Chapter III.

THE NATIONS BEHIND THE DOOR

Robin had been soaked to the skin when he first came through the wardrobe. By the time he and Aravis reached the palace gates, the steady sunlight and warm air had dried him, but he badly needed to find a bathroom.

The Narnians might have been quite medieval in other respects, but their sanitation was pleasingly modern.

As he washed his hands in the fountain provided for that purpose, he was joined by a large (about two feet high), lovely rabbit, with thick velvety chocolate-brown fur and ears that waved like tall grasses in the direction of the tiniest noise. The rabbit stood on his hind feet, washing his front paws much as Robin washed his hands. The rabbit wore a little rapier at his side, and a tiny bow with a quiver of doll-sized (but no doubt deadly) arrows was strapped to his back.

When the rabbit noticed Robin observing him he dried his front paws on his furry flanks and bowed low.

"Welcome to Narnia, son of Adam," he said in a soft, prim, snuffly voice. He had the vaguely Irish lilt and traces of Scottish r rolling that identified the speaker as Narnian, be they human, bird or beast. "What strange world sent you here?"

"I'm…f-f-from Archenland," stammered Robin, sounding very American and not at all Archenlandish.

"If that's how an Archenlander talks, then I'm half Horse," replied the Rabbit smartly. "Besides, Archenlanders' eyes don't fall out of their skulls when an animal speaks to them. Some of us live there too. They've seen it before."

He should've seen me the first time I came and those Beavers came over and kept offering me fish and chips, thought Robin. The Rabbit's paw rested on the hilt of his sword, but Robin could detect no malice on the creature's face, only curiosity.

"Well, okay then," the boy said. "What's your name?" He wanted to befriend these Narnians, right? He might as well ask.

"I am Sir Macurdey Tallears, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion."

"My name is Robin Kilburn. You were right about me."

He looked around the room to make sure they were alone, then bent and whispered to the root of the Rabbit's ear: "I'm from another world—one where the animals don't talk; not the same language as the humans, at any rate."

"Have you been summoned here?"

Robin paused to consider. "Sort of. Aravis the Calormene met me wandering on the beach and thought the court would like a look at me."

"Son of Adam, it matters little why you came to Cair Paravel. I'm more concerned with how you left your own world and entered ours."

"Through a door."

"Do you know of Aslan, human child?" Macurdey's ears flopped slightly when he named the Lion. Robin guessed it was an indication of reverence, not unlike a human crossing themselves or bowing their heads back where he came from.

"Yes. I have spoken with him twice—once today, the other time the first time I came."

"Was he the first person you met in Narnia?"

"He was, both times."

"Then, if you speak truthfully, I believe he has summoned you, and you must be here to do good. If you'd been called by some shady sorcerer, we'd have to make sure you were up to no mischief. What was happening when you came here last?"

"The coronation of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. How long ago was that?"

"Fifteen years. Time must run much slower in your world; you look a good deal younger than fifteen."

"I'll be ten in two months." (He wondered how old Macurdey was but thought it rude to ask).

"Come with me, little son of Adam," said the Rabbit. "You look like you need a carrot, and there's the nicest vegetable stall in the town square—"

He left the room, Robin following.

The boy wondered: if Aslan has summoned me, what do I need to do?

He recalled today's conversation with the Lion, which seemed even more ominous as evening drew slowly but steadily on.

Aslan was leaving.

Narnia was in danger.

And he, Robin Kilburn the Second, just might die.

.

The vegetable stall in the marketplace was indeed very nice. Macurdey bought two giant carrots, one for himself and one for Robin.

"The vegetables here don't talk or anything, do they?" the boy asked warily.

"By the Lion, of course not! The Trees are people here, and some of the flowers, but Aslan never burdened vegetables with speech or thought. If they could do those things they wouldn't be vegetables. Trust me, son of Adam, no Narnian would so glibly sell, purchase or eat the carcass of a talking plant." He patted Robin's arm. "Never fear to eat a Narnian carrot, lad."

Thus assured, Robin ate.

"The people look a bit different than they did the last time I was here," he remarked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, there weren't too many human Narnians, since the Witch Queen had driven them back into the south of Archenland. But there's a definite human Narnian look—dark hair, light eyes, fair skin, on the short side, elfish features. I can recognize them, Archenlanders, Calormenes, and Islanders, but where did all these others come from?"

The Rabbit took a bite from the pointy end of his carrot. "Hmm. Well, the big strapping blond humans are either from the Seven Isles, or they're refugees from the Giant Wars in the North.

"The tall ones with dark brown skin and tightly curled hair are the people from Fricia, immeasurably far to our South. The ones who look like Calormenes but have green eyes and red hair are called Midlings, offspring of Calormenes with Archenlanders or Narnians. The Calormenes enslave both peoples—sadly, they'll enslave anyone they can find. But Fricians and Midlings who make it North become free, and we welcome them.

"Finally, the slim tanned ones with the straight black hair are some of the Mrekan, the nomads who live in the vast woods between Telmar and our Western borders.

"And the ones who look like the Islanders but taller and tougher are Telmarines. You won't see many of them here. It is a difficult journey from Telmar, through many mountains, woods, valleys and rivers." He paused. "You seem unhappy, son of Adam. What grieves you?"

Robin shook his head. "In my country, our people are all different colors too. But here everyone rubs elbows like it's nothing. Where I come from, all the colors are kept apart. Whenever they mix too much, someone's bound to get killed. It's a disgrace on my world. For example, my brother is in love with a girl from another color, but they could never be seen in public together, and you can forget about a marriage down the road." He looked sadly at the cobblestones under his bare feet.

"My sympathies, to your brother and his lady, and to your whole world," replied Macurdey. "Things aren't all peace and understanding here, either," he admitted with a sigh. "The Mrekan are flooding our Western borders. It's not that we don't want them, but we're not sure how many more we can support. We'd been fighting off the barbarian Northern Giants for the past five years, and last year we also had to ride to Archenland's defense when the Calormenes invaded. Both wars are over now, but they drained our economy and our natural resources near dry. It will take many years to fully recover."

"Hmm. Where I come from, it was the other way around—first the economy crashed and then there was a war." Robin paused. "Why are the Mrekan emigrating?"

Macurdey lowered his voice. "Telmar is expanding Eastward and driving them off their land, in violation of treaties and sacred oaths. They have nowhere to flee but Narnia and Archenland."

"What falsehood is this, beast?" hissed a voice behind them.

Robin heard the brash, soulless hiss of a sword being unsheathed. He winced at the sound, praying inside that it was the last time he'd ever hear it.

Of course, that was not to be.