by Joan Aiken
Is told him her plan.
‘What we got to do,’ she said, ‘the hard thing, will be getting the people out in turn, so they don’t panic and jam up and squash together like bullocks at a gate.’
Joe said: ‘The way to do it would be to have the ones closest to the whim-gin go first. Then the ones a bit farther off move in. Then them farthest of all; they can all be moving in closer while the others is going up.’
‘Yus,’ agreed Is. ‘That’s the way to do it, no question. But how do we explain, how do we get that plan into their noddles?’
‘The bords have numbers,’ said Joe. ‘If they don’t know their number, they gotta find out. Then it’ll be easy, for the lowest numbers are closest to the whim-gin, where they started digging. Here we’re in number thirty-two. A long way back.’
‘I see,’ said Is. ‘How’ll they find out their numbers?’
‘’Times it’s stuck up at the end of the stall on a bit of board. If it ain’t, they’ll have to ask the overlookers at the whim-gin.’
‘Won’t that make those coves smell a rat?’ said Arun.
Is chuckled. ‘They can say it’s for a lottery. Winner gets an extra lump of cheese on Sunday.’
Joe said: ‘But how about the coves up at the top of the whim-gin? How’ll we fix them?’
‘I can take care of that,’ said Arun.
‘And how are you going to let us know when we’re to go?’ Joe asked.
‘Can you send a thought message, Arun?’
But this Arun could not do.
‘Well, can’t be helped,’ said Is regretfully. ‘We’ll just havta start work right away on getting them ready. It’ll surely take a while. We can’t afford to wait. You best go off, Arun, and fix the coves on top. – But wait, is there any other news? About Grandpa, and Aunt Ishie?’
‘Eh? No,’ he answered rather hurriedly, and then: ‘Well, there was a message, Miss Sibley said, from Ishie; she’d seen Captain Podmore and he had asked her – this was important – to tell you that someone you know of had died.’
‘Someone I know of – my stars!’ muttered Is. She drew a long breath. ‘Someone I know of. Oh, my cats alive.’ Poor old King Dick, she thought. That sad news about his son was the last straw for him. ‘Weren’t there no more than that?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Yes, there was. Wait till I think.’ In the darkness, Arun scratched his head; if he’d really been a cat, Is knew, he’d have suddenly washed an inch of fur behind his elbow.
‘This was the other bit,’ said Arun, after he had done thinking. ‘Someone you know of didn’t have any other children, Captain Podmore said. So his cousin was going to take over his job.’
‘His cousin?’ Baffled, Is wondered who King Dick’s cousin might be. How would she be expected to know a thing like that?
‘I’ll be off then,’ Arun said, and left, promising to put in hand his scheme to nobble the upper-level operators of the whim-gin in about two days’ time. If anything went wrong with this plan, he would try to drop bunches of heather down the shaft as a warning.
And Is addressed herself to the task of telling the Bottom Layer that they must now get ready to escape from the pit. It was a hard and complicated process. First she had to reassure them, over and over. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. This is a real early warning. The flood won’t happen for days and days. But it will come, it’s bound to come. And it’s going to take a precious long time for everybody to clamber up the whim-gin; we gotta do it sensible and orderly, so’s not to start a stampede and make a louse-ladder of the business.
First you gotta find out your bord number. Then call in and let me know what it is.
This part of the affair took a nerve-rackingly long time. Very few knew their numbers. Some of the older bords had names – Dead Man’s Lane, Shelly Bottom, Echo Level – but hardly any of the workers knew where they were in relation to the other workers with whom they had begun to form thought connections. All this took several shifts to sort out.
Is talked to them tirelessly, hour after hour, going over the details.
‘First number three, Alice and Tom – then number four, Mick and Fred – then Sol and Sim – then Ann and Sue – then Dick and Peg. Just remember who comes before you, that’s all you really have to learn. Don’t forget to bring your corf with you – empty. I’ll be at the foot of the whim-gin, and I’ll call in the first ones, jist as soon as we’re ready to start moving. I’ll be there first, and I’ll stay there all through, I promise.’
All the days of practice conversation – the stories, the riddles, the back-and-forth responses – had been worth it, she realised; the Bottom Layer were calm now, and ready to trust her.
Just the same she had a last-minute flash of panic, wondering: suppose there’s some folk in the pit that have never switched in on our thought channels? Will they understand what’s going on? Will they run amuck, or will they get left behind and caught in the flood? Or suppose Arun doesn’t manage to nobble the coves at the pit-head? What then? But it was no use dwelling on such anxieties.
When all the workers had been sorted into a rational order of escape, and the order had been practised and recited over and over again, Is dragged her corf down to the whim-gin with Joe close behind her.
‘Now, Joe, you gotta make a ruckus up the passage a way, while I fix t’other guard,’ she told him.
So Joe began to yell out lustily, ‘Help! Help! The roof’s a-caving! I’m caught! I’m trapped!’
One of the two guards went with caution to investigate. The other, following fixed orders, stayed by the rope and the baskets with his hand close to his pistol. But Is, who had brought a stub of candle with her, lit it and walked up to him.
‘Mister!’ she said urgently. ‘Look at this candle! Look at this light!’
‘Well? What of it? What the deuce are you playing at?’ he growled, as she moved it gently to and fro.
‘You are walking down a cool grassy path to a river,’ she told him. ‘Now you are walking right into the water . . .’
His eyes wavered. Oh, lord-a-mercy, thought Is, what if it doesn’t work, what’ll I do then?
But it did work.
His eyes became fixed, his breathing grew deeper and slower. His hands relaxed. The pistol fell to the ground.
‘You are fast asleep,’ she told him. ‘You are going to sit down comfortably with your back resting against the wall, and you will not wake up again until you hear a rooster crow.’
At this moment Joe appeared, panting and triumphant, dragging the other guard, whom he had knocked unconscious with his pick handle. ‘It was easy as pie!’ he said, astonished. ‘Why didn’t I do it months ago? But how in the world did you ever manage to nobble your fellow?’
‘He’ll be out for hours. But you better tie yours, if you can find a cord.’
While he did so, Is began sending out her call. ‘We are ready to go. Now we are ready to go. Alice and Tom, you are the first, come now; then the others, in the order we planned. Mick and Fred – Sol and Sim – leave your places and come as fast and quietly as you can. We are ready to go. Don’t panic. Don’t rush. Just wait for your turn, then come. Tell your names to the others, give your number as you leave your bord. Just come . . .’
In less than four minutes, two grimy figures appeared at the whim-gin: Alice and Tom.
‘Two into a corf – that’s right,’ said Joe, and helped them start the slow, dizzy, swinging ascent. There was no spark of light to be seen overhead now, Is noticed, which must mean that it was night-time in the world outside the mine. Just as well; she hoped it might be early in the night, so that they would have all the hours of dark ahead, time to empty the whole mine of its workers before anybody up above realised what was happening. She knew now, from counting names and bord numbers, that there were well over two hundred workers in Holdernesse Pit. They had a long job ahead of them.
In fact the evacuation took over five hours.
Is found it strange, meeting people face to fa
ce who hitherto had been known only by their thoughts. A boy called Desmond, who in his thought-shapes had come over as forceful, strong and highly intelligent, was revealed as a thin, small shy figure with a crooked shoulder; Mary-Ann, the yellow-haired giggler of the Playland Express, turned out to be a most efficient organiser, bringing several workers who had not tuned into the transmission of thought. And, for their part, many of the Bottom Layer were startled, almost incredulous, at their first sight of Is, whom they had expected to be big and bossy and fierce.
At the very end came Tess with little Coppy, who had been left out of the number-roll because he was not in a bord at all, but had been given the job of trapper-boy, obliged to sit all day and night beside a ventilation door which he had to keep opening and shutting. He was wailing and furious at being left behind, but Tess carried and comforted him.
‘Soon we’ll be out. See, we’re going up in the basket – like the old woman who went over the moon.’
‘Right, that’s the lot . . . ’ sighed Joe, stretching his shoulders with immense relief.
‘Let’s hope – ’ said Is. She sent out a thought-call through the mine: ‘Is there anybody left, is anybody still working?’
No answer came back.
‘Best us go now; my cove’s beginning to stir,’ said Joe.
‘Hold on a moment then.’
The guards had a slate on which they kept the tally of the corves and which hurriers had brought them; Is wiped it clean and wrote: WEVE CLEARED OUT AS PIT IS DUE TO FLOOD YOU GOT SENSE YOULL CLERE OUT TOO, while Joe undid the rope round his man’s wrists.
Then Is joined Joe in the corf and began the slow creep up the black well. Suppose the rope breaks, she thought. Well – it didn’t for the others, why should it for us? And Joe and me don’t weigh so much as a basket of coal. But just the same – suppose it did? She thought of the black depth underneath.
‘Joe,’ she said, ‘can you crow like a rooster?’
‘If you want me to,’ said he, and did so, hanging over the side of the corf. ‘Cock a doodle doo!’ Is thought of the woods at home, and the faraway cock on the Kentish farm.
‘Wonder what we’ll find when we get to the top?’ said Joe. ‘D’you reckon the others will still be there? Or will they have bunked off?’
Is had been wondering the same thing, and had been worrying about it. For it was all very well to devise a means of getting the workers out of the mine. But what was to be done with them next? There had been no time to make further plans. They would need clothes and food; most of them were half naked. Most would probably want to go back to their homes in the distant Southland – but a big obstacle lay in between, and that was Gold Kingy. He’s gotta be dealt with now, thought Is, but how? In the wide world, how?
The upper mouth of the whim-gin, when they reached it, was not large: a hole about eight feet across. Dim light of dawn revealed the bulky wooden structure, the big winding-drum up above, the shaggy patient horse plodding round in a circle.
‘Right there, Dobbin, you can stop now!’
Is climbed out of the corf basket with suddenly buckling knees, and had to grab one of the wooden posts to support herself. Next moment she found herself wrapped in the bony hug of Dr Lemman, and was dazed and astounded to hear a wild shout of welcome from hundreds of hoarse voices all around.
‘Huzza! for Is, who fetched us up outa the dark. Huzza!’
Is gulped. Stupidly, she felt she could almost have boo-hooed, even louder than little Coppy. Instead she swallowed a couple of times, and spoke, after a moment, in thought language:
‘Thanks, cullies! But we ain’t outa the wood yet, no how; we gotta find somewhere to lodge you and feed you till we get you shifted from here. So don’t hollo too loud yet!’
‘What’s that message you are sending out to them?’ inquired Lemman, who still grasped her arm and was looking at her with close attention. She told him in words.
‘I say, dearie, that thought-transit system of yours beats semaphore any day of the week! But don’t you fret; we’re going to get ’em under wraps down there in the old post office; your aunt Ishie and the other good ladies have been boiling turnips and making britches out of mail-sacks for the past twelve hours. The colliers wouldn’t start down the hill until they saw you come up safe and smiling. But now I reckon it’s time for them to trudge; if you’ll just give ’em the office to start. Father Lance will show them the way.’
‘Will you all follow the old bald gent in the black petticoat!’ Is told the Bottom Layer, the grimy hopeful throng around her on the hilltop, ‘And he’ll take you where there’s vittles and togs.’
Relieved, grateful and shivering, they trooped off down the hill.
‘How did you and Arun nobble the whim-gin winders?’ Is asked Lemman.
‘Oh, all I had to do was offer them a dram, and lace it with a drop of laudanum. They’re asleep in the workshop yonder.’ He nodded towards a shed at one side of the coal-yard where they stood. From it a rail-track ran down the side of the headland diagonally to the docks and foundries below.
‘The foundries!’ cried Is in a fright. ‘What’ll happen to them in there when this big wave comes – they’re at water-level, on the dockside – ’
‘That’s all rug, dearie – your pal the cat-boy has been down and warned ’em.’
‘But if it comes sudden – ’ began Is.
‘Well, you can only do so much, dearie,’ said Lemman. ‘You can’t save the whole world, you know! – What’s up?’
She was looking past his shoulder in astonishment. Most of ruined old Blastburn lay visible below them, fringing the landward side of the headland, with its mangled townscape and broken buildings. A dark and windy day had declared itself, with smoke from the foundry chimneys streaked by tails of snow like strips of grimy tattered rag gusting inland. Dimly visible through the smoke, between the broken roofs of old Blastburn, through its ruined streets, wound something that resembled a black and flashing snake.
‘What’s that?’ said Is.
‘Oh – that – ’ answered Lemman, rather awkwardly for him. ‘That – I fear – is your grandfather’s funeral procession. Gold Kingy decided he must have the old gentleman buried with full military honours; as Grandfather of the State, or some such nonsense. I reckon that way Roy hopes to sugar over the fact that he hastened the old boy’s end by flattening his cat and wrecking his home and generally harassing him. Your aunt, I need hardly say, does not see eye-to-eye with Roy over this; although she was offered a black-and-gold landau and a leading part in the procession, she chose to absent herself from the ceremony. As I said, she is in the post office cutting up mailbags.’
‘So Grandpa did die.’
‘Not immediately,’ said Lemman with a grin. ‘He contrived to linger for six weeks in a coma; no one can say if he did it on purpose to drive Gold Kingy wild, but it certainly had that effect. Yes: if he wasn’t crazy before, he’s on the edge of it now. You’d best keep out of his way, dearie. Captain Podmore says he’ll be glad to take you on board – ’
Is hardly heard Lemman. She was watching the spectacle of what must have been Gold Kingy’s entire army, with bayonets flashing, musket-barrels swathed in sombre chiffon, bright standards at half-mast, and all those black chariots and black-plumed horses, winding slowly among the ruined streets, making for the main entrance to Holdernesse town and, presumably, Twite Square.
Poor old Grandpa, thought Is; wonder where they’ll put him? Is there a cemetery in Holdernesse? I’m real sorry the old boy’s gone, I’ll miss him considerable, but how he would laugh to see what’s happening now! If he’s up above (and I’m sure I hope he is, for he never meant any harm, and in his time he must have been useful to lots of folk) he must be splitting his sides at this very minute. She chuckled in sympathy.
But then, clutching at Lemman’s arm, she cried out, ‘Murder, Doc Lemman! Look there!’
Down the coast from the north came rolling a wave. But what a wave! It was to the ordinary lace-
crested breaker what a killer whale is to a tadpole. It marched along the coast, steel-grey, iron-blue, large as a mountain, calmly and majestically chewing off whole landscapes of cliff or sand-dune as it proceeded. Behind it came eight others, equally huge.
Off Holdernesse Head the leading wave performed a gentle curtsey: as a person might tread on soft ground over a mole-run, sink, stumble, then gracefully recover and move on without breaking step. The following waves eddied and dipped likewise, but then travelled calmly on. That’s the mine smashed in, thought Is. Now the procession of waves approached the docks of Holdernesse town; they swept over the foundries like a bucket of water demolishing an ants’ nest; a plume of steam flew up and a distant explosion rocked the hill. A back-wave careered up the estuary and swept away the inky funeral procession as if it were a handful of coal-dust, entered the gateway of Holdernesse town, and then withdrew again. Its eight attendant waves followed the same course – up, back, in, out – then all of them slid away down the coast, on their southward road towards London and France.
‘Heaven help us!’ said Lemman soberly. ‘That’s the end of Holdernesse town.’
They could feel the hillside slipping and shuddering under their feet, like a sandcastle when its foundations are washed from under it. Lemman started running down the hill towards the foundries and the dock area. Is followed. Arun and Joe, at the tail of the procession of colliers, guessed their intention and came racing over to join them.
‘Perhaps somebody can be saved,’ Lemman panted as he ran.
But when they were halfway down the hill, at an elbow in the road, the doctor stopped and threw out his hands with a gesture of helpless despair. For below them there was now nothing but water; the sea had risen and covered the docks, the foundries, all the area at the foot of the headland; both arched gateways to Holdernesse town were completely submerged. All that could be seen was some wreckage tossing about, and the tops of one or two foundry chimneys.
‘There can’t be anybody left alive in the town – can there?’ croaked Is.
Lemman shook his head. ‘Not a ghost of a chance, dearie – see what’s happening to the hill.’
