For a moment, Dido’s heart was in her mouth. Then, with a gulp, she summoned her wits and self-confidence.
“Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want here?”
The hooded head turned towards her. Through the black veil she could see the glitter of eyes.
“My son! I am seeking for my son! Did you bring him here? Did you bring him with you?”
Now Dido recognised the piteous voice. She had heard it before. A long time ago, it seemed. She said quietly,
“No, Modreda. Your son Ruiz is not here. He is far away in the forest.”
“He is truly not here? You would not lie to me?”
“Certainly not! Not on my mother’s head!” For what that’s worth, Dido thought.
Then Dido was overtaken by a sudden, extraordinary impulse. Afterwards she thought: What in the wide world came over me? Where did it come from?
She said to Modreda: “Listen to me. You have served your sentence. You have been to the well, and brought your water home. You lied to your son about his poor wife, yes, you did; but now you have paid that debt. It is your turn to be free. Quit this town and go into the forest.”
“Do you give me leave?”
“It ain’t for me to give you leave,” Dido said. “But summat tells me you got your ticket. So go on! Shove off! Up sticks with you and skedaddle. Leave this doleful town. And a good journey to you . . .”
The hooded figure turned, bowed deeply to Dido – but then, did not stand erect again. She seemed to glide out of the courtyard on all fours.
Croopus, thought Dido: she’s turned into a hyena.
And went back to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
IN THE MORNING, DIDO THOUGHT THAT PERHAPS it had been a dream about Modreda. It seemed too improbable to be real. But sometime, she thought, I’ll ask Auntie Tala’aa about it. And then realised with a sad jolt that, if she did find Captain Sanderson and Mr Multiple – if it was possible to set sail on the Siwara – they would not be seeing Aunt Tala’aa again; no, nor Tylo, nor Talisman, nor John King.
I’ll miss them. I’ll miss them a whole lot.
She had no need to go searching for Captain Sanderson and Mr Multiple: they turned up at breakfast time, having heard the news of King’s arrival. Sanderson was bristling with indignation, ready to denounce the brigands who had hijacked his ship; but had the wind completely taken out of his sails by King’s amiable agreement with every word he said.
“Indeed, my dear sir, you are entirely right. It was a most disgraceful act of brigandage. Piracy! The ship is yours, of course, to take whenever you wish to leave, and any reparation that it is in my power to make shall at once be yours.”
“The ship had a full cargo,” stated Captain Sanderson. “The cargo was thrown out on the quayside and is now lost, either stolen or destroyed by weather—”
“What was the cargo?”
“Tea, sir, the very best Hyson tea, and Barbados sugar.”
“I fear, sir, that we are quite unable to replace those commodities—” King said in a mild conciliating tone.
“Man, it is downright disgraceful. I knew – I kenned well how it wad be—”
“But can I not persuade you to accept the existing cargo instead?”
“And whit wad that be?” demanded Sanderson suspiciously.
“A load of pearls from the Odome reef.”
“Pearls? I’ll thank ye not to make game of me, sir!”
It took Sanderson a visit to the ship and the evidence of his own eyes to convince him that King was speaking the truth; and then he would accept only half the load, insisting that the value of what remained would, even so, be worth ten times what he had lost.
The rest of the pearls would be deposited in the Aratu national treasury.
“Instead,” said Talisman to Herodsfoot, “of financing a trip of Manoel’s to Europe, which was what he had planned.”
“What will the pearls be used for now?”
“Well,” said Talisman, “my father intends the few Angrians who are left here to find some other way of earning their living than by cutting down the forest to make new plantations. The forest must be left in peace. Perhaps they can learn to make pearl ornaments. All that must be thought about.”
Herodsfoot was not very interested in the future of the Angrians. He said: “Talisman, dear Talisman, won’t you marry me? I do love you so very much.”
And she answered sadly, “No, dear Francis, I cannot marry you. You know very well why I cannot. My future is here with Aratu. You must go back to your King Jamie. Perhaps we shall meet again some day, who knows? But in any case we should not suit. There are too many differences between us.”
“I see none. None! You are talking nonsense.”
She looked him in the eye. “What do you really know of me? A little, no more. And, whatever I am, I belong to Aratu. Here I must stay. But an island like this, small, old, complicated, is no place for you, my friend. You must be off, back to your big, simple world.” She smiled.
“But I love you,” he said miserably. “So much! I always shall!”
She shook her head.
“Return, perhaps, in ten years, in twenty years. Aratu does not change. I shall be here, like Aunt Tala’aa. In twenty years, who knows, we may go riding to the Place of Stones and find your name still written in the dust: Algernon, Francis, Sebastian, Fortinbras, Carsluith, Baron Herodsfoot . . .”
“No,” he muttered. “Dido rubbed it out. You knew then – that I went back?”
“Yes . . . I knew.” She sighed. “Look, here comes my father with your little Captain Sanderson. He is looking quite surprised. He finds it hard to understand that pearls are not of much value to us.”
Meanwhile Aunt Tala’aa was talking to Dido.
Aunt Tala’aa had shown interest – very considerable interest – in the story of Dido’s midnight encounter with Modreda.
“She became a hyena? That is excellent! Really excellent! I am exceedingly obliged to you, my dear child, for this. I have a notion that it will, in time, be a solution to all the Angrian problems on Aratu.”
“You mean – all the Angrians’ll turn into hyenas? Would that be a good thing?” Dido sounded dubious.
“Oh, possibly not all hyenas – sting-monkeys, turtles, dolphins – they have a long way to go on the cycle of life, poor dears. We shall see . . .”
“Aunt Tala’aa, how old are you?”
“Older than you think, child. I brought up Erato, Talisman’s mother. And plenty of others. As well as Yorka. Dido – I should indeed be happy if you cared to stay here and take Yorka’s place. You have in you already the makings of a Kanikke. It would be a great pleasure to teach you – to set you on the way.”
Dido was terribly wrung.
“Oh, thank you, Auntie Tala’aa. That’s mighty decent of you,” she said earnestly. “And I reckon in lots of ways I’d like to stay. I’m real fond of Tylo. And Doc Tally’s been better to me than my own sister Penny ever was. But – I dunno – I reckon London’s the place for me. I got friends there too. And I’d best see poor Frankie Herodsfoot gets back, with all his games, to try and cheer up King Jamie. But it was right kind of you to ask me – and I won’t forget it in a hurry. Nor all that’s happened here.”
I made rain, she thought. That’s a thing to remember.
Five hours later, the Siwara weighed anchor again. Dido had said a sad goodbye to Tylo. She would have given him Yorka’s wooden ring, but he would not accept it.
“Forest folk – we best not have things.”
“Yorka had them.”
“Yorka was tree-young. She not have them long.”
But he gave Dido a feather from his memory-bird. “Keep in your pocket. You dream sometimes of the forest.”
“And how you saved me from those guards.”
“And how you pull me out of well.”
Mr Multiple was very happy to be back on board ship again. Aratu, he thought, seemed a pleasant enough place, but a
little boring. He had spent his convalescence, after the nurses allowed him out of hospital, at the house of one of Manoel’s neighbours, a kind lady who never went anywhere, or did anything. It had been restful, but tedious.
“Did you have trouble finding Lord Herodsfoot?” he asked. “It took you a whole week. Did you get bit by a snake, like poor old Cap Sanderson?”
“No, not a snake. But quite a lot of things happened,” Dido said vaguely. “I’ll tell you sometime.”
She was watching the town of Regina recede rapidly as the Siwara tore up the long harbour on the wings of a fine southerly wind. She could hear the throb of the drums on shore, doubtless giving the news of their departure to all the people in the forest.
It was the Forest People I liked best, thought Dido, though I met so few of them.
Herodsfoot came to lean on the rail beside Dido. He looked utterly pale and wretched. She tried to cheer him up by asking about Amboina. Did they play any interesting games there? No, he said gloomily, nothing worth getting excited about. But he had left a few things there, results of time he had spent earlier in China – a number of rare rose-plants, some greyhounds, and a quintet of horn-players. He brightened a little at the thought. He hoped that Captain Hughes would have room for them on the Thrush.
“I reckon he will,” said Dido encouragingly. “Frankie, I’m a going to give you my Persian game-cloth, that old Brandywinde left me – it strikes me you’ll have more use for it than I ever shall.”
She pulled it out of her pocket and gave it to him.
At that he very nearly broke down.
“Oh, Dido! Thank you! It is a treasure! But – do you think that was all she – Talisman – thought I was good for? Playing games? I begged her to marry me – but she wouldn’t—”
“It would be mighty hard,” suggested Dido, “being married to a Kanikke. Someone who was only there half the time. I’m sure you’ll find some person in England who suits you better.”
She hoped that was true.
“Never!” declared Herodsfoot. “My heart is broken. I shall never feel the same again – But you will be in London, won’t you, Dido? You will keep in touch? I shall like to think there is someone to whom I can talk about her . . .”
“Yus. I’ll be in London,” agreed Dido. “I suppose my mum and dad will still be living in Battersea.” And plotting away against King Jamie, she thought, but did not say.
Herodsfoot hoisted his spectacles off his face to give them a rub, and the right-hand earpiece snapped.
He gave a loud wail of dismay.
“Oh, Dido! See what I have done! And no Yorka – no Talisman – to repair them for me. Dido! Do you suppose you can manage to mend them? Do you think you will be able to do something?”
Dido heaved a heavy sigh.
The lighthouse on the north tip of Aratu was sliding past them. She looked her last at Regina town, like a handful of tiny white dice at the far end of the harbour.
She said: “I’ll see what I can do.”
Joan Aiken, Limbo Lodge
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