The Stolen Lake by Joan Aiken Page B

history...." His weak voice died away in a great yawn, and his head nodded forward. He roused up again, however, to say to Captain Hughes, "Sir, do not forget—that when we reach Bath Regis—which is thirteen thousand feet above sea level—all the party must be careful to avoid undue exertion at first—the air is so thin that—the least effort causes palpitations of the heart. You will—ache all over—headaches and nosebleeds are not uncommon—"
    He toppled over on his side; he had been sitting on the wagon floor, propped against the wall. Dido, kneeling by him worriedly, saw that he was in a kind of half-sleep, half-swoon. His fainting fit last night had occasioned a great deal of concern. He had recovered only after a great many restoratives had been administered, and Captain Hughes had said firmly there could be no question of his returning to the coast by himself, or of his remaining in the small and primitive inn at Bewdley. He must accompany the party to Bath, where there were sure to be doctors and he could be properly cared for. Poor Mr. Holystone had been too weak to protest, although he seemed wretched in his spirits, as if the whole atmosphere of Cumbria oppressed him and made him ill. In the morning he had to be carried on board the train.
    "Best leave him to sleep," said Captain Hughes. "Poor devil, maybe it is merely the altitude that is affecting him, and he will recover in due course."
    Dido felt sure that it was more than that. She had not informed Captain Hughes about the messages in the cats' collars—she could just imagine the scorn with which he would dismiss such idle nonsense—but she herself felt certain that they had something to do with Mr. Holystone's infirmity.
    As the train zigzagged its way upward, she occupied herself by looking out of the dirty window at the scenery, which was certainly very astonishing. Day wore slowly on as they climbed higher and higher, curving over mountainsides and through narrow passes, creeping along narrow rocky valleys, and yet again up and up, following the course of the river Severn, now transformed to a boulderstrewn torrent. They passed many more waterfalls, some plunging from thousand-foot crags into vapor-filled gorges, others pouncing down hillsides step by step.
    At last Dido became bored with her own company—for Noah Gusset was curled up asleep, Mr. Multiple and the lieutenant were playing chess, and Plum, a silent man at all times, was knitting himself a sock, while Captain Hughes, having written up his log, was deep, as usual, in aerostatics.
    Seizing the chance when the train stopped at a wayside halt to take on more wood and water and allow a customs official to inspect the foreigners' credentials, Dido slipped out of the first-class car onto the rock platform beside the track.
    "Hey, young 'un! Where are you off to?" demanded Lieutenant Windward, sticking his fair head out.
    "I'm a-going in the boxcar for a bit," said Dido. "I'll be all rug; don't you fret your fur."
    She was startled at the bitter cold of the mountain air, high up here between Ambage and Arryke; she made haste to scramble into the second-class car, where the atmosphere was as warm as a nesting box. There were no seats at all in here, and the passengers—who were mostly sunburned peasants, bringing their goods to the city—all squatted on the floor. They wore sandals, ponchos, goatskin trousers, and a dozen hats apiece, and the floor was littered with melon seeds, pineapple tassels, and plantain rinds. However, the human climate was a great deal more cordial than in the first-class accommodation; Dido was greeted cheerfully enough, and offered cherries from a basket, a bite of a delicious fruit called chirimoya, and a mugful of chicha, a drink not unlike cider. She learned, partly by sign language, since the peasants mostly spoke Latin, that they came not from Tenby, but from small clearings in the forest, and that they were coming to sell their hats in Bath. She herself was