Dido and Pa (27 page)

High on the hilltop, among the thorn trees, lay a thick, icy fog; the branches glimmered with hoarfrost, the birds were all silent. Not a sound was to be heard.

Presently the coach rolled to a stop; the horses stood giving off clouds of steam and vapor. A pair of men, who had been waiting there under the trees, walked forward; one of them took the bridle of the leaders.

"Nicely on time," he said with a grin.

"Have you done the digging?" asked the coachman, dismounting.

"Ah. It's done."

"Let's have him out, then."

Numb with horror and astonishment, van Doon heard the footmen jump down from the rear of the coach. The door was flung open.

"We need you out of there," someone said, and rough hands dragged him out, so unceremoniously that he stumbled and fell on the frozen, snowy ground.

"What are you doing? You cannot do this to
me?
"

"Oh can't us, my codger! That's what you think!"

"But I—but I—"

He didn't know what to say. If they thought that he was the king—? But, on the other hand, if they knew he was van Doon—?

"What are you doing? What are you going to do?"

The king was supposed to be taken to some island, where he would be imprisoned but not harmed; so the margrave had said.

"You'll soon see, my cocky. You'll see soon enough, my fine majesty."

His cloak, crown, and velvet jacket were taken off him. Somebody said, "Tie his hands," and they were grabbed, and roped behind his back. A sack was thrown over his head. "Take off them di'mond buckled shoes," someone said. "He 'on't want 'em where he's going."

Half fainting, cold and sick with horror, van Doon crumpled on the ground. He heard steps moving away.

"Let's see the hole—is it good and deep?" someone said. "Might as well hit him on the head at once, then, and shovel him under."

Then the coachman's voice:

"Nay, no, no, dag me, that ain't
half
deep enough. His nabs'd have our guts for garters if wolves come along and dug him up again and he was recognized. Here: give us a shovel; it won't take but five minutes to dig out another ell or so—blow me, but this ground's hard though, ain't it—"

A sound of clinking, grunting, and panting.

Then, very softly from behind him, the paralyzed van Doon heard a whisper.

"Mister!
Mister!
Can you roll over on your stummick? That way I can get at your hands to undo 'em."

Hardly able to credit his ears, he rolled, and felt something tiny picking and sawing at the cruelly tight cords that bound him. It felt like a grasshopper's teeth ... he could not believe that anything hopeful would come of it. But then an edge of metal snicked the ball of his thumb—like the sting of a hornet—and next moment his hands were free.

"Don't-ee move yet—now I'll do your feet," said the hornet, and the sawing began again on the cords that bound his ankles. The sack was pulled off his head. Van Doon moved his cheek on the frosty ground, enough so that he could squint sideways and see who was working to release him.

It was the Slut.

"That'll do plenty, that's deep enough," said a voice beyond the thorn tree. "No wolf's a-going to dig him out of there."

"Just a couple o' feet more."

"What a one you are for digging. Ought to be king's gardener at Kew."

"
Now,
mister—can you stand?"

Hauled by two tiny hands, van Doon rose totteringly to his feet. The Slut was folding away a businesslike little penknife.

"That's the dandy. Now, you gotta
run.
Come on! Arter me. Fast as ever you can!"

Gulping in great lungfuls of icy, foggy air, van Doon set off clumsily, in his sock feet, after the Slut, who was barefoot. She sped away through the thornbushes, looking back every couple of yards to make sure that he was following her.

Quite soon they heard angry shouts behind them.

"Oy! Oy, lookit! The cove's scarpered. After him!"

***

Dido said to Morel, "You'll be real sorry if you do any mischief to us, mister. The king knows all about his nabs's little plan to do a swap-over in the tunnel; and it ain't a-going to happen. Or not the way his nabs expects."

"Really? Fancy that!" said Morel, smiling at her disbelievingly as the ice yacht continued to whizz along the frozen river, going eastward.

"It's so," said Dido. "They done the swap already. The king went out to Greenwich last night, and rode in this morning. And van Doon went to St. James's at sunup and got in the glass coach. So now the king's riding into London, and van Doon's on his way to Kent. And his nabs is in for a mighty peck o' trouble."

"You are a very clever child," said Morel, "and you made up all that out of your head, and there isn't a single word of truth in it."

He folded his arms and continued to smile.

"What did the margrave tell you to do with her?" croaked Wally.

"Take her down to Woolwich Basin, where the ice is thinner, and drop her in. He didn't tell us to do that with
you
"—giving Wally a despising look, "but, as you
would
come along for the ride, now you have to pay the fare."

And he turned, whistling, to let out the sail, as the boat went about.

"I'd best drop Dad's sack over the side," Wally murmured to Dido in a low tone. "Maybe someone'll pick it up and find the gold key—"

"What's that about a gold key, my young shaver?" inquired Boletus alertly. "You got a gold key in that there sack? And what would that be the key to, I wonder? Here, Morel, take the tiller a moment."

He moved forward and grabbed the bag that still hung from Wally's shoulder.

"I don't see no gold key," he grumbled after a moment, rummaging through its contents. "But there's a very decent morsel o' cheese here, and a jug of what smells like real grade A tipple—no sense in dropping that down to the fishes at Woolwich. Here, Morel—take a swig of this, it's right stingo stuff!" And he passed the flask to his mate, smacking his lips, and then bolted down a large lump of cheese.

"Too bad there ain't enough for you young 'uns," remarked Morel, tossing down the rest of the drink and then munching the rest of the cheese. "But there's no point in wasting it.... Now where's this gold key you was on about?" he demanded of Wally, groping about in the bottom of the black velvet bag. "
I
don't feel any gold key. Are you trying it on? Because if you are—"

He stopped, suddenly, his face contorted into a mask of extreme agony.

"Jeeeee-rusalem! What in the wide—"

At the same moment Boletus let out a fearful yell of pain.

"Ohhhhhhh! Murder! There's a fire in my bread-basket!"

Both men doubled over, clutching frantically at their stomachs.

"What
is
it?" gasped Dido, utterly bewildered. "What's got into 'em?"

Now the two of them were writhing in the bottom of the boat, rolling over and over like hedgehogs.

Wally moved to the tiller and took it, watching the men dispassionately. He said, "It's Dad's apple punch. You must never, ever drink it when you've eaten cheese. Or t'other way round. The two don't go together. Dad says it's liable to kill you. I don't know if he's right for I never see anyone try it before. But looks like he might be.... Now we'd best be ready to jump; this seems as good a place as any. Are you game?"

"Y-yes," stammered Dido, who was a good deal shaken by the speed at which all these things had happened.

The boat was rushing toward the Deptford shore. Just here, south of the river, was a small boat yard; by its entrance a great tangle of frozen nets lay draped over the bank.

"Aim for the nets!" Wally shouted as he put the tiller across. Dido flung herself out, and, ducking under the boom as it swung over, Wally followed her. Both of them rolled—winded, gasping, but otherwise uninjured—onto the pile of nets. And the margrave's ice yacht, with the two groaning men huddled on its bottom boards, sped on eastward, toward Woolwich Basin, where the river was not yet quite frozen.

Dido picked herself up and said, "What'll us do now?"

"Run like the very devil," said Wally. "See those black dogs over there? Only they ain't dogs—"

A sinister howling came to them over the ice.

"
Wolves!
Croopus, Wally!"

Since the wolves were north of them, where the river curved in a great U-bend, Wally and Dido ran southward, toward the heights of Blackheath.

"They are going to catch us!" panted van Doon. "I cannot run any faster—I have a bad pain in my side."

"Then we must hide," said Is, who had not complained about her bruised and bleeding feet. She looked around them at the wizened thorn trees, at the wild heathland, veiled in snow; she scraped the ground with her bare foot.

"Quick—lie down. What a mussy it snows so." She pulled up armfuls of dead, frozen bracken and made van Doon huddle into the hollow she had thus created. Then she spread the bracken on top of him, thumping it down, flattening it, until it looked like any other part of the forest floor. Then she huddled down beside him, pulling more bracken over herself. "Lucky those perishers ain't got bloodhounds," she remarked, "or they'd nabble us for sure. This way we got a chance."

Indeed the coachman, grave-digger, and two footmen ran right past where they lay. One of the men trod on the Slut's hand. Soon they were out of sight and out of earshot.

At St. James's Palace a grand ball was being held, to conclude the day's festivities. Mr. Twite's music was played. The king was there, looking a little awkward and melancholy, because he was acquainted with so few of the nobility and gentry who were gathered to do him honor. But he danced several times with Princess Adelaide of Thuringia, a plump, plain, kind-faced lady in orange satin and steel-rimmed glasses.

"Och," he sighed to her, "fine I wish I was back in bonnie Scotland and awa' from a' this clamjamfry."

Princess Adelaide squeezed his arm comfortingly. "Ach, never mind it,
liebste
Richart! We will come to know them together, these people, in a little time, you and I. When we are married, we shall live among them very happily, you will see. They are all good, kindly people, I am sure."

"All except
this
one," muttered the king, as the margrave, elegant in white satin and huge pearl buttons, approached him.

On his way, Lady Maria intercepted the margrave.

"My
dearest
Eisengrim! Your
music!
Your musician! What a delight! What a rapture! We were exhilarated—liberated—transported! I, for one, believe that music could heal any trouble in the world."

"Thank you, dear lady," said the margrave briefly, and moved on toward the king, who said, "Transported! Yes, and that's just what
you
are going to be. And not before time."

"Shall I withdraw,
liebste
Richart?" said the princess.

"Na, na, my lass, this will take but a minute. Ha! Eisengrim! I bid ye good evening."

"Good evening, majesty," said the margrave. Then, leaning closer, he murmured, "This party has now gone on long enough. Tell them to leave; I have several matters to discuss with you."

"Och, no, I'll not bid them leave," said the king. His tone was placid, but his gaze was steady and his mouth set very firmly.

Eisengrim's eyes flashed. "You had best do as I order," he was beginning, when the king, leaning forward, said to him gently:

"Tak' a gude, close look at my neb, Eisengrim. Do ye see a scar on it? No, ye do not. I think ye may be under a wee misapprehension. Ye may think that I am Maister van Doon; whereas, I am David Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart, very much at your service.
Now
do ye understand? I will end my ain party at my ain convenience, when I so choose, and at naebody else's bidding at a'. And as for ye, Eisengrim, ye may thank yer stars that ye are a
Hanoverian subject and protected by diplomatic immunity, for, if not, ye wad be clapt in the Tower o' London afore ye could say Killiecrankie! But as matters are, these gentlemen will escort ye hame to Cinnamon Court, and I'll require ye to be oot o' this country, for gude and a', by sunrise tomorrow, or worse may befa' you. And now, I bid ye gude nicht."

After saying which, the king very pointedly turned his back on the ashen-faced, speechless margrave and, still holding the arm of Princess Adelaide, walked away.

Four large, red-faced officers of the King's Household, wearing kilts and carrying claymores, surrounded the margrave and accompanied him to the door in close formation.

"I think we are lost, little one," said van Doon, after he and the Slut had been walking through the thorny, snowy woods for a couple of hours.

"I think so too," said Is.

"And night is coming."

"Yus."

"And I believe I can hear the howling of wolves in the distance."

"Me too."

"I am not at all happy about our situation."

"Nor I'm not, neether. And," said Is, "I reckon we better run. Them wolves is getting tarnal close."

"I do not think I can run anymore. The pain in my side is getting worse. And," said van Doon, "I do not see the use of running if we do not know where we are running to."

"Now hold up, mister," said Is firmly. "We didn't come all this way to knuckle under now, and get eaten by wolves. At least I didn't. 'Sides, I think I can maybe see a light over there in the trees."

Dragging the Dutchman after her, she ran, slipping and sliding in her bare feet, through the snow.

While the ball was taking place in St. James's, Mr. Twite was conducting a concert in St. James's Palace yard, nearby. He had rather expected to be invited to conduct the musical ensemble provided for the ball, but, to his slight surprise, no such invitation had been received.

"It is of no account," said Mr. Twite philosophically. "More people will hear my music outside," and he had set up a platform in the middle of the yard. Here, for several hours, the music that had already delighted the crowds along the processional route was played again, heard and enjoyed by a large enthusiastic crowd.

"More, more!" they shouted. "Play it again!"