Cart and Cwidder (10 page)

“Well I do,” said Dagner. “And Father
would
leave, though he knew Mother didn't want to go. And in the cart she had to bring us up and keep us clean and cook—and she'd never done anything like that in her life till then. And sometimes there was no money at all, and we were always on the move and always—well, there were other things she didn't like Father doing. But Father always got his own way over them. Mother never had a say in anything. She just did the work. Then she saw Ganner again in Derent, after all those years, and she told me it had brought her old life back to her and made her feel terrible. I just don't blame her for going back to what she was used to. You can see Ganner's not going to order her around like Father did.”

“Father didn't order her around!” Brid protested. “He even offered to take her back to Ganner.”

“Yes, and I thought Mother was really going to call his bluff for a moment then,” said Dagner. “He knew darned well Mother wouldn't go, because it wasn't her duty, but he had an anxious moment all the same, didn't he? And then he took good care to point out how much cleverer he was than Ganner.”

“That was just his way,” said Brid.

“It was all just his way,” said Dagner. “Look, Brid, I don't want to pull Father to pieces any more than you do, but in some ways he was—oh, maddening. And if you think about it, you'll see he and Mother weren't at all well matched.”

Moril was blinking a little at all this. It was so unlike Dagner to talk so much or so clearly. He marveled at the way Dagner managed to put into words things Moril had known all his life but not truly noticed till this moment. “Don't you think Mother was fond of Father at all?” he asked dolefully.

“Not in the way we were,” said Dagner.

“In that case, why did she run off with him like that?” Brid asked, triumphantly, as if that clinched the matter.

Dagner looked pensively at a new vista of apple trees coming into view beyond Olob's ears. “I'm not sure,” he said, “but I
think
that cwidder had something to do with it.”

Moril swiveled around and cast an apprehensive look at the gleaming belly of the old cwidder, resting in its place in the rack. “Why do you think that?” he asked nervously.

“Something Mother said once,” said Dagner. “And Father told you there was power in it, didn't he?”

“There probably is, if it belonged to Osfameron,” Kialan observed in a matter-of-fact way.

“Don't be silly! It can't be that old!” Moril protested.

“Osfameron lived not quite two hundred years ago,” said Kialan, and he really seemed to know. “He was born the same year as King Labbard died, so it can't be more than that. A cwidder'd surely last as long as that if you took care of it. Why, we've—I've seen one that's four hundred years old—though, mind you, it looks ready to drop apart if you breathed on it.”

Moril cast another look, even more apprehensive, at the quiet, prosperous shape of the old cwidder. “It can't be!” he said.

“Well,” Dagner said diffidently, “you get used to thinking things like that were only around long ago, but—I'll tell you, Moril—didn't you get the impression you kept Father alive with it this morning?” Moril stared at Dagner with his mouth open. “I thought so,” Dagner said, a trifle apologetically. “I've never heard it sound like it did then. And—and Father was dead awfully quickly after you left off, wasn't he?”

Moril was appalled. “Whatever am I going to do with a thing like that!” he almost wailed.

“I don't know. Learn to use it, perhaps,” said Dagner. “I must say I was glad Father didn't give it to me.”

Everyone subsided into thoughtfulness. Brid sniffed wretchedly. Olob clopped steadily on for a mile or so. Then he took a look at the sinking sun and decided to choose them a camping ground. Dagner dissuaded him. He refused to let Olob turn off the road three times, until Olob got the point and did not try again. They went on and on and on, downhill, uphill, through small valleys, pastures, and orchards. The sky died from blue to pink and from pink to purple, and Brid could bear no more.

“Oh, do let's
stop
, Dagner! Today seems to have gone on for about a hundred years!”

“I know,” said Dagner. “But I want to get a really good start.”

“Do you think Ganner will really follow us?” said Moril. “He ought to be glad we've gone. Then he needn't fuss about roofs and things.”

“He's bound to,” said Kialan. “A man with a conscience—that's Ganner. He'll probably send some of his hearthmen out tonight and set out himself first thing tomorrow. That's what—I mean, if it had been just Dagner and me, he—”

“Go on. Say it. You think Moril and I shouldn't have come,” Brid said bitterly.

“I didn't
say
that!” snapped Kialan.

“Just meant it,” said Brid.

“No, he didn't,” said Dagner. “Stop being stupid, Brid. The thing is, I left without explaining to Mother, and even if I had explained, she wouldn't have wanted you two to go. So I know she'll ask Ganner to come after us. If he does catch us up, you and Moril will have to go back, I'm afraid.”

“Oh
no
!” said Brid, and Moril felt equally mutinous.

“That's why I hope he doesn't catch us,” Dagner said. “Because I don't think I could give a show on my own, and I was wondering how on earth I'd manage.”

This admission mollified Brid greatly. She refrained from grumbling, although they went on until the light was all but gone. Then Dagner at last permitted Olob to select them a spot on top of a hill. This meant their camp was windy, a fact which Brid bitterly pointed out while they were fumbling around trying to put up the tent in the breezy semidark.

“Yes, but we can see people coming,” said Dagner.

“And there are thistles. I've just trodden on one,” Brid complained.

“Then why on earth don't you put your boots on?” demanded Kialan.

“Oh, I couldn't! I'd spoil them,” Brid said, quite shocked.

Kialan roared with laughter, which seemed to restore Brid's frayed temper. She took it quite cheerfully when Moril discovered the only food they had was bread and onions.

“I
knew
we'd need those rabbits,” Kialan said dejectedly.

“We all had a good lunch,” said Brid.

Moril had the notion of frying the bread and onions together. Unfortunately it was then so dark that he could not see to fry. The mixture he turned out of the frying pan was extremely singed, and it was only eaten because everyone was very hungry. Then they settled down to sleep. It seemed to Moril, waking and resettling himself round the wine jar during the night, that Kialan and Dagner kept watch, turn and turn about, until dawn broke. Certainly they both looked very jaded in the morning.

Nevertheless, as soon as the sun was up and Olob fed, Dagner had the cart on the move again. They ate the last of the bread as they went. Brid moaned a little, and Dagner promised they would buy more food in the next village they came to.

“What with?” said Brid.

That was a nasty moment. There was no money in the locker where Lenina usually kept it. She must have taken it out in Markind. And none of them had any money in the pockets of their fine new clothes. For a while, it looked as if they would have to give a show before they could eat. Then Brid thought of going through the clothes locker, turning out pockets. There were a few coins in the pockets of Clennen's scarlet suit, and a further few fell out of Kialan's old good coat when Brid picked it up.

“May we use these? We'll pay you back,” she said.

“Of course,” said Kialan. “I'd forgotten I'd got any.”

When they came to a village, Dagner drew up on the outskirts and sent Brid and Moril shopping, shouting after them at the last minute that there were no more oats for Olob. The rule was that you bought oats first—for where would you be with Olob undernourished?—and they were dear in those parts at that season. Brid and Moril came glumly back with oats, a loaf, half a can of milk, a cold black sausage, and a cabbage. Knowing that Dagner would certainly put off giving a performance if he could, Brid prepared to do battle.

“That's all we could afford. If we don't give a show tomorrow, we'll starve,” she announced, dumping the meager purchases in the cart.

“We're going to,” Dagner said, to her surprise. “Father said we were to be sure to perform in Neathdale, and I think we'll be there by tomorrow. Have you found it?” he asked Kialan, who was frowning over the map. It was not a good map. Clennen knew Dalemark like the back of his hand and only kept a map for emergencies.

“If this place
is
Cindow, Neathdale's quite a way to the northwest,” said Kialan. “Is it worth it? It would be almost as easy to go by the Marshes from here.”

“Yes, I've got to go. And he said we'd be bound to get news there,” said Dagner. “Let's get going. And,” he added, “I suppose we'd better have a bit of a practice this evening.”

As Olob went on, Moril, sighing rather, went and fetched the old cwidder. When he had vowed not to play it, he had been thinking of an idle life in Markind—if he had thought of the future at all—but now, whether Dagner played pipes or treble cwidder, and Brid pipes or panhorn, someone was going to have to play tenor to them. That meant Moril on the big cwidder. And he had always been in awe of it, and never more than now. By way of coming to terms with it, he laid it on his knees and polished it as Clennen had taught him. Brid gave him the note on the panhorn, and he tuned it. And tuned it again. And retuned it. As fast as he got a string to the right pitch, it went off again. All he could produce was the moaning twang of slack strings.

“I think the pegs are slipping,” he said helplessly.

“Let me have a go,” Brid said competently. But she could not get it tuned either.

“Let me look at the pegs,” said Kialan. He looked, and seemed fairly knowledgeable, but he could not see anything wrong. He handed it on to Dagner. Dagner, who knew most of all, hitched the reins round his knees and spent half an hour trying to get the cwidder tuned. In the end he was forced to hand it back to Moril in the same state as before.

“Isn't that all we needed!” said Brid. “Perhaps it's in mourning. After all, we all should be, and look at us!”

“Try playing a lament,” Kialan said thoughtfully.

“Why?” said Moril. “Anyway, I hate the old songs.”

“Any lament,” said Dagner. “You played your own treble over the grave, didn't you?”

Moril tried it. He began singing the “Lament for the Earl of Dropwater,” and brought the cwidder in as softly as he could after the first line. The discord was horrible. Brid shuddered. But Dagner took up the song, too, and the cwidder seemed almost to follow his lead. The notes came right as Dagner sang them. To Moril's astonishment and secret terror, the cwidder was in tune by the end of the first verse. He sang the chorus, and first Brid, then Kialan, joined in.

The cwidder sang on, as sweetly as it had for Clennen. Tears poured down Brid's face. Moril felt tearful, too. They sang lustily through the whole song, and sad though it made them, they felt heartened, too. The oddest effect was on Olob. His pace dropped to a slow, rhythmic walk, and he went for all the world as if the cart was a hearse.

“Put it away,” said Dagner, “or we'll never get to Neathdale.”

Moril put the alarming cwidder carefully back, and they made better progress. As before, Dagner would not let Olob stop at the usual time or in the usual kind of place. A little before sunset he took Olob right off the road into a high, lonely field full of big stones, where they could see a good way in most directions.

“There hasn't been a sign of Ganner!” Moril protested.

“Well, there won't be, until we see him arriving, will there?” said Kialan.

They demolished the sausage and held their practice. To Moril's relief, the big cwidder now behaved perfectly. But there were other difficulties. Without Clennen or Lenina, they found they could not do half the songs in the way they were used to. They had to work everything out afresh. And Dagner did not in any way take Clennen's place. He refused to do more than a third of the singing, and that was the only thing he was firm about. Otherwise, he simply made suggestions, and he was quite ready to be overruled by Brid or Moril. The younger two felt lost. They were used to Clennen's kind but entirely firm way of telling them exactly what to do. Sometimes they were annoyed, and several times they were tempted to get very silly. It was only the grim thought that their next meal depended on this practice that kept them from breaking into loud arguments or louder laughter. Moril felt he had never truly missed Clennen till then.

Yet, in the middle of thinking that, he remembered what Dagner had said about Clennen's always having his own way. It occurred to him to wonder if Clennen had not, in fact, kept them all a little too dependent on him. Maybe this was why it seemed so hard to manage without him.