Book II Chapter 9 The Twilight of Magic by Hugh Lofting
The saddle-bag
The first thing Giles did on reaching the village inn was to go and see how his mare was faring. In the stable yard he noticed another horse, saddled and bridled, standing near the well. It was breathing hard, its hide damp with sweat. Another guest had come while he was out. The Finder was of course very interested just now in arrivals of any kind. From the open door of the stable where he had left Midnight, he heard the sound of talking. He paused a moment to listen before going in.
The voices were two. One Giles recognized immediately as the innkeeper’s. The other, for the moment, he was not so sure of, though it sounded somehow like one he ought to know well. Certainly the new-comer, whoever he was, had been asking about the black mare; for the host of the inn was now telling him at what hour she had come, what her rider had looked like and a great deal more. Then the other asked some further questions. And this time Giles knew the voice beyond all doubt. It was Luke’s.
At once he was about to rush in and welcome his old friend. But on second thoughts he changed his mind and drew back from the door. Naturally the esquire would not have told the host why either of them had come to his inn. And for other reasons, too, it would be better if they had their first meeting alone. Therefore he walked quietly back across the yard, entered the house and went upstairs to his room. Here, he was sure, Luke would presently come seeking him. For with Midnight in the stable the esquire must know that his master would soon return. Meanwhile, after changing his clothes, Giles rinsed his hands and face in a copper wash basin that stood on the table.
The evening was warm; and while he freshened himself up he left the dormer window open. Through it he could see right across the river to the far shore. Lights twinkled from a group of cottages clustered at the water’s edge. Behind them the black shadow of a hill rose against the clear night sky, topped by a long straggling building of very beautiful architecture. This was lit up too, though dimly. But even at that distance one could tell that the north end of it was a chapel. For the rich colours of a fine stained-glass window were brought out clearly by the candle-light behind.
He had just finished drying his face when a knock sounded on the door.
‘Come in!’
Luke entered with a candle in his hand and a saddle-bag under his arm. He closed the door behind him before any word was spoken.
‘It is more than good to see you,’ said Giles. ‘You’ve been up to my tricks: traced me by the mare, eh? Well, a horse is always easier to track than a man. Throw the bag on the floor and sit down. But how did you know what road I had taken?’
‘I watched from the castle tower,’ said Luke. ‘Before you were out of sight I guessed you were making for the Harbour Turnpike—though which direction you’d go in when you struck it I could not tell, of course. However, a few questions at the wayside inns soon put me on your trail—and once found, it was not hard to stick to. Is there any—er—any news?’
‘Of the Countess?—No,’ said Giles. ‘I have never been so completely puzzled in my life. But you must have more news than I. First, why did you come after me?’
Giles seated himself on the bed while Luke talked.
‘Well, for one thing, both the King and the Queen Mother were terribly anxious for word of you. Almost ever since you left, His Majesty has been watching from the tower windows for messengers. For another thing, I guessed you would be wanting more clothes. You had taken barely anything but what you stood up in. And then besides, naturally, I wanted to come too. Anne didn’t really need my help: you might. So I asked His Majesty if he would let me go after you with a second tunic and some fresh linen. He seemed very pleased at the idea and gave me leave at once.’
‘Humph!’ Giles muttered. ‘It was thoughtful of you—about the clothes, I mean. But I asked you to stay with Anne. Was there no other reason for your leaving the castle?’
‘Of course there was,’ Luke added with an odd kind of sheepish look. ‘I would not else have gone against your orders, you may be sure. But something—two things—happened after you went away. I did not speak to the King of them. And they may not, even to you, seem of any importance. Just the same, I thought you might want to know of them. The Whispering Shell—’
Giles sprang to his feet.
‘It’s lost,’ said Luke. ‘Just disappeared. The Princess Sophronia came to me yesterday in a terrible state. Said it had been stolen from her room. Anne and I hunted everywhere for it. We had hard work to keep the old lady from rushing all over the palace claiming she had been robbed. Then when we couldn’t find it, she told me she was certain you had taken it with you, since you alone had keys to all the palace doors. She wanted to have me put under arrest for even daring to argue with her. But at last Anne got her calm enough to answer a few questions. And we soon found out that she had had the shell in her own hands, once at least, since you had left. So she had to admit that you couldn’t have taken it. However, I told her I’d try to get the King’s permission to come after you and would ask you to look for it. And it was only then that she quieted down enough so Anne and I dared leave her.’
‘What time was it yesterday that she came to you?’ Giles asked.
‘About noon, I should say.’
The King’s Finder walked thoughtfully across the room. He halted at the open casement, looking out over the river.
‘Well,’ he asked presently, ‘what was the other thing that happened?’
‘You remember the two black spaniels the Countess owned,’ asked Luke: ‘Maggie and Mollie?’
‘Yes. Of course I do.’
‘Well, one of them appears to have turned into a large black cat,’ Luke announced quite solemnly.
Sharply Giles turned his head.
‘Are you trying to joke, Luke?’ he snapped out angrily. ‘Whoever heard of such nonsense?’
‘I know that’s what it sounds like,’ said the esquire. ‘But if you had seen what I have you’d understand why I put it that way. The Countess always kept the two dogs in her room, you remember. After Anne and I had pacified the old Princess we went back there. And one of the spaniels was missing—Mollie. In its place, playing with Maggie in the most friendly fashion, was a large black cat. But the most peculiar part was that the cat used all the same tricks—you know, ways of pouncing and attacking in fun, that Mollie used.’
‘Did it make any sounds?’ asked Giles.
‘No cat-like sounds at all,’ said Luke. ‘But it growled like a dog when it got knocked down in the sham fighting, exactly the way that Mollie used to growl. You would have to see it to understand it. It was like a dog in every way it acted, but it was still a cat to look at. Anne said she could nearly believe it was Mollie, dressed up in a cat’s skin. And Maggie’s behaviour was peculiar too. You’d think she’d want to fight with a cat instead of playing with it, just from natural dog’s instinct—let alone from jealousy at its coming into her mistress’s home—you know how pets are that way. But not at all. She treated the cat as though it were the oldest friend she had, let it sleep in the same basket with her and everything. Didn’t seem to miss Mollie, either. It almost looked as though the cat had come specially to take Mollie’s place and keep the other dog from grieving over the loss of her playmate. Anne is positive that it is one of Agnes’s cats. Though I don’t see any particular reason for thinking that.’
‘Except that it never cries, miaows, or makes what you called cat-like sounds, eh?’ muttered Giles. ‘Have you or Anne had any news of Agnes?’
‘No,’ said Luke. ‘It is hardly likely that we would, is it? Nine years now since we saw or heard of her.’
‘You haven’t spoken of the cat to anyone at the palace?’
‘No. The beast of its own accord keeps out of everyone’s way. And Anne thought it best not to talk about it—with the wedding toward and all. Black cats are supposed to bring bad luck when they cross your path.’
‘I know,’ Giles nodded. ‘People still believe in superstitions like that; rubbish that has no rhyme nor reason nor sense whatever. While anything unusual that Agnes might do, like curing your leg, they’d call incantation, sorcery, sinful devil-dealing, and what not. “Shragga the Witch!”—Bah!’
‘Poor Agnes!’ murmured Luke. ‘I wonder what corner of the world she’s hiding her old head in now.’
‘Who can tell?’ sighed Giles. ‘And yet you know, sometimes—lately—I’ve had a sort of feeling—I can’t explain it. A feeling that she’s not far off, that that powerful mind of hers is around us, near, now, in touch almost with my own. I haven’t felt so for a long, long time, not since Anne and I stayed that night at the Haunted Inn, and met all those strange dream-folk—who talked to us but didn’t seem quite real . . . I don’t know. Perhaps it’s all nonsense. Maybe it’s just that I’m mortal tired. Yet that matter of the shell’s disappearing is queer enough.—Hah! A busy time for the King’s Finder! Everything’s disappearing. I suppose the castle itself will be the next. But as for the dog, that does not seem hard to explain. The Countess took the spaniel with her for company, most likely. I wish I had known that before I left. It might have helped me in the search. But I was in such a hurry to catch up with her I couldn’t spare much time. How were things faring at the palace when you left?’
‘Oh, well enough, considering all. No suspicion of the Countess’s going seems to have leaked out—though how much longer that can be kept up I do not know. We have been most careful, keeping the wedding guests busy with games, races, shows, dances and what not. The Queen Mother has been wonderful, hiding her worry behind a smiling face and taking part in everything. The Count Godfrey too.’
‘And the King?’ asked Giles.
Luke frowned uneasily at the floor. ‘He has not seemed so well. Tries hard to act a good host’s part to all his guests. But looks pale, with his thoughts a hundred miles away. He eats hardly at all. Most of the daylight hours, as I said, he spends up in the tower watching the road below.’
Giles turned back to the open window and for a moment said nothing more. Over the dark hill beyond the river a wisp of a slanting moon could now be seen. Its pale path shimmered dimly in the quiet water below. Luke crossed the room, put his hand upon his master’s shoulder and looked out. A ferry-boat with long sweeping oars crept out from the shadow of the farther shore and slid silently towards them. Suddenly the noise of bells broke the hush with a distant silvery voice.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Luke, gazing up at the hill.
‘Chapel bells,’ said Giles. ‘Vespers. That’s the Convent of Saint Bridget up there, the long building at the top of the ridge.’
‘You do know this country, don’t you?’ said Luke. ‘I suppose you’d be bound to, after nine years at your work. Convent of Saint Bridget, eh? Looks like a big place . . . Listen, Giles: how about some supper? You must be hungry—and I know I am. Let me go down and rout out that lazy old host of ours. And I must see if he has put my horse to bed yet. I’ll not be long.’
He started towards the door.
‘Oh, and you won’t forget the saddle-bag,’ he added. ‘You’ll find a fresh shirt in it, if you’ve a mind to rid yourself of some of the road-dust. I’ll give you a call as soon as the food is ready.’