The Stolen Lake (Wolves Chronicles)

by Joan Aiken

  10

  Since he had had no expectation of meeting his daughter when he first began his tour of the kingdom, King Mabon had brought no ladies-in-waiting with him. Dido kindly offered to perform this office for the princess until they reached Lyonesse City.

  "As to that," said Elen, "personal maids weren't allowed at Miss Castlereagh's, so I managed for myself all the time I was at school. But I'd be glad if you would share my room, Dido. I still feel nervous when I think of that cave; if I listen, I think I can hear those old witches flapping and hissing outside." She shivered uneasily.

  "I've never been to school. Did you like it?" asked Dido, hoping to distract her.

  "All but the embroidery. I must have stitched at least eighteen miles of it in the nine years I was there! I made a vow that when I got back to Lyonesse I'd never touch a needle again."

  They were brushing each other's hair with bunches of ichu grass. There was no looking glass in the room, but Dido suddenly recollected that she still had Queen Ginevra's little diamond-studded hand mirror, and pulled it from her jacket pocket.

  "Why!" she said, pleased, "my reflection's come back."

  "What can you mean?"

  "Queen Ginevra took it." Dido explained how her image had gone from the bowl and glasses.

  "I daresay her power grows less the farther you are from Bath," Elen suggested.

  Dido wondered rather dismally what would happen to Mr. Holystone when he returned to that city.

  "Oh!" cried Elen, as if catching this thought, "I can't bear it that he's married to that hateful woman. When he has gone back to Cumbria—I shall probably never see him again."

  Dido saw that there were tears in the princess's eyes.

  Poor thing, she thought. I used to reckon it'd be all jam and high jinks being a princess, but I guess that ain't so; they don't have it much better than ordinary folk.

  "Come, cheer up," she said gruffly. "You can't ever tell how things'll turn out. Maybe they'll look better in the morning. Us had best get to bed."

  In the middle of the night, however, they were woken by a tap on the door. Dido, opening it cautiously, saw Mr. Multiple, who had been posted outside to keep guard. He looked very strange—pale, ghastly, and staring eyed.

  "Why, what's up, Mr. Mully?"

  "Quick—don't make any noise, but follow me, both of you!" he whispered. "There is horrible danger!" His freckles were black dots against the pallor of his cheeks, his red hair was dark and lank with sweat.

  "What the blazes can it be? Where's Mr. Holy—and King Mabon—and Bran?"

  "Hush! Come outside and I will tell you! The princess too!"

  Dido was disturbed and dubious, but Mr. Multiple whispered, "Please come!" with such urgency that Elen said, "Very well, we will follow you," and the two girls wrapped themselves in togas and tiptoed after him. He led them swiftly but silently to a side entrance that opened into a narrow lane beside the governor's house. Dido, following him, noticed that he seemed oddly bulky. How'd he ever get so fat so fast? she wondered; he must have fairly tucked into that roast mutton and syllabub.

  Outside, in the alley, "Now then, what is—?" Dido began, but before she could utter another syllable her hands were grabbed and tied behind her and she was lifted up and bumped down uncomfortably onto the crupper of somebody's saddle. "Make no sound!" a voice hissed in her ear. "Do you feel this blade?" Dido nodded. A sharp point was jabbed between her ribs. "It will gut you like a herring if you let out a single squeak." Elen had been similarly pinioned and mounted. Looking in horror and outrage for Mr. Multiple—how could he have been capable of such treachery?—Dido gasped with astonishment. An enormous snake which had been coiled round him under his jacket now dropped to the ground and slithered away into the shadows. Half fainting with terror, the wretched midshipman was also tied up and dragged onto a pony; then the troop of their captors—there seemed to be nine or ten—set off silently and speedily through the dark streets of Wandesborough.

  The ponies' hoofs were muffled in sacking and made no sound. Dido thought they must surely be stopped when they came to the town gate, but no: evidently the sentries had been poisoned or drugged, for they lolled in their guard boxes like limp marionettes and never stirred as the riders passed by. Once outside the wall, the ponies' pace was increased to a gallop.

  There was a little light from the old moon, which hung like a sliver of coconut in one corner of the sky, and Dido could see that they were taking a course at right angles to that followed by King Mabon when he and his legionaries returned to the town. Best keep a watch for landmarks, Dido thought; not much else to be done just now.

  There were few landmarks to be seen in this huge, grassy basin, but they rode with the four stars of the Southern Cross behind them and to the right, which must mean that they were heading northeast; and away to the left a red glow, and occasional sparkles in the sky, suggested that Mount Catelonde was fretting and fidgeting as Mr. Holystone had done in his haunted sleep.

  Blister me, thought Dido angrily, I'll never trust anybody ever again. I reckon this must be more of Queen Ginevra's doing; wonder how she knew that Mr. Mully was so scared of snakes? Poor thing, he must feel terrible bad.

  She half wished she could get near him to comfort him, but felt impatient with his cowardice, too. He mighta managed to give us some hint, so we could have raised the alarm. But then, in fairness, she thought, I've never had a snake wrapped round my midriff. I mightn't feel so devil-may-care if I had.

  After an hour's hard riding the party reached a region of steeper hillsides and small deep valleys. By now dawn was beginning to pale the sky and a faint glow showed where the sun would rise, over on the right. Dido was confirmed in her guess that they were traveling toward New Cumbria. By a different route, evidently, not through the Pass of Nimue; and indeed, approaching a high crag, where cascading lava from Mount Pampoyle had hardened into a kind of rock ladder, they dismounted and climbed up to an entrance in the cliff face above them. The three captives were prodded forward at dagger point, and some of their guards stood below as they climbed, pointing crossbows at them.

  "Don't try to jump," Dido's guard warned her, "or you'll come to ground spitted like a pigeon."

  He wore a hood, but she thought she recognized his voice.

  Having entered the cave, their captors lit candles in glass lanterns and urged the prisoners forward at a rapid walk. At this point Mr. Multiple managed to get near the two girls.

  "I'm sorry, Your Highness, I'm sorry," he muttered miserably. Dido saw that tears were running down his cheeks; he looked utterly wretched. "Oh, I could kill myself," he cried. "But what good would that do?"

  "None at all." Elen gave him a stony look. "I hate a coward," she said haughtily.

  Dido had more sympathy toward the wretched lad. She remembered how she herself felt about spiders.

  "Never mind, Mr. Mully," she said. "Done's done. Best you can do now, if there's ever a chance, is get away and give the alarm which way we've gone."

  However, it seemed, he was not to be given the chance. After they had walked what felt like three or four miles (but was probably less) along dark, narrow ascending galleries, they came to a much larger cavern, where the high, regular walls showed the scarred signs of workings. Probably silver mines, Dido guessed; there were pickaxes and sections of machinery lying here and there. An underground river crossed their path and had to be forded by a series of square stepping-stones which had evidently been set there for the purpose.

  Not far from this point the river apparently plunged over a cliff into a gorge; they could hear the roar of a waterfall and see spray rising. Dido's hooded guard nodded toward Mr. Multiple and indicated the falls.

  "Toss him over there. He is no further use to us. His body will never be found in here."

  "No! You can't do that!" exclaimed Dido in horror.

  Mr. Multiple yelled and struggled unavailingly as four of the hooded captors dragged him toward the gorge, while the rest of the party procee
ded swiftly on their way. Dido heard the unfortunate midshipman's voice raised in a final shriek of despair.

  Soon afterward his assassins rejoined the other group, which had reached the terminal point of a strange little conveyance evidently used for transporting ore through the galleries of the mine. It was a series of open cars, linked together, which ran along above a single track, or rather groove, in the rock floor; this groove emitted steam, which somehow propelled the cars by turning a rotor which engaged with the wheels. Cap'n Hughes would go crazy over it, Dido thought glumly, as she and Elen were thrust into a car with two of their captors (each car held no more than four persons, and that was a tight squeeze); a lever was pulled to start the train, which moved off slowly, but by degrees built up a terrifying speed, so that they hurtled hissing through the darkness, rocking and swaying from side to side.

  "Keep your head down," Dido's guard curtly warned her, "or you're liable to get your brains dashed out."

  She followed this advice and huddled on the floor of the car, a prey to the most dismal thoughts. Mr. Multiple's dreadful fate had upset her horribly; he was a decent, kindhearted boy, she thought, not a mite of harm in him, not his fault he didn't like snakes; and they tossed him over the cliff without giving two thoughts to the matter, as if he'd been an apple core!

  It was stiflingly hot in this part of the mountain. The air, such as there was, smelled very bad, of hot metal, aged rock, and sulfureous steam; what with that, and the train's seesaw, oscillating motion, Dido began, after an hour or so, to feel very sick indeed. Her head throbbed, and she had to keep swallowing; but she had nothing to swallow with—her mouth felt as dry as stale bread. The guards' lanterns had long ago blown out, in the wind of their progress, and she could not even see Elen, but groped about and found her hand. She feared that the princess—only just rescued from that cave—must feel even worse; and indeed Elen's hand seemed alarmingly cold and limp, returning only the faintest pressure in response to Dido's.

  After an immense interval—Dido thought she might have slipped into a kind of faint; the time slid past in feverish fits and starts, as it does during illness—they came out into larger, lighter galleries, past gleaming piles of silver ore and uncut gemstones awaiting carriage to the outer world. At last the train began to slow down, and finally it drew to a stop. The lanterns were lit again.

  Dido's guard had pushed back his hood during the journey, and she saw that he was the grand inquisitor, Daffyd Gomez. The person holding Elen was likewise revealed as the vicar general, Fluellen. Might have guessed those old ravens would get in on it somehow, Dido thought dejectedly, letting herself be pushed out of the car onto a rock platform.

  The hiss of the train died away, and instead Dido heard another familiar voice.

  "So you have got them! Just as well one part of the business has gone right."

  Another masked, cloaked figure, unmistakable nonetheless by its smallness as Lady Ettarde, hobbled along the platform. She took off her mask to glower at the two exhausted girls. She was accompanied by old Mrs. Morgan.

  "Why, what has gone wrong?" demanded Fluellen.

  "Those fools have let Hughes and my nephew escape from the Wen Pendragon."

  "Holy Sul! I didn't think it could have been done. Where are they now?"

  She shrugged.

  "Who knows? Gone into the mountains. Very likely the aurocs will get them. But on account of that, Her Mercy needs new hostages, as a lever against anything Mabon may try. And she is becoming very impatient. Come along, you!" she said to Dido and Elen.

  The girls were jerked and jostled to the foot of a steep, winding stairway, and obliged to climb it. In their dazed and fainting state they made very slow progress; Mrs. Morgan, behind them, kept up a continual angry mutter: "Git along, git along, then, me little runaway darlings"—on the word darlings she poked Dido with what felt like a bodkin—"Her Mercy'11 be happy to see you again, that's one thing certain."

  They arrived at the top of the long climb with knees that felt like wool.

  Now, to Dido's utter amazement, she recognized her surroundings; the stair had brought them into one of the antechambers of Bath Palace. Who'd a thought we had come so far? she said to herself. So the queen has her own private way into the silver mines. Very handy for her anytime she wants a new pair of earrings.

  Lady Ettarde halted her prisoners at the foot of the grand staircase.

  "Now listen to me, you two!" she hissed. Despite her small stature she looked extremely formidable. "First, don't think you will be so lucky as to escape a second time! My brother himself will guard you this time. Clever as you may think you are, once you are in the city of Sul, he and his cat-a-mountain will be more than a match for you."

  Neither of the girls made any reply. They were still getting their breath after the punishing climb.

  "Idiot!" snapped Lady Ettarde to the grand inquisitor. "Why did you not take some rumirumi flowers with you? Her Grace will not be best pleased to see them so fatigued."

  Dido had a recollection of Mrs. Morgan saying, "She don't like them if they're droopy."

  When Lady Ettarde turned to continue on up the grand stair, Dido whispered to Elen, "Droop as much as you can. Pretend to feel even worse than you do!"

  They were led along the curving gallery toward the throne room. But halfway along the gallery Lady Ettarde halted them once more, ostensibly to let them get their breath, in reality to whisper menacingly, "Don't tell the queen that the Rex Atahallpa is back."

  "Who?"

  "Atahallpa. Artaius. Don't tell her."

  "Why not?" said Dido sourly.

  "Because if she knows that he is back and has not made haste to join her, she will be so angry that she will probably have your tongues cut out on the spot."

  "But why should you care?" said Dido. Partly she was playing for time—anything to keep the old witch talking; but she did wonder why it mattered to Lady Ettarde.

  "Never you mind!" rasped the mistress of the robes, and hobbled on again.

  As Dido followed, the answer came to her. Of course she don't want Mr. Holystone to turn up here and settle down as Queen Ginevra's ever-loving husband. Because when he does, it's crowns to cake crumbs as her turn'll be over; the queen won't pay heed to her anymore. Likely she's sorry he ever came back, and wishes him at Jericho.

  Now they were led into the queen's presence.

  Ginevra hardly seemed to have moved since Dido saw her last. She still reclined, fatly, in her loose white gown, among cobwebby gray curtains. But she looked older, Dido thought; her face was drawn and haggard, there was no coyness or sentimentality about it today. Her eyes were strangely dull, except that every now and then, even though she was not wearing her glasses, they suddenly, for a moment, would become purely reflectors and mirror the scene in front of her. This, when it happened, was horribly disconcerting, as if the queen had stopped being a real person at all and was just a piece of machinery, mechanically carrying out her own wishes.

  "Here are the two girls, Your Mercy," said Lady Ettarde. "Mabon's daughter and the other one."

  Ginevra did not show any particular triumph or pleasure. Her head turned slowly, surveying the girls. Her eyes played their odd trick, shining, turning glassy; then, after a moment, they became eyes again, and she said, "Has Mabon returned my lake?"

  Lady Ettarde looked inquiringly at the grand inquisitor, who had followed them. He said, "Your Mercy, he has begun sending it back. It is being flown over the mountains in leather water-skins, borne by small air balloons. The thongs are waxed, so that they melt and discharge their contents into the lake basin." He had made this report in a dispassionate, formal manner, but he concluded with some enthusiasm; "And I must say, it was a capital notion of King Mabon's! Highly ingenious! He must have some excellent designers. As I have often said to Your Mercy, if he were only our ally—"

  "Quiet, fool! How long will it take? How soon will the lake be filled again?"

  "At the rate the water-skins are dischargi
ng, I would guess, about thirty-six hours, ma'am."

  Now Elen spoke up.

  "How dare you take us prisoner, when my father has honorably fulfilled his undertaking to return the lake?"

  Her voice was brave, but she flinched a little when the queen turned those glassy eyes on her.

  Ginevra did not address her, however, but said to Lady Ettarde, "When is the new moon?"

  "In three days, Your Mercy."

  Ignoring a sick feeling in her inside, Dido bluntly addressed the queen.

  "If you were thinking of having us tossed in the lake, Your Royalty, you might as well know that your Rex Quondam is back; so there ain't no need!"

  She heard a sort of growl from Lady Ettarde, behind her, and thought she saw something black and furry detach itself from that lady's full skirts and scurry in Dido's direction.

  Now the queen's shining, sightless eyes were staring at her. To avoid their unnerving stare, she looked down at the floor. Yes, it was a spider the size of a hairy grapefruit; it was on the point of climbing up her leg.

  On a step of the dais, lying disregarded where Ginevra had dropped it, was the chunk of raw sapphire that Bran had given the queen. Dido snatched it up and used it to deal the spider a satisfactory, crunching thwack. The spider rolled over, its legs thrashing, then folding in death.

  Don't I just wish Bran was here, Dido thought, clutching the stone. But even the memory of him was comforting.

  Queen Ginevra said, "The High King is back? Back where?"

  "He was up at Lake Arianrod," Dido said. "Now he's in Lyonesse."

  "Is this true?"

  "Oh yes, it's true," said Elen wearily. "My father has sworn fealty to him."

  The queen turned her mirror eyes on Lady Ettarde.

  "Why was I not told?"

  "Ma'am, how do we know whether the girls are speaking truth?"

  "It may be only a rumor," Lady Ettarde and the grand inquisitor said together.