Abigail Malprice must save the remnant of Old Narnia that she glimpsed. This is the third 'Streddling story' and it contains no bad language or violence.

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Survival in Narnia

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The sands run out

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"Madam is off a' rambling," the maidservant complained, entering the kitchen.

"She'll be in that wretched wood again," Cook decided. She poured two cups of that strong, native tea that the Telmarines had adopted with such enthusiasm.

"One day she'll come a cropper."

The afternoon came and it was time again for nuncheon; the mistress of the house generally took bread, butter and a small cake. The maid began to fret and by late afternoon she despatched the manservant and the gardener to look for her. "Try Spink Wood," she suggested unnecessarily. Less than an hour later they brought back shocking news and a body, on a board, followed.

It had been little more than half past four in the morning but sunlight had streamed through the windows. Abigail regularly bickered with her maid over the drawing of curtains in the summer. "It isn't proper," was Mary's usual parting shot whilst beating a reluctant retreat. It would be foolish, of course, to get up at that hour, for Abigail was liable to fall asleep during the afternoon. Nevertheless, her feet had fumbled for her slippers.

There it was, Spink Wood, much closer to Malprice House than in her youth. The new trees on the other side of the Stickledyke were already thirty years of age and flourishing. The rear lawn, always home to wild flowers, was a positive riot of colour. She'd long since forbidden cutting at the height of summer. Midsummer had a particular resonance for Abigail and there was nothing she liked better then than to walk in the wood. She'd fully intended to go at a sensible hour, with breakfast inside her and Jack Handy in attendance. She knew though, as soon as she woke, that she must go alone. It was somewhat typical of her anyway. Fey Abby they called her behind her back, in the servants' hall and in the town. She was well aware and cared not a fig.

Being an adult of seventy, Abigail was perfectly able to clothe herself even if Mary would remonstrate later. She chose a light summer dress and found a fresh tucker for her neck and shoulders. Abigail was a wealthy woman and could, perhaps, have been an important one. She preferred though to live a simpler life in the country, avoiding the formalities of court and the bustle of town as far as possible. The stairs creaked annoyingly; she smiled at the thought of tiptoeing downstairs so as not to alert her maid. The household keys, which hung from her waist by a chain, clanked noisily as she had unlocked the back door.

There's an unearthly quality about being alone with nature, at so early an hour in the middle of summer. It's like no one else exists. There's a strange sense of being outside of time, for the day is ready but man is not. Abigail trod lightly over the lawn, avoiding the flowers as best she could. It felt like that first ever morning. Her light summer shoes were soon soaked and she left prints in the dew. A small but serviceable wooden bridge, five feet in length, spanned the Stickledyke. As a girl she'd had to use wooden planks to sneak away. "Good morning, Pines," she said brightly, as she entered the trees. "My, you're doing well," she told the azaleas and hydrangeas she'd had planted. It will sound odd if I say that there was a welcoming atmosphere, but it is true, if hard to explain. "Good morning ladies," Fey Abby greeted a clump of Pines, "I hope you're well". Farmer Hayseed, whose land abutted Malprice House, told people bluntly, 'the woman is tapped; she's got mice in the attic; if she wasn't rich, she'd be locked up somewhere for her own safety.'

Abigail passed from the new trees into Spink Wood proper. There were signs staked into the ground with various warnings: no logging – pick fallen wood only – no fires. Sir Philipo Plumptious (now aged but an erstwhile suitor) favoured mantraps but she'd have none of those foul things on her land. "Anyone may walk in Spink Wood, my friend, as the law allows, but they must respect it," she'd told him. "Ladies;" Abigail acknowledged a group of Spruce trees clustered about a bend in the path.

Eventually the elderly lady reached the hollow at the centre of the wood. It was a place that meant much to her. She hadn't expected to meet anyone and she was so lost in old, happy memories, that she didn't see a man sat on the mossy boulder. "Oh!"

"Good morning," he said gravely.

She looked at the stranger. He seemed neither young nor old. He was simply yet strikingly dressed in a pure white robe that pooled about his feet. "Hullo! Forgive me for I didn't expect to see anyone, Lord."

There was something about him that commanded respect, although he displayed neither wealth nor obvious might. "Why do you call me Lord?" he wondered.

"Are you not a lord, my Lord?"

"No, I am not a lord, pray don't call me Lord," the stranger decided. "I am but a servant".

"What brings you here, at such an hour?"

"Is it not beautiful?" he said rhetorically.

"I think so."

"And you've been here so many times." It was a statement not a question yet Abigail didn't even wonder how he knew.

"Indeed I have."

"But now it is time to go somewhere far greater, Abigail."

"Is it? Is it really?"

The man nodded, "You know it is."

Abigail sighed. "I understand," she replied, for she now realised that her time was done. "Suddenly it all seems far too short though. I do want to go of course; it's just that I'm nervous now that it's finally here."

"Don't be nervous, for this is just a shadow of the things that lie ahead. Come."

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A woman of substance

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That Abigail Malprice had reached the age of thirty unmarried had been something of a scandal amongst the great people of the area. Her father had been Comptroller of Revenues (South) which was as important and as dull a job as it sounds. Her mother, Wisteria, had high hopes that her pretty daughter would make what was once called 'a good match' amongst the gentry or lower nobility. Her hopeful parents were killed when their carriage slid from the road in icy weather, in an isolated spot. Abigail went to stay with her Aunt Cecilia and ailing Uncle Frank. Whilst living at Malprice House, just outside Streddling, the girl came face to face with 'Old Narnia' and it changed her life forever. 'Fey Abby' – 'Fairy Abigail' – 'Moon kissed Malprice' folks called her. Despite her aunt's best efforts at discretion, word spread.

Cecilia, having finally succeeded her late husband as Sherriff, died of Scyne fever but a year later. Abigail, their sole heir, was twenty two at the time, being ten months too young to legally inherit a large estate. She might well have been made a ward of court and had her inheritance plucked to swell the royal coffers. Happily, arrangements had been made for Mr Peruke - a fussy, fusty old lawyer – to oversee the estate. He obfuscated and adjourned, quibbled and argued for the whole ten months. Seemingly everything needed clarification, debate or testing. To the great irritation of Sir Barabbas Entitlement, of the Court of the King's Bench, Abigail reached full legal maturity with her inheritance undiminished. A wealthy woman, free from the obligation to marry, she became mistress of Malprice House.

Abigail took regular walks in Spink Wood, especially in summer when the days were long and the weather fine. For proprieties sake she might be accompanied by a maid or her aunt's elderly groom. On other occasions she dispensed with company and ventured out alone. The locals tended to stay away from the place, except to gather firewood and even then they didn't venture too far inside. It wasn't an ancient wood by any standards. It had begun, two centuries earlier, as a mere plantation. It wasn't used for logging, for deciduous trees such as oaks were in far greater demand. What gave the place its bad reputation were the so-called 'witches'. Five peace officers had sought to break up authorised revels in the wood, one midsummer evening, only to find themselves confronted by something entirely unexpected. "Demons, they were," Doggy Halfacre would declare. For the price of a pint of ale, he'd tell people the full story any Saturday night in the Bag O' Nails alehouse. "Like women but the wildest you ever saw – eyes like lizards – nails like a wolf's claws'. They'd run – all five of them – 'a-feared for our lives with 'em clawing at our shirttails and ready to tear us apart, as like as not.' Pursuers and pursued had torn through Spink Wood, along the portentously named Backhouse Lane, to the very edge of town. Only then did they, like the guilty, find that they still fled "when no man pursueth."

Damon Greasemore, known as Gallows Greasemore, that infamous, bold, corrupt Constable was a broken man thereafter. Unwilling to leave Streddling after dark, he was of little use as an officer of the law. He became a gaoler in the little kidcote, where his illegal activity was reduced to petty pilfering from prisoners. "She's in on it," he'd say darkly, if the subject ever arose, "that witch girl up at Malprice House. She's one of them I reckon." Fortunately for Abigail, her family's social standing (and Greasemore's obvious nervous condition) saved her from any serious investigation.

None of the gaoler's allegations were true, you understand. Miss Abigail Malprice had met old Silenus in Spink Wood one auspicious midsummer eve. He'd taught her about Aslan, the great Lion, through whom all things were made. Silenus had roused the tree spirits – the dryads – from their slumber and they'd talked, laughed and danced. It had been quite unlike anything Abigail had ever known and so much more real. On Cecilia Malprice's orders, Greasemore had led a posse of men into Spink Wood the following day, in the hope of finding the revellers. Find revellers they did, too, but very different revellers. Bacchus and his wild girls were celebrating what was, to them, a new wood. If you know about those girls then you know how very unwise it is for men to venture close (especially fellows such as Peter Plough and Damon Greasemore).

Some years went by and Abigail began to lose hope of ever meeting 'Old Narnians' again. She still walked the woods, talking to the trees, but they remained obstinately silent. Then, one fine spring afternoon, as Abigail strolled along a path that led to her favourite hollow, she felt a hand on her arm.

Where the gulls go

The Lone Islands were, nominally at least, a Narnian overseas territory. That seemingly straight forward fact was rather complicated as Old Narnia was no more. The Telmarines had entered it, unopposed, well over a century earlier. Some Islanders felt - not unnaturally - that they were under no sort of obligation to the successor state. A small but vocal faction actually wanted closer ties with Calormen. They were mainly merchants, some of whom saw money to be made in exchanging Calormene wine for illicit Calormene spirits (such as Jinniver and Canban). Several contemplated the traffic of enslaved people but – happily – others could see them for what they were. Many Lone Islanders, used to their long standing ties to Narnia, preferred to keep the old allegiance. After all, they argued, it's better to be a more or less autonomous territory of Narnia than end up as a Calormene naval base.

His Sufficiency, Governor Wineleas, was one of those inclined to Narnia. He could envisage, all too clearly, being supplanted by a Calormene Satrap. He'd employed the islands' premier lawyer, Augustus Folio, to make the legal case. All manner of ancient documents had been retrieved from damp cellars and rusty strongboxes proving – beyond legal doubt at least – that the de facto Kings of Narnia remained the rulers of the Lone Islands. That they were Telmarine mattered not a jot, Folio told the three presiding Judges. In the end, the cowed Judges agreed with Mister Folio. All that remained was for Governor Wineleas to reaffirm the agreement and that would be the end of the matter.

The Telmarine ambassador had returned to Narrowhaven in the modest two-decker, 'Pride of Telmar'. Their distant ancestors had been seafaring people but, after settling in Telmar, they'd rather lost their taste for it. In fact their most distant forefathers had been pirates, although most polite families preferred not to poke about in their family histories. Only after taking Narnia, with its eastern seaboard and historic, if modest, overseas possessions, did Telmarines venture back out onto the waves. The castle and sea defences of the Lone Islands would prove inadequate against a determined enemy fleet such as Calormen might provide. The guards had the air of out of amateur thespians putting on a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Their armour was rusty, their weapons had surely been put to agricultural use and their bearing was sloppy. Tobias Windlass noted this whilst being escorted to the governor's office and he found it all rather depressing. "Of course," Wineleas told the Telmarine envoy, "I'm doing this in the face of some pretty stiff opposition, I can tell you."

"And his Majesty appreciates that and thanks you for it," said the courteous diplomat.

"The legal case is looking good but I still need to 'sell it,' you understand, to some very influential people."

"I see…" Master Tobias sensed what was in the wind. If Narnia wanted the Islands continued loyalty then Narnia would have to pay for it.

"Certain traditions have long since lapsed. If we are to restore old relationships then we must restore old traditions…"

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In the Bag o' Nails

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"What good's that wood?" Mrs Hospitaller asked, dunking a mug into an ale barrel. "There you are, love." Most people had only just finished work for the evening but her 'best room' was quickly filling up with thirsty men.

Granville Hobhouse took the foaming cup. "None, I'd have thought. You'd need good hardwood or at least more durable softwood for a ship, I reckon." Being a baker he was no expert, but he liked to give others the benefit of his opinions.

"Ah, well, that just shows as you've never gone to sea, doesn't it," Piers Leeward objected. At the age of eighty – and being well travelled – he considered his own opinions on most matters to be conclusive. "There's decking and interior fittings, you see, not to mention frames and ribs for small boats. Oh, there's plenty that can be done with pine that you sons o' the soil don't know about."

"I don't care whether it makes masts or beanpoles," the Town Clerke said, irritated, "Spink Wood is common land and it ain't for the King to make himself free with it."

"Oh aye, you're going to stop 'im are ye, Master Pert? I'd like to see you try!" Old Leeward chuckled, earning a scowl.

"The law is the law," Joseph Goodworth (Town Clerke) said, trying to have the last word but failing.

"Kings don't give a cod's head for your law," Leeward retorted.

"Anyone who goes in that infernal wood deserves all he gets, anyway," Doggy Halfacre decided. Most tried to suppress smiles but couldn't. "Oh, I hear you lot, sniggering," Doggy said bitterly, "But you didn't see what we saw: witches, ghouls, wampyrs!"

"Wampyrs now, is it?" Mrs Hospitaller teased.

"I won't be rude to a lady," Doggy told her, with gritted teeth, "But I only hope you never see what we saw."

"Chased you all the way back into town, didn't they?" Hobhouse pressed.

"They did and we're lucky we lived to tell the tale!"

"Hey, your Miss Malprice isn't going to be happy, is she, Bob Waterside?"

The elderly gardener, who'd been listening carefully, shook his head. "No, Mr Goodworth, she isn't going to be happy; not one bit."

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The Council is in session

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It was reasonable to question the sobriety of the builder who planned Streddling Towne Hall. The stonework was drab and grey, the windows a little too small, the front door unnecessarily large, whilst the roof descended far too low. A notice warned any literate thieves that money was not keep on the premises overnight. Inside there was a room for the Treasury Clerkes, an office for the Town Clerke, a small strong-room (for official documents) and the Council Chamber. The benches and tables of the Council Chamber were of a very heavy, sombre wood. It was intended to quell any unnecessary levity.

The Council met every second week unless an 'extraordinary meeting' was called. For the meeting that we are about to intrude on, all six Aldermen were in attendance and so no proxies were required. Master Cutthrust, the Sherriff, was present on behalf of the crown. Joseph Goodworth chaired the session, supported by a junior clerke as recorder. "And so we come to the final and most important item, number five, Spink Wood," said Goodworth. "Mister Peruke – our most eminent lawyer – will be called to set out the legalities of ownership." It was of course necessary that the law be heard (if not necessarily followed) before any ballot. In the event of deadlock between the six Alderman, the Towne Clerke might have the casting vote if he so chose. "We will hear a written submission from:

Miss Abigail Malprice of Malprice House

We will hear from submissions in person from:

Mister Thos. Facet, representing the 'Townsmen' bonfire society

Farmer Wm. Braislet of Clovis' Ditch representing the 'Bonefire Society'

We of course look forward to hearing their most interesting observations or proposals in due course…"

We might do well to leave the meeting there for, as is the way of such things, it continued in a similarly dull fashion for far too long.

A plea for help

"Oh!" Abigail had turned, startled, on feeling an unexpected hand on her shoulder. It was a heavy hand too, not to mention large. For a moment it seemed as if a weighty branch of a pine tree had plumped itself down upon her. Even as she looked it became, suddenly and obviously, a hand. No doubt you or I should panic but Abigail realised that she was looking at a tree spirit. She wasn't afraid but was very curious, for she'd never met a male Pine (or any other masculine tree sprite). "You startled me," she declared, her tone factual rather than accusatory.

"My apologies," the spirit answered gravely. He was tall, at eight feet he towered over the young woman. He was gaunt and very weather beaten. He wore a brown, ill fitting robe that was quite frankly tatty. On his head was a wreath of egg shaped pinecones. He exuded the strong, sharp sweet scent of a Pine tree.

"That's alright; I'm actually very glad to see you."

"My name is Alphesiboeus."

'Golly, I hope I can remember that', she thought (but was too polite to remark). "My name is Abigail, Abigail Malprice."

"I know, for I have seen you many times. I once saw you dance with my sisters."

Abigail wondered why he hadn't joined them on that unforgettable night, but didn't like to pry. "I like your sisters very much," she told him truthfully.

Alphesiboeus made a very stiff bow. She wondered if he might creak, but he didn't. "There have been men in the wood – strange men – who talk of alarming things. I have been elected to speak to you."

"I'm very happy that you have!"

"We need your help, Abigail-Abigail Malprice."

The Dowager is alarmed

"There's some ill feeling in the town," the young King said, dropping down into a cushioned chair. It was a warm afternoon in a week that seemed likely to become hotter still. He'd been out riding and heard grumbling amongst the townsfolk. By design he'd headed over to the Council chamber to find out the fruit of their deliberations.

The Dowager Queen mother called for her page to remove her son's muddy riding boots. That done, she said, "What of it?"

"They don't want to lose their wood."

"Tsk!"

"It's all very well saying 'tsk' mother, but the fact remains that it's common land and they've every right to it."

"You sound like a pettifogging lawyer," she complained.

"Fetch me some elderflower cordial, Arthur," the King instructed the serving boy. "I won't squander the people's goodwill lightly, Mother."

"Well you're the King and they'll just have to put up with it."

"They haven't even put it to a vote yet; they've adjourned the matter for seven days." The king began to pluck at the wrinkles in his silk hose (for he was something of a dandy). "I'm not satisfied with these," he observed.

"You need to sort your priorities out, Xander," his mother scolded.

"Hm. I say; Miss Malprice was there! She's an awfully pretty girl, isn't she?"

"Girl! She's an old maid; she must be thirty if she is a day! Such a disappointment she would have been to her poor aunt Cecilia, had she lived."

"Well, she looks much younger," Xander maintained.

The young king – easily the most eligible bachelor in the land – should have married already in his mother's opinion. His father's unexpected death and Xander's accession to the throne had kept him too busy to think seriously of matrimony. The Dowager Queen continued to scheme and match-make but with no success. The one thing she didn't want was her son's fancy to turn to a mature woman, of no great rank, considered by most to be 'moon kissed'. "I hope you haven't got any... designs in that direction!"

"Mother!"

"Well, Abigail Malprice is an oddity and she's no spring chicken."

"I said she's a pretty girl; I didn't say I want to marry her!"

"And as I said, Xander, she's no girl."

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The Dowager interferes

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"Ma'am, ma'am, there's company." Martha, the second maid, came running to find her mistress. Abigail was in the kitchen, a dusty apron over her shabby old dress, making jam. The cook, who resented incursions on her territory, clattered about, tidying up, with a jaundiced eye.

"Really?"

"Ma'am, it's the Queen… well, the Dowager Queen!"

"Goodness," Abigail remarked. She was quite unconcerned, for she'd seen far stranger beings than the Queen Mother. Queen Clothilde was waiting in the best parlour, drinking water and wine. Abi's senior maid, Eliza, had used her initiative and already brought dishes of comfits and nuts. "I am honoured, Majesty," Abigail said, sinking into an appropriately deep bow. She'd found time at least to don a clean apron.

"Yes, well, I was just passing," Clothilde lied, "and thought I'd drop in on the niece of my poor friend, Cecilia."

Miss Malprice couldn't recall her late aunt being the lady's particular friend, but she let the statement stand without as much as a blink. The Queen talked of this and that and Abigail mostly listened, agreeing here and there for the sake of politeness. After such general chitchat, Clothilde began to show an unexpected interest in Abigail's own affairs, particularly in the matter of suitors. The younger woman, startled, had little to tell and wondered what had occasioned such an interrogation. It was only when talk turned to King Xander and the 'great match' that he was expected to make that the truth began to dawn on her. 'Really, it is so absurd', she thought. 'She actually thinks I have designs on her son, or that he has designs on me!' She did her very best not to laugh at the sheer oddity of the idea. It was only after this verbal battering that the Dowager – seemingly satisfied – turned deftly to another matter.

A deal is struck

The Queen Mother's letter came as a great surprise to all but one present at the next council meeting. "We are writing regarding Spink Wood and a proposal that we are smiling upon…" The observant reader will have noticed that Clothilde favoured the 'royal we'.

The Crown's need for wood to supply the Lone Islands remained. There was however a suitable plantation nearer the coast and the owner was willing to sell. 'Of course, if someone was to buy Spink Wood, it would free up some capital," the Dowager had told Abigail. Normally of course, Clothilde wouldn't have concerned herself with such mundane and sordid financial transactions. Her concern for her son, however, overrode her scruples.

Abigail was rather a wealthy woman, for one without rank. "But, Majesty, forgive me, is it really yours (that is the Crown's) to sell?"

"I'm reliably informed that the wood is precious to you, yes?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"So you would want to buy it?"

"Yes, I would," Abigail had admitted.

"Well, the trick then is to show the council that it is in everyone's best interest."

Called before the Council, Abigail made her proposal in person. "I would lease Spink Wood; for a fee that I have already discussed with her Majesty." Now that was a handsome sum indeed and would take one quarter of Abigail's wealth. It was however an amount she was happy to part with. "The Treasury would get the fee to do with as they see fit. The lease would last for the duration of my life after which, the land would revert to the town council. Allow me to go into details, gentlemen…"

The proposals were considered most satisfactory. Although there would be no logging, or lighting of fires, local residents would have full access to the wood for small game, wood gathering or recreational purposes. From the date of Abigail's demise, those particular terms would remain in force for not less than one century. In return, the Crown would immediately relinquish all claims to the place, leaving no doubt over ownership. Abigail would pay an additional small sum to fund another schoolteacher for ten years. "Well, I think we should put it to the vote," the Town Clerke said when they were all talked out.

All but one of the Aldermen accepted the offer. The sixth (a cantankerous old fellow whose knee was troubling him) was generally considered to 'playing up'. Word spread throughout the town and there was general approval, even if many considered that 'Fey Abby' was as addled as they'd always feared. Only some of the children were actually unhappy, at the prospect of yet more school.

"Well, we're all safe," Abigail told the listening trees, that night, as she meandered through the wood. "I'm sure you can hear me, so sleep tight now, for all is well and will remain so for a very long time."

'Thank you – we can – we will – we'll see you soon,' the soft voices, from the trees, whispered in reply. 'Come back, one night when we're less sleepy.'

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The end

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Glossary

Clerke Clerke (archaic)

Kidcote A small, lock up gaol (English, archaic)

Nuncheon A light mid-afternoon repast (archaic)

Scyne Trans. shining (Old English)

Satrap A provincial governor in the ancient Persian empire

No Spring chicken One who isn't young

When no man pursueth Extract from Proverbs 28:1

Wineleas Trans. friendless (Old English)