THE SILVER
CHAIR
by
C.S. Lewis
CHAPTER TWO - JILL IS GIVEN A TASK
CHAPTER THREE - THE SAILING OF THE KING
CHAPTER FOUR - A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS
CHAPTER SIX - THE WILD WASTE LANDS OF THE NORTH
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE HILL OF THE STRANGE TRENCHES
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE HOUSE OF HARFANG
CHAPTER NINE - HOW THEY DISCOVERED SOMETHING WORTH KNOWING
CHAPTER TEN - TRAVELS WITHOUT THE SUN
CHAPTER ELEVEN - IN THE DARK CASTLE
CHAPTER TWELVE - THE QUEEN OF UNDERLAND
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - UNDERLAND WITHOUT THE QUEEN.. 88
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JILL
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE HEALING OF HARMS
IT was a dull autumn day and Jill
Pole was crying behind the gym.
She was crying because they had been
bullying her. This is not going to be a school story, so I shall say as little
as possible about Jill's school, which is not a pleasant subject. It was
"Co-educational," a school for both boys and girls, what used to be
called a "mixed" school; some said it was not nearly so mixed as the
minds of the people who ran it. These people had the idea that boys and girls
should be allowed to do what they liked. And unfortunately what ten or fifteen
of the biggest boys and girls liked best was bullying the others. All sorts of
things, horrid things, went on which at an ordinary school would have been
found out and stopped in half a term; but at this school they weren't. Or even
if they were, the people who did them were not expelled or punished. The Head
said they were interesting psychological cases and sent for them and talked to
them for hours. And if you knew the right sort of things to say to the Head, the
main result was that you became rather a favourite than otherwise.
That was why Jill Pole was crying on
that dull autumn day on the damp little path which runs between the back of the
gym and the shrubbery. And she hadn't nearly finished her cry when a boy came
round the corner of the gym whistling, with his hands in his pockets. He nearly
ran into her.
"Can't you look where you're
going?" said Jill Pole.
"All right," said the boy,
"you needn't start -" and then he noticed her face. "I say,
Pole," he said, "what's up?"
Jill only made faces; the sort you
make when you're trying to say something but find that if you speak you'll
start crying again.
"It's Them, I suppose - as
usual," said the boy grimly, digging his hands farther into his pockets.
Jill nodded. There was no need for
her to say anything, even if she could have said it. They both knew.
"Now, look here," said the
boy, "there's no good us all -"
He meant well, but he did talk
rather like someone beginning a lecture.
Jill suddenly flew into a temper
(which is quite a likely thing to happen if you have been interrupted in a
cry).
"Oh, go away and mind your own
business," she said. "Nobody asked you to come barging in, did they?
And you're a nice person to start telling us what we all ought to do, aren't
you? I suppose you mean we ought to spend all our time sucking up to Them, and
currying favour, and dancing attendance on Them like you do."
"Oh, Lor!" said the boy,
sitting down on the grassy bank at the edge of the shrubbery and very quickly
getting up again because the grass was soaking wet. His name unfortunately was
Eustace Scrubb, but he wasn't a bad sort.
"Pole!" he said. "Is
that fair? Have I been doing anything of the sort this term? Didn't I stand up
to Carter about the rabbit? And didn't I keep the secret about Spivvins - under
torture too? And didn't I -"
"I d-don't know and I don't
care," sobbed Jill.
Scrubb saw that she wasn't quite
herself yet and very sensibly offered her a peppermint. He had one too.
Presently Jill began to see things in a clearer light.
"I'm sorry, Scrubb," she
said presently. "I wasn't fair. You have done all that - this term."
"Then wash out last term if you
can," said Eustace. "I was a different chap then. I was - gosh! what
a little tick I was."
"Well, honestly, you
were," said Jill.
"You think there has been a
change, then?" said Eustace.
"It's not only me," said
Jill. "Everyone's been saying so. They've noticed it. Eleanor Blakiston
heard Adela Pennyfather talking about it in our changing room yesterday. She
said, `Someone's got hold of that Scrubb kid.
He's quite unmanageable this term.
We shall have to attend to him next.'"
Eustace gave a shudder. Everyone at
Experiment House knew what it was like being "attended to" by Them.
Both children were quiet for a
moment. The drops dripped off the laurel leaves.
"Why were you so different last
term?" said Jill presently.
"A lot of queer things happened
to me in the hols," said Eustace mysteriously.
"What sort of things?"
asked Jill.
Eustace didn't say anything for
quite a long time. Then he said:
"Look here, Pole, you and I
hate this place about as much as anybody can hate anything, don't we?"
"I know I do," said Jill.
"Then I really think I can
trust you."
"Dam' good of you," said
Jill.
"Yes, but this is a really
terrific secret. Pole, I say, are you good at believing things? I mean things
that everyone here would laugh at?"
"I've never had the
chance," said Jill, "but I think I would be."
"Could you believe me if I said
I'd been right out of the world - outside this world - last hols?"
"I wouldn't know what you
meant."
"Well, don't let's bother about
that then. Supposing I told you I'd been in a place where animals can talk and
where there are - er - enchantments and dragons - and well, all the sorts of
things you have in fairy-tales." Scrubb felt terribly awkward as he said
this and got red in the face.
"How did you get there?"
said Jill. She also felt curiously shy.
"The only way you can - by
Magic," said Eustace almost in a whisper. "I was with two cousins of
mine. We were just - whisked away. They'd been there before."
Now that they were talking in
whispers Jill somehow felt it easier to believe. Then suddenly a horrible
suspicion came over her and she said (so fiercely that for the moment she
looked like a tigress):
"If I find you've been pulling
my leg I'll never speak to you again; never, never, never."
"I'm not," said Eustace.
"I swear I'm not. I swear by everything."
(When I was at school one would have
said, "I swear by the Bible." But Bibles were not encouraged at
Experiment House.)
"All right," said Jill,
"I'll believe you."
"And tell nobody?"
"What do you take me for?"
They were very excited as they said
this. But when they had said it and Jill looked round and saw the dull autumn
sky and heard the drip off the leaves and thought of all the hopelessness of
Experiment House (it was a thirteen-week term and there were still eleven weeks
to come) she said:
"But after all, what's the
good? We're not there: we're here. And we jolly well can't get there. Or can
we?"
"That's what I've been
wondering," said Eustace. "When we came back from That Place, Someone
said that the two Pevensie kids (that's my two cousins) could never go there
again. It was their third time, you see. I suppose they've had their share. But
he never said I couldn't. Surely he would have said so, unless he meant that I
was to get back? And I can't help wondering, can we - could we -?"
"Do you mean, do something to
make it happen?"
Eustace nodded.
"You mean we might draw a
circle on the ground - and write in queer letters in it - and stand inside it -
and recite charms and spells?"
"Well," said Eustace after
he had thought hard for a bit. "I believe that was the sort of thing I was
thinking of, though I never did it. But now that it comes to the point, I've an
idea that all those circles and things are rather rot. I don't think he'd like
them. It would look as if we thought we could make him do things. But really,
we can only ask him."
"Who is this person you keep on
talking about?"
"They call him Aslan in That
Place," said Eustace.
"What a curious name!"
"Not half so curious as
himself," said Eustace solemnly. "But let's get on.
It can't do any harm, just asking.
Let's stand side by side, like this. And we'll hold out our arms in front of us
with the palms down: like they did in Ramandu's island -"
"Whose island?"
"I'll tell you about that
another time. And he might like us to face the east. Let's see, where is the
east?"
"I don't know," said Jill.
"It's an extraordinary thing
about girls that they never know the points of the compass," said Eustace.
"You don't know either,"
said Jill indignantly.
"Yes I do, if only you didn't
keep on interrupting. I've got it now. That's the east, facing up into the
laurels. Now, will you say the words after me?''
"What words?" asked Jill.
"The words I'm going to say, of
course," answered Eustace. "Now -"
And he began, "Aslan, Aslan,
Aslan!"
"Aslan, Aslan, Aslan,"
repeated Jill.
"Please let us two go into
-"
At that moment a voice from the
other side of the gym was heard shouting out, "Pole? Yes. I know where she
is. She's blubbing behind the gym. Shall I fetch her out?"
Jill and Eustace gave one glance at
each other, dived under the laurels, and began scrambling up the steep, earthy
slope of the shrubbery at a speed which did them great credit. (Owing to the
curious methods of teaching at Experiment House, one did not learn much French
or Maths or Latin or things of that sort; but one did learn a lot about getting
away quickly and quietly when They were looking for one.)
After about a minute's scramble they
stopped to listen, and knew by the noises they heard that they were being
followed.
"If only the door was open
again!" said Scrubb as they went on, and Jill nodded. For at the top of
the shrubbery was a high stone wall and in that wall a door by which you could
get out on to open moor. This door was nearly always locked. But there had been
times when people had found it open; or perhaps there had been only one time.
But you may imagine how the memory of even one time kept people hoping, and
trying the door; for if it should happen to be unlocked it would be a splendid
way of getting outside the school grounds without being seen.
Jill and Eustace, now both very hot
and very grubby from going along bent almost double under the laurels, panted
up to the wall. And there was the door, shut as usual.
"It's sure to be no good,"
said Eustace with his hand on the handle; and then, "O-o-oh. By
Gum!!" For the handle turned and the door opened.
A moment before, both of them had
meant to get through that doorway in double quick time, if by any chance the door
was not locked. But when the door actually opened, they both stood stock still.
For what they saw was quite different from what they had expected.
They had expected to see the grey,
heathery slope of the moor going up and up to join the dull autumn sky.
Instead, a blaze of sunshine met them. It poured through the doorway as the
light of a June day pours into a garage when you open the door. It made the
drops of water on the grass glitter like beads and showed up the dirtiness of
Jill's tear-stained face. And the sunlight was coming from what certainly did
look like a different world - what they could see of it. They saw smooth turf,
smoother and brighter than Jill had ever seen before, and blue sky, and,
darting to and fro, things so bright that they might have been jewels or huge
butterflies.
Although she had been longing for
something like this, Jill felt frightened. She looked at Scrubb's face and saw
that he was frightened too.
"Come on, Pole," he said
in a breathless voice.
"Can we get back? Is it
safe?" asked Jill.
At that moment a voice shouted from
behind, a mean, spiteful little voice.
"Now then, Pole," it
squeaked. "Everyone knows you're there. Down you come." It was the
voice of Edith Jackle, not one of Them herself but one of their hangers-on and
tale-bearers.
"Quick!" said Scrubb.
"Here. Hold hands. We mustn't get separated." And before she quite
knew what was happening, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her through the
door, out of the school grounds, out of England, out of our whole world into
That Place.
The sound of Edith Jackle's voice
stopped as suddenly as the voice on the radio when it is switched off.
Instantly there was a quite different sound all about them. It came from those
bright things overhead, which now turned out to be birds. They were making a
riotous noise, but it was much more like music - rather advanced music which
you don't quite take in at the first hearing - than birds' songs ever are in
our world. Yet, in spite of the singing, there was a sort of background of
immense silence. That silence, combined with the freshness of the air, made
Jill think they must be on the top of a very high mountain.
Scrubb still had her by the hand and
they were walking forward, staring about them on every side. Jill saw that huge
trees, rather like cedars but bigger, grew in every direction. But as they did
not grow close together, and as there was no undergrowth, this did not prevent
one from seeing a long way into the forest to left and right. And as far as
Jill's eye could reach, it was all the same - level turf, darting birds with
yellow, or dragonfly blue, or rainbow plumage, blue shadows, and emptiness.
There was not a breath of wind in that cool, bright air. It was a very lonely
forest.
Right ahead there were no trees:
only blue sky. They went straight on without speaking till suddenly Jill heard
Scrubb say, "Look out!" and felt herself jerked back. They were at
the very edge of a cliff.
Jill was one of those lucky people
who have a good head for heights. She didn't mind in the least standing on the
edge of a precipice. She was rather annoyed with Scrubb for pulling her back -
"just as if I was a kid", she said and she wrenched her hand out of
his. When she saw how very white he had turned, she despised him.
"What's the matter?" she
said. And to show that she was not afraid, she stood very near the edge indeed;
in fact, a good deal nearer than even she liked. Then she looked down.
She now realized that Scrubb had
some excuse for looking white, for no cliff in our world is to be compared with
this. Imagine yourself at the top of the very highest cliff you know. And
imagine yourself looking down to the very bottom. And then imagine that the
precipice goes on below that, as far again, ten times as far, twenty times as
far. And when you've looked down all that distance imagine little white things
that might, at first glance, be mistaken for sheep, but presently you realize
that they are clouds - not little wreaths of mist but the enormous white, puffy
clouds which are themselves as big as most mountains. And at last, in between
those clouds, you get your first glimpse of the real bottom, so far away that
you can't make out whether it's field or wood, or land or water: farther below
those clouds than you are above them.
Jill stared at it. Then she thought
that perhaps, after all, she would step back afoot or so from the edge; but she
didn't like to for fear of what Scrubb would think. Then she suddenly decided
that she didn't care what he thought, and that she would jolly well get away
from that horrible edge and never laugh at anyone for not liking heights again.
But when she tried to move, she found she couldn't. Her legs seemed to have
turned into putty.
Everything was swimming before her
eyes.
"What are you doing, Pole? Come
back-blithering little idiot!" shouted Scrubb. But his voice seemed to he
coming from a long way off. She felt him grabbing at her. But by now she had no
control over her own arms and legs.
There was a moment's struggling on
the cliff edge. Jill was too frightened and dizzy to know quite what she was
doing, but two things she remembered as long as she lived (they often came back
to her in dreams). One was that she had wrenched herself free of Scrubb's
clutches; the other was that, at the same moment, Scrubb himself, with a
terrified scream, had lost his balance and gone hurtling to the depths.
Fortunately, she was given no time
to think over what she had done. Some huge, brightly coloured animal had rushed
to the edge of the cliff. It was lying down, leaning over, and (this was the
odd thing) blowing. Not roaring or snorting, but just blowing from its
wide-opened mouth; blowing out as steadily as a vacuum cleaner sucks in. Jill
was lying so close to the creature that she could feel the breath vibrating
steadily through its body. She was lying still because she couldn't get up. She
was nearly fainting: indeed, she wished she could really faint, but faints
don't come for the asking. At last she saw, far away below her, a tiny black
speck floating away from the cliff and slightly upwards. As it rose, it also
got farther away. By the time it was nearly on a level with the cliff-top it
was so far off that she lost sight of it. It was obviously moving away from
them at a great speed. Jill couldn't help thinking that the creature at her
side was blowing it away.
So she turned and looked at the
creature. It was a lion.
WITHOUT a glance at Jill the lion
rose to its feet and gave one last blow.
Then, as if satisfied with its work,
it turned and stalked slowly away, back into the forest.
"It must be a dream, it must,
it must," said Jill to herself. "I'll wake up in a moment." But
it wasn't, and she didn't.
"I do wish we'd never come to
this dreadful place," said Jill. "I don't believe Scrubb knew any
more about it than I do. Or if he did, he had no business to bring me here
without warning me what it was like. It's not my fault he fell over that cliff.
If he'd left me alone we should both be all right." Then she remembered
again the scream that Scrubb had given when he fell, and burst into tears.
Crying is all right in its way while
it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to
decide what to do. When Jill stopped, she found she was dreadfully thirsty. She
had been lying face downward, and now she sat up. The birds had ceased singing
and there was perfect silence except for one small, persistent sound, which
seemed to come from a good distance away. She listened carefully, and felt
almost sure it was the sound of running water.
Jill got up and looked round her
very carefully. There was no sign of the lion; but there were so many trees
about that it might easily be quite close without her seeing it. For all she
knew, there might be several lions. But her thirst was very bad now, and she
plucked up her courage to go and look for that running water. She went on
tiptoes, stealing cautiously from tree to tree, and stopping to peer round her
at every step.
The wood was so still that it was
not difficult to decide where the sound was coming from. It grew clearer every
moment and, sooner than she expected, she came to an open glade and saw the
stream, bright as glass, running across the turf a stone's throw away from her.
But although the sight of the water made her feel ten times thirstier than
before, she didn't rush forward and drink. She stood as still as if she had
been turned into stone, with her mouth wide open. And she had a very good
reason; just on this side of the stream lay the lion.
It lay with its head raised and its
two fore-paws out in front of it, like the lions in Trafalgar Square. She knew
at once that it had seen her, for its eyes looked straight into hers for a
moment and then turned away - as if it knew her quite well and didn't think
much of her.
"If I run away, it'll be after
me in a moment," thought Jill. "And if I go on, I shall run straight
into its mouth." Anyway, she couldn't have moved if she had tried, and she
couldn't take her eyes off it. How long this lasted, she could not be sure; it
seemed like hours. And the thirst became so bad that she almost felt she would
not mind being eaten by the lion if only she could be sure of getting a
mouthful of water first.
"If you're thirsty, you may
drink."
They were the first words she had
heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on the edge of the cliff. For a second she
stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again,
"If you are thirsty, come and drink," and of course she remembered
what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realized
that it was the lion speaking.
Anyway, she had seen its lips move
this time, and the voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and
stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice.
It did not make her any less
frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a
different way.
"Are you not thirsty?"
said the Lion.
"I'm dying of thirst,"
said Jill.
"Then drink," said the
Lion.
"May I - could I - would you
mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a
look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she
realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for
her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the
stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to - do
anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
"I make no promise," said
the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that,
without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she
said.
"I have swallowed up girls and
boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the
Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor
as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink,"
said Jill.
"Then you will die of
thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill,
coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another
stream then."
"There is no other
stream," said the Lion.
It never occurred to Jill to
disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and
her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to
do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water
in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You
didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once. Before
she tasted it she had been intending to make a dash away from the Lion the
moment she had finished.
Now, she realized that this would be
on the whole the most dangerous thing of all. She got up and stood there with
her lips still wet from drinking.
"Come here," said the
Lion. And she had to. She was almost between its front paws now, looking
straight into its face. But she couldn't stand that for long; she dropped her
eyes.
"Human Child," said the
Lion. "Where is the Boy?"
"He fell over the cliff,"
said Jill, and added, "Sir." She didn't know what else to call him,
and it sounded cheek to call him nothing.
"How did he come to do that,
Human Child?"
"He was trying to stop me from
falling, Sir."
"Why were you so near the edge,
Human Child?"
"I was showing off, Sir."
"That is a very good answer,
Human Child. Do so no more. And now" (here for the first time the Lion's face
became a little less stern) "the boy is safe. I have blown him to Narnia.
But your task will be the harder because of what you have done."
"Please, what task, Sir?"
said Jill.
"The task for which I called
you and him here out of your own world."
This puzzled Jill very much.
"It's mistaking me for someone else," she thought. She didn't dare to
tell the Lion this, though she felt things would get into a dreadful muddle
unless she did.
"Speak your thought, Human
Child," said the Lion.
"I was wondering - I mean -
could there be some mistake? Because nobody called me and Scrubb, you know. It
was we who asked to come here. Scrubb said we were to call to - to Somebody -
it was a name I wouldn't know - and perhaps the Somebody would let us in. And
we did, and then we found the door open.’
"You would not have called to
me unless I had been calling to you," said the Lion.
"Then you are Somebody,
Sir?" said Jill.
"I am. And now hear your task.
Far from here in the land of Narnia there lives an aged king who is sad because
he has no prince of his blood to be king after him. He has no heir because his
only son was stolen from him many years ago, and no one in Narnia knows where
that prince went or whether he is still alive. But he is. I lay on you this
command, that you seek this lost prince until either you have found him and
brought him to his father's house, or else died in the attempt, or else gone
back into your own world."
"How, please?" said Jill.
"I will tell you, Child,"
said the Lion. "These are the signs by which I will guide you in your
quest. First; as soon as the Boy Eustace sets foot in Narnia, he will meet an
old and dear friend. He must greet that friend at once; if he does, you will
both have good help. Second; you must journey out of Narnia to the north till
you come to the ruined city of the ancient giants. Third; you shall find a
writing on a stone in that ruined city, and you must do what the writing tells
you. Fourth; you will know the lost prince (if you find him) by this, that he
will be the first person you have met in your travels who will ask you to do
something in my name, in the name of Aslan."
As the Lion seemed to have finished,
Jill thought she should say something.
So she said, "Thank you very
much. I see."
"Child," said Aslan, in a
gentler voice than he had yet used, "perhaps you do not see quite as well
as you think. But the first step is to remember.
Repeat to me, in order, the four
signs."
Jill tried, and didn't get them quite
right. So the Lion corrected her, and made her repeat them again and again till
she could say them perfectly. He was very patient over this, so that, when it
was done, Jill plucked up courage to ask:
"Please, how am I to get to
Narnia?"
"On my breath," said the
Lion. "I will blow you into the west of the world as I blew Eustace."
"Shall I catch him in time to
tell him the first sign? But I suppose it won't matter. If he sees an old
friend, he's sure to go and speak to him, isn't he?"
"You will have no time to
spare," said the Lion. "That is why I must send you at once. Come.
Walk before me to the edge of the cliff."
Jill remembered very well that if
there was no time to spare, that was her own fault. "If I hadn't made such
a fool of myself, Scrubb and I would have been going together. And he'd have
heard all the instructions as well as me," she thought. So she did as she
was told. It was very alarming walking back to the edge of the cliff,
especially as the Lion did not walk with her but behind her - making no noise
on his soft paws.
But long before she had got anywhere
near the edge, the voice behind her said, "Stand still. In a moment I will
blow. But, first, remember, remember, remember the signs. Say them to yourself
when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake
in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let
nothing turn your mind from following the signs. And secondly, I give you a
warning.
Here on the mountain I have spoken
to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain,
the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air
will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs
which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look,
when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart
and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs.
Nothing else matters. And now, daughter of Eve, farewell -"
The voice had been growing softer
towards the end of this speech and now it faded away altogether. Jill looked
behind her. To her astonishment she saw the cliff already more than a hundred
yards behind her, and the Lion himself a speck of bright gold on the edge of
it. She had been setting her teeth and clenching her fists for a terrible blast
of lion's breath; but the breath had really been so gentle that she had not
even noticed the moment at which she left the earth. And now, there was nothing
but air for thousands upon thousands of feet below her.
She felt frightened only for a
second. For one thing, the world beneath her was so very far away that it
seemed to have nothing to do with her. For another, floating on the breath of
the Lion was so extremely comfortable.
She found she could lie on her back
or on her face and twist any way she pleased, just as you can in water (if
you've learned to float really well).
And because she was moving at the
same pace as the breath, there was no wind, and the air seemed beautifully
warm. It was not in the least like being in an aeroplane, because there was no
noise and no vibration. If Jill had ever been in a balloon she might have
thought it more like that; only better.
When she looked back now she could
take in for the first time the real size of the mountain she was leaving. She
wondered why a mountain so huge as that was not covered with snow and ice -
"but I suppose all that sort of thing is different in this world,"
thought Jill. Then she looked below her; but she was so high that she couldn't
make out whether she was floating over land or sea, nor what speed she was
going at.
"By Jove! The signs!" said
Jill suddenly. "I'd better repeat them." She was in a panic for a second
or two, but she found she could still say them all correctly. "So that's
all right," she said, and lay back on the air as if it was a sofa, with a
sigh of contentment.
"Well, I do declare," said
Jill to herself some hours later, "I've been asleep. Fancy sleeping on
air. I wonder if anyone's done it before. I don't suppose they have. Oh bother
- Scrubb probably has! On this same journey, a little bit before me. Let's see
what it looks like down below."
What it looked like was an enormous,
very dark blue plain. There were no hills to be seen; but there were biggish
white things moving slowly across it. "Those must be clouds," she
thought. "But far bigger than the ones we saw from the cliff. I suppose
they're bigger because they're nearer. I must be getting lower. Bother this
sun."
The sun which had been high overhead
when she began her journey was now getting into her eyes. This meant that it
was getting lower, ahead of her.
Scrubb was quite right in saying
that Jill (I don't know about girls in general) didn't think much about points
of the compass. Otherwise she would have known, when the sun began getting in
her eyes, that she was travelling pretty nearly due west.
Staring at the blue plain below her,
she presently noticed that there were little dots of brighter, paler colour in
it here and there. "It's the sea!" thought Jill. "I do believe
those are islands." And so they were. She might have felt rather jealous
if she had known that some of them were islands which Scrubb had seen from a
ship's deck and even landed on; but she didn't know this. Then, later on, she
began to see that there were little wrinkles on the blue flatness: little
wrinkles which must be quite big ocean waves if you were down among them. And
now, all along the horizon there was a thick dark line which grew thicker and
darker so quickly that you could see it growing. That was the first sign she
had had of the great speed at which she was travelling. And she knew that the
thickening line must be land.
Suddenly from her left (for the wind
was in the south) a great white cloud came rushing towards her, this time on
the same level as herself. And before she knew where she was, she had shot
right into the middle of its cold, wet fogginess. That took her breath away,
but she was in it only for a moment. She came out blinking in the sunlight and
found her clothes wet.
(She had on a blazer and sweater and
shorts and stockings and pretty thick shoes; it had been a muddy sort of day in
England.) She came out lower than she had gone in; and as soon as she did so
she noticed something which, I suppose, she ought to have been expecting, but
which came as a surprise and a shock. It was Noises. Up till then she had
travelled in total silence.
Now, for the first time, she heard
the noise of waves and the crying of seagulls. And now, too, she smelled the
smell of the sea. There was no mistake about her speed now. She saw two waves
meet with a smack and a spout of foam go up between them; but she had hardly
seen it before it was a hundred yards behind her. The land was getting nearer
at a great pace.
She could see mountains far inland,
and other nearer mountains on her left.
She could see bays and headlands,
woods and fields, stretches of sandy beach. The sound of waves breaking on the
shore was growing louder every second and drowning the other sea noises.
Suddenly the land opened right ahead
of her. She was coming to the mouth of a river. She was very low now, only a
few feet above the water. A wave-top came against her toe and a great splash of
foam spurted up, drenching her nearly to the waist. Now she was losing speed.
Instead of being carried up the river she was gliding in to the river bank on
her left. There were so many things to notice that she could hardly take them
all in; a smooth, green lawn, a ship so brightly coloured that it looked like
an enormous piece of jewellery, towers and battlements, banners fluttering in
the air, a crowd, gay clothes, armour, gold, swords, a sound of music. But this
was all jumbled. The first thing that she knew clearly was that she had
alighted and was standing under a thicket of trees close by the river side, and
there, only a few feet away from her, was Scrubb.
The first thing she thought was how
very grubby and untidy and generally unimpressive he looked. And the second was
"How wet I am!"
WHAT made Scrubb look so dingy (and
Jill too, if she could only have seen herself) was the splendour of their
surroundings. I had better describe them at once.
Through a cleft in those mountains
which Jill had seen far inland as she approached the land, the sunset light was
pouring over a level lawn. On the far side of the lawn, its weather-vanes
glittering in the light, rose a many-towered and many-turreted castle; the most
beautiful castle Jill had ever seen. On the near side was a quay of white
marble and, moored to this, the ship: a tall ship with high forecastle and high
poop, gilded and crimson, with a great flag at the mast-head, and many banners
waving from the decks, and a row of shields, bright as silver, along the
bulwarks. The gang-plank was laid to her, and at the foot of it, just ready to
go on board, stood an old, old man. He wore a rich mantle of scarlet which
opened in front to show his silver mail shirt. There was a thin circlet of gold
on his head. His beard, white as wool, fell nearly to his waist. He stood
straight enough, leaning one hand on the shoulder of a richly dressed lord who
seemed younger than himself: but you could see he was very old and frail. He
looked as if a puff of wind could blow him away, and his eyes were watery.
Immediately in front of the King -
who had turned round to speak to his people before going on board the ship -
there was a little chair on wheels, and, harnessed to it, a little donkey: not
much bigger than a big retriever. In this chair sat a fat little dwarf. He was
as richly dressed as the King, but because of his fatness and because he was
sitting hunched up among cushions, the effect was quite different: it made him
look like a shapeless little bundle of fur and silk and velvet. He was as old
as the King, but more hale and hearty, with very keen eyes. His bare head,
which was bald and extremely large, shone like a gigantic billiard ball in the
sunset light.
Farther back, in a half-circle,
stood what Jill at once knew to be the courtiers. They were well worth looking
at for their clothes and armour alone. As far as that went, they looked more
like a flower-bed than a crowd. But what really made Jill open her eyes and
mouth as wide as they would go, was the people themselves. If
"people" was the right word. For only about one in every five was
human. The rest were things you never see in our world. Fauns, satyrs,
centaurs: Jill could give a name to these, for she had seen pictures of them.
Dwarfs too. And there were a lot of animals she knew as well; bears, badgers,
moles, leopards, mice, and various birds.
But then they were so very different
from the animals which one called by the same names in England. Some of them
were much bigger - the mice, for instance, stood on their hind legs and were
over two feet high. But quite apart from that, they all looked different. You
could see by the expression in their faces that they could talk and think just
as well as you could.
"Golly!" thought Jill.
"So it's true after all." But next moment she added, "I wonder
are they friendly?" For she had just noticed, on the outskirts of the
crowd, one or two giants and some people whom she couldn't give a name to at
all.
At that moment Aslan and the signs
rushed back into her mind. She had forgotten all about them for the last
half-hour.
"Scrubb!" she whispered,
grabbing his arm. "Scrubb, quick! Do you see anyone you know?"
"So you've turned up again,
have you?" said Scrubb disagreeably (for which he had some reason).
"Well, keep quiet, can't you? I want to listen."
"Don't be a fool," said
Jill. "There isn't a moment to lose. Don't you see some old friend here?
Because you've got to go and speak to him at once."
"What are you talking
about?" said Scrubb.
"It's Aslan - the Lion - says
you've got to," said Jill despairingly. "I've seen him."
"Oh, you have, have you? What
did he say?"
"He said the very first person
you saw in Narnia would be an old friend, and you'd got to speak to him at
once."
"Well, there's nobody here I've
ever seen in my life before; and anyway, I don't know whether this is
Narnia."
"Thought you said you'd been
here before," said Jill.
"Well, you thought wrong
then."
"Well, I like that! You told me
-"
"For heaven's sake dry up and
let's hear what they're saying."
The King was speaking to the Dwarf,
but Jill couldn't hear what he said.
And, as far as she could make out,
the Dwarf made no answer, though he nodded and wagged his head a great deal.
Then the King raised his voice and addressed the whole court: but his voice was
so old and cracked that she could understand very little of his speech -
especially since it was all about people and places she had never heard of.
When the speech was over, the King stooped down and kissed the Dwarf on both
cheeks, straightened himself, raised his right hand as if in blessing, and
went, slowly and with feeble steps, up the gangway and on board the ship. The
courtiers appeared to be greatly moved by his departure. Handkerchiefs were got
out, sounds of sobbing were heard in every direction. The gangway was cast off,
trumpets sounded from the poop, and the ship moved away from the quay. (It was
being towed by a rowing-boat, but Jill didn't see that.)
"Now -" said Scrubb, but
he didn't get any farther, because at that moment a large white object - Jill
thought for a second that it was a kite - came gliding through the air and
alighted at his feet. It was a white owl, but so big that it stood as high as a
good-sized dwarf.
It blinked and peered as if it were
short-sighted, and put its head a little on one side, and said in a soft,
hooting kind of voice:
"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo! Who are you
two?"
"My name's Scrubb, and this is
Pole," said Eustace. "Would you mind telling us where we are?"
"In the land of Narnia, at the
King's castle of Cair Paravel."
"Is that the King who's just
taken ship?"
"Too true, too true," said
the Owl sadly, shaking its big head. "But who are you? There's something
magic about you two. I saw you arrive: you flew.
Everyone else was so busy seeing the
King off that nobody knew. Except me.
I happened to notice you, you
flew."
"We were sent here by
Aslan," said Eustace in a low voice.
"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo!" said
the Owl, ruffling out its feathers. "This is almost too much for me, so
early in the evening. I'm not quite myself till the sun's down."
"And we've been sent to find
the lost Prince," said Jill, who had been anxiously waiting to get into
the conversation.
"It's the first I've heard
about it," said Eustace. "What prince?"
"You had better come and speak
to the Lord Regent at once," it said.
"That's him, over there in the
donkey carriage; Trumpkin the Dwarf." The bird turned and began leading
the way, muttering to itself, "Whoo! Tu-whoo! What a to-do! I can't think
clearly yet. It's too early."
"What is the King's name?"
asked Eustace.
"Caspian the Tenth," said
the Owl. And Jill wondered why Scrubb had suddenly pulled up short in his walk
and turned an extraordinary colour.
She thought she had never seen him
look so sick about anything. But before she had time to ask any questions they
had reached the dwarf, who was just gathering up the reins of his donkey and
preparing to drive back to the castle. The crowd of courtiers had broken up and
were going in the same direction, by ones and twos and little knots, like
people coming away from watching a game or a race.
"Tu-whoo! Ahem! Lord
Regent," said the Owl, stooping down a little and holding its beak near
the Dwarf's ear.
"Heh? What's that?" said
the Dwarf.
"Two strangers, my lord,"
said the Owl.
"Rangers! What d'ye mean?"
said the Dwarf. "I see two uncommonly grubby man-cubs. What do they
want?"
"My name's Jill," said Jill,
pressing forward. She was very eager to explain the important business on which
they had come.
"The girl's called Jill,"
said the Owl, as loud as it could.
"What's that?" said the
Dwarf. "The girls are all killed! I don't believe a word of it. What
girls? Who killed 'em?"
"Only one girl, my lord,"
said the Owl. "Her name is Jill."
"Speak up, speak up," said
the Dwarf. "Don't stand there buzzing and twittering in my ear. Who's been
killed?"
"Nobody's been killed,"
hooted the Owl.
"Who?"
"NOBODY."
"All right, all right. You
needn't shout. I'm not so deaf as all that. What do you mean by coming here to
tell me that nobody's been killed? Why should anyone have been killed?"
"Better tell him I'm
Eustace," said Scrubb.
"The boy's Eustace, my
lord," hooted the Owl as loud as it could.
"Useless?" said the Dwarf
irritably. "I dare say he is. Is that any reason for bringing him to
court? Hey?"
"Not useless," said the
Owl. "EUSTACE."
"Used to it, is he? I don't
know what you're talking about, I'm sure. I tell you what it is, Master
Glimfeather; when I was a young Dwarf there used to be talking beasts and birds
in this country who really could talk.
There wasn't all this mumbling and muttering
and whispering. It wouldn't have been tolerated for a moment. Not for a moment,
Sir. Urnus, my trumpet please -"
A little Faun who had been standing
quietly beside the Dwarf's elbow all this time now handed him a silver
eartrumpet. It was made like the musical instrument called a serpent, so that
the tube curled right round the Dwarf's neck. While he was getting it settled
the Owl, Glimfeather, suddenly said to the children in a whisper:
"My brain's a bit clearer now.
Don't say anything about the lost Prince.
I'll explain later. It wouldn't do,
wouldn't do, Tu-Whoo! Oh what a to-do!"
"Now," said the Dwarf,
"if you have anything sensible to say, Master Glimfeather, try and say it.
Take a deep breath and don't attempt to speak too quickly."
With help from the children, and in
spite of a fit of coughing on the part of the Dwarf, Glimfeather explained that
the strangers had been sent by Aslan to visit the court of Narnia. The Dwarf
glanced quickly up at them with a new expression in his eyes.
"Sent by the Lion Himself,
hey?" he said. "And from m'm - from that other Place - beyond the
world's end, hey?"
"Yes, my lord," bawled
Eustace into the trumpet.
"Son of Adam and Daughter of
Eve, hey?" said the Dwarf. But people at Experiment House haven't heard of
Adam and Eve, so Jill and Eustace couldn't answer this. But the Dwarf didn't
seem to notice.
"Well, my dears," he said,
taking first one and then the other by the hand and bowing his head a little.
"You are very heartily welcome. If the good King, my poor Master, had not
this very hour set sail for Seven Isles, he would have been glad of your
coming. It would have brought back his youth to him for a moment - for a
moment. And now, it is high time for supper.
You shall tell me your business in
full council tomorrow morning. Master Glimfeather, see that bedchambers and
suitable clothes and all else are provided for these guests in the most
honourable fashion. And - Glimfeather - in your ear -"
Here the Dwarf put his mouth close
to the Owl's head and, no doubt, intended to whisper: but, like other deaf
people, he wasn't a very good judge of his own voice, and both children heard
him say, "See that they're properly washed."
After that, the Dwarf touched up his
donkey and it set off towards the castle at something between a trot and a
waddle (it was a very fat little beast), while the Faun, the Owl, and the
children followed at a rather slower pace. The sun had set and the air was
growing cool.
They went across the lawn and then
through an orchard and so to the North Gate of Cair Paravel, which stood wide
open. Inside, they found a grassy courtyard. Lights were already showing from
the windows of the great hall on their right and from a more complicated mass
of buildings straight ahead. Into these the Owl led them, and there a most
delightful person was called to look after Jill. She was not much taller than
Jill herself, and a good deal slenderer, but obviously full grown, graceful as
a willow, and her hair was willowy too, and there seemed to be moss in it. She
brought Jill to a round room in one of the turrets, where there was a little
bath sunk in the floor and a fire of sweet-smelling woods burning on the flat
hearth and a lamp hanging by a silver chain from the vaulted roof. The window
looked west into the strange land of Narnia, and Jill saw the red remains of
the sunset still glowing behind distant mountains. It made her long for more
adventures and feel sure that this was only the beginning.
When she had had her bath, and
brushed her hair, and put on the clothes that had been laid out for her - they
were the kind that not only felt nice, but looked nice and smelled nice and
made nice sounds when you moved as well - she would have gone back to gaze out
of that exciting window, but she was interrupted by a bang on the door.
"Come in," said Jill. And
in came Scrubb, also bathed and splendidly dressed in Narnian clothes. But his
face didn't look as if he were enjoying it.
"Oh, here you are at
last," he said crossly, flinging himself into a chair.
"I've been trying to find you
for ever so long."
"Well, now you have," said
Jill. "I say, Scrubb, isn't it all simply too exciting and scrumptious for
words." She had forgotten all about the signs and the lost Prince for the
moment.
"Oh! That's what you think, is
it?" said Scrubb: and then, after a pause, "I wish to goodness we'd
never come."
"Why on earth?"
"I can't bear it," said
Scrubb. "Seeing the King Caspian - a doddering old man like that. It's -
it's frightful."
"Why, what harm does it do
you?"
"Oh, you don't understand. Now
that I come to think of it, you couldn't. I didn't tell you that this world has
a different time from ours."
"How do you mean?"
"The time you spend here
doesn't take up any of our time. Do you see? I mean, however long we spend
here, we shall still get back to Experiment House at the moment we left it
-"
"That won't be much fun."
"Oh, dry up! Don't keep
interrupting. And when you're back in England - in our world - you can't tell
how time is going here. It might be any number of years in Narnia while we're
having one year at home. The Pevensies explained it all to me, but, like a
fool, I forgot about it. And now apparently it's been about seventy years
Narnian years - since I was here last. Do you see now? And I come back and find
Caspian an old, old man."
"Then the King was an old
friend of yours!" said Jill. A horrid thought had struck her.
"I should jolly well think he
was," said Scrubb miserably. "About as good a friend as a chap could have.
And last time he was only a few years older than me. And to see that old man
with a white beard, and to remember Caspian as he was the morning we captured
the Lone Islands, or in the fight with the Sea Serpent - oh, it's frightful.
It's worse than coming back and finding him dead."
"Oh, shut up," said Jill
impatiently. "It's far worse than you think. We've muffed the first
Sign." Of course Scrubb did not understand this. Then Jill told him about
her conversation with Aslan and the four signs and the task of finding the lost
prince which had been laid upon them.
"So you see," she wound
up, "you did see an old friend, just as Aslan said, and you ought to have
gone and spoken to him at once. And now you haven't, and everything is going
wrong from the very beginning."
"But how was I to know?"
said Scrubb.
"If you'd only listened to me
when I tried to tell you, we'd be all right," said Jill.
"Yes, and if you hadn't played
the fool on the edge of that cliff and jolly nearly murdered me - all right, I
said murder, and I'll say it again as often as I like, so keep your hair on -
we'd have come together and both known what to do."
"I suppose he was the first
person you saw?" said Jill. "You must have been here hours before me.
Are you sure you didn't see anyone else first?"
"I was only here about a minute
before you," said Scrubb. "He must have blown you quicker than me.
Making up for lost time: the time you lost."
"Don't be a perfect beast,
Scrubb," said Jill. "Hallo! What's that?"
It was the castle bell ringing for
supper, and thus what looked like turning into a first-rate quarrel was happily
cut short. Both had a good appetite by this time.
Supper in the great hall of the
castle was the most splendid thing either of them had ever seen; for though
Eustace had been in that world before, he had spent his whole visit at sea and
knew nothing of the glory and courtesy of the Narnians at home in their own
land. The banners hung from the roof, and each course came in with trumpeters
and kettledrums. There were soups that would make your mouth water to think of,
and the lovely fishes called pavenders, and venison and peacock and pies, and
ices and jellies and fruit and nuts, and all manner of wines and fruit drinks.
Even Eustace cheered up and admitted that it was "something like".
And when all the serious eating and drinking was over, a blind poet came
forward and struck up the grand old tale of Prince Cor and Aravis and the horse
Bree, which is called The Horse and his Boy and tells of an adventure that
happened in Narnia and Calormen and the lands between, in the Golden Age when
Peter was High King in Cair Paravel. (I haven't time to tell it now, though it
is well worth hearing.)
When they were dragging themselves
upstairs to bed, yawning their heads off, Jill said, "I bet we sleep well,
tonight"; for it had been a full day.
Which just shows how little anyone
knows what is going to happen to them next.
IT is a very funny thing that the sleepier
you are, the longer you take about getting to bed; especially if you are lucky
enough to have a fire in your room. Jill felt she couldn't even start
undressing unless she sat down in front of the fire for a bit first. And once
she had sat down, she didn't want to get up again. She had already said to
herself about five times, "I must go to bed", when she was startled
by a tap on the window.
She got up, pulled the curtain, and
at first saw nothing but darkness. Then she jumped and started backwards, for
something very large had dashed itself against the window, giving a sharp tap
on the glass as. it did so. A very unpleasant idea came into her head -
"Suppose they have giant moths in this country! Ugh!" But then the
thing came back, and this time she was almost sure she saw a beak, and that the
beak had made that tapping noise.
"It's some huge bird,"
thought Jill. "Could it be an eagle?" She didn't very much want a
visit even from an eagle, but she opened the window and looked out. Instantly,
with a great whirring noise, the creature alighted on the window-sill and stood
there filling up the whole window, so that Jill had to step back to make room
for it. It was the Owl.
"Hush, hush! Tu-whoo,
tu-whoo," said the Owl. "Don't make a noise. Now, are you two really
in earnest about what you've got to do?"
"About the lost Prince, you
mean?" said Jill. "Yes, we've got to be." For now she remembered
the Lion's voice and face, which she had nearly forgotten during the feasting
and story-telling in the hall.
"Good!" said the Owl.
"Then there's no time to waste.
You must get away from here at once.
I'll go and wake the other human. Then I'll come back for you. You'd better
change those court clothes and put on something you can travel in. I'll be back
in two twos. Tu-whoo!" And without waiting for an answer, he was gone.
If Jill had been more used to
adventures, she might have doubted the Owl's word, but this never occurred to
her: and in the exciting idea of a midnight escape she forgot her sleepiness.
She changed back into sweater and shorts there was a guide's knife on the belt
of the shorts which might come in useful - and added a few of the things that
had been left in the room for her by the girl with the willowy hair. She chose
a short cloak that came down to her knees and had a hood ("just the thing,
if it rains," she thought), a few handkerchiefs and a comb. Then she sat
down and waited.
She was getting sleepy again when
the Owl returned.
"Now we're ready," it
said.
"You'd better lead the
way," said Jill. "I don't know all these passages yet."
"Tu-whoo!" said the Owl.
"We're not going through the castle. That would never do. You must ride on
me. We shall fly."
"Oh!" said Jill, and stood
with her mouth open, not much liking the idea.
"Shan't I be too heavy for
you?"
"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo! Don't you be
a fool. I've already carried the other one.
Now. But we'll put out that lamp
first."
As soon as the lamp was out, the bit
of the night which you saw through the window looked less dark - no longer black,
but grey. The Owl stood on the window-sill with his back to the room and raised
his wings. Jill had to climb on to his short fat body and get her knees under
the wings and grip tight. The feathers felt beautifully warm and soft but there
was nothing to hold on by. "I wonder how Scrubb liked his ride!"
thought Jill. And just as she was thinking this, with a horrid plunge they had
left the window-sill, and the wings were making a flurry round her ears, and
the night air, rather cool and damp, was flying in her face.
It was much lighter than she
expected, and though the sky was overcast, one patch of watery silver showed
where the moon was hiding above the clouds.
The fields beneath her looked grey,
and the trees black. There was a certain amount of wind - a hushing, ruffling
sort of wind which meant that rain was coming soon.
The Owl wheeled round so that the
castle was now ahead of them. Very few of the windows showed lights. They flew
right over it, northwards, crossing the river: the air grew colder, and Jill
thought she could see the white reflection of the Owl in the water beneath her.
But soon they were on the north bank of the river, flying above wooded country.
The Owl snapped at something which
Jill couldn't see.
"Oh, don't, please!" said
Jill. "Don't jerk like that. You nearly threw me off."
"I beg your pardon," said
the Owl. "I was just nabbing a bat. There's nothing so sustaining, in a
small way, as a nice plump little bat. Shall I catch you one?"
"No, thanks," said Jill
with a shudder.
He was flying a little lower now and
a large, black looking object was looming up towards them. Jill had just time
to see that it was a tower - a partly ruinous tower, with a lot of ivy on it,
she thought - when she found herself ducking to avoid the archway of a window,
as the Owl squeezed with her through the ivied cobwebby opening, out of the
fresh, grey night into a dark place inside the top of the tower. It was rather
fusty inside and, the moment she slipped off the Owl's back, she knew (as one
usually does somehow) that it was quite crowded And when voices began saying
out of the darkness from every direction "Tuwhoo! Tu-whoo!" she knew
it was crowded with owls. She was rather relieved when a very different voice
said:
"Is that you, Pole?"
"Is that you, Scrubb?"
said Jill.
"Now," said Glimfeather,
"I think we're all here. Let us hold a parliament of owls."
"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo. True for
you. That's the right thing to do," said several voices.
"Half a moment," said
Scrubb's voice. "There's something I want to say first."
"Do, do, do," said the
owls; and Jill said, "Fire ahead."
"I suppose all you chaps-owls,
I mean," said Scrubb, "I suppose you all know that King Caspian the
Tenth, in his young days, sailed to the eastern end of the world. Well, I was
with him on that journey: with him and Reepicheep the Mouse, and the Lord
Drinian and all of them. I know it sounds hard to believe, but people don't
grow older in our world at the same speed as they do in yours. And what I want
to say is this, that I'm the King's man; and if this parliament of owls is any
sort of plot against the King, I'm having nothing to do with it."
"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo, we're all
the King's owls too," said the owls.
"What's it all about
then?" said Scrubb.
"It's only this," said
Glimfeather. "That if the Lord Regent, the Dwarf Trumpkin, hears you are
going to look for the lost Prince, he won't let you start. He'd keep you under
lock and key sooner."
"Great Scott!" said
Scrubb. "You don't mean that Trumpkin is a traitor? I used to hear a lot
about him in the old days, at sea. Caspian - the King, I mean - trusted him
absolutely."
"Oh no," said a voice.
"Trumpkin's no traitor. But more than thirty champions (knights, centaurs,
good giants, and all sorts) have at one time or another set out to look for the
lost Prince, and none of them have ever come back. And at last the King said he
was not going to have all the bravest Narnians destroyed in the search for his
son. And now nobody is allowed to go."
"But surely he'd let us
go," said Scrubb. "When he knew who I was and who had sent me."
("Sent both of us," put in
Jill.)
"Yes," said Glimfeather,
"I think, very likely, he would. But the King's away. And Trumpkin will
stick to the rules. He's as true as steel, but he's deaf as a post and very
peppery. You could never make him see that this might be the time for making an
exception to the rule."
"You might think he'd take some
notice of us, because we're owls and everyone knows how wise owls are,"
said someone else. "But he's so old now he'd only say, `You're a mere
chick. I remember you when you were an egg.
Don't come trying to teach me, Sir.
Crabs and crumpets!'"
This owl imitated Trumpkin's voice
rather well, and there were sounds of owlish laughter all round. The children
began to see that the Narnians all felt about Trumpkin as people feel at school
about some crusty teacher, whom everyone is a little afraid of and everyone
makes fun of and nobody really dislikes.
"How long is the King going to
be away?" asked Scrubb.
"If only we knew!" said
Glimfeather. "You see, there has been a rumour lately that Aslan himself
has been seen in the islands - in Terebinthia, I think it was. And the King
said he would make one more attempt before he died to see Aslan face to face again,
and ask his advice about who is to be King after him. But we're all afraid
that, if he doesn't meet Aslan in Terebinthia, he'll go on east, to Seven Isles
and Lone Islands - and on and on. He never talks about it, but we all know he
has never forgotten that voyage to the world's end. I'm sure in his heart of
hearts he wants to go there again."
"Then there's no good waiting
for him to come back?" said Jill.
"No, no good," said the
Owl. "Oh, what a to-do! If only you two had known and spoken to him at
once! He'd have arranged everything - probably given you an army to go with you
in search of the Prince."
Jill kept quiet at this and hoped
Scrubb would be sporting enough not to tell all the owls why this hadn't
happened. He was, or very nearly. That is, he only muttered under his breath,
"Well, it wasn't my fault," before saying out loud:
"Very well. We'll have to
manage without it. But there's just one thing more I want to know. If this
owls' parliament, as you call it, is all fair and above board and means no
mischief, why does it have to be so jolly secret- meeting in a ruin in dead of
night, and all that?"
"Tu-whoo! Tu-whoo!" hooted
several owls. "Where should we meet? When would anyone meet except at
night?"
"You see," explained
Glimfeather, "most of the creatures in Narnia have such unnatural habits.
They do things by day, in broad blazing sunlight (ugh!) when everyone ought to
be asleep. And, as a result, at night they're so blind and stupid that you
can't get a word out of them. So we owls have got into the habit of meeting at
sensible hours, on our own, when we want to talk about things."
"I see," said Scrubb.
"Well now, let's get on. Tell us all about the lost Prince." Then an
old owl, not Glimfeather, related the story.
About ten years ago, it appeared,
when Rilian, the son of Caspian, was a very young knight, he rode with the
Queen his mother on a May morning in the north parts of Narnia. They had many
squires and ladies with them and all wore garlands of fresh leaves on their
heads, and horns at their sides; but they had no hounds with them, for they
were maying, not hunting. In the warm part of the day they came to a pleasant
glade where a fountain flowed freshly out of the earth, and there they
dismounted and ate and drank and were merry. After a time the Queen felt
sleepy, and they spread cloaks for her on the grassy bank, and Prince Rilian
with the rest of the party went a little way from her, that their tales and
laughter might not wake her. And so, presently, a great serpent came out of the
thick wood and stung the Queen in her hand. All heard her cry out and rushed
towards her, and Rilian was first at her side. He saw the worm gliding away
from her and made after it with his sword drawn. It was great, shining, and as
green as poison, so that he could see it well: but it glided away into thick
bushes and he could not come at it. So he returned to his mother, and found
them all busy about her.
But they were busy in vain, for at
the first glance of her face Rilian knew that no physic in the world would do
her good. As long as the life was in her she seemed to be trying hard to tell
him something. But she could not speak clearly and, whatever her message was,
she died without delivering it. It was then hardly ten minutes since they had first
heard her cry.
They carried the dead Queen back to
Cair Paravel, and she was bitterly mourned by Rilian and by the King, and by
all Narnia. She had been a great lady, wise and gracious and happy, King
Caspian's bride whom he had brought home from the eastern end of the world. And
men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins. The Prince took his
mother's death very hardly, as well he might. After that, he was always riding
on the northern marches of Narnia, hunting for that venomous worm, to kill it
and be avenged. No one remarked much on this, though the Prince came home from
these wanderings looking tired and distraught. But about a month after the
Queen's death, some said they could see a change in him. There was a look in
his eyes as of a man who has seen visions, and though he would be out all day,
his horse did not bear the signs of hard riding. His chief friend among the
older courtiers was the Lord Driman, he who had been his father's captain on
that great voyage to the east parts of the earth.
One evening Drinian said to the
Prince, "Your Highness must soon give over seeking the worm. There is no
true vengeance on a witless brute as there might be on a man. You weary
yourself in vain." The Prince answered him, "My Lord, I have almost forgotten
the worm this seven days." Drinian asked him why, if that were so, he rode
so continually in the northern woods. "My lord," said the Prince,
"I have seen there the most beautiful thing that was ever made."
"Fair Prince," said Drinian, "of your courtesy let me ride with
you tomorrow, that I also may see this fair thing." "With a good
will," said Rilian.
Then in good time on the next day
they saddled their horses and rode a great gallop into the northern woods and
alighted at that same fountain where the Queen got her death. Drinian thought
it strange that the Prince should choose that place of all places, to linger
in. And there they rested till it came to high noon: and at noon Drinian looked
up and saw the most beautiful lady he had ever seen; and she stood at the north
side of the fountain and said no word but beckoned to the Prince with her hand
as if she bade him come to her. And she was tall and great, shining, and
wrapped in a thin garment as green as poison. And the Prince stared at her like
a man out of his wits. But suddenly the lady was gone, Driman knew not where;
and the two returned to Cair Paravel. It stuck in Drinian's mind that this
shining green woman was evil.
Drinian doubted very much whether he
ought not to tell this adventure to the King, but he had little wish to be a
blab and a tale-bearer and so he held his tongue. But afterwards he wished he
had spoken. For next day Prince Rilian rode out alone. That night he came not
back, and from that hour no trace of him was ever found in Narnia nor any
neighbouring land, and neither his horse nor his hat nor his cloak nor anything
else was ever found. Then Drinian in the bitterness of his heart went to
Caspian and said, "Lord King, slay me speedily as a great traitor: for by
my silence I have destroyed your son." And he told him the story. Then
Caspian caught up a battle-axe and rushed upon the Lord Drinian to kill him,
and Drinian stood still as a stock for the death blow. But when the axe was
raised, Caspian suddenly threw it away and cried out, "I have lost my
queen and my son: shall I lose my friend also?" And he fell upon the Lord
Drinian's neck and embraced him and both wept, and their friendship was not
broken.
Such was the story of Rilian. And
when it was over, Jill said, "I bet that serpent and that woman were the
same person."
"True, true, we think the same
as you," hooted the owls.
"But we don't think she killed
the Prince," said Glimfeather, "because no bones -"
"We know she didn't," said
Scrubb. "Aslan told Pole he was still alive somewhere."
"That almost makes it
worse," said the oldest owl. "It means she has some use for him, and
some deep scheme against Narnia. Long, long ago, at the very beginning, a White
Witch came out of the North and bound our land in snow and ice for a hundred
years. And we think this may be some of the same crew."
"Very well, then," said
Scrubb. "Pole and I have got to `Find this Prince.
Can you help us?"
"Have you any clue, you
two?" asked Glimfeather.
"Yes," said Scrubb.
"We know we've got to go north. And w e know we've got to reach the ruins
of a giant city."
At this there was a greater
tu-whooing than ever, and noise of birds shifting their feet and ruffling their
feathers, and then all the owls started speaking at once. They all explained
how very sorry they were that they themselves could not go with the children on
their search for the lost Prince "You'd want to travel by day, and we'd
want to travel by night," they said. "It wouldn't do, wouldn't
do." One or two owls added that even here in the ruined tower it wasn't
nearly so dark as it had been when they began, and that the parliament had been
going on quite long enough. In fact, the mere mention of a journey to the
ruined city of giants seemed to have damped the spirits of those birds. But
Glimfeather said:
"If they want to go that way -
into Ettinsmoor - we must take them to one of the Marsh-wiggles. They're the
Only people who can help them much."
"'True, true. Do," said
the owls.
"Come on, then," said
Glimfeather. "I'll take one. Who'll take the other? It must be done
tonight."
"I will: as far as the
Marsh-wiggles," said another owl.
"Are you ready?" said
Glimfeather to Jill.
"I think Pole's asleep,"
said Scrubb.
JILL. was asleep. Ever since the
owls' parliament began she had been yawning terribly and now she had dropped
off. She was not at all pleased at being waked again, and at finding herself
lying on bare boards in a dusty belfry sort of place, completely dark, and
almost completely full of owls.
She was even less pleased when she
heard that they had to set off for somewhere else - and not, apparently, for
bed - on the Owl's back.
"Oh, come on, Pole, buck
up," said Scrubb's voice. "After all, it is an adventure."
"I'm sick of adventures,"
said Jill crossly.
She did, however, consent to climb
on to Glimfeather's back, and was thoroughly waked up (for a while) by the
unexpected coldness of the air when he flew out with her into the night. The
moon had disappeared and there were no stars. Far behind her she could see a
single lighted window well above the ground; doubtless, in one of the towers of
Cair Paravel. It made her long to be back in that delightful bedroom, snug in
bed, watching the firelight on the walls. She put her hands under her cloak and
wrapped it tightly round her. It was uncanny to hear two voices in the dark air
a little distance away; Scrubb and his owl were talking to one another.
"He doesn't sound tired," thought Jill. She did not realize that he
had been on great adventures in that world before and that the Narnian air was
bringing back to him a strength he had won when he sailed the Eastern Seas with
King Caspian.
Jill had to pinch herself to keep
awake, for she knew that if she dozed on Glimfeather's back she would probably
fall off. When at last the two owls ended their flight, she climbed stiffly off
Glimfeather and found herself on flat ground. A chilly wind was blowing and
they appeared to be in a place without trees. "Tu-whoo, tu-whoo!"
Glimfeather was calling. "Wake up, Puddleglum. Wake up. It is on the
Lion's business."
For a long time there was no reply.
Then, a long way off, a dim light appeared and began to come nearer. With it
came a voice.
"Owls ahoy!" it said.
"What is it? Is the King dead? Has an enemy landed in Narnia? Is it a
flood? Or dragons?"
When the light reached them, it
turned out to be that of a large lantern.
She could see very little of the
person who held it. He seemed to be all legs and arms. The owls were talking to
him, explaining everything, but she was too tired to listen. She tried to wake
herself up a bit when she realized that they were saying goodbye to her. But
she could never afterwards remember much except that, sooner or later, she and
Scrubb were stooping to enter a low doorway and then (oh, thank heavens) were
lying down on something soft and warm, and a voice was saying:
"There you are. Best we can do.
You'll lie cold and hard. Damp too, I shouldn't wonder. Won't sleep a wink,
most likely; even if there isn't a thunderstorm or a flood or the wigwam
doesn't fall down on top of us all, as I've known them do. Must make the best
of it -" But she was fast asleep before the voice had ended.
When the children woke late next
morning they found that they were lying, very dry and warm, on beds of straw in
a dark place. A triangular opening let in the daylight.
"Where on earth are we?"
asked Jill.
"In the wigwam of a
Marsh-wiggle," said Eustace.
"A what?"
"A Marsh-wiggle. Don't ask me what
it is. I couldn't see it last night. I'm getting up. Let's go and look for
it."
"How beastly one feels after
sleeping in one's clothes," said Jill, sitting up.
"I was just thinking how nice
it was not to have to dress," said Eustace.
"Or wash either, I
suppose," said Jill scornfully. But Scrubb had already got up, yawned,
shaken himself, and crawled out of the wigwam. Jill did the same.
What they found outside was quite
unlike the bit of Narnia they had seen on the day before. They were on a great flat
plain which was cut into countless little islands by countless channels of
water. The islands were covered with coarse grass and bordered with reeds and
rushes. Sometimes there were beds of rushes about an acre in extent. Clouds of
birds were constantly alighting in them and rising from them again-duck, snipe,
bitterns, herons. Many wigwams like that in which they had passed the night
could be seen dotted about, but all at a good distance from one another; for
Marsh-wiggles are people who like privacy. Except for the fringe of the forest
several miles to the south and west of them, there was not a tree in sight.
Eastward the flat marsh stretched to low sand-hills on the horizon, and you
could tell by the salt tang in the wind which blew from that direction that the
sea lay over there. To the North there were low pale-coloured hills, in places
bastioned with rock. The rest was all flat marsh. It would have been a
depressing place on a w et evening. Seen under a morning sun, with a fresh wind
blowing, and the air filled with the crying of birds, there was something fine
and fresh and clean about its loneliness. The children felt their spirits rise.
"Where has the thingummy got
to, I wonder?" said Jill.
"The Marsh-wiggle," said
Scrubb, as if he were rather proud of knowing the word. "I expect-hullo,
that must be him." And then they both saw him, sitting with his back to
them, fishing, about fifty yards away. He had been hard to see at first because
he was nearly the same colour as the marsh and because he sat so still.
"I suppose we'd better go and
speak to him," said Jill. Scrubb nodded. They both felt a little nervous.
As they drew nearer, the figure
turned its head and showed them a long thin face with rather sunken cheeks, a
tightly shut mouth, a sharp nose, and no beard. He was wearing a high, pointed
hat like a steeple, with an enormously wide flat brim. The hair, if it could be
called hair, which hung over his large ears was greeny-grey, and each lock was
flat rather than round, so that they were like tiny reeds. His expression was
solemn, his complexion muddy, and you could see at once that he took a serious
view of life.
"Good morning, Guests," he
said. "Though when I say good I don't mean it won't probably turn to rain
or it might he snow, or fog, or thunder. You didn't get any sleep, I dare say.
"Yes we did, though," said
Jill. "We had a lovely night."
"Ah," said the
Marsh-wiggle, shaking his head. "I see you're making the best of a bad
job. That's right. You've been well brought up, you have.
You've learned to put a good face on
things."
"Please, we don't know your
name," said Scrubb.
"Puddleglum's my name. But it
doesn't matter if you forget it. I can always tell you again."
The children sat down on each side
of him. They now saw that he had very long legs and arms, so that although his
body was not much bigger than a dwarf's, he would be taller than most men when
he stood up. The fingers of his hands were webbed like a frog's, and so were
his bare feet which dangled in the muddy water. He was dressed in earthcoloured
clothes that hung loose about him.
"I'm trying to catch a few eels
to make an eel stew for our dinner," said Puddleglum. "Though I
shouldn't wonder if I didn't get any. And you won't like them much if I
do."
"Why not?" asked Scrubb.
"Why, it's not in reason that
you should like our sort of victuals, though I've no doubt you'll put a bold
face on it. All the same, while I am a catching of them, if you two could try
to light the fire - no harm trying -! The wood's behind the wigwam. It may be
wet. You could light it inside the wigwam, and then we'd get all the smoke in
our eyes. Or you could light it outside, and then the rain would come and put
it out. Here's my tinder-box. You won't know how to use it, I expect."
But Scrubb had learned that sort of
thing on his last adventure. The children ran back together to the wigwam,
found the wood (which was perfectly dry) and succeeded in lighting a fire with
rather less than the usual difficulty. Then Scrubb sat and took care of it while
Jill went and had some sort of wash - not a very nice one - in the nearest
channel. After that she saw to the fire and he had a wash. Both felt a good
deal fresher, but very hungry.
Presently the Marsh-wiggle joined
them. In spite of his expectation of catching no eels, he had a dozen or so,
which he had already skinned and cleaned. He put a big pot on, mended the fire,
and lit his pipe.
Marsh-wiggles smoke a very strange,
heavy sort of tobacco (some people say they mix it with mud) and the children
noticed the smoke from Puddleglum's pipe hardly rose in the air at all. It
trickled out of the bowl and downwards and drifted along the ground like a
mist. It was very black and set Scrubb coughing.
"Now," said Puddleglum.
"Those eels will take a mortal long time to cook, and either of you might
faint with hunger before they're done. I knew a little girl - but I'd better
not tell you that story. It might lower your spirits, and that's a thing I
never do. So, to keep your minds off your hunger, we may as well talk about our
plans."
"Yes, do let's," said
Jill. "Can you help us to find Prince Rilian?"
The Marsh-wiggle sucked in his
cheeks till they were hollower than you would have thought possible.
"Well, I don't know that you'd call it help," he said. "I don't
know that anyone can exactly help. It stands to reason we're not likely to get
very far on a journey to the North, not at this time of the year, with the
winter coming on soon and all. And an early winter too, by the look of things.
But you mustn't let that make you down-hearted. Very likely, what with enemies,
and mountains, and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to
eat, and sore feet, we'll hardly notice the weather. And if we don't get far
enough to do any good, we may get far enough not to get back in a hurry."
Both children noticed that he said
"we", not "you", and both exclaimed at the same moment.
"Are you coming with us?"
"Oh yes, I'm coming of course. Might
as well, you see. I don't suppose we shall ever see the King back in Narnia,
now that he's once set off for foreign parts; and he had a nasty cough when he
left. Then there's Trumpkin. He's failing fast. And you'll find there'll have
been a bad harvest after this terrible dry summer. And I shouldn't wonder if
some enemy attacked us. Mark my words."
"And how shall we start?"
said Scrubb.
"Well," said the
Marsh-wiggle very slowly, "all the others who ever went looking for Prince
Rilian started from that same fountain where the Lord Drinian saw the lady.
They went north, mostly. And as none of them ever came back, we can't exactly
say how they got on."
"We've got to start by finding
a ruined city of giants," said Jill. "Aslan said so."
"Got to start by finding it,
have we?" answered Puddleglum. "Not allowed to start by looking for
it, I suppose?"
"That's what I meant, of
course," said Jill. "And then, when we've found it-"
"Yes, when!" said
Puddleglum very drily.
"Doesn't anyone know where it
is?" asked Scrubb.
"I don't know about
Anyone," said Puddleglum. "And I won't say I haven't heard of that
Ruined City. You wouldn't start from the fountain, though.
You'd have to go across Ettinsmoor.
That's where the Ruined City is, if it's anywhere. But I've been as far in that
direction as most people and I never got to any ruins, so I won't deceive
you."
"Where's Ettinsmoor?" said
Scrubb.
"Look over there
northward," said Puddleglum, pointing with his pipe. "See those hills
and bits of cliff? That's the beginning of Ettinsmoor. But there's a river
between it and us; the river Shribble. No bridges, of course."
"I suppose we can ford it,
though," said Scrubb.
"Well, it has been
forded," admitted the Marsh-wiggle.
"Perhaps we shall meet people on
Ettinsmoor who can tell us the way," said Jill.
"You're right about meeting
people," said Puddleglum.
"What sort of people live
there?" she asked.
"It's not for me to say they
aren't all right in their own way," answered Puddleglum. "If you like
their way."
"Yes, but what are they?"
pressed Jill. "There are so many queer creatures in this country. I mean,
are they animals, or birds, or dwarfs, or what?"
The Marsh-wiggle gave a long
whistle. "Phew!" he said. "Don't you know? I thought the owls
had told you. They're giants."
Jill winced. She had never liked
giants even in books, and she had once met one in a nightmare. Then she saw
Scrubb's face, which had turned rather green, and thought to herself, "I
bet he's in a worse funk than I am." That made her feel braver.
"The King told me long
ago," said Scrubb - "that time when I was with him at sea-that he'd
jolly well beaten those giants in war and made them pay him tribute."
"That's true enough," said
Puddleglum. "They're at peace with us all right.
As long as we stay on our own side
of the Shribble, they won't do us any harm. Over on their side, on the Moor -
Still, there's always a chance. If we don't get near any of them, and if none
of them forget themselves, and if we're not seen, it's just possible we might
get a long way."
"Look here!" said Scrubb,
suddenly losing his temper, as people so easily do when they have been
frightened. "I don't believe the whole thing can be half as bad as you're
making out; any more than the beds in the wigwam were hard or the wood was wet.
I don't think Aslan would ever have sent us if there was so little chance as
all that."
He quite expected the Marsh-wiggle
to give him an angry reply, but he only said, "That's the spirit, Scrubb.
That's the way to talk. Put a good face on it. But we all need to be very
careful about our tempers, seeing all the hard times we shall have to go
through together. Won't do to quarrel, you know. At any rate, don't begin it
too soon. I know these expeditions usually end that way: knifing one another, I
shouldn't wonder, before all's done. But the longer we can keep off it-"
"Well, if you feel it's so
hopeless," interrupted Scrubb, "I think you'd better stay behind.
Pole and I can go on alone, can't we, Pole?"
"Shut up and don't be an ass,
Scrubb," said Jill hastily, terrified lest the Marsh-wiggle should take
him at his word.
"Don't you lose heart,
Pole," said Puddleglum. "I'm coming, sure and certain. I'm not going
to lose an opportunity like this. It will do me good. They all say - I mean,
the other wiggles all say-that I'm too flighty; don't take life seriously
enough. If they've said it once, they've said it a thousand times.
'Puddleglum,' they've said, `you're altogether too full of bobance and bounce
and high spirits. You've got to learn that life isn't all fricasseed frogs and
eel pie. You want something to sober you down a bit. We're only saying it for
your own good, Puddleglum.' That's what they say. Now a job like this - a
journey up north just as winter's beginning, looking for a Prince that probably
isn't there, by way of a ruined city that no one has ever seen - will be just
the thing. If that doesn't steady a chap, I don't know what will." And he
rubbed his big frog-like hands together as if he were talking of going to a
party or a pantomime. "And now," he added, "let's see how those
eels are getting on."
When the meal came it was delicious
and the children had two large helpings each. At first the Marsh-wiggle wouldn't
believe that they really liked it, and when they had eaten so much that he had
to believe them, he fell back on saying that it would probably disagree with
them horribly. "What's food for wiggles may be poison for humans, I
shouldn't wonder," he said. After the meal they had tea, in tins (as
you've seen men having it who are working on the road), and Puddleglum had a
good many sips out of a square black bottle. He offered the children some of
it, but they thought it very nasty.
The rest of the day was spent in
preparations for an early start tomorrow morning. Puddleglum, being far the
biggest, said he would carry three blankets, with a large bit of bacon rolled
up inside them. Jill was to carry the remains of the eels, some biscuit, and
the tinder-box. Scrubb was to carry both his own cloak and Jill's when they
didn't want to wear them.
Scrubb (who had learned some
shooting when he sailed to the East under Caspian) had Puddleglum's secondbest
bow, and Puddleglum had his best one; though he said that what with winds, and
damp bowstrings, and bad light, and cold fingers, it was a hundred to one
against either of them hitting anything. He and Scrubb both had swords Scrubb
had brought the one which had been left out for him in his room at Cair Paravel,
but Jill had to be content with her knife. There would have been a quarrel
about this, but as soon as they started sparring the wiggle rubbed his hands
and said, "Ah, there you are. I thought as much. That's what usually
happens on adventures." This made them both shut up.
All three went to bed early in the
wigwam. This time the children really had a rather bad night. That was because
Puddleglum, after saying, "You'd better try for some sleep, you two; not
that I suppose any of us will close an eye tonight," instantly went off
into such a loud, continuous snore that, when Jill at last got to sleep, she
dreamed all night about road-drills and waterfalls and being in express trains
in tunnels.
AT about nine o'clock next morning
three lonely figures might have been seen picking their way across the Shribble
by the shoals and stepping-stones. It was a shallow, noisy stream, and even
Jill was not wet above her knees when they reached the northern bank. About fifty
yards ahead, the land rose up to the beginning of the moor, everywhere steeply,
and often in cliffs.
"I suppose that's our
way!" said Scrubb, pointing left and west to where a stream flowed down
from the moor through a shallow gorge. But the Marsh-wiggle shook his head.
"The giants mainly live along
the side of that gorge," he said. "You might say the gorge was like a
street to them. We'll do better straight ahead, even though it's a bit
steep."
They found a place where they could
scramble up, and in about ten minutes stood panting at the top. They cast a
longing look back at the valley-land of Narnia and then turned their faces to
the North. The vast, lonely moor stretched on and up as far as they could see.
On their left was rockier ground. Jill thought that must be the edge of the
giants' gorge and did not much care about looking in that direction. They set
out.
It was good, springy ground for
walking, and a day of pale winter sunlight.
As they got deeper into the moor,
the loneliness increased: one could hear peewits and see an occasional hawk.
When they halted in the middle of the morning for a rest and a drink in a
little hollow by a stream, Jill was beginning to feel that she might enjoy
adventures after all, and said so.
"We haven't had any yet,"
said the Marsh-wiggle.
Walks after the first halt - like
school mornings after break or railway journeys after changing trains - never
go on as they were before. When they set out again, Jill noticed that the rocky
edge of the gorge had drawn nearer. And the rocks were less flat, more upright,
than they had been. In fact they were like little towers of rock. And what
funny shapes they were!
"I do believe," thought
Jill, "that all the stories about giants might have come from those funny
rocks. If you were coming along here when it was half dark, you could easily
think those piles of rock were giants. Look at that one, now! You could almost
imagine that the lump on top was a head. It would be rather too big for the
body, but it would do well enough for an ugly giant. And all that bushy stuff -
I suppose it's heather and birds' nests, really - would do quite well for hair
and beard. And the things sticking out on each side are quite like ears. They'd
be horribly big, but then I dare say giants would have big ears, like
elephants. And - o-o-o-h! -"
Her blood froze. The thing moved. It
was a real giant. There was no mistaking it; she had seen it turn its head. She
had caught a glimpse of the great, stupid, puffcheeked face. All the things were
giants, not rocks.
There were forty or fifty of them,
all in a row; obviously standing with their feet on the bottom of the gorge and
their elbows resting on the edge of the gorge, just as men might stand leaning
on a wall - lazy men, on a fine morning after breakfast.
"Keep straight on,"
whispered Puddleglum, who had noticed them too. "Don't look at them. And
whatever you do, don't run. They'd be after us in a moment."
So they kept on, pretending not to
have seen the giants. It was like walking past the gate of a house where there
is a fierce dog, only far worse. There were dozens and dozens of these giants.
They didn't look angry - or kind or interested at all. There was no sign that
they had seen the travellers.
Then - whizz-whizz-whizz - some heavy
object came hurtling through the air, and with a crash a big boulder fell about
twenty paces ahead of them. And then - thud! - another fell twenty feet behind.
"Are they aiming at us?"
asked Scrubb.
"No," said Puddleglum.
"We'd be a good deal safer if they were. They're trying to hit that - that
cairn over there to the right. They won't hit it, you know. It's safe enough;
they're such very bad shots. They play cock-shies most fine mornings. About the
only game they're clever enough to understand."
It was a horrible time. There seemed
no end to the line of giants, and they never ceased hurling stones, some of
which fell extremely close. Quite apart from the real danger, the very sight
and sound of their faces and voices were enough to scare anyone. Jill tried not
to look at them.
After about twenty-five minutes the
giants apparently had a quarrel. This put an end to the cock-shies, but it is
not pleasant to be within a mile of quarrelling giants. They stormed and jeered
at one another in long, meaningless words of about twenty syllables each. They
foamed and gibbered and jumped in their rage, and each jump shook the earth
like a bomb. They lammed each other on the head with great, clumsy stone
hammers; but their skulls were so hard that the hammers bounced off again, and
then the monster who had given the blow would drop his hammer and howl with
pain because it had stung his fingers. But he was so stupid that he would do
exactly the same thing a minute later. This was a good thing in the long run,
for by the end of an hour all the giants were so hurt that they sat down and
began to cry. When they sat down, their heads were below the edge of the gorge,
so that you saw them no more; but Jill could hear them howling and blubbering
and boo-booing like great babies even after the place was a mile behind.
That night they bivouacked on the
bare moor, and Puddleglum showed the children how to make the best of their
blankets by sleeping back to back.
(The backs keep each other warm and
you can then have both blankets on top.) But it was chilly even so, and the
ground was hard and lumpy. The Marsh-wiggle told them they would feel more
comfortable if only they thought how very much colder it would be later on and
farther north; but this didn't cheer them up at all.
They travelled across Ettinsmoor for
many days, saving the bacon and living chiefly on the moor-fowl (they were not,
of course, talking birds) which Eustace and the wiggle shot. Jill rather envied
Eustace for being able to shoot; he had learned it on his voyage with King
Caspian. As there were countless streams on the moor, they were never short of
water. Jill thought that when, in books, people live on what they shoot, it
never tells you what a long, smelly, messy job it is plucking and cleaning dead
birds, and how cold it makes your fingers. But the great thing was that they
met hardly any giants. One giant saw them, but he only roared with laughter and
stumped away about his own business.
About the tenth day, they reached a
place where the country changed. They came to the northern edge of the moor and
looked down a long, steep slope into a different, and grimmer, land. At the
bottom of the slope were cliffs: beyond these, a country of high mountains,
dark precipices, stony valleys, ravines so deep and narrow that one could not
see far into them, and rivers that poured out of echoing gorges to plunge
sullenly into black depths. Needless to say, it was Puddleglum who pointed out
a sprinkling of snow on the more distant slopes.
"But there'll be more on the
north side of them, I shouldn't wonder," he added.
It took them some time to reach the
foot of the slope and, when they did, they looked down from the top of the
cliffs at a river running below them from west to east. It was walled in by precipices
on the far side as well as on their own, and it was green and sunless, full of
rapids and waterfalls. The roar of it shook the earth even where they stood.
"The bright side of it
is," said Puddleglum, "that if we break our necks getting down the
cliff, then we're safe from being drowned in the river."
"What about that?" said
Scrubb suddenly, pointing upstream to their left.
Then they all looked and saw the
last thing they were expecting - a bridge.
And what a bridge, too! It was a
huge, single arch that spanned the gorge from cliff-top to cliff-top; and the
crown of that arch was as high above the cliff-tops as the dome of St Paul's is
above the street.
"Why, it must be a giants'
bridge!" said Jill.
"Or a sorcerer's, more
likely," said Puddleglum. "We've got to look out for enchantments in
a place like this. I think it's a trap. I think it'll turn into mist and melt
away just when we're out on the middle of it."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't
be such a wet blanket," said Scrubb. "Why on earth shouldn't it be a
proper bridge?"
"Do you think any of the giants
we've seen would have sense to build a thing like that?" said Puddleglum.
"But mightn't it have been
built by other giants?" said Jill. "I mean, by giants who lived
hundreds of years ago, and were far cleverer than the modern kind. It might
have been built by the same ones who built the giant city we're looking for.
And that would mean we were on the right track - the old bridge leading to the
old city!"
"That's a real brain-wave,
Pole," said Scrubb. "It must be that. Come on."
So they turned and went to the
bridge. And when they reached it, it certainly seemed solid enough. The single
stones were as big as those at Stonehenge and must have been squared by good
masons once, though now they were cracked and crumbled. The balustrade had
apparently been covered with rich carvings, of which some traces remained;
mouldering faces and forms of giants, minotaurs, squids, centipedes, and
dreadful gods. Puddleglum still didn't trust it, but he consented to cross it
with the children.
The climb up to the crown of the
arch was long and heavy. In many places the great stones had dropped out,
leaving horrible gaps through which you looked down on the river foaming
thousands of feet below. They saw an eagle fly through under their feet. And
the higher they went, the colder it grew, and the wind blew so that they could
hardly keep their footing. It seemed to shake the bridge.
When they reached the top and could
look down the farther slope of the bridge, they saw what looked like the
remains of an ancient giant road stretching away before them into the heart of
the mountains. Many stones of its pavement were missing and there were wide
patches of grass between those that remained. And riding towards them on that
ancient road were two people of normal grown-up human size.
"Keep on. Move towards
them," said Puddleglum. "Anyone you meet in a place like this is as
likely as not to be an enemy, but we mustn't let them think we're afraid."
By the time they had stepped off the
end of the bridge on to the grass, the two strangers were quite close. One was
a knight in complete armour with his visor down. His armour and his horse were
black; there was no device on his shield and no banneret on his spear. The
other was a lady on a white horse, a horse so lovely that you wanted to kiss
its nose and give it a lump of sugar at once. But the lady, who rode
side-saddle and wore a long, fluttering dress of dazzling green, was lovelier
still.
"Good day,
t-r-r-avellers," she cried out in a voice as sweet as the sweetest bird's
song, trilling her R's delightfully. "Some of you are young pilgrims to
walk this rough waste."
"That's as may be, Ma'am,"
said Puddleglum very stiffly and on his guard.
"We're looking for the ruined
city of the giants," said Jill.
"The r-r-ruined city?"
said the Lady. "That is a strange place to be seeking. What will you do if
you find it?"
"We've got to -" began
Jill, but Puddleglum interrupted.
"Begging your pardon, Ma'am. But
we don't know you or your friend - a silent chap, isn't he? - and you don't
know us. And we'd as soon not talk to strangers about our business, if you
don't mind. Shall we have a little rain soon, do you think?"
The Lady laughed: the richest, most
musical laugh you can imagine. "Well, children," she said, "you
have a wise, solemn old guide with you. I think none the worse of him for
keeping his own counsel, but I'll be free with mine. I have often heard the
name of the giantish City Ruinous, but never met any who would tell me the way
thither. This road leads to the burgh and castle of Harfang, where dwell the
gentle giants. They are as mild, civil, prudent, and courteous as those of
Ettinsmoor are foolish, fierce, savage, and given to all beastliness. And in
Harfang you may or may not hear tidings of the City Ruinous, but certainly you
shall find good lodgings and merry hosts. You would be wise to winter there,
or, at the least, to tarry certain days for your ease and refreshment. There
you shall have steaming baths, soft beds, and bright hearths; and the roast and
the baked and the sweet and the strong will be on the table four times in a
day."
"I say!" exclaimed Scrubb.
"That's something like! Think of sleeping in a bed again."
"Yes, and having a hot bath,"
said Jill. "Do you think they'll ask us to stay? We don't know them, you
see."
"Only tell them," answered
the Lady, "that She of the Green Kirtle salutes them by you, and has sent
them two fair Southern children for the Autumn Feast."
"Oh, thank you, thank you ever
so much," said Jill and Scrubb.
"But have a care," said
the Lady. "On whatever day you reach Harfang, that you come not to the
door too late. For they shut their gates a few hours after noon, and it is the
custom of the castle that they open to none when once they have drawn bolt, how
hard so ever he knock."
The children thanked her again, with
shining eyes, and the Lady waved to them. The Marsh-wiggle took off his
steeple-hat and bowed very stiffly.
Then the silent Knight and the Lady started
walking their horses up the slope of the bridge with a great clatter of hoofs.
"Well!" said Puddleglum.
"I'd give a good deal to know where she's coming from and where she's
going. Not the sort you expect to meet in the wilds of Giantland, is she? Up to
no good, I'll be bound."
"Oh rot!" said Scrubb.
"I thought she was simply super. And think of hot meals and warm rooms. I
do hope Harfang isn't a long way off."
"Same here," said Jill.
"And hadn't she a scrumptious dress. And the horse!"
"All the same," said
Puddleglum, "I wish we knew a bit more about her."
"I was going to ask her all
about herself," said Jill. "But how could I when you wouldn't tell
her anything about us?"
"Yes," said Scrubb.
"And why were you so stiff and unpleasant. Didn't you like them?"
"Them?" said the wiggle.
"Who's them? I only saw one."
"Didn't you see the
Knight?" asked Jill.
"I saw a suit of armour,"
said Puddleglum. "Why didn't he speak?"
"I expect he was shy,"
said Jill. "Or perhaps he just wants to look at her and listen to her
lovely voice. I'm sure I would if I was him."
"I was wondering,"
remarked Puddleglum, "what you'd really see if you lifted up the visor of
that helmet and looked inside."
"Hang it all," said
Scrubb. "Think of the shape of the armour! What could be inside it except
a man?"
"How about a skeleton?"
asked the Marsh-wiggle with ghastly cheerfulness.
"Or perhaps," he added as
an afterthought, "nothing at all. I mean, nothing you could see. Someone
invisible."
"Really, Puddleglum," said
Jill with a shudder, "you do have the most horrible ideas. How do you
think of them all?"
"Oh, bother his ideas!"
said Scrubb. "He's always expecting the worst, and he's always wrong.
Let's think about those Gentle Giants and get on to Harfang as quickly as we
can. I wish I knew how far it is."
And now they nearly had the first of
those quarrels which Puddleglum had foretold: not that Jill and Scrubb hadn't
been sparring and snapping at each other a good deal before, but this was the
first really serious disagreement. Puddleglum didn't want them to go to Harfang
at all. He said that he didn't know what a giant's idea of being
"gentle" might be, and that, anyway, Aslan's signs had said nothing
about staying with giants, gentle or otherwise. The children, on the other
hand, who were sick of wind and rain, and skinny fowl roasted over campfires,
and hard, cold earth to sleep on, were absolutely dead set to visit the Gentle
Giants. In the end, Puddleglum agreed to do so, but only on one condition. The
others must give an absolute promise that, unless he gave them leave, they
would not tell the Gentle Giants that they came from Narnia or that they were
looking for Prince Rilian. And they gave him this promise, and went on.
After that talk with the Lady things
got worse in two different ways. In the first place the country was much
harder. The road led through endless, narrow valleys down which a cruel north
wind was always blowing in their faces. There was nothing that could be used
for firewood, and there were no nice little hollows to camp in, as there had
been on the moor. And the ground was all stony, and made your feet sore by day
and every bit of you sore by night.
In the second place, whatever the
Lady had intended by telling them about Harfang, the actual effect on the
children was a bad one. They could think about nothing but beds and baths and
hot meals and how lovely it would be to get indoors. They never talked about
Aslan, or even about the lost prince, now. And Jill gave up her habit of
repeating the signs over to herself every night and morning. She said to
herself, at first, that she was too tired, but she soon forgot all about it.
And though you might have expected that the idea of having a good time at
Harfang would have made them more cheerful, it really made them more sorry for
themselves and more grumpy and snappy with each other and with Puddleglum.
At last they came one afternoon to a
place where the gorge in which they were travelling widened out and dark fir
woods rose on either side. They looked ahead and saw that they had come through
the mountains. Before them lay a desolate, rocky plain: beyond it, further
mountains capped with snow.
But between them and those further
mountains rose a low hill with an irregular flattish top.
"Look! Look!" cried Jill,
and pointed across the plain; and there, through the gathering dusk, from
beyond the flat hill, everyone saw lights. Lights! Not moonlight, nor fires,
but a homely cheering row of lighted windows. If you have never been in the
wild wilderness, day and night, for weeks, you will hardly understand how they
felt.
"Harfang!" cried Scrubb
and Jill in glad, excited voices; and "Harfang," repeated Puddleglum
in a dull, gloomy voice. But he added, "Hullo! Wild geese!" and had
the bow off his shoulder in a second. He brought down a good fat goose. It was
far too late to think of reaching Harfang that day.
But they had a hot meal and a fire,
and started the night warmer than they had been for over a week. After the fire
had gone out, the night grew bitterly cold, and when they woke next morning,
their blankets were stiff with frost.
"Never mind!" said Jill,
stamping her feet. "Hot baths tonight!"
THERE Is no denying it was a beast
of a day. Overhead was a sunless sky, muffled in clouds that were heavy with
snow; underfoot, a black frost; blowing over it, a wind that felt as if it
would take your skin off. When they got down into the plain they found that
this part of the ancient road was much more ruinous than any they had yet seen.
They had to pick their way over great broken stones and between boulders and
across rubble: hard going for sore feet. And, however tired they got, it was
far too cold for a halt.
At about ten o'clock the first tiny
snow flakes came loitering down and settled on Jill's arm. Ten minutes later
they were falling quite thickly.
In twenty minutes the ground was
noticeably white. And by the end of half an hour a good steady snowstorm, which
looked as if it meant to last all day, was driving in their faces so that they
could hardly see.
In order to understand what
followed, you must keep on remembering how little they could see. As they drew
near the low hill which separated them from the place where the lighted windows
had appeared, they had no general view of it at all. It was a question of
seeing the next few paces ahead, and, even for that, you had to screw up your
eyes. Needless to say, they were not talking.
When they reached the foot of the
hill they caught a glimpse of what might be rocks on each side - squarish
rocks, if you looked at them carefully, but no one did. All were more concerned
with the ledge right in front of them which barred their way. It was about four
feet high. The Marsh-wiggle, with his long legs, had no difficulty in jumping
onto the top of it, and he then helped the others up. It was a nasty wet
business for them, though not for him, because the snow now lay quite deep on
the ledge. They then had a stiff climb - Jill fell once - up very rough ground
for about a hundred yards, and came to a second ledge. There were four of these
ledges altogether, at quite irregular intervals.
As they struggled on to the fourth
ledge, there was no mistaking the fact that they were now at the top of the
flat hill. Up till now the slope had given them some shelter; here, they got
the full fury of the wind. For the hill, oddly enough, was quite as flat on top
as it had looked from a distance: a great level tableland which the storm tore
across without resistance. In most places the snow was still hardly lying at
all, for the wind kept catching it up off the ground in sheets and clouds, and
hurling it in their faces. And round their feet little eddies of snow ran about
as you sometimes see them doing over ice. And, indeed, in many places, the
surface was almost as smooth as ice. But to make matters worse it was crossed
and crisscrossed with curious banks or dykes, which sometimes divided it up
into squares and oblongs. All these of course had to be climbed; they varied
from two to five feet in height and were about a couple of yards thick. On the
north side of each bank the snow already lay in deep drifts; and after each
climb you came down into a drift and got wet.
Fighting her way forward with hood
up and head down and numb hands inside her cloak, Jill had glimpses of other
odd things on that horrible tableland - things on her right that looked vaguely
like factory chimneys, and, on her left, a huge cliff, straighter than any
cliff ought to be. But she wasn't at all interested and didn't give them a
thought. The only things she thought about were her cold hands (and nose and
chin and ears) and hot baths and beds at Harfang.
Suddenly she skidded, slid about
five feet, and found herself to her horror sliding down into a dark, narrow
chasm which seemed that moment to have appeared in front of her. Half a second
later she had reached the bottom.
She appeared to be in a kind of
trench or groove, only about three feet wide. And though she was shaken by the
fall, almost the first thing she noticed was the relief of being out of the
wind; for the walls of the trench rose high above her. The next thing she
noticed was, naturally, the anxious faces of Scrubb and Puddleglum looking down
at her from the edge.
"Are you hurt, Pole?"
shouted Scrubb.
"Both legs broken, I shouldn't
wonder," shouted Puddleglum.
Jill stood up and explained that she
was all right, but they'd have to help her out.
"What is it you've fallen
into?" asked Scrubb.
"It's a kind of trench, or it
might be a kind of sunken lane or something," said Jill. "It runs
quite straight."
"Yes, by Jove," said
Scrubb. "And it runs due north! I wonder is it a sort of road? If it was,
we'd be out of this infernal wind down there. Is there a lot of snow at the
bottom?"
"Hardly any. It all blows over
the top, I suppose."
"What happens farther on?"
"Half a sec. I'll go and
see," said Jill. She got up and walked along the trench; but before she had
gone far, it turned sharply to the right. She shouted this information back to
the others.
"What's round the corner?"
asked Scrubb.
Now it happened that Jill had the
same feeling about twisty passages and dark places underground, or even nearly
underground, that Scrubb had about the edges of cliffs. She had no intention of
going round that corner alone; especially when she heard Puddleglum bawling out
from behind her:
"Be careful, Pole. It's just
the sort of place that might lead to a dragon's cave. And in a giant country,
there might be giant earth-worms or giant beetles."
"I don't think it goes anywhere
much," said Jill, coming hastily back.
"I'm jolly well going to have a
look," said Scrubb. "What do you mean by anywhere much, I should like
to know?" So he sat down on the edge of the trench (everyone was too wet
by now to bother about being a bit wetter) and then dropped in. He pushed past
Jill and, though he didn't say anything, she felt sure that he knew she had
funked it. So she followed him close, but took care not to get in front of him.
It proved, however, a disappointing
exploration. They went round the right-hand turn and straight on for a few
paces. Here there was a choice of ways: straight on again, or sharp to the
right. "That's no good," said Scrubb, glancing down the right-hand
turn, "that would be taking us back - south." He went straight on,
but once more, in a few steps, they found a second turn to the right. But this
time there was no choice of ways, for the trench they had been following here
came to a dead end.
"No good," grunted Scrubb.
Jill lost no time in turning and leading the way back. When they returned to
the place where Jill had first fallen in, the Marsh-wiggle with his long arms
had no difficulty in pulling them out.
But it was dreadful to be out on top
again. Down in those narrow slits of trenches, their ears had almost begun to
thaw. They had been able to see clearly and breathe easily and hear each other
speak without shouting. It was absolute misery to come back into the withering
coldness. And it did seem hard when Puddleglum chose that moment for saying:
"Are you still sure of those
signs, Pole? What's the one we ought to be after, now?"
"Oh, come on! Bother the
signs," said Pole. "Something about someone mentioning Aslan's name,
I think. But I'm jolly well not going to give a recitation here."
As you see, she had got the order
wrong. That was because she had given up saying the signs over every night. She
still really knew them, if she troubled to think: but she was no longer so
"pat" in her lesson as to be sure of reeling them off in the right
order at a moment's notice and without thinking. Puddleglum's question annoyed
her because, deep down inside her, she was already annoyed with herself for not
knowing the Lion's lesson quite so well as she felt she ought to have known it.
This annoyance, added to the misery of being very cold and tired, made her say,
"Bother the signs." She didn't perhaps quite mean it.
"Oh, that was next, was
it?" said Puddleglum. "Now I wonder, are you right? Got 'em mixed, I
shouldn't wonder. It seems to me, this hill, this flat place we're on, is worth
stopping to have a look at. Have you noticed -"
"Oh Lor!" said Scrubb,
"is this a time for stopping to admire the view? For goodness' sake let's
get on."
"Oh, look, look, look,"
cried Jill and pointed. Everyone turned, and everyone saw. Some way off to the
north, and a good deal higher up than the tableland on which they stood, a line
of lights had appeared. This time, even more obviously than when the travellers
had seen them the night before, they were windows: smaller windows that made
one think deliciously of bedrooms, and larger windows that made one think of
great halls with fires roaring on the hearth and hot soup or juicy sirloins
smoking on the table.
"Harfang!" exclaimed
Scrubb.
"That's all very well,"
said Puddleglum. "But what I was saying was -"
"Oh, shut up," said Jill
crossly. "We haven't a moment to lose. Don't you remember what the Lady
said about their locking up so early? We must get there in time, we must, we
must. We'll die if we're shut out on a night like this."
"Well, it isn't exactly a
night, not yet," began Puddleglum; but the two children both said,
"Come on," and began stumbling forward on the slippery tableland as
quickly as their legs would carry them. The Marsh-wiggle followed them: still
talking, but now that they were forcing their way into the wind again, they
could not have heard him even if they had wanted to.
And they didn't want. They were
thinking of baths and beds and hot drinks; and the idea of coming to Harfang
too late and being shut out was almost unbearable.
In spite of their haste, it took
them a long time to cross the flat top of that hill. And even when they had
crossed it, there were still several ledges to climb down on the far side. But
at last they reached the bottom and could see what Harfang was like.
It stood on a high crag, and in
spite of its many towers was more a huge house than a castle. Obviously, the
Gentle Giants feared no attack. There were windows in the outside wall quite
close to the ground - a thing no one would have in a serious fortress. There
were even odd little doors here and there, so that it would be quite easy to
get in and out of the castle without going through the courtyard. This raised
the spirits of Jill and Scrubb. It made the whole place look more friendly and
less forbidding.
At first the height and steepness of
the crag frightened them, but presently they noticed that there was an easier
way up on the left and that the road wound up towards it. It was a terrible
climb, after the journey they had already had, and Jill nearly gave up. Scrubb
and Puddleglum had to help her for the last hundred yards.
But in the end they stood before the
castle gate. The portcullis was up and the gate open.
However tired you are, it takes some
nerve to walk up to a giant's front door. In spite of all his previous warnings
against Harfang, it was Puddleglum who showed most courage.
"Steady pace, now," he
said. "Don't look frightened, whatever you do. We've done the silliest
thing in the world by coming at all: but now that we are here, we'd best put a
bold face on it."
With these words he strode forward
into the gateway, stood still under the arch where the echo would help his
voice, and called out as loud as he could.
"Ho! Porter! Guests who seek
lodging."
And while he was waiting for
something to happen, he took off his hat and knocked off the heavy mass of snow
which had gathered on its wide brim.
"I say," whispered Scrubb
to Jill. "He may be a wet blanket, but he has plenty of pluck - and
cheek."
A door opened, letting out a
delicious glow of firelight, and the Porter appeared. Jill bit her lips for
fear she should scream. He was not a perfectly enormous giant; that is to say,
he was rather taller than an apple tree but nothing like so tall as a telegraph
pole. He had bristly red hair, a leather jerkin with metal plates fastened all
over it so as to make a kind of mail shirt, bare knees (very hairy indeed) and
things like puttees on his legs. He stooped down and goggled at Puddleglum.
"And what sort of creature do
you call yourself," he said.
Jill took her courage in both hands.
"Please," she said, shouting up at the giant. "The Lady of the
Green Kirtle salutes the King of the Gentle Giants, and has sent us two
Southern children and this Marsh-wiggle (his name's Puddleglum) to your Autumn
Feast. - If it's quite convenient, of course," she added.
"Oho!" said the Porter.
"That's quite a different story. Come in, little people, come in. You'd
best come into the lodge while I'm sending word to his Majesty." He looked
at the children with curiosity. "Blue faces," he said. "I didn't
know they. were that colour. Don't care about it myself.
But I dare say you look quite nice
to one another. Beetles fancy other beetles, they do say."
"Our faces are only blue with
cold," said Jill. "We're not this colour really."
"Then come in and get warm.
Come in, little shrimps," said the Porter. They followed him into the
lodge. And though it was rather terrible to hear such a big door clang shut
behind them, they forgot about it as soon as they saw the thing they had been
longing for ever since supper time last night - afire. And such a fire! It
looked as if four or five whole trees were blazing on it, and it was so hot
they couldn't go within yards of it. But they all flopped down on the brick
floor, as near as they could bear the heat, and heaved great sighs of relief.
"Now, youngster," said the
Porter to another giant who had been sitting in the back of the room, staring
at the visitors till it looked as if his eyes would start out of his head,
"run across with this message to the House." And he repeated what Jill
had said to him. The younger giant, after a final stare, and a great guffaw,
left the room.
"Now, Froggy," said the
Porter to Puddleglum, "you look as if you wanted some cheering up."
He produced a black bottle very like Puddleglum's own, but about twenty times
larger. "Let me see, let me see," said the Porter.
"I can't give you a cup or
you'll drown yourself. Let me see. This salt-cellar will be just the thing. You
needn't mention it over at the House. The silver will keep on getting over
here, and it's not my fault."
The salt-cellar was not very like
one of ours, being narrower and more upright, and made quite a good cup for
Puddleglum, when the giant set it down on the floor beside him. The children
expected Puddleglum to refuse it, distrusting the Gentle Giants as he did. But
he muttered, "It's rather late to be thinking of precautions now that
we're inside and the door shut behind us." Then he sniffed at the liquor.
"Smells all right," he said.
"But that's nothing to go by.
Better make sure," and took a sip. "Tastes all right, too," he
said. "But it might do that at the first sip. How does it go on?" He
took a larger sip. "Ah!" he said. "But is it the same all the
way down?" and took another. "There'll be something nasty at the
bottom, I shouldn't wonder," he said, and finished the drink. He licked
his lips and remarked to the children, "This'll be a test, you see. If I
curl up, or burst, or turn into a lizard, or something, then you'll know not to
take anything they offer you." But the giant, who was too far up to hear
the things Puddleglum had been saying under his breath, roared with laughter
and said, "Why, Froggy, you're a man. See him put it away!"
"Not a man . . .
Marsh-wiggle," replied Puddleglum in a somewhat indistinct voice.
"Not frog either: Marshwiggle."
At that moment the door opened
behind them and the younger giant came in saying, "They're to go to the
throne-room at once."
The children stood up but Puddleglum
remained sitting and said, "Marsh-wiggle. Marsh-wiggle. Very respectable
Marsh-wiggle.
Respectowiggle."
"Show them the way, young
'un," said the giant Porter. "You'd better carry Froggy. He's had a
drop more than's good for him."
"Nothing wrong with me,"
said Puddleglum. "Not a frog. Nothing frog with me. I'm a
respectabiggle."
But the young giant caught him up by
the waist and signed to the children to follow. In this undignified way they
crossed the courtyard. Puddleglum, held in the giant's fist, and vaguely
kicking the air, did certainly look very like a frog. But they had little time to
notice this, for they soon entered the great doorway of the main castle - both
their hearts beating faster than usual - and, after pattering along several
corridors at a trot to keep up with the giant's paces, found themselves
blinking in the light of an enormous room, where lamps glowed and a fire roared
on the hearth and both were reflected from the gilding of roof and cornice.
More giants than they could count stood on their left and right, all in
magnificent robes; and on two thrones at the far end, sat two huge shapes that
appeared to be the King and Queen.
About twenty feet from the thrones,
they stopped. Scrubb and Jill made an awkward attempt at a bow (girls are not
taught how to curtsey at Experiment House) and the young giant carefully put
Puddleglum down on the floor, where he collapsed into a sort of sitting
position. With his long limbs he looked, to tell the truth, uncommonly like a
large spider.
"Go on, Pole, do your
stuff," whispered Scrubb.
Jill found that her mouth was so dry
that she couldn't speak a word. She nodded savagely at Scrubb.
Thinking to himself that he would
never forgive her (or Puddleglum either), Scrubb licked his lips and shouted up
to the King giant.
"If you please, Sire, the Lady
of the Green Kirtle salutes you by us and said you'd like to have us for your
Autumn Feast."
The giant King and Queen looked at
each other, nodded to each other, and smiled in a way that Jill didn't exactly
like. She liked the King better than the Queen. He had a fine, curled beard and
a straight eagle-like nose, and was really rather good-looking as giants go.
The Queen was dreadfully fat and had a double chin and a fat, powdered face -
which isn't a very nice thing at the best of times, and of course looks much
worse when it is ten times too big. Then the King put out his tongue and licked
his lips.
Anyone might do that: but his tongue
was so very large and red, and came out so unexpectedly, that it gave Jill
quite a shock.
"Oh, what good children!" said
the Queen. ("Perhaps she's the nice one after all," thought Jill.)
"Yes indeed," said the
King. "Quite excellent children. We welcome you to our court. Give me your
hands."
He stretched down his great right
hand - very clean and with any number of rings on the fingers, but also with
terrible pointed nails. He was much too big to shake the hands which the
children, in turn, held up to him; but he shook the arms.
"And what's that?" asked
the King, pointing to Puddleglum.
"Reshpeckobiggle," said
Puddleglum.
"Oh!" screamed the Queen,
gathering her skirts close about her ankles. "The horrid thing! It's
alive."
"He's quite all right, your
Majesty, really, he is," said Scrubb hastily.
"You'll like him much better
when you get to know him. I'm sure you will."
I hope you won't lose all interest
in Jill for the rest of the book if I tell you that at this moment she began to
cry. There was a good deal of excuse for her. Her feet and hands and ears and
nose were still only just beginning to thaw; melted snow was trickling off her
clothes; she had had hardly anything to eat or drink that day; and her legs
were aching so that she felt she could not go on standing much longer. Anyway,
it did more good at the moment than anything else would have done, for the Queen
said:
"Ah, the poor child! My lord,
we do wrong to keep our guests standing.
Quick, some of you! Take them away.
Give them food and wine and baths.
Comfort the little girl. Give her
lollipops, give her dolls, give her physics, give her all you can think of -
possets and comfits and caraways and lullabies and toys. Don't cry, little
girl, or you won't be good for anything when the feast comes."
Jill was just as indignant as you
and I would have been at the mention of toys and dolls; and, though lollipops
and comfits might be all very well in their way, she very much hoped that
something more solid would be provided.
The Queen's foolish speech, however,
produced excellent results, for Puddleglum and Scrubb were at once picked up by
gigantic gentlemen-in-waiting, and Jill by a gigantic maid of honour, and
carried off to their rooms.
Jill's room was about the size of a
church, and would have been rather grim if it had not had a roaring fire on the
hearth and a very thick crimson carpet on the floor. And here delightful things
began to happen to her. She was handed over to the Queen's old Nurse, who was,
from the giants' point of view, a little old woman almost bent double with age,
and, from the human point of view, a giantess small enough to go about an
ordinary room without knocking her head on the ceiling. She was very capable,
though Jill did wish she wouldn't keep on clicking her tongue and saying things
like "Oh la, la! Ups-adaisy" and "There's a duck" and
"Now we'll be all right, my poppet". She filled a giant foot-bath
with hot water and helped Jill into it. If you can swim (as Jill could) a giant
bath is a lovely thing.
And giant towels, though a bit rough
and coarse, are lovely too, because there are acres of them. In fact you don't
need to dry at all, you just roll about on them in front of the fire and enjoy
yourself. And when that was over, clean, fresh, warmed clothes were put on
Jill: very splendid clothes and a little too big for her, but clearly made for
humans not giantesses. "I suppose if that woman in the green kirtle comes
here, they must be used to guests of our size," thought Jill.
She soon saw that she was right
about this, for a table and chair of the right height for an ordinary grown-up
human were placed for her, and the knives and forks and spoons were the proper
size too. It was delightful to sit down, feeling warm and clean at last. Her
feet were still bare and it was lovely to tread on the giant carpet. She sank
in it well over her ankles and it was just the thing for sore feet. The meal -
which I suppose we must call dinner, though it was nearer tea time - was
cock-a-leekie soup, and hot roast turkey, and a steamed pudding, and roast
chestnuts, and as much fruit as you could eat.
The only annoying thing was that the
Nurse kept coming in and out, and every time she came in, she brought a
gigantic toy with her - a huge doll, bigger than Jill herself, a wooden horse
on wheels, about the size of an elephant, a drum that looked like a young
gasometer, and a woolly lamb.
They were crude, badly made things,
painted in very bright colours, and Jill hated the sight of them. She kept on
telling the Nurse she didn't want them, but the Nurse said:
"Tut-tut-tut-tut. You'll want
'em all right when you've had a bit of a rest, I know! Te-he-he! Beddy bye,
now. A precious poppet!"
The bed was not a giant bed but only
a big four-poster, like what you might see in an old-fashioned hotel; and very
small it looked in that enormous room. She was very glad to tumble into it.
"Is it still snowing,
Nurse?" she asked sleepily.
"No. Raining now, ducky!"
said the giantess. "Rain'll wash away all the nasty snow. Precious poppet
will be able to go out and play tomorrow!" And she tucked Jill up and said
good night.
I know nothing so disagreeable as
being kissed by a giantess. Jill thought the same, but was asleep in five
minutes.
The rain fell steadily all the
evening and all the night, dashing against the windows of the castle, and Jill
never heard it but slept deeply, past supper time and past midnight. And then
came the deadest hour of the night and nothing stirred but mice in the house of
the giants. At that hour there came to Jill a dream. It seemed to her that she
awoke in the same room and saw the fire, sunk low and red, and in the firelight
the great wooden horse. And the horse came of its own will, rolling on its
wheels across the carpet, and stood at her head. And now it was no longer a
horse, but a lion as big as the horse. And then it was not a toy lion, but a
real lion, The Real Lion, just as she had seen him on the mountain beyond the
world's end.
And a smell of all sweet-smelling
things there are filled the room. But there was some trouble in Jill's mind,
though she could not think what it was, and the tears streamed down her face
and wet the pillow. The Lion told her to repeat the signs, and she found that
she had forgotten them all. At that, a great horror came over her. And Aslan
took her up in his jaws (she could feel his lips and his breath but not his
teeth) and carried her to the window and made her look out. The moon shone
bright; and written in great letters across the world or the sky (she did not
know which) were the words UNDER ME. After that, the dream faded away, and when
she woke, very late next morning, she did not remember that she had dreamed at
all.
She was up and dressed and had
finished breakfast in front of the fire when the Nurse opened the door and
said: "Here's pretty poppet's little friends come to play with her."
In came Scrubb and the Marsh-wiggle.
"Hullo! Good morning,"
said Jill. "Isn't this fun? I've slept about fifteen hours, I believe. I
do feel better, don't you?"
"1 do," said Scrubb,
"but Puddleglum says he has a headache. Hullo! - your window has a window
seat. If we got up on that, we could see out." And at once they all did
so: and at the first glance Jill said, "Oh, how perfectly dreadful!"
The sun was shining and, except for
a few drifts, the snow had been almost completely washed away by the rain. Down
below them, spread out like a map, lay the flat hill-top which they had
struggled over yesterday afternoon; seen from the castle, it could not be
mistaken for anything but the ruins of a gigantic city. It had been flat, as
Jill now saw, because it was still, on the whole, paved, though in places the
pavement was broken. The criss-cross banks were what was left of the walls of
huge buildings which might once have been giants' palaces and temples. One bit
of wall, about five hundred feet high, was still standing; it was that which
she had thought was a cliff. The things that had looked like factory chimneys
were enormous pillars, broken off at unequal heights; their fragments lay at their
bases like felled trees of monstrous stone. The ledges which they had climbed
down on the north side of the hill - and also, no doubt the other ledges which
they had climbed up on the south side - were the remaining steps of giant
stairs. To crown all, in large, dark lettering across the centre of the
pavement, ran the words UNDER ME.
The three travellers looked at each
other in dismay, and, after a short whistle, Scrubb said what they were all
thinking, "The second and third signs muffed." And at that moment
Jill's dream rushed back into her mind.
"It's my fault," she said
in despairing tones. "I - I'd given up repeating the signs every night. If
I'd been thinking about them I could have seen it was the city, even in all
that snow."
"I'm worse," said Puddleglum.
"I did see, or nearly. I thought it looked uncommonly like a ruined
city."
"You're the only one who isn't
to blame," said Scrubb. "You did try to make us stop."
"Didn't try hard enough,
though," said the Marshwiggle. "And I'd no call to be trying. I ought
to have done it. As if I couldn't have stopped you two with one hand
each!"
"The truth is," said
Scrubb, "we were so jolly keen on getting to this place that we weren't
bothering about anything else. At least I know I was.
Ever since we met that woman with
the knight who didn't talk, we've been thinking of nothing else. We'd nearly
forgotten about Prince Rilian."
"I shouldn't wonder," said
Puddleglum, "if that wasn't exactly what she intended."
"What I don't quite
understand," said Jill, "is how we didn't see the lettering? Or could
it have come there since last night. Could he - Aslan - have put it there in
the night? I had such a queer dream." And she told them all about it.
"Why, you chump!" said
Scrubb. "We did see it. We got into the lettering.
Don't you see? We got into the
letter E in ME. That was your sunk lane. We walked along the bottom stroke of
the E, due north - turned to our right along the upright - came to another turn
to the right - that's the middle stroke - and then went on to the top left-hand
corner, or (if you like) the north-eastern corner of the letter, and came back.
Like the bally idiots we are." He kicked the window seat savagely, and
went on, "So it's no good, Pole. I know what you were thinking because I
was thinking the same. You were thinking how nice it would have been if Aslan
hadn't put the instructions on the stones of the ruined city till after we'd
passed it.
And then it would have been his
fault, not ours. So likely, isn't it? No.
We must just own up. We've only four
signs to go by, and we've muffed the first three."
"You mean I have," said
Jill. "It's quite true. I've spoiled everything ever since you brought me
here. All the same - I'm frightfully sorry and all that - all the same, what
are the instructions? UNDER ME doesn't seem to make much sense."
"Yes it does, though,"
said Puddleglum. "It means we've got to look for the Prince under that
city."
"But how can we?" asked
Jill.
"That's the question,"
said Puddleglum, rubbing his big, frog-like hands together. "How can we
now? No doubt, if we'd had our minds on our job when we were at the Ruinous
City, we'd have been shown how - found a little door, or a cave, or a tunnel,
met someone to help us. Might have been (you never know) Aslan himself. We'd
have got down under those paving-stones somehow or other. Aslan's instructions
always work: there are no exceptions. But how to do it now - that's another
matter."
"Well, we shall just have to go
back, I suppose," said Jill.
"Easy, isn't it?" said
Puddleglum. "We might try opening that door to begin with." And they
all looked at the door and saw that none of them could reach the handle, and
that almost certainly no one could turn it if they did.
"Do you think they won't let us
out if we ask?" said Jill. And nobody said, but everyone thought,
"Supposing they don't."
It was not a pleasant idea.
Puddleglum was dead against any idea of telling the giants their real business
and simply asking to be let out; and of course the children couldn't tell
without his permission, because they had promised. And all three felt pretty
sure that there would be no chance of escaping from the castle by night. Once
they were in their rooms with the doors shut, they would be prisoners till
morning. They might, of course, ask to have their doors left open, but that
would rouse suspicions.
"Our only chance," said
Scrubb, "is to try to sneak away by daylight.
Mightn't there be an hour in the
afternoon when most of the giants are asleep? - and if we could steal down into
the kitchen, mightn't there be a back door open?"
"It's hardly what I call a
Chance," said the Marshwiggle. "But it's all the chance we're likely
to get." As a matter of fact, Scrubb's plan was not quite so hopeless as
you might think. If you want to get out of a house without being seen, the
middle of the afternoon is in some ways a better time to try it than the middle
of the night. Doors and windows are more likely to be open; and if you are
caught, you can always pretend you weren't meaning to go far and had no
particular plans. (It is very hard to make either giants or grown-ups believe
this if you're found climbing out of a bedroom window at one o'clock in the
morning.)
"We must put them off their
guard, though," said Scrubb. "We must pretend we love being here and
are longing for this Autumn Feast."
"That's tomorrow night,"
said Puddleglum. "I heard one of them say so."
"I see," said Jill.
"We must pretend to be awfully excited about it, and keep on asking
questions. They think we're absolute infants anyway, which will make it
easier."
"Gay," said Puddleglum
with a deep sigh. "That's what we've got to be. Gay.
As if we hadn't a care in the world.
Frolicsome. You two youngsters haven't always got very high spirits, I've noticed.
You must watch me, and do as I do. I'll be gay. Like this" - and he
assumed a ghastly grin. "And frolicsome" - here he cut a most
mournful caper. "You'll soon get into it, if you keep your eyes on me.
They think I'm a funny fellow already, you see. I dare say you two thought I
was a trifle tipsy last night, but I do assure you it was - well, most of it
was - put on. I had an idea it would come in useful, somehow."
The children, when they talked over
their adventures afterwards, could never feel sure whether this last statement
was quite strictly true; but they were sure that Puddleglum thought it was true
when he made it.
"All right. Gay's the
word," said Scrubb. "Now, if we could only get someone to open this
door. While we're fooling about and being gay, we've got to find out all we can
about this castle."
Luckily, at that very moment the
door opened, and the giant Nurse bustled in saying, "Now, my poppets. Like
to come and see the King and all the court setting out on the hunting? Such a
pretty sight!"
They lost no time in rushing out
past her and climbing down the first staircase they came to. The noise of
hounds and horns and giant voices guided them, so that in a few minutes they
reached the courtyard. The giants were all on foot, for there are no giant
horses in that part of the world, and the giants' hunting is done on foot; like
beagling in England.
The hounds were also of normal size.
When Jill saw that there were no horses she was at first dreadfully
disappointed, for she felt sure that the great fat Queen would never go after
hounds on foot; and it would never do to have her about the house all day. But
then she saw the Queen in a kind of litter supported on the shoulders of six
young giants. The silly old creature was all got up in green and had a horn at
her side.
Twenty or thirty giants, including
the King, were assembled, ready for the sport, all talking and laughing fit to
deafen you: and down below, nearer Jill's level, there were wagging tails, and
barking, and loose, slobbery mouths and noses of dogs thrust into your hand.
Puddleglum was just beginning to strike what he thought a gay and gamesome
attitude (which might have spoiled everything if it had been noticed) when Jill
put on her most attractively childish smile, rushed across to the Queen's
litter and shouted up to the Queen.
"Oh, please! You're not going
away, are you? You will come back?"
"Yes, my dear," said the
Queen. "I'll be back tonight."
"Oh, good. How lovely!"
said Jill. "And we may come to the feast tomorrow night, mayn't we? We're
so longing for tomorrow night! And we do love being here. And while you're out,
we may run over the whole castle and see everything, mayn't we? Do say
yes."
The Queen did say yes, but the
laughter of all the courtiers nearly drowned her voice.
THE others admitted afterwards that
Jill had been wonderful that day. As soon as the King and the rest of the
hunting party had set off, she began making a tour of the whole castle and
asking questions, but all in such an innocent, babyish way that no one could
suspect her of any secret design.
Though her tongue was never still,
you could hardly say she talked: she prattled and giggled. She made love to everyone
- the grooms, the porters, the housemaids, the ladies-in-waiting, and the
elderly giant lords whose hunting days were past. She submitted to being kissed
and pawed about by any number of giantesses, many of whom seemed sorry for her
and called her "a poor little thing" though none of them explained
why. She made especial friends with the cook and discovered the all-important
fact there was a scullery door which let you out through the outer wall, so
that you did not have to cross the courtyard or pass the great gatehouse. In
the kitchen she pretended to be greedy, and ate all sorts of scraps which the
cook and scullions delighted to give her. But upstairs among the ladies she
asked questions about how she would be dressed for the great feast, and how
long she would be allowed to sit up, and whether she would dance with some
very, very small giant. And then (it made her hot all over when she remembered
it afterwards) she would put her head on one side in an idiotic fashion which
grown-ups, giant and otherwise, thought very fetching, and shake her curls, and
fidget, and say, "Oh, I do wish it was tomorrow night, don't you? Do you
think the time will go quickly till then?" And all the giantesses said she
was a perfect little darling; and some of them dabbed their eyes with enormous
handkerchiefs as if they were going to cry.
"They're dear little things at
that age," said one giantess to another. "It seems almost a pity . .
."
Scrubb and Puddleglum both did their
best, but girls do that kind of thing better than boys. Even boys do it better
than Marsh-wiggles.
At lunchtime something happened
which made all three of them more anxious than ever to leave the castle of the
Gentle Giants. They had lunch in the great hall at a little table of their own,
near the fireplace. At a bigger table, about twenty yards away, half a dozen
old giants were lunching.
Their conversation was so noisy, and
so high up in the air, that the children soon took no more notice of it than
you would of hooters outside the window or traffic noises in the street. They
were eating cold venison, a kind of food which Jill had never tasted before,
and she was liking it.
Suddenly Puddleglum turned to them,
and his face had gone so pale that you could see the paleness under the natural
muddiness of his complexion. He said:
"Don't eat another bite."
"What's wrong?" asked the
other two in a whisper.
"Didn't you hear what those
giants were saying? `That's a nice tender haunch of venison,' said one of them.
`Then that stag was a liar,' said another. `Why?' said the first one. `Oh,'
said the other. `They say that when he was caught he said, Don't kill me, I'm
tough. You won't like me.'" For a moment Jill did not realize the full
meaning of this. But she did when Scrubb's eyes opened wide with horror and he
said:
"So we've been eating a Talking
stag."
This discovery didn't have exactly
the same effect on all of them. Jill, who was new to that world, was sorry for
the poor stag and thought it rotten of the giants to have killed him. Scrubb,
who had been in that world before and had at least one Talking beast as his
dear friend, felt horrified; as you might feel about a murder. But Puddleglum,
who was Narnian born, was sick and faint, and felt as you would feel if you
found you had eaten a baby.
"We've brought the anger of
Aslan on us," he said. "That's what comes of not attending to the
signs. We're under a curse, I expect. If it was allowed, it would be the best
thing we could do, to take these knives and drive them into our own hearts."
And gradually even Jill came to see
it from his point of view. At any rate, none of them wanted any more lunch. And
as soon as they thought it safe they crept quietly out of the hall.
It was now drawing near to that time
of the day on which their hopes of escape depended, and all became nervous.
They hung about in passages and waited for things to become quiet. The giants
in the hall sat on a dreadfully long time after the meal was over. The bald one
was telling a story. When that was over, the three travellers dawdled down to
the kitchen. But there were still plenty of giants there, or at least in the
scullery, washing up and putting things away. It was agonizing, waiting till
these finished their jobs and, one by one, wiped their hands and went away. At
last only one old giantess was left in the room. She pottered about, and
pottered about, and at last the three travellers realized with horror that she
did not intend to go away at all.
"Well, dearies," she said
to them. "That job's about through. Let's put the kettle there. That'll
make a nice cup of tea presently. Now I can have a little bit of a rest. Just
look into the scullery, like good poppets, and tell me if the back door is
open."
"Yes, it is," said Scrubb.
"That's right. I always leave
it open so as Puss can get in and out, the poor thing."
Then she sat down on one chair and
put her feet up on another.
"I don't know as I mightn't
have forty winks," said the giantess. "If only that blarney hunting
party doesn't come back too soon."
All their spirits leaped up when she
mentioned forty winks, and flopped down again when she mentioned the return of
the hunting party.
"When do they usually
comeback?" asked Jill.
"You never can tell," said
the giantess. "But there; go and be quiet for a bit, my dearies."
They retreated to the far end of the
kitchen, and would have slipped out into the scullery there and then if the
giantess had not sat up, opened her eyes, and brushed away a fly. "Don't
try it till we're sure she's really asleep," whispered Scrubb. "Or
it'll spoil everything." So they all huddled at the kitchen end, waiting
and watching. The thought that the hunters might come back at any moment was
terrible. And the giantess was fidgety.
Whenever they thought she had really
gone to sleep, she moved.
"I can't bear this,"
thought Jill. To distract her mind, she began looking about her. Just in front
of her was a clean wide table with two clean pie-dishes on it, and an open
book. They were giant pie-dishes of course.
Jill thought that she could lie down
just comfortably in one of them. Then she climbed up on the bench beside the
table to look at the book. She read:
MALLARD. This delicious bird can be
cooked in a variety of ways.
"It's a cookery book,"
thought Jill without much interest, and glanced over her shoulder. The
giantess's eyes were shut but she didn't look as if she were properly asleep.
Jill glanced back at the book. It was arranged alphabetically: and at the very
next entry her heart seemed to stop beating; It ran
MAN. This elegant little biped has
long been valued as a delicacy. It forms a traditional part of the Autumn
Feast, and is served between the fish and the joint. Each Man...
but she could not bear to read any more.
She turned round. The giantess had wakened up and was having a fit of coughing.
Jill nudged the other two and pointed to the book. They also mounted the bench
and bent over the huge pages. Scrubb was still reading about how to cook Men
when Puddleglum pointed to the next entry below it. It was like this:
MARSH-WIGGLE. Some authorities
reject this animal altogether as unfit for giants' consumption because of its
stringy consistency and muddy flavour.
The flavour can, however, be greatly
reduced if-
Jill touched his feet, and Scrubb's,
gently. All three looked back at the giantess. Her mouth was slightly open and
from her nose there came a sound which at that moment was more welcome to them
than any music; she snored.
And now it was a question of tiptoe
work, not daring to go too fast, hardly daring to breathe, out through the
scullery (giant sculleries smell horrid), out at last into the pale sunlight of
a winter afternoon.
They were at the top of a rough
little path which ran steeply down. And, thank heavens, on the right side of
the castle; the City Ruinous was in sight. In a few minutes they were back on
the broad, steep road which led down from the main gate of the castle. They
were also in full view from every single window on that side. If it had been
one, or two, or five windows there'd be a reasonable chance that no one might
be looking out.
But there were nearer fifty than
five. They now realized, too, that the road on which they were, and indeed all
the ground between them and the City Ruinous, didn't offer as much cover as
would hide a fox; it was all coarse grass and pebbles and flat stones. To make
matters worse, they were now in the clothes that the giants had provided for
them last night: except Puddleglum, whom nothing would fit. Jill wore a vivid
green robe, rather too long for her, and over that a scarlet mantle fringed
with white fur.
Scrubb had scarlet stockings, blue
tunic and cloak, a gold-hilted sword, and a feathered bonnet.
"Nice bits of colour, you two
are," muttered Puddleglum. "Show up very prettily on a winter day.
The worst archer in the world couldn't miss either of you if you were in range.
And talking of archers, we'll be sorry not to have our own bows before long, I
shouldn't wonder. Bit thin, too, those clothes of yours, are they?"
"Yes, I'm freezing
already," said Jill.
A few minutes ago when they had been
in the kitchen, she had thought that if only they could once get out of the
castle, their escape would be almost complete. She now realized that the most
dangerous part of it was still to come.
"Steady, steady," said
Puddleglum. "Don't look back. Don't walk too quickly. Whatever you do,
don't run. Look as if we were just taking a stroll, and then, if anyone sees
us, he might, just possibly, not bother.
The moment we look like people
running away, we're done."
The distance to the City Ruinous
seemed longer than Jill would have believed possible. But bit by bit they were
covering it. Then came a noise.
The other two gasped. Jill, who didn't
know what it was, said, "What's that?"
"Hunting horn," whispered
Scrubb.
"But don't run even now,"
said Puddleglum. "Not until I give the word."
This time Jill couldn't help
glancing over her shoulder. There, about half a mile away, was the hunt returning
from behind them on the left.
They walked on. Suddenly a great
clamour of giant voices arose: then shouts and hollas.
"They've seen us. Run,"
said Puddleglum.
Jill gathered up her long skirts -
horrible things for running in - and ran. There was no mistaking the danger
now. She could hear the music of the hounds. She could hear the King's voice
roaring out, "After them, after them, or we'll have no man-pies
tomorrow."
She was last of the three now,
cumbered with her dress, slipping on loose stones, her hair getting in her
mouth, running-pains across her chest. The hounds were much nearer. Now she had
to run uphill, up the stony slope which led to the lowest step of the giant
stairway. She had no idea what they would do when they got there, or how they
would be any better off even if they reached the top.
But she didn't think about that. She
was like a hunted animal now; as long as the pack was after her, she must run
till she dropped.
The Marsh-wiggle was ahead. As he
came to the lowest step he stopped, looked a little to his right, and all of a
sudden darted into a little hole or crevice at the bottom of it. His long legs,
disappearing into it, looked very like those of a spider. Scrubb hesitated and
then vanished after him.
Jill, breathless and reeling, came
to the place about a minute later. It was an unattractive hole - a crack
between the earth and the stone about three feet long and hardly more than a
foot high. You had to fling yourself flat on your face and crawl in. You
couldn't do it so very quickly either.
She felt sure that a dog's teeth
would close on her heel before she had got inside.
"Quick, quick. Stones. Fill up
the opening," came Puddleglum's voice in the darkness beside her. It was
pitch black in there, except for the grey light in the opening by which they
had crawled in. The other two were working hard. She could see Scrubb's small
hands and the Marshwiggle's big, frog-like hands black against the light,
working desperately to pile up stones. Then she realized how important this was
and began groping for large stones herself, and handing them to the others.
Before the dogs were baying and yelping at the cave mouth, they had it pretty
well filled; and now, of course, there was no light at all.
"Farther in, quick," said
Puddleglum's voice.
"Let's all hold hands,"
said Jill.
"Good idea," said Scrubb.
But it took them quite a long time to find one another's hands in the darkness.
The dogs were sniffing at the other side of the barrier now.
"Try if we can stand up," suggested
Scrubb. They did and found that they could. Then, Puddleglum holding out a hand
behind him to Scrubb, and Scrubb holding a hand out behind him to Jill (who
wished very much that she was the middle one of the party and not the last),
they began groping with their feet and stumbling forwards into the blackness.
It was all loose stones underfoot. Then Puddleglum came up to a wall of rock.
They turned a little to their right and went on. There were a good many more
twists and turns. Jill had now no sense of direction at all, and no idea where
the mouth of the cave lay.
"The question is," came
Puddleglum's voice out of the darkness ahead, "whether, taking one thing
with another, it wouldn't be better to go back (if we can) and give the giants
a treat at that feast of theirs, instead of losing our way in the guts of a
hill where, ten to one, there's dragons and deep holes and gases and water and
- Ow! Let go! Save yourselves. I'm -"
After that all happened quickly.
There was a wild cry, a swishing, dusty, gravelly noise, a rattle of stones,
and Jill found herself sliding, sliding, hopelessly sliding, and sliding
quicker every moment down a slope that grew steeper every moment. It was not a
smooth, firm slope, but a slope of small stones and rubbish. Even if you could
have stood up, it would have been no use. Any bit of that slope you had put
your foot on would have slid away from under you and carried you down with it.
But Jill was more lying than standing. And the farther they all slid, the more
they disturbed all the stones and earth, so that the general downward rush of
everything (including themselves) got faster and louder and dustier and
dirtier. From the sharp cries and swearing of the other two, Jill got the idea
that many of the stones which she was dislodging were hitting Scrubb and
Puddleglum pretty hard. And now she was going at a furious rate and felt sure
she would be broken to bits at the bottom.
Yet somehow they weren't. They were
a mass of bruises, and the wet sticky stuff on her face appeared to be blood.
And such a mass of loose earth, shingle, and larger stones was piled up round
her (and partly over her) that she couldn't get up. The darkness was so
complete that it made no difference at all whether you had your eyes open or
shut. There was no noise. And that was the very worst moment Jill had ever
known in her life.
Supposing she was alone: supposing
the others . . . Then she heard movements around her. And presently all three,
in shaken voices, were explaining that none of them seemed to have any broken
bones.
"We can never get up that
again," said Scrubb's voice.
"And have you noticed how warm
it is?" said the voice of Puddleglum. "That means we're a long way
down. Might be nearly a mile."
No one said anything. Some time
later Puddleglum added:
"My tinder-box has gone."
After another long pause Jill said,
"I'm terribly thirsty."
No one suggested doing anything.
There was so obviously nothing to be done.
For the moment, they did not feel it
quite so badly as one might have expected; that was because they were so tired.
Long, long afterwards, without the
slightest warning, an utterly strange voice spoke. They knew at once that it
was not the one voice in the whole world for which each had secretly been
hoping; the voice of Aslan. It was a dark, flat voice - almost, if you know
what that means, a pitch-black voice. It said:
"What make you here, creatures
of the Overworld?"
"WHO's there?" shouted the
three travellers.
"I am the Warden of the Marches
of Underland, and with me stand a hundred Earthmen in arms," came the
reply. "Tell me quickly who you are and what is your errand in the Deep
Realm?"
"We fell down by
accident," said Puddleglum, truthfully enough.
"Many fall down, and few return
to the sunlit lands," said the voice. "Make ready now to come with me
to the Queen of the Deep Realm."
"What does she want with
us?" asked Scrubb cautiously.
"I do not know," said the
voice. "Her will is not to be questioned but obeyed."
While he said these words there was
a noise like a soft explosion and immediately a cold light, grey with a little
blue in it, flooded the cavern. All hope that the speaker had been idly
boasting when he spoke of his hundred armed followers died at once. Jill found
herself blinking and staring at a dense crowd. They were of all sizes, from
little gnomes barely a foot high to stately figures taller than men. All
carried three-pronged spears in their hands, and all were dreadfully pale, and
all stood as still as statues. Apart from that, they were very different; some
had tails and others not, some wore great beards and others had very round,
smooth faces, big as pumpkins. There were long, pointed noses, and long, soft
noses like small trunks, and great blobby noses. Several had single horns in
the middle of their foreheads. But in one respect they were all alike: every
face in the whole hundred was as sad as a face could be. They were so sad that,
after the first glance, Jill almost forgot to be afraid of them. She felt she
would like to cheer them up.
"Well!" said Puddleglum,
rubbing his hands. "This is just what I needed. If these chaps don't teach
me to take a serious view of life, I don't know what will. Look at that fellow
with the walrus moustache - or that one with the -"
"Get up," said the leader
of the Earthmen.
There was nothing else to be done.
The three travellers scrambled to their feet and joined hands. One wanted the
touch of a friend's hand at a moment like that. And the Earthmen came all round
them, padding on large, soft feet, on which some had ten toes, some twelve, and
others none.
"March," said the Warden:
and march they did.
The cold light came from a large
ball on the top of a long pole, and the tallest of the gnomes carried this at
the head of the procession. By its cheerless rays they could see that they were
in a natural cavern; the walls and roof were knobbed, twisted, and gashed into
a thousand fantastic shapes, and the stony floor sloped downward as they
proceeded. It was worse for Jill than for the others, because she hated dark,
underground places.
And when, as they went on, the cave
got lower and narrower, and when, at last, the light-bearer stood aside, and the
gnomes, one by one, stooped down (all except the very smallest ones) and
stepped into a little dark crack and disappeared, she felt she could bear it no
longer.
"I can't go in there, I can't!
I can't! I won't," she panted. The Earthmen said nothing but they all
lowered their spears and pointed them at her.
"Steady, Pole," said
Puddleglum. "Those big fellows wouldn't be crawling in there if it didn't
get wider later on. And there's one thing about this underground work, we
shan't get any rain."
"Oh, you don't understand. I
can't," wailed Jill.
"Think how 1 felt on that
cliff, Pole," said Scrubb. "You go first, Puddleglum, and I'll come
after her."
"That's right," said the
Marsh-wiggle, getting down on his hands and knees.
"You keep a grip of my heels,
Pole, and Scrubb will hold on to yours. Then we'll all be comfortable."
"Comfortable!" said Jill.
But she got down and they crawled in on their elbows. It was a nasty place. You
had to go flat on your face for what seemed like half an hour, though it may
really have been only five minutes.
It was hot. Jill felt she was being
smothered. But at last a dim light showed ahead, the tunnel grew wider and
higher, and they came out, hot, dirty, and shaken, into a cave so large that it
scarcely seemed like a cave at all.
It was full of a dim, drowsy
radiance, so that here they had no need of the Earthmen's strange lantern. The
floor was soft with some kind of moss and out of this grew many strange shapes,
branched and tall like trees, but flabby like mushrooms. They stood too far
apart to make a forest; it was more like a park. The light (a greenish grey)
seemed to come both from them and from the moss, and it was not strong enough
to reach the roof of the cave, which must have been a long way overhead. Across
the mild, soft, sleepy place they were now made to march. It was very sad, but
with a quiet sort of sadness like soft music.
Here they passed dozens of strange
animals lying on the turf, either dead or asleep, Jill could not tell which.
These were mostly of a dragonish or bat-like sort; Puddleglum did not know what
any of them were.
"Do they grow here?"
Scrubb asked the Warden. He seemed very surprised at being spoken to, but
replied, "No. They are all beasts that have found their way down by chasms
and caves, out of Overland into the Deep Realm.
Many come down, and few return to
the sunlit lands. It is said that they will all wake at the end of the
world."
His mouth shut like a box when he
had said this, and in the great silence of that cave the children felt that
they would not dare to speak again. The bare feet of the gnomes, padding on the
deep moss, made no sound. There was no wind, there were no birds, there was no
sound of water. There was no sound of breathing from the strange beasts.
When they had walked for several
miles, they came to a wall of rock, and in it a low archway leading into
another cavern. It was not, however, so bad as the last entrance and Jill could
go through it without bending her head.
It brought them into a smaller cave,
long and narrow, about the shape and size of a cathedral. And here, filling
almost the whole length of it, lay an enormous man fast asleep. He was far
bigger than any of the giants, and his face was not like a giant's, but noble
and beautiful. His breast rose and fell gently under the snowy beard which
covered him to the waist. A pure, silver light (no one saw where it came from)
rested upon him.
"Who's that?" asked
Puddleglum. And it was so long since anyone had spoken, that Jill wondered how
he had the nerve.
"That is old Father Time, who
once was a King in Overland," said the Warden. "And now he has sunk
down into the Deep Realm and lies dreaming of all the things that are done in
the upper world. Many sink down, and few return to the sunlit lands. They say
he will wake at the end of the world."
And out of that cave they passed
into another, and then into another and another, and so on till Jill lost
count, but always they were going downhill and each cave was lower than the
last, till the very thought of the weight and depth of earth above you was
suffocating. At last they came to a place where the Warden commanded his
cheerless lantern to be lit again. Then they passed into a cave so wide and
dark that they could see nothing of it except that right in front of them a
strip of pale sand ran down into still water. And there, beside a little jetty,
lay a ship without mast or sail but with many oars. They were made to go on
board her and led forward to the bows where there was a clear space in front of
the rowers' benches and a seat running round inside the bulwarks.
"One thing I'd like to
know," said Puddleglum, "is whether anyone from our world - from
up-a-top, I mean has ever done this trip before?"
"Many have taken ship at the
pale beaches," replied the Warden, "and-"
"Yes, I know," interrupted
Puddleglum. "And few return to the sunlit lands.
You needn't say it again. You are a
chap of one idea, aren't you?"
The children huddled close together
on each side of Puddleglum. They had thought him a wet blanket while they were
still above ground, but down here he seemed the only comforting thing they had.
Then the pale lantern was hung up amidships, the Earthmen sat to the oars, and
the ship began to move. The lantern cast its light only a very short way. Looking
ahead, they could see nothing but smooth, dark water, fading into absolute
blackness.
"Oh, whatever will become of
us?" said Jill despairingly.
"Now don't you let your spirits
down, Pole," said the Marsh-wiggle.
"There's one thing you've got
to remember. We're back on the right lines.
We were to go under the Ruined City,
and we are under it. We're following the instructions again."
Presently they were given food -
flat, flabby cakes of some sort which had hardly any taste. And after that,
they gradually fell asleep. But when they woke, everything was just the same;
the gnomes still rowing, the ship still gliding on, still dead blackness ahead.
How often they woke and slept and ate and slept again, none of them could ever
remember. And the worst thing about it was that you began to feel as if you had
always lived on that ship, in that darkness, and to wonder whether sun and blue
skies and wind and birds had not been only a dream.
They had almost given up hoping or being
afraid about anything when at last they saw lights ahead: dreary lights, like
that of their own lantern. Then, quite suddenly, one of these lights came close
and they saw that they were passing another ship. After that they met several
ships. Then, staring till their eyes hurt, they saw that some of the lights
ahead were shining on what looked like wharfs, walls, towers, and moving
crowds. But still there was hardly any noise.
"By Jove," said Scrubb.
"A city!" and soon they all saw that he was right.
But it was a queer city. The lights
were so few and far apart that they would hardly have done for scattered
cottages in our world. But the little bits of the place which you could see by
the lights were like glimpses of a great seaport. You could make out in one
place a whole crowd of ships loading or unloading; in another, bales of stuff
and warehouses; in a third, walls and pillars that suggested great palaces or
temples; and always, wherever the light fell, endless crowds - hundreds of
Earthmen, jostling one another as they padded softly about their business in
narrow streets, broad squares, or up great flights of steps. Their continued
movement made a sort of soft, murmuring noise as the ship drew nearer and
nearer; but there was not a song or a shout or a bell or the rattle of a wheel
anywhere. The City was as quiet, and nearly as dark, as the inside of an
ant-hill.
At last their ship was brought
alongside a quay and made fast. The three travellers were taken ashore and
marched up into the City. Crowds of Earthmen, no two alike, rubbed shoulders
with them in the crowded streets, and the sad light fell on many sad and
grotesque faces. But no one showed any interest in the strangers. Every gnome
seemed to be as busy as it was sad, though Jill never found what they were so
busy about. But the endless moving, shoving, hurrying, and the soft pad-pad-pad
went on.
At last they came to what appeared
to be a great castle, though few of the windows in it were lighted. Here they
were taken in and made to cross a courtyard, and to climb many staircases. This
brought them in the end to a great murkily lit room. But in one corner of it -
oh joy! - there was an archway filled with a quite different sort of light; the
honest, yellowish, warm light of such a lamp as humans use. What showed by this
light inside the archway was the foot of a staircase which wound upward between
walls of stone. The light seemed to come from the top. Two Earthmen stood one
on each side of the arch like sentries, or footmen.
The Warden went up to these two, and
said, as if it were a password:
"Many sink down to the
Underworld."
"And few return to the sunlit
lands," they answered, as if it were the countersign. Then all three put
their heads together and talked. At last one of the two gnomes-in-waiting said,
"I tell you the Queen's grace is gone from hence on her great affair. We
had best keep these top dwellers in strait prison till her homecoming. Few
return to the sunlit lands."
At that moment the conversation was
interrupted by what seemed to Jill the most delightful noise in the world. It
came from above, from the top of the staircase; and it was a clear, ringing,
perfectly human voice, the voice of a young man.
"What coil are you keeping down
there, Mullugutherum?" it shouted.
"Overworlders, ha! Bring them
up to me, and that presently."
"Please it your Highness to
remember," began Mullugutherum, but the voice cut him short.
"It pleases my Highness
principally to be obeyed, old mutterer. Bring them up," it called.
Mullugutherum shook his head,
motioned to the travellers to follow and began going up the staircase. At every
step the light increased. There were rich tapestries hanging on the walls. The
lamplight shone golden through thin curtains at the staircase-head. The
Earthmen parted the curtains and stood aside. The three passed in. They were in
a beautiful room, richly tapestried, with a bright fire on a clean hearth, and
red wine and cut glass sparkling on the table. A young man with fair hair rose
to greet them. He was handsome and looked both bold and kind, though there was
something about his face that didn't seem quite right. He was dressed in black
and altogether looked a little bit like Hamlet.
"Welcome, Overworlders,"
he cried. "But stay a moment! I cry you mercy! I have seen you two fair
children, and this, your strange governor, before.
Was it not you three that met me by
the bridge on the borders of Ettinsmoor when I rode there by my Lady's
side?"
"Oh . . . you were the black
knight who never spoke?" exclaimed Jill.
"And was that lady the Queen of
Underland?" asked Puddleglum, in no very friendly voice. And Scrubb, who
was thinking the same, burst out, "Because if it was, I think she was
jolly mean to send us off to a castle of giants who intended to eat us. What
harm had we ever done her, I should like to know?"
"How?" said the Black
Knight with a frown. "If you were not so young a warrior, Boy, you and I
must have fought to the death on this quarrel. I can hear no words against my
Lady's honour. But of this you may be assured, that whatever she said to you,
she said of a good intent. You do not know her. She is a nosegay of all
virtues, as truth, mercy, constancy, gentleness, courage, and the rest. I say
what I know. Her kindness to me alone, who can in no way reward her, would make
an admirable history. But you shall know and love her hereafter. Meanwhile,
what is your errand in the Deep Lands?"
And before Puddleglum could stop
her, Jill blurted out, "Please we are trying to find Prince Rilian of
Narnia." And then she realized what a frightful risk she had taken; these
people might be enemies. But the Knight showed no interest.
"Rilian? Narnia?" he said
carelessly. "Narnia? What land is that? I have never heard the name. It
must be a thousand leagues from those parts of the Overworld that I know. But
it was a strange fantasy that brought you seeking this - how do you call him? -
Billian? Trillian? in my Lady's realm. Indeed, to my certain knowledge, there
is no such man here." He laughed very loudly at this, and Jill thought to
herself, "I wonder is that what's wrong with his face? Is he a bit
silly?"
"We had been told to look for a
message on the stones of the City Ruinous," said Scrubb. "And we saw
the words UNDER ME."
The Knight laughed even more
heartily than before. "You were the more deceived," he said.
"Those words meant nothing to your purpose. Had you but asked my Lady, she
could have given you better counsel. For those words are all that is left of a
longer script, which in ancient times, as she well remembers, expressed this
verse:
Though under Earth and throneless
now I be, Yet, while I lived, all Earth was under me.
From which it is plain that some
great king of the ancient giants, who lies buried there, caused this boast to
be cut in the stone over his sepulchre; though the breaking up of some stones,
and the carrying away of others for new buildings, and the filling up of the
cuts with rubble, has left only two words that can still be read. Is it not the
merriest jest in the world that you should have thought they were written to
you?"
This was like cold water down the
back to Scrubb and
Jill; for it seemed to them very
likely that the words had nothing to do with their quest at all, and that they
had been taken in by a mere accident.
"Don't you mind him," said
Puddleglum. "There are no accidents. Our guide is Aslan; and he was there
when the giant King caused the letters to be cut, and he knew already all
things that would come of them; including this."
"This guide of yours must be a
long liver, friend," said the Knight with another of his laughs.
Jill began to find them a little
irritating.
"And it seems to me, Sir,"
answered Puddleglum, "that this Lady of yours must be a long liver too, if
she remembers the verse as it was when they first cut it."
"Very shrewd, Frog-face,"
said the Knight, clapping Puddleglum on the shoulder and laughing again.
"And you have hit the truth. She is of divine race, and knows neither age
nor death. I am the more thankful to her for all her infinite bounty to such a
poor mortal wretch as I. For you must know, Sirs, I am a man under most strange
afflictions, and none but the Queen's grace would have had patience with me.
Patience, said I? But it goes far beyond that. She has promised me a great
kingdom in Overland, and, when I am king, her own most gracious hand in
marriage. But the tale is too long for you to hear fasting and standing. Hi
there, some of you! Bring wine and Updwellers' food for my guests. Please you,
be seated, gentlemen.
Little maiden, sit in this chair.
You shall hear it all."
WHEN the meal (which was pigeon pie,
cold ham, salad, and cakes) had been brought, and all had drawn their chairs up
to the table and begun, the Knight continued:
"You must understand, friends,
that I know nothing of who I was and whence I came into this Dark World. I
remember no time when I was not dwelling, as now, at the court of this all but
heavenly Queen; but my thought is that she saved me from some evil enchantment
and brought me hither of her exceeding bounty. (Honest Frogfoot, your cup is
empty. Suffer me to refill it.) And this seems to me the likelier because even
now I am bound by a spell, from which my Lady alone can free me. Every night
there comes an hour when my mind is most horribly changed, and, after my mind,
my body.
For first I become furious and wild
and would rush upon my dearest friends to kill them, if I were not bound. And
soon after that, I turn into the likeness of a great serpent, hungry, fierce,
and deadly. (Sir, be pleased to take another breast of pigeon, I entreat you.)
So they tell me, and they certainly speak truth, for my Lady says the same. I
myself know nothing of it, for when my hour is past I awake forgetful of all
that vile fit and in my proper shape and sound mind - saving that I am somewhat
wearied. (Little lady, eat one of these honey cakes, which are brought for me
from some barbarous land in the far south of the world.) Now the Queen's
majesty knows by her art that I shall be freed from this enchantment when once
she has made me king of a land in the Overworld and set its crown upon my head.
The land is already chosen and the
very place of our breaking out. Her Earthmen have worked day and night digging
a way beneath it, and have now gone so far and so high that they tunnel not a
score of feet beneath the very grass on which the Updwellers of that country
walk. It will be very soon now that those Uplanders' fate will come upon them.
She herself is at the diggings tonight, and I expect a message to go to her.
Then the thin roof of earth which still keeps me from my kingdom will be broken
through, and with her to guide me and a thousand Earthmen at my back, I shall
ride forth in arms, fall suddenly on our enemies, slay their chief men, cast
down their strong places, and doubtless be their crowned king within four and
twenty hours."
"It's a bit rough luck on them,
isn't it?" said Scrubb.
"Thou art a lad of a wondrous,
quick-working wit!" exclaimed the Knight.
"For, on my honour, I had never
thought of it so before. I see your meaning." He looked slightly, very
slightly troubled for a moment or two; but his face soon cleared and he broke
out, with another of his loud laughs, "But fie on gravity! Is it not the
most comical and ridiculous thing in the world to think of them all going about
their business and never dreaming that under their peaceful fields and floors,
only a fathom down, there is a great army ready to break out upon them like a
fountain! And they never to have suspected! Why, they themselves, when once the
first smart of their defeat is over, can hardly choose but laugh at the
thought!"
"I don't think it's funny at
all," said Jill. "I think you'll be a wicked tyrant."
"What?" said the Knight,
still laughing and patting her head in a quite infuriating fashion. "Is
our little maid a deep politician? But never fear, sweetheart. In ruling that
land, I shall do all by the counsel of my Lady, who will then be my Queen too.
Her word shall be my law, even as my word will be law to the people we have
conquered."
"Where I come from," said
Jill, who was disliking him more every minute, "they don't think much of
men who are bossed about by their wives."
"Shalt think otherwise when
thou hast a man of thine own, I warrant you," said the Knight, apparently
thinking this very funny. "But with my Lady, it is another matter. I am
well content to live by her word, who has already saved me from a thousand
dangers. No mother has taken pains more tenderly for her child, than the Queen's
grace has for me. Why, look you, amid all her cares and business, she rideth
out with me in the Overworld many a time and oft to accustom my eyes to the
sunlight. And then I must go fully armed and with visor down, so that no man
may see my face, and I must speak to no one. For she has found out by art
magical that this would hinder my deliverance from the grievous enchantment I
lie under. Is not that a lady worthy of a man's whole worship?"
"Sounds a very nice lady
indeed," said Puddleglum in a voice which meant exactly the opposite.
They were thoroughly tired of the
Knight's talk before they had finished supper. Puddleglum was thinking, "I
wonder what game that witch is really playing with this young fool."
Scrubb was thinking, "He's a great baby, really: tied to that woman's
apron strings; he's a sap." And Jill was thinking, "He's the
silliest, most conceited, selfish pig I've met for a long time." But when
the meal was over, the Knight's mood had changed.
There was no more laughter about
him.
"Friends," he said,
"my hour is now very near. I am ashamed that you should see me yet I dread
being left alone. They will come in presently and bind me hand and foot to
yonder chair. Alas, so it must be: for in my fury, they tell me, I would
destroy all that I could reach."
"I say," said Scrubb,
"I'm awfully sorry about your enchantment of course, but what will those
fellows do to us when they come to bind you? They talked of putting us in
prison. And we don't like all those dark places very much. We'd much rather
stay here till you're . . . better . . . if we may."
"It is well thought of,"
said the Knight. "By custom none but the Queen herself remains with me in
my evil hour. Such is her tender care for my honour that she would not
willingly suffer any ears but her own to hear the words I utter in that frenzy.
But I could not easily persuade my attendant gnomes that you should be left
with me. And I think I hear their soft feet even now upon the stairs. Go
through yonder door: it leads into my other apartments. And there, either await
my coming when they have unbound me; or, if you will, return and sit with me in
my ravings."
They followed his directions and
passed out of the room by a door which they had not yet seen opened. It brought
them, they were pleased to see, not into darkness but into a lighted corridor.
They tried various doors and found (what they very badly needed) water for
washing and even a looking glass. "He never offered us a wash before
supper," said Jill, drying her face. "Selfish, selfcentred pig."
"Are we going back to watch the
enchantment, or shall we stay here?" said Scrubb.
"Stay here, I vote," said
Jill. "I'd much rather not see it." But she felt a little inquisitive
all the same.
"No, go back," said
Puddleglum. "We may pick up some information, and we need all we can get.
I am sure that Queen is a witch and an enemy. And those Earthmen would knock us
on the head as soon as look at us. There's a stronger smell of danger and lies
and magic and treason about this land than I've ever smelled before. We need to
keep our eyes and ears open."
They went back down the corridor and
gently pushed the door open. "It's all right," said Scrubb, meaning
that there were no Earthmen about. Then they all came back into the room where
they had supped.
The main door was now shut,
concealing the curtain between which they had first entered. The Knight was
seated in a curious silver chair, to which he was bound by his ankles, his
knees, his elbows, his wrists, and his waist.
There was sweat on his forehead and
his face was filled with anguish.
"Come in, friends," he
said, glancing quickly up. "The fit is not yet upon me. Make no noise, for
I told that prying chamberlain that you were in bed.
Now . . . I can feel it coming. Quick!
Listen while I am master of myself.
When the fit is upon me, it well may
be that I shall beg and implore you, with entreaties and threatenings, to
loosen my bonds. They say I do. I shall call upon you by all that is most dear
and most dreadful. But do not listen to me. Harden your hearts and stop your
ears. For while I am bound you are safe. But if once I were up and out of this
chair, then first would come my fury, and after that" - he shuddered -
"the change into a loathsome serpent."
"There's no fear of our loosing
you," said Puddleglum. "We've no wish to meet wild men; or serpents
either."
"I should think not," said
Scrubb and Jill together.
"All the same," added
Puddleglum in a whisper. "Don't let's be too sure.
Let's be on our guard. We've muffed
everything else, you know. He'll be cunning, I shouldn't wonder, once he gets
started. Can we trust one another? Do we all promise that whatever he says we
don't touch those cords? Whatever he says, mind you?"
"Rather!" said Scrubb.
"There's nothing in the world
he can say or do that'll make me change my mind," said Jill.
"Hush! Something's
happening," said Puddleglum.
The Knight was moaning. His face was
as pale as putty, and he writhed in his bonds. And whether because she was
sorry for him, or for some other reason, Jill thought that he looked a nicer
sort of man than he had looked before.
"Ah," he groaned.
"Enchantments, enchantments . . . the heavy, tangled, cold, clammy web of
evil magic. Buried alive. Dragged down under the earth, down into the sooty
blackness . . . how many years is it? . . . Have I lived ten years, or a
thousand years, in the pit? Maggotmen all around me.
Oh, have mercy. Let me out, let me
go back. Let me feel the wind and see the sky . . . There used to be a little
pool. When you looked down into it you could see all the trees growing
upside-down in the water, all green, and below them, deep, very deep, the blue
sky."
He had been speaking in a low voice;
now he looked up, fixed his eyes upon them, and said loud and clear:
"Quick! I am sane now. Every
night I am sane. If only I could get out of this enchanted chair, it would
last. I should be a man again. But every night they bind me, and so every night
my chance is gone. But you are not enemies. I am not your prisoner. Quick! Cut
these cords."
"Stand fast! Steady," said
Puddleglum to the two children.
"I beseech you to hear
me," said the Knight, forcing himself to speak calmly. "Have they
told you that if I am released from this chair I shall kill you and become a
serpent? I see by your faces that they have. It is a lie. It is at this hour
that I am in my right mind: it is all the rest of the day that I am enchanted.
You are not Earthmen nor witches. Why should you be on their side? Of your
courtesy, cut my bonds."
"Steady! Steady! Steady!"
said the three travellers to one another.
"Oh, you have hearts of
stone," said the Knight. "Believe me, you look upon a wretch who has
suffered almost more than any mortal can bear. What wrong have I ever done you,
that you should side with my enemies to keep me in such miseries? And the
minutes are slipping past. Now you can save me; when this hour has passed, I
shall be witless again - the toy and lap-dog, nay, more likely the pawn and
tool, of the most devilish sorceress that ever planned the woe of men. And this
night, of all nights, when she is away! You take from me a chance that may
never come again."
"This is dreadful. I do wish
we'd stayed away till it was over," said Jill.
"Steady!" said Puddleglum.
The prisoner's voice was now rising
into a shriek. "Let me go, I say. Give me my sword. My sword! Once I am
free I shall take such revenge on Earthmen that Underland will talk of it for a
thousand years!"
"Now the frenzy is
beginning," said Scrubb. "I hope those knots are all right."
"Yes," said Puddleglum.
"He'd have twice his natural strength if he got free now. And I'm not
clever with my sword. He'd get us both, I shouldn't wonder; and then Pole on
her own would be left to tackle the snake."
The prisoner was now so straining at
his bonds that they cut into his wrists and ankles. "Beware," he
said. "Beware. One night I did break them.
But the witch was there that time.
You will not have her to help you tonight. Free me now, and I am your friend.
I'm your mortal enemy else."
"Cunning, isn't he?" said
Puddleglum.
"Once and for all," said
the prisoner, "I adjure you to set me free. By all fears and all loves, by
the bright skies of Overland, by the great Lion, by Aslan himself, I charge you
-"
"Oh!" cried the three
travellers as though they had been hurt. "It's the sign," said
Puddleglum. "It was the words of the sign," said Scrubb more
cautiously. "Oh, what are we to do?" said Jill.
It was a dreadful question. What had
been the use of promising one another that they would not on any account set
the Knight free, if they were now to do so the first time he happened to call
upon a name they really cared about? On the other hand, what had been the use
of learning the signs if they weren't going to obey them? Yet could Aslan have
really meant them to unbind anyone even a lunatic - who asked it in his name?
Could it be a mere accident? Or how if the Queen of the Underworld knew all
about the signs and had made the Knight learn this name simply in order to
entrap them? But then, supposing this was the real sign? . . . They had muffed
three already; they daren't muff the fourth.
"Oh, if only we knew!"
said Jill.
"I think we do know," said
Puddleglum.
"Do you mean you think
everything will come right if we do untie him?" said Scrubb.
"I don't know about that,"
said Puddleglum. "You see, Aslan didn't tell Pole what would happen. He
only told her what to do. That fellow will be the death of us once he's up, I
shouldn't wonder. But that doesn't let us off following the sign."
They all stood looking at one
another with bright eyes. It was a sickening moment. "All right!"
said Jill suddenly. "Let's get it over. Good-bye, everyone ...!" They
all shook hands. The Knight was screaming by now; there was foam on his cheeks.
"Come on, Scrubb," said
Puddleglum. He and Scrubb drew their swords and went over to the captive.
"In the name of Aslan,"
they said and began methodically cutting the cords.
The instant the prisoner was free,
he crossed the room in a single bound, seized his own sword (which had been
taken from him and laid on the table), and drew it.
"You first!" he cried and
fell upon the silver chair. That must have been a good sword. The silver gave
way before its edge like string, and in a moment a few twisted fragments,
shining on the floor, were all that was left. But as the chair broke, there
came from it a bright flash, a sound like small thunder, and (for one moment) a
loathsome smell.
"Lie there, vile engine of
sorcery," he said, "lest your mistress should ever use you for
another victim." Then he turned and surveyed his rescuers; and the
something wrong, whatever it was, had vanished from his face.
"What?" he cried, turning
to Puddleglum. "Do I see before me a Marsh-wiggle - a real, live, honest,
Narnian Marsh-wiggle?"
"Oh, so you have heard of
Narnia after all?" said Jill.
"Had I forgotten it when I was
under the spell?" asked the Knight. "Well, that and all other
bedevilments are now over. You may well believe that I know Narnia, for I am
Rilian, Prince of Narnia, and Caspian the great King is my father."
"Your Royal Highness,"
said Puddleglum, sinking on one knee (and the children did the same), "we have
come hither for no other end than to seek you."
"And who are you, my other
deliverers?" said the Prince to Scrubb and Jill.
"We were sent by Aslan himself
from beyond the world's end to seek your Highness," said Scrubb. "I
am Eustace who sailed with him to the island of Ramandu."
"I owe all three of you a
greater debt than I can ever pay," said Prince Rilian. "But my
father? Is he yet alive?"
"He sailed east again before we
left Narnia, my lord," said Puddleglum.
"But your Highness must
consider that the King is very old. It is ten to one his Majesty must die on
the voyage."
"He is old, you say. How long
then have I been in the power of the witch?'
"It is more than ten years
since your Highness was lost in the woods at the north side of Narnia."
"Ten years!" said the
Prince, drawing his hand across his face as if to rub away the past. "Yes,
I believe you. For now that I am myself I can remember that enchanted life,
though while I was enchanted I could not remember my true self. And now, fair
friends - but wait! I hear their feet (does it not sicken a man, that padding
woolly tread! faugh!) on the stairs. Lock the door, boy. Or stay. I have a
better thought than that. I will fool these Earthmen, if Aslan gives me the
wit. Take your cue from me."
He walked resolutely to the door and
flung it wide open.
TWO Earthmen entered, but instead of
advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door,
and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone
had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of
Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes
moving as she took in the whole situation - the three strangers, the silver
chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.
She turned very white; but Jill
thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not
when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed
her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change
her mind.
"Leave us," she said to
the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of
death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and
locked the door.
"How now, my lord Prince,"
she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so
soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have
destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"
Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke
to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an
enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a
great effort, he said:
"Madam, there will be no more
need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you
pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy
that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your
Ladyship's way of treating them.
These, my true friends, have
delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to
you. First - as for your Ladyship's design of putting me at the head of an army
of Earthmen so that I may break out into the Overworld and there, by main
force, make myself king over some nation that never did me wrong - murdering
their natural lords and holding their throne as a bloody and foreign tyrant -
now that I know myself, I do utterly abhor and renounce it as plain villainy.
And second: I am the King's son of Narnia, Rilian, the only child of Caspian,
Tenth of that name, whom some call Caspian the Seafarer. Therefore, Madam, it
is my purpose, as it is also my duty, to depart suddenly from your Highness's
court into my own country. Please it you to grant me and my friends safe
conduct and a guide through your dark realm."
Now the Witch said nothing at all,
but moved gently across the room, always keeping her face and eyes very
steadily towards the Prince. When she had come to a little ark set in the wall
not far from the fireplace, she opened it, and took out first a handful of a
green powder. This she threw on the fire. It did not blaze much, but a very
sweet and drowsy smell came from it. And all through the conversation which
followed, that smell grew stronger, and filled the room, and made it harder to
think. Secondly, she took out a musical instrument rather like a mandolin. She
began to play it with her fingers - a steady, monotonous thrumming that you
didn't notice after a few minutes. But the less you noticed it, the more it got
into your brain and your blood. This also made it hard to think. After she had
thrummed for a time (and the sweet smell was now strong) she began speaking in
a sweet, quiet voice.
"Narnia?" she said.
"Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings.
Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia."
"Yes there is, though,
Ma'am," said Puddleglum. "You see, I happen to have lived there all
my life."
"Indeed," said the Witch.
"Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?"
"Up there," said
Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. "I - I don't know exactly
where."
"How?" said the Queen,
with a kind, soft, musical laugh. "Is there a country up among the stones
and mortar of the roof?"
"No," said Puddleglum,
struggling a little to get his breath. "It's in Overworld."
"And what, or where, pray is
this . . . how do you call it. . . Overworld?"
"Oh, don't be so silly,"
said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment of the sweet smell
and the thrumming. "As if you didn't know! It's up above, up where you can
see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you've been there yourself. We met
you there."
"I cry you mercy, little
brother," laughed the Witch (you couldn't have heard a lovelier laugh).
"I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends in
strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask
them to remember it."
"Madam," said the Prince
sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of
Narnia."
"And shalt be, dear
friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a
child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies."
"We've been there, too," snapped
Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her
every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed
that it had not yet fully worked.
"And thou art Queen of Narnia
too, I doubt not, pretty one," said the Witch in the same coaxing,
half-mocking tone.
"I'm nothing of the sort,"
said Jill, stamping her foot. "We come from another world."
"Why, this is a prettier game
than the other," said the Witch. "Tell us, little maid, where is this
other world? What ships and chariots go between it and ours?"
Of course a lot of things darted
into Jill's head at once: Experiment House, Adela Pennyfather, her own home,
radio-sets, cinemas, cars, aeroplanes, ration-books, queues. But they seemed
dim and far away. (Thrum thrum - thrum - went the strings of the Witch's
instrument.) Jill couldn't remember the names of the things in our world. And
this time it didn't come into her head that she was being enchanted, for now
the magic was in its full strength; and of course, the more enchanted you get,
the more certain you feel that you are not enchanted at all. She found herself
saying (and at the moment it was a relief to say):
"No. I suppose that other world
must be all a dream."
"Yes. It is all a dream,"
said the Witch, always thrumming.
"Yes, all a dream," said
Jill.
"There never was such a
world," said the Witch.
"No," said Jill and
Scrubb, "never was such a world."
"There never was any world but
mine," said the Witch.
"There never was any world but
yours," said they.
Puddleglum was still fighting hard.
"I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking
like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your
fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole
Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have
blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more
likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen
the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains
at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him
for brightness."
Puddleglum's words had a very rousing
effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like
people newly awaked.
"Why, there it is!" cried
the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest
Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we
have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun."
"By Jove, so we have!"
said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum! You're the only one of us with any
sense, I do believe."
Then came the Witch's voice, cooing
softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at
three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said:
"What is this sun that you all
speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?"
"Yes, we jolly well do,"
said Scrubb.
"Can you tell me what it's
like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings).
"Please it your Grace,"
said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round
and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the
roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater
and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the
sky."
"Hangeth from what, my
lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how
to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You
see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell
me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is
nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real
thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story."
"Yes, I see now," said
Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said
this, it seemed to her to be very good sense.
Slowly and gravely the Witch
repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated,
in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and
after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are
right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it.
"There never was a sun,"
said the Witch.
"No. There never was a
sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children.
For the last few minutes Jill had
been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now
she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were
laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out
of her, she said:
"There's Aslan."
"Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening
ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does
it mean?"
"He is the great Lion who
called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this
to find Prince Rilian."
"What is a lion?" asked
the Witch.
"Oh, hang it all!" said
Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen
a cat?"
"Surely," said the Queen.
"I love cats."
"Well, a lion is a little bit -
only a little bit, mind you like a huge cat - with a mane. At least, it's not
like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow.
And terrifically strong."
The Witch shook her head. "I
see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you
call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a
bigger and better lamp and called it the sun.
You've seen cats, and now you want a
bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty
makebelieve, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were
younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without
copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world.
But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince,
that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys?
Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in
the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And
now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to
sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams."
The Prince and the two children were
standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half
closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But
Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire.
Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as
it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and
coldblooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so
it did.
With his bare foot he stamped on the
fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three
things happened at once.
First, the sweet heavy smell grew
very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of
it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh-wiggle, which is
not at all an enchanting smell.
This instantly made everyone's brain
far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened
their eyes.
Secondly, the Witch, in a loud,
terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using
up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again,
mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins."
Thirdly, the pain itself made
Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he
really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving
certain kinds of magic.
"One word, Ma'am," he
said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word.
All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always
liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny
any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose
we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun
and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is
that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the
real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world.
Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you
come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But
four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world
hollow.
That's why I'm going to stand by the
play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm
going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So,
thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady
are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to
spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I
should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you
say."
"Oh, hurrah! Good old
Puddleglum!" cried Scrubb and Jill. But the Prince shouted suddenly,
"Ware! Look to the Witch."
When they did look their hair nearly
stood on end.
The instrument dropped from her
hands. Her arms appeared to be fastened to her sides. Her legs were intertwined
with each other, and her feet had disappeared. The long green train of her
skirt thickened and grew solid, and seemed to be all one piece with the
writhing green pillar of her interlocked legs. And that writhing green pillar
was curving and swaying as if it had no joints, or else were all joints. Her
head was thrown far back and while her nose grew longer and longer, every other
part of her face seemed to disappear, except her eyes. Huge flaming eyes they
were now, without brows or lashes. All this takes time to write down; it
happened so quickly that there was only just time to see it. Long before there
was time to do anything, the change was complete, and the great serpent which
the Witch had become, green as poison, thick as Jill's waist, had flung two or
three coils of its loathsome body round the Prince's legs. Quick as lightning
another great loop darted round, intending to pinion his sword-arm to his side.
But the Prince was just in time. He raised his arms and got them clear: the
living knot closed only round his chest - ready to crack his ribs like firewood
when it drew tight.
The Prince caught the creature's
neck in his left hand, trying to squeeze it till it choked. This held its face
(if you could call it a face) about five inches from his own. The forked tongue
flickered horribly in and out, but could not reach him. With his right hand he
drew back his sword for the strongest blow he could give. Meanwhile Scrubb and
Puddleglum had drawn their weapons and rushed to his aid. All three blows fell
at once: Scrubb's (which did not even pierce the scales and did no good) on the
body of the snake below the Prince's hand, but the Prince's own blow and
Puddleglum's both on its neck. Even that did not quite kill it, though it began
to loosen its hold on Rilian's legs and chest. With repeated blows they hacked
off its head. The horrible thing went on coiling and moving like a bit of wire
long after it had died; and the floor, as you may imagine, was a nasty mess.
The Prince, when he had breath,
said, "Gentlemen, I thank you." Then the three conquerors stood
staring at one another and panting, without another word, for a long time. Jill
had very wisely sat down and was keeping quiet; she was saying to herself,
"I do hope I don't faint or blub - or do anything idiotic."
"My royal mother is avenged,"
said Rilian presently. "This is undoubtedly the same worm that I pursued
in vain by the fountain in the forest of Narnia, so many years ago. All these
years I have been the slave of my mother's slayer. Yet I am glad, gentlemen,
that the foul Witch took to her serpent form at the last. It would not have
suited well either with my heart or with my honour to have slain a woman. But
look to the lady." He meant Jill.
"I'm all right, thanks,"
said she.
"Damsel," said the Prince,
bowing to her. "You are of a high courage, and therefore, I doubt not, you
come of a noble blood in your own world. But come, friends. Here is some wine
left. Let us refresh ourselves and each pledge his fellows. After that, to our
plans."
"A jolly good idea, Sir,"
said Scrubb.
ALL felt that they had earned what
Scrubb called a "breather". The Witch had locked the door and told
the Earthmen not to disturb her, so there was no danger of interruption for the
present. Their first business was, of course, Puddleglum's burnt foot. A couple
of clean shirts from the Prince's bedroom, torn into strips, and well greased
on the inside with butter and salad oil off the supper table, made a fairly
good dressing. When this had been applied, they all sat down and had a little
refreshment, and discussed plans for escaping from the Underworld.
Rilian explained that there were
quite a lot of outlets by which one could get to the surface; he had been taken
out through most of them at one time or another. But he had never gone out
alone, only with the Witch; and he had always reached these outlets by going in
a ship across the Sunless Sea.
What the Earthmen would say if he went
down to the harbour without the Witch, and with four strangers, and simply
ordered a ship, no one could guess. But most likely they would ask awkward
questions. On the other hand the new outlet, the one for the invasion of
Overworld, was on this side of the sea, and only a few miles away. The Prince
knew that it was nearly finished; only a few feet of earth divided the diggings
from the outer air.
It was even possible that it had now
been quite finished. Perhaps the Witch had come back to tell him this and to
start the attack. Even if it was not, they could probably dig themselves out by
that route in a few hours - if they could only get there without being stopped,
and if only they found the diggings unguarded. But those were the difficulties.
"If you ask me -" began
Puddleglum, when Scrubb interrupted.
"I say," he asked,
"what's that noise?"
"I've been wondering that for
some time!" said Jill.
They had all, in fact, been hearing
the noise but it had begun and increased so gradually that they did not know
when they had first noticed it. For a time it had been only a vague disquiet
like gentle winds, or traffic very far away. Then it swelled to a murmur like
the sea. Then came rumblings and rushings. Now there seemed to be voices as
well and also a steady roaring that was not voices.
"By the Lion," said Prince
Rilian, "it seems this silent land has found a tongue at last." He
rose, walked to the window, and drew aside the curtains. The others crowded
round him to look out.
The very first thing they noticed
was a great red glow. Its reflection made a red patch on the roof of the
Underworld thousands of feet above them, so that they could see a rocky ceiling
which had perhaps been hidden in darkness ever since the world was made. The
glow itself came from the far side of the city so that many buildings, grim and
great, stood up blackly against it. But it also cast its light down many
streets that ran from it towards the castle. And in those streets something
very strange was going on. The closely-packed, silent crowds of Earthmen had
vanished. Instead, there were figures darting about by ones, or twos, or
threes. They behaved like people who do not want to be seen: lurking in shadow
behind buttresses or in doorways, and then moving quickly across the open into
fresh places of hiding. But the strangest thing of all, to anyone who knew the
gnomes, was the noise. Shouts and cries came from all directions. But from the
harbour there came a low, rumbling roar which grew steadily louder and was
already shaking the whole city.
"What's happened to the
Earthmen?" said Scrubb. "Is it them shouting?"
"'Tis hardly possible,"
said the Prince. "I never heard one of the rascals so much as speak with a
loud voice in all the weary years of my bondage.
Some new devilry, I don't
doubt."
"And what is that red light
over there?" asked Jill. "Is something on fire?"
"If you ask me," said
Puddleglum, "I should say that was the central fires of the Earth breaking
out to make a new volcano. We'll be in the middle of it, I shouldn't
wonder."
"Look at that ship!" said
Scrubb. "Why's it coming on so quickly? No one's rowing it."
"Look, look!" said the
Prince. "The ship is already far this side of the harbour - it is in the
street. Look! All the ships are driving into the city! By my head, the sea's
rising. The flood is upon us. Aslan be praised, this castle stands on high
ground. But the water comes on grimly fast."
"Oh, what can be
happening?" cried Jill. "Fire and water and all those people dodging
about the streets."
"I'll tell you what it
is," said Puddleglum. "That Witch has laid a train of magic spells so
that whenever she was killed, at that same moment her whole kingdom would fall
to pieces. She's the sort that wouldn't so much mind dying herself if she knew
that the chap who killed her was going to be burned, or buried, or drowned five
minutes later."
"Hast hit it, friend
wiggle," said the Prince. "When our swords hacked off the Witch's
head, that stroke ended all her magic works, and now the Deep Lands are falling
to pieces. We are looking on the end of Underworld."
"That's it, Sir," said
Puddleglum. "Unless it should happen to be the end of the whole
world."
"But are we just going to stay
here and - wait?" gasped Jill.
"Not by my counsel," said
the Prince. "I would save my horse, Coalblack, and the Witch's Snowflake
(a noble beast and worthy of a better mistress) which are both stabled in the
courtyard. After that, let us make shift to get out to high ground and pray
that we shall find an outlet. The horses can carry two each at need, and if we
put them to it they may outstrip the flood."
"Will your Highness not put on
armour?" asked Puddleglum. "I don't like the look of those" -
and he pointed down to the street. Everyone looked down.
Dozens of creatures (and now that
they were close, they obviously were Earthmen) were coming up from the
direction of the harbour. But they were not moving like an aimless crowd. They
behaved like modern soldiers in an attack, making rushes and taking cover,
anxious not to be seen from the castle windows.
"I dare not see the inside of
that armour again," said the Prince. "I rode in it as in a movable
dungeon, and it stinks of magic and slavery. But I will take the shield."
He left the room and returned with a
strange light in his eyes a moment later.
"Look, friends," he said,
holding out the shield towards them. "An hour ago it was black and without
device; and now, this." The shield had turned bright as silver, and on it,
redder than blood or cherries, was the figure of the Lion.
"Doubtless," said the
Prince, "this signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means
us to live or die. And all's one, for that. Now, by my counsel, we shall all
kneel and kiss his likeness, and then all shake hands one with another, as true
friends that may shortly be parted. And then, let us descend into the city and
take the adventure that is sent us."
And they all did as the Prince had
said. But when Scrubb shook hands with Jill, he said, "So long, Jill.
Sorry I've been a funk and so ratty. I hope you get safe home," and Jill
said, "So long, Eustace. And I'm sorry I've been such a pig." And
this was the first time they had ever used Christian names, because one didn't
do it at school.
The Prince unlocked the door and
they all went down the stairs: three of them with drawn swords, and Jill with
drawn knife. The attendants had vanished and the great room at the foot of the
Prince's stairs was empty.
The grey, doleful lamps were still burning
and by their light they had no difficulty in passing gallery after gallery and
descending stairway after stairway. The noises from outside the castle were not
so easily heard here as they had been in the room above. Inside the house all
was still as death, and deserted. It was as they turned a corner into the great
hall on the ground floor that they met their first Earthman - a fat, whitish
creature with a very piglike face who was gobbling up all the remains of food
on the tables. It squealed (the squeal also was very like a pig's) and darted
under a bench, whisking its long tail out of Puddleglum's reach in the nick of
time. Then it rushed away through the far door too quickly to be followed.
From the hall they came out into the
courtyard. Jill, who went to a riding school in the holidays, had just noticed
the smell of a stable (a very nice, honest, homely smell it is to meet in a
place like Underland) when Eustace said, "Great Scott! Look at that!"
A magnificent rocket had risen from somewhere beyond the castle walls and
broken into green stars.
"Fireworks!" said Jill in
a puzzled voice.
"Yes," said Eustace,
"but you can't imagine those Earth people letting them off for fun! It
must be a signal."
"And means no good to us, I'll
be bound," said Puddleglum.
"Friends," said the
Prince, "when once a man is launched on such an adventure as this, he must
bid farewell to hopes and fears, otherwise death or deliverance will both come
too late to save his honour and his reason.
Ho, my beauties" (he was now
opening the stable door). "Hey cousins! Steady, Coalblack! Softly now,
Snowflake! You are not forgotten."
The horses were both frightened by
the strange lights and the noises. Jill, who had been so cowardly about going
through a black hole betweeen one cave and another, went in without fear
between the stamping and snorting beasts, and she and the Prince had them
saddled and bridled in a few minutes. Very fine they looked as they came out
into the courtyard, tossing their heads.
Jill mounted Snowflake, and
Puddleglum got up behind her. Eustace got up behind the Prince on Coalblack.
Then with a great echo of hoofs, they rode out of the main gateway into the
street.
"Not much danger of being
burnt. That's the bright side of it," observed Puddleglum, pointing to
their right. There, hardly a hundred yards away, lapping against the walls of
the houses, was water.
"Courage!" said the
Prince. "The road there goes down steeply. That water has climbed only
half up the greatest hill in the city. It might come so near in the first
half-hour and come no nearer in the next two. My fear is more of that -"
and he pointed with his sword to a great tall Earthman with boar's tusks,
followed by six others of assorted shapes and sizes who had just dashed out of
a side street and stepped into the shadow of the houses where no one could see
them.
The Prince led them, aiming always
in the direction of the glowing red light but a little to the left of it. His
plan was to get round the fire (if it was a fire) on to high ground, in hope
that they might find their way to the new diggings. Unlike the other three, he
seemed to be almost enjoying himself. He whistled as he rode, and sang snatches
of an old song about Corin Thunder-fist of Archenland. The truth is, he was so
glad at being free from his long enchantment that all dangers seemed a game in
comparison. But the rest found it an eerie journey.
Behind them was the sound of
clashing and entangled ships, and the rumble of collapsing buildings. Overhead
was the great patch of lurid light on the roof of the Underworld. Ahead was the
mysterious glow, which did not seem to grow any bigger. From the same direction
came a continual hubbub of shouts, screams, cat-calls, laughter, squeals, and
bellowings; and fireworks of all sorts rose in the dark air. No one could guess
what they meant. Nearer to them, the city was partly lit up by the red glow,
and partly by the very different light of the dreary Gnome lamps. But there
were many places where neither of these lights fell, and those places were
jet-black. And in and out of those places the shapes of Earthmen were darting
and slipping all the time, always with their eyes fixed on the travellers,
always trying to keep out of sight themselves. There were big faces and little
faces, huge eyes like fishes' eyes and little eyes like bears'. There were
feathers and bristles, horns and tusks, noses like whipcord, and chins so long
that they looked like beards. Every now and then a group of them would get too
big or come too near. Then the Prince would brandish his sword and make a show
of charging them. And the creatures, with all manner of hootings, squeakings,
and cluckings, would dive away into the darkness.
But when they had climbed many steep
streets and were far away from the flood, and almost out of the town on the
inland side, it began to be more serious. They were now close to the red glow
and nearly on a level with it, though they still could not see what it really
was. But by its light they could see their enemies more clearly. Hundreds -
perhaps a few thousands - of gnomes were all moving towards it. But they were
doing so in short rushes, and whenever they stopped, they turned and faced the
travellers.
"If your Highness asked
me," said Puddleglum, "I'd say those fellows were meaning to cut us
off in front."
"That was my thought too,
Puddleglum," said the Prince. "And we can never fight our way through
so many. Hark you! Let us ride forth close by the edge of yonder house. And even
as we reach it, do you slip off into its shadow. The Lady and I will go forward
a few paces. Some of these devils will follow us, I doubt not; they are thick
behind us. Do you, who have long arms, take one alive if you may, as it passes
your ambush. We may get a true tale of it or learn what is their quarrel
against us."
"But won't the others all come
rushing at us to rescue the one we catch," said Jill in a voice not so
steady as she tried to make it.
"Then, Madam," said the
Prince, "you shall see us die fighting around you, and you must commend
yourself to the Lion. Now, good Puddleglum."
The Marsh-wiggle slipped off into
the shadow as quickly as a cat. The others, for a sickening minute or so, went
forward at a walk. Then suddenly from behind them there broke out a series of
blood-curdling screams, mixed with the familiar voice of Puddleglum, saying,
"Now then! Don't cry out before you're hurt, or you will be hurt, see?
Anyone would think it was a pig being killed."
"That was good hunting,"
exclaimed the Prince, immediately turning Coalblack and coming back to the
corner of the house. "Eustace," he said, "of your courtesy, take
Coalblack's head." Then he dismounted, and all three gazed in silence
while Puddleglum pulled his catch out into the light. It was a most miserable
little gnome, only about three feet long. It had a sort of ridge, like a cock's
comb (only hard), on the top of its head, little pink eyes, and a mouth and
chin so large and round that its face looked like that of a pigmy hippopotamus.
If they had not been in such a tight place, they would have burst into laughter
at the sight of it.
"Now, Earthman," said the
Prince, standing over it and holding his sword point very near the prisoner's
neck, "speak, up, like an honest gnome, and you shall go free. Play the
knave with us, and you are but a dead Earthman.
Good Puddleglum, how can it speak
while you hold its mouth tight shut?"
"No, and it can't bite
either," said Puddleglum. "If I had the silly soft hands that you
humans have (saving your Highness's reverence) I'd have been all over blood by
now. Yet even a Marsh-wiggle gets tired of being chewed.’
"Sirrah," said the Prince
to the gnome, "one bite and you die. Let its mouth open, Puddleglum."
"Oo-ee-ee," squealed the
Earthman, "let me go, let me go. It isn't me. I didn't do it."
"Didn't do what?" asked
Puddleglum.
"Whatever your Honours say I
did do," answered the creature.
"Tell me your name," said
the Prince, "and what you Earthmen are all about today."
"Oh please, your Honours,
please, kind gentlemen," whimpered the gnome.
"Promise you will not tell the
Queen's grace anything I say."
"The Queen's grace, as you call
her," said the Prince sternly, "is dead. I killed her myself."
"What!" cried the gnome, opening
its ridiculous mouth wider and wider in astonishment. "Dead? The Witch
dead? And by your Honour's hand?" It gave a huge sigh of relief and added,
"Why then your Honour is a friend!"
The Prince withdrew his sword an
inch or so. Puddleglum let the creature sit up. It looked round on the four
travellers with its twinkling, red eyes, chuckled once or twice, and began.
"MY name is Golg," said
the gnome. "And I'll tell your Honours all I know.
About an hour ago we were all going
about our work - her work, I should say - sad and silent, same as we've done
any other day for years and years.
Then there came a great crash and
bang. As soon as they heard it, everyone says to himself, I haven't had a song
or a dance or let off a squib for a long time; why's that? And everyone thinks
to himself, Why, I must have been enchanted. And then everyone says to himself,
I'm blessed if I know why I'm carrying this load, and I'm not going to carry it
any farther: that's that. And down we all throw our sacks and bundles and
tools. Then everyone turns and sees the great red glow over yonder. And
everyone says to himself, What's that? and everyone answers himself and says,
There's a crack or chasm split open and a nice warm glow coming up through it
from the Really Deep Land, a thousand fathom under us."
"Great Scott," exclaimed
Eustace, "are there other lands still lower down?"
"Oh yes, your Honour,"
said Golg. "Lovely places; what we call the Land of Bism. This country
where we are now, the Witch's country, is what we call the Shallow Lands. It's
a good deal too near the surface to suit us. Ugh! You might almost as well be
living outside, on the surface itself. You see, we're all poor gnomes from Bism
whom the Witch has called up here by magic to work for her. But we'd forgotten
all about it till that crash came and the spell broke. We didn't know who we
were or where we belonged. We couldn't do anything, or think anything, except
what she put into our heads. And it was glum and gloomy things she put there
all those years.
I've nearly forgotten how to make a
joke or dance a jig. But the moment the bang came and the chasm opened and the
sea began rising, it all came back.
And of course we all set off as
quick as we could to get down the crack and home to our own place. And you can
see them over there all letting off rockets and standing on their heads for
joy. And I'll be very obliged to your Honours if you'll soon let me go and join
in."
"I think this is simply
splendid," said Jill. "I'm so glad we freed the gnomes as well as
ourselves when we cut off the Witch's head! And I'm so glad they aren't really
horrid and gloomy any more than the Prince really was well, what he seemed
like."
"That's all very well,
Pole," said Puddleglum cautiously. "But those gnomes didn't look to
me like chaps who were just running away. It looked more like military
formations, if you ask me. Do you look me in the face, Mr Golg, and tell me you
weren't preparing for battle?"
"Of course we were, your Honour,"
said Golg. "You see, we didn't know the Witch was dead. We thought she'd
be watching from the castle. We were trying to slip away without being seen.
And then when you three came out with swords and horses, of course everyone
says to himself, Here it comes: not knowing that his Honour wasn't on the
Witch's side. And we were determined to fight like anything rather than give up
the hope of going back to Bism."
"I'll be sworn 'tis an honest
gnome," said the Prince. "Let go of it, friend Puddleglum. As for me,
good Golg, I have been enchanted like you and your fellows, and have but newly
remembered myself. And now, one question more. Do you know the way to those new
diggings, by which the sorceress meant to lead out an army against
Overland?"
"Ee-ee-ee!" squeaked Golg.
"Yes, I know that terrible road. I will show you where it begins. But it
is no manner of use your Honour asking me to go with you on it. I'll die
rather."
"Why?" asked Eustace
anxiously. "What's so dreadful about it?"
"Too near the top, the
outside," said Golg, shuddering. "That was the worst thing the Witch
did to us. We were going to be led out into the open - on to the outside of the
world. They say there's no roof at all there; only a horrible great emptiness
called the sky. And the diggings have gone so far that a few strokes of the
pick would bring you out to it. I wouldn't dare go near them."
"Hurrah! Now you're
talking!" cried Eustace, and Jill said, "But it's not horrid at all
up there. We like it. We live there."
"I know you Overlanders live
there," said Golg. "But I thought it was because you couldn't find
your way down inside. You can't really like it - crawling about like flies on
the top of the world!"
"What about showing us the road
at once?" said Puddleglum.
"In a good hour," cried
the Prince. The whole party set out. The Prince remounted his charger,
Puddleglum climbed up behind Jill, and Golg led the way. As he went, he kept
shouting out the good news that the Witch was dead and that the four
Overlanders were not dangerous. And those who heard him shouted it on to
others, so that in a few minutes the whole of Underland was ringing with shouts
and cheers, and gnomes by hundreds and thousands, leaping, turning cart-wheels,
standing on their heads, playing leap-frog, and letting off huge crackers, came
pressing round Coalblack and Snowflake.
And the Prince had to tell the story
of his own enchantment and deliverance at least ten times.
In this way they came to the edge of
the chasm. It was about a thousand feet long and perhaps two hundred wide. They
dismounted from their horses and came to the edge, and looked down into it. A
strong heat smote up into their faces, mixed with a smell which was quite
unlike any they had ever smelled. It was rich, sharp, exciting, and made you
sneeze. The depth of the chasm was so bright that at first it dazzled their
eyes and they could see nothing. When they got used to it they thought they
could make out a river of fire, and, on the banks of that river, what seemed to
be fields and groves of an unbearable, hot brilliance - though they were dim
compared with the river. There were blues, reds, greens, and whites all jumbled
together: a very good stained-glass window with the tropical sun staring
straight through it at midday might have something the same effect. Down the
rugged sides of the chasm, looking black like flies against all that fiery
light, hundreds of Earthmen were climbing.
"Your honours," said Golg
(and when they turned to look at him they could see nothing but blackness for a
few minutes, their eyes were so dazzled).
"Your honours, why don't you
come down to Bism? You'd be happier there than in that cold, unprotected, naked
country out on top. Or at least come down for a short visit."
Jill took it for granted that none
of the others would listen to such an idea for a moment. To her horror she
heard the Prince saying:
"Truly, friend Golg, I have
half a mind to come down with you. For this is a marvellous adventure, and it
may be no mortal man has ever looked into Bism before or will ever have the
chance again. And I know not how, as the years pass, I shall bear to remember
that it was once in my power to have probed the uttermost pit of Earth and that
I forbore. But could a man live there? You do not swim in the fire-river itself?"
"Oh no, your Honour. Not we.
It's only salamanders live in the fire itself."
"What kind of beast is your
salamander?" asked the Prince.
"It is hard to tell their kind,
your Honour," said Golg. "For they are too white-hot to look at. But they
are most like small dragons. They speak to us out of the fire. They are
wonderfully clever with their tongues: very witty and eloquent."
Jill glanced hastily at Eustace. She
had felt sure that he would like the idea of sliding down that chasm even less
than she did. Her heart sank as she saw that his face was quite changed. He
looked much more like the Prince than like the old Scrubb at Experiment House.
For all his adventures, and the days when he had sailed with King Caspian, were
coming back to him.
"Your Highness," he said.
"If my old friend Reepicheep the Mouse were here, he would say we could
not now refuse the adventures of Bism without a great impeachment to our
honour."
"Down there," said Golg,
"I could show you real gold, real silver, real diamonds."
"Bosh!" said Jill rudely.
"As if we didn't know that we're below the deepest mines even here."
"Yes," said Golg. "I
have heard of those little scratches in the crust that you Topdwellers call
mines. But that's where you get dead gold, dead silver, dead gems. Down in Bism
we have them alive and growing. There I'll pick you bunches of rubies that you
can eat and squeeze you a cup full of diamond-juice. You won't care much about
fingering the cold, dead treasures of your shallow mines after you have tasted
the live ones of Bism."
"My father went to the world's
end," said Rilian thoughtfully. "It would be a marvellous thing if
his son went to the bottom of the world."
"If your Highness wants to see
your father while he's still alive, which I think he'd prefer," said
Puddleglum, "it's about time we were getting on to that road to the
diggings."
"And I won't go down that hole,
whatever anyone says," added Jill.
"Why, if your Honours are
really set to go back to Overworld," said Golg, "there is one bit of
the road that's rather lower than this. And perhaps, if that flood's still
rising -"
"Oh, do, do, do come on!"
begged Jill.
"I fear it must be so,"
said the Prince with a deep sigh. "But I have left half of my heart in the
land of Bism."
"Please!" begged Jill.
"Where is the road?" asked
Puddleglum.
"There are lamps all the
way," said Golg. "Your Honour can see the beginning of the road on
the far side of the chasm."
"How long will the lamps burn
for?" asked Puddleglum.
At that moment a hissing, scorching
voice like the voice of Fire itself (they wondered afterwards if it could have
been a salamander's) came whistling up out of the very depths of Bism.
"Quick! Quick! Quick! To the
cliffs, to the cliffs, to the cliffs!" it said. "The rift closes. It
closes. It closes. Quick! Quick!" And at the same time, with
ear-shattering cracks and creaks, the rocks moved. Already, while they looked,
the chasm was narrower. From every side belated gnomes were rushing into it.
They would not wait to climb down the rocks. They flung themselves headlong
and, either because so strong a blast of hot air was beating up from the
bottom, or for some other reason, they could be seen floating downwards like
leaves. Thicker and thicker they floated, till their blackness almost blotted
out the fiery river and the groves of live gems. "Good-bye to your
Honours. I'm off," shouted Golg, and dived. Only a few were left to follow
him. The chasm was now no broader than a stream.
Now it was narrow as the slit in a
pillarbox. Now it was only an intensely bright thread. Then, with a shock like
a thousand goods trains crashing into a thousand pairs of buffers, the lips of
rock closed. The hot, maddening smell vanished. The travellers were alone in an
Underworld which now looked far blacker than before. Pale, dim, and dreary, the
lamps marked the direction of the road.
"Now," said Puddleglum,
"it's ten to one we've already stayed too long, but we may as well make a
try. Those lamps will give out in five minutes, I shouldn't wonder."
They urged the horses to a canter
and thundered along the dusky road in fine style. But almost at once it began
going downhill. They would have thought Golg had sent them the wrong way if
they had not seen, on the other side of the valley, the lamps going on and
upwards as far as the eye could reach. But at the bottom of the valley the
lamps shone on moving water.
"Haste," cried the Prince.
They galloped down the slope. It would have been nasty enough at the bottom
even five minutes later for the tide was running up the valley like a
mill-race, and if it had come to swimming, the horses could hardly have won
over. But it was still only a foot or two deep, and though it swished terribly
round the horses' legs, they reached the far side in safety.
Then began the slow, weary march
uphill with nothing ahead to look at but the pale lamps which went up and up as
far as the eye could reach. When they looked back they could see the water
spreading. All the hills of Underland were now islands, and it was only on those
islands that the lamps remained. Every moment some distant light vanished. Soon
there would be total darkness everywhere except on the road they were
following; and even on the lower part of it behind them, though no lamps had
yet gone out, the lamplight shone on water.
Although they had good reason for
hurrying, the horses could not go on for ever without a rest. They halted: and
in silence they could hear the lapping of water.
"I wonder is what's his name -
Father Time - flooded out now," said Jill.
"And all those queer sleeping
animals."
"I don't think we're as high as
that," said Eustace. "Don't you remember how we had to go downhill to
reach the sunless sea? I shouldn't think the water has reached Father Time's
cave yet."
"That's as may be," said
Puddleglum. "I'm more interested in the lamps on this road. Look a bit
sickly, don't they?"
"They always did," said
Jill.
"Aye," said Puddleglum.
"But they're greener now."
"You don't mean to say you
think they're going out?" cried Eustace.
"Well, however they work, you
can't expect them to last for ever, you know," replied the Marsh-wiggle.
"But don't let your spirits down, Scrubb.
I've got my eye on the water too,
and I don't think it's rising so fast as it did."
"Small comfort, friend,"
said the Prince. "If we cannot find our way out. I cry you mercy, all. I
am to blame for my pride and fantasy which delayed us by the mouth of the land
of Bism. Now, let us ride on."
During the hour or so that followed
Jill sometimes thought that Puddleglum was right about the lamps, and sometimes
thought it was only her imagination. Meanwhile the land was changing. The roof
of Underland was so near that even by that dull light they could now see it
quite distinctly.
And the great, rugged walls of
Underland could be seen drawing closer on each side. The road, in fact, was
leading them up into a steep tunnel. They began to pass picks and shovels and
barrows and other signs that the diggers had recently been at work. If only one
could be sure of getting out, all this was very cheering. But the thought of
going on into a hole that would get narrower and narrower, and harder to turn
back in, was very unpleasant.
At last the roof was so low that
Puddleglum and the Prince knocked their heads against it. The party dismounted
and led the horses. The road was uneven here and one had to pick one's steps
with some care. That was how Jill noticed the growing darkness. There was no
doubt about it now. The faces of the others looked strange and ghastly in the
green glow. Then all at once (she couldn't help it) Jill gave a little scream.
One light, the next one ahead, went out altogether. The one behind them did the
same. Then they were in absolute darkness.
"Courage, friends," came
Prince Rilian's voice. "Whether we live or die Aslan will be our good
lord."
"That's right, Sir," said
Puddleglum's voice. "And you must always remember there's one good thing
about being trapped down here: it'll save funeral expenses."
Jill held her tongue. (If you don't
want other people to know how frightened you are, this is always a wise thing
to do; it's your voice that gives you away.)
"We might as well go on as
stand here," said Eustace; and when she heard the tremble in his voice,
Jill knew how wise she'd been not to trust her own.
Puddleglum and Eustace went first
with their arms stretched out in front of them, for fear of blundering into
anything; Jill and the Prince followed, leading the horses.
"I say," came Eustace's
voice much later, "are my eyes going queer or is there a patch of light up
there?"
Before anyone could answer him,
Puddleglum called out: "Stop. I'm up against a dead end. And it's earth,
not rock. What were you saying, Scrubb?"
"By the Lion," said the
Prince, "Eustace is right. There is a sort of -"
"But it's not daylight,"
said Jill. "It's only a cold blue sort of light."
"Better than nothing,
though," said Eustace. "Can we get up to it?"
"It's not right overhead,"
said Puddleglum. "It's above us, but it's in this wall that I've run into.
How would it be, Pole, if you got on my shoulders and saw whether you could get
up to it?"
THE patch of light did not show up
anything down in the darkness where they were standing. The others could only
hear, not see, Jill's efforts to get on to the Marsh-wiggle's back. That is,
they heard him saying, "You needn't put your finger in my eye," and,
"Nor your foot in my mouth either," and, "That's more like
it," and, "Now, I'll hold on to your legs. That'll leave your arms
free to steady yourself against the earth."
Then they looked up and soon they
saw the black shape of Jill's head against the patch of light.
"Well?" they all shouted
up anxiously.
"It's a hole," called
Jill's voice. "I could get through it if I was a little bit higher."
"What do you see through
it?" asked Eustace.
"Nothing much yet," said
Jill. "I say, Puddleglum, let go my legs so that I can stand on your
shoulders instead of sitting on them. I can steady myself all right against the
edge."
They could hear her moving and then
much more of her came into sight against the greyness of the opening; in fact
all of her down to the waist.
"I say -" began Jill, but
suddenly broke off with a cry: not a sharp cry.
It sounded more as if her mouth had been
muffled up or had something pushed into it. After that she found her voice and
seemed to be shouting out as loud as she could, but they couldn't hear the
words. Two things then happened at the same moment. The patch of light was
completely blocked up for a second or so; and they heard both a scuffling,
struggling sound and the voice of the Marsh-wiggle gasping: "Quick! Help!
Hold on to her legs.
Someone's pulling her. There! No,
here. Too late!"
The opening, and the cold light
which filled it, were now perfectly clear again. Jill had vanished.
"Jill! Jill!" they shouted
frantically, but there was no answer.
"Why the dickens couldn't you
have held her feet?" said Eustace.
"I don't know, Scrubb,"
groaned Puddleglum. "Born to be a misfit, I shouldn't wonder. Fated. Fated
to be Pole's death, just as I was fated to eat Talking Stag at Harfang. Not
that it isn't my own fault as well, of course."
"This is the greatest shame and
sorrow that could have fallen on us," said the Prince. "We have sent
a brave lady into the hands of enemies and stayed behind in safety."
"Don't paint it too black,
Sir," said Puddleglum. "We're not very safe except for death by
starvation in this hole."
"I wonder am I small enough to
get through where Jill did?" said Eustace.
What had really happened to Jill was
this. As soon as she got her head out of the hole she found that she was
looking down as if from an upstairs window, not up as if through a trap-door.
She had been so long in the dark that her eyes couldn't at first take in what
they were seeing: except that she was not looking at the daylit, sunny world
which she so wanted to see.
The air seemed to be deadly cold,
and the light was pale and blue. There was also a good deal of noise going on
and a lot of white objects flying about in the air. It was at that moment that
she had shouted down to Puddleglum to let her stand up on his shoulders.
When she had done this, she could
see and hear a good deal better. The noises she had been hearing turned out to
be of two kinds: the rhythmical thump of several feet, and the music of four
fiddles, three flutes, and a drum. She also got her own position clear. She was
looking out of a hole in a steep bank which sloped down and reached the level
about fourteen feet below her. Everything was very white. A lot of people were
moving about.
Then she gasped! The people were
trim little Fauns, and Dryads with leafcrowned hair floating behind them. For a
second they looked as if they were moving anyhow; then she saw that they were
really doing a dance - a dance with so many complicated steps and figures that
it took you some time to understand it. Then it came over her like a
thunderclap that the pale, blue light was really moonlight, and the white stuff
on the ground was really snow. And of course! There were the stars staring in a
black frosty sky overhead. And the tall black things behind the dancers were
trees. They had not only got out into the upper world at last, but had come out
in the heart of Narnia. Jill felt she could have fainted with delight; and the
music - the wild music, intensely sweet and yet just the least bit eerie too,
and full of good magic as the Witch's thrumming had been full of bad magic -
made her feel it all the more.
All this takes a long time to tell, but
of course it took a very short time to see. Jill turned almost at once to shout
down to the others, "I say! It's all right. We're out, and we're
home." But the reason she never got further than "I say" was
this. Circling round and round the dancers was a ring of Dwarfs, all dressed in
their finest clothes; mostly scarlet with fur-lined hoods and golden tassels
and big furry top-boots. As they circled round they were all diligently
throwing snowballs. (Those were the white things that Jill had seen flying
through the air.) They weren't throwing them at the dancers as silly boys might
have been doing in England. They were throwing them through the dance in such
perfect time with the music and with such perfect aim that if all the dancers
were in exactly the right places at exactly the right moments, no one would be
hit. This is called the Great Snow Dance and it is done every year in Narnia on
the first moonlit night when there is snow on the ground. Of course it is a
kind of game as well as a dance, because every now and then some dancer will be
the least little bit wrong and get a snowball in the face, and then everyone
laughs. But a good team of dancers, Dwarfs, and musicians will keep it up for
hours without a single hit. On fine nights when the cold and the drum-taps, and
the hooting of the owls, and the moonlight, have got into their wild, woodland
blood and made it even wilder, they will dance till daybreak. I wish you could
see it for yourselves.
What had stopped Jill when she got
as far as the say of "I say" was of course simply a fine big snowball
that came sailing through the dance from a Dwarf on the far side and got her
fair and square in the mouth. She didn't in the least mind; twenty snowballs
would not have damped her spirits at that moment. But however happy you are
feeling, you can't talk with your mouth full of snow. And when, after
considerable spluttering, she could speak again, she quite forgot in her
excitement that the others, down in the dark, behind her, still didn't know the
good news. She simply leaned as far out of the hole as she could, and yelled to
the dancers.
"Help! Help! We're buried in
the hill. Come and dig us out."
The Narnians, who had not even
noticed the little hole in the hillside, were of course very surprised, and looked
about in several wrong directions before they found out where the voice was
coming from. But when they caught sight of Jill they all came running towards
her, and as many as could scrambled up the bank, and a dozen or more hands were
stretched up to help her. And Jill caught hold of them and thus got out of the
hole and came slithering down the bank head first, and then picked herself up
and said:
"Oh, do go and dig the others
out. There are three others, besides the horses. And one of them is Prince
Rilian."
She was already in the middle of a
crowd when she said this, for besides the dancers all sorts of people who had
been watching the dance, and whom she had not seen at first, came running up.
Squirrels came out of the trees in showers, and so did Owls. Hedgehogs came
waddling as fast as their short legs would carry them. Bears and Badgers
followed at a slower pace. A great Panther, twitching its tail in excitement,
was the last to join the party.
But as soon as they understood what
Jill was saying, they all became active. "Pick and shovel, boys, pick and
shovel. Off for our tools!" said the Dwarfs, and dashed away into the
woods at top speed. "Wake up some Moles, they're the chaps for digging.
They're quite as good as Dwarfs," said a voice. "What was that she
said about Prince Rilian?" said another.
"Hush!" said the Panther.
"The poor child's crazed, and no wonder after being lost inside the hill.
She doesn't know what she's saying." "That's right," said an old
Bear. "Why, she said Prince Rilian was a horse!" "No, she
didn't," said a Squirrel, very pert. "Yes, she did," said
another Squirrel, even perter.
"It's quite t-t-t-true.
D-d-don't be so silly," said Jill. She spoke like that because her teeth
were now chattering with the cold.
Immediately one of the Dryads flung
round her a furry cloak which some Dwarf had dropped when he rushed to fetch
his mining tools, and an obliging Faun trotted off among the trees to a place
where Jill could see firelight in the mouth of a cave, to get her a hot drink.
But before it came, all the Dwarfs reappeared with spades and pick-axes and
charged at the hillside.
Then Jill heard cries of "Hi!
What are you doing? Put that sword down," and "Now, young 'un: none
of that," and, "He's a vicious one, now, isn't he?" Jill hurried
to the spot and didn't know whether to laugh or cry when she saw Eustace's
face, very pale and dirty, projecting from the blackness of the hole, and
Eustace's right hand brandishing a sword with which he made lunges at anyone
who came near him.
For of course Eustace had been
having a very different time from Jill during the last few minutes. He had
heard Jill cry out and seen her disappear into the unknown. Like the Prince and
Puddleglum, he thought that some enemies had caught her. And from down below he
didn't see that the pale, blueish light was moonlight. He thought the hole
would lead only into some other cave, lit by some ghostly phosphorescence and
filled with goodness-knows-what evil creatures of the Underworld. So that when
he had persuaded Puddleglum to give him a back, and drawn his sword, and poked
out his head, he had really been doing a very brave thing. The others would
have done it first if they could, but the hole was too small for them to climb
through. Eustace was a little bigger, and a lot clumsier, than Jill, so that
when he looked out he bumped his head against the top of the hole and brought a
small avalanche of snow down on his face. And so, when he could see again, and
saw dozens of figures coming at him as hard as they could run, it is not
surprising that he tried to ward them off.
"Stop, Eustace, stop,"
cried Jill. "They're all friends. Can't you see? We've come up in Narnia.
Everything's all right."
Then Eustace did see, and apologized
to the Dwarfs (and the Dwarfs said not to mention it), and dozens of thick,
hairy, dwarfish hands helped him out just as they had helped Jill out a few
minutes before. Then Jill scrambled up the bank and put her head in at the dark
opening and shouted the good news in to the prisoners. As she turned away she
heard Puddleglum mutter.
"Ah, poor Pole. It's been too
much for her, this last bit. Turned her head, I shouldn't wonder. She's
beginning to see things."
Jill rejoined Eustace and they shook
one another by both hands and took in great deep breaths of the free midnight
air. And a warm cloak was brought for Eustace and hot drinks, for both. While
they were sipping it, the Dwarfs had already got all the snow and all the sods
off a large strip of the hillside round the original hole, and the pickaxes and
spades were now going as merrily as the feet of Fauns and Dryads had been going
in the dance ten minutes before. Only ten minutes! Yet already it felt to Jill
and Eustace as if all their dangers in the dark and heat and general
smotheriness of the earth must have been only a dream. Out here, in the cold,
with the moon and the huge stars overhead (Narnian stars are nearer than stars
in our world) and with kind, merry faces all round them, one couldn't quite
believe in Underland.
Before they had finished their hot
drinks, a dozen or so Moles, newly waked and still very sleepy, and not well
pleased, had arrived. But as soon as they understood what it was all about,
they joined in with a will. Even the Fauns made themselves useful by carting
away the earth in little barrows, and the Squirrels danced and leaped to and
fro in great excitement, though Jill never found out exactly what they thought
they were doing. The Bears and Owls contented themselves with giving advice,
and kept on asking the children if they wouldn't like to come into the cave
(that was where Jill had seen the firelight) and get warm and have supper. But
the children couldn't bear to go without seeing their friends set free.
No one in our world can work at a
job of that sort as Dwarfs and Talking Moles work in Narnia; but then, of
course, Moles and Dwarfs don't look on it as work. They like digging. It was
therefore not really long before they had opened a great black chasm in the
hillside. And out from the blackness into the moonlight - this would have been
rather dreadful if one hadn't known who they were came, first, the long, leggy,
steeple-hatted figure of the Marsh-wiggle, and then, leading two great horses,
Rilian the Prince himself.
As Puddleglum appeared shouts broke
out on every side: "Why, it's a Wiggle - why, it's old Puddleglum - old
Puddleglum from the Eastern Marshes - what ever have you been doing,
Puddleglum? - there've been search-parties out for you - the Lord Trumpkin has
been putting up notices there's a reward offered!" But all this died away,
all in one moment, into dead silence, as quickly as the noise dies away in a
rowdy dormitory if the Headmaster opens the door. For now they saw the Prince.
No one doubted for a moment who he
was. There were plenty of Beasts and Dryads and Dwarfs and Fauns who remembered
him from the days before his enchanting. There were some old ones who could
just remember how his father, King Caspian, had looked when he was a young man,
and saw the likeness. But I think they would have known him anyway. Pale though
he was from long imprisonment in the Deep Lands, dressed in black, dusty,
dishevelled, and weary, there was something in his face and air which no one
could mistake. That look is in the face of all true kings of Narnia, who rule
by the will of Aslan and sit at Cair Paravel on the throne of Peter the High
King.
Instantly every head was bared and
every knee was bent; a moment later such cheering and shouting, such jumps and
reels of joy, such hand-shakings and kissings and embracings of everybody by
everybody else broke out that the tears came into Jill's eyes. Their quest had
been worth all the pains it cost.
"Please it your Highness,"
said the oldest of the Dwarfs, "there is some attempt at a supper in the
cave yonder, prepared against the ending of the snow-dance -"
"With a good will,
Father," said the Prince. "For never had any Prince, Knight,
Gentleman, or Bear so good a stomach to his victuals as we four wanderers have
tonight."
The whole crowd began to move away
through the trees towards the cave. Jill heard Puddleglum saying to those who
pressed round him. "No, no, my story can wait.
Nothing worth talking about has
happened to me. I want to hear the news.
Don't try breaking it to me gently,
for I'd rather have it all at once. Has the King been shipwrecked? Any forest
fires? No wars on the Calormen border? Or a few dragons, I shouldn't
wonder?" And all the creatures laughed aloud and said, "Isn't that
just like a Marshwiggle?"
The two children were nearly
dropping with tiredness and hunger, but the warmth of the cave, and the very
sight of it, with the firelight dancing on the walls and dressers and cups and
saucers and plates and on the smooth stone floor, just as it does in a
farmhouse kitchen, revived them a little.
All the same they went fast asleep
while supper was being got ready. And while they slept Prince Rilian was
talking over the whole adventure with the older and wiser Beasts and Dwarfs.
And now they all saw what it meant; how a wicked Witch (doubtless the same kind
as that White Witch who had brought the Great Winter on Narnia long ago) had
contrived the whole thing, first killing Rilian's mother and enchanting Rilian
himself. And they saw how she had dug right under Narnia and was going to break
out and rule it through Rilian: and how he had never dreamed that the country
of which she would make him king (king in name, but really her slave) was his
own country. And from the children's part of the story they saw how she was in
league and friendship with the dangerous giants of Harfang. "And the
lesson of it all is, your Highness," said the oldest Dwarf, "that
those Northern Witches always mean the same thing, but in every age they have a
different plan for getting it."
WHEN Jill woke next morning and
found herself in a cave, she thought for one horrid moment that she was back in
the Underworld. But when she noticed that she was lying on a bed of heather
with a furry mantle over her, and saw a cheery fire crackling (as if newly lit)
on a stone hearth and, farther off, morning sunlight coming in through the
cave's mouth, she remembered all the happy truth. They had had a delightful
supper, all crowded into that cave, in spite of being so sleepy before it was
properly over. She had a vague impression of Dwarfs crowding round the fire
with frying-pans rather bigger than themselves, and the hissing, and delicious
smell of sausages, and more, and more, and more sausages. And not wretched
sausages half full of bread and soya bean either, but real meaty, spicy ones,
fat and piping hot and burst and just the tiniest bit burnt. And great mugs of
frothy chocolate, and roast potatoes and roast chestnuts, and baked apples with
raisins stuck in where the cores had been, and then ices just to freshen you up
after all the hot things.
Jill sat up and looked around.
Puddleglum and Eustace were lying not far away, both fast asleep.
"Hi, you two!" shouted
Jill in a loud voice. "Aren't you ever going to get up?"
"Shoo, shoo!" said a
sleepy voice somewhere above her. "Time to be settling down. Have a good
snooze, do, do. Don't make a to-do. Tu-whoo!"
"Why, I do believe," said
Jill, glancing up at a white bundle of fluffy feathers which was perched on top
of a grandfather clock in one corner of the cave, "I do believe it's
Glimfeather!"
"True, true," whirred the
Owl, lifting its head out from under its wing and opening one eye. "I came
up with a message for the Prince at about two. The squirrels brought us the
good news. Message for the Prince. He's gone.
You're to follow too. Good-day
-" and the head disappeared again.
As there seemed no further hope of
getting any information from the Owl, Jill got up and began looking round for
any chance of a wash and some breakfast. But almost at once a little Faun came
trotting into the cave with a sharp click-clack of his goaty hoofs on the stone
floor.
"Ah! You've woken up at last,
Daughter of Eve," he said. "Perhaps you'd better wake the Son of
Adam. You've got to be off in a few minutes and two Centaurs have very kindly
offered to let you ride on their backs down to Cair Paravel." He added in
a lower voice. "Of course, you realize it is a most special and unheard-of
honour to be allowed to ride a Centaur. I don't know that I ever heard of
anyone doing it before. It wouldn't do to keep them waiting."
"Where's the Prince?" was
the first question of Eustace and Puddleglum as soon as they had been wakened.
"He's gone down to meet the
King, his father, at Cair Paravel," answered the Faun, whose name was
Orruns. "His Majesty's ship is expected in harbour any moment. It seems
that the King met Aslan - I don't know whether it was in a vision or face to
face - before he had sailed far, and Aslan turned him back and told him he
would find his long-lost son awaiting him when he reached Narnia."
Eustace was now up and he and Jill
set about helping Orruns to get the breakfast. Puddleglum was told to stay in
bed. A Centaur called Cloudbirth, a famous healer, or (as Orruns called it) a
'leech', was coming to see to his burnt foot.
"Ah!" said Puddleglum in a
tone almost of contentment, "he'll want to have the leg off at the knee, I
shouldn't wonder. You see if he doesn't." But he was quite glad to stay in
bed.
Breakfast was scrambled eggs and
toast and Eustace tackled it just as if he had not had a very large supper in
the middle of the night.
"I say, Son of Adam," said
the Faun, looking with a certain awe at Eustace's mouthfuls. "There's no need
to hurry quite so dreadfully as that.
I don't think the Centaurs have
quite finished their breakfasts yet."
"Then they must have got up
very late," said Eustace. "I bet it's after ten o'clock."
"Oh no," said Orruns.
"They got up before it was light."
"Then they must have waited the
dickens of a time for breakfast," said Eustace.
"No, they didn't," said
Orruns. "They began eating the minute they awoke."
"Golly!" said Eustace.
"Do they eat a very big breakfast?"
"Why, Son of Adam, don't you
understand? A Centaur has a man-stomach and a horse-stomach. And of course both
want breakfast. So first of all he has porridge and pavenders and kidneys and
bacon and omelette and cold ham and toast and marmalade and coffee and beer.
And after that he attends to the horse part of himself by grazing for an hour
or so and finishing up with a hot mash, some oats, and a bag of sugar. That's
why it's such a serious thing to ask a Centaur to stay for the week-end. A very
serious thing indeed."
At that moment there was a sound of
horse-hoofs tapping on rock from the mouth of the cave, and the children looked
up. The two Centaurs, one with a black and one with a golden beard flowing over
their magnificent bare chests, stood waiting for them, bending their heads a
little so as to look into the cave. Then the children became very polite and
finished their breakfast very quickly. No one thinks a Centaur funny when he
sees it. They are solemn, majestic people, full of ancient wisdom which they
learn from the stars, not easily made either merry or angry; but their anger is
terrible as a tidal wave when it comes.
"Good-bye, dear
Puddleglum," said Jill, going over to the Marsh-wiggle's bed. "I'm
sorry we called you a wet blanket."
"So'm I," said Eustace.
"You've been the best friend in the world."
"And I do hope we'll meet
again," added Jill.
"Not much chance of that, I
should say," replied Puddleglum. "1 don't reckon I'm very likely to
see my old wigwam again either. And that Prince - he's a nice chap - but do you
think he's very strong? Constitution ruined with living underground, I
shouldn't wonder. Looks the sort that might go off any day."
"Puddleglum!" said Jill.
"You're a regular old humbug. You sound as doleful as a funeral and I
believe you're perfectly happy. And you talk as if you were afraid of
everything, when you're really as brave as-as a lion."
"Now, speaking of
funerals," began Puddleglum, but Jill, who heard the Centaurs tapping with
their hoofs behind her, surprised him very much by flinging her arms round his
thin neck and kissing his muddy-looking face, while Eustace wrung his hand.
Then they both rushed away to the Centaurs, and the Marsh-wiggle, sinking back
on his bed, remarked to himself, "Well, I wouldn't have dreamt of her
doing that. Even though I am a good-looking chap."
To ride on a Centaur is, no doubt, a
great honour (and except Jill and Eustace there is probably no one alive in the
world today who has had it) but it is very uncomfortable. For no one who valued
his life would suggest putting a saddle on a Centaur, and riding bare-back is
no fun; especially if, like Eustace, you have never learned to ride at all. The
Centaurs were very polite in a grave, gracious, grown-up kind of way, and as
they cantered through the Narnian woods they spoke, without turning their
heads, telling the children about the properties of herbs and roots, the
influences of the planets, the nine names of Aslan with their meanings, and
things of that sort. But however sore and jolted the two humans were, they
would now give anything to have that journey over again: to see those glades
and slopes sparkling with last night's snow, to be met by rabbits and squirrels
and birds that wished you good morning, to breathe again the air of Narnia and
hear the voices of the Narnian trees.
They came down to the river, flowing
bright and blue in winter sunshine, far below the last bridge (which is at the
snug, red-roofed little town of Beruna) and were ferried across in a flat barge
by the ferryman; or rather, by the ferry-wiggle, for it is Marsh-wiggles who do
most of the watery and fishy kinds of work in Narnia. And when they had crossed
they rode along the south bank of the river and presently came to Cair Paravel
itself. And at the very moment of their arrival they saw that same bright ship
which they had seen when they first set foot in Narnia, gliding up the river
like a huge bird. All the court were once more assembled on the green between
the castle and the quay to welcome King Caspian home again. Rilian, who had
changed his black clothes and was now dressed in a scarlet cloak over silver
mail, stood close to the water's edge, bare-headed, to receive his father; and
the Dwarf Trumpkin sat beside him in his little donkey-chair.
The children saw there would be no
chance of reaching the Prince through all that crowd, and, anyway, they now
felt rather shy. So they asked the Centaurs if they might go on sitting on
their backs a little longer and thus see everything over the heads of the
courtiers. And the Centaurs said they might.
A flourish of silver trumpets came
over the water from the ship's deck: the sailors threw a rope; rats (Talking
Rats, of course) and Marsh-wiggles made it fast ashore; and the ship was warped
in. Musicians, hidden somewhere in the crowd, began to play solemn, triumphal
music. And soon the King's galleon was alongside and the Rats ran the gangway
on board her.
Jill expected to see the old King
come down it. But there appeared to be some hitch. A Lord with a pale face came
ashore and knelt to the Prince and to Trumpkin. The three were talking with
their heads close together for a few minutes, but no one could hear what they
said. The music played on, but you could feel that everyone was becoming
uneasy. Then four Knights, carrying something and going very slowly, appeared
on deck. When they started to come down the gangway you could see what they
were carrying: it was the old King on a bed, very pale and still. They set him
down. The Prince knelt beside him and embraced him. They could see King Caspian
raising his hand to bless his son. And everyone cheered, but it was a
half-hearted cheer, for they all felt that something was going wrong. Then
suddenly the King's head fell back upon his pillows, the musicians stopped and
there was a dead silence. The Prince, kneeling by the King's bed, laid down his
head upon it and wept.
There were whisperings and goings to
and fro. Then Jill noticed that all who wore hats, bonnets, helmets, or hoods
were taking them off - Eustace included. Then she heard a rustling and flapping
noise up above the castle; when she looked she saw that the great banner with
the golden Lion on it was being brought down to half-mast. And after that,
slowly, mercilessly, with wailing strings and disconsolate blowing of horns,
the music began again: this time, a tune to break your heart.
They both slipped off their Centaurs
(who took no notice of them).
"I wish I was at home,"
said Jill.
Eustace nodded, saying nothing, and
bit his lip.
"I have come," said a deep
voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and
strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared
with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead
King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the
cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the
snappings and quarrellings.
And she wanted to say "I'm
sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with
his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:
"Think of that no more. I will
not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into
Narnia."
"Please, Aslan," said
Jill, "may we go home now?"
"Yes. I have come to bring you
Home," said Aslan. Then he opened his mouth wide and blew. But this time
they had no sense of flying through the air: instead, it seemed that they
remained still, and the wild breath of Aslan blew away the ship and the dead
King and the castle and the snow and the winter sky. For all these things
floated off into the air like wreaths of smoke, and suddenly they were standing
in a great brightness of mid-summer sunshine, on smooth turf, among mighty
trees, and beside a fair, fresh stream.
Then they saw that they were once
more on the Mountain of Aslan, high up above and beyond the end of that world
in which Narnia lies. But the strange thing was that the funeral music for King
Caspian still went on, though no one could tell where it came from. They were
walking beside the stream and the Lion went before them: and he became so
beautiful, and the music so despairing, that Jill did not know which of them it
was that filled her eyes with tears.
Then Aslan stopped, and the children
looked into the stream. And there, on the golden gravel of the bed of the
stream, lay King Caspian, dead, with the water flowing over him like liquid
glass. His long white beard swayed in it like water-weed. And all three stood
and wept. Even the Lion wept: great Lion-tears, each tear more precious than
the Earth would be if it was a single solid diamond. And Jill noticed that
Eustace looked neither like a child crying, nor like a boy crying and wanting to
hide it, but like a grownup crying. At least, that is the nearest she could get
to it; but really, as she said, people don't seem to have any particular ages
on that mountain.
"Son of Adam," said Aslan,
"go into that thicket and pluck the thorn that you will find there, and
bring it to me."
Eustace obeyed. The thorn was a foot
long and sharp as a rapier.
"Drive it into my paw, Son of
Adam," said Aslan, holding up his right fore-paw and spreading out the
great pad towards Eustace.
"Must I?" said Eustace.
"Yes," said Aslan.
Then Eustace set his teeth and drove
the thorn into the Lion's pad. And there came out a great drop of blood, redder
than all redness that you have ever seen or imagined.
And it splashed into the stream over
the dead body of the King. At the same moment the doleful music stopped. And
the dead King began to be changed.
His white beard turned to grey, and
from grey to yellow, and got shorter and vanished altogether; and his sunken
cheeks grew round and fresh, and the wrinkles were smoothed, and his eyes
opened, and his eyes and lips both laughed, and suddenly he leaped up and stood
before them - a very young man, or a boy. (But Jill couldn't say which, because
of people having no particular ages in Aslan's country. Even in this world, of
course, it is the stupidest children who are most childish and the stupidest
grown-ups who are most grownup.) And he rushed to Aslan and flung his arms as
far as they would go round the huge neck; and he gave Aslan the strong kisses
of a King, and Aslan gave him the wild kisses of a Lion.
At last Caspian turned to the
others. He gave a great laugh of astonished joy.
"Why! Eustace!" he said.
"Eustace! So you did reach the end of the world after all. What about my
second-best sword that you broke on the sea-serpent?"
Eustace made a step towards him with
both hands held out, but then drew back with a somewhat startled expression.
"Look here! I say," he
stammered. "It's all very well. But aren't you? - I mean didn't you
-?"
"Oh, don't be such an
ass," said Caspian.
"But," said Eustace,
looking at Aslan. "Hasn't he - er died?"
"Yes," said the Lion in a
very quiet voice, almost (Jill thought) as if he were laughing. "He has
died. Most people have, you know. Even I have. There are very few who
haven't."
"Oh," said Caspian.
"I see what's bothering you. You think I'm a ghost, or some nonsense. But
don't you see? I would be that if I appeared in Narnia now: because I don't
belong there any more. But one can't be a ghost in one's own country. I might
be a ghost if I got into your world. I don't know. But I suppose it isn't yours
either, now you're here."
A great hope rose in the children's
hearts. But Aslan shook his shaggy head. "No, my dears," he said.
"When you meet me here again, you will have come to stay. But not now. You
must go back to your own world for a while."
"Sir," said Caspian,
"I've always wanted to have just one glimpse of their world. Is that
wrong?"
"You cannot want wrong things
any more, now that you have died, my son," said Aslan. "And you shall
see their world - for five minutes of their time. It will take no longer for
you to set things right there." Then Aslan explained to Caspian what Jill
and Eustace were going back to and all about Experiment House: he seemed to
know it quite as well as they did.
"Daughter," said Aslan to
Jill, "pluck a switch off that bush." She did; and as soon as it was
in her hand it turned into a fine new riding crop.
"Now, Sons of Adam, draw your
swords," said Aslan. "But use only the flat, for it is cowards and
children, not warriors, against whom 1 send you."
"Are you coming with us,
Aslan?" said Jill.
"They shall see only my
back," said Aslan.
He led them rapidly through the
wood, and before they had gone many paces, the wall of Experiment House appcared
before them. Then Aslan roared so that the sun shook in the sky and thirty feet
of the wall fell down before them. They looked through the gap, down into the
school shrubbery and on to the roof of the gym, all under the same dull autumn
sky which they had seen before their adventures began. Aslan turned to Jill and
Eustace and breathed upon them and touched their foreheads with his tongue.
Then he lay down amid the gap he had made in the wall and turned his golden
back to England, and his lordly face towards his own lands. At the same moment
Jill saw figures whom she knew only too well running up through the laurels
towards them. Most of the gang were there Adela Pennyfather and Cholmondely
Major, Edith Winterblott, `Spotty' Sorrier, big Bannister, and the two
loathsome Garrett twins. But suddenly they stopped. Their faces changed, and
all the meanness, conceit, cruelty, and sneakishness almost disappeared in one
single expression of terror. For they saw the wall fallen down, and a lion as
large as a young elephant lying in the gap, and three figures in glittering
clothes with weapons in their hands rushing down upon them. For, with the
strength of Aslan in them, Jill plied her crop on the girls and Caspian and
Eustace plied the flats of their swords on the boys so well that in two minutes
all the bullies were running like mad, crying out, `Murder! Fascists! Lions! It
isn't fair.' And then the Head (who was, by the way, a woman) came running out
to see what was happening. And when she saw the lion and the broken wall and
Caspian and Jill and Eustace (whom she quite failed to recognize) she had
hysterics and went back to the house and began ringing up the police with
stories about a lion escaped from a circus, and escaped convicts who broke down
walls and carried drawn swords.
In the midst of all this fuss Jill
and Eustace slipped quietly indoors and changed out of their bright clothes
into ordinary things, and Caspian went back into his own world. And the wall,
at Aslan's word, was made whole again. When the police arrived and found no
lion, no broken wall, and no convicts, and the Head behaving like a lunatic,
there was an inquiry into the whole thing. And in the inquiry all sorts of
things about Experiment House came out, and about ten people got expelled. After
that, the Head's friends saw that the Head was no use as a Head, so they got
her made an Inspector to interfere with other Heads. And when they found she
wasn't much good even at that, they got her into Parliament where she lived
happily ever after.
Eustace buried his fine clothes
secretly one night in the school grounds, but Jill smuggled hers home and wore
them at a fancy-dress ball next holidays. And from that day forth things
changed for the better at Experiment House, and it became quite a good school.
And Jill and Eustace were always friends.
But far off in Narnia, King Rilian
buried his father, Caspian the Navigator, Tenth of that name, and mourned for
him. He himself ruled Narnia well and the land was happy in his days, though
Puddleglum (whose foot was as good as new in three weeks) often pointed out
that bright mornings brought on wet afternoons, and that you couldn't expect
good times to last.
The opening into the hillside was left
open, and often in hot summer days the Narnians go in there with ships and
lanterns and down to the water and sail to and fro, singing, on the cool, dark
underground sea, telling each other stories of the cities that lie fathoms deep
below. If ever you have the luck to go to Narnia yourself, do not forget to
have a look at those caves.