the witches, the ghosts and the banshees and the trolls . . . and as soon as day broke they began again – but it was beginning to look as though Raymond and his mother had vanished from the face of the earth.
Eleven
The Queen leant out of her bedroom window. She leant out so far that she would have fallen but for a dwarf whom the King had put in charge of holding her feet. He had been holding her feet for days now because she did nothing except look out to sea and watch for the three-masted ship.
‘Oh, where is it?’ she said for the hundredth time. ‘Why doesn’t it come?’
There were men all over the Island peering through telescopes, the dolphins searched the seas, and the talking birds – the minahs and the parrots – were never out of the air. The instant the ship was sighted, rockets would flare up, but the Queen went on watching, her long hair streaming over the sill, as though by doing so she could will her son to come to her.
But the dwarf now sighed – he was growing tired – and the Queen dragged herself away and went into the next room which she had prepared for the Prince. His old, white-curtained cradle still stood in the corner, but the palace carpenters had made him a beautiful bed of cedar wood and a carved desk and a bookcase because she knew without being told that the Prince would love to read. She hadn’t made the room fussy, but the carpet, with its pattern of mythical beasts and flowers, had taken seven years to make – and there was a wide window seat so that he could sit and look out over the waters of the bay.
But would he ever sit there? Would she ever come in and see his bright head turn towards her?
The King, coming into the room, found her in tears again.
‘Come, my dear,’ he said, putting his arms round her, ‘there are five days still for the rescuers to bring him back.’
But the Queen wouldn’t be comforted. ‘Let me go to the Secret Cove, at least,’ she begged. ‘Let me wait there for him.’
The King shook his head. ‘What can you do there, my love? You would only fret and worry and your people need you.’
‘I would be closer to him. I would be near.’
The King said nothing. He was afraid of letting his wife go near the mouth of the gump. If she lost her head and went through it, he could lose her as he had lost his son.
‘Try to have patience,’ he begged her. ‘Tr y to be brave.’
The King and Queen were not the only people on the Island to worry and grow afraid. The schoolchildren had been given a holiday during the nine days of the opening, but they had decorated the school with flowers and hung up banners saying WELCOME TO THE PRINCE . Now the flowers were wilting, the banners hung limp after a shower of rain. The bakers who had baked huge, three-tiered cakes for the welcoming banquet began to prod them with skewers, wondering if they were going stale and they should start again. The housewives who had ironed their best dresses, shook them out and ironed them all over again because they’d grown crumpled.
As for the nurses in the cave, they had ordered a crate of green bananas before the Opening so that the second the ship was sighted they could rip it open and help themselves to the firm, just ripened fruit – but when no news came they nailed it up again and now they were back to wailing and eating burnt toast.
Then that night the square began to fill up with some very strange people.
There had been rumours, quite early on, of discontent in the north of the island. Not just the kind of grumbling you always get from people who have not been chosen for a job they are sure they could do. Not just Odge’s sisters complaining because their baby sister had been chosen and not them. Not just grumpy giants saying, what do you expect, sending a milksop who yodels to bring back the Prince? No . . . this was more serious discontent, and from creatures that were to be reckoned with.
And that evening, the evening of the fourth day of the Opening,
Eleven
The Queen leant out of her bedroom window. She leant out so far that she would have fallen but for a dwarf whom the King had put in charge of holding her feet. He had been holding her feet for days now because she did nothing except look out to sea and watch for the three-masted ship.
‘Oh, where is it?’ she said for the hundredth time. ‘Why doesn’t it come?’
There were men all over the Island peering through telescopes, the dolphins searched the seas, and the talking birds – the minahs and the parrots – were never out of the air. The instant the ship was sighted, rockets would flare up, but the Queen went on watching, her long hair streaming over the sill, as though by doing so she could will her son to come to her.
But the dwarf now sighed – he was growing tired – and the Queen dragged herself away and went into the next room which she had prepared for the Prince. His old, white-curtained cradle still stood in the corner, but the palace carpenters had made him a beautiful bed of cedar wood and a carved desk and a bookcase because she knew without being told that the Prince would love to read. She hadn’t made the room fussy, but the carpet, with its pattern of mythical beasts and flowers, had taken seven years to make – and there was a wide window seat so that he could sit and look out over the waters of the bay.
But would he ever sit there? Would she ever come in and see his bright head turn towards her?
The King, coming into the room, found her in tears again.
‘Come, my dear,’ he said, putting his arms round her, ‘there are five days still for the rescuers to bring him back.’
But the Queen wouldn’t be comforted. ‘Let me go to the Secret Cove, at least,’ she begged. ‘Let me wait there for him.’
The King shook his head. ‘What can you do there, my love? You would only fret and worry and your people need you.’
‘I would be closer to him. I would be near.’
The King said nothing. He was afraid of letting his wife go near the mouth of the gump. If she lost her head and went through it, he could lose her as he had lost his son.
‘Try to have patience,’ he begged her. ‘Tr y to be brave.’
The King and Queen were not the only people on the Island to worry and grow afraid. The schoolchildren had been given a holiday during the nine days of the opening, but they had decorated the school with flowers and hung up banners saying WELCOME TO THE PRINCE . Now the flowers were wilting, the banners hung limp after a shower of rain. The bakers who had baked huge, three-tiered cakes for the welcoming banquet began to prod them with skewers, wondering if they were going stale and they should start again. The housewives who had ironed their best dresses, shook them out and ironed them all over again because they’d grown crumpled.
As for the nurses in the cave, they had ordered a crate of green bananas before the Opening so that the second the ship was sighted they could rip it open and help themselves to the firm, just ripened fruit – but when no news came they nailed it up again and now they were back to wailing and eating burnt toast.
Then that night the square began to fill up with some very strange people.
There had been rumours, quite early on, of discontent in the north of the island. Not just the kind of grumbling you always get from people who have not been chosen for a job they are sure they could do. Not just Odge’s sisters complaining because their baby sister had been chosen and not them. Not just grumpy giants saying, what do you expect, sending a milksop who yodels to bring back the Prince? No . . . this was more serious discontent, and from creatures that were to be reckoned with.
And that evening, the evening of the fourth day of the Opening,
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