by Joan Aiken
Just as the sun set between the cratered peaks of Ertayne and Elamye, the riverboat came to a stop at a tiny town in the jaws of a deep and narrow gorge. This was Bewdley, where they must leave the river and take to the rack railway.
Nobody was sorry to go ashore. They were to spend the night in Bewdley, which seemed a pleasant little place, very ancient, its narrow, timbered houses thatched with palm leaves or roofed with great slabs of mountain stone. There were wide cobbled quays on either side of the rushing Severn, and thick black pine forest came down the steep valley-sides to the very garden walls. Market stalls along the riverside, lit by flaring torches, displayed reed mats, fruit, earthenware pots, and straw hats. The air blazed with fireflies and buzzed with the sound of six-foot bamboo horns, which half the population seemed to be blowing.
"They are called bocinas," Mr. Holystone told Dido. "The people blow them at sunset to keep evil spirits away. Otherwise they believe the spirits might climb in your ears during the night."
"Well, surely they've chased the spirits away by now? They've nigh blasted my ears off my head," said Dido ungratefully.
As the party from the Thrush straggled along the quay toward the inn, Dido noticed a very short woman pluck at the arm of Silver Taffy, who was walking by himself. The woman was almost completely shrouded in a black shawl; her face could not be seen. Taffy started at her touch, then turned and followed her up a side alley.
The other travelers went on to The Black Tree Tavern, where they were to pass the night. This was not such a large establishment as The White Hart. It seemed comfortable enough, but Captain Hughes was affronted to discover that there was no private parlor where he could dine by himself; he must eat in his bedroom, or with the rest of the crew.
"Vexatious!" he said shortly to the landlord. "I have not been used to sit down to sup with my own steward!"
Dido heard this with some indignation. Mr. Holystone, she privately considered, was far more gentlemanly than Captain Hughes, and it would do the latter no harm at all to have his toploftiness reduced.
The captain was due to be further vexed. Just before dinner Silver Taffy came to him and, in a deferential manner but with a very determined look in his eye, requested a week's shore leave.
"What, you rascal!" exclaimed the captain. "At your own request I include you in the shore party, and this is how you repay my kindness? We are under strength as it is—I cannot spare you! A week's furlough? It is out of the question."
Respectfully, Silver Taffy reminded the captain that, in a gale off Cape Orange, he had saved the second lieutenant at risk of his own life, and had been promised leave as a reward.
It was Captain Hughes's pride that he never went back on his word.
"Oh, very well!" he said testily. "But a whole week! That is the outside of enough. You may have three days—no more. And you must rejoin the party in Bath Regis."
A gleam of satisfaction came into Taffy's eye.
"Very good, Cap'n," he said, and speedily left the inn.
"Very good riddance, I call it," Dido muttered to Mr. Holystone. "I daresay that was his auntie—the short old girl he was talking to as we came along."
Mr. Holystone, however, had not seen her. He seemed excessively tired this evening, slow in his movements and troubled in his thoughts.
After supper—which was a silent and somewhat constrained meal, with nobody in good spirits—Mr. Holystone requested a private word with the captain.
"God bless my soul, now what?" irritably exclaimed the latter. "Private? There is nowhere to be private in this wretched little hostelry. Oh, well, you had best come up to my bedroom. You too, Miss Twite; I daresay whatever Holystone has to say is fit for your ears, and if it ain't, it can't be helped; I am not leaving you to be abducted a second time."
Rather put out at being considered such an encumbrance, Dido followed them to the small room under the eaves, which was the best accommodation that could be provided for the captain.
"Well, Holystone, what is it? Make haste, man; I have my log still to write, and my aeronautical calculations."
"Sir," said Mr. Holystone desperately, "I believe I ought not to accompany you on this expedition."
"What?" The captain stared at him with bulging eyes. "Oh, stap me—this is too much!"
"I believe I should return to the ship, sir. My presence with you may be endangering all your lives."
"Return to the ship? And leave me without a steward? What is all this about? I won't have it!" said the captain, now thoroughly roused. "It's bad enough that one of my most able-bodied men should virtually abscond—and now you wish to slope off too! Well, it's not to be thought of! So you may put that in your pipe and smoke it!"
"Sir, allow me to explain," said Mr. Holystone, who looked miserably ill and shaky, but was endeavoring to maintain his calm. He's sick, Dido thought anxiously; he oughta be in bed. Maybe that's what he's a-going to say.
"Explain till you are blue in the face," snapped Captain Hughes. "It won't make a particle of difference."
"Sir, as you are no doubt well aware, the three kingdoms of New Cumbria, Lyonesse, and Hy Brasil meet, like three segments of cake, at one point only—the southernmost tip of Lake Arianrod, or Dozmary, which lies among the high mountains to the west of this region."
"A geography lesson, now!" grumbled the captain. "I thank you; you need not teach me my hornbook, man; I daresay I am as well acquainted with the topography of this locality as you!"
"I doubt that, sir," civilly replied Mr. Holystone, "since I, as a child, was first discovered lying among the rushes at the southern end of Lake Arianrod."
"Oh you were, were you? Well, what is that to the purpose?"
"The whole extent of this lake," flatly pursued Mr. Holystone, "is contained in New Cumbria, but Hy Brasil and Lyonesse each claim one yard of shore, where the river Camel, which forms a boundary between the latter countries, flows out of the lake—or did before it was dammed."
"So?"
"I was found on the yard of shore pertaining to Hy Brasil. I was discovered at midnight by one of the king's advisers, a wise man who was making astrological observations and collecting medicinal mosses at the time. This man read my horoscope, since it was plain I was but a few hours old. From that and from a birthmark which I have on my forearm he ascertained that I come of very ancient blood. Accordingly the king of Hy Brasil, Huayna Ccapac, took me and had me brought up in the palace with his son Huascar. I was given the name of Atahallpa."
"Humph, were you though?" remarked the captain, not best pleased, evidently, to discover that his personal steward came of ancient blood and had been brought up with royalty. "So why ain't you there still, hey?"
Mr. Holystone labored on with his tale, speaking more and more slowly.
"My adopted father—who always treated me with the utmost kindness—had me tutored with his son until I was fourteen. But then—" the level voice faltered for a moment; then he recovered and went on firmly—"but then my royal foster father judged it best to send me to a university in Europe. So I traveled to Salamanca with my tutor, and remained there for many years."
"Humph," muttered the captain again. "Should think all that eddication'd fit you to be something more than a steward. Did you never go back to Hy Brasil?"
"Many times I wished to," said Mr. Holystone simply. "I wished to see my kind old foster father and my cousins."
"Cousins? Thought you said you were a foundling?"
"Foster cousins," Mr. Holystone amended. "King Mabon, the ruler of Lyonesse, was a cousin of Huayna Ccapac. His children, Artegall, Martegall, and Elen, were my playmates and companions when I was small. But no—I never went back. At the death of Huayna Ccapac, twelve years ago, his son, Huascar Ccaedmon, ascended the throne. He is no friend to me; never has been. My tutor wrote to warn me that if I tried to return, Ccaedmon would have me put to death."
"Bloodthirsty lot these Incas, whatdoyoucallems," commented the captain. "What about the ones in Lyonesse, King Mabon a
nd his brood?"
"I have heard, at infrequent intervals, from my foster uncle, King Mabon. There is little love lost between him and Ccaedmon, who is a harsh ruler and a touchy neighbor. At present a doubtful peace obtains between Lyonesse and Hy Brasil; twice, however, Ccaedmon has broken the peace and seized strips of land on the Lyonesse boundary. But Mabon's relations with New Cumbria are even more delicate, and so he hesitates to retaliate."
"Aha!" exclaimed Captain Hughes, who, in spite of himself, was becoming interested. "Has Ccaedmon also committed acts of aggression against New Cumbria? Is that what Queen Whatshername's complaint is about, think you? Devil take it, man, why would you not let me have all this information while we were still aboard the Thrush? It is worth twice what that dolt Brandywinde had to tell me."
"My position is so awkward," said Mr. Holystone sadly. "King Mabon sent me a message three years ago, suggesting that I lead a revolt against Ccaedmon. But who am I, after all? My parentage is unknown. In spite of Mabon's friendship I told him that I had no right to lead a rising against the ruler of Hy Brasil."
"What about the queen of New Cumbria?"
"Cumbria is a closed country," said Mr. Holystone, shaking his head. "It is a secret land. The port of Tenby is its only entrance. Nobody goes in or out. The queen holds no communication with her neighbors. Citizens of Lyonesse or Hy Brasil may not cross her frontiers. It has always been so."
"We got in."
"That is because the queen has sent for you."
"Well," said Captain Hughes, "all this is deucedly interesting—though why you were not prepared to divulge it two weeks ago, bless me if I can see. But what has it to do with your not wishing to accompany us to Bath? That's what has me in a puzzle."
Holystone looked at him hopelessly, as if he had come to the end of his strength. The captain reflected and said, "No, I believe I do understand. It is because you might be considered a pretender to the throne of Hy Brasil—is that it, hey? You think it might put me in an awkward spot if you were recognized so near the country you came from?"
"Just so, sir."
"Does you credit, I daresay. Should have thought of it sooner, though. Suppose you were tempted by the chance to revisit these parts, hmm? But then—it ain't all that likely you will be recognized, is it? If you haven't been back since you were fourteen?"
Maybe he's ashamed, thought Dido. After all, he was a kind of a prince then—only fancy, our Mr. Holystone! Well, I allus reckoned there were more to him than met the eye—and he wouldn't want his old chums to see him now he's only a steward.
Mr. Holystone looked very unhappy, but made no direct answer to the captain. "Pray give consideration to my request, sir," was all that he said.
"Well—I will think about it, and let you know my decision in the morning. Meanwhile, kindly see that child goes to bed—and that a watch is kept over her during the night."
"Yes, sir."
Dido's bedroom was even smaller than the captain's—a tiny slip of a room. On the bed was curled something that Dido, for one nervous moment, took, in the dim candlelight, for a large spider. She was still unsettled by the events of the river trip. But then, with much relief, she saw that the sleeping creature was a small cat, curled up in a tight ball.
"Hey, puss!" Dido said softly. "Come to keep me company, have you?"
She stroked the cat and found, as on the one at Tenby, a collar with a disc, this time bearing the name Tom Tildrum, and a packet consisting of a small scrap of folded paper.
"Hilloo, Mr. Holy!" she called in a whisper. He had made himself up a pallet outside the door, and came directly.
"Look what's here, Mr. Holy! Another of 'em."
They both studied the words on the small printed page, which said:
Chirurgeon. One that cures ailments, not by internal medicines, but outward applications. It is now generally pronounced, and by many written, surgeon.
Under this was written, in small, desperate dark-brown letters (could they be blood?):
Help! I am a prisoner in a cave on Arrabe. I do not have air for many more days.
"Why's she so skint on air?" demanded Dido. "That's one thing nobody bothers to sell, acos no one'd buy it—there's always plenty."
"Not in the mountains," said Mr. Holystone hoarsely. He had gone deathly pale; his high forehead gleamed with sweat. He muttered, "Up on the slopes of Catelonde one must carry enough air to breathe. There are flowers—night-blooming lilies—shepherds always carry them...."
"Oh, Mr. Holy! What can we do for this poor girl?"
But Mr. Holystone was past replying. He had slid to the floor in deep unconsciousness.
5
The rack railway train that was to carry the party from Bewdley up to a height of twelve thousand feet above sea level was such a strange-looking little conveyance that when they first set eyes on it Dido exclaimed, "Love a duck! That thing couldn't pull pussy across the parlor!"
Captain Hughes, equally glum and dubious, observed that it resembled a row of dominoes in process of falling down. The rolling stock of the little train did indeed have a curiously tilted appearance, since most of its journey would be spent going up the side of a slope like a church steeple; consequently, while on flat ground the whole thing leaned forward as if engaged in studying its own toenails. The tiny wood-burning engine carried a top-heavy smokestack with a fuel box and water tank behind. There were three wagons: a baggage-and-mail car, loaded with straw bales, goats, poultry, salt, and dried fish; a boxcar crammed to its thatched roof with standing passengers, all wrapped snugly in the local garb of ponchos and long cloaks, which they called ruanas; and a first-class car which, for the benefit of the foreigners, was supplied with a few narrow wooden benches.
The train ran on three rails, the center one having large cog teeth, which engaged with similar teeth on a set of wheels under the cars, so that, however steep the slope, the train could never slip backward. Gay red roses and green leaves had been painted along the sides of the wagons a long time ago. The paint, like everything else about the train, was old, dirty, and worn.
After considerable delay the engine started with a great snorting and straining and blowing of steam and a shriek so prolonged that it seemed to be protesting against its task.
Almost as soon as it had clanked away from Bewdley, the track stopped being level and began to climb. They rounded a corner of the Severn gorge, crept up a steep hillside, and were immediately presented with a view so magnificent that it made Dido gasp. A mile west of Bewdley the valley of the Severn was barred by a great semicircle of cliffs over which the river came racing in a huge horseshoe of boiling white water, full three quarters of a mile from side to side; white vapor rose from it like smoke, and the roar was loud enough to drown even the screeching and chugging of their engine.
"That's what I kept a-hearing last night. I thought it was lions roaring and tigers caterwauling," Dido said to Mr. Holystone, who whispered that the cascade was known as the Falls of Hypha, and formed the lowest in a series of seven, all equally majestic. "The others are Stheino, Euryte, Medusa, Minerva, Nemetone, and Rhiannon—the seven witches who guard the secret land of Upper Cumbria."
"Ain't there no way to Upper Cumbria but by this railway?" asked Dido.
"Not from the sea. Before the rail track was cut, men thought the precipices too high to scale."
"Then," said Dido skeptically, "how did the first lot ever get there? The ones who came over after the Battle of Dyrham?"
"They had landed farther down the coast and traveled north through the mountains and the valley of Lake Arianrod."
"Come in by the back way, I see."
"That way, too, leads in through a very narrow pass; it wants but one great rock to fall, which hangs poised on the lip of Mount Catelonde, and the way would be blocked, and Upper Cumbria would be sealed off."
"Only if the railway stopped running," Dido pointed out. "What a lot you know about it all, Mr. Holy!"
"I have always—always been inter
ested in ancient history...." His weak voice died away in a great yawn, and his head nodded forward. He roused up again, however, to say to Captain Hughes, "Sir, do not forget—that when we reach Bath Regis—which is thirteen thousand feet above sea level—all the party must be careful to avoid undue exertion at first—the air is so thin that—the least effort causes palpitations of the heart. You will—ache all over—headaches and nosebleeds are not uncommon—"
He toppled over on his side; he had been sitting on the wagon floor, propped against the wall. Dido, kneeling by him worriedly, saw that he was in a kind of half-sleep, half-swoon. His fainting fit last night had occasioned a great deal of concern. He had recovered only after a great many restoratives had been administered, and Captain Hughes had said firmly there could be no question of his returning to the coast by himself, or of his remaining in the small and primitive inn at Bewdley. He must accompany the party to Bath, where there were sure to be doctors and he could be properly cared for. Poor Mr. Holystone had been too weak to protest, although he seemed wretched in his spirits, as if the whole atmosphere of Cumbria oppressed him and made him ill. In the morning he had to be carried on board the train.
"Best leave him to sleep," said Captain Hughes. "Poor devil, maybe it is merely the altitude that is affecting him, and he will recover in due course."
Dido felt sure that it was more than that. She had not informed Captain Hughes about the messages in the cats' collars—she could just imagine the scorn with which he would dismiss such idle nonsense—but she herself felt certain that they had something to do with Mr. Holystone's infirmity.
As the train zigzagged its way upward, she occupied herself by looking out of the dirty window at the scenery, which was certainly very astonishing. Day wore slowly on as they climbed higher and higher, curving over mountainsides and through narrow passes, creeping along narrow rocky valleys, and yet again up and up, following the course of the river Severn, now transformed to a boulderstrewn torrent. They passed many more waterfalls, some plunging from thousand-foot crags into vapor-filled gorges, others pouncing down hillsides step by step.