the flights of steps, stood the Marquess of Malyn.

  He presented a wild and sinister figure. His face was deathly pale, paler even than the snow which encrusted the many capes of his greatcoat, and in either hand he held a cocked pistol. His strange yellow eyes burned with a feverish light when they beheld the Harp of Teirtu, and Luggins trembled superstitiously, making the sign to avert the Evil Eye, as the Marquess began to descend the steps.

  “Diafol, Mog, he do look like old Bogey-Boo himself!”

  “Let nobody move,” warned Lord Malyn. “The first to do so will receive a breakfast of lead!”

  “Gude save us!” exclaimed Prince David. “Malyn! Whit gars ye.act sae daft, man? ‘Tis treason o’ the blackest tae point yon brace o’ barkers at your ain anointit prince!”

  “Oh, are ye there, Wales?” said Lord Malyn, who had not previously observed the prince, his attention being too fixed on the harp. “Well, it makes no odds; neither prince nor commoner will keep me any longer from my objective. I have not driven fourteen horses and a footman to their end through the blizzard to be foiled now.” His eyes came to rest on Prigman, Bilk, and Garble; his lips curled scornfully. “What, you have let yourselves be trussed up by a handful of ragged pit-boys? Small wonder you made such a wretched mull of trying to get me the harp.”

  Bilk, red with anger and shame, writhed in his bonds; some of the knotted strings came apart, and he managed to free his hands.

  “Good,” said Lord Malyn calmly. “Loosen the other two, then bring me the harp. And secure the little creature who holds it. I have a notion that he is one of my friends the Seljuk’s people.”

  “Dammo!” exclaimed Tom, starting forward. “Are we to stand here while this herwhaliwr tramples us like grass?”

  But one of Lord Malyn’s pistols was trained steadily on the Prince of Wales.

  “Move but an
other inch and the prince dies,” the Marquess announced coldly. Tom stood still, muttering curses.

  “Are those men free? Right; now fetch me the harp.”

  Warily, sweating with fear of the drop below, Bilk approached Abipaal, who crouched like some small cornered animal on the tongue of rock; his eyes shot from side to side, then up, then down; he cast a desperate look at Tom Dando, who was moving by imperceptible degrees towards the helpless prince.

  “Abipaal! called Owen. “Dodge him!”

  Bilk shot out an arm; Abipaal slipped to one side, just avoiding it With a furious oath, Bilk lunged again but Abipaal, mustering all his tremendous strength and agility, bounded from the rock on which he stood down—down—across the abyss, and landed on the lower spur with a triumphant jangle of harpstrings, as if Teirtu herself were shouting defiance at her pursuers.

  “Crambo!” gasped Bilk. “The little boggart! Who’d a thought—help!”

  His lunge had taken him too far; he tottered, swaying, upon the brink for the space of six heartbeats, clutching at air; then, with a fearful, wailing cry, overbalanced and hurtled downwards into the dark.

  “Bilk!” cried Prigman. He started forward towards the verge, and trod on the conkers which Luggins had carelessly dropped there. His feet shot from under him, he fell forward, and, hardly a moment later, followed his comrade to destruction.

  “Duw!” said Luggins. “Not such a bad thing to have a few conkers along, Hwfa, I am thinking?”

  His voice broke the petrified silence into which everyone had fallen at the fate of the thieves. With a hissing intake of breath, Lord Malyn moved his pistols, menacing the boys, Tom, and Prince David.

  “Garble,” he ordered, apparently quite unmoved by the sudden and shocking end of his two agents, “go after that imp of the pit and secure the harp. He is now down on the lower spur.”

  Very pale, apparently not relishing the task, Garble moved towards one of the entrances.

  “I doubt he’ll not catch the little wasp,” Hwfa uttered hopefully.

  But Garble was not destined even to try; with a sudden hubbub of voices, Brother Ianto, Mr. Hughes, Arabis, Yehimelek, and the Seljuk rushed out from another opening in the rock.

  Owen had been slowly edging his little book from his pocket; seizing the chance of this distraction he hurled it at Garble, who, struck heavily on the back of the neck, dropped as if he had been felled by a life-preserver.

  At the same instant Tom Dando flung himself between the Marquess and the Prince of Wales; only just in time; utterly maddened and unhinged by these reverses, Lord Malyn was taking aim at the prince. Tom pushed Prince David aside as the gun went off, but took the shot himself, full in the chest.

  Arabis let out a piercing cry,” Dada!”

  The prince would certainly have gone over the edge had not Owen - thrown himself forward and just managed to drag him to safety.

  “Ach y fi, that filthy swine have killed Mr. Dando!” swore Hwfa between his teeth. “Come on and get him, boys, is it? Only one shot he have left; he can’t do for us all.”

  Glaring, step by step, the Marquess retreated from them on to the Devil’s Leap.

  “Come no nearer!” he warned. “I shall blow out the brains of the first to step within four yards.”

  The boys wavered; meanwhile Lord Malyn cast a glance slantways down, plainly trying to gauge whether he would be able to imitate Abipaal’s escape and take the frightful plunge across the pit.

  “He shan’t give us the slip that way!” Owen cried, bounding forward. The Marquess discharged his other pistol, but the shot went wide, and its noise was drowned by a much louder sound; as they all watched, thunderstruck, they saw a crack open in the ground and widen with fearful speed; the whole portion of rock on which Lord Malyn stood, weakened either by the sound of the shots or the unusual activity upon it, began to tilt slowly away from the edge. Lord Malyn started, and made a snatch at the guard-rope nearest to him, but missed it; the rock tilted farther—snapped clean off—and shot downwards, taking Lord Malyn with it. Two minutes later a great blast of hot vapour surged up, evidently displaced from some hollow in the depths of the mountain by the massive piece of rock. It passed roaring through the cave and burst from the numerous vents and fissures above with a violent yelling whistle, as if the mountain shrieked in agony.

  Startling though these occurrences were, three persons had taken but little notice of them. Mr. Hughes and Brother Ianto, kneeling by Tom, were endeavouring to stop the flow of blood from his wound, while Arabis frantically tore strips from her petticoat for bandages.

  “Air, he needs. We should carry him out,” Mr. Hughes recommended.

  “I thank you, but not to trouble, is it?” Tom said with difficulty. “Waste of time, see? Done for, I am, indeed, Arabis, my little one, but no matter; decent old life I have had, and plenty of friends to look after you when I am gone.”

  Arabis, choked with grief, could not reply, but the Prince of Wales, who had been helped back to his bench by the boys, exclaimed,

  “Aye indeed, I’ll see the lass is brocht up as brawly as ane o’ my own, on the word of Davie Tudor-Stuart, for whom ye shed your honest blude! Wae’s me, I’m sair fashed that this should ha” come to pass!”

  Mr. Hughes gave the prince a startled look; up to this moment he had not realized that he was in the presence of royalty.

  “And as for yon harp that all this ploy has been aboot, I shall make sure it is handit ower to your lass, sin” it is richtfully hers,” the prince went on, surprising Mr. Hughes still more,”and, man, ye shall hae the grandest funeral a poet could, wi” the music of a hundred harps and a” the bards of Wales to do ye honour.”

  “There’s nice,” Tom said faintly, smiling. “No finer than that grand sing we have had together though, I am thinking! But as for the harp, too much hate and spite it have caused already. If that small fellow wish to keep it, let him do so, eh, Arabis, my little one?”

  “Oh yes indeed!” Arabis cried weeping. “What do I care about the old harp? Only to have you stay alive, Dada, please, is it? Make a try, now!”

  “No, girl, my time is come. Like to have written a couple more poems, I would indeed, but too late now.”

  Sighing a little, like a man who is weary after a pleasant day’s journey, Tom leaned back against the arm of Brother Ianto. Suddenly his eyes brightened, and, for a moment, opened wide, as if he saw something very beautiful and unexpected directly in front of him.

  “O well now, just fancy that!” he exclaimed.

  Then his eyes shut and he was gone.

  A few minutes later little Abipaal, carrying the Harp of Teirtu, came stealing cautiously out of one of the smaller caves where he had been hiding. Timid as a wild goat but drawn, it seemed, by some powerful urge, he approached the silent group, scanning them, evidently searching for somebody. Perceiving Tom stretched on the rock he hurried forward and held out the harp; then stopped short, stared, crept nearer; with a cry of anguish flung down the harp at Tom’s feet and sank beside it, wailing and keening and rocking back and forth as if he, too, had received a mortal wound.

  When, some time later, the party at last slowly and sadly made their way out of the cave and into the street of Nant Agerddau, they were amazed to see that a great piece of snow-covered mountainside had broken away and rolled down, narrowly missing the town, and leaving a clear view all the way to Caer Malyn. Even more startling, Castle Malyn, on its crag above the port, appeared to be in ruins, roofless and shattered.

  “It will be the central heating pipes,” concluded Mr. Hughes. “When that rock fell down the shaft it will have displaced a great mass of steam which escaped along the pipes and blew the castle of bits, and I daresay there is no one who will grieve.”

  “My little people!” cried the Seljuk anxiously. “Oh my goodness, I trust they have come to no harm, hurt, mischief, ill that flesh is heir to! Come, Yehimelek, we must return to them at once!”

  “Not too easy through all this snow,”
Brother Ianto remarked. “Best to go back underground, maybe, if the way is clear.”

  Arabis, coming out of her private grief, said that she would accompany the Seljuk; so did Owen and Ribaddi, now recovered, after his night’s sleep. They were worried about Abipaal; he had followed the party through the streets of Nant Agerddau and would not leave the Boar’s head Inn, where Tom’s body lay, but stood at the door, crying, with the harp in his arms, refusing to enter or leave, and snarling at anyone who approached him.

  “Best leave him for the moment, maybe,” said Brother Ianto.

  The underground way was clear; and the Children of the Pit, snug in their caves, had not been harmed by the destruction of the castle up above; though greatly alarmed by the fearful sound of escaping steam and falling masonry. Their illness continued to abate and, much relieved, while Arabis and Owen tended them, the Seljuk went down to Port Malyn to make arrangements for a ship to take them all home to the Kingdom of Rum. By good fortune he was able to secure one which would be ready to sail the following week.

  Finding the tribe so much better Arabis did not give them any more medicines but instead, as this was what they seemed to want most, spent the rest of the day playing them tunes on her crwth. Owen, tired out by two days and a night without sleep, dozed on a camel-fur cushion nearby.

  At evening they returned to Nant Agerddau where the Prince of Wales had been making arrangements for Tom Dando’s funeral. Luckily a messenger had arrived from London in the course of the day to say that King James III had recovered from his toothache and found the key of his desk.

  Galahad and the wagon had been moved to the stable-yard of the Boar’s Head Inn. Owen, anxious to spare Arabis some of the pain of a return to the empty home, accompanied her there; they found that kindly Brother Ianto, with the same idea, had come to light the stove and make a potful of porridge.

  “Passenger you have now, too,” he said, nodding towards the corner.