 CHAPTER 20 COUNTERPLOTTING Curdie was already sufficiently enlightened as to how things were going, to see that he must have the princess of one mind with him, and they must work together. It was clear that among those about the king there was a plot against him. For one thing they had agreed in a lie concerning himself, and it was plain also that the doctor was working out a design against the health and reason of his majesty, rendering the question of his life a matter of little moment. It was in itself sufficient to justify the worst fears, that the people outside the palace were ignorant of his majesty's condition. He believed those inside it also, the butler accepted, were ignorant of it as well. Doubtless his majesty's counsellors desired to alienate the hearts of his subjects from their sovereign, Curdie's idea was that they intended to kill the king, marry the princess to one of themselves, and found a new dynasty. But whatever their purpose there was treason in the palace of the worst sort. They were making and keeping the king incapable in order to affect that purpose. The first thing to be seen to, therefore, was that his majesty should neither eat morsel nor drink drop of anything prepared for him in the palace. Should this had been managed without the princess, Curdie would have preferred leaving her in ignorance of the horrors from which he sought to deliver her. He feared also the danger of her knowing betraying itself to the evil eyes about her, but it must be risked, and she had always been a wise child. Another thing was clear to him, that with such traitors no terms of honour were either binding or possible, and that, short of lying, he might use any means to foil them, and he could not doubt that the old princess has sent him expressly to frustrate their plans. While he stood thinking thus with himself, the princess was earnestly watching the king, with looks of childish love and womanly tenderness, that went to Curdie's heart. Now and then, with a great fan of peacock feathers, she would fan him very softly. Now and then, seeing a cloud begin to gather upon the sky of his sleeping face, she would climb upon the bed, and bending to his ear whisper into it, then draw back and watch again, generally to see the cloud disperse. In his deepest slumber the soul of the king lay open to the voice of his child, and that voice had power either to change the aspect of his visions, or, which was better still, to breathe hope into his heart and courage to endure them. Curdie came near and softly called her. "'I can't leave Papa just yet,' she returned in a low voice. "'I will wait,' said Curdie, but I want very much to say something.' In a few minutes she came to him where he stood under the lamp. "'Well, Curdie, what is it?' she said. "'Princess,' he replied, "'I want to tell you that I have found why your grandmother sent me.' "'Come this way, then,' she answered, where I can see the face of my king. Curdie placed a chair for her in the spot she chose, where she would be near enough to mark any slightest change on her father's countenance, yet where their low voice talk would not disturb him. There he sat down beside her and told her all the story, how her grandmother had sent her good pigeon for him, and how she had instructed him, and sent him there without telling him what he had to do. Then he told her what he had discovered of the state of things generally in Gwintstorm, and especially what he had heard and seen in the palace that night. "'Things are in a bad state enough,' he said in conclusion, lying and selfishness and in hospitality and dishonesty everywhere, and to crown all they speak with disrespect of the good king, and not a man knows he is ill. "'You frighten me dreadfully,' said Irene, trembling. "'You must be brave for your king's sake,' said Curdie.' "'Indeed I will,' she replied, and turned a long, loving look upon the beautiful face of her father. "'But what is to be done? And how am I to believe such horrible things of Dr. Kelman?' "'My dear princess,' replied Curdie. "'You know nothing of him but his face and his tongue, and they are both false. "'Either you must beware of him, or you must doubt your grandmother and me, for I tell you by the gift she gave me of testing hands, that this man is a snake, that round body he shows is but the case of a serpent. Perhaps the creature lies there, as in its nest, coiled round and round inside.' "'Horrible,' said Irene. "'Horrible indeed, but we must not try to get rid of horrible things by refusing to look at them, and saying they are not there.' "'Is not your beautiful father sleeping better since he had the wine?' "'Yes.' "'Does he always sleep better after having it?' She reflected an instant. "'No, always worse. Till to-night,' she answered. "'Then remember that was the wine I got him, not what the butler drew. "'Nothing that passes through any hand in this house except yours or mine must henceforth, till he is well, reaches Majesty's lips.' "'But how, dear Curdie?' said the Princess, almost crying. "'That we must contrive,' answered Curdie. "'I know how to take care of the wine, but for his food now I must think.' "'He hardly takes any,' said the Princess, with a pathetic shake of a little head, which Curdie had almost learned to look for. "'The more need,' he replied, there should be no poison in it.' Irene shuddered. "'As soon as he has honest food, he will begin to grow better, and you must be just as careful with yourself, Princess.' Curdie went on. "'For you don't know when they may begin to poison you, too.' "'There's no fear of me. Don't talk about it,' said Irene. "'The good food. How are we to get it, Curdie? That is the whole question.' "'I am thinking hard,' answered Curdie. "'The good food. Let me see, let me see. Such servants as I saw below are sure to have the best of everything for themselves. I will go and see what I can find on their table.' "'The chance-less leaps in the house, and he and the master of the King's horse always have this upper together, in a room off the Great Hall, to the right as you go down the stairs.' "'Said Irene. "'I would go with you, but I dare not leave my father. Alas, he scarcely ever takes more than a mouthful. I can't think how he lives. And the very thing he would like, and often asks for, a bit of bread, I can hardly ever get for him.' Dr. Kelman has forbidden it, and says it is nothing less than poison to him.' "'Bread at least he shall have,' said Curdie, and that, with the honest wine, will do as well as anything, I do believe. I will go at once and look for some. But I want you to see Lena first, and know her. Lest, coming upon her by accident at any time, you should be frightened. "'I should like much to see her,' said the Princess. Warning her not to be startled by her ugliness, he went to the door and called her. She entered, creeping with downcast head, and dragging her tail over the floor behind her. Curdie watched the Princess as the frightful creature came nearer and to nearer. One shudder went from head to foot, and next instant she stepped to meet her. Lena dropped flat on the floor, and covered her face with two big paws. It went to the heart of the Princess. In a moment she was on her knees beside her, stroking her ugly head and patting her all over. "'Good dog, dear ugly dog,' she said. Lena whimpered. "'I believe,' said Curdie, from what your grandmother told me, that Lena is a woman, and that she was naughty, but is now growing good.' Lena had lifted her head while Irene was caressing her. Now she dropped it again between her paws. But the Princess took it in her hands, and kissed the forehead betwixt the gold-green eyes. "'Shall I take her with me or leave her?' asked Curdie. "'Leave her, poor dear,' said Irene, and Curdie, knowing the way now, went without her. He took his way first to the room the Princess had spoken of, and there also were the remains of supper. But neither there nor in the kitchen could he find a scrap of plain, wholesome-looking bread. So he returned and told her that as soon as it was light he would go into the city for some, and asked her for a handkerchief to tie it in. If he could not bring it himself, he would send it by Lena, who could keep out of sight better than he, and as soon as all was quiet at night he would come to her again. He also asked her to tell the King that he was in the house. His hope lay in the fact that bakers everywhere go to work early. But it was yet much too early. So he persuaded the Princess to lie down, promising to call her if the King should stir. Chapter 21 The Loaf His Majesty slept very quietly. The dawn had grown almost day, and still Curdie lingered, unwilling to disturb the Princess. At last, however, he called her, and she was in the room in a moment. She had slept, she said, and felt quite fresh. Delighted to find her father still asleep and so peacefully, she pushed her chair close to the bed, and sat down with her hands in her lap. Curdie got his matuk from where he had hidden it behind a great mirror, and went to the cellar followed by Lena. They took some breakfast with them as they passed through the hall, and as soon as they had eaten it went out the back way. At the mouth of the passage, Curdie seized the rope, drew himself up and pushed away the shutter, and entered the dungeon. Then he swung the end of the rope to Lena, and she caught it in her teeth. When her master said, Now, Lena, she gave a great spring, and he ran away with the end of the rope as fast as ever he could. And such a spring she had made that, by the time he had to bear her weight, she was within a few feet of the hole. The instant she got a paw through, she was all through. Apparently their enemies were waiting till hunger should have cowed them, for there was no sign of any attempt having been made to open the door. A blow or two of Curdie's matuk drove the shattered lock clean from it, and telling Lena to wait there till he came back and let no one in, he walked out into the silent street, and drew the door, too, behind him. He could hardly believe it was not yet a whole day, since he had been thrown in there with his hands tied at his back. Down the town he went, walking in the middle of the street, that, if anyone saw him, he might see he was not afraid, and hesitate to rouse an attack on him. As to the dogs, ever since the death of their two companions, a shadow that looked like a matuk was enough to make them scamper. As soon as he reached the archway of the city he turned to reconnoit to the baker's shop, and, perceiving no sign of movement, waited there watching for the first. After about an hour the door opened, and the baker's man appeared with a pale in his hand. He went to a pump that stood in the street, and, having filled his pale, returned with it to the shop. Curdie stole after him, found the door on the latch, opened it very gently, peeped in, saw nobody and entered. Remembering perfectly from what shelf the baker's wife had taken the loaf, she said was the best, and seeing just one upon it, he seized it, laid the price of it on the counter, and sped softly out and up the street. Once more in the dungeon beside Lena, his first thought was to fasten up the door again, which would have been easy, so many iron fragments of all sorts and sizes lay about. But he bethought himself that, if he left it as it was, and they came to find him, they would conclude at once that they had made their escape by it, and would look no farther so as to discover the hole. He therefore merely pushed the door closed and left it. Then, once more carefully arranging the earth behind the shutter, so that it should again fall with it, he returned to the cellar. And now he had to convey the loaf to the princess. If he could venture to take it himself, well, if not, he would send Lena. He crept to the door of the servants' hall and found the sleepers beginning to stir. One said it was time to go to bed, another that he would go to the cellar instead, and have a mug of wine to waken him up. While a third challenged a fourth to give him his revenge at some game or other. Oh, hang your losses! answered his companion. You'll soon pick up twice as much about the house if you but keep your eyes open. Perceiving there would be risks in attempting to pass through, and reflecting that the porters in the great hall would probably be awake also, Curdie went back to the cellar, took Irene's handkerchief with the loaf in it, tied it round Lena's neck, and told her to take it to the princess. Using every shadow in every shelter, Lena slid through the servants like a shapeless terror through a guilty mind, and so, by corridor and great hall, up the stair to the king's chamber. Irene trembled a little when she saw a glide soundless in across the silent dusk of the morning that filtered through the heavy drapery of the windows, but she recovered herself at once when she saw the bundle about her neck, for it both assured her of Curdie's safety, and gave her hope of her father's. She untied it with joy, and Lena stole away, silent as she had come. Her joy was the greater that the king had waked up a little before, and expressed a desire for food. Not that he felt exactly hungry, he said, and yet he wanted something, if only he might have a piece of nice fresh bread. Irene had no knife, but with eager hands she broke a great piece from the loaf, and poured out a full glass of wine. The king ate and drank, enjoyed the bread and wine very much, and instantly fell asleep again. It was hours before the lazy people brought their breakfast. When it came, Irene crumbled a little about, threw some into the fireplace, and managed to make the tray look just as usual. In the meantime, down below in the cellar, Curdie was lying in the hollow between the upper sides of two of the great casks, the warmest place he could find. Lena was watching. She lay at his feet across the two casks, and did a best so to arrange a huge tail, that it should be a warm cover lid for a master. By and by Dr. Kelman called to see his patient. And now that Irene's eyes were opened, she saw clearly enough that he was both annoyed and puzzled at finding his Majesty rather better. He pretended, however, to congratulate him, saying he believed he was quite fit to see the Lord Chamberlain. He wanted his signature to something important. Only he must not strain his mind to understand it, whatever it might be. If his Majesty did, he would not be answerable for the consequences. The King said he would see the Lord Chamberlain, and the Doctor went. Then Irene gave him more bread and wine, and the King ate and drank, and smiled a feeble smile, the first real one she had seen for many a day. He said he felt much better, and would soon be able to take matters into his own hands again. He had a strange, miserable feeling, he said, that things were going terribly wrong, although he could not tell how. Then the Princess told him that Curdie had come, and that at night, when all was quiet, for nobody in the palace must know, he would pay his Majesty a visit. Her great-great-grandmother had sent him, she said. The King looked strangely upon her, but the strange look passed into a smile clearer than the first, and Irene's heart throbbed with delight. Chapter 22 The Lord Chamberlain At noon the Lord Chamberlain appeared. With a long, low bow and paper in hand, he stepped softly into the room, greeting his Majesty with every appearance of the profoundest respect, and congratulating him on the evident progress he had made. He declared himself sorry to trouble him, but there were certain papers, he said, which required his signature. And therewith drew nearer to the King, who lay looking at him doubtfully. He was a lean, long, yellow man, with a small head, bowled over the top, and tufted at the back and about the ears. He had a very thin, prominent, hooked nose, and a quantity of loose skin under his chin, and about the throat, which came craning up out of his neck-cloth. His eyes were very small, sharp and glittering, and looked black as jet. He had hardly enough of a mouth to make a smile with. His left hand held the paper, and the long, skinny fingers of his right, a pen just dipped in ink. But the King, who for weeks had scarcely known what he did, was today so much himself as to be aware that he was not quite himself. On the moment he saw the paper, he resolved that he would not sign without understanding and approving of it. He requested the Lord Chamberlain therefore to read it. His Lordship commenced at once, but the difficulties he seemed to encounter, and the fits of stammering that seized him, railed to the King's suspicion tenfold. He called to the Princess. I trouble his Lordship too much. He said to her, You can read print well, my child. Let me hear how you can read writing. Take that paper from his Lordship's hand, and read it to me from beginning to end, while my Lord drinks a glass of my favourite wine and watches for your blunders. Harden me, your Majesty. Said the Lord Chamberlain, with as much of a smile as he was able to extemporize. But it were a thousand pities to put the attainments of her royal highness to attest altogether too severe. Your Majesty can scarcely, with justice, expect the very organs of her speech to prove capable of compassing words so long, and to her so unintelligible. I think much of my little Princess, and her capabilities. Return the King, more and more aroused. Pray, my Lord, permit her to try. Consider, your Majesty, the thing would be altogether without precedent. It would be to make sport as statecraft. Said the Lord Chamberlain. Perhaps you are right, my Lord. Answered the King, with more meaning than he intended should be manifest. While to his growing joy he felt new life and power throbbing in heart and brain. So this morning we shall read no further. I am indeed ill-able for business of such weight. Will your Majesty please sign your royal name here? Said the Lord Chamberlain, preferring the request as a matter of course, and approaching with the feather end of the pen pointed to a spot where there was a great red seal. Not today, my Lord. Reply to the King. It is of the greatest importance, your Majesty. Softly insisted the other. I describe no such importance in it. Said the King. Your Majesty heard but apart. And I can hear no more today. I trust your Majesty has ground enough, in a case of necessity like the present, to sign upon the representation of his loyal subject and Chamberlain. What shall I call the Lord Chancellor? He added rising. There is no need. I have the very highest opinion of your judgment, my Lord. Answered the King. That is, with respect to means. You might differ as to ends. The Lord Chamberlain made yet further attempts at persuasion, but they grew feebler and feebler, and he was at last compelled to retire without having gained his object. And well might his annoyance be keen. For that paper was the King's will, drawn up by the Attorney-General. Not until they had the King's signature to it was there much use in venturing farther. But his worst sense of discomforture arose from finding the King with so much capacity left. For the Doctor had pledged himself so to weaken his brain, that he should be as a child in their hands, incapable of refusing anything requested of him. His lordship began to doubt the Doctor's fidelity to the conspiracy. The Princess was in high delight. She had not for weeks heard so many words. Not to say words of such strength and reason, from her father's lips. Day by day he had been growing weaker and more lethargic. He was so much exhausted, however, after this effort, that he asked for another piece of bread and more wine, and fell fast asleep the moment he had taken them. The Lord Chamberlain sent in a rage for Dr. Kelman. He came, and while professing himself unable to understand the symptoms ascribed by his lordship, yet pledged himself again that on the morrow the King should do whatever was required of him. The day went on, when his Majesty was awake, the Princess read to him, one story book after another, and whatever she read, the King listened as if he had never heard anything so good before, making out in it the wisest meanings. Every now and then he asked for a piece of bread and a little wine, and every time he ate and drank he slept, and every time he woke he seemed better than the last time. The Princess, bearing her part, the loaf was eaten up, and the flag unemptied before night. The butler took the flag and away, and brought it back filled to the brim. But both were thirsty and hungry when Curdie came again. Meantime he and Lena, watching and waking alternatively, had plenty of sleep. In the afternoon, peeping from the recess, they saw several of the servants enter hurriedly, one after the other, draw a wine, drink it, and steal out. But their business was to take care of the King, not of his cellar, and they let them drink. Also, when the butler came to fill the flag, they restrained themselves, for the villain's fate was not yet ready for him. He looked terribly frightened, and had bought with him a large candle and a small terrier, which later indeed threatened to be troublesome, for he went roving and sniffing about, until he came to the recess where they were. But as soon as he showed himself, Lena opened a jaws so wide, and glared at him so horribly, that, without even uttering a whimper, he tucked his tail between his legs and ran to his master. He was drawing the wicked wine at the moment, and did not see him. Else he were doubtless of run, too. When supper-time approached, Curdie took his place at the door in the servant's hall. But after a long hour's vain watch, he began to fear he should get nothing. There was so much idling about, as well as coming and going, it was hard to bear. Chiefly from the attractions of a splendid loaf, just fresh out of the oven, which he longed to secure for the king and princess. At length his chance did arrive. He pounced upon the loaf and carried it away, and soon after got hold of a pie. This time, however, both loaf and pie were missed. The cook was called. He declared he had provided both. One of themselves, he said, must have carried them away for some friend outside the palace. Then a housemaid, who had not long been one of them, said she had seen someone like a page running in the direction of the cellar, with something in his hands. Instantly all turned upon the pages, accusing them, one after another. All denied, but nobody believed one of them. Where there is no truth, there can be no faith. To the cellar they all set out to look for the missing pie and loaf. Lena heard them coming, as well as she might, for they were talking and quarrelling loud, and gave her master warning. They snatched up everything, and got all signs of their presence out at the back door before the servants entered. When they found nothing, they all turned on the chambermaid and accused her, not only of lying against the pages, but of having taken the things herself. Their language and behaviour so disgusted Curdie, who could hear a great part of what passed, and he saw the danger of discovery now so much increased, that he began to devise how best at once to rid the palace of the whole pack of them. That, however, would be a small gain so long as treacherous officers of state continued in it. They must be first dealt with. A thought came to him, and the longer he looked at it the better he liked it. As soon as the servants were gone, quarrelling and accusing all the way, they returned and finished their supper. Then Curdie, who had long been satisfied that Lena understood almost every word he said, communicated his plan to her, and knew by the wagging of her tail and the flashing of her eyes that she comprehended it. Until they had the king's say through the worst part of the night, however, nothing could be done. They had now merely to go on waiting where they were, till the household should be asleep. This waiting and waiting was much the hardest thing Curdie had to do in the whole affair. He took his mattock and, going again to the long passage, lighted a candle-end and proceeded to examine the rock on all sides. But this was not merely to pass the time. He had a reason for it. When he broke the stone in the street over which the baker fell, its appearance led him to pocket a fragment for further examination. And since then he had satisfied himself that it was the kind of stone in which gold is found, and that the yellow particles in it were pure metal. If such stone existed here in any plenty, he could soon make the king rich and independent of all his ill-conditioned subjects. He was therefore now bent on an examination of the rock. Nor had he been at it long before he was persuaded that there were large quantities of gold in the half-crystalline white stone, with its vein of opaque white and of green, of which the rock, so far as he had been able to inspect it, seemed almost entirely to consist. Every piece he broke was spotted with particles and little lumps of a lovely greenish yellow, and that was gold. Hitherow he had worked only in silver, but he had read and heard talk and knew therefore about gold. As soon as he had got the king free of rogues and villains, he would have all the best of most honest miners, with his father at the head of them, to work this rock for the king. It was a great delight to him to use his mattock once more. The time went quickly, and when he left the passage to go to the king's chamber, he had already a good heap of fragments behind the broken door. Chapter 23 Dr. Kelman As soon as he had reason to hope the way was clear, Curdie ventured softly into the hall with Lena behind him. There was no one asleep on the bench or floor, but by the fading fire set a girl weeping. It was the same who had seen him carry off the food, and had been so hardly used for saying so. She opened her eyes when he appeared, but did not seem frightened at him. I know why you weep, said Curdie, and I am sorry for you. It is hard not to be believed just because one speaks the truth, said the girl. But that seems reason enough with some people. My mother taught me to speak the truth, and took such pains with me that I should find it hard to tell a lie, though I could invent many a story these servants would believe at once. For the truth is a strange thing here, and they don't know it when they see it. Show it to them, and they all stare as if it were a wicked lie. And that with the lie yet warm that has just left their own mouths. You are a stranger, she said, and burst out weeping afresh. But the stranger you are to such a place and such people, the better. I am the person, said Curdie, whom you saw carrying the things from the supper table. He showed her the loaf. If you can trust me as well as speak the truth, I will trust you. Can you trust me? She looked at it instead of me for a moment. I can, she answered. One thing more, said Curdie, have you courage as well as truth? I think so. Look my dog in the face and don't cry out. Come here, Lena. Lena obeyed, the girl looked at her, and laid a hand on Lena's head. Now I know you are a true woman, said Curdie. I am come to set things right in this house. Not one of the servants knows I am here. Will you tell them to my morning that, if they do not alter their ways and give over drinking, and lying, and stealing, and unkindness, they shall, every one of them, be driven from the palace? They will not believe me. Most likely. But will you give them the chance? I will. Then I will be your friend. Wait here till I come again. She looked at him once more in the face, and sat down. When he reached the royal chamber, he found his majesty awake, and very anxiously expecting him. He received him with the utmost kindness. And at once, as it were, put himself in his hands by telling him all he knew concerning the state he was in. His voice was feeble, but his eyes were clear. Although now and then his words and thoughts seemed to wonder, Curdie could not be certain that the cause of their not being intelligible to him did not lie in himself. The king told him that, for some years, ever since his queen's death, he had been losing heart over the wickedness of his people. He had tried to make them good, but they got worse and worse. Evil teachers, unknown to him, had crept into the schools. There was a general decay of truth and right principle at least in the city. And as that set the example to the nation, it must spread. The main cause of his illness was the despondency with which the degeneration of his people affected him. He could not sleep, and had terrible dreams. While, to his unspeakable shame and distress, he doubted almost everybody. He had striven against his suspicion, but in vain, and his heart was sore, for his courtiers and councillors were really kind. Only he could not think why none of their ladies came near his princess. The whole country was discontented, he heard, and there were signs of gathering storm outside as well as inside his borders. The master of the horse gave him sad news of the insubordination of the army, and his great white horse was dead, they told him, and his sword had lost its temper. It bent double the last time he tried it. Only, perhaps that was in a dream, and they could not find his shield, and one of his spurs had lost the role. Thus the poor king went wandering in a maze of sorrows, some of which were purely imaginary, while others were truer than he understood. He told how thieves came at night and tried to take his crown, so that he never dared let it out of his hands, even when he slept, and how every night an evil demon in the shape of his position came, and poured poison down his throat. He knew it to be poison, he said, somehow, although it tasted like wine. Here he stopped, faint with the unusual excitation of talking. Curdy seized the flag and ran to the wine cellar. In the servant's hall the girl still sat by the fire waiting for him. As he returned he told her to follow him, and left her at the chamber door until he should rejoin her. When the king had had a little wine, he informed him that he had already discovered a certain of his majesty's enemies, and one of the worst of them was the doctor, for it was no other demon than the doctor himself who had been coming every night, and giving him a slow poison. So, said the king, and I have not been suspicious enough, for I thought it was but a dream. Is it possible Kelman can be such a wretch? Who then am I to trust? Not one in the house except the princess and myself, said Curdy. I will not go to sleep, said the king. That would be as bad as taking the poison, said Curdy. No, no, Sire, you must show your confidence by leaving all the watching to me, and doing all the sleeping a majesty can. The king smiled a contented smile, turned on his side, and was presently fast asleep. Then Curdy persuaded the princess also to go to sleep, and telling Lena to watch, went to the housemaid. He asked her if she could inform him which of the council slept in the palace, and show him their rooms. She knew every one of them, she said, and took in the round of all the doors, telling him which slept in each room. He then dismissed her, and returning to the king's chamber, seated himself behind a curtain at the head of the bed, on the side farthest from the king. He told Lena to get under the bed and make no noise. About one o'clock the doctor came stealing in. He looked round for the princess, and seeing no one, smiled with satisfaction as he approached the wine where it stood under the lamp. Having partially filled a glass, he took from his pocket a small file, and filled up the glass from it. The light fell upon his face from above, and Curdy saw the snake in it plainly visible. He had never beheld such an evil countenance. The man hated the king, and delighted in doing him wrong. With the glass in his hand he drew near the bed, set it down, and began his usual rude rousing of his majesty. Not at once exceeding, he took a lancet from his pocket, and was parting its cover with an involuntary hiss of hate between his closed teeth, when Curdy stooped and whispered to Lena, taken by the leg Lena. She darted noiselessly upon him. With a face of horrible consternation, he gave his leg one tug to free it. The next instant Curdy heard the one scrunch, with which she crushed the bone like a stick of celery. He tumbled on the floor with a yell. Drag him out, Lena. Said Curdy. Lena took him by the collar and dragged him out. Her master followed her to direct her, and they left the doctor lying across the Lord Chamberlain's door, where he gave another horrible yell and fainted. The king had waked his first cry, and by the time Curdy re-entered, he had got at his sword where it hung from the centre of the tester. He had drawn it, and was trying to get out of bed. But when Curdy told him all was well, he lay down again as quietly as a child comforted by his mother from a troubled dream. Curdy went to the door to watch. The doctor's yells had aroused many, but not one had yet ventured to appear. Bells were rung violently, but none were answered, and in a minute or two Curdy had what he was watching for. The door of the Lord Chamberlain's room opened, and pale with hideous terror, his lordship peeped out. Seeing no one, he advanced to step into the corridor, and tumbled over the doctor. Curdy ran up and held out his hand. He received in it the claw of a bird of prey, vulture or eagle he could not tell which. His lordship, as soon as he was on his legs, taking him for one of the pages abused him heartily for not coming sooner, and threatened him with dismissal from the king's service for cowardice and neglect. He began indeed what bade fair to be a sermon on the duties of a page, but catching sight of the man who lay at his door, and seeing it was the doctor, he fell upon Curdy afresh for standing there doing nothing, and ordered him to fetch immediate assistance. Curdy left him, but slipped into the king's chamber, closed and locked the door, and left the rascals to look after each other. Ear-long he heard hurrying footsteps, and for a few minutes there was a great muffled termult of scuffling feet, low voices, and deep groanings. Then all was still again. I really slept through the whole. So confidently did she rest, knowing Curdy was in her father's room watching over him. End of section 14 Section 15 of The Princess and Curdy This is the LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lizzie Driver The Princess and Curdy by George MacDonald chapters 24 to 25 Chapter 24 The Prophecy Curdy sat and watched every motion of the sleeping king. All the night to his ear, the palace lay as quiet as a nursery of healthful children. At sunrise he called The Princess. How has His Majesty slept? Were her first words as she entered the room? Quite quietly answered Curdy, that is, since the doctor was got rid of. How did you manage that? Inquired Irene, and Curdy had to tell all about it. How terrible! she said. Did it not startle the king dreadfully? It did rather. I found him getting out of bed, soared in hand. The brave old man, cried The Princess. Not so old, said Curdy, as you will soon see. He went off again in a minute or so, but for a little while he was restless. And once, when he lifted his hand, it came down on the spikes of his crown, and he half-waked. But where is the crown? cried Irene in sudden terror. I stroked his hands, answered Curdy, and took the crown from them, and ever since he has slept quietly, and again and again smiled in his sleep. I have never seen him do that, said The Princess. But what have you done with the crown, Curdy? Look! said Curdy, moving away from the bedside. Irene followed him, and there in the middle of the floor she saw a strange sight. Lena lay at full length, fast asleep. Her tail stretched out behind her, and her forelegs before her. Between the two paws meeting in front of it, her nose just touching it behind, glowed and flashed the crown, like a nest of the hummingbirds of heaven. Irene gazed and looked up with a smile. But what if the thief were to come, and she not to wake? She said, Shall I try her? And as she spoke, she stooped toward the crown. No, no, no! cried Curdy terrified. She would frighten you out of your wits. I would do it to show you, but she would wake your father. You have no conception with what a roar she would spring at my throat. But you shall see how lightly she wakes the moment I speak to her. Lena! She was on her feet the same instant, with her great tail sticking out straight behind her, just as it had been lying. Good dog! said the princess, and patted her head. Lena wagged her tail solemnly, like the boom of an anchored sloop. Irene took the crown and laid it where the king would see it when he woke. Now, princess! said Curdy, I must leave you for a few minutes. You must bolt the door, please, and not open it to any one. Away to the cellar he went with Lena, taking care as they passed through the servants' hall to get her a good breakfast. In about one minute she had eaten what he gave her, and looked up in his face. It was not more she wanted, but work. So out of the cellar they went through the passage, and Curdy into the dungeon where he pulled up Lena, opened the door, let her out, and shut it again behind her. As he reached the door of the king's chamber, Lena was flying out of the gate of Gwynstorm, as fast as her mighty legs could carry her. What's to come to the wench? growled the men's servants one to another, when the chambermaid appeared among them the next morning. There was something in her face which they could not understand, and did not like. Are we all dirt? they said. What are you thinking about? Have you seen yourself in the glass this morning, miss? She made no answer. Do you want to be treated as you deserve, or will you speak you hussy? said the first woman cook. I would feign know what right you have to put on a face like that. You won't believe me, said the girl. Of course not. What is it? I must tell you whether you believe me or not. She said, of course you must. It is this, then. If you do not repent of your bad ways, you are all going to be punished, all turned out of the palace together. A mighty punishment, said the butler. A good riddance, say I, of the trouble of keeping minxes like you in order. And why, pray, should we be turned out? What have I to repent of now, your holiness? That you know best yourself, said the girl. A pretty piece of insolence. How should I know for sooth what a menial like you has got against me? There are people in this house. Oh, I'm not blind to their ways. But everyone for himself, say I. Pray, misjudgment, who gave you such an impertinent message to his majesty's household? One who has come to set things right in the king's house. Right indeed, cried the butler, but that moment the thought came back to him of the roar he had heard in the cellar, and he turned pale and was silent. The steward took it up next. A pray, pretty prophetess. He said, attempting to chuck her under the chin. What have I got to repent of? That you know best yourself, said the girl. You have but to look into your books or your heart. Can you tell me then what I have to repent of? Said the groom of the chambers. That you know best yourself, said the girl once more. The person who told me to tell you said the servants of this house had to repent of thieving and lying and unkindness and drinking. And they will be made to repent of them one way, if they don't do it of themselves another. Then arose a great hubbub, for by this time all the servants in the house were gathered about her, and all talked together in towering indignation. Thieving indeed, cried one, a pretty word in a house where everything is left lying about in a shameless way, tempting poor innocent girls, a house where nobody cares for anything, or has the least respect to the value of property. I suppose you envy me this brooch of mine. Said another. There was just a half sheet of note paper about it, not a scrap more, in a drawer that's always open in the writing table in the study. What sort of place is that for a jewel? Can you call it stealing to take a thing from such a place as that? Nobody cared a straw about it. It might as well have been in the dust-hole. If it had been locked up, then to be sure. Drinking. Said the chief porter with a husky laugh, and who wouldn't drink when he had the chance, or who would repent it except that the drink was gone? Tell me that, Miss Innocence. Lying. Said a great coarse-footman. I suppose you mean when I told you yesterday you were a pretty girl when you didn't pout? Lying indeed. Tell us something worth repenting of. Lying is the way of Gwent's storm. You should have heard Jabba's lying to the cook last night. He wanted a sweet bread for his pup, and pretended it was for the princess. Haha. Unkindness? I wonder who's unkind, going and listening to any stranger against her fellow servants, and then bringing back his wicked words to trouble them? Said the oldest and worst of the housemaids. One of ourselves, too. Come, you hypocrite. This is all an invention of yours and your young man's, to take your revenge of us because we found you out in a lie last night. Tell true now. Wasn't it the same that stole the loafer and the pie that sent you with the imprudent message? As she said this, she stepped up to the housemaid and gave her, instead of time to answer, a box on the ear that almost threw her down, and whoever could get at her began to push and bustle and pinch and punch her. You invite your fate, she said quietly. They fell furiously upon her, and drove her from the hall with kicks and blows, hustled her along the passage, and threw her down the stair to the wine cellar. Then locked the door at the top of it, and went back to their breakfast. In the meantime the king and princess had had their bread and wine, and the princess, with Curdie's help, had made the room as tidy as she could. They were terribly neglected by the servants. And now Curdie set himself to interest and amuse the king, and prevent him from thinking too much, in order that he might the sooner think the better. Presently at his majesty's request, he began from the beginning, and told everything he could recall of his life, about his father and mother and their cottage on the mountain, of the inside of the mountain and the work there, about the goblins and his adventures with them. When he came to find in the princess and her nurse overtaken by the twilight on the mountain, Irene took up her share of the tale, and told all about herself to that point, and then Curdie took it up again. And so they went on, each fitting in the part that the other did not know, thus keeping the hoop of the story running straight. And the king listened with wondering and delighted ears, astonished to find what he could so ill comprehend, yet fitting so well together from the lips of two narrators. At last, with the mission given him by the wonderful princess, and his consequent adventures, Curdie brought up the whole tale to the present moment. Then a silence fell, and Irene and Curdie thought the king was asleep. But he was far from it. He was thinking about many things. After a long pause, he said, Now at last, my children, I am compelled to believe many things I could not, and did not yet understand, things I used to hear, and sometimes see, as often as I visited my mother's home. Once, for instance, I heard my mother say to her father, speaking of me, he is a good honest boy, but he will be an old man before he understands. And my grandfather answered, Keep up your heart, child, my mother will look after him. I thought often of their words, and the many strange things besides I both heard and saw in that house, but by degrees, because I could not understand them, I gave up thinking of them, and indeed I had almost forgotten them, when you my child, talking that day about the queen Irene and her pigeons, and what you had seen in her garret, brought them all back to my mind in a vague mass. But now they keep coming back to me, one by one, every one for itself, and I shall just hold my peace and lie here quite still, and think about them all till I get well again. What he meant by that they could not quite understand. But they saw plainly that already he was better. Put away my crown. He said, I am tired of seeing it, and have no more any fear of its safety. They put it away together, withdrew from the bedside, and left him in peace. Chapter 25 The Avengers There was nothing now to be dreaded from Dr. Kelman, but it made Curdie anxious, as evening drew near, to think that not a soul belonging to the court had been to visit the king, or ask how he did that day. He feared, in some shape or other, a more determined assault. He had provided himself a place in the room to which he might retreat upon approach, and whence he could watch, but not once had he had to but take himself of it. Towards night the king fell asleep. Curdie thought more and more uneasily of the moment when he must again leave them for a little while. Deeper and deeper fell the shadows. No one came to light the lamp. The princess drew her chair close to Curdie. She would rather it were not so dark, she said. She was afraid of something. She could not tell what. Nor could she give any reason for her fear, but that all was so dreadfully still. When it had been dark about an hour, Curdie thought Lena might have returned, and reflected that the sooner he went the less danger was there of any assault while he was away. There was more risk of his own presence being discovered, no doubt, but things were now drawing to a crisis, and it must be run. So, telling the princess to lock all the doors of the bed-chamber and let no one in, he took his mattock, and with here a run, and there a halt under cover, gained the door at the head of the cellar stair in safety. To his surprise he found it locked, and the key was gone. There was no time for deliberation. He felt where the lock was, and dealt it a tremendous blow with his mattock. It needed but a second to dash the door open. Someone laid a hand on his arm. Who is it? said Curdie. I told you they wouldn't believe me, sir, said the housemaid. I have been here all day. He took a hand and said, You are a good, brave girl. Now come with me, list your enemies and prison you again. He took her to the cellar, locked the door, lighted a bit of candle, gave her a little wine, told her to wait there till he came, and went out the back way. Swiftly he swung himself up into the dungeon. Lena had done her part. The place was swarming with creatures, animal forms wilder and more grotesque than ever ramped in nightmare dream. Close by the hole waiting is coming, her green eyes piercing the gulf below. Lena had but just laid herself down when he appeared. All about the vault and up the slope of the rubbish he played and stood and squatted the forty-nine whose friendship Lena had conquered in the wood. They all came crowding about Curdie. He must get them into the cellar as quickly as ever he could. But when he looked at the size of some of them, he feared it would be a long business to enlarge the hole sufficiently to let them through. At it he rushed, hitting vigorously at the edge with his mattock. At the very first blow came a splash from the water beneath. But ere he could eve a third, a creature like a tapir, only that the grasping point of its proboscis was hard as the steel of Curdie's hammer. Pushed him gently aside, making room for another creature, with a head like a giant club, which it began banging upon the floor with terrible force and noise. After about a minute of this battery, the tape came up again, shoved club head aside, and putting its own head into the hole, began gnawing at the side of it with the finger of its nose, in such a fashion that the fragments fell in a continuous gravelly shower into the water. In a few minutes the opening was large enough for the biggest creature among them to get through. Next came the difficulty of letting them down. Some were quite light, but half of them were too heavy for the rope, not to say for his arms. The creatures themselves seemed to be puzzling where or how they were to go. One after another of them came up, looked down through the hole, and drew back. Curdie thought that if he let Lena down, perhaps that would suggest something. Possibly they did not see the opening on the other side. He did so, and Lena stood lighting up the entrance of the passage with her gleaming eyes. One by one the creatures looked down again, and one by one they drew back. Each standing aside to glance at the next, as if to say, now you have a look. At last it came to the turn of the serpent with the long body, the four short legs behind, and the little wings before. No sooner had he poked his head through, than he poked it farther through, and farther and farther yet, until there was little more than his legs left in the dungeon. By that time he had got his head and neck well into the passage beside Lena. Then his legs gave a great waddle and spring, and he tumbled himself, far as there was betwixt them. He also overhead into the passage. That is all very well for you, Mr. Legg's serpent. Thought Curdie to himself, but what is to be done with the rest? He had hardly time to think it, however, before the creature's head appeared again through the floor. He caught hold of the bar of iron to which Curdie's rope was tied. And settling it securely across the narrowest part of the irregular opening, held fast to it with his teeth. It was plain to Curdie, from the universal hardness among them, that they must all, at one time or another, have been creatures of the mines. He saw at once what this one was after. The beast had planted his feet firmly upon the floor of the passage, and stretched his long body up and across the chasm to serve as a bridge for the rest. Curdie mounted instantly upon his neck, through his arms round him as far as they would go, and slid down in ease and safety, the bridge just bending a little as his weight glided over it. But he thought some of the creatures would try the Legg's serpent's teeth. One by one the oddities followed, and slid down in safety. When they seemed to be all landed, he counted them. There were but forty-eight. Up the rope again he went, and found one which had been afraid to trust himself to the bridge, and no wonder, for he had neither Legg's nor head nor arms nor tail. He was just a round thing, about a foot in diameter, with a nose and mouth and eyes on one side of the ball. He had made his journey by rolling as swiftly as the fleet is of them could run. The back of the Legg's serpent not being flat, he could not quite trust himself to roll straight and not drop into the gulf. Curdie took him in his arms, and the moment he looked down through the hole the bridge made itself again, and he slid into the passage in safety, with ball-body in his bosom. He ran first to the cellar to warn the girl not to be frightened at the avengers of wickedness. Then he called to Lena to bring in her friends. One after another they came trooping in, till the cellar seemed full of them. The housemaid regarded them without fear. Sir, she said, there is one of the pages I don't take to be a bad fellow. Then keep him near you, said Curdie, and now can you show me a way to the king's chamber, not through the servants' hall? There is a way through the chamber of the Colonel of the Guard, she answered, but he is ill and in bed. Take me that way, said Curdie. By many ups and downs and windings and turnings, she brought him to a dimly lighted room, where lay an elderly man asleep. His arm was outside the cover lid, and Curdie gave his hand a hurried grasp as he went by. His heart beat for joy, for he had found a good, honest human hand. I suppose that is why he is ill, he said to himself. It was now close upon supper time, and when the girl stopped at the door of the king's chamber, he told her to go, and give the servants one warning more. Say, the messenger sent you. He said, I will be with you very soon. The king was still asleep. Curdie talked to the princess for a few minutes, told her not to be frightened whatever noises she heard, only to keep the door locked till he came, and left her. End of Section 15 Section 16 of the Princess and Curdie This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lizzie Driver The Princess and Curdie by George MacDonald Chapter 26 to 27 Chapter 26 The Vengeance By the time the girl reached the servants' hall, they were seated at supper. A loud, confused exclamation arose when she entered. No one made room for her, all stared with unfriendly eyes. A page, who entered the next minute by another door, came to her side. Where do you come from, Hussie? shouted the butler, and knocked his fist on the table with a loud clang. He had gone to fetch wine, had found the stair-door broken open, and the cellar door locked, and had turned and fled. Among his fellows, however, he had now regained what courage could be called his. From the cellar, she replied, The messenger broke open the door and sent me to you again. The messenger? Poo! What messenger? The same one who sent me before to tell you to repent. What? Will you go fooling it still? Haven't you had enough of it? cried the butler in a rage, and, starting to his feet, drew near threateningly. I must do as I am told, said the girl. Then why don't you do as I tell you and hold your tongue? said the butler. Who wants your preachments? If anybody here has anything to repent of, isn't that enough? And more than enough for him. But you must come bothering about and stirring up, till not a drop of quiet will settle inside him. You come along with me, young woman. We'll see if we can't find a lock somewhere in the house that'll hold you in. And off, Mr. Butler! said the page and stepped between. Oh, ho! cried the butler, and pointed his fat finger at him. That's you, is it, my fine fellow? So it's you that's up to her tricks as it. The youth did not answer, only stood with flashing eyes fixed on him, until, growing angry and angrier, but not daring a step near, he burst out with a rude but quivering authority. Leave the house, both of you, be off, or I'll have Mr. Stewart talk to you, fetching your masters, indeed. Out of the house with you, and show us the way you tell us off. Two or three of the footmen got up, and ranged themselves behind the butler. Don't say I threaten you, Mr. Butler. Ex postulated the girl from behind the page. The messenger said I was to tell you again, and give you one chance more. Did the messenger mention me in particular? Asked the butler, looking the page unsteadily in the face. No, sir. answered the girl. I thought not. I should like to hear him. Then hear him now. Said Curdie, who that moment entered at the opposite corner of the hall. I speak of the butler in particular, when I say that I know more evil of him than of any of the rest. He will not let either his own conscience or my messenger speak to him. I therefore now speak myself. I proclaim him a villain, and a traitor to his majesty the king. But what better is any one of you, who cares only for himself. Eats, drinks, takes good money, and gives vile service in return, stealing and wasting the king's property, and making of the palace, which ought to be an example of order and sobriety, a disgrace to the country. For a moment all stood astonished into silence by this bold speech from a stranger. True they saw by his mattock over his shoulder that he was nothing but a minor boy. Yet for a moment the truth told, not bestanding. Then a great roaring laugh burst from the biggest of the footmen, as he came shouldering his way through the crowd toward Curdie. Yes, I'm right. He cried. I thought as much. This messenger for Soothe is nothing but a gallows-bird. A fellow the city marshal was going to hang. Bert unfortunately put it off till he should be starved enough to save rope and be throttled with a pack-thread. He broke prison, and here he is preaching. As he spoke he stretched out his great hand to lay hold of him. Curdie caught it in his left hand, and heaved his mattock with the other. Finding, however, nothing worse than an ox-hoof, he restrained himself, stepped back a pace or two, shifted his mattock to his left hand, and struck him a little smart blow on the shoulder. His arm dropped by his side. He gave a roar, and drew back. His fellows came crowding upon Curdie. Some called to the dogs, others swore. The women screamed. The footmen and pagers got round him in a half-circle, which he kept from closing by swinging his mattock, and here and there threatening a blow. Whoever confesses to having done anything wrong in this house, however small, however great, and means to do better, let him come to this corner of the room. He cried. None moved but the page, who went toward him skirting the wall. When they caught sight of him the crowd broke into a hiss of derision. There, see, look at the sinner. He confesses. Actually confesses. Come, what is it you stole? The bare-faced hypocrite. There's your sort to set up for approving other people. Where's the other now? But the maid had left the room, and they let the page pass, for he looked dangerous to stop. Curdie had just put him betwixt him and the wall, behind the door, when enrushed the butler with the huge kitchen poker, the point of which he had blown red hot in the fire, followed by the cook with his longest spit. Through the crowd, which scattered right and left before them, they came down upon Curdie. Uttering a shrill whistle, he caught the poker a blow with his mattock, knocking the point to the ground, while the page behind him started forward, and, seizing the point of the spit, held on to it with both hands, the cook kicking him furiously. There the butler could raise the poker again, or the cook recover the spit, with a roar to terrify the dead, Lena dashed into the room, her eyes flaming like candles. She went straight at the butler. He was down in a moment, and she, on top of him, wagging her tail over him like a lioness. Don't kill him, Lena! cried Curdie. Oh! Mr. Minor! cried the butler. Put your foot on his mouth, Lena, said Curdie. The truth fear tells is not much better than her lies. The rest of the creatures now came stalking, rolling, leaping, gliding, hobbling into the room, and each, as he came, took the next place along the wall, until, solemn and grotesque, all stood ranged, awaiting orders. And now some of the culprits were stealing to the doors nearest them. Curdie whispered to the two creatures next to him. Off went ball-body, rolling and bounding through the crowd, like a spent cannon-shot, and when the foremost reached the door to the corridor, there he lay at the foot of it, grinning. To the other door scuttled a scorpion, as big as a huge crab. The rest stood so still that some began to think they were only boys dressed up to look awful. They persuaded themselves they were only another part of the housemaids and pages vengeful contrivance, and their evil spirits began to rise again. Meantime Curdie had, with a second sharp blow from the hammer of his mattock, disabled the cook, so that he yielded the spit with a groan. He now turned to the avengers. Go at them, he said. The whole nine and forty obeyed at once, each for himself, and after his own fashion. A scene of confusion and terror followed. The crowd scattered like a dance of flies. The creatures had been instructed not to hurt much, but to hunt incessantly, until everyone had rushed from the house. The women shrieked and ran hither and thither through the hall, pursued each by her own horror, and snapped at by every other in passing. If one threw herself down in hysterical despair, she was instantly poked or clawed or nibbled up again. Though they were quite as frightened at first, the men did not run so fast. And by and by some of them finding they were only glared at and followed and pushed, began to summon up courage once more. And with courage came impudence. The tapia had the big footman in charge. The fellow stood stock still, and let the beast come up to him. Then put out his finger and playfully patted his nose. The tapia gave the nose a little twist, and the finger lay on the floor. Then indeed did the footman run. Gradually the avengers grew more severe, and the terrors of the imagination were fast yielding to those of sensuous experience. When a page, perceiving one of the doors no longer guarded, sprang at it and ran out. Another and another followed. Not a beast went after, until, one by one, they were every one gone from the hall, and the whole crew in the kitchen. They were beginning to congratulate themselves that all was over, when in came the creatures trooping after them, and the second act of their terror and pain began. They were flung about in all directions, their clothes were torn from them, they were pinched and scratched any and everywhere. Ball body kept rolling up them and over them, confining his attentions to no one in particular. The scorpion kept grabbing at their legs with his huge pincers. A three-foot centipede kept screwing up their bodies, nipping as he went. Varied as numerous were their woes. Nor was it long before the last of them had fled from the kitchen to the sculleries. But thither also they were followed, and there again they were hunted about. They would be spattered with the dirt of their own neglect. They were soused in the stinking water that had boiled greens. They were smeared with rancid dripping. Their faces were rubbed in maggots. I dare not tell you all that was done to them. At last they got the door into the backyard open and rushed out. Then first they knew that the wind was howling and the rain falling in sheets. But there was no rest for them even there. Thither also they were followed by the inexorable avengers. And the only door here was a door out of the palace. Out every soul of them was driven and left, some standing, some lying, some crawling, to the farther buffeting of the waterspouts and whirlwinds raging every street of the city. The door was flung too behind them, and they heard it locked and bolted and barred against them. Chapter 27 More Vengeance As soon as they were gone, Curdie brought the creatures back to the servant's hall, and told them to eat up everything on the table. It was a sight to see them all standing round it, except such as had to get upon it, eating and drinking each after its fashion, without a smile or a word or a glance of fellowship in the act. A very few moments served to make everything eatable vanish, and then Curdie requested them to clean house, and the page he stood by to assist them. Everyone said about it except ball-body. He could do nothing at cleaning, for the more he rolled, the more he spread the dirt. Curdie was curious to know what he had been, and how he had come to be such as he was. But he could only conjecture that he was a gluttonous alderman, whom nature had treated homeopathically. And now there was such a cleaning and clearing out of neglected places, such a burying and burning of refuse, such a rinsing of jugs, such a swilling of sinks, and such a flushing of drains, as would have delighted the eyes of all true housekeepers and lovers of cleanliness generally. Curdie, meantime, was with the king, telling him all he had done. They had had a little noise but not much, for he had told the Avengers to repress outcry as much as possible, and they had seen to it that the more anyone cried out, the more he had to cry out upon, while the patient ones they scarcely hurt at all. Having promised his majesty and her royal highness a good breakfast, Curdie now went to finish the business. The courtiers must be dealt with. A few who were the worst, and the leaders of the rest, must be made examples of. The others should be driven to the street. He found the chiefs of the conspiracy holding a final consultation in the smaller room off the hall. These were the Lord Chamberlain, the attorney general, the master of the horse, and the king's private secretary. The Lord Chancellor and the rest, as foolish and faithless, were but the tools of these. The housemaid had shown him a little closet, opening from a passage behind, where he could overhear all that passed in that room. And now Curdie had enough to understand that they had determined, in the dead of that night, rather in the deepest dark before the morning, to bring a certain company of soldiers into the palace, make away with the king, secure the princess, announce the sudden death of his majesty, read as his the will they had drawn up, and proceed to govern the country at their ease, and with results. They would at once levy, severe attacks, and pick a quarrel with the most powerful of their neighbours. Everything settled, they agreed to retire, and have a few hours quite sleep first, all but the secretary, who was to sit up and call them at the proper moment. Curdie allowed them half an hour to get to bed, and then set about completing his pagation of the palace. First he called Lena, and opened the door of the room where the secretary sat. She crept in, and laid herself down against it. When the secretary, rising to stretch his legs, caught sight of her, he stood, frozen with terror. She made neither motion nor sound. Gathering courage and taking the thing for a spectral illusion, he made a step forward. She showed her other teeth, with the ground neither more than audible nor less than horrible. The secretary sank, fainting into his chair. He was not a brave man, and besides, his conscience had gone over to the enemy, and was sitting against the door by Lena. To the Lord Chamberlain's door next, Curdie conducted the legs up, and to let him in. Now his lordship had had a bedstead made for himself, sweetly fashioned of rods of silver gilt. Upon it the legs up had found him asleep, and under it he crept. But doubt he came on the other side, and crept over it next, and again under it, and so over it, under it, over it, five or six times, every time leaving a coil of himself behind him, until he had softly folded all his length about the Lord Chamberlain and his bed. This done, he set up his head, looking down with the curved neck right over his lordships, and began to hiss in his face. He woke in terror unspeakable, and would have started up, but the moment he moved, the leg serpent drew his coils closer and closer still, and drew and drew until the quaking traitor heard the joints of his bedstead grinding and gnawing. Presently he persuaded himself that it was only a horrid nightmare, and began to struggle with all his strength to throw it off. Thereupon the leg serpent gave his hooked nose such a bite that his teeth met through it. But it was hardly thicker than the bowl of a spoon, and then the vulture knew that he was in the grasp of his enemy the snake, and yielded. As soon as he was quiet the leg serpent began to untwist and retwist, to uncoil and recoil himself, swinging and swaying, notting and relaxing himself with strangest curves and convolutions. Always, however, leaving at least one coil around his victim. At last he undid himself entirely, and crept from the bed. Then first the Lord Chamberlain discovered that his tormenter had bent and twisted the bedstead, legs and canopy and all, so about him that he was shut in a silver cage, out of which it was impossible for him to find a way. Once more, thinking his enemy was gone, he began to shout for help. But the instant he opened his mouth his keeper darted at him and bit him, and after three or four such assays he lay still. The master of the horse Curdie gave in charge of the tapia. When the soldier saw him enter, for he was not yet asleep, he sprang from his bed and fluid him with his sword. But the creature's hide was invulnerable to his blows, and he pecked at his legs with his proboscis, until he jumped into bed again, groaning and covered himself up. After which the tapia contented himself with, now and then, paying a visit to his toes. As for the attorney general, Curdie led to his door a huge spider, about two feet long in the body, which, having made an excellent sapper, was full of webbing. The attorney general had not gone to bed, but sat in a chair asleep before a great mirror. He had been trying the effect of a diamond star, which he had that morning taken from the jewel-room. When he woke he fancied himself paralysed, every limb, every finger-even, was motionless. Coils and coils of broad spider-ribbon bandaged his members to his body, and all to the chair. In the glass he saw himself wound about to his slavery-infinite. On a footstall a yard off sat the spider glaring at him. Clubhead had mounted guard over the butler, where he tied hand and foot under the third cask. From that cask he had seen the wine run into a great bath, and therein he expected to be drowned. The doctor, with his crushed leg, needed no one to guard him. And now Curdie proceeded to the expulsion of the rest. Great men, or underlings, he treated them alike. From room to room over the house he went, and sleeping or waking, took the man by the hand. Such was the state to which a year of wicked rule had reduced the moral condition of the court, that in it all he found but three with human hands. The possessors of these he allowed to dress themselves and depart in peace. When they perceived his mission and how he was backed, they yielded, then commenced a general hunt to clear the house of the vermin, out of their beds in their night-clothing, out of their rooms, gorgeous chambers or garret nooks, the creatures hunted them. Not one was allowed to escape. Tumult and noise there was little, for fear was too deadly for outcry. Ferreting them out everywhere, following them upstairs and downstairs, yielding no instant of repose except upon the way out, the avengers persecuted the miscreants, until the last of them were shivering outside the palace gates, with hardly sense enough left to nowhere to turn. When they set out to look for shelter, they found every inn full of the servants expelled before them, and not one would yield his place to a superior suddenly levelled with himself. Most houses refused to admit them on the grounds of the wickedness that must have drawn on them such a punishment, and not a few would have been left in the streets or night. Had not Durber, roused by the vain entreaties at the doors on each side of a cottage, opened hers, and given up everything to them? The Lord Chancellor was only too glad to share a mattress with a stable boy, and steal his bare feet under his jacket. In the morning Curdie appeared, and the outcasts were in terror, thinking he had come after them again. But he'd no notice of them. His object was to request Durber to go to the palace. The King required her services. She'd need take no trouble about her cottage, he said. The palace was henceforward her home. She was the King Shatterlane, over men and maidens of his household. And this very morning she must cook his Majesty a nice breakfast. End of Section 16 Section 17 of the Princess and Curdie This is a LibriVox recording, called LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lizzie Driver The Princess and Curdie by George MacDonald Chapter 28 The Preacher Various reports went undulating through the city, as to the nature of what had taken place in the palace. The people gathered and stared at the house. Eyeing it as if it had sprung up in the night. But it looked sedate enough, remaining closed and silent, like a house that was dead. They saw no one come out or go in. Smoke arose from a chimney or two. There was hardly another sign of life. It was not for some little time, generally understood, that the highest officers of the Crown, as well as the lowest manials of the palace, had been dismissed in disgrace. For who was to recognise a Lord Chancellor in his night-shirt? And what Lord Chancellor would, so attired in the street, proclaim his rank and office aloud? Before it was day most of the courtiers crept down to the river, hired boats, and betook themselves to their homes or their friends in the country. It was assumed in the city, that the domestics had been discharged upon a sudden discovery of general and unpardonable percolation. For almost everybody being guilty of it himself. Petty dishonesty was the crime most easily credited, and least easily passed over in Gwentstorm. Now that same day was religion day, and not a few of the clergy, always glad to seize on any passing event to give interest to the dull and monotic grind of their intellectual machines, made this remarkable one the ground of a discourse to their congregations. More especially than the rest, the first priest of the Great Temple, where the royal pew, judged himself from his relation to the palace, called upon to improve the occasion, for they talked ever about improvement at Gwentstorm, or the time they were going downhill with a rush. The book which had, of late years, come to be considered the most sacred, was called The Book of Nations, and consisted of proverbs and history, traced through custom. From it the first priest chose his text, and his text was, Honesty is the best policy. He was considered a very eloquent man, but I can offer only a few of the larger bones of his sermon. The main proof of the variety of their religion, he said, was that things always went well with those who profess it, and its first fundamental principle, grounded in inborn invariable instinct, was that every one should take care of that one. This was the first duty of man. If every one would but obey this law, number one, then would every one be perfectly cared for, one being always equal to one. But the faculty of care was in excess of need, and all that overflowed, and would otherwise run to waste, ought to be gently turned in the direction of one's neighbours. Seeing that this also wrought for the fulfilling of the law, in so much as the reaction of excess so directed was upon the director of the sane, to the comfort that is, and well-being of the original self. To be just and friendly was to build the warmest and safest of all nests, and to be kind and loving was to line it with the softest of all furs and feathers. For the one precious, comfort-loving self there to lie, reveling in downiest bliss. One of the laws therefore most binding upon men, because of its relation to the first and greatest of all duties, was embodied in the proverb he had just read, and what stronger proof of its wisdom and truth could they desire, than the sudden and complete vengeance which had fallen upon those, worse than ordinary sinners who had offended against the king's majesty by forgetting that, honesty is the best policy. At this point of the discourse, the head of the leg serpent rose from the floor of the temple, towering above the pulpit above the priest, then curving downward, with her open mouth slowly descended upon him. Horror froze the sermon-pump, he stared upward aghast. The great teeth of the animal closed upon a mouthful of the sacred vestments, and slowly he lifted the preacher from the pulpit, like a handful of linen from a wash-tub. And, on his four solemn stumps, bore him out of the temple, dangling aloft from his jaws. At the back of it he dropped him into the dust-hole among the remnants of a library, whose aid to destroyed its value in the eyes of the chapter. They found him burrowing in it a lunatic henceforth, whose madness presented the peculiar feature, that in its proxiesms he jabbered sense. Bone-freezing horror pervaded Gwintstorm. If their best and wisest were treated with such contempt, what might not the rest of them look for? Alas, for their city. Their grandly respectable city. Their loftily reasonable city. Where it was all to end, who could tell? But something must be done. Hastily assembling the priest chose a new first priest, and in full conclave unanimously declared and accepted, that the king and his retirement had, through the practice of the blackest magic, turned the palace into a nest of demons in the midst of them. A grand exorcism was there for indispensable. In the meantime the fact came out that the greater part of the courtiers had been dismissed, as well as the servants. And this fact swelled the hope of the party of decency, as they called themselves. Upon it they proceeded to act, and strengthened themselves on all sides. The action of the king's bodyguard remained for a time uncertain. But when at length its officers were satisfied, that both the master of the horse and their colonel were missing, they placed themselves under the order of the first priest. Everyone dated the culmination of the evil from the visit of the miner and his mongrel, and the butchers found, if they could but get hold of them again, they would roast both of them alive. At once they formed themselves into a regiment, and put their dogs in training for attack. Incessant was the talk, innumerable were the suggestions, and great was the deliberation. The general consent, however, was that, as soon as the priest should have expelled the demons, they would dispose the king, and, attired in all his regal insignia, shut him in a cage for public show. Then choose governors, with the Lord Chancellor at their head, whose first duty should be to remit every possible tax, and the magistrates, by the mouth of the city marshal, required all able-bodied citizens, in order to do their part toward the carrying out of these, and a multitude of other reforms, to be ready to take arms at the first summons. Things needful were prepared as speedily as possible, and a mighty ceremony, in the temple, in the marketplace, and in front of the palace, was performed for the expulsion of the demons. This over, the leaders retired to arrange an attack upon the palace. But that night, events occurred which, proving the failure of their first, induced the abandonment of their second intent. Certain of the prowling order of the community, whose numbers had, of late, been steadily on the increase, reported frightful things. Demons of indescribable ugliness had been aspired, careering through the midnight streets and courts. A citizen, some said in the very act of house-breaking, but no one cared to look into trifles at such a crisis, had been seized from behind, he could not see by what, and soused in the river. A well-known receiver of stolen goods, had had his shop broken open, and when he came down in the morning, had found everything in ruin on the pavement. The wooden image of justice over the door of the city-martial, had had the arm that held the sword bit enough. The gluttonous magistrate had been pulled from his bed in the dark, by beings of which he could see nothing but the flaming eyes, and treated to a bath of the turtle soup that had been left simmering by the side of the kitchen fire. Having poured it over him, they put him again into his bed, where he soon learned how a mummy must feel in its sermons. Worst of all in the marketplace was fixed up a paper, with the king's own signature, to the effect that, whoever henceforth should show in hospitality to strangers, and should be convicted of the same, should be instantly expelled from the city, while a second in the butcher's quarters, ordained that any dog which henceforth should attack a stranger, should be immediately destroyed. It was plain, said the butchers, that to the clergy were of no use, they could not exercise demons. That afternoon, catching sight of a poor old fellow in rags and tatters, quietly walking up the street, they hounded their dogs upon him, and had it not been that the door of Derba's cottage was standing open, and was near enough for him to dart in and shut it ere they reached him, he would have been torn in pieces. And thus things went on for some days. In the meantime, with Derba to minister to his once, with Curdie to protect him, and Irene to nurse him, the king was getting rapidly stronger. Good food was what he most wanted, and of that, at least of certain kinds of it, there was plentiful store in the palace. Everywhere since the cleansing of the lower regions of it, the air was clean and sweet, and under the honest hands of the one housemaid, the king's chamber became a pleasure to his eyes. With such changes it was no wonder if his heart grew lighter as well as his brain clearer. But still evil dreams came and troubled him, the lingering result of the wicked medicines the doctor had given him. Every night, sometimes twice or thrice, he would wake up in terror, and it would be minutes ere he could come to himself. The consequence was that he was always worse in the morning, and had lost to make up during the day, while he slept Irene or Curdie, one or the other, must still be always by his side. One night, when it was Curdie's turn with the king, he heard a cry somewhere in the house, and as there was no other child, concluded, notwithstanding the distance of a grandmother's room, that it must be Barbara, fearing something might be wrong and noting the king's sleep more quiet than usual, he ran to see. He found the child in the middle of the floor, weeping bitterly, and Durba slumbering peacefully in bed. The instant she saw him, the night lost things ceased her crying, smiled, and stretched out her arms to him. Unwilling to wake the old woman, who had been working hard all day, he took the child and carried her with him. She clung to him so, pressing her tear-wet radiant face against him, that little arms threatened to choke him. When he re-entered the chamber, he found the king sitting up in bed, fighting the phantoms of some hideous dream. Generally upon such occasions, although he saw his watcher, he could not dissociate him from the dream and went raving on. But the moment his eyes fell upon little Barbara, whom he had never seen before, his soul came into them with a rush, and a smile like the dawn of an eternal day overspread his countenance. The dream was nowhere, and the child was in his heart. He stretched out his arms to her. The child stretched out hers to him, and in five minutes they were both asleep, each in the other's embrace. From that night Barbara had a crib in the king's chamber, and as often as he woke, Irene or Curdie, whichever was watching, took the sleeping child and laid her in his arms, upon which, invariably and instantly, the dream would vanish. A great part of the day, too, she would be playing on or about the king's bed. And it was a delight to the heart of the princess, to see her amusing herself with the crown, now sitting upon it, now rolling it hither and thither about the room like a hoop. Her grandmother entering once, while she was pretending to make porridge in it, held up her hands in horror-struck amazement, but the king would not allow her to interfere, for the king was now Barbara's playmate, and his crowned their play thing. The kernel of the guard also was growing better. Curdie went often to see him. They were soon friends, for the best people understand each other the easiest, and the grim old warrior loved the minor boy, as if he were at once his son and his angel. He was very anxious about his regiment. He said the officers were mostly on his men, he believed, but how they might be doing without him, or what they might resolve, in ignorance of the real state of affairs, and exposed to every misrepresentation, who could tell? Curdie proposed that he should send for the major, offering to be the messenger. The kernel agreed, and Curdie went, not without his mattock, because of the dogs. But the officers had been told by the master of the horse, that their kernel was dead, and although they were amazed he should be buried without the attendance of his regiment, they never doubted the information. The handwriting itself of the kernel was insufficient, counteracted by the fresh report's daily current to destroy the lie. The major regarded the letter as a trap for the next officer in command, and sent his orderly to arrest the messenger. But Curdie had had the wisdom not to wait for an answer. The king's enemy said that he had first poisoned the good kernel of the guard, and then murdered the master of the horse, and other faithful counsellors, and that his oldest and most detached domestics had but escaped from the palace with their lives, not all of them, for the butler was missing. Murder-wicked he was not only unfit to rule any longer, but worse than unfit to have in his power and under his influence the young princess, only hope of Gwintstorm and the kingdom. The moment the Lord Chancellor reached his house in the country, and had got himself clothed, he began to devise how yet to destroy his master. And the very next morning set out for the neighbouring kingdom, of Bossegras, to invite invasion, and offer a compact with its monarch. Chapter 30 Peter At the cottage in the mountain everything for a time went on just as before. It was indeed dull without curdy. But as often as they looked at the emerald, it was gloriously green, and with nothing to fear or regret, and everything to hope, they required little comforting. One morning, however, at last, Peter, who had been consulting the gem, rather now from habit than anxiety, as a farmer his barometer in undoubt for weather, turned suddenly to his wife, the stone in his hand, and held it up with a look of ghastly dismay. Why, that's never the emerald, said Joan. It is, answered Peter. But it was small blame to anyone that took it for a bit of bottle-glass. For all saved one spot right in the centre, of intensest and most brilliant green, it looked as if the colour had been burnt out of it. Run, run, Peter! cried his wife. Run and tell the odd princess. It may not be too late. The boy must be lying at death's door. Without a word, Peter caught up his mattock, darted from the cottage, and was at the bottom of the hill in less time than he usually took to get halfway. The door of the king's house stood open. He rushed in and up the stair. But after wondering about in vain for an hour, opening door after door, and finding no way further up, the heart of the old man had well nigh failed him. Empty rooms, empty rooms, desolation and desolation everywhere. At last he did come upon the door to the tower's stair. Up he darted. Arrived at the top he found three doors, and one after the other knocked at them all. But there was neither voice nor hearing. Urged by his faith and his dread, slowly, hesitatingly, he opened one. It revealed a bear-garret room, nothing in it but one chair and one spinning-wheel. He closed it and opened the next, to start back in terror for he saw nothing but a great gulf, a moonless night full of stars, and for all the stars dark, dark, a fathomless abyss. He opened the third door, and a rush like the tide of a living sea invaded his ears. Multitudinous wings flapped and flashed in the sun, and like the ascending column from a volcano, white birds innumerable shot into the air, darkening the day with the shadow of their cloud. And then, with a sharp sweep, as if bent sideways by a sudden wind, flew northward swiftly away and vanished. The place felt like a tomb. There seemed no breath of life in it. To spare late hold of him he rushed down, thundering with heavy feet. Out upon him darted the housekeeper like an ogre spider, and after her came her men. But Peter rushed past them, heedless and careless, for not the princess mocked him. What help lay in a miner's matuk, a man's arm, a father's heart, he would bear to his boy. Joan sat up all night, waiting his return, hoping and hoping. The mountain was very still, and the sky very clear. But all night long the miner sped northward, and the heart of his wife was troubled.