CHAPTER EIGHT HOW THEY LEFT THE ISLAND (第1/2页)

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“AND so，”said Trumpkin (for，as you have realized，it was he who had been telling all this story to the four children，sitting on the grass in the ruined hall of Cair Paravel)—“and so I put a crust or two in my pocket，left behind all weapons but my dagger，and took to the woods in the grey of the morning．I’d been plugging away for many hours when there came a sound that I’d never heard the like of in my born days．Eh，I won’t forget that．The whole air was full of it，loud as thunder but far longer，cool and sweet as music over water，but strong enough to shake the woods．And I said to myself，‘If that’s not the Horn，call me a rabbit． ’ And a moment later I wondered why he hadn’t blown it sooner—”

“What time was it？”asked Edmund．

“Between nine and ten of the clock，”said Trumpkin．

“Just when we were at the railway station！”said all the children，and looked at one another with shining eyes．

“Please go on，”said Lucy to the Dwarf．

I could pelt．I kept on all night—and then，when it was half light this morning，as if I’d no more sense than a Giant，I risked a short cut across open country to cut off a big loop of the river，and was caught．Not by the army，but by a pompous old fool who has charge of a little castle which is Miraz’s last stronghold towards the coast．I needn’t tell you they got no true tale out of me，but I was a Dwarf and that was enough．But，lobsters and lollipops！ it is a good thing the seneschal was a pompous fool．Anyone else would have run me through there and then．But nothing would do for him short of a grand execution: sending me down‘ to the ghosts’in the full ceremonial way．And then this young lady”，(he nodded at Susan)“does her bit of archery—and it was pretty shooting，let me tell you—and here we are．And without my armour，for of course they took that．”He knocked out and refilled his pipe．

“Great Scott！”said Peter．“So it was the horn—your own horn，Su—that dragged us all off that seat on the platform yesterday morning！ I can hardly believe it; yet it all fits in．”

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t believe it，”said Lucy，“if you believe in magic at all．Aren’t there lots of stories about magic forcing people out of one place—out of one world—into another？ I mean，when a magician in The Arabian Nights calls up a Jinn，it has to come．We had to come，just like that．”

“Yes，”said Peter，“I suppose what makes it feel so queer is that in the stories it’s always someone in our world who does the calling．One doesn’t really think about where the Jinn’s coming from．”

“And now we know what it feels like for the Jinn，”said Edmund with a chuckle．“Golly！ It’s a bit uncomfortable to know that we can be whistled for like that．It’s worse than what Father says about living at the mercy of the telephone．”

“But we want to be here，don’t we，”said Lucy，“if Aslan wants us？”

“Meanwhile，”said the Dwarf，“what are we to do？ I suppose

I’d better go back to King Caspian and tell him no help has come．”

“No help？”said Susan．“But it has worked．And here we are．”

“Um—um—yes，to be sure．I see that，”said the Dwarf，whose pipe seemed to be blocked (at any rate he made himself very busy cleaning it)．“But—well—I mean—”

“But don’t you yet see who we are？”shouted Lucy．“You are stupid．”

“I suppose you are the four children out of the old stories，”said Trumpkin．And I’m very glad to meet you of course．And it’s very interesting，no doubt．But—no offence？—and he hesitated again.

“Do get on and say whatever you’re going to say，”said Edmund.

“Well，then—no offence，”said Trumpkin．“But，you know，the King and Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius were expecting—well，if you see what I mean，help．To put it in another way，I think they’d been imagining you as great warriors．As it is—we’re awfully fond of children and all that，but just at the moment，in the middle of a war—but I’m sure you understand．”

“You mean you think we’re no good，”said Edmund，getting red in the face．

“Now pray don’t be offended，”interrupted the Dwarf．“I assure you，my dear little friends—”

“Little from you is really a bit too much，”said Edmund，jumping up．“I suppose you don’t believe we won the Battle of Beruna？ Well，you can say what you like about me because I know—”

“There’s no good losing our tempers，”said Peter．“Let’s fit him out with fresh armour and fit ourselves out from the treasure chamber，and have a talk after that．”

“I don’t quite see the point—”began Edmund，but Lucy whispered in his ear，“Hadn’t we better do what Peter says？ He is the High King，you know．And I think he has an idea．”So Edmund agreed and by the aid of his torch they all，including Trumpkin，went down the steps again into the dark coldness and dusty splendour of the treasure house．

The Dwarf’s eyes glistened as he saw the wealth that lay on the shelves (though he had to stand on tiptoes to do so) and he muttered to himself，“It would never do to let Nikabrik see this; never．”They found easily enough a mail shirt for him，a sword，a helmet，a shield，a bow and quiverful of arrows，all of dwarfish size．The helmet was of copper，set with rubies，and there was gold on the hilt of the sword: Trumpkin had never seen，much less carried，so much wealth in all his life．The children also put on mail shirts and helmets; a sword and shield were found for Edmund and a bow for Lucy—Peter and Susan were of course already carrying their gifts．As they came back up the stairway，jingling in their mail，and already looking and feeling more like Narnians and less like schoolchildren，the two boys were behind，apparently making some plan．Lucy heard Edmund say，“No，let me do it．It will be more of a sucks for him if I win，and less of a let-down for us all if I fail．”

“All right，Ed，”said Peter．

When they came out into the daylight Edmund turned to the Dwarf very politely and said，“I’ve got something to ask you．Kids like us don’t often have the chance of meeting a great warrior like you．Would you have a little fencing match with me？ It would be frightfully decent．”

“But，lad，”said Trumpkin，“these swords are sharp．”

“I know，”said Edmund．“But I’ll never get anywhere near you and you’ll be quite clever enough to disarm me without doing me any damage．”

“It’s a dangerous game，”said Trumpkin．“But since you make such a point of it，I’ll try a pass or two．”

Both swords were out in a moment and the three others jumped off the dais and stood watching．It was well worth it．It was not like the silly fighting you see with broad swords on the stage．It was not even like the rapier fighting which you sometimes see rather better done．This was real broad-sword fighting．The great thing is to slash at your enemy’slegs and feet because they are the part that have no armour．And when he slashes at yours you jump with both feet off the ground so that his blow goes under them．This gave the Dwarf an advantage because Edmund，being much taller，had to be always stooping．I don’t think Edmund would have had a chance if he had fought Trumpkin twenty-four hours earlier．But the air of Narnia had been working upon him ever since they arrived on the island，and all his old battles came back to him，and his arms and fingers remembered their old skill．He was King Edmund once more．Round and round the two combatants circled，stroke after stroke they gave，and Susan (who never could learn to like this sort of thing) shouted out，“Oh，do be careful．”And then，so quickly that no one (unless they knew，as Peter did) could quite see how it happened，Edmund flashed his sword round with a peculiar twist，the Dwarf’s sword flew out of his grip，and Trumpkin was wringing his empty hand as you do after a“sting”from a cricket-bat．

“Not hurt，I hope，my dear little friend？”said Edmund，panting a little and returning his own sword to its sheath．

“I see the point，”said Trumpkin drily．“You know a trick I never learned．”

“That’s quite true，”put in Peter．“The best swordsman in the world may be disarmed by a trick that’s new to him．I think it’s only fair to give Trumpkin a chance at something else．Will you have a shooting match with my sister？ There are no tricks in archery，you know．”

“Ah，you’re jokers，you are，”said the Dwarf．“I begin to see．As if I didn’t know how she can shoot，after what happened this morning．All the same，I’ll have a try．”He spoke gruffly，but his eyes brightened，for he was a famous bowman among his own people．

All five of them came out into the courtyard．

“What’s to be the target？”asked Peter．

“I think that apple hanging over the wall on the branch there would do，”said Susan．

“That’ll do nicely，lass，”said Trumpkin．“You mean the yellow one near the middle of the arch？”

“No，not that，”said Susan．“The red one up above—over the battlement．”

The Dwarf’s face fell．“Looks more like a cherry than an apple，”he muttered，but he said nothing out loud．