Cart and Cwidder (UK) Read online

  “Mother! One of the men who killed Father! He’s staying here.”

  “Oh, Moril, don’t interrupt me with stupid stories!” Lenina said impatiently.

  “But I saw him,” said Moril.

  “You must have made a mistake,” said Lenina. She pulled her sleeve away and went back to the tables.

  Moril stood, shocked and troubled, in the middle of the hall. He saw quite clearly that his mother did not want to believe him. She had put Clennen and all that part of her life behind her and she did not want to be reminded of it. Yet if Ganner had had a hand in killing Clennen, this was the last place she ought to be – the last place any of them ought to be. Moril looked at gay, busy Lenina, shook his head desolately, and hurried away to find Brid.

  Brid was hurrying through the garden in the opposite direction. “Moril—!”

  “One of the men who killed Father,” said Moril. “He’s staying here.”

  “I know. I saw him,” said Brid. “Did you try to tell Mother?”

  “Yes. She wouldn’t listen.”

  “She wouldn’t listen to me either,” said Brid. “She doesn’t want to know, I think. Moril, what are we going to do? We can’t stay here, can we? Do you think Ganner had Father killed?”

  Moril thought about it. He remembered that though Ganner had obviously been very pleased to see Lenina, he had not perhaps been entirely surprised. And he did not like it at all. “I don’t know. He could have done. Only he’s a bit too feeble to think of it, isn’t he?”

  “And why not do it years ago if he felt that bad about Father stealing Mother off him?” said Brid. “But I don’t care whether he did or not. I’m not staying here, and that’s final!”

  “Mother is staying,” said Moril. “I’m afraid that’s final too.”

  “Then we’ll have to do without her,” said Brid. “I can cook, and we’ve got good clothes now. The only thing is, I’m not very good on the hand organ.”

  Moril did not feel as if they had come to a decision. It was as if he had known all along that they would leave. “But can we manage?” he said. “Give shows and all without even Dagner?”

  “Dagner will have to come too,” stated Brid. “He’ll have to. He’s Father’s heir, and he ought to. Besides, he shouldn’t stay here even more than us. If it was old days, he’d have to avenge Father.”

  Moril was dubious. Wherever Brid thought Dagner’s duty lay, Moril knew Dagner would want to stay with Lenina. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that Dagner had always been closer to his mother than to Clennen. And how could Dagner take up the singer’s trade when he was terrified and nervous at every show? “But would Dagner do it – on his own? I mean—”

  “I know just what you mean,” said Brid. “But I can manage Dagner. I can always manage him when there aren’t any parents around to interfere.”

  “Let’s go and find him, then,” said Moril.

  Neither of them had seen Dagner for a considerable while. Since they had not the least idea where to start looking, they drifted quite naturally to the stableyard first, to have a look at Olob and the cart.

  Dagner was in the stableyard, polishing Olob’s harness, and Kialan was helping him. Both of them looked a little blank when Moril and Brid came in.

  “Do you two haunt this yard, or something?” Kialan said irritably.

  Moril decided to take the bull by the horns. “We’re taking the cart and leaving,” he said. “Are you two coming?” Kialan was clearly astonished and stared at Moril with all the annoyance of someone who cannot believe his ears.

  “I’ve got to go anyway,” said Dagner. “Father asked me to take Kialan to Hannart. But there’s no need for you two to come.”

  “Oh, yes, there is!” said Brid. “One of the men who killed Father is in this house, and if that isn’t a reason for going, give me a better one!”

  Dagner and Kialan exchanged glances, and Kialan screwed his mouth up. “True?” Dagner said to Moril.

  “I saw him,” said Moril. “The fair one with queer eyes. But you didn’t see them, did—”

  “Yes, I did,” said Dagner. “We were only in the woods. That one was the leader. Kialan, I think that settles it, don’t you? We’d better leave at once, as soon as I’ve said goodbye to Mother.”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” said Moril. “If you tell Mother we’re going, she’ll tell Ganner. And he’s such a big fusspot that he’s bound to say it’s dangerous and stop us going.”

  Kialan and Dagner looked at one another again. “He’s got a point there, Dagner,” Kialan said. “Ganner is an awful old woman. He’s bound to come after us, anyway. What do you say to waiting until the wedding feast has started and he’s too busy to notice we’re missing?”

  Dagner pondered anxiously. He looked purple and bent with worry. “No,” he said at length. “No, we daren’t. Not if this other fellow’s here.” He jerked his head to the end of the yard. There was a big old gate in the wall there, bolted and peeling. “We’ve found out that leads to a back street. You two get those bolts back while I harness Olob, but don’t open it till I’m ready.”

  Kialan helped Dagner pull out the cart and back Olob between its shafts, so they were ready almost as soon as Brid and Moril had done their part. The bolts were very stiff and rusty. Brid wanted to fetch the oil from the cart, but Moril would not let her. “No,” he said. “I’ve an idea to fool Ganner.” It took them quite a while, and cost Brid a pinched finger, to waggle the bolts back without.

  “Ready,” said Dagner. Olob came towards the gate, almost dancing with pleasure at being at the work he was used to. Brid and Moril swung the gate creaking open. Brid went up into the cart, with the easy spring of long practice, and sat down to get her boots off. The cart rumbled through and crunched on the gravel of the lane outside, which was so narrow that Olob for a moment seemed likely to run into the shuttered house opposite. Moril stayed inside the stableyard and carefully bolted the gate again. It looked, to his satisfaction, as if it had never been opened at all. He took a running jump at it and managed to hook his fingers in the top, where the gate did not quite meet the wall above. From there, he swarmed up on to the thick top of the wall itself. Kialan stood up in the cart to help him jump down.

  “Good idea,” he said. “Let’s hope Ganner wastes a lot of time trying to find out which way we went.”

  IN THE LATE afternoon Markind seemed to be deserted. As they clattered northwards through its shuttered, respectable streets, Moril was ready to swear that there was no one around to notice even such a noticeable cart as theirs. Nevertheless, Dagner was as tense as if he were giving a performance. He did not relax even when they were out of Markind. Instead of looking for a main road, he struck into the first small lane that went north and kept turning round uneasily as he drove to see if Ganner was following them.

  Olob clattered along with a will, with his ears gaily pricked. The lane, and then the other lanes they took after it, led through apple orchards where the trees were bursting into bloom. The sun was mild and warm. Moril sat smiling sleepily and happily, listening to the familiar beat of Olob’s hooves, the wine sloshing about in the great jar behind him, and the blackbirds singing in the apple trees. This was the life! He was sure they could manage, whatever Lenina thought. A cuckoo sang out, cutting across the songs of the blackbirds.

  “O—oh!” said Brid. Tears began rolling down her cheeks. “Father said to me – by the lake – he hadn’t heard a cuckoo yet this year. And he was sorry he was going to miss it.” Her face screwed up, and her tears ran faster than ever. “He told me to listen for him, on the way North. And Mother goes and drives straight off to Markind! How could she!”

  “Shut up, Brid,” said Dagner uncomfortably.

  “I shan’t! I can’t!” cried Brid. “How could she! How could she! Ganner’s so stupid. How could she!”

  “Will you be quiet!” said Dagner. “You don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I do!” Brid cried. “Ganner and Mother arranged to have Father m
urdered – that’s what happened!”

  “Don’t talk such blinking nonsense!” Kialan said sharply. “That had nothing to do with either of them.”

  “How do you know?” Brid wept. “Why did she go straight off to Ganner like that?”

  “Because she’s always wanted to, of course!” said Dagner. “Only she couldn’t, because she thought it wasn’t honourable. I told you you didn’t understand,” he went on, in an odd, agitated way. “You’re too young to notice. But I’ve seen – oh, enough to know Mother hated living in a cart. She wasn’t brought up to it like we are. It was all right while we were in the Earl of Hannart’s household – we had a roof over our heads and that wasn’t too bad for her – but – I suppose you don’t remember.”

  “Not very well,” Brid admitted, sniffing. “I was only three when we left.”

  “Well, I do,” said Dagner. “And Father would leave, though he knew Mother didn’t want to go. And in the cart she had to bring us up and keep us clean and cook – and she’d never done anything like that in her life till then. And sometimes there was no money at all, and we were always on the move and always – well, there were other things she didn’t like Father doing. But Father always got his own way over them. Mother never had a say in anything. She just did the work. Then she saw Ganner again in Derent, after all those years, and she told me it had brought her old life back to her and made her feel terrible. I just don’t blame her for going back to what she was used to. You can see Ganner’s not going to order her around like Father did.”

  “Father didn’t order her around!” Brid protested. “He even offered to take her back to Ganner.”

  “Yes, and I thought Mother was really going to call his bluff for a moment then,” said Dagner. “He knew darned well Mother wouldn’t go, because it wasn’t her duty, but he had an anxious moment all the same, didn’t he? And then he took good care to point out how much cleverer he was than Ganner.”

  “That was just his way,” said Brid.

  “It was all just his way,” said Dagner. “Look, Brid, I don’t want to pull Father to pieces any more than you do, but in some ways he was – oh, maddening. And if you think about it, you’ll see he and Mother weren’t at all well matched.”

  Moril was blinking a little at all this. It was so unlike Dagner to talk so much or so clearly. He marvelled at the way Dagner managed to put into words things Moril had known all his life but not truly noticed till this moment. “Don’t you think Mother was fond of Father at all?” he asked dolefully.

  “Not in the way we were,” said Dagner.

  “In that case, why did she run off with him like that?” Brid asked triumphantly, as if that clinched the matter.

  Dagner looked pensively at a new vista of apple trees coming into view beyond Olob’s ears. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I think that cwidder had something to do with it.”

  Moril swivelled round and cast an apprehensive look at the gleaming belly of the old cwidder, resting in its place in the rack. “Why do you think that?” he asked nervously.

  “Something Mother said once,” said Dagner. “And Father told you there was power in it, didn’t he?”

  “There probably is, if it belonged to Osfameron,” Kialan observed in a matter-of-fact way.

  “Don’t be silly! It can’t be that old!” Moril protested.

  “Osfameron lived not quite two hundred years ago,” said Kialan, and he really seemed to know. “He was born the same year as King Labbard died, so it can’t be more than that. A cwidder’d surely last as long as that if you took care of it. Why, we’ve – I’ve seen one that’s four hundred years old – though, mind you, it looks ready to drop apart if you breathed on it.”

  Moril cast another look, even more apprehensive, at the quiet, prosperous shape of the old cwidder. “It can’t be!” he said.

  “Well,” Dagner said diffidently, “you get used to thinking things like that were only around long ago, but – I’ll tell you, Moril – didn’t you get the impression you kept Father alive with it this morning?” Moril stared at Dagner with his mouth open. “I thought so,” Dagner said, a trifle apologetically. “I’ve never heard it sound like it did then. And – and Father was dead awfully quickly after you left off, wasn’t he?”

  Moril was appalled. “Whatever am I going to do with a thing like that!” he almost wailed.

  “I don’t know. Learn to use it, perhaps,” said Dagner. “I must say I was glad Father didn’t give it to me.”

  Everyone subsided into thoughtfulness. Brid sniffed wretchedly. Olob clopped steadily on for a mile or so. Then he took a look at the sinking sun and decided to choose them a camping ground. Dagner dissuaded him. He refused to let Olob turn off the road three times, until Olob got the point and did not try again. They went on and on and on, downhill, uphill, through small valleys, pastures and orchards. The sky died from blue to pink and from pink to purple, and Brid could bear no more.

  “Oh, do let’s stop, Dagner! Today seems to have gone on for about a hundred years!”

  “I know,” said Dagner. “But I want to get a really good start.”

  “Do you think Ganner will really follow us?” said Moril. “He ought to be glad we’ve gone. Then he needn’t fuss about roofs and things.”

  “He’s bound to,” said Kialan. “A man with a conscience – that’s Ganner. He’ll probably send some of his hearthmen out tonight and set out himself first thing tomorrow. That’s what – I mean, if it had been just Dagner and me, he—”

  “Go on. Say it. You think Moril and I shouldn’t have come,” Brid said bitterly.

  “I didn’t say that!” snapped Kialan.

  “Just meant it,” said Brid.

  “No, he didn’t,” said Dagner. “Stop being stupid, Brid. The thing is, I left without explaining to Mother, and even if I had explained, she wouldn’t have wanted you two to go. So I know she’ll ask Ganner to come after us. If he does catch us up, you and Moril will have to go back, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh no!” said Brid, and Moril felt equally mutinous.

  “That’s why I hope he doesn’t catch us,” Dagner said. “Because I don’t think I could give a show on my own, and I was wondering how on earth I’d manage.”

  This admission mollified Brid greatly. She refrained from grumbling, although they went on until the light was all but gone. Then Dagner at last permitted Olob to select them a spot on top of a hill. This meant their camp was windy, a fact which Brid bitterly pointed out while they were fumbling around trying to put up the tent in the breezy semi-dark.

  “Yes, but we can see people coming,” said Dagner.

  “And there are thistles. I’ve just trodden on one,” Brid complained.

  “Then why on earth don’t you put your boots on?” demanded Kialan.

  “Oh, I couldn’t! I’d spoil them,” Brid said, quite shocked.

  Kialan roared with laughter, which seemed to restore Brid’s frayed temper. She took it quite cheerfully when Moril discovered the only food they had was bread and onions.

  “I knew we’d need those rabbits,” Kialan said dejectedly.

  “We all had a good lunch,” said Brid.

  Moril had the notion of frying the bread and onions together. Unfortunately it was then so dark that he could not see to fry. The mixture he turned out of the frying pan was extremely singed, and it was only eaten because everyone was very hungry. Then they settled down to sleep. It seemed to Moril, waking and resettling himself round the wine jar during the night, that Kialan and Dagner kept watch, turn and turn about, until dawn broke. Certainly they both looked very jaded in the morning.

  Nevertheless, as soon as the sun was up and Olob fed, Dagner had the cart on the move again. They ate the last of the bread as they went. Brid moaned a little, and Dagner promised they would buy more food in the next village they came to.

  “What with?” said Brid.

  That was a nasty moment. There was no money in the locker where Lenina usually kept it. She must hav
e taken it out in Markind. And none of them had any money in the pockets of their fine new clothes. For a while, it looked as if they would have to give a show before they could eat. Then Brid thought of going through the clothes locker, turning out pockets. There were a few coins in the pockets of Clennen’s scarlet suit, and a further few fell out of Kialan’s old good coat when Brid picked it up.

  “May we use these? We’ll pay you back,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Kialan. “I’d forgotten I’d got any.”

  When they came to a village, Dagner drew up on the outskirts and sent Brid and Moril shopping, shouting after them at the last minute that there were no more oats for Olob. The rule was that you bought oats first – for where would you be with Olob undernourished? – and they were dear in those parts at that season. Brid and Moril came glumly back with oats, a loaf, half a can of milk, a cold black sausage and a cabbage. Knowing that Dagner would certainly put off giving a performance if he could, Brid prepared to do battle.

  “That’s all we could afford. If we don’t give a show tomorrow, we’ll starve,” she announced, dumping the meagre purchases in the cart.

  “We’re going to,” Dagner said, to her surprise. “Father said we were to be sure to perform in Neathdale, and I think we’ll be there by tomorrow. Have you found it?” he asked Kialan, who was frowning over the map. It was not a good map. Clennen knew Dalemark like the back of his hand and only kept a map for emergencies.

  “If this place is Cindow, Neathdale’s quite a way to the north-west,” said Kialan. “Is it worth it? It would be almost as easy to go by the Marshes from here.”

  “Yes, I’ve got to go. And he said we’d be bound to get news there,” said Dagner. “Let’s get going. And,” he added, “I suppose we’d better have a bit of a practice this evening.”

  As Olob went on, Moril, sighing rather, went and fetched the old cwidder. When he had vowed not to play it, he had been thinking of an idle life in Markind – if he had thought of the future at all – but now, whether Dagner played pipes or treble cwidder, and Brid pipes or panhorn, someone was going to have to play tenor to them. That meant Moril on the big cwidder. And he had always been in awe of it, and never more than now. By way of coming to terms with it, he laid it on his knees and polished it as Clennen had taught him. Brid gave him the note on the panhorn, and he tuned it. And tuned it again. And re-tuned it. As fast as he got a string to the right pitch, it went off again. All he could produce was the moaning twang of slack strings.