"It is too late for that," the Starqueen said, and reached into the folds of her robe. "Take this."
She thrust a dagger into Pamina's hands.
"With this," she said, "you will approach Sarastro at the rites; and with it, you will kill him."
"What?" Pamina cried in horror. "Kill my father? Mother, you cannot mean it!"
"Silence!" cried the Starqueen. "For years I have endured the contempt of the priesthood of the Sun and of Sarastro! Now I have determined that you shall avenge me. As you are my daughter, Pamina, as the tie of blood binds mother to daughter, you will kill Sarastro before the sun rises, or never again look upon my face or think to call me Mother! Hear and attend, and obey me, Pamina, or never again be acknowledged daughter of mine!"
"But—Mother, no! Mother, I beg you, listen to me—
"Not a word!" The lightning glare played for a moment around the Starqueen as she stood over Pamina, her face like stone. Then, in a thunderclap, she was gone, and only the silent moonlight played on the room. Pamina stared around her wildly.
"Mother—" she whispered. Had it been a dream? But no; clasped in her fingers she held the hilt of a dagger.
"No," she whispered, still disbelieving. "Kill my father?" She knew the Starqueen hated Sarastro; she herself had hated him by her mother's influence. She could understand that they might well disagree over matters of religion and the like, which as yet meant little to Pamina. But certainly it was enough that they should each dwell apart and rule each in their own realm. Murder? Her whole soul rebelled at the idea.
I cannot kill—no, no, not even for my mother, not even if she should cast me out, she thought wildly, and burst into tears. Would her mother truly cast her off? And then another mad thought occurred to her. It was possible that this was only one of the Ordeals, and that she had simply been tested, to see if she would continue to behave in accordance with conscience.
And yet she had been brought up to believe in the absolute Tightness of the will of the Starqueen. Could it possibly be true that she had failed? Surely the Star-queen could do no wrong, and if she demanded that Sarastro should die, did not Sarastro then deserve death? Could she fail her mother, to save the life of the man the Starqueen hated? What was Sarastro to her, what was an unknown father against the mother who had loved and cherished and cared for her all her life?
Yet Sarastro's kindly eyes remained before her; she had demanded, "Are you my father?" angrily and in scorn, and he had answered her so gently. How could she kill him? What had he done to deserve death? She did not know. If her mother truly believed that her father deserved death, she thought despairingly, she should kill him herself and not try to make me judge!
There was a small sound in the room and she realized that Monostatos was still crouched in a corner. He got up slowly and came toward her.
She gripped the dagger between her hands. At least, while she held it, he would not force himself upon her. "Don't come near me," she said, hearing her own voice tremble and hating it, but not knowing how to keep it from shaking.
"Is it me that you fear, Pamina? Am I so frightful to you? Or is it the murder you hold in your heart?" Monostatos asked. "I am, after all, no common Half-ling, but the son of the Great Serpent; and I know all that befalls here. I can save you and your mother; but you know my price, Pamina."
She raised the dagger quickly. "My mother would not accept such a price! Nor will I!"
"Are you sure of that?" he asked, advancing toward her. "You had better give me that dagger—"
He put out his hand to take it. In the next moment there was a blaze of light, and Sarastro himself stood in the room.
He said to Monostatos only, "Go!" and the Halfling, head down like some scuttling rodent, hurried through the door.
"Father—!" she cried.
"Hush, my dear, don't be frightened," he said gently. "I know everything."
"Father," she begged, "I implore you, do not punish my poor mother! Whatever she has done, I know now she cannot harm you, and—and—" her throat closed and she feared that she would cry again. She determined that she would not weep before him.
"But, I beg you, don't revenge yourself on her. She is so distressed because she has lost me—"
Sarastro put out his hand gently and drew her close. "Don't cry, my child," he admonished. "Revenge is no part of our religion here. She may do her worst; and while I cannot protect her from the causes she herself has set in motion, rest assured I will not lift my hand against her. If for no other reason, she is the mother of my daughter, and for that alone, her person and dignity are sacred to me. And for your sake, also, Pamina, I could forgive her much. Do you not know that this was one of the first of your Ordeals, that you should show compassion even under such testing as this." He kissed her gently on the forehead.
She asked, with a faint curl of her lip, "Was it also one of the Ordeals that I must fight off Monostatos, or submit to being raped by him?"
"My dear child—" Sarastro said, sighing. "No, of course not, I promise you that; and I promise you further that he shall never touch you again. I am sorry beyond words that you had to endure that; I admit that I misjudged him and trusted him too far. I am sorry to punish him; his father was my friend, and a good and trustworthy man. He was also the consort of your mother before ever I knew her. I thought better of his son. Well, there is no help for it." He sighed again, and looked at the silken garment she had put on at her mother's request, and at the torn linen on the floor.
"Your servants have been sent away until the conclusion of the Ordeals. I will send a priestess to attend you properly and dress you as is fitting. I should tell you that Papagena, too, has been admitted to the Ordeals; she has served you faithfully, and I have destined her for a husband who will suit her."
"Papageno?"
"Yes, child. He has been good and faithful, and he has a good heart."
Pamina smiled, nervously. She said, "Papagena— she is a bird-halfling; she is not very intelligent, Father. What will happen to her if she does not succeed at the Ordeals? She will not be hurt? She is so easily frightened—"
"Don't worry about Papagena, my daughter; the Ordeals for a Halfling are different than they are for you. If she behaves as is fitting under the circumstances, nothing more is asked. To you, born a princess, as more has been given, so more is demanded. Now I will send a priestess, to dress you properly. Do not be afraid, my child—" and then he paused, smiled down at her and patted her shoulder encouragingly.
"No. I will not tell you not to be afraid, for during the trials you may know much fear. But I will say this, daughter; face your fears bravely. You have begun well; continue with courage, and listen to the voice of your heart, and you will certainly overcome every Ordeal you may face."
CHAPTER TWELVE
PAPAGENO was still lying on the floor, still treating himself to the luxury of a fainting fit. Tamino yawned. Outside the high windows, he could just discern that the dawn was beginning to break. He had not been able to sleep after the invasion of the Star-queen's three ladies—if, indeed, "ladies" was the proper word to apply to them. "Harpies" might have been better.
It had been a long night and he had had plenty of time to think, to doubt himself and his motives, his power to endure the mysterious Ordeals, and if Pamina could possibly come to care for a man she had seen only for a few moments. There had been intervals in the long night when he had wished that he had never left his father's court.
It had been the first time that he had had leisure to doubt. The journey had been demanding, but it had been rewarding too. From the moment he had encountered the dragon in the Changing Lands, events had been moving so swiftly that he had had no leisure to think about them at all.
By the time the sun made its first appearance through the tall narrow apertures—they were above his eye height so that he could not see anything at all outside — he was feeling thoroughly downhearted. He wished that they had returned the magical flute; once before, when he had played it, i
t had given him considerable consolation. At least it would give him something to do except sit here and worry about his fate.
But would they really give it back to him? After all, it had come to him in the Starqueen's realm, and if he knew nothing else about Sarastro's kingdom, it was that the Starqueen was not well regarded here. And if, as they said, it had been given by one who had no right to bestow it—he assumed they had meant the Messengers, but probably they had intended to accuse the Starqueen—perhaps they would not return it to him at all. What, after all, had he done to earn such a powerful magical weapon as that?
As the light grew, Tamino could see that Papageno was asleep on the patterned stone floor. The line of sunshine extended, and when it crawled across the Halfling's eyes, he began to stir sleepily.
"Prince Tamino?"
"I am here, friend Papageno, just the same as you."
The Halfling sat up, rubbing his back. "Well, they certainly don't believe in comfortable guest beds around this place, do they? Tell me, were the three—were they really here, or was it some kind of bad dream?"
Tamino had been wondering a little about that himself.
"I'm not sure, Papageno. If it was a bad dream, then I had it too."
The Halfling shook his feathered crest. "It's hard to believe. I tell myself, looking at the light, that I ought to be out setting my traps for birds, and then I look round and I'm in this place. Me, Papageno, and I'm supposed to be undertaking the Ordeals of the priests. Me. Ordeals."
He sounded absolutely disbelieving. "It's as if they said that I was going to be a priest or something. What am I doing here?"
Tamino was not sure whether Papageno was asking him, or whether he was demanding an answer of the silent heavens. But the Halfling kept looking up at him as if he was sure that Tamino could provide an answer. Should he confess to the Halfling that he shared Papageno's own puzzlement, or should he, as a prince certainly ought to do to a subject, encourage the bird-man to persist, to show courage as he had been told to do?
Something the priests said, when they had been questioning him about his qualifications for the Brotherhood, came back to him: Are you prepared to treat all men as brothers, whatever their qualifications of rank? He was not sure whether or not that applied to Halflings, whether or not they were even men.
Well, if it came to that, he would rather have Papageno for a brother, human or not, than some of the men he had met around his father's court. At least the little Halfling was kindhearted and good-tempered.
He said, "I sometimes wonder that myself—what I'm doing here, I mean. In general"—he spoke slowly, discovering each word as he said it—"I suppose, I'm going where my destiny takes me. I never thought about it, either, no more than you did, and that's true."
Papageno sounded disappointed. He said, "You're a prince. I thought, for sure, you'd know what you were doing. You mean you just go along, doing what you're told? Like me?"
"A prince is only a man, Papageno." And, he thought, if I had ever had any illusions otherwise, this journey will have taught me better. "And my father is the Emperor of the West, and all men are bound to obey him. Even his sons. Especially his sons, to give an example to other men."
"Oh." He could see that this was a new idea to Papageno. "I thought princes were different. What's the good of being a prince, if you have to obey just like everybody else?"
It was, Tamino thought, a perfectly good question. But he was surprised that it came from Papageno. He had been all too ready to dismiss the Halfling as stupid. The bird-man was naive, but when it came to serious matters, he was certainly no fool, and he had an uncanny ability to ask the right questions.
"I don't know that either, Papageno. Maybe there isn't any." He was relieved when, instead of pursuing this line of questioning, Papageno shook the feathery crest on his head and inquired:
"I wonder what time they serve breakfast in this place?"
That, at least, was predictable.
"I don't know that either, Papageno. Maybe part of the Ordeals includes fasting."
"I knew they weren't for the likes of me," Papageno grumbled. "The food's good around here, but the mealtimes don't come around half often enough."
"Well, don't lose hope yet," Tamino admonished, laughing. "By the look of the sky, they can't be back from sunrise observances yet; maybe after that, they'll decide we're entitled to breakfast. But if not, I'm sure they'll feed us sooner or later. You couldn't be that hungry yet."
"Oh no? I always get hungry when I'm frightened," Papageno grumbled.
But of course there was nothing to do except wait; there Tamino and the Halfling were in the same situation. The light grew. Clouds covered the face of the sun and after a time Tamino could hear the rattle and rumble of thunder and see the flash of lightning. It made him remember how the Starqueen's ladies had vanished with a thunderclap. The rain poured heavily down.
Papageno muttered, "They've forgotten all about us!"
"Oh, I wouldn't think so," said Tamino soothingly. "They'll get around to us sooner or later."
"Probably later," Papageno said under his breath, and ostentatiously whistled a little tune on his birdcall.
But the clouds had cleared away and the sun had begun to glare across the stone floor again before they heard approaching footsteps.
"We're in luck," said Papageno. "Maybe it's breakfast."
Instead, the figure that entered was bent, shrouded in veils. Ignoring Tamino, it went directly to Papageno and said in a sweet, fluting voice, "I have been sent to return to you your magical bells."
And what about my flute? Tamino thought, and was about to ask the messenger. But before he could get a word out, the shrouded figure suddenly threw back the black veil and stood revealed as a woman. The face was wrinkled, the mouth toothless, the body withered and crookbacked.
Nevertheless, Tamino thought, she is a woman and by the laws of the Ordeals I may not speak to her.
Papageno took the magical chimes. "I'm glad to have it," he said truculently. "With all the dangers there are around this place, I might have needed it sooner."
"But they tell me you are very brave," the old woman said in her wavering voice.
"Oh, yes," Papageno said.
Tamino flinched; the silly fellow was going to start bragging again and break his oath! He said in a low, commanding whisper, "Hush, Papageno. You broke your oath before and spoke to the Queen's ladies; but they are giving you another chance! Be careful."
"I didn't break my oath at all," Papageno said vehemently! "You didn't think they were women, did you? No, sir, those ladies of the Starqueen are fiends right out of hell, they're demons, that's what they are, and the priests didn't say one thing about talking to demons!"
Tamino could not help but laugh. Papageno had an answer for everything. It would probably be his downfall, but Papageno was what he was and must meet his own destiny.
The old woman said, "Is there anything I can do for you, my darling fellow?"
"Well, I could do with some breakfast," Papageno said. "Or even a glass of wine."
"Oh, if that's what you want, nothing is easier," said the old woman, and pulled out a wineskin from under her cloak. She poured Papageno a glass and extended it to him.
"Ah—and do you serve as cupbearer to all the heroes who go through the Ordeals?"
"Oh, no, not at all," said the woman. "I only came here because my promised husband is somewhere here."
"Oh, you have a lover, do you, granny?" Papageno asked.
"Oh, indeed I do." Her voice was sweet; Tamino would have sworn that beneath the hood was a young girl, yet she had the hideous impact of death's-head, of extreme, crippling old age.
"And what else do you do here?"
"Oh, I sing, and I play on the flute, and the bells, and the harp, and I dance, and I juggle—"
"You juggle?" Tamino heard Papageno gulp. "Now that must be something to see, granny."
"If you'd like to see it—" the old woman snatched up the bells a
nd promptly began to juggle the bells, the wineskin, and one of Papageno's boots which he had taken off when he lay down to rest. Tamino was amazed at her skill; she was as deft as any apprentice of fifteen.
"How old are you, granny?" Papageno asked.
She giggled. Again, the voice was a young girl's voice.
"Just twenty years, and one day."
"That," Papageno observed, "must have been a very long day."
"Oh, it was, it was. But my lover is so sweet and charming, he won't mind." She gathered up the wineskin and handed the set of bells back to Papageno. After a minute she picked up the boot and flipped it to him with a merry little gesture.
"That lover of yours, he must be a fine fellow indeed," Papageno said. "Is he as young and charming as you, granny?"
"Oh, no. They tell me he's older," she said. "Almost ten years older than I am."
"I'm sure you make a delightful couple." Papageno had forgotten the wine in his hand; now he lifted it to his lips. "I haven't many acquaintances in these parts, but one can never tell. What's his name?"
"Papageno," she said clearly, and Papageno choked and sputtered wine all down his shirt.
"What?" he demanded. "What kind of joke is this?"
"No joke at all; Sarastro has promised you to me as my husband. You see, I am your Papagena."
Papageno gulped. "This is some kind of trick," he mumbled, then blinked and looked straight at the old woman.
"Well, I asked for a friend and companion. I didn't say she had to be young or pretty. He told me—well, I trust him. If he says you are the wife he promised me, I suppose he knows what he's doing. Pleased to meet you, gran—er—Papagena," he said bravely, and held out his hand.
"You are a darling fellow, as they promised," said the young girl's voice softly. The figure under the black veil shimmered a little, and the old woman was gone. Where she had stood there was the slender form of a girl.
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