The Box of Delights (32 page)

‘Oh,’ Kay said, ‘look, look! It is your Box! However did it get there? The foxy-faced man must have dropped it.’

‘That is what it is,’ old Cole said. ‘And what quick eyes, Master Harker.’

The old man went swiftly along the boat’s length and vaulted over the gunwale into the stream, which was now over his ankles. He had been quick, but the little aeroplanes now darted down
at the shining prize. One of them swooped at it and missed, tried to rise from the water but failed and went directly under the current with a great noise of sizzling. A second darted out; all the
wolf motor cars dashed to the brink of the stream. Cole knocked the aeroplanes aside, caught the glittering treasure as it sailed by; then, scooping the water with his free hand, he splashed it
into the champing bonnet of the nearest motor car wolf, which at once stopped working and sputtered.

Cole vaulted into the boat. ‘Shove off,’ he said. He reached to Kay and at a touch restored his shape. ‘That’s rather better, Master Kay,’ he said.

‘Indeed it is,’ Kay said. ‘And look, there are some oars floating; they must have come from the lake.’

He leaned over the side of the boat and salved one oar: Cole salved a second.

‘Now, here we are,’ Cole said. ‘You stand on that side, Master Kay, and shove her off the rocks. I will do the same on this side.’

The current drove the boat into the alleys of blackness. The gallery in which they were floating was now almost full: they had to stoop to avoid the roof; often they snapped off the stalactites
as they passed. The boat drove into another gallery. There, clinging to a stalactite, submerged up to the waist, was a drenched and sodden Rat, crying, ‘Pity a poor drowning man; an old naval
pensioner what give his youth for the Empire.’

The man with the boat-hook said, ‘I’ll fetch that chap a clip as we pass.’

‘No, no,’ Kay said. ‘He will help us to find the prisons.’

Cole Hawlings leaned over and pulled the Rat on board by his mangy collar. He was very cold with wet and terror; he shivered with chattering teeth.

‘That’s what comes,’ he said, ‘of having cisterns what burst. Time was when a cellar was a cellar, but now, in these upside-downside days, folk keep their water with
their wine, it seems.’

‘You know these cellars,’ Kay said; ‘where are the prisons with the clergymen in them?’

‘Would they be what you call “religious parties”?’ the Rat asked. ‘They’re along here, quite close. I was having as nice a little bit of a religious biscuit
as ever I ate, out of one of their pockets, when this water came in and I had to leave it. That’s Life, that is: a poor man works for five years and gets nothing, then, when he gets a bit of
biscuit, the cistern bursts. And such is Life. That’s what.’

‘They were along here?’ Kay asked, pointing into the cave.

‘They were along there,’ the Rat said, ‘so was the biscuit; but the biscuit will be pulp by this and the religious parties not much better. And my young nephew, Alf, will have
water in his works, too, I shouldn’t wonder, which would be a loss. As pretty a young larcener, he was, as ever I tried, so the Judge said. I suppose you ain’t got a bit of bacon-rind
you could give a poor man?’

‘No, we haven’t,’ Kay said.

‘There’s nobody keeps bacon-rind now,’ the Rat said. ‘They’re too proud. Stuck-up, I can it. Yah.’

The boat drove under a low-hanging stretch of cave. There, near a stalactite, was a hole in the roof. Kay thought that he saw the evil mouth of Alf there, saying, ‘Hop it, uncle.’ As
the boat drove under the stalactite, Kay saw that it was Alf stretching a dirty paw. The Rat sprang, caught it, swung himself to the hole and disappeared into it.

‘Well, that’s got rid of him,’ Kay said. ‘And there are the cells.’

He was wrong; it was not the prison; it was the cell containing Caroline Louisa.

‘It’s all right,’ Kay cried, ‘we are coming to get you out.’

‘Try your keys, keyman,’ Cole said.

The man with the nose like a broken stick took his keys and opened the door without difficulty. ‘I’m afraid you are sopping wet and half frozen,’ Kay said to Caroline Louisa,
as he helped her in, ‘but we’ll soon get you to some dry and warm things. D’you happen to know the way to the other prisons?’

‘I don’t indeed,’ she said. ‘They weren’t anywhere near here.’

At this moment they heard a hail from along the corridor: ‘Boat ahoy!’ Somebody away there in the darkness of the alley was clapping hands and shouting, to attract attention.

‘Who are you?’ Cole cried.

‘The Tatchester Cathedral staff,’ the Bishop’s voice answered.

The boat drove on along the gallery. There, indeed, ankle-deep in the stream at the edge of the corridor, were the Bishop, the Dean, the Archdeacon, the Bishop’s Chaplain, the Canons, the
Minor Canons, the Precentor, the Organist, the Master Vesturer, the Bursar, the Librarian, the Chief Theologian and Peter Jones. Cole and his crew helped them on board.

‘How on earth did you all get out?’ Kay asked.

‘Oh,’ the Bishop said, ‘we’ve been out some time. A man and a woman came down, to let out a friend of theirs, called Joe. They went away with him, but after a minute, Joe
ran back with the keys and let us all out, and said, “It would be sure death to us to follow him, but that there was another way out,” to which he directed us.

‘We started as he told us, the caves were lit at that time. Then some terrible scoundrels, pirates evidently, wearing red aprons and sea-boots, came stamping along, led by one whom they
called Rum-Chops. They said, “It’s no good going that way; all the lower caves are full already, and our submarine’s at the bottom of them sunk. Mizzle” (so they told us),
“dead right about, or you’ll be sunk, too.”

‘They ran on and we followed them, but all the lights went out suddenly, and we lost them. Since then we have been groping in the dark, almost at the end of our matches and our hope. Where
are we, can you tell us?’

‘Down in the heart of the Chester Hills,’ old Cole said; ‘but perhaps we’ll get you out afore long. Give way, all.’

They shoved the boat on, upstream, poling with oars and boat-hook, heaving with eager hands against the rocks.

‘Where are the others?’ Kay asked.

‘What others?’ the Dean asked.

‘The Bell-ringers, the choirboys and at least half the Choir,’ Kay said. ‘Oh, and the Friends of the Cathedral, and perhaps a lot of others.’

‘Shout, everybody,’ Cole said. ‘If they’ve not all been drowned, they may hear us.’

They shouted: their voices echoed and boomed among the galleries. It seemed to Kay that some other sound of voices could be heard when the echoes died a little.

‘Isn’t that singing?’ he said.

‘And what quick ears, Master Harker,’ Cole said. ‘Singing it is, away along there in the darkness. Heave all together, now, for they must be sorely pressed.’

They drove on against the stream: presently they heard the voices of the Bell-ringers and some of the Choir singing, ‘Good King Wenceslas.’ They shouted to reassure them and soon
heard answering shouts. Very soon the boat was alongside the cage, where the poor fellows stood in the cold water which was already over their knees. It was pitiful to hear the piteous cries of the
choirboys, some of whom were saying, ‘Oh, if I’d only known, I’d never have cheeked my poor mother,’ or, ‘Oh, if I could only have my time again, I’d do what my
kind master told me,’ or, ‘Oh, I wish I hadn’t tied that tin can on the dog’s tail,’ or, ‘Oh, if only I could get away, I’d burn my catapult and I would be
good; oh, I would be good.’

‘Cheer up,’ Cole shouted to them. ‘We’ll soon get these locks open.’

But to get these locks open was not easy. It was a different kind of lock from any the keyman had known; he tried one key after another.

‘No, they won’t fit these locks,’ he said. ‘You want the Handcuff King for these.’

‘Oh, please be quick, sir; please be quick,’ the boys cried. ‘It is up to our knees already.’

‘I’m afraid it is no good,’ the man with the keys said. ‘I can’t get these locks to work.’

‘I’ve got keys; try these,’ the Bishop said.

‘And these,’ the Dean said. But, no, none of the keys fitted.

‘There’s nothing for it,’ the keyman said solemnly, ‘but to compose yourselves unto a set of watery tombs.’

‘A set of watery rubbish,’ Cole said, heaving himself out of the boat to the door. ‘Let me have a look at these locks. Why,’ Cole said, ‘no wonder you
couldn’t get them to work. They aren’t locks: the doors have spring catches and not locks at all. You have only got to open them by the handle here . . . there you are. Now, come out.
See that you are all out. And mind you don’t swamp the boat as you get on board. Lively with you now. That’s the ticket. Come, now, are you all on board?’

‘Yes,’ the Master Bell-ringer said. ‘This is the lot of us.’

‘Well,’ Cole said, ‘if you are all on board the lugger, we’ll push off then, upstream. These galleries are almost full to the roof now. There is not much room for us. We
all will have to do what they do in the barges in the London tunnels: all lie on our backs and push the boat forward by our boots upon the ceiling.’

All in the boat lay down upon their backs as Cole had bidden, and pushed the boat forward by getting their boots against the roof of the corridor. The sculler alone did not lie down: he bent in
the hollow of the stern-sheets, heaving at his oar, which grunted in the rowlock and splashed with the blade. The Precentor kept the time for the kickers: ‘One – Heave! . . . Two
– Lift leg . . . Three – Boot on the roof . . . then, One – Heave!’ The boat forged slowly ahead with gurglings and cluckings of water. There was a great current against
them and in some places the roof was very near. Kay could see little save archings of rock, which sometimes glistened with water and were sometimes hung with stalactites. His little legs were so
short that they were not much good in heaving the boat forward.

In one place, the river ran through a wide cavern, the wall of which had been painted with a procession of men leading bulls and horses.

‘That was our old religion, Master Harker,’ Cole said, nodding towards it. ‘It was nothing like so good as the new, of course, but it was good fun in its day though, because it
ended in a feast.’

‘You didn’t eat horses,’ Kay said, ‘did you?’

‘Ah, didn’t we,’ Cole said.

After this they came into a narrow cave where the current was very strong. A sort of glimmer of light showed ahead. ‘There is moonlight and there is the sluice,’ Cole cried.

Kay sat up. There ahead was a silvery, shaking patch of light with a troubled roaring water pouring down in a fall. All about them the water eddied and jobbled. The boat tossed. The men, heaving
with their boots, trebled their efforts, and slowly the boat plunged forward against the rush.

‘We will never get up a fall like that,’ the Bishop said.

‘Where a salmon can go a man can go,’ Cole said.

The boat drew slowly nearer against the rush of the stream. ‘This is only the first half of it,’ Cole said. ‘There is another fall above this. But lay hold of that tumbled tree
there: it seems to me to be jammed firm. We can haul ourselves up by that.’

Jammed along the length of the fall, boughs downward, was a young fir tree. Leaning over the side, all who could caught hold of the trunk of this. Heaving all together they drove the boat into
the rush and upward. Icy cold water spurted all over them in a sheet; but they hove again, held all they had won, and then hove onward. Heaving all together they drove the boat up to the top of the
first fall.

There beyond them, as Cole had said, was another shorter fall. In bright moonlight, at the mouth of this upper fall, Kay saw Abner heaving on a big winch-handle which worked the sluice there.
Abner was crying out:

‘This thing has jammed. It ought to be wide but it’s only half open. Open, will you!’

He hove and hove, then he left the winch-handle and dug at one of the cog-wheels with a knife.

‘It’s this cog that’s jammed,’ he cried. ‘Open! Open!’

The boat forged forward to the foot of the second fall.

‘We are in luck’s way,’ Cole said. ‘See, there is an iron railing along the fall. We can heave up by that.’

All hands seized the iron rail and drove the boat up. In the fury of his own effort Abner heard nothing of the boat’s approach. Kay saw him fling off his coat and again heave upon the
winch. The boat was just behind him, but he knew nothing about her.

Kay heard him cry, ‘She’s moving; she’s moving. There she goes.’ He burst into song:

‘Now,’ Cole said, ‘heave together – heave!’

Under their enormous heave, the boat moved up in spouting, drenching jerks. She paused for one instant on the timbers of the sluice-boards – Kay distinctly felt them give way beneath the
boat’s weight – but the boat, under the impetus of the final heave, drove on past the astonished Abner and roaring fall, into the calm water of the lake.

Just as Kay passed Abner, something big swooped silently down and hovered just over their heads. Kay saw that it was one of the silent aeroplanes used by the gang. A light suddenly went up
within its pilot-house. On the side of the car, the words ‘Number Three Plane’ appeared in red. Kay saw the Pouncer, the foxy-faced man and Joe leaning from the windows.

‘Oh, Abner, did you really think to diddle me?’ the Pouncer called.

‘We’ve got all your jewels, Abner, ha-ha, what,’ the foxy-faced man cried.

‘Goodbye, Abner,’ Joe called. Kay saw Joe lean further out and heave down what seemed like a bomb on Abner’s head. It struck his head and exploded, but it was not a bomb: it
was a two-pound bag of flour. ‘Got him,’ Joe said.

Then the aeroplane lifted and was away into the air.

The flour covered Abner’s head and shoulders like a mane. For an instant, he stood like one stunned, not knowing what had fallen on him; then he turned, scraping the flour from his eyes.
Not seeing, and perhaps not remembering, where he was, he came too near to the sluice, slipped, clutched, gave a startled cry and fell headlong into the torrent. For one instant Kay saw his legs
thus: