CANDY
Chapter Nine
We ate breakfast in the TARDIS; Nyssa had gotten Tegan into bed so I carried my plate to her bedside and watched her chew listlessly on a piece of toast. "There were two of them," she whispered. "The one who had me got off his horse to pee. I jumped off, kicked him and ran. Doctor, I had to leave the prince behind! I couldn't get him. He was slung over the other guy's horse, in front of him, unconscious. I tried! I did try!"
"I know you did, Tegan." I didn't want to press her but her distress was visible just below the surface; her calm, such as it was, was illusory. I had a sudden thought, though. "Tegan, can you tell me, when you reached the palace, when you were running away, which door did you use?"
"The nearest door when I got out of the field… well, I came out on the side of the palace, the kitchen side, so I went through woods and gardens and found the kitchen door again. The kitchen people are so nice. They brought me here." She set the toast loose on the night stand, slid down under the covers and closed her eyes. I didn't disturb her further.
I put my half-empty breakfast dish down in the tea room, told Nyssa and Felsy to wait in the TARDIS, and went back out to find the princess.
The attendant knew where she was – not in the dining hall, nor in the throne room, nor even in her suite. She was in one of the gardens, in a gazebo at its center, and not to be disturbed by anyone but me. I was brought directly to her. She rose to greet me, which was against protocol, but she did so to take my hands and inquire after Tegan and Felsy. If ever there was a royal personage in complete control of herself, even under extreme stress, Princess Regent Vanessa was she; my clothing didn't raise so much as a twitch of the lips, much less an eyebrow, and she warmly inquired after my well-being, She knew her son had not been found and didn't bother asking about him.
"Your Highness," I said, "I need to borrow a horse. Now that the rain has almost run its course, or at least I hope it has, I must go search for the prince."
She didn't question me at all; she nodded and called an attendant to make sure my request was fulfilled. I was led to the stables, where I waited while a fine-looking palomino stallion, Haliford, was tacked up for me, then accepted an unnecessary boost into the saddle. The tack was western but I can ride either way. "Is he fast?" I asked, from 17 hands up.
"The fastest," I was assured. Off I trotted, around to the back of the palace. Despite Tegan's information, I rode as far as the door Nyssa and I had found the day before, then turned left and walked Haliford through the still-muddy brush, trotted him down the path, then cantered through the fields of cane; there were paths through that, which is a good thing, as the cane was already tall.
It took us 17 hours to reach the cliff. I did occasionally glance to either side as we went, but it was impossible to see through the jointed stalks, still glistening with raindrops. It sprinkled, stopped, sprinkled again. I didn't care. My mind tends to wander, or perhaps I should say it tends to cycle through possibilities. I didn't allow it to do so; the variables were endless, daunting, and I didn't need distraction. Haliford was focused too and left the sugarcane alone. There were tall grasses at the clifftop and he grazed there. I patted him and said "Good boy." Then I looked down: way down.
"You stay here," I told the horse. "I would prefer not to slip and slide over muddy rocks if at all possible. There may be an actual path, and if so, that is bound to be arduous enough." Haliford gave me a sympathetic look, or so I felt. We'd had water breaks and I'd brought apples for him (I also ate one along the way and stuck yet another into my pocket for later) and, thanks to the young assistant cook, tuna sandwiches for myself. Now I poured the last of the water into a pan I'd brought in the saddle bag and set it where Haliford could enjoy it. I rummaged through my pockets but they were the wrong me's pockets. The autographed yo-yo I had managed to keep through my regenerations, although the one I found now was not yet autographed, would not be of use. I was disappointed to find no cricket ball, but I did find what I needed: a handkerchief with the embroidered initials V.W. and of course a ball of string. I used my teeth to cut a small length of string, removed the princess' ring from my pinky finger, wrapped it in the handkerchief and tied it securely with one end of the string. With the other end of the string I tied the makeshift sack with the ring in it to a hook inside the saddlebag. Whether Haliford waited for me or went home, the ring would be secure. I patted him once more, turned right and began to walk along the edge of the cliff. The cane stopped a couple meters shy of the edge, so there was room for me to walk if I didn't hurry… or trip. (I did neither.) I was looking for a gentler way down than the sheer cliff face promised.
I looked farther down, too, where clearly no path existed, to see if I could locate a body. I hated doing this. I didn't want to find a body, not the prince's, not anyone's, but I had to look; if the prince was dead, the princess would need to know for sure. To my horror, I did spot something half on, half off of a chalky projection, at least a hundred meters down. There was no path here, much less the remains of a stairway. Some beech trees were growing out of impossible nooks; I felt I had no choice but to start carefully down the escarpment, sliding on my butt until I came to a tree and using the branches to lower myself further, hoping a jutting platform might not turn out to be an insecure or crumbling rock, and that a seemingly strong branch might not snap and hurl me down to my death.
Oddly, it never occurred to me to wonder how in Shellaran I was going to get back up to Grigs. I was focused on getting down to what I had seen. I suppose that focus saved my life, as I had many near-misses and slips. Not looking down would have helped but I had to make sure I was headed for what now looked increasingly like a body… and less and less like a child's body. It also looked less and less reachable. Between the last tree branch and my object was a sheer, bare drop, much too far to jump, even if I could count on landing next to the body, count on not knocking it off its perch, count on not being knocked off myself. I lowered myself down to that last branch to get the best look I was likely to have; the body was made of straw. Someone had chucked a scarecrow over a cliff.
Now I was stuck on the side of a cliff with no way up, no way down and not a lot of prospects for moving laterally. I might as well have been the scarecrow that got chucked over.
Far too much was speeding through my mind so I turned it all off, channeled my energies into my body instead. I clung to the tree branch, which was trying to right itself and drag me upward. I wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing; it might or might not drag me all the way to my last perch or to any kind of perch. It was impossible to look up and see what my chances were anyway so I looked to my right, then to my left, then back to my right. I was facing outward, which was awkward but I couldn't have seen below me had I been facing the cliff, safer though that might have been. Now that my goal was no longer to reach a specific point below me but rather to get down, any point "down," safely if possible but at any rate alive, I didn't need to see a destination; all I needed was to find a foothold everywhere I sought it.
I turned very, very slowly, hanging onto the branch with both hands, then one hand while the free hand crossed it, then both hands, until I was facing the cliff and not open air. There was something comforting about that, apart from the fact that I could see the little indentations that might be used as hand- and footholds. There was one at eye level to my left. I let go of the branch with my left hand and reached for the crimp. It hadn't got enough room for a good grip, but if I could get some of my fingers in, I had a chance. Luckily, I didn't have to let go of the branch to reach the crimp, but after I forced a couple of fingers in I needed to find somewhere to secure my right hand once I did let go. I clung to the crimp and the branch and felt a bit like a turkey wishbone. I was desperate to get my feet onto the side of the cliff instead of having them dangle. My plimsolls would have had some traction, even on the face of a cliff that looked so sheer at a distance - up close it was pocked with all manner of holdfasts – but my ankle boots were slippery. There was a crack right in front of me that had been hidden by the branch. I held my breath, let go of the branch, felt my fingers begin to slip out of the crimp, shoved most of my right hand into the crack and pulled myself forward… and got slammed against the cliff as the branch sprang back, swatting me.
I could feel my nose start to bleed but I hadn't fallen and I'd retaken the crimp. Now my feet felt about for a foothold I couldn't have known about while dropping from ledge to ledge by playing Tarzan with the trees. Most of the irregularities in the escarpment were too small to feel with these boots on, and I wasn't about to take them off (not that I could reach them). Then I did find a foothold that let me shift my weight slightly to the left, enough of a move to see a pocket, just big enough for a finger or two, beyond the crimp. I had to stretch for it, and walk my feet across a surface whose raison d'être was to trip me, then ready or not, let go of the crack and aim for that crimp. Having achieved that, I spent some time with my hearts in my throat, remembering how to breathe, getting my fingers nice and sore, and nosebleeding all over my pathetic bow tie and faded (and now dusty) white shirt.
It seemed to me that my old scarf might have come in handy just then. Fashion has consequences.
After a long while, my labors were rewarded by the appearance of more cracks, and some flakes, not appreciably more footholds, but at any rate enough surface variation to allow me to progress not only leftward but, obliquely, downward. Naturally, it began to rain, not a drizzle slowly gaining momentum but a sudden blinding downpour, and the now-slippery holdfasts were all but useless. I scrabbled for them but lost my grip and slid I don't even know how far, just far, scraped my hands, truly thought I was a dead man, although my lives did not pass before my eyes; when you've lived as many lives as I have, you just haven't got time for all that.
I landed on a ledge, bounced halfway off it, caught it with my sore fingers and pulled myself back up onto it. It was larger than any I'd found up to that point but it wasn't level; it tilted at a 45-degree angle and I had to hang onto the upper end by my armpits. This did give some relief to my fingers, but I couldn't see much in that position; I couldn't see much anyway, through those sheets of rain, which, on the other hand, not only washed my face but (I later found out) also laundered the blood out of my shirt and tie. I don't know how many hours I clung to that ledge, my eyes closed against the rain, afraid of sliding off, also afraid of somehow dozing off and letting go, and sometimes tempted to do so. A powerful, disturbing sense of deja vu was creeping over me.
Then something did creep over me and I almost jumped out of my skin and off the ledge. I opened my eyes and saw a small animal scoot into a hole in the cliff face. How I saw that through the driving rain I'll never know, but the hole was just next to my ledge and a little above it, it was one of many, and it was large enough for a man to crawl into. Its depth I couldn't determine but the grigna – surely it was a grigna – had disappeared into it.
When the rain settled down into a gentle drizzle, I shifted to face the cliff, as I had flattened myself as best I could against the surface of the ledge, and carefully let go with one hand in order to feel for holes I could reach. I stuck my hand into one and found I could get my entire forearm in without hitting a wall (or a grigna). I turned and stuck my other arm in, my legs now dangling over the front of the ledge. I pulled myself all the way into the hole. It was dark in there, but so much time had passed that it was now dark outside as well, and my eyes didn't have much trouble adjusting to the darkness.
My intention was to turn around and peer out of the entrance to the hole, looking down to see if I had made noticeable progress down the escarpment. Instead, I felt around and discovered that for one thing, the hole, or at least the part of it I was in, was as large as a tiny cave, or den, and for another, I was not alone; there were a few pairs of glowing eyes observing me but not interfering with me. I thought I might spend the night in this little shelter. I had given Haliford the last of the water but that couldn't be helped. There was a lip to the hole, and the lip had an indentation that held some of the raindrip. I could duck my head and lap it up if I didn't mind sharing it with the resident grigna.
The drizzle ramped up into a thunderstorm, making my decision for me.
I pulled out one of my tuna sandwiches, ripped off a little crust and threw it to my erstwhile roommates so they might leave me alone as I consumed the rest. I lapped up a little raindrip and then, against my better judgment, tucked into the second sandwich, donating only half of the crust this time. When I was done I curled up for a nap. When I awoke, four grignas were snuggling at my side.
Light from the outside illuminated my shelter. The rain was gone and so, as soon as I stirred, were the grignas. I lay on my stomach and peeked over the edge, past the lip, looked down and saw nothing to make me think the rest of my downward journey would be any easier than it had been so far. Drawing back and turning, I was not surprised to see that the space extended farther than I had imagined, but stunned to see that its dimensions were more than adequate for exploration by a mammal of my size; no grigna or group of grignas had carved out this hole, nor had they fortified it with branches of beech. This was man-made.
Every time I regenerate, I am a new person. Oh, I'm still me, but a new me. One characteristic that seems to hold steady from me to me is my curiosity. It will be my downfall (again). Once in a while, though, it is a lifesaver.
I hadn't crawled far into the hole when it widened into full caveness. I stood up and observed. There was a passageway straight ahead, and one to either side. The walls were grooved, as if dug out by serrated equipment. How had anyone gotten any kind of equipment up here, and why? Curtlo obviously had technology undreamt of by Grigs, which hadn't even got horseless vehicles. Haliford! At least I hadn't hitched him to anything; there hadn't been anything but sugarcane to which I could have hitched him. Surely he knew the way back on his own; when he arrived riderless at the stables, what would everyone think? Would a search party be sent out for me? Even the search party sent out for the prince hadn't reached the promontory. Nyssa and Tegan would be stranded, as would I be if I managed to return to the cane fields. How long a walk is a 17-hour ride on horseback?
Ahead in the distance I saw a glint of metal. That's where I headed, and when I got there I was astonished to see that what I'd discovered was a metal ladder that led, from here, only upward. I turned around and went back to the intersection and looked both ways, then turned left. At the end of that passageway was the beginning of a ladder going down. "What goes down," I said aloud, "can be climbed back up." I began my descent.