An attempt is made in ancient Narnia to summon Jadis, the White Witch. No violence or bad language.

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THE SUMMONING

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Little pitchers have big ears

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It was a truth, universally acknowledged, that Pubert was a pest. If anyone held a private conversation the boy would loiter. He'd try the handle of any closed door. If anything was lost or broken a cry of "Pubert!" would go up. His sandy head, seemingly of teak, was impervious to cuffs. His nose, whilst snub, was sharp enough to pry into any drawer or letter. Dame Judith was just the latest of a succession of broken down governesses. "Where is that boy?" she cried, sweeping through the buttery with the grace of an irate tug boat.

"Master Pubert?" Serjeant Samuel asked, suppressing a grin. The four guards of the recent night-watch weren't so polite and grinned.

"Aye, Master Pubert," Judith agreed, "and you Tom Fools can stop smirking!"

The buttery was a warm, pleasant place on a cold winter day. The scent of freshly baked bread filled the air and pitchers of creamy milk were set on the board. "More cheese, Jack," the Serjeant called out to the servitor. "Where's the place you'd least want him to be?" he asked the tutor.

"Disturbing their majesties," Judith replied.

"Mm. Where's the most dangerous place he could be?"

"How do I know?" The frustrated lady paused to think, "The north tower?"

"That's where he'll be; I'd wager five Trees to a button," Samuel said with a smile.

"Why, the little wretch!"

Now the northern tower of the great fortress of Cair Paravel was of some age (if of no especial antiquity for a castle). It was the coldest part of the place being in the shade a good deal of the year. The stonework had begun to crumble rather earlier than anticipated and was in need of restoration. Dwarfs from the northern parts had been contracted to shore things up and make good the damage. The archivists and administrators who worked in the tower were temporarily relocated. Wooden scaffolding was erected and an ingenious system of hoists and lifts raised dwarfs and materials to the upper levels. Pubert had long since been banished by the gaffer overseeing the project (to a volley of threats and bad language). Nevertheless, on a Sunday there was no labour. Only Pubert was compelled to work, condemned to a half day of schooling by way of punishment. He felt the injustice of the thing most keenly. So bitter was he that he'd disappeared immediately after breaking his fast. No sooner had his kipper been stripped then he'd escaped. Pubert had long since determined to climb the scaffolding; after all, what else could a boy be expected to do?

"Come on, come on", the young swineherd said, guiding an escaped piglet with his stick. "Let's get you back." He was unaware of being watched. Pubert surveyed the youth from the shadows of a doorway. He'd not expected to see anyone in that part of the courtyard. Once alone, he made his way along the perimeter wall, unobserved despite many windows. Soon he was at the foot of the north tower and a latticework of scaffolding stretched above him. He was generally reckoned to be 'as agile as the Tisroc's pet monkey' in the fairytale (and definitely as troublesome). Far above he could see the platform or lift, which could be lowered by the user to return to earth. To reach it he must first climb however. The boy stripped off his heavy overcoat and shivered a little in stockings, knee breeches, shirt and waist coat. He was then gloveless, having lost a third pair in as many weeks. He began to ascend the first ladder, firmly roped to the wall, which led to the first working gantry. Age and ignorance kept Pubert intrepid; he had little sense of his own mortality.

The stone latticework to a fourth floor window had then yet to be replaced. "Hullo!" Pubert thought, peering inside. The slender lad oozed through the gap and found himself in the Shire Reeve's outer office. All papers and valuables had been removed for the duration of the works and the furniture covered in sacking. That didn't stop him lifting cloths and opening drawers and cupboards. Just as was about to give up in disappointment he heard the rattle of a door handle. The iron ring began to turn from the outside. It was the work of a moment for Pubert to slither under a draped table. Someone entered the room – a man most likely – and began to pace. The intruder kept stock still. He'd been on the receiving end of too many punishments for prying to want yet another. There was a clatter and the door opened again. "Hullo!" said the newcomer.

"Ah good;" Pubert's ears pricked up for surely he recognised the voice. It was low and pleasant; not a young man that was for sure.

"You've been waiting long?"

"No more than two minutes. Have you got it?"

"I have it," the other agreed, stressing the same word.

"Quickly then," and, with that, something was passed between the two men.

"Long live the true Queen!" the younger man gave what sounded like a watchword.

"May His mane be shaved," was the anticipated response.

"Go now; I'll follow soon."

"Ah there you are, you little beggar," Dame Judith caught Pubert's ear with a grim satisfaction. She was of a generation that saw no harm in pulling the ears of naughty children.

"Ow!"

"I'll ow you!"the governess threatened, vaguely but with emphasis. She let go of the grimy ear. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere," Pubert lied then as easily as a cat sleeps.

"Have you been up the scaffolding?"

"What scaffolding?" the boy asked, falling back on obfuscation.

"You'll end up on a scaffold, like as not," the lady prophesied.

"Please, I heard something…" he began.

"I've no doubt you did; that ear-hole of yours is always at the keyhole."

"No, but this is important, there's something going on…"

Judith took him firmly by the arm and began to march him across the courtyard. "I don't want to hear any of your lies nor backstairs gossip! Now be quiet or you'll lack even bread and water for supper."

Queen Ann pasted on a bright, false smile to greet her ward. At one time or another Master Pubert had tested the patience of the entire court. "Well, Pubert, how are we today?"

"Well, not bad, Ma'am, but…"

King Frank (one of that long line of Good Kings Frank) interrupted. "Now, young man, what's this I hear about you giving your governess the slip yesterday?"

Pubert looked speculatively at the king. He'd been a ward of the crown since his parents had died of Marsh Fever, four years before. The twice weekly audiences with his legal guardians were often something of a trial for Pubert wasn't fond of accounting for his behaviour. "It was just a mistake Sir; I'd forgotten that I had lessons."

Dame Judith, ten yards away, fidgeted at that and muttered, "Little liar."

"It seems to me Pubert that you miss more lessons that you attend."

"Oh no sir," the lad protested.

"Dame Judith, perhaps you would tell us of his progress thus far?" the Queen suggested.

The tutor bobbed a curtsy and replied, "Arithmetic, poor – Handwriting, execrable – Reading, good – History, good – Dancing.. He dances with all the grace of a bear - Geography… Well, he couldn't find his way to market." Some teachers might have been less frank in order to gain credit. Judith knew that no one had any illusions about her charge.

"Mm. Not very impressive," King Frank grunted.

"Still, he's good at reading and history," Ann reminded him.

"Captain Rollo says his sword play is fair," the King reflected. Dame Judith winced at the thought of Pubert with a sword.

"And Jensen (the head groom) says he has good hands," his wife added.

The King sighed, "Just like his poor father. If only you'd behave, boy!"

"Please sir, can I say something?"

"Go on, child," the Queen agreed.

"Well, yesterday, I was in this empty room. I was lost, you see? Well, these two fellows came in and began talking…"

"Enough!" the King commanded, holding up a cautionary hand. "You're as full of tittle-tattle as Old Mother Sharp! I won't have servants' gossip repeated. Dame Judith, take him to his lessons. Behave yourself boy or you'll face the consequences." With that imprecise but impressive threat, the King dismissed his ward, having had sufficient Pubert for one day.

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An expected meeting

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The Crooked Billet wasn't the type of alehouse frequented by gentles, offering few comforts and only simple fare. It was however conveniently situated fifteen miles to the west of Cair Paravel on a trading route used by Dwarfs and other pedlars. Sir Hugh's fine gray mare, with its expensive harness and trappings, was an uncommon sort of sight in the stalls. The stable-lad was gratified to receive three copper coins to bunk down alongside the horse for the duration of the visit. The public house didn't run to a private parlour as such but the landlady was happy to make her own space over to the honoured guest. "Now, you sit yourself by the fire milord and I'll tend to your wants." The room was dark and smoky, lit by a fire and rush lights. The ceiling was low and the plaster and beams blackened.

"A jug of Archenland cider – a big jug – bread, cheese, boiled eggs and a pie," the hungry man determined. "Enough for two."

"Chicken pie, milord?"

"Pork?"

"Pork? Right you are," she agreed.

The food had just been served when there was a knock on the door. The landlord entered, "There's a gentleman to see you, sir."

"Send him in." Sir Hugh rose to his feet.

A middle-aged man entered, "A dark night for travelling," he observed.

"Darkness has its advantages," Hugh replied. It was the anticipated response and the stranger smiled.

"May I…" he said, gesturing towards the settle.

"Please."

The man seated himself across the board from the knight and nodded at some private thought. He reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of small coins, turning them out onto the table. Almost idly he separated one from the rest – it was but half a silver coin, cut irregularly.

Hugh reached into budget and produced the other half. They fitted together perfectly. "Good to meet you Master Humphrey," the knight said, stretching out a hand.

"And you Sir Hugh; Tolling tells me good things of you."

"Likewise. You've been away ten years! You must be glad to be home?"

"I will be, when things are righted," the man gave a grim smile. "A decade trekking across wastes and studying in foreign parts but it was worth it!"

"But you've not actually found…her… the Queen?"

"Surely Tolling told you that much?"

"He did but I hoped that he was holding something back."

"No, I haven't found the rightful Queen but I've talked to magicians, sages, witches and warlocks. I know how to summon her."

"Truly, that is wonderful," Hugh cried. He leant over the board, "Tell me more!"

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The arrest

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Jack Tolling, Librarian and Chief Archivist at Cair Paravel, sat on the broad, stone ledge of his chamber, savouring the pale autumnal sunshine. His heavy robe and furred collar were fastened tight about him. His breath was irregular and his chest rattled like buttons in a box. Jack's tapered fingers held a mug of weak tea. He mostly survived those days on tea, bread, honey and stewed apple. He'd worked for the royal household for sixty years – man and boy – beginning, all those years ago, as a boot-boy. He'd been a traitor for half a century, a worm in the heart of the apple, always plotting. He knew that his time was almost over. The man Humphrey might at least see his hopes fulfilled and Hugh was a useful right arm too.

"The book," he mused, "It all began with the book." He'd been a clerk, newly appointed and proud of the office, when he'd discovered the book. What a strange thing it was too! It was unlike any volume he'd ever seen before or since. The text seemed to come alive before his eyes; one became part of events.

Unbeknownst to Tolling, lost in his memories, Captain Rollo of the Royal Guard was on the bottom step of the flight that led to his chamber. Rollo was in his last year before his pension but still a fine, active man and fiercely loyal to his King and Queen. Behind Rollo were three implacable soldiers with no more taste for traitors than their captain had.

"The book!" Tolling had been sent down into the room where only the oldest or important of documents were kept. A senior clerk had checked his permit and directed him accordingly. He sought an aged publication on protocol as there was some dispute or other (he'd forgotten what). He'd retrieved the fat, calfskin covered tome and brought it over to the clerk, for a grunt of approval. The item was marked on a list and Tolling signed for it with a flourish. It was only on leaving the room - and idly flicking open the book – that he'd found the slim book hidden inside. It was a mere dozen pages, but what pages! Every illustration was brilliantly painted and captioned with strange runes in golden paint. There was a lady – surely a mighty queen – dancing as the world formed about her. There was a savage lion which threatened the lady. Tolling slammed the book shut, breathless. He had felt as if he was being drawn into the pictures and had dared look no more. As some people do when they reach the end of their lives, Tolling preferred to dwell in the past. He started to think of the second time that he'd opened the book – in the privacy of the woods – when his ruminations were interrupted by a hammering on the door.

"Enter," he called in his kindly, if reedy, voice.

Captain Rollo hadn't waited for permission and was already opening the door. "Jack Tolling…" he began.

"My dear Captain Rollo," the librarian gasped, "We've known each other all our lives, you know perfectly well who I am.

Undeterred, the silver haired soldier resumed, "Jack Tolling, you are hereby arrested on charges of sedition and imperilling the nation. You must accompany me now."

"What nonsense is this?" Tolling protested.

"That's not for me to say, Master Tolling. You must dress yourself properly and come with me."

"This is an outrage." Jack got up unsteadily. "I've never heard such nonsense." Even so, he began to shrug off his robe to exchange it for the one of his office.

"That's not for me to say," the Captain reiterated. "I must however ask you one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Tell me the whereabouts of Sir Hugh?"

"How, by the Lion's mane, should I know?" Tolling complained.

"He's wanted as a fellow conspirator."

"What infernal nonsense! I can see that this is going to take some time to unravel. Tell the girl to bank the fire up. There's a heavy, red curtain folded up under the bed; see that she puts it over the window or I'll freeze to death tonight."

"Oh, very well. Gad, go and find the serving girl."

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Bad news in the night

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The rider was an ill favoured fellow, who always looked ready to do anyone a bad turn. He'd been Sir Hugh's groom for the past two years and was, as far as his nature allowed, loyal to his employer. He was something of a misanthrope rather than an ideologue. He was of that type who'd find fault with whoever ran Narnia, whatever they did. Jack Tolling had long since identified him as a useful tool and steered him into Sir Hugh's employ.

Sir Hugh was putting up at a lonely house in the woods, to the north east of the great castle. For company he had Humphrey of Archenland – that much travelled man, his new acquaintance. Hugh had excused himself from court, pleading personal business, and met up again with Humphrey by a devious route. It lacked two nights until full moon when they'd travel together to the Stone Table, that ancient, magical place where few ventured.

"Don't tell me much more," Hugh warned Humphrey as they sat by the dying fire, "Such sorcery chills the blood." He had listened to the dark tale of how Humphrey had acquired certain arcane documents.

Humphrey gave a crooked smile, "How – by Queen Eliza's three legged donkey – do you expect to cope when we summon… Her?"

"I'm a soldier; my backbone is of pure steel as you'll see. I'll just leave the … hm… magic to you."

"They say that She was a great sorceress."

"Indeed they do; she'll be glad of a soldier I expect."

"You fancy yourself as Captain of the Castle Guard?" Humphrey teased.

Hugh almost blushed, "Captain of the Royal Companions," he corrected. There was no retort for there came a hammering on the door. Hugh jumped up to fetch his sword and sheath. Humphrey rose and pulled out a curved dagger of Calormene design. "We are discovered."

"Sir Hugh, Sir Hugh!"

"Stay! It's my man," said Hugh. He strode over to the door and Simeon, the groom, stumbled in.

"You are betrayed, Sir Hugh, there's a warrant out for your arrest. I barely got away."

"Were you followed?"

"No, Sir Hugh."

"You're sure, man?"

"Aye, Sir Hugh."

"What of Master Tolling?"

"Arrested, sir. He managed to warn us; the red cloth in his window."

"We must assume that Tolling will talk," Hugh said, turning to Humphrey. "We must leave here immediately."

"He'll not talk," was the confident reply.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Has he never told you about his ring?"

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A bearer of bad news

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"Captain Rollo, sire," said the usher.

"Ah, good," said King Frank, "Show him in." His Majesty was in the private office where he preferred to conduct confidential business. It was a roomy chamber, south facing, cheerfully decorated with bright tapestries and a merry fire blazing in the hearth. "Rollo, how goes it?"

"Bad news, Sir."

"Oh, confound it! What bad news?"

"I regret to inform you that Master Tolling is dead."

"What, in Aslan's name, have you done to him?" the King raged, leaping to his feet and to conclusions.

"Nothing, sire!" the Captain protested, rather hurt. "Am I Captain of the Castle Guard or a cutthroat?"

"My apologies; please, continue," said the chastened king.

"Sir!" Rollo clicked his heel, as was his custom. "We took him to the Justice Room where he came over faint. We brought him some tea, bread and honey, as requested, to revive him. He ate and drank but then just keeled over; as dead as a butterfly at Christmas."

"Maybe his heart gave way?"

"He had the most contorted face I've ever had the misfortune of seeing. We sent for the barber-chirgeon who believes that Master Tolling was poisoned."

"If only Doctor Fortunatus were here!" Sadly, the good doctor was away in western parts. "Where did this poison come from?"

"I don't think we have to look too far. We're questioning the kitchen staff, as a matter of form, but there was a ring, of strange design, on Tolling's finger. There's a hidden compartment which can be opened."

"You think he poisoned himself?"

"To protect others? It seems probable. It's not for me to determine though."

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The Stone Table by moonlight

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They began to make their way towards that most ancient (many said sacred) of places. It was a cold, bright autumnal night and the moon sailed serenely in the sky. Those making their way slyly to the Stone Table included:

Misanthropes: such as the Knell brothers; two woodsmen who hated their fellow men. Not only did they hate but they liked to harm.

Misfits: Rowley was one such; an ageing carpenter that never made friends. He was unable to reconcile himself to that fact and was inclined to blame others.

Criminals : Aeldwulf and Oppa bandits lived outside the law, with prices on their heads. They saw a chance to be pardoned and to fill their purses.

Grudge holders: Saul and Gad had been minor officials at court but had long since been dismissed for misconduct.

Evil doers: Paulus Tumuli was spurned by his fellow fauns for his interest in dark magic and shocking views on the Emperor, Aslan and the royal household.

Together they – and some twenty others – called themselves 'the Circle'. All the members had undergone an initiation in sight of that very Stone Table. They'd made vows in the company of their fellows to usurp the throne and to restore The Lady, whom they considered rightful Queen of Narnia. Everyone had sworn terrible curses and defamed the great Lion and his still greater Father. Some had waited twenty years but now their dearest hope was doubtless to be realised: the White Lady would be summoned. They had the surety of aid from Black Dwarfs (those that had never seen the light of the world) in the northern wastes. With the Lady's magic and a Dwarfish axes, the land would be theirs. Sir Hugh – an undoubtedly competent, if slightly unpopular figure at court – would strike the King down and led the raiders into Cair Paravel.

"This is a great day for Narnia," Humphrey repeated, as they rode slowly towards their destination. They kept off the roads and tracks and made full use of any cover.

"Archenland next, my friend," Sir Hugh suggested.

"Yes indeed! Oh, that we might see the union of the two lands, under the rightful Queen."

"We'll see it. I'm rather hoping that Her Majesty will let me lead the assault on Archenland." Hugh patted his sword hilt in anticipation.

"Maybe she will; yes, why not," Humphrey agreed in a spirit of generosity to his co-conspirator. "You're just the man for the job!"

"I think so," the knight was confident.

"Still, let's not get ahead of ourselves." They rode on for a minute, wrapped in silence but not in darkness (for the moon was very fat). "Hullo, who's that?"

"Some of our people?" Hugh asked.

Humphrey stared at the three figures, "a faun and two men. Ah, Paulus, Aeldwulf and Oppa, I believe. You've met Paulus of course; come, I'll introduce you to two of the most wanted men in Narnia!" They spurred their horses on.

The company of the wicked, rebellious and misguided assembled near the ancient table, greeting each other with encouragements and nervous jokes. It lacked but half an hour until midnight and the entire Circle was soon present. The grass was too damp for sitting and everyone stood about, stamping their feet and clapping some warmth back into their hands. Nobody felt inclined to seat themselves on the cold stone either. Humphrey of Archenland circulated, reassuring everyone that this was their night. He kept patting the leather bag slung over his shoulder (it contained the requisite magical documents to summon their mistress).

Small creatures watched them from a safe distance, curious as to their intent. "Hullo, now what are you up to," a badger pondered. He watched for a time, not liking the look of the group and decided that he'd better report it to someone in the morning.

A large red squirrel, the most chatty of all Narnia's talking beasts, kept up a commentary to his wife. "That one's a faun – he's very ill of countenance – my word, look at the knight, whatever is he doing there? Now, what I think is this…"

"Ladies, gentlemen," Humphrey began, "magical creatures," he added hastily (having been shot a look by a disgruntled Dryad) "this is a great day for Narnia." Some cheers and 'hear hears' followed. "Today we begin to lift the yoke off our shoulders that has held us back so long."

"Aye," Tom Knell shouted in agreement, spitting on the ground.

"That's the spirit, brother," Humphrey agreed. "Without delay then, let us begin the ritual. I want you all to form a circle. Come on, spread out about the table, that's right. Just let me through, that's it." Humphrey made his way into the centre of the group and began to undo the straps of his bag.

"Here, can you see properly?" Hugh asked, taking his dark lantern, stepping forward, and letting out more light as he raised it.

"Erm, yes, thank you," Humphrey said. "You can leave that there," he suggested and the knight moved back into the circle. "Now, let me see," the man muttered, opening the book a crack. He opened it to a particular page and pulled out two loose sheets, on antique vellum, written in different hands.

"We begin with the spell of channelling." It had cost him dear to obtain that document. He'd been initiated into an esoteric order that met secretly in the tombs of the ancient kings, outside Tashbaan. "This will make the link between us and the Lady we seek." He weighted the loose leaf down and lifted up his hands – his eyes fixed upon the text. "By Father Sun, Mother Moon, by Tash, by…" he started the incantation.

By the end of the spell there was a palpable stillness to the air. Everyone was afraid to move for fear of breaking it. Humphrey turned to the next document, a spell to talk directly to the White Lady. He'd obtained it from an elderly magician by the banks of the Asha Hal Farl in Calormen. Later he'd almost lost it, escaping arrest at the The Fish Gate in Tashbaan. "Lady, I speak to you, Lady, I speak to you from Narnia…"

"What was that?" Clom Knell turned his head.

"Hush," said others.

"I heard something," Clom persisted. Humphrey hesitated as more of the Circle began to turn.

"Hooves," Paulus suggested.

They listened for a few more moments, "Many hooves!" Clom agreed, "They're upon us!"

The group began to part, uncertainly, ready to flee. It was too late. Horsemen bore down upon them from two directions. Soldiers carrying spears advanced from two other points. "Fly, you fools," Humphrey cried. With a wail, the group tried (unsuccessfully) to scatter into the night. Humphrey began to fumble his bag open, to protect the spell book and papers, only to find a sword at his throat. "Humphrey of Archenland," said Sir Hugh, "You are hereby arrested for treason and you will surrender yourself into my custody."

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Hugh (or Pubert Hubert)

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"A good fellow that," said Sir Henry Falls, chief of the Royal Companions. King Frank raised an eyebrow quizzically and Henry laughed. "Well, he is, at heart." They watched as Sir Hugh's fellow knights clustered about him, admiring his ceremonial spurs and the device of their order on his shield.

"Sir Pubert Hubert," his Majesty reflected, "what a troublesome child he was. You realise that he'll say 'I told you so' innumerable times?

"Nonsense," Sir Henry said stoutly, "He'd not say that to you."

"Oh he won't say it to me," the King agreed ruefully, "It's what he'll say to others though."

"Well, one can't blame him for that," said Falls fairly.

"It must be ten years since he first warned me about Tolling; several times in fact." The King shrugged, "How was I to give countenance to such a tale from such a child?"

"It would be difficult indeed." The conversation paused as they watched Sir Hugh hoisted onto his companions' shoulders.

"When he came to me – a couple of years back – I was obliged to give more credence to his tale. After all, he was knighted, skilled at arms, and a courtier."

"A perfect spy too, by nature."

"Mm, I confess that he fitted the role well. He'd found a way into Tolling's confidence for months before he came to me."

Huzzah – huzzah – huzzah; three cheers rang across the courtyard.

"And saved Narnia, perhaps?"

"And saved Narnia, perhaps! Come, let's congratulate him some more; I've room for another portion of humble pie."

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THE END

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Glossary

Tom Fool: an insult

Five trees: a tree was a Narnian coin

Tisroc's pet monkey: a popular Narnian nursery tale

End up on a scaffold: born to be hanged

Old Mother Sharp: a Narnian folk tale; the lady, known for being indiscreet is ignored when she hears of genuine peril

Queen Eliza's three legged donkey: a Narnian folk tale. The early Queen was known for her domesticity and lack of grandeur

Barber-chirgeon: Both barber and surgeon (being in possession of razors and scissors)

Fish gate: where fishermen enter Tashbaan with their catch

Humble pie: to eat humble pie is to recognise when one has been wrong