Chapter Forty-Five #2
Once they were all holding a cup, he set to pouring them tea; Gwen glanced down at hers, frowning, and then said, “Are you— I’m so sorry, but are you all right out here? You don’t need us to … send for help? We have a large party nearby, and if you—”
“A large party? Oh, no, I can’t be dealing with large parties,” said the man, waving his hand. “I had enough of that in my youth. It’s peace and quiet, for me, time with the birds and the beasts. I suppose you don’t get enough of that, do you, back home?”
“I have a cat,” Arthur offered. “And we’ve just taken on a second, much larger cat.”
“I do like cats,” said the old man. He gestured to the nearest tree, and Gabriel noticed with a start that there was a crow sitting quite still, watching them. “Birds though. A bird is the thing.”
“We keep birds,” said Gabriel. “Goshawks and falcons, merlins—”
“That’s nice,” said the old man, seeming unaware that he was interrupting. “And you’re all keeping well, are you?”
Gabriel presumed this man must think he’d stumbled upon some old acquaintances; as he seemed entirely harmless, it was probably best to keep up the pretense.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ve had a little trouble on the road, but I think we’re going to be all right.”
The old man nodded, and then suddenly looked stricken with a thought.
“The thing you ought to hold on to is each other,” he said urgently.
“Trust. Love. Friendship. These bonds you must keep above all others. When they start to fall apart … Well, that’s how it all goes wrong.
That’s how it’s always been.” His face smoothed again. “But you know that already, I’m sure.”
Gabriel risked a tiny sip of his tea. It was actually very nice. Made of nettles, perhaps, but also something more floral. He hoped it wasn’t poison, or at least, not very poisonous.
Over on the other side of their little circle, Gwen had frozen with her cup in her hand, and was staring very intently at the old man. Gabriel tried to catch her attention, and saw Bridget doing the same, leaning over to nudge her with a knee, but she seemed entirely rapt.
“How did you … um … come to be here?” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“The usual way,” said the man. And then, when Gwen was still waiting for an answer, “By boat. Nobody made me row, thank God.”
“And if you wanted to leave?” It seemed an odd question to Gabriel—the bridge was right there.
The old man smiled, and Gabriel could see him as he would have been in his youth; charming, vital, vigorous. There it was again: that flash of recognition. “Well, who would? I have everything I need right here. The trees, the sky, the stars. God, but I always loved England.”
“And…” Gwen seemed unable to let up her line of questioning. “You’re happy?”
“Gwen,” said Bridget, but the man didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, yes. What a lot of questions you have! You must give them all a very hard time … and good for you, good for you, so you should.” He finished his tea, stood up, and began fussing with the pot. “Are you finished with those cups?”
They handed them back, and he picked up his cushion, humming happily, and then glanced back up like he’d forgotten they were there.
“Good,” he said. “Do visit again, if you can find the time.”
“Oh,” said Arthur. “We most definitely will.”
They all walked back to the causeway in a strange silence, until they reached the shore, when Gwen turned back and shouted, “Thank you!”
The man was already walking away, almost entirely swallowed by the fog, but Gabriel saw him wave his hand dismissively. “Fare thee well, Gwendoline.”
Gwen raised her hand toward him, her mouth open, and then it was too late. He was gone, and the mist was worsening—they couldn’t even see the campfire now, the tree stump, the remaining cushions.
“Come on,” Bridget said, sounding disconcerted. “Or we’ll never make it back.”
They picked their way across the rocks, and once they’d reached the other side, kept walking in what Gabriel hoped was the right direction, waiting for somebody to speak.
Gwen roused herself first. “But that was—”
“No,” said Gabriel. “I don’t think so.”
“Gabe! You know it was, he looked just like the statue in the—”
“Couldn’t be,” said Arthur, shaking his head, sounding unsure. “Could it?”
Just then, the fog began to truly lift. It happened more suddenly than Gabriel had thought possible. One moment it was as if they were floating in a featureless sea, and the next they were surrounded by perfectly ordinary landscape, a muddy field and a slope and …
“There’s no lake,” Bridget said. “There’s no bloody lake. Are you all seeing this?”
“Yes,” said Gwen, in no more than a whisper. “Maybe we got turned around? Have we gone over a hill yet? The horizon is … You know, maybe it’s not…” She trailed off.
“Or maybe,” Arthur said, unsettled, “it was. How did he say he got there? Rowed? That’s how it always goes, in the stories.”
There was a long silence, broken by the sound of the rest of the company on the other side of the hill, passing the time in conversation and laughter.
“I don’t think we should worry about it,” Gabriel said, hearing how hysterical his voice sounded, unable to bring it down a notch.
“Um,” said Arthur. “What?”
Gabriel looked around at them, pleadingly. “I just think we have enough on our plates! That’s all.”
“No, he’s right,” said Bridget, slowly shaking her newly shorn head. “I’m not dealing with this. I’m not touching this with a barge pole.”
Gwen took one long last look at the place where the lake should have been, and then said, “He seems happy enough. I don’t think there’s any … urgent need to tell anyone about it.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said quickly. “Agreed.”
“Your Majesty?” Sir Hurst was calling from beyond the slope, the beginnings of panic in his voice. “Has anybody seen the king?”
They all stood there for another moment, looking wildly around at each other, and then they shook it off, as one, and began the slow trudge back up the hill.