Then a portentous thing happened.
Whether because Ginevra had purposely released some control, or by simple accident, the pace of the revolving door suddenly increased to a wild whirl. It spun madly round, with the queen inside it, so that the rotating panels could only be seen as a blur. Ginevra's scream was echoed and drowned by the eerie screech of the spinning door, and then of the castle, as it, too, began to turn more quickly.
"Sir! Come back! Make haste!" Captain Hughes shouted warningly.
Holystone glanced behind him, then leapt down the steps and across the bridge. For the steam jets were beginning to grow again; in the space of forty seconds they shot up as tall as poplar trees. The crowd wailed and stumbled and stampeded in its effort to get away before anybody was scalded. Holystone, the vicar general, and the grand inquisitor just managed to dodge between the jets while it was possible to do so, before the jets became a wall of steam.
"Er—may I perhaps suggest, Your Highness, that we adjourn to the Pump Room?" suggested the vicar general, who looked badly shaken. "I think—I do not believe it possible—that Her Mercy—"
"The poor wretched woman can't possibly have survived inside that giddy-go-round," bluntly summed up Captain Hughes. "Nor could anybody inside the castle, for the matter of that. Human frame ain't meant for that kind of usage. Unfortunate—very; but all for the best, maybe."
"I am afraid you are right, Captain," smoothly agreed the grand inquisitor. "In which case His Highness King Artaius here is next in—"
But at this moment Captain Sextus Lucius Trevelyan came elbowing his way through the crowd with an expression of deep anxiety on his clean-cut Roman features. He bowed hastily to both King Mabon and Mr. Holystone.
"Sirs—" he began. But his voice as he spoke was drowned by a horrendous rumbling roar from Mount Catelonde. The roar went on for the space of three minutes, growing louder and louder. Captain Trevelyan's lips continued to move as he tried in vain to make himself heard.
"... utmost urgency! Glaciers on Mount Damyake have begun to slip on account of the increased volcanic action," he was saying when the rumble died down at last. "The ice is approaching the city of Bath with—with considerable velocity from the east. And, as well, on the western side of the town, a torrent of molten lava is approaching with even greater speed. I think it my duty to suggest that you advise the citizens to gather up such household chattels as they quickly may, and remove themselves from the city within the space of one hour at longest. And you too, Your Majesty and my lady and Your Highness, if you please! The slopes of Mount Ambage would seem, at present, to offer a reasonably secure point of vantage."
"Leave the town?" said the quick-thinking King Mabon. "Right. Best tell the people. Have it proclaimed. You agree?" to Holystone, who nodded. "But—dear me—what about Caer Sisi? What about the queen?"
The vicar general shrugged. "Fata obstant," he said. "She is done for. We cannot help her."
Captain Hughes was heard to remark, "I daresay the same subterranean upheaval that is affecting Damyake and Catelonde had that unexpected effect on her palace."
Holystone, who had looked white, sick, and dazed since the dreadful scene with Queen Ginevra, now visibly took command of himself.
"Send the jefe here," he commanded. "We must organnize the removal of the citizens in an orderly manner, by streets, or there will be panic, and people will be injured and the gates blocked. Order the street watchmen to sound the alarm. Clear the town by all four gates, beginning with the citizens who live in the center. Appropriate all carts, carriages, and streetcars, all beasts of burden; inform the owners that these will be returned, and compensation paid...."
In a moment he was the center of a whirl of activity; he stood calmly giving orders as messengers raced in all directions.
"Come, Miss Twite—Multiple, Windward, Gusset!" said Captain Hughes. "Since we are not natives of this town we had best get ourselves out from underfoot before the headlong rush begins. The most sensible thing we can do is make for the rack railway and go back to the Thrush; we certainly do not want to be cut off here in this godforsaken spot—which is all too probable if the glacier blocks the railway track, or the station is buried in lava."
"Leave now?" cried Dido in dismay. "Without seeing what happens?"
Without saying good-bye was what she meant.
"Cap's right, you know," Lieutenant Windward said. "No sense in hanging around where we ain't needed."
Dido glanced about her, and saw Elen mounting her pony. The princess, like Holystone, looked white, appalled, and hollow eyed.
"Papa has ordered me to go back to Lyonesse with Captain Trevelyan," she said. "He thinks it best; will you come with me, Dido?"
But Dido explained that she had to return to the Thrush. The two girls hugged each other rather miserably. "Here—have this," Dido said huskily, and thrust the little diamond mirror into Elen's hand.
"You will come and see me again sometime—visit me in Lyonesse? I'll never forget what you did—never! And if—and if you should see G-Gwydion before you leave"—her voice shook a little on the name—"tell him he is always welcome at my father's palace; he knows that.... Give him my—my affection."
"I don't suppose I shall see him," said Dido bluntly. "But if I do I'll tell him. Good-bye, Elen. Take care of Hapiypacha. And—you might go and play the piano to poor old Caradog now and again."
Elen nodded, ducked her head, and kicked her pony into a trot. Hapiypacha loped after her.
"Miss Twite! Will you please come along!" shouted the captain. "Windward has ascertained that a train will start from Goodridge's Corridor station in ten minutes. We must lose no time."
"I'm a-coming, I'm a-coming," Dido said. The small English party bolted for the station.
"Never mind our luggage at the Sydney," panted Captain Hughes. "They can have it in lieu of payment—if they can carry it away in time."
The streets were jammed full of carts, pushcarts, carriages, wheelbarrows, and every kind of conveyance, all crammed with domestic goods. Dido noticed the Four Ancient Creatures, looking rather bewildered, being wheeled off on children's pushchairs. Loaded llamas gazed about them tolerantly, as if wondering why everybody was making such a commotion.
When they reached the station, they found the queer little tip-tilted train already three-quarters packed with people who were using this means to escape from the threatened city; but room was kindly made for the gringos. This time there were no seats at all; Dido squatted on the floor, feeling miserably sad, remembering the ride up. Mr. Holystone had slept all the way, but at least he had been there; and Bran had told stories....
The train gave a jerk. The engine started to shriek and shudder. But suddenly there was a disturbance on the platform; people were calling "Make way, make way!" and to the engine driver, "Don't start yet, hold your steam!" And there was Mr. Holystone. He had half a dozen men behind him, all clamoring for his attention, all asking him for instructions—but his eyes were searching through the passengers crowded together on the train.
"Couldn't let you go without bidding you good-bye, sir," he said, hurriedly wringing Captain Hughes's hand. "Thank you again for all your kindness. Tell the quartermaster to throw out the flour in the black canister, it will certainly have weevils in it by this time. Thank you for carrying me up all those plaguy mountains," he said with a grin to Multiple, Windward, and Gusset, shaking hands with each in turn. "Good-bye, Dido." He gently touched her cheek. "Don't forget how to curtsy. And remember me when you take tea—thumb and three fingers on the handle. 'We clean three tweed beads a week...'"
"Mr. Holy," gulped Dido. "I've a message for you."
She gave it.
"Thank you," he said gravely. "And listen—will you keep Dora for me? As a gift, and a remembrance?"
Dido thought.
"I'd rather not," she said after a moment. "You won't think me rude, Mr. Holy? Dora's a person. She didn't ought to be given as a present. Someone can bring her to you."
/> "I know what you mean," he said. "You are right. Bran will bring Dora, with Elen's cats—Bran is going to travel down with you."
"He is?" Dido's face lit up. "Oh, I am glad!" as Bran climbed in. "Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Holy—good luck!" She hung out, blowing kisses as he hurried away.
The train started with a shriek.
"None too soon," said Bran. "Look over there." They were in the boxcar which had no glass in its windows; the visibility was excellent. Dido, following the direction of his pointing finger, was just in time to see Mount Catelonde blow its top clean off; a thousand feet of mountain vanished in a great heaving spout of flame. The huge rock that had balanced on the tip of the crater for so long bounded upward like a pea and then vanished from view.
"Blocked the Pass of Nimue, likely as not," said Bran. "If this railway is cut by the glacier there will be no way into Upper Cumbria except through the mines."
"If they ain't blocked too," said Dido. "Well, it's not much of a place, with the aurocs, and so cold, and the air so thin." And memories of Queen Ginevra and her awful end, she thought. "Maybe the folk had all better go and live in Lyonesse. Things are better there."
"Artaius is certainly going to have his work cut out for the first few years," Bran observed. "He won't have too much time to grieve for Ginevra."
"Now you don't have a steward," Dido said to Captain Hughes. "I'll do the job, if you like. I daresay I could manage; I used to help Mr. Holy a lot. I know where things are."
"Certainly not!" Captain Hughes replied disapprovingly. "You? A young lady? A passenger? That would be wholly unsuitable! No, no, I have already arranged for Brandywinde there to undertake the job. He wishes to be repatriated; he can work his passage."
"But what about his hands?"
"It seems they are on the mend."
And indeed, Mr. Brandywinde was sitting in the middle of a circle of interested auditors, waving his fingers about. "Feeling began to come back into them just like that," he was saying, "as soon as the queen rushed through that door. Oh, what respite from pain, what legerdemain, when one's fingers can do up one's buttons again! What a spasm of joy through my happy heart gambols, when a tremor of feeling returns to my fambles!"
Captain Hughes, in a corner, was busy writing up his log.
"Assistance was rendered to the Ruler of New Cumbria to reclaim the stolen lake Arianrod. The matter has been satisfactorily concluded. The water is now back in its original site, and the treaty of alliance between Great Britain and New Cumbria has been reratified...."
"Geeminy," said Mr. Multiple, hanging out the window. "Will you look at that ice?"
A high white rampart was moving across the stony plain, rubbing out cactus and sigse trees as if they were mustard and cress. But the little train dashed past just in time, within a hundred yards of the approaching glacier, and rattled down the steep descent by the Severn River and its seven majestic waterfalls.
Mr. Multiple had had the forethought to provide himself with a bagful of plantains, bananas, and chirimoya, which he kindly shared with Dido.
"You won't suddenly turn out to be King Somebody, Mr. Mully?" Dido asked him apprehensively, munching on a plantain; and he assured her that he would not.
"Didn't I tell you that it would all come right in the end?" Bran said, sitting down beside them.
"Not for poor Queen Ginevra, it didn't."
"She had had her own way for thirteen hundred years. That is long enough."
"And what'll happen to Elen?"
"She will marry Artaius later on. And they will have three children called Llyr, Penardun, and Lud Hudibras."
"Devil take it, I have left my floater behind!" suddenly exclaimed Captain Hughes, looking up from his writing. But he added, "Never mind, I will design an improved one when I am back on board the Thrush."
"Would you like me to tell you a story?" asked Bran, noticing that Dido's expression was rather sad.
"Yes. Thanks, mister. I'd like that. Just a minute, though; I want to see them again before that big wall of ice gets in the way and blocks them off."
She wriggled her way back to the window and hung out of it, looking her last at the thirteen great volcanoes, saying good-bye to them in her mind: Ambage and Arrabe, Ertayne and Elamye, Arryke, Damask, Damyake, Pounce, Pampoyle, Garesse, Galey, Calabe, and Catelonde.
Joan Aiken, The Stolen Lake (Wolves Chronicles)
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