Digory and the Lost King Page 3

  “D-d-d-,” stuttered Digory.

  “Are you cold?” asked Enid.

  “D-d-d-,” repeated Digory.

  “Is it a game?” asked Enid. “Something beginning with d? Can’t we have breakfast first?”

  “D-d-d-” Digory raised his shaking hand and pointed toward Barley.

  “Oh! DRAGON!” squealed Enid.

  Digory grabbed Enid’s hand and pulled her out of the cave. They made a dive for the nearest bush and scrambled beneath it, out of sight.

  Enid and Digory whispered fiercely under the bush.

  “We have to wake up Barley!”

  “How can we do that without waking up the dragon?”

  “Do you think it’s big enough to eat Barley?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think it’s big enough to eat us?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think it’s big enough to breathe fire?”

  A sudden flicker of sparks at the back of the cave answered that question. The dragon’s fiery sigh had set Barley’s mane on fire. Digory scrambled out from under the bush, ran into the cave, grabbed his helmet, and threw the rest of the cold soup on Barley’s head. Horse and dragon woke up with a start.

  Enid peered out from under the bush in terror. Digory stood, frozen to the spot.

  Barley, shaking the soup from her ears, staggered to her feet and ambled out into the sunshine. The little dragon followed.

  Barley found a patch of long grass and began to help herself to breakfast. The little dragon watched for a moment and did the same.

  Barley stamped her hoof and twitched her tail. So did the little dragon.

  Then, as Digory and Enid watched in astonishment, Barley lay down and rolled in the warm grass and the little dragon tumbled playfully beside her.

  “That dragon thinks Barley is her mother!” said Enid. And so she did.

  Digory and Enid soon saw they were in no danger of being eaten by their new friend, but neither could they separate the little dragon from her adopted mother.

  “Well, either we leave Barley behind with the dragon and continue on foot,” Digory said to Enid, “or we take her with us.”

  There was really no choice. After a quick look at the map, Digory and Enid both climbed onto Barley’s back and set off once more along the mountain path, with the little dragon tagging along behind.

  The dragon was easily distracted by birds and butterflies and even by her own tail, which she leaped on whenever it swung into view. So they named her Pounce and everyone, especially proud Barley, was delighted with their new traveling companion.

  Digory was also distracted by anything that flew into view—but for a different reason. He was worried that Pounce’s real mother might return at any moment and mistake them for dragon-nappers …

  On the King’s Trail

  Digory was relieved when, at last, they left the open mountain path and took a shady track along the edge of a forest. At least we’ll be able to dive into the wood if any trouble comes along, he told himself. Still, he watched the sky warily. “If only we had a disguise for Pounce,” he muttered.

  At these words, a brown cloak fell from a branch above and landed on the little dragon’s head. Pounce gave a snort of surprise and set fire to it.

  In the sudden confusion, a long stick and net also fell out of the tree, followed by a wide-brimmed hat and a plump, red-faced man, who clambered down after them, puffing and panting. He pulled the cloak off Pounce at once and stamped on the flames.

  “Smoldering stitches!” he cried. “You can’t just go around setting fire to a fellow’s cloak like that. I’ll be shivering all winter! Mrs. Buzz will have to patch it up with bee fur.”

  Mr. Buzz, as you might guess, was a beekeeper.

  “Well, what were you doing up in that tree?” asked Digory.

  “Looking for my bees,” he said. “Though all this fuss will have scared them off to Timbuktu!”

  Enid looked closely at Mr. Buzz’s smoking cloak. Scarlet threads showed through here and there. Sure enough, it wasn’t brown at all, but red cloth covered in mud. “This is the King’s cloak!” she cried excitedly.

  “Nonsense!” said Mr. Buzz. “It’s my very own.”

  “My father, the King, has disappeared,” explained Enid. “Prince Digory and I have come to look for him. This cloak may give us a clue.”

  Mr. Buzz sat down on his hat in disbelief. Digory and Enid hadn’t noticed that, after being caught in the rain and sleeping in a cave, they didn’t look like a prince and princess at all. “How do I know you aren’t clever cloakthieves?” asked Mr. Buzz suspiciously.

  Digory, who was already feeling like a guilty dragon-napper, thought this was very unfair. “We don’t want to steal anything,” he said. “We want to find the King.” Suddenly he had an idea. “Look inside the collar,” he said. “The King always has the name of things sewn into his clothes.”

  Sure enough, when Mr. Buzz looked inside the collar, he found a label the Queen herself had stitched, saying “Cloak.”

  Mr. Buzz looked very bashful. “Your Majesties, Your Most Royal Highnesses.” He bowed to Enid and Digory. “I never knew it was the King’s cloak. I bought it yesterday from Truffle, the pig man,” he said. “Paid him two honest shillings.”

  “Then I’ll give you two shillings for it,” said Enid, “if you tell us how to find him.”

  Mr. Buzz told them the way through the woods to Truffle’s cottage. “You’ll know when you’re getting close …,” he said mysteriously. “And if you see my bees, just send them home.”

  They set off through the woods and Digory wondered how he might explain to a swarm of bees that it was time to go home. He was still pondering the danger and difficulty of this when his nose suddenly told him that Truffle’s cottage was near. As the pig smell grew stronger, they heard a scurry of little hooves among the bushes. They found Truffle emptying a sack of apples into his cart.

  “Fine morning,” said Truffle shyly. He offered an apple to Barley but nearly jumped out of his skin when Pounce appeared from behind her, neighing hungrily. (She’d been quick to pick up Barley’s voice as well as her habits.)

  “Could you give her an apple too, please?” asked Digory. “She thinks she’s a horse.”

  Truffle stuck an apple on the end of a stick and offered it to Pounce at arm’s length.

  Enid saw how nervous he was and asked quickly about her father’s cloak.

  “I got it from Clod, the well-digger,” said Truffle. “Paid him one honest shilling too.”

  Digory thanked him and bought enough apples to fill their saddlebag. Then on they went to the village where Clod the well-digger lived.

  To their dismay, Clod the well-digger had no news about King Widget. “I got it down at the market, from Nell the stocking-maker,” he said. “Paid her an honest sixpence.”

  Digory and Enid tramped on to the market square.

  Naughty Nell pretended she’d made the cloak herself. But when Enid showed her the label, Nell admitted she’d gotten it from Crust the baker.

  They found Crust the baker, who said he’d gotten it from Botch the carpenter.

  They found Botch the carpenter, who said he’d gotten it from Slurp the slop-bucket boy.

  They found Slurp, who wouldn’t say a word about the cloak until Digory warned him he had a magic sword—then Slurp burst into tears and said he stole it from Hop the innkeeper.

  So Digory and Enid followed the King’s trail to the edge of the village and a down-at-the heels tavern called the No One Inn.

  Funny Little Habits …

  Clutching her father’s burned, muddy cloak, Enid went inside to find Hop the innkeeper, while Digory took Barley and Pounce around the back to the tavern stable for a drink of water.

  As Digory waited for Enid, the delicious smell of rabbit stew wafted toward him from the cottage next door. Maybe there’s a little extra in the pot for a hungry prince, thought Digory hopefully, and he slipped off to find out.

  While he was gone, Barley spotted a feedbag of hay hanging at the back of the stable. Maybe there’s a little extra in the bag for a hungry horse, she thought …

  Just as Digory sat down at the kind neighbor’s table for a bowl of stew, a cry of panic rang out.

  “FIRE! FIRE! THE STABLE’S ON FIRE!”

  Digory leaped to his feet—it had to be Pounce! He ran to the tavern just in time to see a huge, angry innkeeper, with muscles like pumpkins, run out with a pitchfork.

  “Who set my stable on fire?” Hop roared. “I’ll have his guts for garters!”

  Digory looked around. A small, scorched green tail was slithering into the woods.

  “Hey, you there … suspicious stranger!” the innkeeper thundered. Digory decided it was not the moment to make friends. He dived into the woods and scrambled after Barley and Pounce as fast as his jelly legs would carry him.

  All is Lost!

  Digory kept running through the bushes and brambles until he could no longer hear the innkeeper’s shouts. Then he stopped to catch his breath. Where was Enid? Why hadn’t she come back?

  Pounce licked his nose, as if she knew she’d done something wrong. Her sooty breath made Digory feel very guilty. Through the trees he could see sparks flying from the burning stable. “It’s not your fault, Pounce.” He stroked her scaly forehead. “I shouldn’t have left you. And I shouldn’t have run away.”

  Although King Widget had never given Digory a list of things princes were supposed to do, Digory was certain that they weren’t supposed to run away. Or at least, the good ones weren’t. He felt very bad indeed. (But would you have risked a stab from Hop’s pitchfork?) How could he make things right again? I know—I’ll try the magic sword, he thought. If the sword can make fire, maybe it can put
fire out. I could creep back to the stable secretly …

  He reached for the sword—but it wasn’t hanging from his belt. He’d left it in the stable!

  Poor Digory felt hopeless. Now the sword was lost, the King was lost, and Enid was lost too. Who or what will be next? he thought.

  As Digory wondered what to do, he realized the answer to his own question—he was lost himself because Enid had the map!

  Digory was flummoxed. He just didn’t know what to do next. He pulled some apples out of the saddlebag and the three lost friends munched gloomily together. What chance was there now of finding the King? Digory had promised the Queen he wouldn’t return without him. He wished with all his heart that Enid was there with one of her good ideas. Digory remembered her advice at the joust: Just pretend. Maybe it’s worth a try again, he thought. So he shut his eyes and pretended she was right there beside him, eating an apple too.

  “What should I do now?” asked Digory.

  “Stick to our plan and look for the King,” said the pretend Enid.

  “But where should I look?” asked Digory.

  “At Claggyboot Castle,” said the pretend Enid, spitting out an apple seed.

  “How will I find it without the map?” asked Digory.

  “Ask that old man collecting acorns over there …,” said the pretend Enid and, licking her juicy fingers, she disappeared.

  Chapter Six

  Directions

  The old man collecting acorns directed Digory to a winding road that took him out of the woods and along the riverbank.

  Digory was much happier. He felt Enid was with him somehow, although he had no real idea where she was. As always, her advice seemed right. After all, Digory told himself, you can only rescue one person at a time. Maybe Enid went off because she’d caught sight of the King. Maybe they would both be waiting for him at Claggyboot Castle …

  As the day went on, little Pounce, who was still so new, began to feel tired and dawdled behind. Barley kept waiting patiently for her to catch up and eventually nudged her in front, so she could give her an encouraging nuzzle every now and then.

  Digory looked out for signposts to the castle. There were plenty of milestones along the way, but not one of them mentioned Claggyboot. They only marked the distance back to the No One Inn or forward to Warlock’s Haunt—neither of which Digory wanted to visit. Still, the acorn man had seemed certain enough when he pointed in this direction.

  “I expect it’s just around the next bend,” Digory promised weary Pounce.

  Around the Next Bend …

  Well, of course it wasn’t. Did you guess? However, there was a little chapel with a Digory-length bench on the porch. It seemed the perfect place to rest. While Barley and Pounce nestled together on the grass nearby, Digory stretched out and had a nap.

  If only he had gone inside, he might have found someone familiar, also taking a rest …

  Refreshed and eager to continue his search, Digory left the chapel and carried on along the road.

  Five miles to Warlock’s Haunt. On they went.

  Four miles to Warlock’s Haunt. On they went.

  Three miles to Warlock’s Haunt. When would they find a sign for Claggyboot? If I’m having trouble finding it, Digory wondered, how did King Widget manage? Did the King even remember where he was going at all?

  Once more the little dragon grew tired. Digory found a shady bank beneath a bridge, and they stopped for another rest.

  If only Digory had rested beside the bridge, he might have met someone familiar walking across …

  Again they went on. A pie man came whistling down the lane. Digory always had a pie-shaped space inside, hoping to be filled.

  “Three apple pies for my horse, please,” said Digory, “two for my … er … other horse, and two for myself. One for now and one for later,” he added, not wanting to appear greedy.

  The pie man shook his head sadly. “You just missed the last one, I’m afraid,” he said. “Sold it to a young maiden.”

  Digory sighed. Three tummies rumbled emptily.

  “But you’ll find plenty of food for yourself and your horses over the hill,” said the pie man kindly. “They’re having a mudflinging match today.”

  Digory thanked him. “And have you seen a lost king wandering this way?” he asked.

  “No, not this week,” said the pie man, shaking his head. “I’ve seen a runaway cartwheel, a dog with a string of sausages, and a giant eagle. But, sorry, no kings.”

  Digory tramped on over the hill and saw before him a castle surrounded by muddy fields. Not a pretty place to live, but the perfect spot for a great clod-splattering, splurgewallowing mudfling.

  Sure enough, the tournament had begun, and a great crowd gathered to watch and cheer the teams. There were stalls selling caramel apples and cotton candy, and a roasted hog crackled on a spit.

  With a giddy-up from Digory, Barley slipped and skidded down the hill as Pounce slid along behind her.

  Pounce whinnied with excitement, setting fire to a mud-smeared sign as she tumbled past. Unnoticed, “WARLOCK’S HAUNT—KEEP OUT!” was reduced to a pile of cinders.

  Chapter Seven

  Reunited!

  At the tournament, Digory soon ate his fill of delicious treats. He was quite eager to hang around and watch a few fistfuls of the match, but he knew the Queen was desperately waiting for news of King Widget. “I’m afraid there’s no time to lose, old friend,” he said to Barley. “We must find our way to Claggyboot Castle.” Barley, already so mud-splattered that she looked like a dappled pony, didn’t seem to object.

  Before he took a step, however, Digory heard a familiar, spine-chilling sound.

  “Aaaarahaieeeeee!”

  “What teams are playing?” he asked a boy at the back of the crowd.

  “It’s the Filthy Wenches versus the Mucky Maidens,” said the boy.

  The Mucky Maidens—his sister, Ethelburg’s team! And if Digory was not mistaken, that was her second-best war cry, only slightly less fierce than her Captain’s rally.

  “HHUUURGHARAAAAAAAAGH!!!”

  That was the one. The crowd went wild. Digory climbed onto Barley to get a look. A twenty-armed, twenty-legged mud monster squirmed and struggled in the middle of the pitch. Digory could just make out the figure of Ethelburg drenched in a slurry of gloop. Then, to his amazement, he spotted Enid in the crowd!

  “Enid!” he shouted. But the cheering drowned his voice. Digory jumped down and tried to edge his way toward her through the excited throng, but it was impossible to push through. No matter how hard he tried, he found himself shoved to the back, where he suddenly stopped in disbelief—for there he saw King Widget himself, standing on a milking stool, licking a caramel apple, and watching the match!

  Oh Happy Day!

  Digory couldn’t believe his eyes—the King safe, Enid found, and Ethelburg thrilling the crowd!

  “Make way, let me through,” he cried. “I must get to the—”

  SPLAT! A giant glob of mud spun over the heads of the cheering spectators and knocked poor Digory out.

  Chapter Eight

  Warlock’s Haunt

  When Digory came to, he was in a dim, damp dungeon.

  “Where am I?” he said. “And who am I?”

  Oh dear …

  Sir Fearless

  Digory had completely lost his memory.

  He looked around in bewilderment. After some thought, he decided there were only two things he could be sure of. First, he was definitely in a dungeon; and second, he was definitely in trouble.

  Digory examined his surroundings. Previous inhabitants had scratched messages on the walls such as “I didn’t do it, really,” and “Home sweet home.” Neither of these cheered him up much. There was one small, dirty broken window, but it was too high to reach. The only sounds he could hear outside were angry geese and creaky cartwheels.

  Maybe my clothes will tell me who I am, he thought. Digory rifled through his pockets, but they had been expertly picked by a scoundrel in the crowd at the mudflinging match and were quite empty. He studied his clothes. They looked as though they’d been out in the rain, slept in, and covered with mud. So, he concluded, I’m someone without a penny in the world, who sleeps in his clothes and lives in a muddy place. That doesn’t sound like a good life. He sighed. Maybe I’m better off in a dungeon after all.