The Stolen Lake

'And the things that go on in Biru you'd never believe – brigandage – cannibalism – I believe they even sacrifice their grandmothers to Sul. Grandmothers! And in the streets of Manoa you daren't go out at night because robbers make off with the silver manhole-covers; you could fall straight into the sewers and get washed away. No, no, my dear Gwydion – Artaius – time it is you came back, not a moment too soon indeed. And then there's your good lady over in Cumbria – time some of her habits were taken in hand.'

  Holystone looked even more unhappy.

  'Have you ever met her, sir?'

  'Not I, my boy! Won't cross her frontiers; won't receive foreign rulers. But these gentlemen have met her, I believe.'

  Multiple shook his head. Lieutenant Windward said,

  'The young lady has talked to her more than I have.'

  'Have you indeed, my dear? And lived to tell the tale? Uncommon, that is,' King Mabon said. 'Tell us what she is like, then, eh?'

  How to describe someone who is both wicked and sentimental, self-centred, silly, and terrifyingly powerful? Dido's usual readiness of tongue deserted her; and besides, it was, after all, poor Mr Holystone's wife they were talking about; and he looked glum enough already.

  After some thought, Dido muttered, 'She sure wants Mr Holy back. She don't think of much else. She wanted me to try and gull King Mabon into believing I was his daughter. So she'd get the lake back.'

  She looked up into Mr Holystone's sad grey eyes.

  'You have seen Guinevere?' he said slowly. 'Is she -is she much changed?'

  'How'd I know?' Dido said crossly. 'I dunno what she was like afore, do I? All I know is, she's been waiting a plaguy long time and it's – upset her. She'd be the better for not having that mess o' havey-cavey old witches round her, too – Lady Ettarde, and Morgan, and the other one. Well, one of 'em's dead,' she added thoughtfully, remembering the scene at Elen's rescue.

  'Which one?' inquired Bran, who had joined the group. His voice was sharp with interest. Dido glanced at him in surprise.

  'I'd have thought that you'd know, mister! It's the one as called herself Mrs Vavasour.'

  An odd look came into Bran's face – sorrow, compounded with relief. He lifted his shoulders as if a weight had fallen from them. And his cockatoo flew across the room and perched on his wrist.

  Dido wondered what Bran's connection had been with the witch-dressmaker. But Princess Elen had now followed Holystone, and sat down by her father, who tucked his arm round her affectionately. She said,

  'Mrs Vavasour is dead? I am glad of that.' She shivered, and went on, 'She told me she had set a snake to watch me, outside the cave entrance, and that it would grow and double its size every day, and could see me through the crack and would bite me if I tried to get out. I – I didn't really believe her, but I used to think I could hear it hissing.'

  'Ugh! How could you bear it, Ma'am?' said Multiple with a shudder. 'I can't abide snakes.'

  'I daresay most of their witcheries are no more than mumbo-jumbo, done to frighten credulous folk,' said Mabon.

  'But that owl did turn into Mrs Vavasour,' said Dido. 'It ain't all mumbo-jumbo.' And there was my reflection in the mirror, she thought.

  Elen said, 'Bran used to tell us when we were children that witchcraft was the wickedness in several people's minds combining to form something worse still. Like making poison by mixing things that are harmless taken singly.' She looked into Holystone's face wistfully. 'Artaius? Gwydion? Can you really remember nothing of when we were children?'

  He shook his head. 'Only a vagueness – like a dream, half-caught.'

  'You don't recall how you used to stay with us? Or that Bran, here, was your tutor?'

  'The best pupil I ever had,' Bran said. 'He never had to stay in to learn his principal parts, as you and your brothers did, Princess.'

  'Why can't I remember?' muttered Holystone, pressing his brow, as if to make a hole and let air into his brain.

  'Some external force is blocking your mind for its own ends,' Bran told him. 'It is of no consequence. You know that you are the High King. Other memory will return in time.'

  The Governor's cat had followed Elen, and now jumped into her lap.

  'They still follow you, eh?' said her father. 'Did they do so in that English Bath? And what did Miss Castelreagh say to that?'

  'Oh, she was a very kind lady, Dadda. She sent her dutiful respects to you, when I left, and gave me a pomander-ball and a copy of Dr Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language. The pomander-ball I lost when the pirates captured our ship, but the dictionary has proved very useful.'

  'Nothing like a good vocabulary, I always say.' King Mabon beamed at his daughter. 'But look, supper's ready – all your favourites, my dear. Roast mutton, bara brith and syllabub!'

  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 Castelreagh'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 top!'

  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 tie
d behind her and she was lifted up and bumped down uncomfortably on to 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 on to 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 north-east; 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 travelling towards 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 recognised 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 towards 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 seemed 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 crossed 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 towards 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 towards the gorge while the rest of the party proceeded swiftly on their way. Dido heard the unfortunate midshipman's voice raised in a final shriek of despair; and soon afterwards 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, kind-hearted 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, smelt very bad, of hot metal, aged rock, and sulphureous steam; what with that, and the train's see-saw, 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 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, Dafydd Gomez. The person holding Elen was likewise revealed as the Vicar General, Fluellen. Might have guessed those old ravens would get on it somehow, Dido thought dejectedly, letting herself be pushed out of the car on to 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 none the less, 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. Wh
ere 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 stair, 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'll 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 recognised her surroundings; the stair had brought them into one of the ante-chambers of Bath Palace. Who'd a thought we had come so far? she thought. So the queen has her own private way into the silver-mines. Very handy for her any time 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 catamountain 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 towards 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,