The Stolen Lake

  At the far end of this street was the covered bridge which the travellers had crossed last night. Already morning traffic was plying busily up and down – carriages, carts, and a kind of street-car which consisted simply of a roofed platform on wheels, drawn by mules. Burros were plentiful; also to be seen were numbers of the large fawn-coloured llamas, ambling along at their leisurely gait, and gazing about them with absent-minded expressions; these did not pull carts, but carried bundles on their backs, and were led by drovers, sometimes in processions of twenty or more. Leaning farther over her stone parapet, Dido discovered with amazement that the story had been true – the cobbles were made of silver – or some similar metal – though littered over with a layer of dry pale dust, they gleamed where a hoof or wheel had scraped off the dirt.

  This must be a rich town! thought Dido. After all, I'm glad I came. Wonder which of them buildings is the palace?

  Away to her left rose a high wooded hill, on top of which she noticed a tall slender tower – but that seemed too small for a palace. Dido craned about inquisitively, wishing that she could see farther – a thin mountain mist concealed the more distant buildings.

  And then, suddenly, as the sun climbed higher, the mist was drawn into the upper air and disappeared. Dido fairly gasped at the prospect which then lay revealed. Now she could see that Bath nestled in the scooped-out summit of a low hill in the middle of a high, flat plateau encircled by a ring of thirteen volcanoes – Ambrage and Arrabe, Ertayne and Elamye, Arryke, Damask, Damyake, Pounce, Pampoyle, Garesse, Caley, Calabe and Catelonde. All around the city their great symmetrical cones reared up like ninepins – some quite near at hand, some farther off, some snow-covered, or laced over by glaciers, some reddish, some llama-coloured, some blue with distance, some flashing in the sun, some rising out of dazzling ice-fields, some shrouded by forests on their lower slopes. From half a dozen ascended grey-white or black columns of smoke, showing that these great chimneys of the inner world still contained fires in their hearts and might erupt. One, Catelonde, had an enormous rock, big as a cathedral, balanced on its summit.

  'Wow!' muttered Dido. 'I wouldn't fancy being here if they all sneezed together. Guess it wouldn't be quite so chilly in Bath Regis then!'

  However the larger of the smoking peaks appeared to be some thirty or forty miles away; it was to be hoped that there was no great danger from them.

  Becoming too cold to remain on the balcony, Dido made her way down to the breakfast parlour. Here she found Noah Gusset, Mr Windward and Mr Multiple, partaking of gravelly barley-bread and cups of hot chocolate that seemed to consist principally of brown sugar and boiling water.

  'How's Mr Holy?' was Dido's first question.

  'He's still sleeping,' the lieutenant told her. 'Captain Hughes is waiting for the physician. The sleep is so heavy that it hardly seems natural. Meanwhile I have instructions to escort you to the dressmaker, Miss Dido.'

  Dido pulled a face at the prospect, but still she was longing to go out, and bolted down her unappetising breakfast with dispatch. In ten minutes they were out in the street, accompanied by Mr Multiple.

  There were no shops in Pulteney Street, the wide thoroughfare which led to the hotel. But on the covered bridge over the rushing Severn they found many little booths; Dido was interested to see that these advertised their wares by means of flags, red for meat, white for milk, green for vegetables, fruit or flowers, yellow for bread. The stallholders were in the process of unlocking their premises, using enormous heavy keys, shaped like swans or lions or fishes. Many of the people walking about seemed to have wooden legs. Why? Dido wondered. Had they been bitten by Aurocs? Rich people, who rode in sedan chairs, wore elaborately piled and powdered hair. The market-women had black mantos, or shawls, wrapped tightly round the upper part of their bodies, above long black skirts, and often a kind of blanket, folded in three, on their heads. The men wore ruanas, black jackets and trousers, wooden clogs on their feet, and straw hats. As in Bewdley and Tenby, there were no children to be seen, and Dido was a target for many stares of astonishment, and some hostility.

  Mr Windward pulled his watch from his pocket and consulted it; then he tapped it, with some annoyance. 'It's stopped; it never did that before. Still, we must be in good time if the lady opens up shop at nine. It was half-past eight when we left the inn.'

  Orange Grove, a small street of superior dwellings, lay to their left, not far beyond the bridge.

  'Bless my soul!' exclaimed Lieutenant Windward. 'Half these houses are Roman villas.'

  'Well a lot o' Romans did come and settle here; Mr Holy told me so,' Dido reminded him. 'Look, there's a sign that says Mme Ettarde, Modiste.'

  Madame Ettarde's establishment had been adapted from a Roman villa, and was built around a court where a fountain splashed and pinched-looking orange trees grew in tubs.

  Dido could tell, as soon as they stepped inside, that Madame Ettarde had been tipped off to expect them.

  'Is this the lucky young lady who is to see the queen?' cooed a welcoming voice. 'Step in here, Miss, if you please!'

  During the night the recollection had returned to Dido of where she had previously heard the name Ettarde. It had been mentioned by Mrs Morgan and Mrs Vavasour. This was not likely to recommend it; nor did the appearance of its owner. Lady Ettarde was a dwarf, hardly more than three feet high. Her shoulders were crooked, giving her a lopsided walk. She had a pale, sharp-featured face and greenish eyes, rather close

  set, which studied Dido appraisingly. Her hair, dressed high and lavishly ornamented with pearls, was a much more brilliant red than nature could have managed on its own. She was richly dressed in dark-olive silk taffeta pinstriped in yellow.

  She was also – Dido felt almost certain – the short woman who, wrapped in a black shawl, had limped along the quay and spoken to Silver Taffy at Bewdley.

  'What a fortunate coincidence,' purred Lady Ettarde, beckoning a couple of assistants, one tall, one short. They wore black silk dresses, muslin mob-caps, and black half-masks. 'We have here, my dear, a dress originally ordered for a young lady who had been planning to make her come-out at Court this spring – when, only last month, she unexpectedly disappeared. Young ladies do have a way of suddenly popping off in these parts! But I believe her gown will fit you to a tee, Miss – with just a tuck or so, and a take-in. See, now, if that isn't just the article – complete to a shade – gown, silver scarf, sandals, gloves, petticoat, feathers – everything needful for you to make your curtsey to the queen!'

  A very pretty silver-embroidered white mull dress was displayed by the silent assistants.

  That looks well enough,' said Lieutenant Windward, who appeared somewhat weighed down by this unusual responsibility. 'But I reckon she'd best try it on?'

  'The fitting-room is behind that curtain,' said Lady Ettarde, smiling.

  The assistants took a step towards Dido.

  But nothing was going to get Dido behind that curtain.

  'Oh no!' she declared. 'I ain't a-going in there. I'll just slip the dress on over my shimmy,' she added carelessly, removing her pea-jacket.

  'In front of a gentleman? Impossible, dear!' said Lady Ettarde, shocked, and her assistants murmured, The idea!'

  'You jist turn and face the other way, Mr Windward,' Dido told him. 'Don't you leave the shop – not nohow!'

  Mr Windward did feel de trop, but recognised the appeal in Dido's voice; besides he had had very firm instructions from Captain Hughes. Accordingly he sat himself down on a spindly gold love-seat facing the window.

  'Young ladies will take these nervous fancies,' murmured Lady Ettarde pityingly.

  But Dido, ignoring the scornful smiles of Lady Ettarde and her work-women, pulled the mull dress over her head, as she did so remarking conversationally to Mr Windward. 'There was a fellow called Bran who come up on the train yesterday; he was telling a real rum story about a man who kept seeing his double.'

  A long cheval glass stood by Dido; sharply watching Lady Ettarde
in this while buttoning her dress, Dido observed the dressmaker turn white as the dress itself. One of the assistants dropped a box of pins, while the bigger one let out a little whimper.

  'B-b-bran?'

  'Quiet, you nuddikin!' snapped Lady Ettarde. Then, resuming her polished manner, she remarked to the lieutenant, 'This Bran, as they call him, is quite a Quiz, indeed! He is the queen's jongleur, you know, so he may do as he chooses. He wanders about collecting tales and songs; it is said that sometimes, even, he works in the silver-mines. Imagine it!' She gave a light, contemptuous laugh.

  'They say he can hear anything that's said, anywhere,' whispered one of the women.

  'Pick up those pins, fool, and hold your tongue!' said Lady Ettarde, and she made one or two slight alterations in the dress, pinning back a fold at the side, adjusting the shoulders, taking up the hem. Dido, wonderingly studying the image in the glass, could hardly believe that the shimmering stranger was herself.

  'Feathers?' suggested one of the masked women, offering a bunch of white-and~silver plumes.

  But Dido's hair was so short that the feathers could not be attached to her head.

  'I don't like 'em above half, anyhows,' she said, handing them back. 'They make me look like a circus pony.'

  'They are quite the wear at Court,' Madame Ettarde informed her coldly.

  'Can't help that,' Dido replied, as coldly.

  A little silver-and-crystal tiara, with a spun-glass spray, was found instead, and Madame Ettarde undertook to deliver the whole costume by an hour after noon. Lieutenant Windward then paid the staggering price, and he and Dido took their leave.

  Mr Multiple was waiting for them outside.

  'Croopus,' said Dido, 'it ain't half costing the Cap, jist to have me pass the time o' day with that queen. Wonder why he's so fixed on the notion?'

  Lieutenant Windward, too, thought it queer, but he had been trained not to question his commanding officer's decisions, and so made no comment.

  'Look,' he said, 'I believe that must be the royal palace over there. See the guards? But what a very singular building!' He peered at it through narrowed blue eyes and said incredulously, 'It appears to be revolving.'

  'Guess you're right,' said Dido after a minute's study. 'Well, if that don't beat all! Wouldn't you think her Royalty would get a bit giddy inside there?'

  Bath Palace was indeed an unusual dwelling. Large, circular and five or six storeys high, it rose beside the rushing Severn, part of which had been diverted in order to surround it with water. A narrow bridge led to the entrance, which was guarded by grey-uniformed soldiers with pikes. They wore silver vizored helmets with grey plumes which made them look, Dido thought, like ghosts. But the great oddity was certainly the palace itself.

  'Is it made of silver, d'you reckon, Mr Windward?'

  'Some kind of metal,' he confirmed. 'But it can hardly be silver, surely?'

  'It don't half dazzle,' Dido said.

  It dazzled indeed. Scattered up and down its shining height they saw the city of Bath reflected in a series of somewhat distorted images. The windows (there were not many) interrupted these reflections like black pock-marks. There was an immense main door, of bronze, Lieutenant Windward thought, and, set into this, a much smaller wicket, composed of two interlocking metal surfaces set at right-angles to each other. These continually revolved, so that people could pass through if they were fairly nippy about it. And the whole building itself kept turning round very slowly, almost imperceptibly, unless you took your eyes away and looked again.

  'Wonder who thought that up?' said Dido, much impressed. 'D'you reckon that's the way we'll go in, Mr Windward – through those spinning doors?'

  'I imagine so. There appears to be no other entrance.'

  'Well, I wouldn't want to live there,' Dido decided. 'If you ask me, it looks like an outsize milk-churn.'

  'Shall we go to inspect some of the other sights in the town?' suggested Lieutenant Windward. 'Captain Hughes has dispatched a note to the Vicar General, asking what time it would be convenient for him to wait on Her Majesty. But he said we need not be back until noon. It must be quite early still.' He pulled out his watch, tapped it impatiently, and said to Mr Multiple, 'Do you have your timepiece on you?'

  'Mine's stopped too,' said Mr Multiple, inspecting it. 'That's rum. Can I have forgotten to wind it? No matter; we shall be sure to hear a clock strike. Look: while you were at the dressmaker's I bought this guidebook. Shall we visit the Market, or the Assembly Rooms, or the Museum?

  'All of 'em!' said Dido. 'Let's be off!'

  Mr Multiple had already studied the map of the town, and he was able to lead them directly to the main market. This, not far away, was a glassed-over series of arcades where dozens of stalls sold fruit, toys, salt, barley, tobacco, vegetables, gaily decorated leather pouches, harness and saddles, meat, fifes and guitars, fur caps with decorated ear-flaps, straw hats, woven woollen materials and small animals made from clay and straw.

  'I'll buy some of those for my sister's children,' said Mr Windward, halting by a display of the latter. 'Which do you think they'd like, Miss Dido?'

  Dido, inspecting the animals, began to be conscious of the stall-holder's angry stare.

  'Hah! Very fine for the gringo child to choose herself a toy!' the woman said harshly. 'Play! Play while you may, foreign brat! Vae pueris! My daughter was taken by the Aurocs, and so was my sister's child. Think yourself lucky you don't stay here long, Milkface!'

  A warning glance from Lieutenant Windward prevented Dido making any retort; he quickly bought a couple of clay llamas and hurried his companions away. Looking back, Dido saw the woman spit after them furiously, then fling her shawl over her head and sit rocking herself to and fro.

  'Poor thing,' Dido muttered. 'You can't blame her for being a bit aggly. It's a rum do about them Aurocs, though, ain't it, Mr Windward? We keep hearing about 'em; it's a wonder we ain't seen more of 'em, seeing they swipe so many young 'uns.' She glanced up apprehensively, but nothing was to be seen overhead save a couple of condors wheeling about.

  They inspected the Museum, an ancient Roman building not far from the palace. Over its door was a woman's head carved in stone, with a very beautiful face and snakes for hair. The lieutenant said she was a gorgon.

  'What's that, Mr Windward?'

  'A kind of witch. She could turn people to stone.'

  'Wonder she gets any sleep at night with them all hissing round the pillow,' said Dido.

  The Museum contained the Thirteen Treasures of Britain, which the settlers of New Cumbria had brought with them at the time of the exodus from that land – the Basket, Sword, Drinking-Horn, Chariot, Halter, Knife, Cauldron, Whetstone, Garment, Pan, Platter, Chessboard and Mantle – but it was plain that the museum staff were not too active in caring for their treasures. The sword was missing from its scabbard, the basket was worm-eaten, the garment and mantle were alive with moths, and the other exhibits were in equally poor condition.

  'What a lot of fusty old stuff,' said Dido. When Mr Multiple drew her attention to an arrow on the wall and a sign that said: 'To the Zoological Garden containing the Four Oldest Creatures, Ousel of Cilgwri, etc. Admission I Bezant,' she said, 'Don't let's see any more old things. Let's go somewhere else.'

  They were much more impressed by the Roman Baths. These were still in regular use, and indeed both Lieutenant Windward and Mr Multiple declared their intention of returning for a dip later in the day, since the Hotel Sydney's plumbing left almost everything to be desired. The visitors saw a series of immense chambers, five baths of varying heat, two swimming-pools of warm pale-green water with wreaths of steam rising, sweat rooms, cool rooms and robing-rooms, all roofed with pale vaulted stone. The Keeper of the Baths informed them that the water was all heated by the nearest volcano, Mount Damyake – so, indeed, was the whole town, by means of a series of underground ducts.

  'Damn-ache don't do a very good job then,' grumbled Dido. 'Back there in the sweat room was the first tim
e I been warm today.'

  'Mount Damyake is thought to be cooling down,' explained the Keeper. 'In a hundred years, who knows? The city of Bath may be too cold for its inhabitants to remain here. Some of the people think that the queen (heaven smile on Her Royal Mercy) uses too much of Damyake's heat for her own personal convenience.'

  'Why, what does she use it for?' asked Mr Multiple.

  But the Keeper, evidently feeling that he had been indiscreet, would say no more.

  The travellers went on to inspect the Pump Room, where they drank a glass of very nasty mineral water, which Dido said tasted like unwashed ducks' feet, and Mr Multiple kindly bought her a large Bath Bun. Then, since they could not discover the correct time (there appeared to be no clocks in the city of Bath) they returned across the Rialto Bridge and so back along Pulteney Street to the hotel, observing for the first time the handsome public gardens in the oval circus behind the Sydney, which contained two sham castles, two Chinese cast-iron bridges, some thatched umbrellas, in case it was ever warm enough to sit out of doors, and a rotunda, besides a great many cactus plants.

  At the hotel, Captain Hughes was walking up and down impatiently by the big hour-glass in the vestibule. (Strangely enough, all members of the party who possessed timepieces had discovered that these had simultaneously come to a stop at the moment when they were brought into the city of Bath. Captain Hughes, rather perplexed, had attributed this phenomenon to the altitude.)

  'Matters are in excellent train,' he told them. 'I have had a most affable message from Queen Ginevra, instructing me to wait on her at two.'

  'What about the togs?' Dido said. 'My clobber, I mean.'

  'Miss Twite, please,' said the captain: 'Do not refer to your wearing apparel in that fashion. The garments have been sent home, and the chambermaid will assist you in robing yourself. A nuncheon has been sent to your chamber; you had best repair there directly and set about making yourself presentable. Do not omit to wash your face!'

  'What did the doc say about Mr Holystone?'