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Authors: Joan Aiken

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BOOK: The Whispering Mountain
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“Never mind how!” said Mog. “Likely they have poor Owen trussed up somewhere. Strangle the pair of them, shall we, till they tell us where?”
“Just let me get at them,” said Hwfa.
They flung themselves on Bilk and Prigman, before the latter could reach Abipaal. The cave re-echoed with thuds and yells; Garble came to the assistance of Bilk and Prigman, but even so the three men were far outmatched by the four massive boys. Mog and Dove together tackled Bilk, Hwfa hurled Prigman to the ground with an expert cross-buttock throw, while Luggins pulled Garble down by sheer weight, and then sat on his chest, nearly crushing him.
The prince, in the meantime, was watching with the keenest interest.
“Gude lads! Gude lads! Gie the rogues a bonnie loun-dering!” he cried joyfully. “Gin I hadna this lammit leg I'd be in there aiding ye!”
Presently the fight abated.
“Stunned, my boyo is,” Hwfa said with satisfaction. “Bit of cord, have you, Mog, man? Tie him up tidy, I will, before he do come round.”
The boys pooled their string resources. Mog had quite a long piece, which did for Prigman; Dove contributed a neckerchief, which was used to tie Garble's hands behind him; Luggins, rather shamefacedly, produced from his pockets a number of short lengths of cord to which horse chestnuts had been attached, and began removing the chestnuts and tieing the lengths together.
“Hurry up,” said Hwfa crossly, “before I will give you a good clip on the ear. Conkers, indeed! Shame you have brought on us, boy.”
In guilty haste, Luggins dropped the last two conkers and handed over the joined strings; Bilk was tied up.
“Tidy job, to be sure,” Tom Dando said, with approval. “But where is young Owen Hughes?”
“Not a sign of him have we seen,” Hwfa said. “Maybe these scum can be telling.” Threateningly he turned on Bilk, and asked him, “What have you done with our mate, and do not try to tell me a lie, or there is clear down your throat I will push your nasty teeth.”
“B-b-blest if I know where the little micher has got to,” stammered Bilk, looking scared to death. “We h-heered him a-letting out a whoobub down yonder, but that was hours agone; since then we haven't seen him, and that's Ticklepenny's truth!”
In spite of all threats he stuck to this story, and his listeners began to believe that it must be true.
“Perhaps he have fallen down a hole? Maybe we should fetch the fire-brigade,” Luggins said, looking worried.
But at this moment Owen himself rushed out from one of the passages, pale with haste and exhaustion.
“Where is Abipaal? Is he all right? And the harp? Ah, thank goodness!” he cried with a gasp of relief, observing first the boys and then the small figure, huddled with the harp on the rocky brink. “I thought for sure he would come back here! But where have Bilk and Prigman got to, and that other fellow?”
Luggins stepped back to exhibit the captives.
“Tied up we have got them like a lot of old mailbags,” he said proudly.
“No thanks to you,” Hwfa muttered.
Prigman was beginning to stir in his bonds; Bilk and Garble eyed their captors balefully.
“Aweel, aweel,” exclaimed Prince David, “now we're
a” thegither ance more, and the bonnie harp findit that's been the cause of sic a muckle clamjamfry, let's e'en gan awa” oot this murky hole. Fetch up the harp and the wee mannie, but ye can leave yon ruffians bide; we'll syne send the justices for them. Perdition on this doited leg; I fear ye'll hae tae carry me yet again, lads.”
Accordingly, the boys approached Prince David to pick up his improvised litter, but before they could reach him a voice from above cried, “Stand!”
Halfway up the side of the cave, at the head of one of the flights of steps, stood the Marquess of Malyn.
He presented a wild and sinister figure. His face was deathly pale, paler even than the snow which encrusted the many capes of his greatcoat, and in either hand he held a cocked pistol. His strange yellow eyes burned with a feverish light when they beheld the Harp of Teirtu, and Luggins trembled superstitiously, making the sign to avert the Evil Eye, as the Marquess began to descend the steps.
“Diafol, Mog, he do look like old Bogey-Boo himself!”
“Let nobody move,” warned Lord Malyn. “The first to do so will receive a breakfast of lead!”
“Gude save us!” exclaimed Prince David. “Malyn! Whit gars ye.act sae daft, man? ‘Tis treason o' the blackest tae point yon brace o' barkers at your ain anointit prince!”
“Oh, are ye there, Wales?” said Lord Malyn, who had not previously observed the prince, his attention being too fixed on the harp. “Well, it makes no odds; neither prince nor commoner will keep me any longer from my objective. I have not driven fourteen horses and a footman to their end through the blizzard to be foiled
now.
” His eyes came to rest on Prigman, Bilk, and Garble; his lips curled scornfully.
“What, you have let yourselves be trussed up by a handful of ragged pit-boys? Small wonder you made such a wretched mull of trying to get me the harp.”
Bilk, red with anger and shame, writhed in his bonds; some of the knotted strings came apart, and he managed to free his hands.
“Good,” said Lord Malyn calmly. “Loosen the other two, then bring me the harp. And secure the little creature who holds it. I have a notion that he is one of my friends the Seljuk's people.”
“Dammo!” exclaimed Tom, starting forward. “Are we to stand here while this herwhaliwr tramples us like grass?”
But one of Lord Malyn's pistols was trained steadily on the Prince of Wales.
“Move but another inch and the prince dies,” the Marquess announced coldly. Tom stood still, muttering curses.
“Are those men free? Right; now fetch me the harp.”
Warily, sweating with fear of the drop below, Bilk approached Abipaal, who crouched like some small cornered animal on the tongue of rock; his eyes shot from side to side, then up, then down; he cast a desperate look at Tom Dando, who was moving by imperceptible degrees towards the helpless prince.
“Abipaal! called Owen. “Dodge him!”
Bilk shot out an arm; Abipaal slipped to one side, just avoiding it With a furious oath, Bilk lunged again but Abipaal, mustering all his tremendous strength and agility, bounded from the rock on which he stood down—down—across the abyss, and landed on the lower spur with a triumphant
jangle of harpstrings, as if Teirtu herself were shouting defiance at her pursuers.
“Crambo!” gasped Bilk. “The little boggart! Who'd a thought—
help
!”
His lunge had taken him too far; he tottered, swaying, upon the brink for the space of six heartbeats, clutching at air; then, with a fearful, wailing cry, overbalanced and hurtled downwards into the dark.
“Bilk!” cried Prigman. He started forward towards the verge, and trod on the conkers which Luggins had carelessly dropped there. His feet shot from under him, he fell forward, and, hardly a moment later, followed his comrade to destruction.
“Duw!” said Luggins. “Not such a bad thing to have a few conkers along, Hwfa, I am thinking?”
His voice broke the petrified silence into which everyone had fallen at the fate of the thieves. With a hissing intake of breath, Lord Malyn moved his pistols, menacing the boys, Tom, and Prince David.
“Garble,” he ordered, apparently quite unmoved by the sudden and shocking end of his two agents, “go after that imp of the pit and secure the harp. He is now down on the lower spur.”
Very pale, apparently not relishing the task, Garble moved towards one of the entrances.
“I doubt he'll not catch the little wasp,” Hwfa uttered hopefully.
But Garble was not destined even to try; with a sudden hubbub of voices, Brother Ianto, Mr. Hughes, Arabis, Yehimelek, and the Seljuk rushed out from another opening in the rock.
Owen had been slowly edging his little book from his pocket; seizing the chance of this distraction he hurled it at Garble, who, struck heavily on the back of the neck, dropped as if he had been felled by a life-preserver.
At the same instant Tom Dando flung himself between the Marquess and the Prince of Wales; only just in time; utterly maddened and unhinged by these reverses, Lord Malyn was taking aim at the prince. Tom pushed Prince David aside as the gun went off, but took the shot himself, full in the chest.
Arabis let out a piercing cry,” Dada!”
The prince would certainly have gone over the edge had not Owen - thrown himself forward and just managed to drag him to safety.
“Ach y fi, that filthy swine have killed Mr. Dando!” swore Hwfa between his teeth. “Come on and get him, boys, is it? Only one shot he have left; he can't do for us all.”
Glaring, step by step, the Marquess retreated from them on to the Devil's Leap.
“Come no nearer!” he warned. “I shall blow out the brains of the first to step within four yards.”
The boys wavered; meanwhile Lord Malyn cast a glance slantways down, plainly trying to gauge whether he would be able to imitate Abipaal's escape and take the frightful plunge across the pit.
“He shan't give us the slip that way!” Owen cried, bounding forward. The Marquess discharged his other pistol, but the shot went wide, and its noise was drowned by a much louder sound; as they all watched, thunderstruck, they saw a crack open in the ground and widen with fearful
speed; the whole portion of rock on which Lord Malyn stood, weakened either by the sound of the shots or the unusual activity upon it, began to tilt slowly away from the edge. Lord Malyn started, and made a snatch at the guard-rope nearest to him, but missed it; the rock tilted farther—snapped clean off—and shot downwards, taking Lord Malyn with it. Two minutes later a great blast of hot vapour surged up, evidently displaced from some hollow in the depths of the mountain by the massive piece of rock. It passed roaring through the cave and burst from the numerous vents and fissures above with a violent yelling whistle, as if the mountain shrieked in agony.
Startling though these occurrences were, three persons had taken but little notice of them. Mr. Hughes and Brother Ianto, kneeling by Tom, were endeavouring to stop the flow of blood from his wound, while Arabis frantically tore strips from her petticoat for bandages.
“Air, he needs. We should carry him out,” Mr. Hughes recommended.
“I thank you, but not to trouble, is it?” Tom said with difficulty. “Waste of time, see? Done for, I am, indeed, Arabis, my little one, but no matter; decent old life I have had, and plenty of friends to look after you when I am gone.”
Arabis, choked with grief, could not reply, but the Prince of Wales, who had been helped back to his bench by the boys, exclaimed,
“Aye indeed, I'll see the lass is brocht up as brawly as ane o' my own, on the word of Davie Tudor-Stuart, for whom ye shed your honest blude! Wae's me, I'm sair fashed that this should ha” come to pass!”
Mr. Hughes gave the prince a startled look; up to this moment he had not realized that he was in the presence of royalty.
“And as for yon harp that all this ploy has been aboot, I shall make sure it is handit ower to your lass, sin” it is richtfully hers,” the prince went on, surprising Mr. Hughes still more,”and, man, ye shall hae the grandest funeral a poet could, wi” the music of a hundred harps and a” the bards of Wales to do ye honour.”
“There's nice,” Tom said faintly, smiling. “No finer than that grand sing we have had together though, I am thinking! But as for the harp, too much hate and spite it have caused already. If that small fellow wish to keep it, let him do so, eh, Arabis, my little one?”
“Oh yes indeed!” Arabis cried weeping. “What do I care about the old harp? Only to have you stay alive, Dada, please, is it? Make a try, now!”
“No, girl, my time is come. Like to have written a couple more poems, I would indeed, but too late now.”
Sighing a little, like a man who is weary after a pleasant day's journey, Tom leaned back against the arm of Brother Ianto. Suddenly his eyes brightened, and, for a moment, opened wide, as if he saw something very beautiful and unexpected directly in front of him.
“O well now, just fancy that!” he exclaimed.
Then his eyes shut and he was gone.
 
A few minutes later little Abipaal, carrying the Harp of Teirtu, came stealing cautiously out of one of the smaller caves where he had been hiding. Timid as a wild goat but drawn, it seemed, by some powerful urge, he approached
the silent group, scanning them, evidently searching for somebody. Perceiving Tom stretched on the rock he hurried forward and held out the harp; then stopped short, stared, crept nearer; with a cry of anguish flung down the harp at Tom's feet and sank beside it, wailing and keening and rocking back and forth as if he, too, had received a mortal wound.
BOOK: The Whispering Mountain
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