Diana Wynne Jones’s Fantastical Journeys Collection. Diana Wynne Jones
say this for Skarr,” Ogo murmured to me as the cart squished its way into the market, “at least your towns smell clean.”
“Of course they do,” I said proudly. “And I suppose you remember the towns in Logra so well!”
“Not really,” he said. “But I do remember there was no mud on the streets.”
I sighed. Logra was all perfect in Ogo’s memory.
Aunt Beck meanwhile drove the cart among the scattering of poor-looking market stalls and drew up grandly in front of the largest. I looked at its stack of elderly cabbages and the flies hovering around the small heap of bacon and hoped she was not going to buy either of those.
Actually, my aunt is a good shopper. She managed to assemble some quite decent provisions and sent Finn off to the bread stall while she bargained for what she had chosen.
“Why are you sending him?” Ivar wanted to know.
“He’s a monk. He’ll get half of it free,” my aunt snapped and turned back to the bargaining.
This did not go well. Whatever price Aunt Beck suggested, the woman behind the stall named a higher one. And, when Aunt Beck protested, all the woman would say was, “You must remember there’s a war on.”
“What war is this?” my aunt demanded.
“The war against the Finens of course,” the woman said.
“What are the Finens?” said Aunt Beck.
“Cheating monsters from Ballyhoyle way,” was the answer. “You must know that the Finens never paid us for our cloth in my grandmother’s time. And were forever cheating and lying ever since. So last month our men went and took their sheep for payment. Last week the Finens came asking for the sheep back. But naturally we had eaten them by then, so the Finens took all our cattle and the food out of the fields, and when we asked for it back they threw stones. So yesterday our men took up their weapons and went out to teach the Finens a lesson or two. There was a great battle then.”
“Who won?” Ivar asked with interest.
The woman shrugged. “Who knows? For all we can tell the fighting still goes on.”
“But I am sure,” Finn said, arriving back with a great basket of bread rolls, “that the might of the men of Coolochie will prevail.”
The woman looked pleased at this, but she did not let Aunt Beck have the food any cheaper. Aunt Beck sighed and graciously paid over most of the money King Colm had given her. “And now let’s get out of here,” she said to the rest of us.
We had lunch a couple of miles on into the plains beyond Coolochie. “Do you think Coolochie’s in the right in this war?” Ogo asked, thinking about it as he munched.
“Of course not,” Aunt Beck said irritably. “Both sides are complete blackguards. From the sound of it, they’ve been stealing each other’s property for centuries. Are you finished? Let’s be on our way. I want to be out of this miserable country as soon as I can be.”
We had none of us really finished, but no one liked to argue with Aunt Beck in this mood so we walked along still eating. Finn said soothingly, “You’ll find Bernica’s not so bad, Wisdom, when you’re used to our ways.”
Aunt Beck shuddered.
We came over a couple of gentle rises to find the war blocking our road.
The road here divided into several flat green tracks. Spread out over most of them was a bright-coloured, struggling mass of people. We could see red, yellow and orange crests of feathers, shining swords lifting and hacking, and long shields painted with lurid designs. There were yells, hoots and groans. Every so often a pair of fighters would come loose from the rest and rush across the nearby fields, plunging into ditches and through ponds, and screaming insults as they whacked at one another’s shields. Meanwhile, the battle heaved and walloped away across all the tracks but the one on the extreme left.
Aunt Beck pulled Moe up in disgust. Ivar, rather nervously, half drew his sword. Ogo made as if to pull his dirk out and then thought better of it. There were a lot of people there. Finn made religious signs.
“Do we wait?” I asked Aunt Beck. “They must have been going for a day and a night by now.”
“I suppose so,” my aunt replied sourly. “They have to stop soon.”
“No, no!” squawked Green Greet.
“Oh no, Wisdom,” Finn said. “You see, they will have prayed each man to his chosen god for strength to fight for a week. And poured whisky out to seal the bargain.”
“What a waste of good liquor,” said my aunt. “But I see that they have.”
So did I see, now I thought. There was an invisible cloud hanging over the tussling men which was strong enough to feel. “So what do we do?” I asked.
“We take the only free road,” Aunt Beck said, sighing, “and hope that it leads us to a king sometime soon.” She clucked to Moe and we set off again, slowly and cautiously, along the left-hand track. I felt nervous sweat break out all over me as we came closer and closer to the war. I was ready to scream as we came level with it. The red faces, the grunts and the banging were simply appalling. Once the battle was a little way behind us, it was almost worse. We all went with our heads turned over our right shoulders, in case someone broke away and came after us, and none of us spoke until we had put a low hill between us and the fighting.
Then Finn took off his frayed green cap and mopped his face with it. “Praise the Goddess!” he said. Then he laughed. “You spoke of a king, Wisdom,” he said, “but in this part of the country we are quite as likely to find a queen. Queens are very frequent here. Does this worry you, Wisdom?”
“Not at all,” said my aunt. “Women have far more sense than men.”
Ivar snorted at this, but at least he had the sense not to say anything.
We went along the track for some way until, about the time the noise from the fighting died out of hearing, the path suddenly divided into three. Aunt Beck pulled Moe up again.
“Now this is very annoying,” she said. “Finn, have you any idea which is our way to go?”
Finn looked absolutely nonplussed. “No, Wisdom. Can you not divine?”
“Oh!” cried my aunt, quite exasperated. “I thought you were our native guide! Very well. Aileen, unpack my divining bowl from the green bag, will you?”
We moved the cart over beside a convenient flat stone, while I dug in the bag – which still smelt strongly of seawater – and disentangled the bowl from Aunt Beck’s underclothes. Everyone gathered around to watch except Ivar, who sat loftily facing the other way, trying not to yawn. Ogo leant over my shoulder. Green Greet sat on the edge of the cart, bending over to look, with Finn beside him in exactly the same attitude. I felt Plug-Ugly’s soft coat brushing my legs as he came to watch too.
“Now—” said my aunt.
She was interrupted by a little red-haired man who had evidently been dozing with his back against the stone. “What’s all this?” he said. “Clattering bowls about. Can’t a man sleep?”
“I beg your pardon,” my aunt said icily. “I was merely trying to divine the right way to go.”
“Oh, I can tell you that,” the man retorted. “No need at all to clatter. Take the middle way. That will bring you to your queen.” And he settled down to sleep again with his pointed chin on his chest.
“Thank you,” said Aunt Beck. “I think,” she added when the fellow just snored. Nevertheless, she got back into the cart. I put the bowl away again and we went on down the central road of the three.
Finn and Green Greet seemed mightily disappointed. Finn said, “And here was I hoping to see a Wisdom at work!”