~ by Hannah Skipper
In the middle of a bright afternoon, on the second day after Lord Highland arrived, Lucy, freshly washed and glowing with her usual sparkle after another round of cleaning the grounds, breezed through the hallways of Cair Paravel, on her way to invite the governor to take afternoon tea with her. She had gotten over her hesitation about having this meeting—after all, Peter was right, wasn’t he? There wasn’t any reason for Lord Highland to intentionally treat her poorly—she figured that she must be overreacting.
She hiked her skirts to sail down a short flight of stairs and crashed headlong into Edmund, who was coming out a door at the bottom.
“Whoa, there,” he said, as he grabbed on to her to steady himself and nearly threw them both off their feet. When they regained their balance, he asked, “Where are you running off to?”
“I was going to invite Lord Highland for afternoon tea.”
“Oh, good—Peter mentioned that you weren’t taken with his attitude yesterday. You’ve certainly got a fine idea—friends working out their problems together is the best way to handle it.”
He hooked her arm around his elbow and they walked together through the halls.
“You know, Ed, I don’t really need an escort to get to Lord Highland’s room.”
“Oh, no?” He looked deeply crushed until a mischievous grin slowly spread over his face. “Well, luckily for you, I’m not escorting you—I’m taking Gawain horseback riding. He’s with Lord Highland now, so I’m walking down there to catch him before he heads off somewhere.”
“Oh, great!” Lucy enthused, but then looked at him quizzically. “You know there’s not much time before dinner for a really good ride.”
Edmund nodded. “That’s alright. The lad hasn’t been on horseback much—just his family’s pony before he left home.”
Lucy looked anxiously curious. “What horse are you going to saddle for him?”
Edmund pulled her close and whispered in her ear.
Her eyes got big as saucers and she shoved him away. “You liar—Abatos is the spookiest horse in our barns. Who are you really saddling?”
“Galathe for him. I’ll ride Ajax.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Galathe is a sweet thing—she’ll follow Ajax around like a puppy and keep Gawain out of trouble.”
“Most every horse in our barns does whatever Ajax wants—except Peter’s Aherin. We’ll take a few spins around the courtyard to get him settled, then head off…somewhere”
“You don’t know where?”
“Nope, wherever the wind blows us.”
“There isn’t any wind presently.”
“Then we won’t get very far—ow, hey, why am I always getting slapped?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Guess!”
Edmund gave her a wicked grin. “Oh say, Lu, how about going down to the barns to see us ride off? You could wave a lacy hanky and hand us each some flowers, and—ow—there you go slapping me again.”
“You’re not riding off to war, Ed.”
“Well, of course not. If I was riding to a war, then you’d be in a saddle on a horse next to me, not sending me off with flurries of hankies and flowers. I’ve got to take things when I can get them, don’t I?”
Lucy rolled her eyes again. “I suppose—I’ll come.”
Edmund flashed her a big grin, then pounded on Lord Highland’s door. Gawain opened it and was startled to see the king and queen standing before him. He turned his head back into the room, wondering what the governor might do, but feeling safe with royalty standing behind him.
“Um-sir? King Edmund and Queen Lucy to see you.”
A chair creaked and a moment later Lord Highland towered above the boy. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise!”
He threw them a wide smile and tried to calm his racing heart. What was this about? He thrust his hand out to Edmund and took Lucy’s head in both hands to kiss her forehead, like he might do to his grandchild. It startled her.
“Actually, it’s Lucy that wants to see you, Governor,” Edmund said, while wrinkling his nose in disgust—he couldn’t recall anyone in this world treating Lucy so informally. “And I’m here to see if Gawain might like to go horseback riding with me? With your permission, of course, Governor.”
Lord Highland shifted uncomfortable. He didn’t want to speak with Lucy, but he figured that he’d manage alright. The dear girl—he could convince her of anything. What sent a fright into him was Gawain riding off alone with a boy of Edmund’s caliber. The way the boy talked about the young king this morning had made him very worried, and yet—all might be lost, here and now, if he refused to let the boy ride. He had no excuse for needing the boy for several hours—particularly if he was taking tea with Lucy. Questions might come up, and he didn’t want to field questions.
“Afternoon tea would be lovely, my dear,” he said fondly and swallowed his concerns, letting them settle in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! We haven’t had much time to spend together these last couple of days.”
Lord Highland gave Edmund a slow nod, hoping his eyes didn’t reveal his terror. “Yes, you may have the boy for a couple of hours—a ride will be good for him. He needs practice, you know. He’s got pretty low ability as a rider.” Maybe he’ll fall and break his neck, he thought.
Gawain’s face reddened at Lord Highland’s insult, but Edmund patted his back. “Well, practice does make perfect, you know, and Edmund’s School for Young Riders has just opened up. Come on, lad, to the barns!”
They headed down the hallway.
“Oh, wait!” Lucy called after them, and then turned back to Lord Highland. “Will it be alright if I go see them off before we have tea? I think I’d like to. I’ll send someone to fetch you when I get back.”
Lord Highland nodded, vastly relieved for any postponement.
A little over an hour later, Lucy was in a small second floor parlor, busily setting a small table for tea, but her mind was laughing at her brother and a little boy.
Ajax, from the start, had been eager to go for a run, and he’d fussed and fumed when he discovered that the beginning of the ride would consist of doing loops around the courtyard. Edmund would, no doubt, have his hands full with his mount today. Galathe, as usual, was content to let another lead the way. She followed Ajax amiably until he bolted, then Galathe took off, too, not wanting to be left behind. On a few occasions, Lucy thought that poor Gawain was about to request to be allowed off.
In the end, though, Edmund had gotten Ajax to at least tolerate the slow pace and Gawain became comfortable enough for them to head out. Lucy picked a few wild flowers that were popping up around the stable, handed them to the boys, and made a little show of waving a lace handkerchief to see them off, much to Edmund’s delight and Gawain’s bewilderment.
A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. “Yes? Come in.”
A young faun child, whose father worked on their castle staff, and who visited every once in a while, poked her head into the room and said rather timidly, “Begging your pardon, your majesty, but the governor says he’s taken on a headache while you were down at the stables, and he doesn’t think he’s up for having tea.”
Lucy’s eyes blazed with an uncommon fury, but softened when the young faun shrank back. ‘Come in here for a minute, Chevre.”
Lucy waited till the youngster was in front of her to continue, “Have you ever heard of something called ‘lady’s privilege’?”
Chevre shook her head, and bit her lip nervously. “No, your majesty.”
“Well, tell the good lord that I’m invoking it! I expect to see him up here for tea post-haste.”
Chevre nodded, backing away.
Once she was gone, Lucy returned to setting up for tea, but being irritated, she simply threw the rest of the biscuits on the plate and then stood gripping the table while her eyes burned holes through it. Why is he doing this? she wondered.
The sound of something scraping against the window made her turn her head and she was surprised to see that the day was no longer bright. The sky had taken on a queer yellowish-gray tint and the sea was becoming restless, with whitecaps building up against the rocks at the harbor’s entrance and along the cliffs. The stately oak, just beside the window, was beating a nervous rhythm, and its leaves seemed to quiver.
Lucy watched, as if mesmerized, for several minutes, as the distant storm gathered far out at sea, and only briefly wondered about the boys out on the horses. How had the weather turned so suddenly?
A small knock on the door was obscured by the low rumble of thunder, and after several moments, Chevre opened it a crack and stuck her head inside. “Begging your pardon, your majesty, but are you alright?”
Lucy jumped and whirled her head from the window to the door. “What—oh yes, I’m sorry, Chevre. I was just watching the storm come in. It’s come on rather unexpectedly, hasn’t it?”
Chevre bowed. “Yes, your majesty—but the Governor…” She glanced towards the door with a strange expression.
“Oh yes, send him in, of course.”
Chevre hesitated “Are you sure, ma’am? He wasn’t real pleased when I came back for him.”
“Yes, I’m quite sure.” Lucy tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.
Chevre bowed again. “Very well, your majesty.” She backed away and slid out the door. A moment later, Lord Highland presented himself. He gave Lucy a big smile and came and kissed her forehead again. “Lucy, my dear, I’m afraid that little faun might have taken me the wrong way—I think she believes I’m sick, but I was only teasing her—she’s so serious, you know. I thought fauns could take more teasing than she did.”
Lucy stepped back from his uncomfortable embrace, poured him a cup of tea, and laid a biscuit out for him. “It seems as though you’ve gone a bit too far in you teasing on this trip, Governor.” She indicated the chair across the table from her and said, “Please sit down.”
Once they were both seated and had taken a few bites of biscuit and sips of tea, Lord Highland decided that it was necessary for himself to guide the conversation, so as to avoid any uncomfortable questions. His old feeling of being exposed to the light was quickly returning as he had no choice but to look at her.
“Ah…I’m sorry you feel that way, Lucy, I thought you liked my jokes.”
Lucy frowned. “It’s hardly good taste to tease a child in that way, my lord, and…” she paused to be sure that she had his undivided attention, “it’s even worse to keep your kings and queens in such suspense over such a dreadful thing as the Ape.”
Thunder, much closer now, rolled across the sky and shook their tiny table.
“Lucy, we discussed the Ape yesterday—”
“That doesn’t give me peace; no, listen to me, my lord—I am your queen, after all. We had expected better from you, my friend. You have been our good and trusted friend for ever so long and your reputation precedes you this world over, and then-then this happens. It pains me—us—deeply that our friend would treat his responsibilities so carelessly!”
The room had grown darker without sunlight to brighten and warm it, and flickers of lighting made strange shadows dance about the Queen and the Governor. Lord Highland’s heart beat rapidly. His hands shook so, he clasped them under the table. Had his time run out? She spoke of his reputation—the thing he most wanted to preserve. Could she really know?
He stood up gravely, his tea cup still in his hand. Now he towered over her, his shadow blanketing her smaller form. “I am sorry, Lucy.” His voice was grave. “Shall I tender my resignation?”
“No! My lord, no!” Lucy slammed a frustrated fist into the table. “I only wish to know—to understand—why you have done this!” Now she got to her feet to plead her case, but the darkness spared him from seeing her clearly. “Please, my lord—my friend—something grieves you. I want to know. I want to help. And don’t tell me it was our food or your ship’s food. I won’t have more of that! Tell me what’s going on.”
He set his teacup down, freeing his hands.
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” his voice went from monotone to a soft whisper, sending prickles up her spine. “I’m so sorry. But I can’t.”
Then he turned and left the room.
Edmund and Gawain strolled down a tree-lined, grassy path. The afternoon was warm and the sun created dappled shadows across the leaves. Ajax had his ears back and occasionally threw up his nose to test the King’s iron grip, and Galathe took advantage of her rider’s occasional inattentiveness to snatch a bite to eat every now and again. But Gawain will be forgiven for his lack of attention, because there were many other things for him to take in.
Untold numbers and kinds of Beasts stopped their work or play to say hello to the King and ask after his health and how his family fared. Edmund took time to speak with everyone and Gawain was pleased that he was always included in their conversations and the Beasts were interested in what he had to say. One little squirrel took particular delight in asking the young boy questions.
As they continued on, after that conversation, Gawain thought of a question. “Your majesty?”
“Yes, lad?”
“That squirrel really liked me. I want to know something about him. When did you first meet him?”
“Well, I first met him just after our coronation, but the first time I every laid eyes on him was when he was not more than a little stone figurine in the Witch’s collection—and all for enjoying a little Christmas tidings.” Edmund spoke of the memory simply. It had happened. It had been fixed. It was over.
Gawain was reminded of something else. “And he still likes you?” It pained his heart to ask that, because he thought of Edmund as his friend, but there was something else on his mind.
Edmund held Ajax up until Galathe came alongside him. As they continued on, he explained, “He forgave me—all the Beasts have—I am very blessed.”
“Are you sure everyone forgave you?”
“Yes—but what are you getting at, lad?”
“Well-um, well,” Gawain stammered, wondering how he might go about asking his question. “What if someone-something-someone—well, what if they badly hurt someone I love? Do I have to forgive them?”
Edmund gave the boy a tender, understanding smile. “Yes, lad—that’s what Aslan likes.”
“Oh.” Gawain looked downcast.
“You don’t want to please the Lion?” Edmund was astounded.
“Well, I was only thinking that if someone didn’t forgive you, then maybe I wouldn’t have to forgive—” He stopped short.
Edmund gave him a funny look. “Well, that’s awfully hard on me, don’t you think, lad?” Then his expression softened. “But I know forgiveness is hard sometimes.”
“Yes—like impossible,” Gawain pouted.
“For us, yes, I think you’re right.” Edmund took a tight grip of the reins as Ajax pulled ahead and Galathe stopped to nibble. “But nothing is impossible for Aslan; He will give you His strength to do it, if you ask.” Then a thought stuck Edmund. “Say, are you taking about whoever hurt your sister?”
Gawain was wide-eyed. “But I told you that I hurt her by accident! You didn’t believe me?”
“Let’s just say that I thought there was more to the story. You don’t look like the type of lad that would go about fooling around.”
Suddenly a blast of cold air rushed through, calling Edmund’s attention towards the heavens. “Say, how’d that storm creep up without us noticing? It’s nearly on us!”
Lightening flickered in the darkening clouds.
“We’d better get back!” Ajax tossed his head and danced sideways, as if he sensed that his long awaited run was imminent.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for a long run.” Gawain looked at the path ahead with uncertain eyes.
“A trot, then? We’ve got to get back. Susan won’t be at all happy that I’ve got you out in this. Here, give me a rein. We’ll make it. Hold on.”
They broken into a rough trot with Edmund feeling pulled in two directions as the disappointed Ajax tried to pound ahead and Galathe tried to keep out of his way.
Suddenly, a light dawned in Edmund’s mind.
“It was the Ape, wasn’t it? You’re the lad that first got a glimpse of that foul creature?”
Gawain knew that he’d really put his foot in his mouth this time. What would the Governor do? How could he get out of this? He pretended not to hear the King’s question. In the quickly increasing wind and big cold raindrops that had begun to splatter them, it didn’t seem unbelievable that he hadn’t heard.
“Lad?” Edmund’s voice growled close to his ear and Gawain hung his head.
“Yes, sir,” he said in a small voice. “It was my sister.”
Edmund was perplexed. Gawain didn’t act even slightly relieved that the Ape had been caught. “Aren’t you glad that the menace has been stopped, lad?”
Gawain gave him a blank look.
Edmund was startled. Perhaps it was part of the Governor’s new outlandish sense of humor, that he hadn’t told Gawain. Edmund happily filled him in.
Gawain’s blank stare continued and was accompanied by a slowly shaking head.
At first, Edmund took it as denial of unfathomably good news. Too good to be true. But after watching for a minute, he felt a ticklish feeling go up his spine.
“What haven’t we been told, lad?” His voice was tense and his expression as dark as the sky.
“It’s the Governor.”
“What?”
“He’s the Ape—I saw him hurt Daisy.”
Stunned, Edmund sat frozen in his saddle for a moment. They had all trusted Lord Highland for many years! Then, without a second thought, he dropped Galathe’s rein, pushed his heels into Ajax’s sides, and released the horse for the run he’d craved all afternoon.
“Wait! Your majesty, please wait! I can’t keep up.”
Lord Highland sat dejectedly in his room as the storm continued outside, the wind moaning as it torn around the corner of the castle. All was lost now, he was sure. His heart rate sped up as he thought about what awaited him
He growled inside him. He always did this. When things were most stressful, he always came calling. Lord Highland’s mind raced. He wanted to take what lay before him like the man and servant his dear friends had always known him to be, but he kept calling. He wanted one more chance to come out. Oh, what should he choose?
He bit his lip with resolve and went towards the back of the room as if an invisible hand beckoned him.
He opened that small trunk, so beautifully carved, and found the tiny box. He would be good. He owed that to his friends, didn’t he?
But, somehow, he had control of his hand and he reached beyond the vials of green liquid and seized one with red liquid. He stared, unseeing, as he twisted the top off and drank every last drop. Then he fell to the ground and his form began to change.