The Book of Three

remembered nothing more.

When he opened his eyes he was lying on a hard, smooth surface, his hand tightly gripping Fflewddur's harp. He heard the rush of water close by. Cautiously, he felt around him; his fingers touched only wet, flat stone, an embankment of some kind. A pale blue light shone high above him. Taran decided he had come to rest in a cave or grotto. He raised himself and his movement set the harp to jangling.

'Hello? Who's that?' A voice echoed down the embankment. Faint though it was, Taran recognized it as belonging to the bard. He scrambled to his feet and crept in the direction of the sound. On the way he tripped over a form, which became suddenly vocal and indignant.

'You've done very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, with all your short cuts. What's left of me is soaked to the skin, and I can't find my bauble? oh, here it is, all wet, of course. And who knows what's happened to the rest of us?'

The golden light flared dimly to reveal the dripping face of Eilonwy, her blue eyes flashing with vexation.

Gurgi's hairy, sputtering shadow rolled toward them. 'Oh, poor tender head is filled with sloshings and washings!'

In another moment Fflewddur had found them. Melyngar whinnied behind him. 'I thought I heard my harp down here,' he said. 'I couldn't believe it at first. Never expected to see it again. But? a Fflam never despairs! Quite a stroke of luck, though.'

'I never thought I'd see anything again,' Taran said, handing the instrument to Fflewddur. 'We've been washed into a cave of some kind; but it's not a natural one. Look at these flagstones.'

'If you'd look at Melyngar,' Eilonwy called, 'you'd see all our provisions are gone. All our weapons, too, thanks to your precious short cut!'

It was true. The straps had broken loose and the saddle had torn away in the whirlpool. Luckily, the companions still had their swords.

'I'm sorry,' Taran said. 'I admit we are here through my fault. I should not have followed this path, but what's done is done. I led us here, and I'll find a way out.'

He glanced around. The roar of water came from a wide, swift-running canal. The embankment itself was much broader than he had realized. Lights of various colors glowed in the high arches. He turned to his companions again. 'This is very curious. We seem to be deep underground, but it isn't the lake bottom?'

Before he could utter another word, he was seized from behind, and a bag smelling strongly of onions was jammed over his head. Eilonwy screamed, then her voice grew muffled. Taran was being half-pushed, half-pulled in two directions at once. Gurgi began yelping furiously.

'Here! Get that one!' a gruff voice shouted.

'Get him yourself! Can't you see I've got my hands full?'

Taran struck out. A solid, round ball that must have been someone's head butted him in the stomach. There were slapping noises filtering through the oniony darkness around him. Those would be from Eilonwy. Now he was pushed from behind, propelled at top speed, while angry voices shouted at him? and at each other. 'Hustle along there!'

'You fool, you didn't take their swords!'? At this, came another shriek from Eilonwy, the sound of what might have been a kick, then a moment of silence? 'All right, let them keep their swords. You'll have the blame of it, letting them approach King Eiddileg with weapons!'

At a blind trot, Taran was shoved through what seemed a large crowd of people. Everyone was talking at once; the noise was deafening. After a number of turns, he was thrust forward again. A heavy door snapped behind him; the onion bag was snatched from his head.

TARAN BLINKED. With Fflewddur and Eilonwy he stood in the center of a high-vaulted chamber, glittering with lights. Gurgi was nowhere in sight. Their captors were half-a-dozen squat, round, stubby- legged warriors. Axes hung from their belts and each man had a bow and quiver of arrows on his shoulder. The left eye of the short, burly fellow who stood beside Eilonwy was turning greenish-black.

Before them, at a long stone table, a dwarfish figure with a bristling yellow beard glared at the warriors. He wore a robe of garish red and green. Rings sparkled on his plump fingers. 'What's this?' he shouted. 'Who are these people? Didn't I give orders I wasn't to be disturbed?'

'But Majesty,' began one of the warriors, shifting uneasily, 'we caught them…'

'Must you bother me with details?' King Eiddileg cried, clasping his forehead. 'You'll ruin me! You'll be the death of me! Out! Out! No, not the prisoners, you idiots!' Shaking his head, sighing and sputtering, the King collapsed onto a throne carved from rock. The guards scurried away. King Eiddileg shot a furious glance at Taran and his companions. 'Now, then, out with it. What do you want? You might as well know ahead of time, you shan't have it.'

'Sire,' Taran began, 'we ask no more than safe passage through your realm. The four of us…'

'There's only three of you,' King Eiddileg snapped. 'Can't you count?'

'One of my companions is missing,' Taran said regretfully. He had hoped Gurgi would have overcome his fear, but he could not blame the creature for running off after his ordeal in the whirlpool. 'I beg your servants to help us find him. Then, too, our provisions and weapons have been lost…'

'That's clotted nonsense!' shouted the King. 'Don't lie to me, I can't stand it.' He pulled an orange kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his forehead. 'Why did you come here?'

'Because an Assistant Pig-Keeper led us on a wild-goose chase,' Eilonwy interrupted. 'We don't even know where we are, let alone why. It's worse than rolling downhill in the dark.'

'Naturally,' said Eiddileg, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'You have no idea you're in the very heart of the Kingdom of Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk, the Happy Family, the Little People, or whatever other insipid, irritating names you've put on us. Oh, no, of course not. You just happened to be passing by.'

'We were caught in the lake,' Taran protested. 'It pulled us down.'

'Good, eh?' King Eiddileg answered, with a quick smile of pride. 'I've added some improvements of my own, of course.'

'If you're so anxious to keep visitors away,' Eilonwy said, 'you should have something better? to make people stay out.'

'When people get this close,' Eiddileg answered, 'they're already too close. At that point, I don't want them out. I want them in.'

Fflewddur shook his head. 'I always understood the Fair Folk were all over Prydain, not just here.'

'Of course, not just here,' said Eiddileg with impatience. 'This is the royal seat. Why, we have tunnels and mines every place you can imagine. But the real work, the real labor of organization is here, right here, in this very spot? in this very throne room. On my shoulders! It's too much, I tell you, too much. But who else can you trust? If you want something done right…' The King stopped suddenly and drummed his glittering fingers on the stone table. 'That's not your affair,' he said. 'You're in trouble enough as it is. It can't be overlooked.'

'I don't see any work being done,' said Eilonwy.

Before Taran could warn Eilonwy not to be imprudent, the door of the throne room burst open and a crowd of folk pressed in. Looking closer, Taran saw not all were dwarfs; some were tall, slender, with white robes; others were covered with glistening scales, like fish; still others fluttered large, delicate wings. For some moments Taran heard nothing but a confusion of voices, angry outcries and bickering, with Eiddileg trying to shout above them. Finally, the King managed to push them all out again. 'No work being done?' he cried. 'You don't appreciate everything that goes into it. The Children of Evening? that's another ridiculous name you humans have thought up? are to sing in the forest of Cantrev Mawr tonight. They haven't even practiced. Two are sick and one can't be found.

'The Lake Sprites have been quarreling all day; now they're sulking. Their hair's a mess. And who does that reflect on? Who has to jolly them along, coax them, plead with them? The answer is obvious.

'What thanks do I get for it?' King Eiddileg ranted on. 'None at all! Has any of you long-legged gawks ever taken the trouble? even once, mind you? to offer the simplest expression of gratitude, such as, 'Thank you, King Eiddileg, for the tremendous effort and inconvenience you've gone to, so that we can enjoy a little charm and beauty in the world above, which would be so unspeakably grim without you and your Fair Folk'? Just a few words of honest appreciation?

'By no means! Just the opposite! If any of you thick-skulled oafs come on one of the Fair Folk above ground,