The Stolen Lake by Joan Aiken

twice, however, Ccaedmon has broken the peace and seized strips of land on the Lyonesse boundary. But Mabon's relations with New Cumbria are even more delicate, and so he hesitates to retaliate."
    "Aha!" exclaimed Captain Hughes, who, in spite of himself, was becoming interested. "Has Ccaedmon also committed acts of aggression against New Cumbria? Is that what Queen Whatshername's complaint is about, think you? Devil take it, man, why would you not let me have all this information while we were still aboard the
Thrush
? It is worth twice what that dolt Brandywinde had to tell me."
    "My position is so awkward," said Mr. Holystone sadly. "King Mabon sent me a message three years ago, suggesting that I lead a revolt against Ccaedmon. But who am I, after all? My parentage is unknown. In spite of Mabon's friendship I told him that I had no right to lead a rising against the ruler of Hy Brasil."
    "What about the queen of New Cumbria?"
    "Cumbria is a closed country," said Mr. Holystone, shaking his head. "It is a secret land. The port of Tenby is its only entrance. Nobody goes in or out. The queen holds no communication with her neighbors. Citizens of Lyonesse or Hy Brasil may not cross her frontiers. It has always been so."
    "
We
got in."
    "That is because the queen has sent for you."
    "Well," said Captain Hughes, "all this is deucedly interesting—though why you were not prepared to divulge it two weeks ago, bless me if I can see. But what has it to do with your not wishing to accompany us to Bath? That's what has me in a puzzle."
    Holystone looked at him hopelessly, as if he had come to the end of his strength. The captain reflected and said, "No, I believe I do understand. It is because you might be considered a pretender to the throne of Hy Brasil—is that it, hey? You think it might put me in an awkward spot if you were recognized so near the country you came from?"
    "Just so, sir."
    "Does you credit, I daresay. Should have thought of it sooner, though. Suppose you were tempted by the chance to revisit these parts, hmm? But then—it ain't all that likely you
will
be recognized, is it? If you haven't been back since you were fourteen?"
    Maybe he's ashamed, thought Dido. After all, he was a kind of a prince then—only fancy, our Mr. Holystone! Well, I allus reckoned there were more to him than met the eye—and he wouldn't want his old chums to see him now he's only a steward.
    Mr. Holystone looked very unhappy, but made no direct answer to the captain. "Pray give consideration to my request, sir," was all that he said.
    "Well—I will think about it, and let you know my decision in the morning. Meanwhile, kindly see that child goes to bed—and that a watch is kept over her during the night."
    "Yes, sir."
    Dido's bedroom was even smaller than the captain's—a tiny slip of a room. On the bed was curled something that Dido, for one nervous moment, took, in the dim candlelight, for a large spider. She was still unsettled by the events of the river trip. But then, with much relief, she saw that the sleeping creature was a small cat, curled up in a tight ball.
    "Hey, puss!" Dido said softly. "Come to keep me company, have you?"
    She stroked the cat and found, as on the one at Tenby, a collar with a disc, this time bearing the name Tom Tildrum, and a packet consisting of a small scrap of folded paper.
    "Hilloo, Mr. Holy!" she called in a whisper. He had made himself up a pallet outside the door, and came directly.
    "Look what's here, Mr. Holy! Another of 'em."
    They both studied the words on the small printed page, which said:
Chirurgeon. One that cures ailments, not by internal medicines, but outward applications. It is now generally pronounced, and by many written, surgeon.
    Under this was written, in small, desperate dark-brown letters (could they be blood?):
Help! I am a prisoner in a cave on Arrabe. I do not have air for many more days.
    "Why's she so skint on air?" demanded Dido. "That's one thing nobody bothers to sell,