disappointed.”
“Then in the name of Aslan we will wind Queen Susan's Horn,” said Caspian.
“There is one thing, Sire,” said Doctor Cornelius, “that should perhaps be done first. We do not know what form the help will take. It might call Aslan himself from oversea. But I think it is more likely to call Peter the High King and his mighty consorts down from the high past. But in either case, I do not think we can be sure that the help will come to this very spot—“
“You never said a truer word,” put in Trumpkin.
“I think,” went on the learned man, “that they—or he will come back to one or other of the Ancient Places of Narnia. This, where we now sit, is the most ancient and most deeply magical of all, and here, I think, the answer is likeliest to come. But there are two others. One Lantern Waste, up-river, west of Beaversdam, where the Royal Children first appeared in Narnia, as the records tell The other is down at the river-mouth, where their castle of Cair Paravel once stood. And if Aslan himself comes, that would be the best place for meeting him too, for every story says that he is the son of the great Emperor-over-the-Sea, and over the sea he will pass. I should like very much to send messengers to both places, to Lantern Waste and the river-mouth, to receive them—or him or it.”
“Just as I thought,” muttered Trumpkin. “The first result of all this foolery is not to bring us help but to lose us two fighters.”
“Who would you think of sending, Doctor Cornelius?” asked Caspian.
“Squirrels are best for getting through enemy country without being caught,” said Trufflehunter.
“All our squirrels (and we haven't many),” said Nikabrik, “are rather flighty. The only one I'd trust on a job like that would be Pattertwig.”
“Let it be Pattertwig, then,” said King Caspian. “And who for our other messenger? I know you'd go, Trufflehunter, but you haven't the speed. Nor you, Doctor Cornelius.”
“I won't go,” said Nikabrik. “With all these Humans and beasts about, there must be a Dwarf here to see that the Dwarfs are fairly treated.”
“Thimbles and thunderstorms!” cried Trumpkin in a rage. “Is that how you speak to the King? Send me, Sire, I'll go.”
“But I thought you didn't believe in the Horn, Trumpkin,” said Caspian.
“No more I do, your Majesty. But what's that got to do with it? I might as well die on a wild goose chase as die here. You are my King. I know the difference between giving advice and taking orders. You've had my advice, and now it's the time for orders.”
“I will never forget this, Trumpkin,” said Caspian. “Send for Pattertwig, one of you. And when shall I blow the Horn?”
“I would wait for sunrise, your Majesty,” said Doctor Cornelius. “That sometimes has an effect in operations of White Magic.”
A few minutes later Pattertwig arrived and had his task explained to him. As he was, like many squirrels, full of courage and dash and energy and excitement and mischief (not to say conceit), he no sooner heard it than he was eager to be off. It was arranged that he should run for Lantern Waste while Trumpkin made the shorter journey to the river-mouth. After a hasty meal they both set off with the fervent thanks and good wishes of the King, the Badger, and Cornelius.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
HOW THEY LEFT THE ISLAND
“AND so,” said Trumpkin (for, as you have realized, it was he who had been telling all this story to the four children, sitting on the grass in the ruined hall of Cair Paravel)—“and so I put a crust or two in my pocket, left behind all weapons but my dagger, and took to the woods in the grey of the morning. I'd been plugging away for many hours when there came a sound that I'd never heard the like of in my born days. Eh, I won't forget that. The whole air was full of it, loud as thunder but far longer, cool and sweet as music over water, but strong enough to shake the woods. And I said to myself, `If that's not the Horn, call me a rabbit.' And a moment later I wondered why he hadn't blown it sooner—”
“What time was it?” asked Edmund.
“Between nine and ten of the clock,” said Trumpkin.
“Just when we were at the railway station!” said all the children, and looked at one another with shining eyes.
“Please go on,” said Lucy to the Dwarf.
“Well, as I was saying, I wondered, but I went on as hard as I could pelt. I kept on all night—and then, when it was half light this morning, as if I'd no more sense than a Giant, I risked a short cut across open country to cut off a big loop of the river, and was caught. Not by the army, but by a pompous old fool who has charge of a little castle which is Miraz's last stronghold towards the coast. I needn't tell you they got no true tale out of me, but I was a Dwarf and that was enough. But, lobsters and lollipops! it is a good thing the seneschal was a pompous fool. Anyone else would have run me through there and then. But nothing would do for him short of a grand execution: sending me down `to the ghosts in the full ceremonial way. And then this young lady”, (he nodded at Susan) “does her bit of archery and it was pretty shooting, let me tell you—and here we are. And without my armour, for of course they took that.” He knocked out and refilled his pipe.
“Great Scott!” said Peter. “So it was the horn—your own horn, Su—that dragged us all off that seat on the platform yesterday morning! I can hardly believe it; yet it all fits in.”
“I don't know why you shouldn't believe it,” said Lucy, “if you believe in magic at all. Aren't there lots of stories about magic forcing people out of one place—out of one world—into another? I mean, when a magician in The Arabian Nights calls up a Jinn, it has to come. We had to come, just like that.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “I suppose what makes it feel so queer is that in the stories it's always someone in our world who does the calling. One doesn't really think about where the Jinn's coming from.”
“And now we know what it feels like for the Jinn,” said Edmund with a chuckle. “Golly! It's a bit uncomfortable to know that we can be whistled for like that. It's worse than what Father says about living at the mercy of the telephone.”
“But we want to be here, don't we,” said Lucy, “if Aslan wants us?”
“Meanwhile,” said the Dwarf, “what are we to do? I suppose I'd better go back to King Caspian and tell him no help has come.”
“No help?” said Susan. “But it has worked. And here we are.”
“Um—um—yes, to be sure. I see that,” said the Dwarf, whose pipe seemed to be blocked (at any rate he made himself very busy cleaning it). “But—well—I mean—“
“But don't you yet see who we are?” shouted Lucy. “You are stupid.”
“I suppose you are the four children out of the old stories,” said Trumpkin. “And I'm very glad to meet you of course. And it's very interesting, no doubt. But—no offence?'—and he hesitated again.
“Do get on and say whatever you're going to say,” said Edmund.
“Well, then—no offence,” said Trumpkin. “But, you know, the King and Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius were expecting—well, if you see what I mean, help. To put it in another way, I think they'd been imagining you as great warriors. As it is—we're awfully fond of children and all that, but just at the moment, in the middle of a war but I'm sure you understand.”
“You mean you think we're no good,” said Edmund, getting red in the face.
“Now pray don't be offended,” interrupted the Dwarf. “I assure you, my dear little friends—”
“Little from you is really a bit too much,” said Edmund, jumping up. “I suppose you don't believe we won the Battle of Beruna? Well, you can say what you like about me because I know—“
“There's no good losing our tempers,” said Peter. “Let's fit him out with fresh armour and fit ourselves out from the treasure chamber, and have a talk after that.”
“I don't quite see the point—“ began Edmund, but Lucy whispered in his ear, “Hadn't we better do what Peter says? He is the High King, you know. And I think he has an idea.” So Edmund agreed and by the aid of his torch they all, including Trumpkin, went down the steps again into the dark coldness and dusty splendour of the
