The Stolen Lake (Wolves Chronicles)

by Joan Aiken

  Orange Grove, a small street of superior dwellings, lay to their left, not far beyond the bridge.

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed Lieutenant Windward. "Half these houses are Roman villas."

  "Well, a lot o' Romans did come and settle here; Mr. Holy told me so," Dido reminded him. "Look, here's a sign that says Mme Ettarde, Modiste."

  Madame Ettarde's establishment had been adapted from a Roman villa, and was built around a court where a fountain splashed and pinched-looking orange trees grew in tubs.

  Dido could tell, as soon as they stepped inside, that Madame Ettarde had been tipped off to expect them.

  "Is this the lucky young lady who is to see the queen?" cooed a welcoming voice. "Step in here, miss, if you please!"

  During the night the recollection had returned to Dido of where she had previously heard the name Ettarde. It had been mentioned by Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Vavasour. This was not likely to recommend it; nor did the appearance of its owner. Lady Ettarde was a dwarf, hardly more than three feet high. Her shoulders were crooked, giving her a lopsided walk. She had a pale, sharp-featured face and greenish eyes, rather close set, which studied Dido appraisingly. Her hair, dressed high and lavishly ornamented with pearls, was a much more brilliant red than nature could have managed on its own. She was richly dressed in dark-olive silk taffeta pinstriped in yellow.

  She was also—Dido felt almost certain—the short woman who, wrapped in a black shawl, had limped along the quay and spoken to Silver Taffy at Bewdley.

  "What a fortunate coincidence," purred Lady Ettarde, beckoning a couple of assistants, one tall, one short. They wore black silk dresses, muslin mobcaps, and black half-masks. "We have here, my dear, a dress originally ordered for a young lady who had been planning to make her come-out at court this spring—when, only last month, she unexpectedly disappeared. Young ladies do have a way of suddenly popping off in these parts! But I believe her gown will fit you to a tee, miss—with just a tuck or so, and a take-in. See, now, if that isn't just the article—complete to a shade—gown, silver scarf, sandals, gloves, petticoat, feathers—everything needful for you to make your curtsy to the queen!"

  A very pretty silver-embroidered white mull dress was displayed by the silent assistants.

  "That looks well enough," said Lieutenant Windward, who appeared somewhat weighted down by this unusual responsibility. "But I reckon she'd best try it on?"

  "The fitting room is behind that curtain," said Lady Ettarde, smiling.

  The assistants took a step toward Dido.

  But nothing was going to get Dido behind that curtain.

  "Oh no!" she declared. "I ain't a-going in there. I'll just slip the dress on over my shimmy," she added carelessly, removing her pea jacket.

  "In front of a gentleman? Impossible, dear!" said Lady Ettarde, shocked, and her assistants murmured, "The idea!"

  "You jist turn and face the other way, Mr. Windward," Dido told him. "Don't you leave the shop—not nohow!"

  Mr. Windward did feel de trop, but recognized the appeal in Dido's voice; besides, he had had very firm instructions from Captain Hughes. Accordingly he sat himself down on a spindly gold love seat facing the window.

  "Young ladies will take these nervous fancies," murmured Lady Ettarde pityingly.

  But Dido, ignoring the scornful smiles of Lady Ettarde and her workwomen, pulled the mull dress over her head, as she did so remarking conversationally to Mr. Windward, "There was a fellow called Bran who come up on the train yesterday; he was telling a real rum story about a man who kept seeing his double."

  A long cheval glass stood by Dido; sharply watching Lady Ettarde in this while buttoning her dress, Dido observed the dressmaker turn white as the dress itself. One of the assistants dropped a box of pins, while the bigger one let out a little whimper.

  "B-B-B-Bran?"

  "Quiet, you nuddikin!" snapped Lady Ettarde. Then, resuming her polished manner, she remarked to the lieutenant, "This Bran, as they call him, is quite a quiz, indeed! He is the queen's jongleur, you know, so he may do as he chooses. He wanders about collecting tales and songs; it is said that sometimes, even, he works in the silver mines. Imagine it!" She gave a light, contemptuous laugh.

  "They say he can hear anything that's said, anywhere," whispered one of the women.

  "Pick up those pins, fool, and hold your tongue!" said Lady Ettarde, and she made one or two slight alterations in the dress, pinning back a fold at the side, adjusting the shoulders, taking up the hem. Dido, wonderingly studying the image in the glass, could hardly believe that the shimmering stranger was herself.

  "Feathers?" suggested one of the masked women, offering a bunch of white-and-silver plumes.

  But Dido's hair was so short that the feathers could not be attached to her head.

  "I don't like 'em above half, anyhows," she said, handing them back. "They make me look like a circus pony."

  "They are quite the wear at court," Madame Ettarde informed her coldly.

  "Can't help that," Dido replied, as coldly.

  A little silver-and-crystal tiara, with a spun-glass spray, was found instead, and Madame Ettarde undertook to deliver the whole costume by an hour after noon. Lieutenant Windward then paid the staggering price, and he and Dido took their leave.

  Mr. Multiple was waiting for them outside.

  "Croopus," said Dido, "it ain't half costing the Cap, jist to have me pass the time o' day with that queen. Wonder why he's so fixed on the notion?"

  Lieutenant Windward, too, thought it queer, but he had been trained not to question his commanding officer's decisions, and so made no comment.

  "Look," he said, "I believe that must be the royal palace over there. See the guards? But what a very singular building!" He peered at it through narrowed blue eyes and said incredulously, "It appears to be revolving."

  "Guess you're right," said Dido after a minute's study. "Well, if that don't beat all! Wouldn't you think Her Royalty would get a bit giddy inside there?"

  Bath Palace was indeed an unusual dwelling. Large, circular, and five or six stories high, it rose beside the rushing Severn, part of which had been diverted in order to surround the palace with water. A narrow bridge led to the entrance, which was guarded by gray-uniformed soldiers with pikes. They wore silver-visored helmets with gray plumes, which made them look, Dido thought, like ghosts. But the great oddity was certainly the palace itself.

  "Is it made of silver, d'you reckon, Mr. Windward?"

  "Some kind of metal," he confirmed. "But it can hardly be silver, surely?"

  "It don't half dazzle," Dido said.

  It dazzled indeed. Scattered up and down its shining height they saw the city of Bath reflected in a series of somewhat distorted images. The windows (there were not many) interrupted these reflections like black pockmarks. There was an immense main door—of bronze, Lieutenant Windward thought—and, set into this, a much smaller wicket, composed of two interlocking metal surfaces put at right angles to each other. These continually revolved, so that people could pass through if they were fairly nippy about it. And the whole building itself kept turning round very slowly, almost imperceptibly unless you took your eyes away and looked again.

  "Wonder who thought that up?" said Dido, much impressed. "D'you reckon that's the way we'll go in, Mr. Windward—through those spinning doors?"

  "I imagine so. There appears to be no other entrance."

  "Well, I wouldn't want to live there," Dido decided. "If you ask me, it looks like an outsize milk churn."

  "Shall we go to inspect some of the other sights in the town?" suggested Lieutenant Windward. "Captain Hughes has dispatched a note to the vicar general, asking what time it would be convenient for him to wait on Her Majesty. But he said we need not be back until noon. It must be quite early still." He pulled out his watch, tapped it impatiently, and said to Mr. Multiple, "Do you have your timepiece on you?"

  "Mine's stopped too," said Mr. Multiple, inspecting it. "That's rum. Can I have forgotten to win
d it? No matter; we shall be sure to hear a clock strike. Look—while you were at the dressmaker's I bought this guidebook. Shall we visit the market, or the assembly rooms, or the museum?"

  "All of 'em!" said Dido. "Let's be off!"

  Mr. Multiple had already studied the map of the town, and he was able to lead them directly to the main market. This, not far away, was a glassed-over series of arcades where dozens of stalls sold fruit, toys, salt, barley, tobacco, vegetables, gaily decorated leather pouches, harnesses and saddles, meat, fifes and guitars, fur caps with decorated ear flaps, straw hats, woven woolen materials, and small animals made from clay and straw.

  "I'll buy some of those for my sister's children," said Mr. Windward, halting by a display of the latter. "Which do you think they'd like, Miss Dido?"

  Dido, inspecting the animals, began to be conscious of the stall holder's angry stare.

  "Hah! Very fine for the gringo child to choose herself a toy!" the woman said harshly. "Play! Play while you may, foreign brat! Vae pueris! My daughter was taken by the aurocs, and so was my sister's child. Think yourself lucky you don't stay here long, milkface!"

  A warning glance from Lieutenant Windward prevented Dido making any retort; he quickly bought a couple of clay llamas and hurried his companions away. Looking back, Dido saw the woman spit after them furiously, then fling her shawl overhead and sit rocking herself to and fro.

  "Poor thing," Dido muttered. "You can't blame her for being a bit aggly. It's a rum do about them aurocs, though, ain't it, Mr. Windward? We keep hearing about 'em—it's a wonder we ain't seen more of 'em, seeing they swipe so many young 'uns." She glanced up apprehensively but nothing was to be seen overhead save a couple of condors wheeling about.

  They inspected the museum, an ancient Roman building not far from the palace. Over its door was a woman's head carved in stone, with a very beautiful face and snakes for hair. The lieutenant said she was a Gorgon.

  "What's that, Mr. Windward?"

  "A kind of witch. She could turn people to stone."

  "Wonder she gets any sleep at night with them all hissing round the pillow," said Dido.

  The museum contained the Thirteen Treasures of Britain, which the settlers of New Cumbria had brought with them at the time of the exodus from that land—the Basket, Sword, Drinking Horn, Chariot, Halter, Knife, Cauldron, Whetstone, Garment, Pan, Platter, Chess-Board, and Mantle—but it was plain that the museum staff were not too active in caring for their treasures. The sword was missing from its scabbard, the basket was worm-eaten, the garment and mantle were alive with moths, and the other exhibits were in equally poor condition.

  "What a lot of fusty old stuff," said Dido. When Mr. Multiple drew her attention to an arrow on the wall and a sign that said, "To the Zoological Garden containing the Four Ancient Creatures, Ousel of Cilgwri, etc. Admission One Bezant," she said, "Don't let's see any more old things. Let's go somewhere else."

  They were much more impressed by the Roman baths. These were still in regular use, and indeed both Lieutenant Windward and Mr. Multiple declared their intention of returning for a dip later in the day, since the Hotel Sydney's plumbing left almost everything to be desired. The visitors saw a series of immense chambers, five baths of varying heat, two swimming pools of warm pale-green water with wreaths of steam rising, sweat rooms, cool rooms, and robing rooms, all roofed with pale vaulted stone. The keeper of the baths informed them that the water was heated by the nearest volcano, Mount Damyake—so, indeed, was the whole town, by means of a series of underground ducts.

  "Damn Ache don't do a very good job then," grumbled Dido. "Back there in the sweat room was the first time I been warm today."

  "Mount Damyake is thought to be cooling down," explained the keeper. "In a hundred years, who knows? The city of Bath may be too cold for its inhabitants to remain here. Some of the people think that the queen (heaven smile on Her Royal Mercy) uses too much of Damyake's heat for her own personal convenience."

  "Why, what does she use it for?" asked Mr. Multiple.

  But the keeper, evidently feeling that he had been indiscreet, would say no more.

  The travelers went on to inspect the pump room, where they drank a glass of very nasty mineral water, which Dido said tasted like unwashed ducks' feet, and Mr. Multiple kindly bought her a large Bath bun. Then, since they could not discover the correct time (there appeared to be no clocks in the city of Bath), they returned across the Rialto Bridge and so back along Pulteney Road to the hotel, observing for the first time the handsome public gardens in the oval circus behind the Sydney, which contained two sham castles, two Chinese cast-iron bridges, some thatched umbrellas (in case it was ever warm enough to sit out of doors), and a rotunda, besides a great many cactus plants.

  At the hotel, Captain Hughes was walking up and down impatiently by the big hourglass in the vestibule. (Strangely enough, all members of the party who possessed timepieces had discovered that these had simultaneously come to a stop at the moment when they were brought into the city of Bath. Captain Hughes, rather perplexed, had attributed this phenomenon to the altitude.)

  "Matters are in excellent train," he told them. "I have had a most affable message from Queen Ginevra, instructing me to wait on her at two."

  "What about the togs?" Dido said. "My clobber, I mean."

  "Miss Twite, please," said the captain. "Do not refer to your wearing apparel in that fashion. The garments have been sent home, and the chambermaid will assist you in robing yourself. A nuncheon has been sent to your chamber; you had best repair there directly and set about making yourself presentable. Do not omit to wash your face!"

  "What did the doc say about Mr. Holystone?"

  The captain's brow clouded. "He is not certain; he believes it possible that the man is merely suffering from altitude sickness and hopes that a day or two should show some improvement in his condition. I must say," Captain Hughes said aggrievedly, "it is deuced inconvenient having him laid up just now. Mr. Multiple, pray mount guard over Miss Twite's door while she is being appareled. We want no untoward incidents."

  Dido went glumly to her room, where a surly black-haired girl was waiting to help. She had also brought up a nuncheon tray on which was a beefsteak as large as a paving stone, enough pepper-and-potato stew to feed a choir, and a dozen peaches.

  "Blimey! I can't eat all that," said Dido, who was full of Bath bun. "I'd get the hiccups while I was making my curtsy to Her Royalty. I'll eat the peaches—would you like the rest?"

  Waiting for no second invitation, the chambermaid swallowed the soup in three gulps and the steak in six enormous bites. Thawing, then, somewhat, in her manner, she helped Dido don petticoat, dress, slippers, and stockings.

  "I don't half look a sight," Dido said, viewing herself uncertainly in the mildewed glass as the chambermaid brushed her hair.

  "You go see Su Merced—Queen Ginevra?" inquired the girl timidly, pronouncing it Huineffra.

  "Yes—worse luck! It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to curtsy." Dido attempted a bob, but since she was wholly unaccustomed to long skirts, the attempt was a complete failure; she fell over sideways, and her tiara rolled under the bed. Curiously enough, the chambermaid did not find this in the least amusing. She was gazing at Dido in something like horror. She made the sign that Silver Taffy had on the Thrush—a figure eight like a pair of spectacles in the air, done with fingers and thumbs.

  "Go see queen," said the girl hoarsely, "she look at you through her glasses, you get caught by aurocs soon after. In two, five days."

  "How do you know?" Dido tried to sound calm about it, but she had a nasty crawling sensation down her backbone.

  "Everyone know. Nemine dissentientae. Everyone say."

  "Everyone say." Despite her fear, Dido could not help feeling impatient, too—the girl's excited whisper and staring eyes made what she said seem less, not more, believable. "Who says?"

  "Many, many people."

  "Have you ever seen an auroc?"

  "Jee
miny! No me!" For the first time, the chambermaid looked cheerful. "When I am five my mater and pater send me work in silver mines. No aurocs there! I stay work underground till I am fifteen. Work in silver mines is not nice"—she exhibited her hands and arms, blackened and scarred from heavy work—"but is better than aurocs."

  "Young 'uns of five work in the mines?"

  The girl nodded.

  "Many, many! Safe there—if no get squashed by truck."

  "How many get squashed by truck?"

  The girl shrugged. "Some. Suum cuique periculum. Danger anywhere."

  Here the conversation was interrupted by a melancholy mew. It seemed to come from under the bed.

  "That's funny," said Dido. "Everywhere I go, I keep hearing cats. Thought I heard one all night."

  She knelt down to retrieve her fallen tiara, and found herself looking into a pair of desperate golden eyes.

  "Well, I'll be bothered! It's another like Dora. Where the blue blazes do they all come from? Well, step along out, then; no sense lurking in under there!" said Dido, and she put down the plate with the gristly end of the beefsteak.

  In four famished bites the cat had demolished the unappetizing fragment, then eagerly licked out the peppery stew bowl.

  "Ay-ay-ay!" whispered the chambermaid, watching this with startled eyes. "Old Grandmother Sul herself be watching over you, gringo puella!"

  "Who? Who is Grandmother Sul?"

  The girl, without answering, bent over the cat, which was still engaged in pushing the soup bowl over the cactus matting, and deftly twitched out a long, silvery whisker from each cheek.

  "What d'you do that to the poor thing for?"

  But the chambermaid, knotting and twisting the whiskers together, plaited them into a loop and slipped it over Dido's index finger. "There! You keep on under glove, not nohow take off, maybe you safe. Maybe not! Cum grano salis ..." And, making the figure-eight sign again, she snatched up the dishes and ran from the room.