Limbo Lodge (24 page)

“Would you believe it – my father knew me
at once
! It was so wonderful! After I climbed the cliff—”

Dido, filled with curiosity, peered inside some of the notebooks. Why keep notebooks in the kitchen? Why keep so many? She found they were all filled with handwriting and each one contained a curious one-sided dialogue. Each book had a name on it: ‘Jorge’, ‘Enrique’, ‘Tomas’, ‘Pepe’. Dido leafed through several of them. Then the solution came to her. Of course – John King was stone deaf. Each person who had any dealings with him carried a book and wrote down what he wanted to say.

Poor old cove, thought Dido, staring down at these one-sided conversations, each in a different handwriting, no wonder he went a bit queer in the attic and shut himself up in Limbo Lodge. Must have been like living inside of a barrel.

Dinner is served, Excellency. The deputation of fishermen is here with a sample of pearls. The barber is waiting to trim your beard. Do you wish to see the accused men? The tailor with a coat for a fitting. Senhor Manoel is here . . . Would your Excellency prefer guava or melon?

Then Dido picked up a book labelled Manoel. This one was different. Looking here and there, turning pages at random, Dido found Manoel’s side in a series of furious arguments, scribbled so violently that the writing sometimes dug into the paper: I cannot stand life here any longer.
Please
let me go to Europe again.
Please
let me go. I promise that I will not play for high stakes. I swear it! I think you are mad. A mad, bigoted tyrant! I am your own brother, I am worth more than this.
Why
do you not let me go away from here?

“Breakfast is served!” said Talisman. She had swept all the hugger-mugger of objects off a large table into a basket that looked as if it had held firewood, and had set out plates, bowls of fruit, loaves, and cups of coffee. They were all glad to pull up stools and sit down. Herodsfoot ate little (though he seemed to have recovered remarkably fast from his bullet wound); he could not take his eyes off Talisman. But the others were ravenous.

“Where have you
been
, Aunt Tala’aa?” asked Talisman, putting a bowl of tikkol fruit in front of the old lady. “When I saw the smoke come up the hillside near the Ghost House, then – for the first time – I was afraid. Really afraid. I could not find you in my mind. Where were you? Did you make that rain?”

“I was in ekarin. No, I did not make the rain.”

“What is ekarin?” murmured Dido to Yorka, who was sitting beside her, trying to feed the baby with goats’ milk, of which there was a supply in Limbo Lodge. Miria did not fancy goats’ milk at all and was demonstrating, with yells, that she would prefer djeela juice.

“Ekarin. That is when somebody goes away from this world for a time. The sun does it. He sets. The moon also. Gods do it. And Kanikke must do it too. They need to, to keep up their strength and knowledge and baraat.”

“I see.”

“No. The rain,” Aunt Tala’aa said, with the pride of a teacher whose pupil has done superlatively well, “the rain was made by Yorka here, who should grow up to be one of the most notable Kanikke that our island has ever produced. Indeed, she is one already.”

Yorka hung her head bashfully and stared at her plate.

“Dido helped me,” she muttered. “And so did Miria. It was her loud shrieks that really opened the sky.”

“We must find a first-class foster-mother for that baby,” said Aunt Tala’aa, smiling at Talisman, who looked as if she thought that would be an easy task.

“Talisman?” said Dido. “Tell us about your meeting with your old man. Was he surprised to see you?”

“It took what seemed like an eternity to climb the cliff,” said Talisman. “I cut steps as I went, with a knife that Aunt Tala’aa had given me. For I thought I might need to go back down that way if – if my father did not accept me. When I reached the top I was so tired that I crawled into a hollow among the bushes and went to sleep. Two of the guards found me there. They wanted to throw me over the cliff, but I – but I persuaded them not to . . . I said they should bring me to see John King, and, in the end, they did. When I was brought to him, I was going to show him my medallion, but there was no need. He said ‘
Erato
!’ and, and embraced me—” she dashed a tear from her eye, “and then he said, ‘Before your mother died, she and I were playing a game of chess. Now we can finish that game, you and I.’”

“But why,” said Dido, “did all his guards go off, climbing down the cliff?”

“That was my father’s idea. He said, ‘If Manoel chooses to come and besiege Limbo Lodge in this spiteful, stupid way, I shall play a trick on him. I shall send my guard round by sea to Regina. There I hope they can persuade the townspeople – the ones that are left – to a different way of thinking. I daresay the numbers will be about equal!”

“But what does your father plan to do himself? He can hardly stay here without food or servants,” said Herodsfoot.

“Oh, he has some plans,” said Talisman. The radiant smile came back to her face. She went on: “The wonderful, the amazing thing is that his deafness is getting better. I am being able to cure it. A tincture made from the venom of pearl-snakes – is not that strange? – Aunt Tala’aa and I had talked of it, and I decided to try it on him – and, as a result, his hearing is coming back. Is not that wonderful? Often before I have felt satisfaction at a cure because my guess had been proved right – but I have
never
felt happiness like this before. If I can do this for him, what more can I not do to help him, what can we not achieve together? It can be the beginning of a better time for Aratu.”

Poor Frankie, thought Dido, looking at Herodsfoot’s face, I don’t reckon there’s much of a chance for you in among all that . . .

“But now,” said Talisman, “let me take you to meet my father. He is not strong enough, yet, to speak to you all; but I will introduce Lord Herodsfoot. And you three just step inside the door and greet him—”

Accordingly Dido, Tylo, and Yorka stayed in the rear of the group as Talisman led them along the wide passage to the door of a room that faced up towards the mountain crest.

Aunt Tala’aa remained in the kitchen feeding the baby. No doubt she was acquainted with John King already.

Talisman walked through the open door, with Herodsfoot behind her, and motioned to the others to stay where they were and come no farther.

They saw a large, spacious room, wildly cluttered, like the kitchen, with a collection of miscellaneous articles – astrolabes, carpenters’ tools, orreries, telescopes, musical instruments, chess sets, piles of books, tubes of paint and palettes. Halfway between the door and the large French window stood a great gold-and-silver four-poster bed. In this reclined an old man – a magnificent old man, wrapped in a black wool robe like that of a monk.

Croopus, thought Dido, he sure looks more like a real king than poor old King Jamie does. (She had seen King James III of England once, at a military display in St James’s Park and thought but poorly of him). John King’s bush of hair and beard were white, his eyes were deep-set and gleaming, a craggy brow was offset by a jaw like the bulwark of a galleon. It was the face of a clever and powerful man, yet not a cruel or mean one, thought Dido; he knows his own mind, that’s all. But how much heed does he pay to other folks’ minds?

He certainly loved and heeded his daughter Talisman: the look he gave her was pure devotion, and he stretched out his hand as if she had been away from his bedside for ten hours, instead of ten minutes.

“Father!” she said loudly and clearly. “You know I told you of Lord Herodsfoot, who has been visiting Aratu in search of ancient games – here he is—”

Her introduction was never finished, for at this moment her words were violently interrupted. The glass of the window shattered, splinters from it hurtled all over the room and a man burst through the gaping hole that had been made.

It was Manoel – but a very different Manoel from the calm, scornful man they had met in Regina town. This Manoel was blackened with soot from head to foot, his clothes were singed and tattered, his face, shoulder and side were disfigured by a great angry red burn mark.

He held pistols in both hands.

“This is your finish, John King!” he said loudly. “And your daughter too. Time’s up! From now on,
I
give orders here—”

As he spoke he took aim, and now fired directly at the man on the bed. But also while he spoke two things had been happening: Herodsfoot, who had moved to the end of the bed, threw himself at the intruder, ducking low, and managed to knock his feet from under him; and little Yorka, quick as a flash, darted at the man on the bed and pulled him out of the line of fire.

Both pistols exploded; one shot hit the canopy of the bed and brought it down in a tangle of massive, gold-embroidered folds; the other shot took Yorka full in the chest and killed her instantly.

Herodsfoot and Manoel rolled over and over, kicking and struggling, until Talisman, who had snatched up one of the pistols dropped by Manoel, managed to deal him a fierce blow on the head with the butt of it, and knocked him senseless.

“Father?” she cried urgently, “are you all right? Father? You were not hit?”

“No, no, I am well enough,” said King. “But this child – I fear she is done for.”

He pulled back the gold canopy and revealed Yorka lying in a pool of blood.

“
Oh, no
!” cried Talisman. “Yorka!
Not Yorka
!”

And Tylo, from his place by the door, let out a long, heartbroken wail.

Herodsfoot, disentangling himself from Manoel, stood up. His face was white with shock.

“
Not
poor little Yorka?” he stammered. “Not
dead?
I am so grieved – so horrified—”

Dido could not speak at all. Her throat was tight with anguish.

Tylo, running to the bed, clasped Yorka’s hand, as if in hopes there might still be some sign of life in her, some chance to bring her back. But there was not. His head sank down, he stood silent, with tears running down his cheeks. Then he turned and made for the door.

“I go fetch Aunt Tala’aa,” he said.

But Aunt Tala’aa herself appeared at that moment, carrying Miria.

“What is all this commotion?” she demanded.

But she took in the scene immediately: Manoel sprawled on the floor, Yorka’s body on the bed, John King in his black serge robe looking shaken and appalled by the suddenness of these happenings.

Aunt Tala’aa was frozen by a passion of rage and grief.

It was a silent passion. She looked steadily at Yorka, drew a deep, careful breath, and said, “Our island has lost something irreplaceable. That child was the best – could have been the best – since your wife, since Erato,” she told John King. “But now she is gone. For always. We can’t bring her back. And this – this human
rat
—” she looked down at the prone body of Manoel “ –
he
had to wipe her out. Like the fool who sets fire to the forest because he wants to fry an egg for his supper. Well, he has done enough harm for this lifetime. He shall do no more. His time has come.” She addressed Manoel sharply.

“Wake up, you! Get up!”

To Dido’s astonishment Manoel, who had seemed deeply unconscious, gradually came out of his faint and hoisted himself to his feet. He looked blearily round the room, his face tightened with disgust as he saw the various people in it, and finally his mouth twisted in aversion at the sight of Aunt Tala’aa and the baby.

“So you’ve come back, you old hag,” he muttered.

“I have come back,” said Aunt Tala’aa. “Not before time. And you are about to leave.”

“Much obliged!”

“For years your wish has been to travel from this island. And now it is going to be granted. Today you have cost me one of my best students.”

She gestured to the body of Yorka, among the fold of the gold canopy.

“
Her
?” Manoel seemed baffled. “That child? If she got killed it was her own fault. She shouldn’t have got in the way. I never meant to kill
her
.”

“Do you think that makes it any better? You kill without regard. A human life is no more to you than an empty bottle you toss away. You killed my Erato because she laughed at you and refused your offers. You have hated all women since then. You did your best to kill Erato’s daughter. Now you are going away to a black hole where you will be cold and bored for the rest of eternity. There will be no games to play there: no dice, no cards, no tally-sticks, no counters. You may stay there until your mother turns into a hyena and comes to pounce on you. And you may remember, if you choose to do so, that you were sent into the dark by a woman. And by a baby. A baby whose name you have cause to remember. Look at me!”

She stood facing Manoel, one palm raised in the air, the other arm holding the baby. Manoel gazed at her vacantly, with his jaw fallen, mouth open, prominent eyes staring. Gradually his expression became fixed, a curious whining gasp issued from his mouth, and he sank, first to his knees, then in total collapse on the floor.

“
Ashtaa
, Tala’aa-kanikke!” murmured Tylo. “You make an end of that poison-man. Is good.”

“Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Herodsfoot. “Is the man dead? Just like that?”

“He is dead, and will trouble us no more,” said Aunt Tala’aa. “We will not think of him again.”

Tylo said, “I take him away.”

He left the room and reappeared in a few moments with a wheeled basket-chair, presumably kept for the use of John King. Tylo and Herodsfoot between them lifted the body of Manoel into the chair.

“Good,” said Aunt Tala’aa. “Now you can tip him over the Cliff of Death. The hungry mouths down below can make an end of him.”

“What about Yorka?” said Dido sadly.

“Little Yorka. We shall burn her on a fire of sandalwood and djeela-bark. And let the wind carry her ashes away. But you, in the meantime, my friend,” Aunt Tala’aa said to John King, “I think you had better return to bed.”