The Stolen Lake (Wolves Chronicles)

by Joan Aiken

  "And yet Mabon immediately accuses me! Without the least grounds for doing so! And has the impudence to steal my lake. Imagine it! Suppose this should be the time—and it might well be so, for the soothsayers have given this year as a particularly fortunate, auspicious period—when my dearest husband, my dear Quondam Rex, should be due to return? What would happen if the lake were not in its place? The thought is not to be borne!"

  A very strange mixture of expressions blended and battled in the queen's countenance: resentment, wistfulness, anger, coyness, grief, pride, self-satisfaction. Dido did not care for any of them. She supposed she ought to feel sorry for a deserted wife who had been sorrowing so many hundreds of years for her lost husband—but how could you feel sorry for anybody quite so fat?

  Besides, she oughter got used to doing without him by now, Dido thought.

  "What did you wish me to do in the matter, ma'am?" Captain Hughes sounded exceedingly glum.

  "Well," Queen Ginevra replied, in a tone that was unexpectedly cheerful and chatty, "I had originally intended you to go and reason with King Mabon, Captain Hughes, and, if necessary, threaten armed intervention by British forces; my own army is, unfortunately, sadly depleted. But since you have brought your charming young friend to see me, I have been visited by a much better notion." She fixed her pale eyes on Dido.

  "You shall go to King Mabon, Captain; I will give you a safe-conduct across the frontier through the Pass of Nimue. Young Miss Twite there shall accompany you, and you will inform King Mabon, who will know no better, that you are returning his daughter to him!"

  "What?" gasped the captain, who could hardly believe his ears. "What, ma'am? You cannot be serious! You cannot intend the substitution of that young person there for—for the missing princess?"

  "Why not, pray?" said the queen coldly. "The princess has been away at boarding school for ten years. He will never know the difference. Why, you could easily pretend to be his daughter, could you not, child? Of course," she added, with what was evidently meant to be a winning smile, "I should greatly prefer that you remain with me, as my dear little guest—but you would do this small service for me, would you not? You need not remain with King Mabon for long, you know—merely until he has restored my property. Then you can run away and return to me here, and we shall have such splendid times together!"

  Dido gaped at the queen. So many snags in the plan presented themselves to her that she did not know which to mention first. Meanwhile the captain was spluttering like a firecracker.

  "But—but—but, ma'am! That would be rank deceit—fraud—imposture—knavery! It is not to be thought of!"

  "No?" Queen Ginevra turned her protruding eyes on him. The look in them was now far from friendly.

  "I could by no means countenance such sharp practice in the name of King James's government, or my masters at the admiralty."

  The queen sharply clapped her hands. Immediately a dozen gray-clad guards appeared from behind the curtains at the side of the hall. Queen Ginevra gestured toward Captain Hughes.

  "Take him to the Wen Pendragon prison," she said. "He may cool his heels there, until, perhaps, he has second thoughts."

  Captain Hughes was dragged away, struggling, cursing, and protesting loudly. "I object! This is an outrage! An act of war! Disgraceful detention of a diplomatic official! One of King James's subjects! Monstrous! Intolerable!" His voice died away in the distance.

  Ignoring him, the queen looked thoughtfully at Dido.

  "As for you, child..." Ginevra reflected for a little, as if undecided. Then she said, "You may have two days to decide. If you are prepared to go on this mission to King Mabon for me—I daresay that young man would escort you?"

  Dido and Lieutenant Windward eyed one another uncertainly; after a moment Dido slightly jerked her head, and he answered, "Y-yes, ma'am," in a faltering voice.

  "Very well! If you undertake the mission for me—if King Mabon returns my lake—your captain shall be re-leased. Now you may leave me. In forty-eight hours—or sooner, of course—I shall expect your decision."

  Dido found voice enough to croak, "Might we go look at this here lake, missus—Your High and Mighty? Where it was, I mean? Jist to make sure it has really gone, like?"

  "You doubt me?" asked the queen formidably.

  "No—no, ma'am! But—you never know—somebody mighta put it back by this time."

  "Most unlikely! But, in any case, if you travel to the court of Mabon in Lyonesse, you must cross the frontier at the head of Lake Arianrod, so you will see it then. You will need a safe-conduct to show to the guardian of the Temple of Sul, which commands the Pass of Nimue. If you agree to go, I will see that the grand inquisitor supplies you with the necessary pass."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  Mr. Jones, the queen's physician, now approached and, deferentially but firmly, wrapped a black bandage round the queen's plump arm, pressed a pigskin bulb, and studied the motions of a small dial.

  "You should rest, Your Mercy," he said. "The audience with the gringo captain has tired you more than you are aware."

  "Oh, very well, very well," snapped the queen, who did not appear particularly tired, so far as Dido could judge. However, she accepted a dishful of pills—red, yellow, green, black, and pink—which the doctor handed her, swallowed them with a little milk, and said to Dido, "You may depart, child. On your decision rests whether you see your captain again."

  The atmosphere in Bath Palace was stifling, warm as a conservatory. Despite this, Dido felt icy cold as she walked away from the dais; Queen Ginevra's glance seemed to pierce like an oyster knife between her shoulder blades. It was a comfort to have Lieutenant Windward's firm clasp on her arm. He was walking at a measured pace, trying to avoid undignified signs of nervous hurry. Dido had leisure to observe that the side hangings were in fact spiderwebs—huge, sagging curtains of them, swinging from roof to floor. They sparkled, here and there, with precious stones, diamonds perhaps. And the spiders, occasionally to be seen lurking in thickety knots of web, were as large and hairy as coconuts.

  In the curving gallery outside they found Daffyd Gomez, the grand inquisitor, waiting to intercept them.

  "Here comes more trouble," breathed Dido, as the venerable white-bearded figure extended a skinny hand.

  "Er—young man! Miss!" The inquisitor's voice was conspiratorial; he gave them a sly smile.

  "Sir?" Lieutenant Windward's tone was sharp with worry. He was a capable, conscientious young man, a good second-in-command, but not used to dealing with such a crisis as this.

  "I know—I know—you are in a pucker about your captain! Small blame to you. Her Mercy is so impulsive. That was what I tried to warn him, but he would not be advised. Now, doubtless, he is sorry. But listen to me: Do not you be so hotheaded. Take my advice. Pretend to agree to the queen's mission—then come to me. Will ye do that?"

  "Not really go to King Mabon, you mean?" Windward said cautiously.

  The grand inquisitor shook his head.

  "Mabon has not taken the lake—gracious me, no! Y Diawl, he would not do such a thing. It will have sunk away from natural causes. She will only make us into a laughingstock with such a message. Their queen is cracked in the head, Mabon will be saying. A great pity that would be."

  "But—" Dido began. It seemed plain the grand inquisitor had no idea of her part in the plan: the queen's intended deception of King Mabon. Gomez looked at her severely.

  "Hold your tongue, child! Little girls should be seen and not heard."

  "But what about Captain Hughes?" Windward asked doubtfully.

  "Leave that to me. I can talk the old lady round, by and by. Second thoughts she will be having, after a day or two. Just now, best to leave her alone. Quieta non movere."

  "I see," Windward said. He did not sound convinced. "Well—thank you, sir. We will be sure to remember your advice."

  Gomez gave them another cunning look, then glided away round the curve and out of sight.

  It was a relief to
descend the stair, to go out through the revolving door into the bitter cold of the palace yard—a sharp but welcome contrast to the steamy heat inside.

  Neither of the pair spoke until they were safely in the carriage, when Lieutenant Windward exclaimed, "What the devil do we do now?"

  "Think hard," said Dido. "Talk it over with the others—somewhere we can't be listened to. I don't trust anybody in this murky town. Oh," she sighed, "it would be handy if Mr. Holy were a bit better and could talk sense when we gets back."

  "That queen is a regular shocker!" muttered Windward, who could not get over the horror of seeing his commanding officer dragged away so helplessly at the whim of a fat old woman. After a moment he added, "It's rum, though—she seemed to take quite a shine to you."

  7

  A council of war was held in Dido's bedroom at the Sydney Hotel. The participating members were Lieutenant Windward, Mr. Multiple, Dido, Plum, and Noah Gusset. Mr. Holystone had fallen into a high fever; the doctor was perplexed by his condition, which did not respond to treatment.

  "All we can do is wait," he said, not too happily or confidently. "I am afraid the air of Bath does not agree with your friend."

  "You mean to tell me this old girl believes she's King Arthur's widow?" Mr. Multiple incredulously demanded of the two who had visited the palace. "Round Table King Arthur? That one?"

  "That's what she said. Didn't she, Miss Twite? Seemed to believe it, too. She's clean gone in her wits, of course; rats in the garret. But the thing is, what are we going to do? She's got Cap'n Hughes in the lock-up; for all we know, she's liable to chop his head off, or have it shrunk, like those ones in the waiting room, if we don't keep her sweet."

  "Yes," said Multiple very doubtfully, "but even if Miss Twite goes to this King Mabon, and lets on to be his daughter, how do we know that'll help the cap'n? It sounds to me like a tottyheaded scheme. First, Miss Twite doesn't look like any princess—axing your pardon, Miss Twite."

  "Oh, call me Dido, can't you," said Dido impatiently. "0' course I don't look like a princess."

  "So it's odds but King Mabon'd twig our wheedle right from the start. And then we'll be rolled up too. Probably thrown into jail in Lyonesse. And he won't give back the old lady's lake."

  "Supposing he did steal it," said the lieutenant skeptically.

  Dido thought of the mysterious procession she had seen through the captain's telescope—all those loaded llamas slowly making their way over the mountaintops with their heavy burdens. But wait, she said to herself, I saw that after Cap'n Hughes had the message about the theft. Still, maybe llamas travel very slowly—specially with a heavy load, and maybe going only at night. Maybe it would take them two, three weeks to go from New Cumbria to Lyonesse?

  "I reckon the lake was stolen," she said slowly.

  "If it was stole, then King Mabon oughta return it," said Noah Gusset with stolid justice.

  Plum, surprising everybody, said, "Mayhap she do be King Arthur's widow!"

  They all stared at him, and he turned brick-red, but went on, "When I were a boy, in Usk, my gramma'd be telling us about King Arthur. Come back one day, she said he would, no matter how long. Sleeping in the mountain, him, till his time be come, with his knights around him. An' when his time be come, he'll pull his sword outa the rock again, an' put on his golden crown."

  "Oh, flummery!" said Lieutenant Windward irritably. "Anyway—even if that were so—how could his widow survive him for thirteen hundred years?"

  "The old medico Cap'n Hughes fetched in for Mr. Holystone said the climate up here was supposed to be devilish healthy," said Mr. Multiple.

  "Not for poor Holystone it ain't!"

  "Nor for all the young gels as gets took by the aurocs," said Dido. Then she stopped short. A perfectly horrible idea had come into her head. It was so strange, and so frightening, that she did not like to utter it aloud. Instead she said slowly, "I've had a kind of a notion. I believe I know where King Mabon's daughter might be."

  They all stared at her in amazement.

  "You do?" said Mr. Multiple. "How can that be?"

  "I better not say here." Dido glanced round the room. "I don't trust this place above half." She looked under the bed. "What happened to the cat?" she asked Mr. Multiple.

  "It dashed out when I opened the door."

  "I reckon we'd better play along with the old lady a bit," Dido went on in a very low tone. "Say we'll go visit this King Mabon. That can't do no harm. Then we'll get a pass from the grand whatshisname, saying we're allowed to climb Mount Dammyache and Mount Catelonde and the other one."

  Mount Arrabe, she thought.

  Captain Hughes was thrust into a smallish stone-walled room, and the door slammed to behind him. He heard the rattle of bolts. For a moment or two he stood blinking (his head had been thrust into a black bag during his removal from Bath Palace); when he recovered his sight, he recognized a familiar figure in the small, plump man sitting dolefully on the floor by the window, with his buttons undone, his hair disheveled, and his cravat hanging in a loose tangle. He did not look up at the captain's unceremonious entry, but continued staring miserably at his own outspread fingers.

  "Mr. Brandywinde! Upon my soul! I had thought you were upon the high seas! Do you mean to tell me that that hag of a queen imprisoned you too?"

  "I don't mean to tell you anything," retorted Mr. Brandywinde moodily. "What's the use of talking? Oh, my hands, my poor hands!"

  And he hunched his shoulders, turning his back rudely on the captain, who felt justifiably irritated. He had enough troubles of his own without being snubbed by this wretched little twopenny-halfpenny fellow.

  Ignoring Mr. Brandywinde's sulks, Captain Hughes inspected the room, walked across to the window, and glanced out indifferently at the magnificent prospect of Bath encircled in its ring of volcanoes (the window was very high; they were at the top of the Wen Pendragon tower, which, in its turn, was at the top of Beechen Cliff). Then, discovering a second door, which stood ajar, the captain went through it into a second room, where he found a large loom, already strung with the warp for a carpet or a piece of tapestry. A door beyond the loom led on, and he discovered a circular suite of rooms, all interconnected and furnished with various materials for indoor occupation: a piano, a kiln and quantity of clay, paints, canvas, wool and needles, mathematical instruments, sewing equipment, canes, rushes, pipes, flutes; there was even a harp. What the captain did not find was any other exit apart from the bolted door through which he had been thrust by his captors.

  "What the deuce is this place—a college?" he demanded, returning through a door opposite that from which he had started. "Or does Queen Ginevra propose to keep her prisoners at work weaving carpets?"

  The British agent looked up at him with dismal bloodshot eyes.

  "Oh, no," said Brandywinde. "She don't give a rap what happens to us. Unless we're some use to her. No, this ain't a college. It's a prison. But it's also King Arthur's castle. Where he's supposed to be residing till he's healed of his wound."

  Forgetting his sulks, he imparted this information in a tone of condescension.

  "Oh, what fustian!" exclaimed the captain irritably. "He is not really dwelling here, I collect?"

  "O' course he ain't! But a good few o' the townspeople believe he is, an' that suits the queen's book an' keeps them contented. Every month or so she buys another set o' flutes or some wool and a crochet hook 'just to keep His Majesty diverted during his illness.' That's what all that clobber is in the other rooms."

  "The jailors know it's not so."

  "Ay, but they're all dumb."

  "Why does she keep up the pretense?" asked the captain, shivering despite himself. "Does she really believe it herself?"

  "Not that he is here.... Oh, who knows what she believes?" said Mr. Brandywinde morosely. "But whether she believes it herself or not, the rumor that he's in here is enough to keep King Mabon, or Ccaedmon of Hy Brasil, from invading and snapping up New Cumbria for themselves. A sick king i
s better than none."

  "Oh. Ha. Hum. I see. Why the deuce didn't you tell me all this on the Thrush?" demanded the captain.

  "Eh? Oh—well ... I never thought you'd get as far as Bath Regis," Mr. Brandywinde said evasively. "And—and—about to set sail myself ... preoccupied with plans for departure..."

  "So why did you not embark? Why are you here in prison? And where are your wife and child?"

  At these questions, to Captain Hughes's horror, his companion began to whimper distressingly. Tears coursed down his cheeks; he rocked himself to and fro.

  "Oh, I am a wicked, wicked wretch!" he lamented in a thin, reedy voice. "I did wrong—dreadfully wrong—and now I'm being punished for it. And what's worst of all, I didn't even benefit from my wrongdoing. On the contrary! Oh, my hands! My poor hands!"

  "Why, what the devil did you do?" inquired the captain without much sympathy.

  "I sold that child of yours—Twitkin, Tweetkin, whatever the name is—to Lady Ettarde, for our passage money. Five hundred gold bezants."

  "Sold Miss Twite to Lady Ettarde?!" exclaimed the captain in wrath and astonishment. "As a slave, do you mean? How can you have sold her? She was not yours to sell!"

  "Oh, I shouldn't have done it, I know!" blubbered Brandywinde. "And anyway it didn't do me a particle of good—because those two cursed witches, Morgan and Vavasour, swore they never got their hands on the brat—the little monster escaped—they wouldn't give me the ready after all, the cheating harridans! So the boat sailed without us, and my wife and child are lost forever, and worst of all—"

  "What became of your wife and child?"

  But at this question Mr. Brandywinde went wholly to pieces, rocking, gulping, and gibbering. The only words Captain Hughes could distinguish among those he gasped out were, "Hunted to death—to death!"