The Stolen Lake (3 page)

"Blister me!" muttered Dido, startled out of her gloom. "What are they called—them big birds? Lucky we don't have
them
in Battersea, or it'd be short commons for the sparrows."

"Their correct designation is
rocs,
" said Captain Hughes. "But I understand the Cumbrians refer to them as
aurocs
—because of the tusks, presumably. So you see it is imperative that, while we are in that land, you behave yourself obediently—let there be no quirks or foolish capers, I beg!"

"Reckon there won't be time," said Dido. "We'll be too busy dodging the snakes and alligotamoses—not to mention them awe-rocks. G'night, Cap."

She quietly shut the door behind her and glanced into the galley, hoping to find Mr. Holystone. One thing—I'm glad
he
's coming along, she thought. He's a right handy cove; daresay he'll be a regular oner when it comes to dealing with giant spiders and bats and awe-rocks.

But Mr. Holystone was not in his galley.

And, strangely enough, Dido thought she recognized the back view of Silver Taffy, walking away along the corridor.

What was
he
doing in Mr. Holystone's galley? she wondered.

The cat, El Dorado, emerged from a place of concealment in the galley coal scuttle, and came to wrap her long tail twice round Dido's ankles.

"Hey, puss!" said Dido. "Lucky Taffy didn't see you or he'd likely have poured a pot of shark soup over you. Are you coming to New Cumbria too? I'd not give a groat for your chances if you stayed on board without Mr. Holy to keep an eye on you. How about coming to share my bunk?"

The kitchen slate was hanging on the wall. It contained the notes: "Weevils in flour. Tell Quartermaster. Fish for Cap brek. Shark again?"

Dido added at the foot: "Hav tuk Dora to bedd. Cap sez you gotta lern me Maners. D."

Then she retired to her tiny cabin, scrubbed her teeth with a rope's end, and clambered into her bunk, where Dora was already purring.

"Well," she yawned, "I guess us'll have some fine larks in New Cumbria, hey, Dora? With the silver cobbles and the hairy spiders—maybe the cobbles'll come in handy for beaning the spiders."

Presently the door opened softly, and Dido felt the blanket twitched off her feet.

"Hey," she muttered, "you're tickling!" Then she was suddenly wide awake, bolt upright. "
Murder,
is it one o' them spiders?...Oh, it's you, Mr. Holy! What the blazes are you doing to my toes?"

"We are in cockroach latitudes," replied Mr. Holystone, who held a little bottle of dark green liquid and a paintbrush. "They swim out from land. So you must paint your toes every night, and your fingers, with this cactus oil. I thought I might do it without waking you." He passed her the bottle.

"What if you don't?" inquired Dido, industriously painting away at her toes.

"Cockroaches come into bed and nibble; you wake up next day with half a dozen toes missing."

"Oh."

"Good night, Miss Dido," said Holystone, and took the bottle from her.

"Mr. Holy, Silver Taffy was in your pantry—why? What'd he come there for?"

"He came to steal the pigeon," Mr. Holystone replied. Dido could feel anger beneath his calm.

"The pigeon? What for? To
eat?
"

"No, no. He sent it off—Mr. Multiple saw him toss it over the side."

"With a message? Who's he want to send a message to?"

"How can we tell? To some of his piratical friends, maybe."

Frowning to himself, Mr. Holystone withdrew, and closed the door.

Dido went back to sleep, and dreamed of hairy cockroaches, bigger than horses, with tusks thirty feet long.

Even with the added power of her steam screw, it took the
Thrush
a week to make her way down the coast of Roman America as far as Tenby. For three days, while they were crossing the equator, the weather became outrageously hot, and, as Mr. Holystone had prophesied, cockroaches came on board in large numbers. They were a great nuisance, turning up in wholly unsuitable places: the crow's nest, the captain's bath, the compass, and the quartermaster's molasses jar.

Dido had a busy and aggravating week.

"Love a duck! Why did I ever let myself in for this lay?" she grumbled, when obliged by the exacting Mr. Holystone to walk up and down outside the wardroom door with a copy of the heavy King's Regulations balanced on her head, in order to acquire a more dignified and ladylike posture.

"Plenty of girls would give their eyeteeth to meet a queen," observed Mr. Holystone. He was sitting in his galley, so that he could keep an eye on her through the open door, while he stuffed half a dozen flying fish with a mixture of minced barnacles and powdered hardtack. "When I did my butler's training in London there was a young ladies' finishing school in the same building. All the girls talked about was the day when they would make their curtsy before His Majesty King James III."

"Finishing school?" growled Dido. "That's a right good name for it. It's liable to finish
me,
I can tell you."

"Now curtsy," said Mr. Holystone calmly. "Do not let the King's Regulations slip off your head. Point the right toe—swing the leg slowly to the side, then back—bend the left knee—hands move slowly backwards, spreading the fingers wide—"

The King's Regulations thudded to the floor, narrowly missing the feet of the first lieutenant, a fair-haired young man with a long, earnest face, who came by at that moment. He gave Dido a sympathetic grin, and went into the captain's cabin, where they heard him reporting:

"Thirteen volcanoes sighted ahead on the starb'd bow, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Windward. You may give the order to slacken sail. We shall heave to, a safe distance out to sea from the port of Tenby, in case the state of hostility between New Cumbria and its neighbor should have worsened. I hope to receive further information and instructions from the British agent in Tenby."

"Ay, ay, sir." Lieutenant Windward saluted and returned on deck.

Dido replaced the King's Regulations on her head.

She pointed her right toe and announced, "How do you do, Your Majesty?" Then she shakily lowered herself on a bent left knee, continuing, "It was kind of you to invite me to your palace.... Oh, fish guts!" as the heavy book crashed to the floor once more.

"You had better come in here," said Mr. Holystone, "and practice taking tea. Thumb and three fingers together on the handle—small finger extended.... Good. Let me hear your tea table conversation."

"No sugar, thank you, Your Majesty. Merely a drop of cream. There; that is just as I like it. Pray, ma'am, from which Tradesman do you obtain your tay?"

"No, Dido,
no!
Not 'Pry, from which tridesman dew yew obtine yer tie?' 'From which
place
do you
obtain
your
tay?
'"

"From which plaice dew yew obteeyne yewer teeaye?"

Mr. Holystone threw up his eyes to heaven.

At this moment a sudden shudder through the ship indicated that the
Thrush
had hove to; they heard the creak of windlasses and the thud of feet on deck as the sails were lowered.

"Oh, please lemme go up on deck, Mr. Holy!" begged Dido. "I'll practice ever so hard tonight, cut my throat and swelp me, so I will!"

Mr. Holystone shrugged and let her go. To his mind, the chances of Dido's acquiring the manners of a polite young lady seemed about as probable as a mouse's nest in a cat's ear. Besides, he thought, how do we know what is considered polite behavior in Bath Regis?

Up on deck, Dido glanced eagerly about her.

The Cumbrian coast was visible as a line of black cliffs, about two miles to westward of the
Thrush.
Those cliffs must be tarnal high, Dido thought, to be so plain from here. But at one point they dropped to a V. And a pinnace, which had put out from the
Thrush,
was steering for this cleft.

Beyond the cliffs, and a good deal farther inland, Dido thought, a line of mountains could be seen—a cluster of peaks, very high and spiky, like the teeth of some great trap. Wonder if Bath Regis is up in them mountains? If so, it's going to be a scrabblish climb getting up there. Oh, scrape it! Dido sighed to herself; don't I just wish it was the Kentish flats, and that there port was Gravesend!

A considerable bustle was going on about the decks and rigging, as the sailors spread sails over the yards to act as awnings, bundled other sails tidily into canvas cases, coiled up the shrouds, and generally prepared the ship for a spell of inactivity. Dido, on the foredeck, had to duck and dodge several times, as men dashed past her or ropes whistled over her head.

All of a sudden she heard an angry yell and the outraged squall of a cat. Spinning round, she was just in time to see the sailor known as Silver Taffy grab hold of El Dorado, who had been perched on one of the main-deck eighteen-pounders, minding her own business. Twirling the cat by her long tail, Taffy tossed her over the side. Not, however, before Dora had avenged herself by slashing with all her claws at Taffy's face. She whirled through the air, turning over a dozen times, and would certainly have fallen prey to the sharks had she not struck the anchor cable. With despairing strength the poor animal managed to twine her long, sinuous tail several times round the cable, and so dangled there, swinging and wailing, as she scrabbled frenziedly to grasp the rope with her paws.

"Hang on, Dora—I'll get you!" shouted Dido, who was not far off. She flung herself over the rail and slid down the anchor cable. Grabbing El Dorado round the chest, she hugged the cat against her and began to work her way upward again—no easy matter, as the frantic Dora bit, struggled, squalled, squirmed, and did all in her power to hinder the rescue. Luckily, a couple of midshipmen had witnessed the incident and leaned over to take the cat from Dido; Dora was a general favorite with all the crew except Silver Taffy because of her prowess as a mouser.

"Thankee, Mr. Multiple," panted Dido, scrambling back over the rail. "Dang it, ain't she a Tartar, though! Reckon my face looks like Blackheath Pond after a week's skating!" and she wiped the blood from her eyes.

"It just about does, Miss Dido," said the red-haired Mr. Multiple with a grin. "You'd best take puss below and get Mr. Holystone to bathe those scritches. That was a right nimble job you did there, miss—anyone'd think you'd spent your life at sea."

"Well, I justabout have," said Dido. "Here, Dora, you'd best come along of me. Seems you ain't welcome on deck."

With a darkling glance at Silver Taffy she picked up El Dorado—who had resumed her usual calm and was haughtily putting her ruffled copper fur to rights—and carried the cat below.

"What in the world have you been at, child?" exclaimed Mr. Holystone. "Captain Hughes will hardly think you fit to attend the queen's court if he sees you like that. Here—" and he anointed Dido's countenance with a most evil-smelling paste of shark's liver and seaweed, ordering her to lie in her bunk for three hours, and meanwhile occupy the times usefully by reciting a litany that went:

We clean three tweed beads a week with Maltese seaweed;

Lady Jane Grey, pray do not stray to Mandalay on market day.

Dido found this very unfair. She flung herself crossly on her bunk.

"We clean three tweed beads a week ... Oh, butter my brogans, what rubbish!"

Luckily, before she had time to become too annoyed, Dido fell fast asleep; the cockroaches had been particularly troublesome the previous night, rustling around with a noise like toast crumbs being shaken inside a paper bag; they had kept her awake for hours.

When she next woke, evening had come; the air was cooler and the light was dim. Yawning, she rolled off her bunk—the weight that had settled on her chest proved to be El Dorado—and went up on deck with the cat for a breath of fresh air, keeping a wary eye out for Silver Taffy.

She found Mr. Holystone on the foredeck, scraping mussels, which he took from a wicker hamper and dropped, when clean, into a cauldron. Dido squatted down to help him, and he exclaimed with satisfaction on the healing work already accomplished by the shark paste.

"Miss Dido," he went on in a lower tone, "I cannot sufficiently express my obligation to you for saving my poor Dora from that ruffian. Young Multiple told me the whole while you were asleep. I had thought you must have been teasing Dora—I might have known I was wrong."

Dido kindly forgave his unjust suspicions. "Anyhows, if you thought I'd been pulling Dora's tail, Mr. Holy, it was right kind of you to doctor me. But why is that Silver Taffy so down on poor Dora?"

"When we were at Nombre de Dios a fortune-teller came along the dock, telling fortunes by dropping a spoonful of soot into people's hands. She told Taffy that the lines in his hand foretold that a cat would be the end of him. He is a very superstitious fellow," said Mr. Holystone, shrugging.

"No wonder he's so tarnal mean to Dora. I'm surprised you let her up on deck."

"Oh, she can usually look after herself. The El Dorado cats have a superior degree of intelligence."

"Are there others like her, then?"

"Indeed yes. Where I come from in Hy Brasil and in Lyonesse such cats are not uncommon."

"With such long tails?"

"Many longer still. They can swing on trees as nimbly as any ape. I have heard it said that there were such cats in the lost garden where our forefathers walked with the gods."

"Fancy!" said Dido. Looking thoughtfully at Mr. Holystone, she asked, after a moment, "Is it a nice place, that land of Hy Brasil? Where you come from?"

A cloud appeared to pass over the steward's brow. He began to say something, checked himself, and, after a moment, merely remarked, "Yes; it is a pleasant place." Then he stood up, easily lifting the heavy cauldron of cleaned mussels.

"Captain Hughes has invited the British agent to dinner. See, there is the pinnace, putting out to fetch him. Bring down the basket, Miss Dido, if you will be so kind."

Mr. Brandywinde, the British agent, proved, when he came on board, to be a blotchy-faced, wandering-eyed, seedy-looking individual. He wore a tricorne hat, snuffcolored suit, silver-buckled shoes; his sandy, thinning hair was dressed in a style long out of date, tied at the back with a small grosgrain bow. Dido, peering through the galley doorway as he passed, thought how untrustworthy he looked, and she guessed that Captain Hughes felt the same, for his voice, when he greeted Brandywinde, was noticeably quiet and dry.