The Box of Delights (33 page)

Then they were sucked down into the gulf and disappeared. Before any of the people in the boat could fling off coat and go in after him, there came a swift warning noise of
yielding in the structure of the sluice now all sapped by the pouring of the cataract. It collapsed suddenly and utterly. With one great swirl the released water surged over it and filled its
mouth. ‘Forever and forever, farewell, Cassius,’ Cole quoted. The boat drove out into the moonlit lake.

But oh! how the scene had changed since Kay had been there in the morning. The world was white with deep snow. Many trees were branchless or broken. Those which remained were bowed with the
great clots of snow upon them.

But what was happening at the Training College? There were lights in all windows. Many men were floundering with lanterns outside the house. Men were calling. There were shouts of,
‘Here’s another of them, hiding in the outhouse;’ ‘Another pair of handcuffs for this chap, quick.’ A party of men in the snow near the lakeside hailed to the boat to
stop: the voice of the Inspector cried:

‘Halt there, in the boat. Halt there. We have got you covered. Who are you?’

‘It’s the Bishop of Tatchester and all the prisoners,’ the Bishop called.

‘Why, is that you, Your Grace?’ the Inspector answered. ‘Pass the word there that the Bishop’s saved . . . And you, Your Grace, would you ask your boatman to come in
towards the shore a bit.’ As the boat drew in, he said, ‘Well, thankful I am, Your Grace, to see you safe and sound again. Is this all your party?’

‘Yes, everyone: we are all here,’ the voices answered.

‘Pass the word to the wireless-men,’ the Inspector called, ‘to report All Saved. We are in time, it seems,’ he added, ‘but it was a near thing. I’ll tell Your
Grace how it all came about.

‘The Chief Constable thought we’d better act on Master Harker’s information, but by that time the snow made it difficult to get here. However, what with planes and a will, we
just did it.

‘We have got most of these birds already, and we’ll have the rest before dawn; they can’t get far in this snow; and we’ll have the leader too, for all he’s so
clever.’

‘He’s gone down into the caves with the flood,’ Cole Hawlings answered. ‘I don’t think any man will find any part of him again. Now, can we come ashore
there?’

‘No, don’t you try it here,’ the Inspector cried: ‘you will never get through the snow on this side. The drifts are six feet deep between me and you; but on the other
side, just opposite, by the bathing-box, it looks to me to be clearer. The hill tipped the snow just clear there. By the way, have you got Master Kay Harker among you?’

‘Yes,’ Kay cried, ‘I am here. Have you got their submarine?’

‘Oh, I am glad to see you safe, Master Harker. It’s through you that all the rest are safe,’ the Inspector called back. ‘No, we have not got the submarine. They left her
windows open and she has sunk and very nearly took the crew with her; but we have got the crew – as choice a lot as ever graced handcuffs. You trust the Law, Master Harker. Sometimes she is
slow, but always she is sure. The Law’s motto, Master Harker, is “The Law never sleeps, though it knows when to close its eyes.” Oh, Master Harker, my nephew’s down for
Christmas, and he has brought a pair of Belgian hares for you – as pretty a prize pair as ever I did see. Now, I must go to my men here, but, if you will shove your boat over there by that
little bathing-box, I think you will get ashore there without being sunk in the snow.’

They gave way as well as they could with their two oars, a plank and a boat-hook. Presently, they ran the boat alongside the springboard and clambered out. The two horses whinnied and shook
their manes, the two boatmen leaped on their backs and galloped away, straight up the slope of the Roman Camp. They disappeared over the rampart and were seen no more.

But indeed, now that the party had landed on the lakeside, they were amazed at the snow that had fallen in so short a time. The weight of snow had levelled all the lesser shrubs to the earth:
there was no cover anywhere for so much as a rabbit. From time to time along the wood there came a melancholy cracking crash as some other bough or tree gave way under the strain. Quite close to
them, in what had been thickets in the wood, the wind had driven the snow capriciously into drifts that might well have been eight or nine feet deep. Kay, who remembered the path near the water,
was amazed to see it so deeply covered.

But whatever the storm had been, it had now passed over, leaving a clear sky, with a full moon shining so brightly that only the very big stars could be seen.

‘It’s eleven o’clock at night – after eleven,’ the Bishop said. ‘We’d better push on to Hope-under-Chesters and telephone from there.’

They took a few steps along the path towards Hope-under-Chesters and then realised that it might well take them all night to flounder through the drifts. No one there had ever seen such
snow.

‘Well, it’s very disappointing,’ the Bishop said. ‘I am afraid that after all there is no chance of our holding our Midnight Service in any church in the
Diocese.’

‘Ah, I’m not so sure, Your Grace,’ Cole Hawlings said. ‘A travelling man, who goes up and down the world, he finds ways of doing things – or doesn’t
he?’ he asked Kay.

‘I think he does,’ Kay said.

‘Ah, you think he does?’ Cole Hawlings said; ‘I think by this and that, we needn’t give up hope yet. Listen, all.’

The night was so still that they, standing there in the snow, could hear the bells of nine churches ringing for Christmas. The Precentor, who had been a curate in that district, told Kay which
village each bell belonged to:

‘That one,’ he said, ‘with the tenor bell that needs recasting, is Naunton Crucis. Old Father Goodman has rung that bell for forty-nine Christmas Eves and this is his
fiftieth.’

Above the noise of the bells Kay heard the jangling of lesser bells, or so it seemed. Then it died away so that he felt that he was mistaken, but immediately it broke out again louder than
before. They were bells not ringing to any tune or time.

‘They are sleigh-bells,’ he said.

‘Why, it’s Father Christmas,’ said the Precentor, ‘coming with his team of reindeer.’

But it was not Father Christmas. Over the wall of the Roman Camp some lights appeared; the bells rang loud and clear. Leaping towards them, seeming hardly to brush the snow with their paws, came
a magnificent team of harnessed lions drawing a long sledge driven by a lady whose eyes shone like sparks of fire. Kay saw at once that she was the Lady of the Oak Tree who had stood by Bob’s
shop waiting for a word from Cole Hawlings. Outside the glove of her left hand was the strange ring with the St Andrew’s Cross upon it. Kay was amazed at the beauty and strength of the lions,
their gleaming eyes, and the way in which they tossed back their manes and snarled, or scuffled the snow with their pads, or showed their teeth with coughing, terrifying roars. He had never seen
lions so beautiful, so powerful, nor with eyes so full of yellow flame.

‘Get in, Bishop,’ the lady said. ‘I can take half of you in this sleigh.’

The Bishop and some of the others got into the sleigh, which seemed to be made of bright gold. It was heaped with great scarlet rugs and the furs of strange beasts. As soon as they were snugly
in the sleigh under the rugs, the lady called:

‘I must start before my team starts quarrelling with the other team.’

She called to the lions, who bounded forward roaring. All the bells upon their traces and on the rim of the car jangled out clearly and seemed to Kay to strike now into a kind of tune. Kay saw
them whirl round in a half-circle sending a great sheet of snow aloft, then they strode on to the night striking sparkles out of the air. Kay heard the Precentor, who was sitting with the Bishop,
start singing, ‘The First Noël’, but they were out of earshot in half a moment; a second sleigh drew near.

Kay had been delighted by the first sleigh, though the lions had a little scared him, but what was his delight when he saw that the second sleigh was drawn by unicorns!

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘unicorns! And they always told me that they never existed.’

But there was no doubt about these. It was a team of eight of the most beautiful unicorns that ever stepped. In build they were something like the very best white Arab stallions, only slimmer in
the barrel and even neater in the leg. They had the same proud little heads and twitching nostrils. They were all snow-white except their hoofs, which were bluish. From their brows sprouted the
most exquisite white horns about two feet long, sharp as needles and glowing, Kay thought, rather like mother-of-pearl, but perhaps that was the effect of the moonlight. Their traces and harness
were of silver all studded with moonstones. They were driven by a man, whose sleeves were hung with little silver chains. In his helm there were antlers; over his glove a red cross glowed upon a
ring.

‘Oh, it is Herne again,’ Kay said. ‘I do love going with Herne the Hunter.’

‘Jump in, the rest of you,’ Herne cried. ‘There will be room for all of you.’

The sleigh was heaped with Polar bearskins and great white fleeces from some mountain sheep. They all clambered on board and snuggled down into the fur. The driver called to his unicorns, who at
once whinnied together and tossed up the snow with their hoofs. They too, like the lions, whirled round and sent the snow flying in a cloud. Then away they went, whirling through the heaven,
striking sparkles out of the air. Old Cole Hawlings touched something, all the side of the sleigh at once thrust out lighted Japanese lanterns attached to long streamers; smaller lanterns flew out
from the reins of the unicorns as they sped. Cole Hawlings, who had a most beautiful voice, Kay thought, began to sing this carol:

‘Now, brothers,’ Cole said, ‘sing this last bit all together, will you?’

All there joined in with a will, and then made Cole sing it all again, so that they might sing the chorus after each stanza.

It was most beautiful to drive through heaven thus. The shining country spread out below them was starred by the lights in villages and towns and musical with bells ringing for Christmas. The
rivers gleamed where they caught the moonlight. Sometimes big white and tawny owls came floating alongside the sleigh, so close that Kay could stretch out his hand and stroke them.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘how beautifully your unicorns move.’

‘You see, Master Kay, they hate being beaten by the lions,’ Herne said.

Kay had some misgivings as to what would happen if they caught up the lions; then he thought that the drivers would probably be able to stop any fatal battle.

‘There is the land you know,’ Herne the Hunter said.

Leaning over the rail of the car Kay saw Condicote brightly lit; he heard a few notes from the famous Condicote bells. The unicorns were now going so fast that, a moment later, he saw the
pinnacled tower of Tatchester Cathedral floodlit for the great night. In an instant he saw all the lights of Tatchester.

‘Of course,’ he thought, ‘everybody in the city has lit a window as part of the celebration.’

The unicorns swerved suddenly, then swerved again, in a great sweep, cutting in ahead of the team of lions, who roared with rage at being passed. Dipping down, both sleighs skimmed into the
snow, and galloped its feathery surface for Tatchester Gate. A delicate faint noise of bells came to them from the Tatchester parish churches.

‘Ah, there, listen now,’ one of the Cathedral Bell-ringers said to Kay. ‘Christmas Eve, near midnight, and no bells ringing in the Cathedral, no, not one. Those are only St
Margaret’s and St Wincom’s. I never thought to hear so un-Christian a silence; never.’

‘There’s nothing stamps a Christian town more than its bells,’ Cole Hawlings said. ‘And a wandering man gives heed to bells, for often in the dark night they will ring
him home, who would otherwise be ate by wolves and that.’