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Title: The Silver Chair
Author: Lewis, C. S. [Clive Staples] (1898-1963)
Date of first publication: 1953
Edition used as base for this ebook:
  London: Geoffrey Bles, 1965
  [sixth printing]
Date first posted: 5 February 2014
Date last updated: 5 February 2014
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1156

This ebook was produced by Al Haines


[Transcriber's note: Because of copyright considerations,
the illustrations by Pauline Baynes (1922-2008) have been
omitted from this etext.]






  THE SILVER CHAIR

  by
  C. S. LEWIS




  TO
  NICHOLAS HARDIE




  CONTENTS


  I.  BEHIND THE GYM
  II.  JILL IS GIVEN A TASK
  III.  THE SAILING OF THE KING
  IV.  A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS
  V.  PUDDLEGLUM
  VI.  THE WILD WASTE LANDS OF THE NORTH
  VII.  THE HILL OF THE STRANGE TRENCHES
  VIII.  THE HOUSE OF HARFANG
  IX.  HOW THEY DISCOVERED SOMETHING WORTH KNOWING
  X.  TRAVELS WITHOUT THE SUN
  XI.  IN THE DARK CASTLE
  XII.  THE QUEEN OF UNDERLAND
  XIII.  UNDERLAND WITHOUT THE QUEEN
  XIV.  THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD
  XV.  THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JILL
  XVI.  THE HEALING OF HARMS




_Chapter I_

BEHIND THE GYM

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
to 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 further 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 worlds 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--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 things in
queer letters in it--and stand inside--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 a 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 onto 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 Jackie, 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 Jackie'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 realised 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 realise 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: further below those
clouds than you are above them.

Jill stared at it.  Then she thought that perhaps, after all, she would
step back a foot 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 be 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 further 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.




_Chapter II_

JILL IS GIVEN A TASK

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 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 tip-toes,
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 realised 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 realised 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 realised 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 in 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!"




_Chapter III_

THE SAILING OF THE KING

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
gangplank 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 further 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 ear-trumpet.  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 to-morrow 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 very 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, to-night"; for it had been a full
day.  Which just shows how little anyone knows what is going to happen
to them next.




_Chapter IV_

A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS

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 the 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 far 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 onto 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 and 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 "Tu-whoo!  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 Drinian, he who had been his father's
captain on that great voyage to the east parts of 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 to-morrow, 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, Drinian knew not where; and they 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
one 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 we know we've
got to reach the ruins of a giant city."

At this there was a greater tu-whooing than ever, and noises 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 to-night."

"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.




_Chapter V_

PUDDLEGLUM

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 onto 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 realise 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 realised that they were saying good-bye
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 wet 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 be 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
earth-coloured 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
to-morrow 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 second-best
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 to-night," 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.




_Chapter VI_

THE WILD WASTE LANDS OF THE NORTH

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 daresay 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, puff-cheeked 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 all 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 jibbered 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-hooing 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
further 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 further 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 to-night!"




_Chapter VII_

THE HILL OF THE STRANGE TRENCHES

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 onto 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 criss-crossed 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 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 further 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 a 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.

"O-ho!" 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 daresay 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--a fire.  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: Marsh-wiggle."

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 were 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 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.




_Chapter VIII_

THE HOUSE OF HARFANG

"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-a-daisy"
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
to-morrow!"  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 that 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?"

"_I_ 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 Marsh-wiggle.  "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 Marsh-wiggle.  "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 to-morrow 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 daresay, 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 also were 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 to-night."

"Oh, _good_.  How lovely!" said Jill.  "And we _may_ come to the feast
to-morrow night, mayn't we?  We're so longing for to-morrow 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.




_Chapter IX_

HOW THEY DISCOVERED SOMETHING WORTH KNOWING

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 to-morrow 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 realise 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 agonising,
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 realised 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 come back?" 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 waked 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 tip-toe 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
realised, 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-hiked 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 realised 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 till 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 to-morrow."

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
Marsh-wiggle's big, frog-like hands black against the light, working
desperately to pile up stones.  Then she realised 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.

"Further 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 further 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?"




_Chapter X_

TRAVELS WITHOUT THE SUN

"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 _I_ 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 sea-port.  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 realised 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."




_Chapter XI_

IN THE DARK CASTLE

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 Frog-foot, 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
to-night, 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 Puddelglum 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, self-centred 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 heart 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 to-night.  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.




_Chapter XII_

THE QUEEN OF UNDERLAND

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
make-believe, 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 to-morrow.  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 cold-blooded 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 play-world 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 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.




_Chapter XIII_

UNDERLAND WITHOUT THE QUEEN

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 pig-like 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 between
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) onto 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 to-day."

"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.




_Chapter XIV_

THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD

"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 further: 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 four
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--onto 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 climbing 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 onto 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 pillar-box.  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.

"Ah," 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?"




_Chapter XV_

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JILL

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 onto 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 onto 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 leaf-crowned 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
with 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 apologised 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 to-night."

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 Marsh-wiggle?"

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."




_Chapter XVI_

THE HEALING OF HARMS

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, further 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 realise 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 waked.

"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 "leach", 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
woke."

"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.  "I 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 to-day 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 grown-up 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 grown-up.)  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 I 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 appeared 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 onto 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" Sorner, 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
recognise) 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.






[End of The Silver Chair, by C. S. Lewis]
