Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

For things had turned out unbelievably well. Peter was satisfactorily disposed of. The difficult meeting with Uncle Bob was prevented, and Farover would give him just that haunt of ancient peace which he needed. At Farover there was no one to question your doings, for no one was much interested in them. So long as you appeared duly at meals you might spend the intervening hours ranging the earth on a broomstick.

  So it was arranged that the car should deposit Bill at Farover the following evening after tea. Bill sequestered himself in the nursery and gave himself up to the study of a cutting which he had clipped from a picture paper much favoured by Barbara. It was all about a certain Prince Anatole.

  Bill had one peculiarity which is important for this tale. Every boy, apart from whatever success he may attain in games or books, is certain to have one hobby in which he is a master — in which, indeed, he absorbs knowledge unconsciously rather than acquires it. One will know everything that is to be known about the rigs of ships, another be a specialist on locomotives, a third on automobiles, a fourth on birds’ nests, others on cricket averages, railway speeds, or athletic records.

  Most of Bill’s friends were worshippers of speed, either in machines or in human beings. They knew all about speed-boats, and aeroplanes, and racing cars, and rapid people like Chicago gun-men. From the cinema, the press, and popular romances they had equipped themselves with a profound knowledge of the ways of racketeers and hi-jackers and “bad men” generally.

  For such things Bill cared not at all. His imagination ranged in more ancient pastures, and he was pre-eminently a child of the Old World. He revelled in history, and in modern life he liked what carried on the pageant of history — courts and castles and turret stairs, secret doors opening on dark lakes, dim cities of the East and crumbling palaces. Bill would not have crossed the street to look at the most notorious gangster, but he would have welcomed the spectacle of a Usurper, a Pretender, or a King in Exile. Chicago said nothing to him, but Samarkand and Stamboul said much. From some mysterious cause the Balkans were for him a name to conjure with. I think the reason was that he had once read in a book that there was always trouble in the Balkans in the spring.

  Now the column he had clipped from Barbara’s paper contained some fascinating news about the Balkan kingdom of Gracia. It was a very unhappy kingdom, for it could not make up its mind what kind of government it wanted. The House of Paleologue was on the throne, but King Nicholas the Fifth was very old and nearly witless, and the power was in the hands of an ambitious Prime Minister called Kuno, who was believed to fancy himself as head of a Grach republic. Kuno was of peasant origin and had been a good soldier in the war, in which Gracia had suffered heavily from both sides.

  King Nicholas had no children alive, and his heir was his grandson, Prince Anatole, a boy of fourteen. According to Barbara’s paper, the young Prince’s life was a difficult one. He was not allowed to live with his grandfather in the capital city of Grachovo, but was immured in the castle of Mamizan, forty miles off in the mountains. The Grachs were a proud people, but they were also hot-headed and fickle, and Kuno seemed to have convinced them that they could not go on with a demented King. A republic would have been certain but for Prince Anatole, for there was a considerable loyalist party which adhered to him. If the boy could be got out of the road then Kuno’s ambitions would certainly be fulfilled.

  This story took a strong grip on Bill’s mind. Here was a boy only a year older than himself who was the centre of desperate plots, and whose life must be in hourly danger. Bill had a preference for monarchy and wanted Anatole to win. But he felt that the odds were against him, a prisoner in a lonely castle, with Kuno’s guards clanking their rifles at the gate.

  The more he thought about the situation the less he liked it. The figure of that solitary child hag-rode his fancy and gave him no peace. Something must be done about it, and done at once. He remembered the horrid stories of King John and Prince Arthur, and the murdered princes in the Tower.

  All the way to Farover Bill meditated profoundly. He arrived at half-past six, and, after greeting his grandmother, was shown his bedroom by the cross butler, and given supper in what had once been the nursery. Bill announced that he was sleepy and meant to go to bed early. So he was left by Backus reading beside his bedroom fire, after strict instructions as to how to turn off the electric light.

  Bill did not go to bed. Instead he put on a sweater over his waistcoat, for he thought that a Balkan castle in the mountains might be cold. Then a little nervously, but with the sense that he was embarking on the high seas of romance, he twirled the stick and wished himself with Prince Anatole in Mamizan.

  CHAPTER XIV. THE FIRST ADVENTURE OF MAMIZAN.

  HE found himself on a slippery roof which was edged by low battlements. It was pitch-dark and an icy wind cut through Bill’s clothes, sweater and all, and froze the marrow in his bones. He took a step and promptly sat down hard, and slithered until he was brought up by the parapet. There was no sound except the surge of the wind among the gables, the roar of an adjacent stream, and the melancholy hooting of a great owl.

  Bill was horribly scared. Had the magic staff made some awful mistake?

  Then he heard another noise, which seemed to be human. Someone close to him was weeping — gulping, at any rate, to choke down tears. Bill felt his nerves steady.

  “Hist!” he cried. “Is there anybody there?”

  He got to his feet, put out his hand and touched something solid but soft. It was so dark that he could distinguish only a lump of deeper blackness, and from that lump the sound came. Yes, beyond doubt, it was sobbing. Somebody was crouching there in dire trouble.

  Bill screwed up his courage and poked at the lump. That produced developments. The dark mass straightened itself, and even in the blackness Bill saw that it was a small human figure.

  It was a human figure in a panic, for its next move seemed to be to try to escape. It shuffled and sprawled away from Bill, and it suffered Bill’s fate, for it slipped upon the steep tiles and was brought up in a heap against the parapet.

  To realise that someone is afraid of you is a wonderful cure for your own fears. Bill felt suddenly quite brave and calm.

  “Here! stop!” he shouted against the wind. “Don’t run away. I won’t do you any harm.”

  For a minute no sound of movement came from the huddled figure. Then a voice emerged from it, a small broken voice, which was just loud enough for Bill to hear.

  “English!” it said. “It speaks English. Is it a ghost?”

  “It’s me,” said Bill, “and I’m not a ghost. I’ve come to help you. Don’t scurry off again or you’ll make me break my neck. You can feel me and see that I’m real enough.”

  He crawled along the gutter till he could touch the other. He found his hand and brought it to his cheek — an icy little hand.

  “Touch my face,” he said, “and you will see that I’m not a ghost. I’m English. I’ve come to help you.”

  Then Bill remembered that in his pocket he had an electric torch, a Christmas present from Peter. He pressed the catch and made a tiny circle of light in the darkness. This revealed a boy of little more than his own age, with black hair and pale dirty cheeks. He was dressed in clothes far too small for him, and he had torn a great rent in his breeches. His feet and legs were bare and blue with cold, and one of his toes was bleeding. He looked miserably illclad for the place and the weather, for compared with his garb Bill’s was like a Polar explorer’s.

  “You are Prince Anatole, aren’t you?” said Bill. He was relieved to find that the boy spoke English, for he had forgotten the possibility of their having no common tongue.

  “I am Prince Anatole Paleologue,” said the boy. He spoke proudly, though his teeth were beginning to chatter. “And you?”

  Bill confessed his name. “I’ve come to help you, if you want me to,” he said.

  This was different from his expectation, for he had thought to find the Prince either in a dungeon or in some place like the H
ouse of Lords, whereas he apparently abode on the roof-tops like a bird.

  “I say, how do you know English?” was his next question.

  “I was at school in England until a year ago. Marvell’s.”

  “Well, I’m blowed!” Peter was going to Marvell’s next year, and half Bill’s friends had been there.

  “May I ask you a question?” said the boy. He spoke slowly and a little primly, as if drawing up his English from a deep well. “How in the name of the blessed angels did you get here?”

  “Well, you see,” said Bill, “I can’t quite tell you, for I don’t know. It’s magic — quite good magic. But the point is that I am here, and I’ve come to help you. Do you mind telling me — do you usually live on this roof?”

  In the glow of the torch the boy’s face showed a wan smile.

  “I came here because I was pursued. I am in danger. This is my sanctuary, which I have found for myself. The road to it is difficult, for you must climb out of the second library window and reach for a rain-pipe, and then you climb the pipe, which is not easy if the wind blows.”

  “Golly!” said Bill. “That’s a job I don’t think I would take on. Who’s after you?”

  The boy shuddered.

  “I don’t know... I have been here for so many months and only twice I have been allowed outside the gates. That is why I found the way to the roof, for I was tired of being indoors. I have climbed over the whole castle, but no one knows it. It was not easy, for they watch me as if I were a bag of gold.... To-night before my supper.... I will tell you all — old Mother Linda brings me my supper — she is the only kind face here, for she was my nurse when I was little. Tonight Mother Linda did not come, but instead there was a terrible row on the grand staircase. I ran out and saw the sentries struggling with strange men, rough men like peasants from the mountains. I thought it was my friends come to rescue me, but as I looked I changed my mind. For I saw that the sentries, after making much noise, let themselves be overcome and bound, and that all the time they were laughing and joking with their assailants.

  So I saw that somewhere there was dirty work, and I ran to hide myself. One man saw me and followed, but I was too quick. I dodged through the armoury and slammed the big library door behind me. That door is stiff and hard to open, so I had time to get out of the window....”

  Bill wrinkled his brow.

  “I expect that was Kuno’s doing.”

  “What do you know about Kuno?” the boy asked in a startled voice.

  “I have heard about him. The papers said that he was the man who was keeping you here. I tell you what — he wants to kidnap you and pretend that you are lost — or perhaps dead.”

  “That is what I think,” said the boy in a small, sad voice. “Here in this castle of Mamizan I am within forty miles of my grandfather. Some day I hope that my friends will release me. But if I were deep among the hills, then I should be buried as if I were in a grave, and my friends would despair.”

  “You are jolly well not going to be kidnapped,” said Bill. “Cheer up, Anatole.... But if we sit here much longer we’ll freeze. I tell you what — I feel jolly hungry, and you say you’ve had no supper. What about getting something to eat?”

  “I am horribly empty,” said the boy, “but if I go back into the castle I will be captured. And besides, Mother Linda will be too scared to think of supper.”

  “There are other places besides this castle,” said Bill. “What’s a good place for food? Anywhere you like — I don’t mind how far it is.”

  “My grandfather’s palace in Grachovo is full of good things,” said Prince Anatole.

  “Yes, but we can’t go there and just ask for dinner. Suppose you were living in the palace and were hungry and didn’t want to make a fuss, what would you do?”

  “There is the larder,” said the boy. “It is as big as a church and full of hams and sausages and pies. And there is the still-room next door, where there will be tarts of many fruits, and spiced bread, and jams and sweet cakes.”

  “That’s the place for us,” said Bill. “What is the exact address? ‘The Larder, The Palace, Grachovo’ — is that how you pronounce it? Now look here, Anatole. You put your arm round my waist, and when I say ‘Go’ hold tight. We’re going out to supper.”

  But at that moment a sound fell on their ears which was not the wind. It was the sound of something heavy stumbling in the gutter. The two boys crowded together, and Bill turned off his torch. The noise grew louder. As it chanced, a thin moon at the moment came from behind a bank of clouds, and they saw a man’s figure silhouetted against the wild sky.

  Bill was enjoying himself. One of the pursuers had found the track of the boy at the library window and had discovered the road by the rain-pipe. He must be a bold fellow to have undertaken the climb, for he was very big and heavy. Bill flicked on the torch and flashed it on him, and a creature was revealed as shaggy as a bear, with naked feet, and wearing a sheepskin coat with the fleece outside. He cried out in triumph and took a long stride towards the boys.

  Waving his torch, Bill scrambled to his feet and yelled like a banshee. The man stopped in his tracks, for he saw two boys where he had only expected one. Bill saw his face pale and his hand go to his breast to cross himself.

  Then the Prince took a hand. What he cried out Bill did not know, for it was in a strange tongue, but it sounded awful, and the man took a step backward. Clearly the Prince was desperate, for he must have believed that capture was imminent, since he had no knowledge of Bill’s magic powers.

  “Let us attack him,” the boy screamed. “We can fling him from the battlements.” And indeed the pursuer seemed to be in such a state of panic that an attack might have succeeded.

  “No we don’t,” said Bill. “Let’s go to supper. Hold tight, will you?”

  He twisted the stick, and the man of the mountains, shaken by finding two yelling maniacs instead of one frightened child, was now bereft of his senses by the sudden disappearance of the whole outfit. He tumbled on to his face in a swoon of terror.

  CHAPTER XV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ROYAL LARDER.

  HALF an hour later the two boys were sitting on a great cask of beer, placed endways on the floor of a place which seemed half a church crypt and half a corner in the Army and Navy Stores. They had arrived at the larder in black darkness which was made comfortable by the smell of bins and boxes, and sides of dead animals, and great hams in wicker cases. The air was icy cold, but hunger made them forget it, and they fossicked about until on a shelf they found what was clearly the remains of the royal dinner. It had been an ample dinner, for there were several roast partridges untouched, and a pie with only one wedge cut out of it, and the better part of a salmon.

  The boys had no plates or knives or forks or spoons, but each had a competent pocket-knife, and with the help of these they proceeded to make a messy but satisfying meal. They had nothing in the nature of bread, so Anatole suggested a visit to the still-room. The door proved to be locked, and the magic staff had to be called into use. Anatole behaved wonderfully well about the staff, for he accepted its ministrations and asked no questions.

  “We are better here,” he observed, “for we cannot be surprised.”

  That still-room was full of treasures, and presently they had to desist with regret from their feast, for they could eat no more. There were cakes of every kind, including a confection somewhere between shortbread and almond cake, which fairly ravished Bill’s soul. There were tall crystal jars of jam, which they spread thick on sponge-cake, and there were small crisp sugar biscuits, with which Bill filled his pockets in case of emergencies. Lastly they discovered a nest of bottles of bright-coloured syrups, with which they washed down their meal. One tasted of aniseed and burned their throats, but it sent a pleasant glow through their bodies. When they had finished and had perched themselves on the beer barrel they were content and confident once more, and Anatole’s thin face had some colour in it.

  Bill looked at his watch, and saw that
it was half-past ten, well after the hour when he should have been in bed.

  “Now for the next step,” he said. “I suppose I should be getting you back to Mamizan.”

  The Prince shivered. “I suppose so. But oh! I hate it... and I am afraid. Perhaps the mountain men will still be there....”

  “Perhaps they will. I tell you what. I’d better go first and prospect. D’you mind staying here until I come back? I’ll leave you my torch — no, I had better take it with me, for I may need it. What’s a safe place to land at in that castle — I mean a place where I can find out what is going on and not be spotted? You see, I don’t know my way about.” Anatole thought for a moment. “The best place is the alcove at the head of the grand staircase where the statues are. It is quite dark, but you can see down into the hall, and you are next door to the library and the council chamber.”

  “Right! I’m off. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Bill twirled the stick and disappeared.

  He found himself in an alcove which was shadowy, but not dark. There were heavy curtains across its entrance, but through them appeared the glow of a great illumination. He peeped out and found himself looking at a broad landing from which a wide staircase descended. The place blazed with lights, and from below came the unsteady flare of torches. At the top of the stairway stood an old woman with her back towards him.

  She was a tall old woman with a thing like a little black tea-tray on the top of her silver hair, and she was very, very angry. In a voice that suggested thunder and avalanches she was upbraiding the people who stood below. Answers came from them, stumbling, embarrassed answers. Then she turned round, flinging her apron over her head, and Bill could see that she was weeping.

  Clearly Mother Linda. It was plain that she was in deep affliction about something or somebody. It must be Prince Anatole, who was believed to have come to grief.

  She moved away to the right and Bill could peep farther through the curtains and even dared to venture to the head of the stairs. He saw men below, but they were not of the same type as the monster who had shown himself on the roof. They wore some kind of soldier’s uniform, and they appeared to be in a panic, jabbering to each other and every now and then running to what seemed to be the main door of the castle.