12

Although born and bred in London, Dido had never before set foot inside St. Paul's Cathedral. When they had passed through the entrance vestibule and came out into the north transept, she was amazed at the size of the place. It was like being in some clearing among giant trees. Underfoot were black and white marble squares, an enormous checkerboard stretching away in every direction. Massive pillars led the eye upward to a roof that was a series of lofty white domes, encircled by dark-brown rings. Although there were so many people already in the cathedral, they seemed tiny in its hugeness.

The students from Dr. Furneaux's Art Academy were still running to and fro, busily at work on the decorations. Up and down the pillars, on the choir stalls, statues, monuments—wherever stone, wood, marble, or ironwork provided a hold, they were fastening great festoons of autumn leaves, brown, gold, and rust colored. And among the leaves hung oranges and lemons in profusion, so that the principal color everywhere was gold—it seemed like a forest of gilded trees, seen in the half dark, with the infrequent rays of light picking out pale gold, bright gold, rich gold, dark gold. The tiny flickering tapers carried by the students to give light for their labors enhanced this effect—the dusk among the majestic pillars, under the soaring arches, seemed powdered with a dazzling shimmer.

"Why all the oranges and lemons?" Dido asked a boy who carried a basket of these fruits and was pinning them with skewers among bunches of oak and beech boughs over the tomb of an old gentleman who was lying uncomfortably balanced on a pile of cannons.

"The new king is very fond of marmalade."

"My stars!" murmured Dido. "He'll be able to make enough outa what's here to last him the rest of his days." Then she asked the boy,

"Hey, are you from Doc Furneaux's place?"

"That's right."

"D'you know a cove called Simon—Simon as used to live in Rose Alley?"

He shook his head. "Can't say as I do. The only Simon I know is the Duke of Battersea. He's the gaffer in charge of all this set-out—Master of the King's Garlandries, he is."

"Oh, no, it wouldn't be him," Dido said, greatly disappointed. Cris plucked her arm.

"Can we go up, do you suppose? The voice seems to be coming from up there."

She pointed toward the white vault overhead.

"Can we go up?" Dido asked the boy.

"Sure—if you can get through the crowd. Door to the stairs over there on the south side." He pointed across the nave.

They edged their way through, Cris tugging Dido's hand, and found the door; beyond it, the crowd thinned somewhat, and they were able to make their way up the stairs. These were wide, shallow wooden steps, winding upward in what seemed an endless spiral; Dido lost count after a hundred and fifty.

"What the blazes would Tobit be doing up here?" she panted. "If all the doings is down below?" But Cris kept on doggedly.

At last, however, she turned off through a little doorway into a stone passage so narrow that if two people had met in it, one would have had to go back. After following this, up steps and down, mostly feeling their way in the dark, though it was lit by an occasional lantern, they emerged in a great circular gallery that must have lain under the central dome, for it looked down directly into the middle of the cathedral; the students below, scurrying hither and thither with their festoons of leaves, looked like ants carrying tiny shreds of grass.

"Ah: now it's loud," murmured Cris. "Where can he be?" She started walking around the gallery. Echoes came strangely to them in this place; Dido felt as if she, too, could hear Tobit, urging them to hurry.

On the opposite side of the gallery another little passage led off; Cris followed it, past some doors, and presently paused outside one that seemed made for dwarfs. She tried it: it appeared to be locked. But a voice from inside whispered,

"Cris? Is that you?"

"Yes!"

A key rattled and the door opened; Cris and Dido slipped through into a tiny stone room that looked out on to a leaded roof. Tobit was there. He and Cris looked at one another in that queer way they had; as if, Dido thought, nobody else existed.

"What a time you took to get here!" he said.

"I came as fast as I could."

"Listen, we must do something fast! Old Sannie and FitzPickwick and Mother Lubbage are down below—"

"How did you get here, Tobit?"

"I followed the rat," he said impatiently. "I kept peppering it with Joobie nuts from my peashooter, and it ate one or two and got slow and sleepy—I'm not ever going to touch those things again, I can tell you—it went wandering along a lot of dirty streets and across a bridge—I couldn't catch it but I could keep it in sight. Over the bridge—Blackfriars, it was called—the rat crawled into an empty house. There were cellar stairs, and the rat went down, and I went down, and there was a passage, and I went along it, and it came out under here."

"In the crypt?"

"No, under that. There's a huge open space, big as—big as Tegleaze park, with all these rollers."

"What are they made of?"

"I dunno—iron—some kind of metal—all wrapped around with sheepswool. They're big—higher than me—and there's hundreds of them. The whole place is sitting on top of them. The rat went staggering out into this place and then it fell over and went to sleep. I was having a look around when I heard Sannie and FitzPickwick and old Lubbage, so I hid behind a roller to listen."

"Not Mr. Mystery?"

"No, he wasn't there."

"What are they fixing to do?"

"It's something to do with old Mystery's puppet show. They've got the theatre down there, and baskets full of puppets, and they're planning to bring it up by and by—they've got leaves tied all over, so it looks like the rest of the decorations. And they've got trays and trays of Joobie nuts and two boys to take them round—"

"Oh, rabbit it," said Dido. "I reckon I know what they're a-going to do. Did they see you?"

"No, while they were dressing the puppets I found a ladder up to the crypt behind one of the rollers, so I thought I'd try to get out and find you. But you can't get out of the cathedral once you're in—the line of constables won't let you past."

"Couldn't you get back along the passage?"

"I thought of that, but when I went back FitzPickwick and the others were just coming up into the crypt—I only just got away without being seen. And I could feel you weren't far off, Cris, so I hoped you'd come."

"And how d'you reckon were going to get out if you couldn't?" inquired Dido acidly.

Tobit's face fell. "I don't know. Can't you think of something?"

"We'd best find the Dean," she said more kindly. "He's somewhere about, a-chatting to the king and helping him with his cogitations."

"And he'll get in some of the constables to deal with FitzPickwick?"

"I ain't so sure about that," Dido said. "I reckon we has to go as if we was a-walking on eggs. We are on eggs. Start a ruckus wi' the Hanoverians, and we may set the whole place a-rolling. I can feel it rock right now."

It was true, there was a strange uncertain vibration in the cathedral, more plainly to be felt in its upper rooms and galleries. The whole building swayed gently, like the branches of a tree, like an anchored ship in a slight swell.

"Hushaby, Kingy," muttered Dido. "Let's hope it don't blow a gale in the night, or we may all get a surprise, FitzPickwick as well."

She led the way from Tobit's hiding place back toward the great circular gallery. Looking down over the rail they could see that the cathedral had filled up considerably even in the short time they had been talking.

Some girl students from the Chelsea Art Academy had threaded goodness knows how many oranges and lemons alternately on to a long rope and were busy hanging this enormous necklace in swags all around from the balustrade of the gallery.

"Can you tell me," Dido asked one of them, "where his Reverence and King Dick are having their chat?"

The girl put her finger on her lips. "Hush! Nobody's supposed to know the king's here yet."

"But he is here, ain't he?"

"Oh yes; Doctor Furneaux just took them in a basket of oranges and a bottle of marmalade wine because the Dean sent a message to say they were getting rather dry. They're in the north gallery. But of course they mustn't be disturbed."

"O' course not," said Dido, and led the way past a sign that said "To the North Gallery."

After more stairs, more passages, they came to a closed door with a sign: "No Entry Except by Special Permission of the Dean." Dido considered knocking, and decided against it. She walked boldly in. Tobit and Cris followed with less confidence, Cris holding on to Tobit's hand.

They found themselves in a long room furnished with a refectory table, chairs, and gorgeously colored Persian rugs; on the walls were maps of London and pictures of Old St. Paul's before the Great Fire; a small fire burned briskly in a marble fireplace; nearby stood an open clavichord with some music on it; in front of the fire, on a low table inlaid with silver, two men were building card houses. In the corner of the room opposite the door hung a set of coronation robes, glimmering in the firelight; for a moment, as Dido entered, she fancied this was a ghost.

Cris shut the door softly behind her. At the same moment the card house, which had reached seven stories, fell down.

"May the foul fiend fly away wi' the cartes!" exclaimed the younger of the two men. "What ails ma hand this e'en, that I canna build higher than seven?"

He started building again.

"It must be the wind, your Majesty; I notice the smoke from the fire keeps eddying out in a most unusual manner."

"But 'tis a braw, still nicht, man! Nae breeze at a'!"

"It ain't the breeze, your Royalship," said Dido, walking forward. "It's on account of a mess o' Hanoverians down in the cellar who've stuck the church up on rollers. That's why it keeps rocking back and forth."

The king's hand paused for a second in the act of delicately depositing a card; then he laid it carefully in place. Next moment there was another puff of smoke from the fire and the new card house fell down.

"You see," said Dido.

"There wad appear tae be a possibeelity that the lassie is speaking the truth," said the king. "What is your opeenion, Reverence?"

The Dean had jumped to his feet, very scandalized at such an unauthorized intrusion.

"Who in the world gave you leave—" he began.

"Whisht, man! Let's hear what they have tae say. Explain yersel', lass!"

Dido and Tobit told their tale, keeping it as short as possible. When Dido mentioned Captain Hughes, as being the original bearer of the Dispatch, the king exclaimed,

"That's no' Captain Owen Hughes, o' the sloop Thrush? Why, I ken his son weel, and a canny braw laddie he is, and ettling to carry my train the morn's morn."

"Captain Hughes's son? In London?" Dido was delighted. "Why, then he can come back with me to Sussex—I reckon that'll be more likely to rouse the old Cap than anything. We can't wake him, you see," and she went on to explain why, and what she suspected the Hanoverians were planning.

"Aweel, aweel," said the king, "ilka path has its puddle. My puir auld dad had trouble wi' the Hanoverians aft eneugh, it wisna tae be expectit that I'd gang free o' them. Whit had we best do, Reverence?"

The fire smoked again, and the room gave a perceptible lurch. It was plain that, as the cathedral filled up and more people were moving around downstairs, the whole structure was becoming more tippy and unstable.

"Your Majesty must leave the building at once—without losing a minute!" announced the Dean.

"Na, na, man, I'll not do sich a thing while a' the folk doon yonder are in danger."

"Well then we must get them out—" the Dean began. Then he stopped short and exclaimed, "Botheration!" in tones of the deepest dismay.

"What fashes ye, sir?"

"Nobody is to be allowed out before tomorrow's ceremony unless they have a special pass signed by the Home Secretary."

"Weel, send someone for him, man!"

"They couldn't get out."

"Losh," said the king thoughtfully, after a pause. "Here's a powsowdie. Whit'll we do the noo?"

"You could leave, your Reverence, surely—and fix things with Lord Raven?" suggested Tobit with some diffidence.

"Leave his Majesty in such peril? Never!" declared the Dean.

"Seems to me," said Dido, "no disrespect to your Royalty and your Reverence, that there's a lot of obstinate, clung-headed thinking going on round here."

"Really—" the Dean began, but King Richard said,

"Nay, I like a plain-spoken lass. Let her have her crack."

"Well then. Us doesn't want any scrimmage, right? Acos that would start the place a-rocking. So no sense sending for a lot o' big flat-footed constables. The main thing is to get the place pegged down someway, so we needs to send a message about that."

"But how—"

"Fust of all, though," pursued Dido, "is there any food in the place?"

"Food? Not a crumb," said the Dean. "Except for the choirboys' buttons, of course."

"What's those?"

The Dean explained that in the fourteenth century, when choirboys were likely to faint from hunger, an act had been passed requiring the regular supply of small macaroons to the cathedral by city bakers. Choirboys were better fed nowadays, but the act had never been repealed, and over the centuries a large supply of these cakes had accumulated; they were kept in a special lead-lined room, safe from fire and mice.

"They'll do," said Dido. "Have 'em taken round and handed out free to everyone downstairs. Folk who've had a bite already ain't so likely to nibble on Joobie nuts."

The Dean departed to arrange for this, murmuring that it was all sadly irregular and how he would account for the disbursement to the Church Commissioners, heaven only knew.

"Now," Dido went on. "Us needs a lot o' rope."

"Lord Forecastle wad be the proper pairson to apply to, I jalouse."

"He is such a picksome old cuss, though," objected Dido. "Could you write him a note, mister king? He'd pay heed to you, likely."

"Aye, lassie; I'll stress the oorgency o' the matter. Two thousand ells o' best cable," the king said, scribbling. "But who'll deleever the message?"

"We know five active, sensible chaps not a stone's throw from here. All we need is a stone," said Dido, and glanced about. On a glass-fronted shelf were some carved pieces of masonry—relics of Old St. Paul's before the fire. "That's the dandy." She selected one. "Now for a bit o' leather."

At this juncture the Dean returned, having arranged for free distribution of choirboys' buttons. When applied to for leather he seemed puzzled, but thought the librarian would undoubtedly have a supply, for bookbinding; at a nod from Dido, Tobit went with him to choose a suitable strip.

"Odds fishikins," said the king, laughing, "ye should ha' been a general, lassie—whit name do ye go by?"

"I'm Dido Twite, your Royalship."

"Dido Twite? Nay, I've heard yon name before—and on the lips of an auld friend. Dido Twite. Weel, weel! He'll be blythe and canty to hear ye are weel."

"A friend of your Majesty—who in the world—?" Dido began, but now Tobit and the Dean reappeared with a leather strip and some thongs, from which Tobit constructed a sling with considerable dispatch and skill. While he did so the Dean, on the king's instruction, signed five cathedral passes for Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera, and Pip. ("I know yon names too," said His Majesty, "they used tae supply claret wine to my dad") and Dido wrote a letter:

"Dere Yan, Were stuk in Sint Palls. Things is disey. Can yoo tell Home Seek to see Sint Palls is tide down tite as quik as poss. Then slope allong here fast for Them Hanno Veerins is agwine to Brake loose enny minnit. luv Dido.

"P. S. His Majesty sez this is troo."

"You sign it too, sir, then he can show it to Lord Raven and Sir Percy."

So the king signed Dido's letter, which was then, with the note about rope to Lord Forecastle, and the five passes, and a note from the Dean to Lord Raven asking that no more people be allowed into the cathedral, all placed together in an outer covering addressed to Mrs. Grissie Gusset, 4 Wardrobe Court, One ginny reward to him as Delivers this, and Dido's last guinea was enclosed, since neither the king nor the Dean had any money on them. The whole package was securely tied to the lump of stone.

"The foot of Saint Erconwald! The only piece of his tomb left!" lamented the Dean.

"Wheesht, man! Ye'll get it back."

"Now, where's the best place to send it from?" Dido asked Tobit.

"Higher up."

So the whole party left the north gallery.

"Your Majesty had best remain out of sight," remonstrated the Dean; but the king said, havers, this was the daftest ploy he'd been engaged in since he was a sackless callant, and naething would gar him miss any o' the whim-whams.

They had to pass around the circular gallery in order to reach the southwest tower, which Tobit reckoned would be the best spot for his purpose.

Looking down over the balustrade into the nave, Dido let out a groan.

"Confizzle it! They're a-setting up that blessed theatre. Us'd best make haste."

"In my north aisle!" said the Dean, outraged. "Wait till I go and—"

"No, your Reverence! We dassn't start a row! Feel how the place sways."

The motion was even more noticeable now, and sometimes, when there was a sudden shift in the crowd below, the cathedral bells could be heard faintly jangling in the north tower.

"The rollers are uneven sizes," Tobit said. "I heard FitzPickwick complaining that Godwit had cast them in small batches and they were all different."

"The skrimping skellums," muttered King Richard.

They hastened on to the south tower, climbed up a steep, narrow spiral stair, past the works of the cathedral clock with its three massive bells, Great Tom, Great Paul, and Great Fred, on, up, to a high outer gallery from which half London could be seen, smoky and twinkling in the clear frosty twilight.

"By my certie," said the king, "yon's a braw parochine! Where do you aim, laddie?"

"Down yonder." Tobit showed him the tiny oblong of Wardrobe Court, easily to be recognized by its two plane trees. He inserted the stone foot of Saint Erconwald, with message attached, into his sling, took careful aim, and let fly. The projectile whirled away, soaring over the churchyard, over the rooftops, dropped, and was lost to view.

"Send it lands on the planestanes, and disna smash some citizen's losen-glass!" said the king anxiously.

They waited, peering, straining their eyes. One minute went by—two—five—seven.

"If there's no one about in Wardrobe Court," Dido muttered.

"If it lodged in a tree—fell in a window box—" Cris worried.

But then suddenly a figure appeared on the roof of a house that must, surely, be on the south side of Wardrobe Court. The light was too dim and he was too far off to be recognized, but he carried a long pole attached to the end of which was, without any shadow of doubt, Aunt Grissie's red chenille tablecloth. He waved the pole once, twice, three times, and the watchers on the tower let out a unanimous gasp of joy and relief.

"Though dear knows we're nae oot o' the wanchancie business yet," remarked the king, as they retraced their steps down the spiral stair. "Let's see what yon skytes are abune the noo."

When they returned to the gallery and looked down they could see that a change had taken place in the random shifting and drifting motion of the great crowd assembled below. The crowd's attention was now focused on the puppet theatre which a figure in black fur, wearing a mask, had almost finished erecting in the north transept. Dido stared fixedly at this character. From his height she guessed him to be Colonel FitzPickwick—or was it Mystery come back? She could not be certain.

There was an upheaval going on in the crowd. People were pressing and massing in front of the theatre. With another fourteen long hours before the coronation ceremonies would begin, any promise of distraction was welcome as water in the desert.

Evidently this commotion did not suit the puppeteer's purpose, for he could be seen to send out a sharp message; presumably that no performance was to be expected for a long time yet; a disappointed ripple passed through the crowd, which eddied back.

"Forbye, they're growing fretful and capernoited," muttered the king, knitting his brows. "Where be your laddies wi' the cakes, Dean?"

"There they go." The Dean pointed downward to where a dozen choirboys in white surplices could be seen threading their way among the crowd, each carrying a big silver tray heaped high with macaroons. These were handed out liberally, and eagerly received; for the moment the puppet theatre was forgotten. Plainly this development did not meet with the puppet master's approval; he consulted with two shorter assistants, also masked—were they Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage?

"What'll they do?" Dido wondered. "They're as stuck as we are; they dassn't start a performance too soon."

At this moment, however, King Richard solved the puppeteers' problem, while adding greatly to that of his own supporters. Observing the giant necklace of citrus fruit that hung in swags around the balustrade, he reached down with his penknife to remove an orange and, by mischance, cut right through the cord; the entire necklace of fruit went cascading down on to the crowd in the nave, who naturally looked up to see what had caused this rain of oranges and lemons.

A great gasping murmur went up!

"The King! Granny, look, 'tis His Highness! Ma! look up there, it's His Majesty's own self!"

"Sir!" exclaimed Dido. "Duck! Don't let the Hanoverians see you!"

Too late! Plainly the puppet master and his two assistants had discovered the king's presence. Full of excitement and purpose, they were bustling about their theatre. And some smaller assistants were now making their way up and down the nave carrying trays full of what were presumably Joobie nuts.

"Oh, croopus," Dido said. "Sir, you'll have to talk to the people. Now the Hanoverians know you're here I reckon it don't make much odds."

"I am e'en o' the same mind," agreed the king and, leaning over the balustrade, he called, in a voice that, though not particularly loud, was remarkably clear and carrying:

"Friends! Will ye leesten tae me a meenit? This is yer ain appointit king, Davie Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart, wishfu' tae hae a crack wi' ye. I came tae spend the nicht here, in seerious meditation afore being crownit tomorrow, and blythe I am tae see sae mony o' ye keeping me company. But, friends, I maun warn ye. There's unfriends amang us too."

"For mussy's sake, sir, don't mention the rollers!" Dido whispered urgently in his ear. "It'd start a panic—they'd all helter-skelter for the doors. It'd be murder!"

King Richard nodded reassuringly, while continuing to address the crowd.

"These unfriends, wha I willna scruple tae ca' by their richtfu' name, which is Hanoverians, are aboot tae gang aroond, offering ye nuts. Dinna eat yon nuts! They are a kind of poison, they will mak' ye sick, and in your sickness ye will see ghosties and hobgoblins and deil kens what! Drop the nuts on the floor, wamp them under foot!"

"No, no! Not on my tiles!" the Dean was heard to protest in agony.

"But, friends, if ye are hungry—and it's a lang watch till the morn—my gude friend, his Reverence the Dean here has kindly sent oot some almond cakies—those ye can eat a' ye've a mind to."

The crowd down below could be seen responding to this advice by dropping handfuls of Joobie nuts on the black-and-white tiles and scrunching them underfoot as instructed; the puppeteers were plainly angered and taken aback by this development; King Richard nodded with satisfaction.

"Now: anither thing, friends. Bear wi' me patiently and I'll not trouble ye much farther. These ill-deedy Hanoverians have also set up yon puppet theatre in the cathedral. They plan to distract yer minds with galdragonries and marvels! Weel, 'tis a free country—thank the Lord—I'll not forbeed ye tae look. But dinna tak it unco seeriously. (But dinna mistreat the Hanoverians either—we want nae rampauging in the cathedral.) Those that love me best, and loved my old dad, Jamie Three, will maybe not look at a'. For my part, I like plays and puppetries fine, but I jalouse they arena whit I'd wish tae watch the nicht afore I'm crownit. This nicht I aim tae spend in seerious thocht and hymn singing. And I'm aboot tae commence noo. Any friends wha care tae join in are kindly welcome!"

Without more ado, King Richard lifted his voice—a resonant baritone—in a tuneful rendering of Metrical Psalm 23.

There was a moment's pause, then a gale of sound followed him. The entire congregation had joined in.

"Saints save us!" breathed Dido. "Don't I just hope the noise ain't enough to upset the rollers."

The Dean, terribly agitated, glanced around him at his beloved building, waiting for the landslide to start. But the sound of the singing, though tremendous, was steady and ordered. The cathedral vibrated like a chimney in a storm, but it kept its position.

"Good boy, good boy!" murmured the Dean. "Ah, he'll make a decent king, if we're all spared. Only, does he know enough hymns to keep them going all night?"

The Dean bustled off to find a hymnbook. Dido, seeing that for the moment King Richard had the situation under control, turned back and climbed the spiral stair to the outer stone gallery below the dome, and looked down to see what was happening in the streets.

What she saw filled her with amazement and thankfulness.

On the north side of the cathedral the crowd had scattered to a considerable extent and the reason for this was that Yan, mounted on an elephant, presumably Rachel, was riding in and out, unrolling as he went what seemed an endless reel of rope. Each time he came close to the cathedral he tossed a loop of this rope to another of the Wineberry Men—Dido could not see which—who stood waiting to receive and make it fast; then the elephant dashed away to the outer perimeter of the open space around the cathedral, where another Wineberry Man stood ready to receive another loop of rope and tether it to whatever was at hand.

"Pegging it down just like a tent, bless 'em," muttered Dido, and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "I might a known they'd do the job decent and seamanly. They surely never got the stuff from old Lord Fo'c'stle, though; I can't believe he'd come through with it so quick."

Yan, having secured St. Paul's at about forty different points on the north side, took a turn of rope completely around the cathedral and disappeared lickety-spit northward in the direction of Newgate, presumably to pass the rope round the block formed by Paternoster Row and Ivy Lane.

"Just so long as the rope holds," said Tobit anxiously. He had followed Dido on to the stone gallery. "I bet the cathedral's pretty heavy, once it starts to slide."

Cris ran out and caught Tobit's hand.

"Come quick! Things aren't so good inside."

They dashed at top speed down the shallow spiral stairs and back to the inner gallery.

When they looked down they saw that the puppet master had started his play. It was not, from where they stood, possible to see the puppets themselves, but, judging from the behavior of the audience, what they were doing was very sinister; remembering the Miller's Daughter, Dido knew how wild and strange they could be, even when acting something comical. The people standing near were gaspingly attentive; every now and then, at some bit of action, a portion of the crowd would jump nervously back.

"Blame it," Dido said. "It won't do to have much o' that."

As if to underline her words, there was an uneasy surge of the crowd at some startling occurrence, and the cathedral rocked on its unstable foundations.

Meanwhile the king, steadily singing, beating time as he sang, was still carrying a good half of the congregation with him, at the same time keeping a wary eye on the activities of the Hanoverians.

"Some o' the daft fules ate the nuts in spite o' the warning," he told Dido between two verses. "That's why they're sae nairvous and rintheroutacious."

It seemed that events on the puppet stage were approaching a climax. The light from the theatre shone blue and evil.

"I wonder what Sannie and co. plan to do if they start the church a-sliding?" said Dido.

"Oh, I heard that," Tobit told her. "They reckon it'll slide south, that's why they put the theatre near the north door—as soon as it starts to move, they slip out the back way."

"Not so easily now, they can't." Dido grinned, thinking of Yan's network of rope. "I'm a-going down," she went on. "I want to see these here mannikins."

Cris and Tobit followed her. The stairs were beginning to fill up, as early-comers were crowded out of the nave and transepts; it was hard to squeeze their way down, but people were kind about letting them through; everybody was singing, even on the stairs, and there was a general atmosphere of cheerfulness and good will.

Out in the nave it was different.

About three quarters of the huge crowd now assembled in the body of the cathedral were singing. Those who could see the king were taking their time and tune from him, and the rest were following them (with some exceptions: Dido distinctly heard one old lady singing "O where and O where is my little dog gone," looking around her with a melancholy expression, which was certainly justified if she had brought her little dog into the cathedral). But the crowd, several hundred strong, directly in front of the puppet theatre were not singing; they were following the action on the stage with strained attention.

Wriggling, gliding, edging their way, Dido, Tobit, and Cris moved in the direction of the theatre. People in the crowd here were by no means so friendly and helpful as those on the stairs; they met with glares and mutters of "Keep back there! Give over shoving!" One man gave Cris a clout as she slid under his elbow; three more linked arms and tried to stop them getting through.

As, in spite of this opposition, they neared the stage, they began to hear the music: a sad, hypnotic wailing drone. It was the same tune that Mr. Twite had played on his hoboy, but it was now being rendered, Dido saw, by Tante Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage, wearing black fur clothes and black masks, playing on black combs wrapped in black tissue paper.

At last, by standing on tiptoe and craning sideways, they were able to get a view of the puppets.

The play was evidently about a war between goblins and humans. The humans were losing the war. And the goblins—little dark creatures, their faces wizened with malice, their eyes blazing with green light—were winning. They had poisoned blades to their swords and daggers; they sang a magic song which killed its hearers. Louder and louder wailed the sad, spooky music.

"Oh, Alfred, I feel rotten queer," said the woman beside Dido, absently swallowing a couple of Joobie nuts she held. "I believe I'm going to faint." She swayed, but there was hardly room to fall over. "You can't faint here, Lil, hold up, do!" said the man with her anxiously. However at this moment another woman did faint, crumpling on to the black-and-white tiles.

"We have won!" screamed the goblin king on the stage, triumphantly waving his poisoned sword. "Not one of our enemies is left alive!"

He turned toward the audience, his eyes blazing green, his army of dark, wicked little soldiers massing behind him—more and more of them came piling on to the stage. "And now," hissed the king, "now, my friends, we are coming to get you!"

The whole army of goblins poured off the stage.

There were screams, shouts of fright and disgust, gasps, moans. Both Dido's feet were stamped on heavily, as the crowd surged backward. Three more women fainted.

The situation in the nave was now as if one piece of a jigsaw were trying to shove its way through the rest of the completed puzzle; there was no room to move at all, and yet a whole huge section of the crowd was frantically pushing and struggling to get away from the puppet theatre.

Cris pounced forward and grabbed one of the puppets from the floor.

"Look!" she cried to the woman called Lil. "It's only a doll! It won't hurt you!"

But the woman, screaming and hysterical, was in no state to listen to sense.

"It's alive, it wriggled! I saw it!" she wailed. "It's got a poisoned dagger!" And she fought like a crazy creature to get away from it. Kicked and knocked by frantic feet, the puppets skidded about on the smooth tiles, and wherever they were seen they spread terror and pandemonium.

"They aren't alive!" shouted Dido at the top of her lungs. "Stand still! They can't hurt you!"

But at that moment she distinctly saw one of the little creatures move toward her foot, jerking itself along the ground. Quelling a horrible swoop of her heart, she picked it up, and realized that it was propelled by a simple mechanism of a twig, a notched cotton reel, and a stretched, twisted piece of catgut. "Look! It's only a toy!"

She might as well have said so to Niagara.

"STAND STILL!" shouted the king. "Keep your heads! Stand still!"

But the crowd, five hundred strong, heaved sideways, once, twice, three times.

"Hold them!" shouted the king to the people farther away from the puppet theatre, who, unaffected by the panic, were still keeping their position and singing away. "Link your hands round and hold them!"

The cathedral began to rock.

"Guess this is what an earthquake's like," Dido said to Cris. They had been washed up against a pillar, as if by a flood; Dido grabbed an arm of Tobit, an arm of Cris, and braced herself against the stone. "Hark at the bells! Don't they half ring!"

The chandeliers with their tapers were swinging wildly; shadows leapt about; oranges and lemons rained down from the high vaulted roof. The puppet theatre toppled and fell, crushing a good many puppets underneath it. Dido peered through the mass of people, trying to discover where the puppet master and his two assistants had got to. She could not see them in the general muddle. It was like a battle; it was a battle.

The cathedral rocked a fourth time.

"Do you think it's starting to slide?" Cris said. She was rather pale. She let go of Dido's hand and clung to Tobit.

"Dunno. With all the ruckus, it's hard to say what's happening."

But at that moment the cathedral did something definite. With a tremendous noise, louder than any sound hitherto produced by the crowd, with a kind of thunderous, rumbling scrunch, St. Paul's lurched sideways—shuddered in every stone—and sank about six feet into the ground, canted over at an angle of fifteen degrees.

And stood still.

***

"Some of the rollers must have buckled and given way," said Tobit.

"That's so—on account of Yan's anchoring it so tight," agreed Dido. "With all that rocking about, and the ropes holding fast, the rollers jist couldn't take the strain. Oh well—guess the old place is safe enough now—though it's going to be a right puzzle for his Reverence to jack it up level again. Why, look—there is Yan!"

At the moment of the cathedral's final subsidence, the north doors had swung open. There was a movement of the crowd to try and get out, but due to the angle at which St. Paul's was tilted, down at the southwest corner, the north entrance was now above ground level. Moreover Rachel the elephant was standing outside, blocking the way. The five Wineberry Men leapt in, off her back.

"The puppets!" called Dido. "Pick 'em up! Put 'em away!"

She, Cris, and Tobit began tossing all the puppets they could see into a wicker hamper, evidently the container in which they had been brought. The Wineberry Men helped. Seeing this, the crowd began to settle down.

"Friends!" shouted the king from above. "It wad mateerially asseest matters if ye'd a' sit doon on the ground. The cathedral is quite safe—just a wee bit canted o'er. Ye hae nae groonds for appreheension!"

People were only too pleased to comply—with three exceptions. As the whole congregation sank limply to the floor, three desperate figures were seen trying to make their way to the south entrance: Sannie, Mrs. Lubbage, and the puppet master, who had been foiled in their attempt to get out at the north door.

"Get them, lads!" shouted Yan.

The three separated, Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage fleeing toward the crypt, while the puppet master darted through the door to the spiral stair.

Dido, Tobit, and Yan followed him.

"I'm afeered he means mischief to the king," Dido panted. "We mustn't let him get to the gallery!"

Yan nodded, pounding ahead. But there was really no risk, as they saw when they reached the narrow gallery entrance; it was jammed with people and the fugitive had evidently abandoned his plan and, in desperation, continued onward and upward with Yan close at his heels.

"Stop, you fool!" Yan shouted after him. "You can't escape that way!"

The puppet master evidently thought otherwise. Pausing an instant to discard his black fur cloak and hood, which were hampering him, he rushed along a narrow passage that led off the stairs. Now they could recognize the fair hair and mustache of Colonel FitzPickwick.

"He can't escape that way," said a voice behind Dido. She looked around and saw the Dean. "It leads only to the roof."

But FitzPickwick had unbolted the door and sprang out into darkness, followed, an instant later, by Yan. Light from inside showed a lead-lined valley between two roof ridges.

"Yan! Take care!" called Dido anxiously.

She started after him, but the Dean grabbed her arm.

"Don't go, child! It's too dangerous in the dark: That's the nave roof—it ends in a sheer drop over the west front."

Nonetheless, Dido would have gone—but at that moment they heard a wild shout of rage, or defiance, or despair. A moment later Yan came back to them, looking pale and appalled.

"He jumped ... clean off the end of the roof."

"Heaven forgive him," said the Dean.

Downstairs, they found that a general calming-down and tidying-up process had taken place. Another issue of choirboys' buttons had been dealt round and most people, exhausted by all the excitement, had gone to sleep, lying as comfortably as they could on the sloping cathedral floor. The king, having delivered a calming speech, had retired to the north gallery. Here the Wineberry Men were summoned to be thanked for the speed and skill with which they had secured the cathedral.

"You saved it from destruction," the Dean kept repeating, with tears in his eyes. "I'll never forget it, never!"

"Losh, lads, ye did wonders," agreed the king.

"How did you get the rope so quick?" Dido wanted to know.

"Got it from the Old Bailey. They've alius got plenty there—for tying up prisoners. Sir Percy fixed for us to have it—he and Lord Raven were still arguing when we took along his Reverence's note. We could see the cathedral a-swaying about from there, so I reckoned there wasn't time to go along and argue the toss wi' Lord Fo'c'stle."

"I'll no' say but that ye were richt," agreed the king, "Weel, lads, if ye wish for pensionable, kenspeckit poseetions in the government, Davie Jamie Charlie Neddie Geordie Harry Dick Tudor-Stuart's the man tae see ye'll get them."

Yan and the rest thanked him politely, but said on the whole they would prefer to continue plying their trade as Gentlemen.

"'Tis what we're used to, you see, sir."

"Aweel, I'll no' quarrel with ye; 'tis a gey frack profession, fit for gallant lads like yersel's. Whene'er ye veesit Westminster I'll be blythe tae buy claret from ye as my dad did afore me. And I hereby gie ye leave to write Appointit tae His Majesty on the brattach o' your boat."

Much impressed by this royal favor, the Wineberry Men withdrew, pulling their forelocks.

"Would Your Grace wish to see the two prisoners?" the Dean inquired.

"I canna say I do, but I doubt I had better," said the king reluctantly.

Tante Sannie and Mrs. Lubbage were led in; they had been taken in the crypt without difficulty, for the subterranean passage was blocked when the southwest corner of the cathedral sank into the ground.

The two witches were a sorry spectacle. Sannie seemed to have shrunk; she had always been small, now she was tiny, hardly bigger than a five-year-old. She whimpered out miserably, on seeing the king,

"Oh, dear King-sir! Is will be kind to poor old Sannie? Old Sannie never meant harm! Only to go back where the sea she do sing, and isn't no cold nor rudeness, but love apples and sweet grass, and old people is loved and given quilt stuffed with happiness feathers—"

"What does she mean?" asked the king.

"She wants to go back to Tiburon," Dido said.

"And the other one?"

But no one, ever again, would be able to tell what Mrs. Lubbage wanted—if she wanted anything. She had half a dozen Joobie nuts, with which she played, smiling like a baby, trickling them from one hand to the other without speaking; she never said another word.

"Take them away," said the king. For the first time he sounded tired. "Take them away and let them be looked after somewhere..."

"Shall you let them go back to Tiburon, sir?" Dido asked when they had gone.

"Och, weel, they'd be out of mischief there."

But old Sannie died in the night; whether from age, or lost hope, no one could say.

"Whit aboot ye three?" the king said to Dido, Cris, and Tobit. "Gin ye hadna brought yon message in the faurst place, we'd nane of us be here noo. I'd be blythe for ye tae carry my train the morn, alang wi' young Owen Hughes—would ye like to?"

Dido glanced at the others; they nodded.

"Thanks, Mister King; we'd be right pleased. If I can get back to Sussex directly arter, that is; I shan't feel easy till I see how my old Cap's a-getting on. And I promised Lord Sope I'd return his elephant."

So that was how Dido Twite, along with Tobit and Cristin Tegleaze, came to carry the train of King Richard IV at his coronation. And the Master of the King's Garlandries, arriving at the last minute for the ceremony, because he and his helpers had been working all night replacing the scattered decorations on the cathedral, looked down from the Whispering Gallery and exclaimed,

"Good heavens! That's Dido!"