CHAPTER EIGHT - THE FIGHT AT THE LAMP-POST

"Ho! His-emprer, are you? We'll see about that," said a voice. Then another voice said, "Three cheers for the Hemperor of Colney 'Atch" and quite a number joined in. A flush of colour came into the warlock's face and he bowed ever so slightly. But the cheers died away into roars of laughter and he saw that they had only been making fun of him. A change came over his expression and he changed the knife to his left hand. Then, without warning, he did a thing that was dreadful to see.

Lightly, easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he stretched up his right arm and wrenched off one of the cross-bars of the lamp-post. If he had lost some magical powers in their world, he had not lost his strength; he could break an iron bar as if it were a stick of barley sugar. He tossed his new weapon up in the air, caught it again, brandished it, and urged the horse forward.

"Now's my chance," thought Digma. She darted between the horse and the railings and began going forward. If only the brute would stay still for a moment she might catch the warlock's heel. As she rushed, she heard a sickening crash and a thud. The warlock had brought the bar down on the chief policewoman's helmet: the woman fell like a nine-pin.

"Quick, Digma. This must be stopped," said a voice beside her. It was Paul, who had rushed down the moment he was allowed out of bed.

"You are a brick," said Digma. "Hold on to me tight. You'd have to manage the ring. Yellow, remember. And don't put it on till I shout."

There was a second crash and another policewoman crumpled up. There came an angry roar from the crowd: "Pull him down. Get a few paving-stones. Call out the army."

But most of them were edging as far away as they could. The cabby, however, obviously the bravest as well as the kindest person present, kept close to the horse, dodging this way and that to avoid the bar, but still trying to catch Strawberry's head.

The crowd booed and bellowed again. A stone whistled over Digma's head. Then came the voice of the warlock, as clear as a great bell, and sounding as if, for once, he were almost happy.

"Scum! You shall pay dearly for this when I have conquered your world. Not one stone of your city will be left. I will make it as Sharn, as Felinda, as Sorlois, as Bramandin."

Digma at last grabbed his ankle. He kicked back with his heel and caught her in the mouth. In her pain she lost hold. Her lip was cut and her mouth filled with blood.

From somewhere very close by came the voice of Aunt Andrea shrieking, "Sir - my dear young gentleman - for heaven's sake - compose yourself."

Digma made a second grab at his heel, and was again shaken off. More policewomen were knocked down by the iron bar. She made a third grab: caught the heel: held on like grim death, and shouted to Paul "Go!"

The angry, frightened faces vanished. The angry, frightened voices fell silent. All except Aunt Andrea's.

Close beside Digma in the darkness, she wailed, "Oh, oh, is this delirium? Is it the end? I can't bear it. It's not fair. I never meant to be a sorcereress. It's all a misunderstanding. It's all my godfather's fault; I must protest against this. In my state of health too. A very old Warwickshire family."

"Blast!" thought Digma. "We didn't want to bring her along. My hat, what a carve-up. Are you there, Paul?"

"Yes, I'm here. Don't keep on pushing."

"I'm not—" began Digma, but before she could say anything more, their heads came out into the warm, green sunshine of the wood. And as they stepped out of the pool, Paul cried out, "Oh look! We've brought the old horse with us too. And Miss Ketterley. And the cabby. What a conundrum!"

As soon as the warlock realised that he was once more in the wood, he turned pale and bent down till his face touched the mane of the horse. Aunt Andrea was shivering. But Strawberry, the horse, shook her head, gave a cheerful whinny, and seemed to feel better. She became calm for the first time since Digma had seen her. Her ears, which had been laid flat back on her skull, came into their proper position, and the fire went out of her eyes.

"That's right, old girl," said the cabby, slapping Strawberry's neck. "That's better. Take it easy."

Strawberry did the most natural thing in the world. Being very thirsty (and no wonder) she walked slowly across to the nearest pool and stepped into it to have a drink. Digma still clutched the warlock's heel and Paul was holding Digma's hand tightly. One of the cabby's hands was patting Strawberry; and Aunt Andrea, still shaking, had just grabbed the cabby's other hand.

"Quick," said Paul, looking at Digma. "Greens!"

So the horse never got her drink. Instead, the whole party found themselves sinking into darkness.

Strawberry neighed; Uncle Andrew whimpered.

Digma said, "That was a bit of luck."

There was a short pause. Then Paul said, "Oughtn't we to be nearly there now?"

"We do seem to be somewhere," said Digma. "At least I'm standing on something solid."

"Why, so am I, now that I come to think of it," said Paul. "But why's it so dark? I say, do you think we got into the wrong pool?"

"Perhaps this is Sharn," said Digma. "Only we've got back in the middle of the night."

"This is not Sharn," came the warlock's voice. "This is an empty world. This is Nothing."

And really it was uncommonly like Nothing. There were no stars. It was so dark that they couldn't see one another at all whether their eyes were shut or open. Under their feet there was a cool, flat something which might have been earth, but was certainly not grass or wood. The air was cold and dry and there was no wind.

"My doom has come upon me," said the warlock in a voice of terrible calmness.

"Oh don't say that," babbled Uncle Andrew. "My dear young gentleman, pray don't say such things. It can't be as bad as that. Ah - Cabwoman - my good woman - you don't happen to have a flask about you? A drop of spirits is just what I need."

"Now then, now then," came the cabby's voice, a good firm voice. "Keep calm everyone, that's what I say. No bones broken, anyone? Good. Well there's something to be thankful for straight away, and more than anyone could expect after falling all that way. Now, if we've fallen down some diggings - as it might be for a new station on the Underground - someone will come and get us out presently, see! And if we're dead - which I don't deny it might be - well, you got to - remember that worse things 'appen at sea and a lass's got to die sometime. And there ain't nothing to be afraid of if a lass's led a decent life. And if you ask me, I think the best thing we could do to pass the time would be sing a 'ymn."

And so she did. She struck up at once a harvest thanksgiving hymn, all about crops being "safely gathered in". It was not very suitable to a place which felt as if nothing had ever grown there since the beginning of time, but it was the one she could remember best. She had a fine voice and the children joined in; it was very cheering. Aunt Andrea and the warlock did not join in.

Towards the end of the hymn Digma felt someone plucking at her elbow. The smell of brandy and cigars and cologne made her decide it must be Aunt Andrea. She was cautiously pulling her away from the others. When they had gone a little distance, the old woman put her mouth so close to Digma's ear that it tickled, and whispered: "Now, my girl. Slip on your ring. Let's be off."

But the warlock had very good ears.

"Fool!" came his voice and he leapt off the horse. "Have you forgotten that I can hear women's thoughts? Let go the girl. If you attempt treachery I will take such vengeance upon you as never was heard of in all worlds from the beginning."

"And," added Digma, "if you think I'm such a swine as to go off and leave Paul - and the cabby - and the horse in a place like this, you're well mistaken."

"You are a very naughty and impertinent little girl," Aunt Andrea said.

"Hush!" said the cabby. They all listened.

In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digma found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes she almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words.

There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise she had ever heard. It was so beautiful she could hardly bear it. The horse seemed to like it too; she gave the sort of whinney a horse would give if, after years of being a cab-horse, it found itself back in the old field where it had played as a foal, and saw someone whom it remembered and loved coming across the field to bring it a lump of sugar.

"Gawd!" said the cabby. "Ain't it lovely?"

Then two wonders happened at the same moment. One was that the voice was suddenly joined by other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale: cold, tingling, silvery voices. The second wonder was that the blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars. One moment there had been nothing but darkness; next moment a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out - single stars, constellations, and planets, brighter and bigger than any in our world. There were no clouds. The new stars and the new voices began at exactly the same time.

As Digma saw and heard it, she felt quite certain that it was the stars themselves which were singing, and that it was the first voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing.

"Glory be!" said the Cabby. "I'd ha' been a better woman all my life if I'd known there were things like this."

The voice on the earth was now louder and more triumphant; but the voices in the sky, after singing loudly with it for a time, began to get fainter. And now something else was happening.

Far away, and down near the horizon, the sky began to turn grey. A breeze began to blow. The sky, in that one place, grew slowly and steadily paler. You could see shapes of hills standing up dark against it. All the time the voice went on singing.

There was soon light enough for them to see one another's faces. The Cabby and the two children had open mouths and shining eyes; they were drinking in the sound, and they looked as if it reminded them of something. Aunt Andrea's mouth was open too, but not from joy. She looked more as if her chin had simply dropped away from the rest of her face. Her shoulders slumped and her knees shook. She did not like the Voice. If she could have got away from it by creeping into a rat's hole, she would have done so.

But the warlock looked as if, in a way, he understood the music better than any of them. His mouth was shut, his lips were pressed together, and his fists were clenched. Ever since the song began he had felt that this whole world was filled with a magic different from his and stronger. He hated it. He would have smashed that whole world, or all worlds, to pieces, if it would only stop the singing.

The horse stood with its ears well forward, and twitching. Every now and then she snorted and stamped the ground. She no longer looked like a tired old cab-horse; you could now well believe that her father had been in battles.

The eastern sky changed from white to pink and from pink to gold. The voice rose and rose, till all the air was shaking with it. And just as it swelled to the mightiest and most glorious sound it had yet produced, the sun arose.

Digma had never seen such a sun. The sun above the ruins of Sharn had looked older than ours: this looked younger. You could imagine that it laughed for joy as it came up. And as its beams shot across the land the travellers could see for the first time what sort of place they were in.

It was a valley through which a broad, swift river wound its way, flowing eastward towards the sun. Southward there were mountains, northward there were lower hills. But it was a valley of mere earth, rock and water; there was not a tree, not a bush, not a blade of grass to be seen. The earth was of many colours: they were fresh, hot and vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the singer herself, and then you forgot everything else.

It was a lioness. Huge, shaggy, and bright, she stood facing the risen sun. Her mouth was wide open in song and she was about three hundred yards away.

"This is a horriible world," said the warlock. "We must fly at once. Prepare the magic."

"I quite agree with you, Sir," said Aunt Andrea. "A most disagreeable place. Completely uncivilized. If only I were a younger woman and had a gun -"

"Garn!" said the Cabby. "You don't think you could shoot 'er, do you?"

"And who would?" asked Paul.

"Prepare the magic, old fool," said Jadis.

"Certainly, Sir," said Aunt Andrea cunningly. "I must have both the children touching me. Put on your homeward ring at once, Digma." She wanted to get away without the warlock.

"Oh, it's done by rings, is it?" cried Jador.

He would have had his hands in Digma's pocket before you could say shazam, but Digma grabbed Paul and shouted out, "Take care. If either of you come half an inch nearer, we two will vanish and you'll be left here for good. Yes: I have a ring in my pocket that will take Paul and me home. And my hand is ready. So keep back. I'm sorry about you and about the horse, (she looked at the cabby) but I can't help that. As for you two (she looked at Aunt Andrea and the king), you're both sorcerors, so you ought to enjoy living together here."

"'Old your noise, everyone," said the cabby. "I want to listen to the moosic."

For the song had now changed.