The Stolen Lake (Wolves Chronicles)

by Joan Aiken

"You're to go to the cap, and we're all to start for land so's I can get some gals' togs in Tenby," she called to the steward, grabbing her bag of needments, and she bounded up on deck.

  Mr. Windward was supervising the stowage of provisions in the pinnace, and the embarkation of the shoregoing party. To Dido, leaning on the rail and watching, it came as a most disagreeable shock to discover that Silver Taffy was to be one of the shore crew. The others were a big cheerful lad called Able Seaman Noah Gusset; a sailor known as Plum because of the color of his nose; Mr. Midshipman Multiple, who was freckled, blue-eyed, quick-witted, and, if of a somewhat teasing disposition, on the whole friendly to Dido; and the first lieutenant. The second lieutenant, Mr. Bowsprit, was to remain in charge of the Thrush.

  "Oh, croopus," Dido muttered, when she saw Silver Taffy climb into the pinnace. "If he's along, there'll be nothing but trouble!"

  Assembling all her resolution, she ran down the companionway and tapped on the captain's door.

  "Come in!" he called impatiently.

  Dido slipped in and carefully closed the door behind her.

  "Sir," she said rapidly in a low tone, "please don't have Silver Taffy along in the lot that's going ashore! There's bound to be no end of shenanigans if you do—it'll bring a whole peck o' trouble—acos he can't abide Mr. Holystone's cat—or me—and if we're all a-going to be traveling in a boat up the river, it'll be hokus-mokus all the blessed time, don't you see?"

  In her urgency she grasped hold of the captain's blue superfine broadcloth lapels, tarnishing the gold lace. Captain Hughes stepped back sharply, regarding her with amazed disapprobation.

  "Miss Twite!! Pray, who do you think you are? Remember that I am the captain!"

  "Lud love you, sir, that's jist what I does remember! Jeeminy, you're the one as has got us into this mux, and you're the only one as can get us out. Do tell Silver Taffy as he ain't wanted arter all!"

  "I shall do no such thing," said Captain Hughes. "David Llewellyn is a strong, useful seaman—one of the strongest men on board—which is one of the reasons why I chose him. He will be a capital member of the party should we chance to encounter wild beasts or hostile savages. Furthermore, he is familiar with this country—another advantage. He has an old aunt residing in Bewdley and he particularly requested permission to form one of the party so that he might visit her. But I do not know why I should be required to explain my reasons to you, Miss Twite, after all! How dare you enter my cabin uninvited, and speak to me with this—this unheard-of effrontery? Return on deck at once, if you please!"

  "Oh, blimey!" said Dido despairingly.

  Entering Mr. Holystone's galley, she found him putting up a hamper of the captain's favorite delicacies, and a set of plate, glass, knife, fork, spoon, and linen napkin.

  "You'll never guess what, Mr. Holy," said Dido in deep dejection. "That there perishing Silver Taffy is a-coming ashore with us. I tried to persuade Cap'n Hughes agin it, but he's so sot in his judgments there's no talking to him."

  Mr. Holystone did not appear too discomposed. He replied calmly enough, "Indeed? It was very forward of you, child, to argue with the captain."

  "Yes, that's what he said," Dido replied glumly, kicking at a basket of damp seaweed in which Mr. Holystone was packing hard-boiled gulls' eggs.

  "But how'll you keep an eye on Dora, with Silver Taffy along?"

  "I can leave her here on board, which will be a great advantage. Mr. Bowsprit will look after her, I am sure."

  "Ay, that's so," said Dido, sighing. "But it's spoiled my pleasure, I can tell you."

  "Fiddle-de-dee! Now, take this pail on deck, if you will be so kind, and hand it to Able Seaman Gusset."

  Once aboard the pinnace, Dido found her spirits lifting. It was such a fine day, after all! The eight oars raised in salute, the captain descended the ladder; then, when he was seated, all the rowers cleft the sea together and shot the boat forward. The hot sun blazed overhead, the sea underneath was brilliantly blue and clear. In it, however, huge dark shapes roved about, sometimes looming uncomfortably close to the pinnace. One of them rose out of the water and snapped at the oars, revealing a ferocious triple row of teeth.

  "Tiburone, he is," Able Seaman Gusset told Dido—he had a slow, country voice, and a pleasant blue-eyed open face. "Best not trail your hand in the water, missie. You might bring it up less a few fingers!"

  "I don't reckon as a few fingers'd be much use to him," said Dido with a shudder; and after that she took good care to keep her hands well inside the boat.

  The land, which from a distance had looked like a frieze cut from blue and silver silk, acquired clearness and detail as they moved closer. Dido saw that the black-and-white timbered houses of Tenby each had an upstairs gallery, overhanging the street, glassed in with big windows, doubtless for protection from Atlantic gales.

  On the quayside lay piles of fish, stacks of crates and barrels, and mounds of gaily colored nets. The houses of this small port were grouped on either side of the river, which flowed deep and swift between two headlands. About a quarter of a mile upriver, an island, built over with houses, divided the Severn, and bridges spanned each arm of water.

  "It looks a right nice little place," Dido said to Noah Gusset, "but it's mighty quiet, ennit? There bain't many folk about. You'd think they'd be keen to see chaps from a British man-o'-war?"

  "Maybe 'tis work hours," suggested Noah.

  The streets of Tenby did seem peculiarly empty. Dido looked with interest to see if the cobbles were made of silver—but they were merely the usual sort, smeared over with fish offal. And the houses looked remarkably like those of Southwark or Battersea. Dido could not avoid a slight feeling of disappointment as she climbed up the steps and onto the quay. She had hoped for something more foreign and surprising.

  Captain Hughes was the one who seemed surprised—and not agreeably. Apparently he had expected Mr. Brandywinde to be there to meet them; but there was no sign of the British agent on the harborside.

  "Plague take the fellow," Dido heard the captain mutter. "I only hope he is not touched in his wits. He seemed half dickey in his cups. It is a fine thing to set out on such a difficult and delicate mission with no better counsel than the word of such a dibble-dabble fellow."

  "You think he's a rabshackle, Cap'n?" said Dido. "So do I."

  Captain Hughes cast her an impatient glance.

  "Mind your own business, child! Speak when you are spoken to, not before!"

  Thus snubbed, Dido applied herself to studying the streets of Tenby. A tall, skinny fellow now approached them, who, briefly bowing, without any particular look of civility or goodwill, announced himself as Sandai Bando and said that he had been directed to lead them to the inn.

  "Where is Mr. Brandywinde?" demanded Captain Hughes.

  Sandai Bando shrugged, shook his head, and spread out his hands; then, turning his back, he led them off along the harborside at a rapid pace. He was bronzed, hook-nosed, had on a suit of black worsted, much the worse for wear, yellow stockings, black slippers, and very short trousers. His black hair was tied back in a queue.

  The distance to The White Hart Inn, where they were to leave their bags, was not great; quitting the harbor, they turned up a steep hill and soon saw the inn sign ahead of them. On this street there were a few people about: the men, in general, rather short, dark, stern-looking, clad like Sandai Bando in suits of black worsted, the women equally small of stature, wearing black stuff dresses, white aprons, and steeple-crowned hats over white caps. These people glanced at the party of foreigners with what seemed like distrust and ill will; they did not smile at the strangers, or make any attempt to engage them in talk.

  "What a set of dismal churlish bumpkins," Dido muttered to Mr. Holystone. "They stare at us as if we was rattlesnakes. Not very civil, are they?"

  Several of the people they passed stared at Dido, in particular, with apparent astonishment. What's so odd about me? she wondered. Is it because I've got on boys' togs? Ain't gals allowed
on the streets here?

  Certainly no girls were to be seen, and very few boys.

  In the windows of some of the houses they passed, placards were to be seen, often carrying a picture of a person. "Puella perdida" or "Niña perdida," "Infans absens," were the messages printed under these pictures; about to ask Mr. Holystone what this meant, Dido saw one that had the inscription in English: Lost child.

  "Rabbit me," she muttered in perplexity. "Has everybody in this town lost a child? They must be a rare careless lot. No wonder they're all so down-in-the-mouth."

  Now the ship's party passed a few little stores, chandlers' shops displaying flour, candles, twine, eggs, soap; and some poverty-stricken market stalls with bright yellow potatoes (Mr. Holystone told Dido these were yams), yucca roots, cassava bread, onions, and green pineapples.

  The White Hart was a decent-looking establishment with an arch for coaches to pass under, and flowering cactuses in stone pots on either side of its main door. No coaches were to be seen in the yard behind, however, and the inn appeared to be doing very slow business, to judge from the alacrity with which the captain and his party were received by Don José Jones, the innkeeper. He was a small bustling red-faced man, who promptly escorted the captain to his best suite, and promised to have dinner for the party at five o'clock sharp.

  A sour-faced chambermaid led Dido to a small chamber next to that of the captain, but she had time to do no more than drop her duffel bag on the bed before Captain Hughes summoned her to accompany him to Mr. Brandywinde's house.

  "Did you expect to find Mr. Brandywinde a-waiting here, sir?" asked Dido, observing that the captain looked rather put out.

  "Never mind that, miss!" snapped Captain Hughes. He added under his breath, "I daresay if we were to wait for that bag of wind to do anything useful, we might wait until the forty-second Tuesday in Trinity Week."

  It's too bad the captain's such an old gruff-and-grum, thought Dido, for there's nought amiss with his sense.

  Captain Hughes had instructed Sandai Bando to lead them to the agent's residence, but it was plain he did this with no good grace; scowling, with his lower lip thrust out, he took them round such a number of corners that Dido began to be positive he was leading them a long way round on purpose.

  At last the captain exclaimed, "Come, come, my man! Do not try to pull the wool over our eyes, if you please! We have been past that market stall once already. I distinctly remember those wizened little cassava loaves. I shall not pay you one bezant more, I warn you, however far you take us!"

  And he hailed a passer-by, a respectable-looking man in black broadcloth who carried what looked like a Bible under his arm, and inquired the way to the British agent's residence.

  "Well, it is not far from here, but you are going in exactly the wrong direction," replied this man. "You should climb the hill to the monument, turn right, and it is the first house along the new road. You cannot mistake, for there is a monkey-puzzle tree in front, white palings all round, a cactus by the steps, and the name Mon Repos on the gate."

  As Captain Hughes thanked the stranger, Sandai Bando fairly took to his heels and scudded off up the hill as if the devil were after him. Since the monument was plainly visible at the top, Captain Hughes did not call him back; all their breath was needed for climbing.

  The hill was excessively steep, and the little thatched houses continued up it, each one three steps higher than its neighbor, until just before the monument, where there was a patch of rough, open, thistly grass, on which a few donkeys grazed. There were also two tall, shaggy beasts, breathing in a rather supercilious manner over the dusty herbage, unable to move away because their front and back feet were hobbled.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Dido. "They are the same as—" "—As the animals I saw last night," she had been about to say, but then recalled that this would reveal her unauthorized use of the captain's spyglass, and quickly shut her mouth. The captain briefly informed her that they were llamas, large sheeplike animals much esteemed in these parts both for their wool and as beasts of burden. "A llama will not travel alone, but only in company with his fellows; and it will never carry a load of more than one hundred pounds avoirdupois."

  "How do they know?" Dido asked, but the captain did not answer.

  The monument, when they reached it, also excited Dido's curiosity; it consisted of a sword stuck in a large granite rock, on top of a high plinth. On the plinth were engraved the words: Vide ut supra.

  "What's that mean, Cap?" panted Dido, glad of the chance to stand still for a moment. After so long a spell at sea, her legs were not prepared for such a steep climb.

  "It means 'See what is written above,'" briefly replied the captain.

  "Well, what is written above?"

  "Blest if I can see anything. Oh—there—on the handle of the sword, I suppose."

  Dido instantly scrambled up onto the rock and reported that the words on the sword handle read, "Non in aeternum moriar." "What's that mean, sir?"

  "It means 'I shall not die forever.' Do, pray, for heaven's sake, child, come down off that rock directly! What will people think?" irascibly demanded the captain.

  Dido jumped nimbly down, informing the captain that there was a crown carved on the other side of the rock, and a tiptop view to be had from its summit. "You can see the old Thrush, sir, her own self. And there's a ship putting into port; one o' them Biruvian trading scows."

  Captain Hughes merely urged Dido to make haste and not dusty her breeches any more; so they walked on to the white gates of the house called Mon Repos. Beyond the house, the earth road came to an abrupt stop, barred by a pair of locked gates set in a high palisade fence made of thick, strong palm trunks; it seemed that the town of Tenby was carefully fortified. Beyond the palisade, the tops of forest trees could be seen.

  "Heyday, what have we here?" exclaimed Captain Hughes. A large cart, already half-loaded, stood in front of Mon Repos. Furniture was being carried out to it. "This looks like a move. Are they leaving?"

  So it appeared. Servants were running to and fro, bearing trunks, portmanteaux, bandboxes, and all manner of bundles, besides toys, blankets, and cooking utensils; in the midst of all this bustle was Mr. Brandywinde himself, directing the stowage in the cart.

  At the sight of Captain Hughes the agent halted his activities, evidently somewhat embarrassed and discomposed.

  "Ah, there you are, my dear Captain! What a charming surprise. 'Oh, what a surprise, doth gladden my eyes, What a vision of joy your admirer descries!'"

  "Are you moving house, then, Brandywinde?" demanded the captain, interrupting these transports.

  "Why—why yes; yes, that is so; in the joy of welcoming you, Captain, it had slipped my memory, but such indeed is the case."

  "By hokey! Why the deuce didn't you tell me so? It is fortunate that I reached Tenby yesterday, and not next week," indignantly answered the captain. "Or are you merely removing to another quarter of the town?"

  "Ahem! Well—in fact—that is to say—"

  Mr. Brandywinde's answer was cut short by the emergence of a slatternly-looking woman clad in a tattered satin wrapper, which had a great many frills, and dangled about her in a highly insecure manner, as if it might slip off altogether at any moment.

  "Order them to make haste, my ducky diddlums, or we shall miss the packet!" exclaimed this personage, and then, observing Captain Hughes, she changed her expression to a simper and added, "Oh, la, I declare! Well, for shame, Ludovic! You never told me that you were expecting company!"

  "Did I not, my angel? It must have slipped from my mind in the press of business. Allow me, my love—my dear old messmate, Captain Hughes of His Majesty's sloop Thrush. And this is little Miss Pittikin-Pattikin," Brandywinde added vaguely. "I told you that the captain wished to consult your views, my honeycake, as to where the young lady could best obtain suitable raiment in which to make her curtsy before Her Mercy."

  As he pronounced the latter words, Dido noticed that both he, his wife, and all the serv
ants looked nervously about, as if fearful that he might be overheard. And several of the servants made figure-eight signs with thumb and fingers.

  "Of course you told me about the matter, my lovekin," shrilly replied Mrs. Brandywinde. "And I writ a note about it, not this half hour since. Do you return to The White Hart, Captain, directly, and before you can say 'Pop goes the weasel,' my dear sir, I can assure you, two of the best needlewomen in New Cumbria will be in attendance on you—Mind that chiffonier, blockhead! You nearly had the legs off it!" And she aimed a thump with her palm-leaf fan at the head of a passing servant. This had the effect of dislodging her wrapper, and she turned to retreat indoors, hoisting it together with a hurried hand.

  "Are you quite certain of that, ma'am?" Captain Hughes called after her doubtfully. He sounded as if, judging from her own untidy apparel, he wondered whether she was the best person to recommend a dressmaker.

  "Sure as sharks is sharks," replied Mrs. Brandywinde, stopping in the doorway to give the captain such an extremely wide smile that she was able to display every one of her thirty-two teeth, all made of well-polished silver. "Why, I may tell you that both sempstresses have been in the employ of Lady Ett—of Her Mercy's own mistress of the wardrobe." Dido noticed the agent give his wife a scowl at these words.

  The captain said, "Oh, well—in that case—I am much obliged to you, ma'am. And I shall not discommode you further at this time. Are you being replaced, sir, by another agent, may I inquire?" he added to Mr. Brandywinde.

  Dido missed the agent's answer, if there was one, for at this moment there sidled out of Mon Repos the most unattractive small child she thought she had ever laid eyes on.

  Young Miss Brandywinde had the protruding eyes and lank sandy hair of her father, added to the bulging girth and sly expression of her mother; her face was covered in spots, and she was stickily sucking a length of sugarcane which had dribbled down the front of her frilly red sarcenet dress. She might be about five years old.

  "Oh, my eye! Who's this?" she demanded, removing the sugarcane from her mouth just long enough to put the question, then popping it back in again. She gestured at Dido with her elbow.