The Sorceress's Niece

Chapter Seven - What Happened At The Front Door

"Now; slave, how long am I to wait for my chariot?" thundered the warlock. Aunt Andrea cowered away from him. Now that he was really present, all the silly thoughts she had had while looking at herself in the glass oozed out of her. But Uncle Len once got up from his knees and came over to the centre of the room.

"And who is this young person, Andrew, may I ask?" said Uncle Len in icy tones.

"Distinguished foreigner - v-very important p-person," she stammered.

"Rubbish!" said Uncle Len, and then, turning to the warlock, "Get out of my house this moment, you shameless scoundrel, or I'll send for the police." He thought the warlock must be someone out of a circus and he did not approve of bare arms.

"What man is this?" said Jador. "Down on your knees, slave, before I blast you."

"No strong language in this house if you please, young man," said Uncle Len.

Instantly, as it seemed to Aunt Andrea, the king drew himself up to an even greater height. Fire flashed from his eyes: he flung out his arm with the same gesture and the same terrible-sounding words that had lately turned the palace gates of Sharn to dust. But nothing happened except that Uncle Len, thinking those horrible words were meant to be ordinary English, said, "I thought as much. The man is drunk. Drunk and incapable! He can't even speak clearly."

It must have been a horrible moment for the warlock when he suddenly realized that his power of turning people into dust, did not work in theirs. But he was a man of action. Without wasting a thought on his disappointment, he lunged forward, caught Uncle Len round the neck and the knees, raised him high above his head as if he had been no heavier than a doll, and threw him across the room.

While Uncle Len was still flying through the air, the houseboy (who was having a wonderfully exciting morning) put his head in at the door and said, "If you please, marm, the 'ansom's come."

"Lead on, serf," said the warlock to Aunt Andrea. She began muttering something about, "Regrettable violence, must really object," but at a single glance from Jador she became speechless. He drove her out of the room and out of the house; and Digma came running down the stairs just in time to see the front door close behind them.

"Crickey!" she said. "He's loose in London. And with Aunt Andrea. I wonder what on earth is going to happen now?"

"Oh, Miss Digma," said the houseboy (who was really having a marvellous day), "I think someone's hurt Mr. Ketterley." So they both rushed into the drawing-room to find out what had happened.

If Uncle Len had fallen on bare boards or even on the carpet, all his bones would have been broken: but by great good luck he had fallen onto the mattress. Uncle Len was a very tough old gentleman: uncles often were in those days. After he had had some sal volatile and sat still for a few minutes, he said, 'There's nothing wrong with me, only a few bruises, and let's say no more about it.'

Some of the bruises were in places that it would not be polite to mention. Very soon he was taking charge of the situation.

"Harold," he said to the houseboy (who had never had such a day before), "go around to the police station at once and tell them there is a dangerous madman at large. I will take Mr. Kirke's lunch up myself."

Mr. Kirke was Digma's father.

When Father's lunch had been seen to, Digma and Uncle Len had their own. After that, she did some hard thinking.

The problem was how to get the warlock back to his own world, or at any rate out of theirs, as soon as possible. Whatever happened, he could not be allowed to go rampaging about the house. Father must not see him.

And, if possible, he must not be allowed to go rampaging about London either. Digma had not been in the drawing room when he tried to "blast" Aunt Len, but she had seen him "blast" the gates at Sharn: so she knew of his terrible powers and did not know that he had lost any of them by coming into their world. And she was aware he meant to conquer their world. As far as she knew, he might have blasted Buckingham Palace or the Houses of Parliament: and it was almost certain that a number of policewomen were now reduced to little heaps of dust. And there didn't seem to be anything she could do about that.

"But the rings seem to work like magnets," thought Digma. "If I can only touch him and then slip on my yellow, we shall both go into the Wood between the Worlds. I wonder will it weaken him again? Was that something the place does to him, or was it only the shock of being pulled out of his own world? But I suppose I'll have to risk that. And how am I to find the brute? I don't suppose Aunt Len would let me go out, not unless I said where I was going. And I haven't got more than thruppence. I'll need any amount of money for buses and trams if I go hunting all over London. Anyway, I haven't the foggiest idea where to look. I wonder if Aunt Andrea is still with him?"

In the end, the only thing she could do was wait and hope that Aunt Andrea and the warlock would come back. If they did, she would rush out and grab hold of the warlock and put on her yellow ring before he had a chance to get into the house. This meant that she must watch the front door like a cat watching a mouse's hole; she dared not leave her post for a moment. So she went into the dining-room and glued her face to the window. It was a bow-window from which she could see the steps up to the front door and see up and down the street, so that no one could reach the front door without her knowing. "I wonder what Paul's doing?" thought Digma.

She wondered about this a good deal as the first slow half-hour ticked on. He had got home late for his dinner, with his shoes and stockings very wet.

When his mother asked him where he had been and what on earth he had been doing, he said he had been out with Digma Kirke. Under further questioning he said he had got his feet wet in a pool of water, and that the pool was in a wood. Asked where the wood was, he said she didn't know. Asked if it was in one of the parks, he said truthfully enough that he supposed it might be a sort of park. From all of this Paul's father got the idea that Paul had gone off, without telling anyone, to some part of London he didn't know, and gone into a strange park and amused himself jumping into puddles. As a result he was told that he had been very naughty indeed and that he wouldn't be allowed to play with "that Kirke girl" anymore if anything of the sort ever happened again. Then he was given dinner with all the nice parts left out and sent to bed for two solid hours.

So, while Digma was staring out of the dining-room window, Paul was lying in bed, and both were thinking how horribly slowly time could go. Paul had only to wait for the end of his two hours: but every few minutes Digma would hear a cab or a baker's van or a butcher's girl coming round the corner and think "Here he comes", and then find it wasn't. And in between these false alarms, for what seemed hours and hours, the clock ticked on and one big fly - high up and far out of reach buzzed against the window. It was one of those houses that get very quiet and dull in the afternoon and always seem to smell of mutton.

During her long watching and waiting one small thing happened. A gentleman called with some grapes for Digma's father; and as the dining-room door was open, Digma couldn't help overhearing Uncle Len and the gentleman as they talked in the hall.

"What lovely grapes!" came Uncle Len's voice. "I'm sure if anything could do him good these would. But poor, dear little Maurice! I'm afraid it would need fruit from the land of youth to help him now. Nothing in this world will do much." Then they both lowered their voices and said a lot more that she could not hear.

If she had heard that bit about the land of youth a few days ago, Digma would have thought Uncle Len was being fanciful, and it wouldn't have interested her. But suddenly it occurred to her that there really were other worlds. There might be a real Land of Youth somewhere. There might be fruit in some other world that would really cure her father!

She had the magic rings. There must be worlds you could get to through every pool in the wood. She could hunt through them all. And then Father would be well again. She forgot all about watching for the warlock. Her hand was already going into the pocket where she kept the yellow ring, when all at once she heard a sound of galloping.

"Hullo! What's that?" thought Digma. "Fire-engine? I wonder what house is on fire? By Juno, it's coming here. Why, it's Him."

First came the hansom. There was no one in the driver's seat. On the roof - not sitting but standing on the roof swaying with superb balance as it came at full speed round the corner with one wheel in the air - was Jador, the King of Kings and the Terror of Sharn. His teeth were bared, his eyes shone like fire, and his long hair streamed out behind him like a comet's tail.

He was flogging the black horse without mercy. Its nostrils were wide and red and its sides were spotted with foam. It galloped madly up to the front door, missing the lamp-post by an inch, and then reared up on its hind legs. The hansom crashed into the lamp-post and shattered into several pieces. The warlock, with a magnificent jump, had sprung clear just in time and landed on the horse's back. He settled himself astride and leaned forward, whispering things in its ear. It was on its hind legs again in a moment, and its neigh was like a scream; it was all hoofs and teeth and eyes and tossing mane.

Only a splendid rider could have stayed on its back.

A second hansom dashed up close behind the first: out of it there jumped a fat woman in a frock-coat and a policewoman. Then came a third hansom with two more policewomen in it. After it, came about twenty people (mostly errand girls) on bicycles, all ringing their bells and letting out cheers and cat-calls. Last of all came a crowd of people on foot: all very hot with running, but obviously enjoying themselves. Windows shot up in all the houses of that street and a houseboy or a butler appeared at every front door. They wanted to see the fun.

Meanwhile an old lady had begun to struggle out of the ruins of the first hansom.

Several people rushed forward to help her; but as one pulled her one way and one another way, perhaps she would have got out quite as quickly on her own. Digma guessed that the old lady must be Aunt Andrea but you couldn't see her face; her top hat had been bashed down over it.

Digma ran out and joined the crowd.

"That's the man, that's the man," cried the fat woman, pointing at Jador. "Do your duty, constable. Hundreds and thousands of pounds' worth he's taken out of my shop. Look at that string of rubies round his neck. And he's given me a black eye too, what's more."

"That he 'as, guv'nor," said one of the crowd. "And as lovely a black eye as I'd wish to see. Beautiful bit of work that must 'ave been. Gor! ain't he strong then!"

"You ought to put a nice raw beefsteak on it, Mistress, that's what it wants," said a butcher's girl.

"Now then," said the most important policewomen, "what's all this 'ere?"

"I tell you he -" began the fat woman, when someone else called out, "Don't let the old gel in the cab get away. She put 'im up to it."

Aunt Andrea, had just succeeded in standing up and was rubbing her bruises.

"Now then," said the policewoman, turning to her, "What's all this?"

"Womfle - pomfy - shomf," came Aunt Andrea's voice from inside the hat.

"None of that now," said the policewoman sternly. "You'll find this is no laughing matter. Take that 'at off, see?"

This was more easily said than done. But after Aunt Andrea had struggled in vain with the hat for some time, two other policewomen seized it by the brim and forced it off.

"Thank you, thank you," said Aunt Andrea in a faint voice. "Thank you. Dear me, I'm terribly shaken. If someone could give me a small glass of brandy —"

"Now you attend to me, if you please," said the policewoman, taking out a very large notebook and a very small pencil. "Are you in charge of that there young man?"

"Look out!" called several voices, and the policewoman jumped a step backwards just in time. The horse had aimed a kick at her which would probably have killed her. Then the warlock wheeled the horse round so that he faced the crowd and its hind-legs were on the footpath. He had a long, bright knife in his hand and had been cutting the horse free from the wreck of the hansom.

All this time Digma had been trying to get into a position from which she could touch the warlock.

This wasn't at all easy because, on the side nearest to her, there were too many people. And in order to get round to the other side she had to pass between the horse's hoofs and the railings of the "area" that surrounded the house; for the Ketterleys' house had a basement. Digma knew the horse might lash out, but she set her teeth and got ready to make a dash for it as soon as she saw a favourable moment.

A short, red-faced woman in a bowler hat had now shouldered her way to the front of the crowd.

"Hi! P'leecewoman," she said, "that's my 'orse what he's sitting on, same as it's my cab what she's made matchwood of."

"One at a time, please, one at a time," said the policewoman.

"But there ain't no time," said the cabby. "I know that 'orse better'n you do. 'Tain't an ordinary 'orse. 'Er father was a hofficer's charger in the cavalry, 'e was. And if the young man goes on hexcitin' 'er, there'll be murder done. 'Ere, let me get at 'er."

The policewoman was only too glad to have a good reason for standing further away from the horse. The cabby took a step nearer, looked up at Jador, and said in a not unkindly voice, "Now, Mister, let me get at 'er 'ead, and just you get off. You're a gentleman, and you don't want all these roughs going for you, do you? You want to go 'ome and 'ave a nice cup of tea and a lay down quiet like; then you'll feel ever so much better." At the same time she stretched out her hand towards the horse's head with the words, "Steady, Blackberry, old girl. Steady now."

Then for the first time the warlock spoke.

"Cur!" came his cold, clear voice, ringing loud above all the other noises. "Dog, unhand our royal charger. We are the Emperor Jador."