The Stolen Lake (20 page)

"Musta been a right job, taking it," said Dido. "Hey, Mr. Windward, why don't us ride along the bed of the lake, 'stead of this narrow track? Then we can all bunch together in case of aurocs."

Windward thought this a good suggestion, and the burros were urged down on to the lake bed. No aurocs, however, appeared today, presumably because of the heavy cloud overhead, which now obscured the sun. A great many dried fishbones were scattered on the sand; evidently, when the water had been removed a number of mountain predators had been furnished with an unexpected fish dinner.

"This looks like gold-bearing soil to me," said Mr. Multiple. "There's gold mines in Wales, where I used to stay with my uncle. The ground looked like this. I daresay we could all make our fortunes if we sieved up a bit of this sand."

"Best not touch it!" warned Windward. "Don't forget, Arianrod was a sacred lake. The queen would have our guts for garters, likely, if you began digging up the bed."

Mr. Multiple's face assumed an obstinate expression. He made no answer, but continued to keep a careful eye on the ground as he rode along. Presently he let out an exclamation.

"
Now
what?" demanded Windward. "For heaven's sake, man, keep up a better pace! We shan't reach the frontier by nightfall at this rate."

But Mr. Multiple, tumbling impetuously off his burro, had scooped something off the ground which he now triumphantly exhibited.

"What do you say to that, then? A diamond as big as a pullet's egg, or my name's not Frank Multiple!"

"Are you certain?" said the lieutenant skeptically. "It looks to me like any earthy pebble."

"That's no pebble, sir—it's a diamond. See here—" and he scraped with his thumbnail. "My granddad was a goldsmith; I could not mistake.
Hey
—there's dozens of 'em! Let us stop but half an hour, and we are all as rich as Crusoes!"

Windward was resolute, however, that they must press on, so Mr. Multiple discontentedly climbed back into the saddle, muttering privately to Noah Gusset that it was a hem shame! He stared hard at the ground as they rode along, every now and then leaping down to grab a stone, remounting, and kicking his donkey into a fast trot to overtake the others again.

Dido could not help being somewhat infected by his enthusiasm; she, too, began to study the ground as she rode, and so chanced to perceive what seemed to be a rusty metal cross, half buried in a shallow sandy depression. A wink of red at its extremity had caught her eye.

"Here—hold hard a minute, Mr. Windward," she said. "Maybe that thing's summat worth taking along—might be vallyble."

Sliding to the ground, she knelt and tugged at the cross-shaped object. To her surprise the buried end was far longer than it had appeared, and quite deeply embedded in the ground. She had a hard struggle to pull it out.

"Do,
pray
make haste, Miss Twite," said Windward impatiently. "We cannot be forever stopping for trifles!"

"This ain't no trifle—blimey, it's a
sword!
" cried Dido in triumph. "And I reckon it's worth a packet, too—look at all them colored sparklers in the handle!"

"Yes, well, that's as may be, but the blade is all rusty—I
wish
you will not be lumbering us up with such useless articles! In any case, it indubitably belongs to the queen."

"Well, then, we'd better hand it to that there whatshisname, the guardian, and he can send it back to her," said Dido reasonably. "It won't hurt poor old Mr. Holy to have it by him." She laid it in the litter and hopped back onto her burro.

No further incidents occurred to fidget Mr. Windward during the ride along the dried-up lake bed. Fortunately, the low cloud prevented any attacks by aurocs, but the atmosphere was very oppressive, sultry, and heavy. The burros slipped and stumbled on the shingly, powdery sand.

"I guess even the ground is hot hereabouts," said Dido, feeling it with her hand when they stopped for a drink; none of them felt hungry.

"It may well be," said Mr. Multiple. "After all, we're getting uncommonly close to that big volcano. Look, you can see lava running down it like toffee. Supposing that big rock toppled off when we were passing by?"

"I reckon it's been there for a good few thousand years," said Lieutenant Windward.

"This is a right spooky place. I ain't surprised Dylan didn't want to come here," Dido said.

Deep among the four surrounding mountains—twinheaded Arrabe, dome-shaped Damyake, cloud-girt Calabe, and smoke-belching Catelonde, with a huge stone balanced on its summit—the travelers felt as if they were at the bottom of a well, with black, steeply shelving slopes rising all around them. There were very few birds to be seen here, and no animals at all; the only sound that broke the silence was an occasional rumbling mutter from Mount Catelonde ahead of them. I'll be glad when we're past that one, thought Dido. She noticed that when Catelonde rumbled, Mr. Holystone stirred restlessly on his litter, as if he could hear the sound in his dreams.

In mid-afternoon, some three quarters of the way along the basin, they reached a point from which the far end was visible; they could see the narrow pass which led out and southward toward Lyonesse.

"You can see why the water didn't flow out when the queen first had the lake put here," said Mr. Multiple. "It's been dammed."

"Well, she wouldn't want it to trickle away, after having brought it so far."

"I suppose they brought it up in water-skins, on burros."

"Or llamas," said Dido.

Mount Catelonde gave a loud snort, and Mr. Holystone cried out sharply, stirring and rolling over on to his side. His hand, groping about, found the handle of the rusty sword that Dido had unearthed, and clasped it.

He murmured some brief remark and opened his eyes.

"Hey!
Mr. Windward!
" Dido called to the lieutenant, who was on ahead. "Mr. Holystone said summat—he's a-stirring—I believe he's a mite better! Maybe if we gave him a drink..."

Windward, sighing, turned his burro and came back.

"Did he really speak? It's not a Banbury story?"

But he, too, sounded hopeful. He, like everybody else, greatly respected Mr. Holystone's judgment. In the present circumstances, without the captain, and now their numbers reduced by the loss of Plum, the steward's restoration to health and consciousness would be a piece of great good fortune. "What did he say?"

"Sounded like 'halibut.'"

"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, Miss Twite!"

"No, it did! Truly! Listen!"

"Caliburn," muttered Mr. Holystone indistinctly, and then, louder and with more assurance, "Caliburn!"

Noah Gusset had already halted the pair of burros that carried the litter slung between them, and was taking out his leather water-bottle. Now Dido and Mr. Multiple assisted the sick man to sit up. He looked around him wonderingly, at the black, snow-streaked mountain slopes and the sandy lake bed, at their concerned faces watching him, and, lastly, at the sword in his hand. For the third time, in a tone of joy and recognition, he repeated the word. "Caliburn! My sword, come back to my hand!"

"Mr. Holystone!" cried Dido in rapture. "Are—are you feeling more the thing, now?"

His eyes rested on her with an expression of perplexity.

"I know the place," he said. "I know the sword. I know myself. But who
are you?
Who are these?" glancing again at Windward, Noah, and Multiple.

"Why—why, we're your
friends,
Mr. Holy! Don't you recognize us?" Dido was terribly startled and grieved.

"No, my child. But I can see that you are all good people. Your faces are—are trustworthy."

"
Trustworthy!
" said Lieutenant Windward rather shortly. "So I should hope! If you knew how far we had hauled you up these godforsaken mountains! Come now, do you not remember us? I am Lieutenant Windward, first lieutenant of His Majesty's sloop
Thrush
—this is Mr. Midshipman Multiple—this is Miss Twite—"

"Don't you remember all those times I helped you polish the cap'n's teaspoons, Mr. Holy?"

As it was quite plain that he did not, Noah Gusset sensibly suggested, "He be main weak and wambly yet. Why doesn't us give him a drop o' summat hot?"

Since it was impossible to boil water, they gave the recovering man a drink of aguardiente, and some of the cassava bread and baked turtles' eggs which none of them had fancied for their midday meal. The patient ate slowly, and could not take much, but the food visibly did him good. When he had finished, he stood up, unassisted, by slow and careful stages, stretched, and staggered, but kept his balance, leaning on the sword, which he had held tightly clasped in his hand since awakening.

Then, frowning in perplexity, he said, "You brought me here? On that litter? But then ... where had I been before?"

He articulated his words very slowly, as if translating from another language in his mind.

"Brought you here? Why, from the
Thrush,
of course," Windward repeated. "You're the captain's steward. Don't you remember
anything?
"

Holystone shook his head.

"I remember battles. The alliance against us—King Mark, King Lot, King Anguish—and my nephew. Mordred. And then I was wounded—here—" he raised an uncertain hand to the back of his head. "I gave Caliburn to Bedivere to throw in the lake."

His hand lovingly caressed the hilt of the sword. He glanced down and said, "The blade is rusty. But a rub in the sand will soon mend that."

Lieutenant Windward exclamed impatiently, "Come, come, my man, what the deuce ails you? This is moonshine! Battles—alliances! Ah, well, I reckon you are all tottyheaded yet. We had best be on our way. Make haste, the rest of you—pack up those things. There is no sense in lingering here. At any moment the clouds may lift and aurocs be upon us." And he added privately to Mr. Multiple, "Let us hope there will be some surgeon or physician at King Mabon's court who can set the poor fellow's wits to rights. Otherwise he won't be much use to us. Bustle about now, Miss Twite!"

Holystone, however, flatly refused to get back into the litter. He said that he was well enough to ride if they did not go too fast. While he and the lieutenant were arguing about this, Dido felt something rub against her leg.

"
Murder!
" she cried, her mind on aurocs; and then, looking down, she added in amazement, "Oh, no! If it ain't another o' them cats!"

Then, inspired by a hopeful notion, she grabbed the cat and, carrying it to Mr. Holystone, said, "See who's here, Mr. Holy! It's the spit image of Dora. Don't you remember Dora—your cat, El Dorado?"

"Dora?" he muttered doubtfully, rubbing his brow. "One of the cats of El Dorado?"

"That's the ticket, Mr. Holy. You'll remember soon enough! And this one's got a message, too, I'll be bound. Yes, it has! Another page from that dictionary."

Tim Toldrum,
said the name on the leather disc. And the leaf of paper informed them:

To coax.
To wheedle, to flatter, to humour. A low word.

Under the printed words the same desperate little hand had written in dark brown ink:

For pity's sake, help me! I am suffocating in the dark. Elen.

"Elen," said Mr. Holystone hoarsely. "Elen?"

A silence fell around him, as if he were standing on an island.

Lieutenant Windward cleared his throat and said, "Ahem! We really must—"

"Elen," said Holystone. "In the dark. Where? We must find her! How can we find her?"

The cat mewed insistently at his feet.

"Why," exclaimed Dido, "don't you see, it's dead simple! Moggy here will lead us to her—won't you, puss? 'I'm a prisoner on Arrabe,' the second note said. That's Arrabe—that big black hill up there on the left."

"We haven't time—" Lieutenant Windward began.

"Oh, come
on,
Mr. Windward! The poor girl's shut up, we
got
to rescue her, don't we? Look, the cat's started already."

The black flanks of Arrabe were broken, stony, and drear, as if they had been gashed and chipped and scraped raw by some great volcanic explosion. Here and there a bunch of rough ichu grass thrust out of a crack; there was no other vegetation. But the slope was not hard to climb. Leaving the burros hobbled on the lake bed, the party began scrambling up and around and in among the ragged and tumbled boulders, following the cat, who trotted ahead purposefully, tail in air, every now and then stopping to glance round as if perplexed by the slowness of their progress. The wind, which had been rising all day, howled lugubriously, and a few pellets of hail dashed in their faces.

"Best get a move on there, puss," called Dido, who, being light and agile, was ahead of the rest. "We're all liable to be blown to blazes if we don't find this poor perisher soon."

Then she stopped short in dismay. For, after threading its way up a narrow gully, the cat jumped lightly up to the top of a massive boulder leaning against a rock face and then, next instant, slipped through a crevice behind the boulder and vanished.

"The blessed cat went in behind that there rock," Dido said to Mr. Holystone, who, surprisingly, in spite of his recent disability, was the first of her companions to come up with her. "
Now
what's to do?"

Although he was so changed and queer, she had at once fallen back into the habit of depending on his advice in difficulties.

He stood frowning, leaning on the sword, staring at the rock, as if trying to recall something.

Noah Gusset, arriving next, surveyed the rock, and said dubiously, "Reckon som'un's in behind there, Miss Dido? Us'll never shift that. 'Tis nigh as big as a house."

"The cat has led us on a fool's errand!" irritably exclaimed Lieutenant Windward, arriving at this moment.

"Wait, though!" said Mr. Multiple, who was close behind him. "I've a notion." Bringing out a ship's whistle, which he carried on a string round his neck, he blew a long and piercing blast.

The sound was almost swamped by a great gust of wind that flung more hail in their faces. But not quite. And it had two unexpected results. From somewhere up above them on the rock face two huge mountain owls came flapping down; and from inside the rock a faint voice called, "Help!"