The 13 Clocks Page 4

  “How many hours are left us now?” the Prince implored.

  Hagga sat upon the chest and kept on laughing.

  “I should say,” the Golux said, “that we have only forty left, but it is downhill all the way.

  They went out into the moonless night and peered about them in the dark.

  “I think it’s this way,” the Golux said, and they went the way he thought it was.

  “What about the clocks?” demanded Zorn.

  The Golux exhaled a sorry breath. “That’s another problem for another hour,” he said.

  Inside the hut, something red and larger than a ruby glowed among the jewels and Hagga picked it up. “A rose,” she said. “They must have dropped it.”

  VII

  N THE black oak room the yellow torches flared and crackled on the walls, and their fire burned on the lances and the shields. The Duke’s gloves glittered. “How goes the night?” he gnarled.

  “The moon is down,” said Hark. “I have not heard the clocks.”

  “You’ll never hear them!” screamed the Duke. “I slew time in this castle many a cold and snowy year ago.”

  Hark stared at him emptily and seemed to be chewing something. “Time froze here. Someone left the windows open.”

  “Bah!” The Duke sat down at the far end of the table, stood up again, and limped about. “It bled hours and minutes on the floor. I saw it with my eye.” Hark kept on chewing something. Outside the Gothic windows thunder growled. An owl flew by.

  “There are no jewels,” roared the Duke. “They’ll have to bring me pebbles from the sea or mica from the meadows.” He gave his awful laugh. “How goes the night?” he asked again.

  “I have been counting off and on,” said Hark, “and I should say they have some forty minutes left.”

  “They’ll never make it!” the cold Duke screamed. “I hope they drowned, or broke their legs, or lost their way.” He came so close to Hark their noses almost touched. “Where were they going?” he whispered harshly.

  Hark stepped backward seven steps. “I met a Jackadandy, some seven hours ago,” he said. “They passed him on their way to Hagga’s hill. Do you remember Hagga, and have you thought of her?”

  The Duke’s loud laughter rang the shields.

  “Hagga weeps no more,” he said. “Hagga has no tears. She did not even weep when she was told about the children locked up in my tower.”

  “I hated that,” said Hark.

  “I liked it,” said the Duke. “No child can sleep in my camellias.” He began to limp again and stared out at the night. “Where is Listen?” he demanded.

  “He followed them,” said Hark, “the Golux and the Prince.”

  “I do not trust him,” growled the Duke. “I like a spy that I can see. Let me have men about me that are visible.” He shouted “Listen!” up the stairs, and “Listen!” out the windows, but no one answered. “I’m cold,” he rasped.

  “You always are.”

  “I’m colder,” snarled the Duke, “and never tell me what I always am!” He took his sword out and slashed at nothing and at silence. “I miss Whisper.”

  “You fed him to the geese,” said Hark. “They seemed to like him.”

  “Silence! What was that?”

  “What did it sound like?”

  “Like princes stealing up the stairs, like Saralinda leaving.” The Duke limped to the iron stairs and slashed again at silence and at nothing. “What does he feel like? Have you felt him?”

  “Listen? He’s five feet high,” said Hark. “He has a beard, and something on his head I can’t describe.”

  “The Golux!” shrieked the Duke. “You felt the Golux! I hired him as a spy and didn’t know it.”

  A purple ball with gold stars on it came slowly bouncing down the iron stairs and winked and twinkled, like a naked child saluting priests. “What insolence is this?” the Duke demanded. “What is that thing?”

  “A ball,” said Hark.

  “I know that!” screamed the Duke. “But why? What does its ghastly presence signify?”

  “It looks to me,” said Hark, “very like a ball the Golux and those children used to play with.”

  “They’re on his side!” The Duke was apoplectic. “Their ghosts are on his side.”

  “He has a lot of friends,” said Hark.

  “Silence!” roared the Duke. “He knows not what is dead from what is dying, or where he’s been from where he’s going, or striking clocks from clocks that never strike.”

  “What makes me think he does?” The spy stopped chewing. Something very much like nothing anyone had seen before came trotting down the stairs and crossed the room.

  “What is that?” the Duke asked, palely.

  “I don’t know what it is,” said Hark, “but it’s the only one there ever was.”

  The Duke’s gloved hands shook and shimmered. “I’ll throw them up for grabs betwixt the Todal and the geese! I’ll lock them in the dungeon with the thing without a head!” At the mention of the Todal, Hark’s velvet mask turned gray. The Duke’s eye twisted upward in its socket. “I’ll slay them all!” he said. “This sweetheart and her suitor, this cross-eyed clown! You hear me?”

  “Yes,” said Hark, “but there are rules and rites and rituals, older than the sound of bells and snow on mountains.”

  “Go on,” the Duke said, softly, looking up the stairs.

  “You must let them have their time and turn to make the castle clocks strike five.”

  “The castle clocks were murdered,” said the Duke. “I killed time here myself one snowy morning. You still can see the old brown stains, where seconds bled to death, here on my sleeve.” He laughed. “What else?” he asked.

  “You know as well as I,” said Hark. “The Prince must have his turn and time to lay a thousand jewels there on the table.”

  “And if he does?”

  “He wins the hand of Princess Saralinda.”

  “The only warm hand in the castle,” said the Duke. “Who loses Saralinda loses fire. I mean the fire of the setting suns, and not the cold and cheerless flame of jewels. Her eyes are candles burning in a shrine. Her feet appear to me as doves. Her fingers bloom upon her breast like flowers.”

  “This is scarcely the way,” said Hark, “to speak of one’s own niece.”

  “She’s not my niece! I stole her!” cried the Duke. “I stole her from the castle of a king! I snatched her from the bosom of a sleeping queen. I still bear on my hands the marks of where she bit me.”

  “The Queen?” asked Hark.

  “The Princess,” roared the Duke.

  “Who was the King?” asked Hark.

  His master scowled. “I never knew,” he said. “My ship was beached upon an island in a storm. There was no moon or any star. No lights were in the castle.”

  “How could you find the Princess then?” asked Hark.

  “She had a radiance,” said the Duke. “She shone there like a star upon her mother’s breast. I knew I had to have that splendor in my castle. I mean to keep her here till she is twenty-one. The day she is, I’ll wed her, and that day is tomorrow.”

  “Why haven’t you before?” asked Hark. “This castle is your kingdom.”

  The Duke smiled and showed his upper teeth. “Because her nurse turned out to be a witch who cast a spell upon me.”

  “What were its terms?” asked Hark.

  “I cannot wed her till the day she’s twenty-one, and that day is tomorrow.”

  “You said that once before.”

  “I must keep her in a chamber where she is safe from me. I’ve done that.”

  “I like that part,” said Hark.

  “I hate it,” snarled the Duke. “I must give and grant the right to any prince to seek her hand in marriage. I’ve done that, too.” He sat down at the table.r />
  “In spells of this sort,” Hark said, chewing, “one always finds a chink or loophole, by means of which the right and perfect prince can win her hand in spite of any task you set him. How did the witch announce that part of it?”

  “Like this. ‘She can be saved, and you destroyed, only by a prince whose name begins with X and doesn’t.’ There is no prince whose name begins with X and doesn’t.”

  Hark’s mask slipped off and he put it back again, but not before the Duke saw laughter in his eyes. “This prince,” said Hark, “is Zorn of Zorna, but to your terror and distaste, he once posed as a minstrel. His name was Xingu then and wasn’t. This is the prince whose name begins with X and doesn’t.”

  The Duke’s sword had begun to shake. “Nobody ever tells me anything,” he whispered to himself.

  Another ball came bouncing down the stairs, a black ball stamped with scarlet owls. The cold Duke watched it roll across the floor. “What impudence is this?” he cried.

  Hark walked to the stairs and listened, and turned and said, “There’s someone up there.”

  “It’s the children!” croaked the Duke.

  “The children are dead,” said Hark, “and the sound I heard was made by living feet.”

  “How much time is left them?” cried the Duke.

  “Half an hour, I think,” said Hark.

  “I’ll have their guggles on my sword for playing games with me!” The Duke started up the stairs and stopped. “They’re up there, all of them. Call out the guards,” he barked.

  “The guards are guarding the clocks,” said Hark. “You wanted it that way. There are eleven guards, and each one guards a clock. You and I are guarding these.” He pointed at the two clocks on the walls. “You wanted it that way.”

  “Call out the guards,” the Duke repeated, and his agent called the guards. They trooped into the room like engines. The Duke limped up the stairs, his drawn sword shining. “Follow me!” he cried. “Another game’s afoot! I’ll slay the Golux and the Prince, and marry Saralinda!” He led the way. The guards ramped up the stairs like engines. Hark smiled, and chewed again, and followed.

  The black oak room was silent for a space of seven seconds. Then a secret door swung open in a wall. The Golux slipped into the room. The Princess followed. His hands were raw and red from climbing vines to Saralinda’s chamber. “How could you find the castle in the dark without my rose?” she asked. “He would not let me burn a torch.”

  “You lighted up your window like a star, and we could see the castle from afar,” the Golux said. “Our time is marked in minutes. Start the clocks!”

  “I cannot start the clocks,” the Princess said.

  They heard the sound of fighting far above. “He faces thirteen men,” she cried, “and that is hard.”

  “We face thirteen clocks,” the Golux said, “and that is harder. Start the clocks!”

  “How can I start the clocks?” the Princess wailed.

  “Your hand is warmer than the snow is cold,” the Golux said. “Touch the first clock with your hand.” The Princess touched it. Nothing happened. “Again!” Saralinda held her hand against the clock and nothing happened. “We are ruined,” said the Golux simply, and Saralinda’s heart stood still.

  She cried, “Use magic!”

  “I have no magic to depend on,” groaned the Golux. “Try the other clock.”

  The Princess tried the other clock and nothing happened. “Use logic, then!” she cried. In the secret walls they heard the Iron Guard pounding after Zorn, and coming close.

  “Now let me see,” the Golux said. “If you can touch the clocks and never start them, then you can start the clocks and never touch them. That’s logic, as I know and use it. Hold your hand this far away. Now that far. Closer! Now a little farther back. A little farther. There! I think you have it! Do not move!”

  The clogged and rigid works of the clock began to whir. They heard a tick and then a ticking. The Princess Saralinda fled from room to room, like wind in clover, and held her hand the proper distance from the clocks. Something like a vulture spread its wings and left the castle. “That was Then,” the Golux said.

  “It’s Now!” cried Saralinda.

  A morning glory that had never opened, opened in the courtyard. A cock that never crowed, began to crow. The light of morning stained the windows, and in the walls the cold Duke moaned, “I hear the sound of time. And yet I slew it, and wiped my bloody sword upon its beard.” He thought that Zorn of Zorna had escaped the guards. His sword kept whining in the blackness, and once he slashed his own left knee—he thought it was the Golux. “Come out, you crooning knave!” he cried. “Stand forward, Zorn of Zorna!”

  “He’s not here,” said the spy.

  They heard the savage clash of swords. “They’ve got him!” squealed the Duke. “Eleven men to one!”

  “You may have heard of Galahad,” said Hark, “whose strength was as the strength of ten.”

  “That leaves one man to get him,” cried the Duke. “I count on Krang, the strongest guard I have, the finest fencer in the world, save one. An unknown prince in armor vanquished him a year ago, somewhere on an island. No one else can do it.”

  “The unknown prince,” said Hark, “was Zorn of Zorna.”

  “I’ll slay him then myself!” The Duke’s voice rose and echoed down the dark and secret stairs. “I slew time with the bloody hand that grips your arm, and time is greater far than Zorn of Zorna!”

  Hark began to chew again. “No mortal man can murder time,” he said, “and even if he could, there’s something else: a clockwork in a maiden’s heart, that strikes the hours of youth and love, and knows the southward swan from winter snow, and summer afternoons from tulip time.”

  “You sicken me with your chocolate chatter,” snarled the Duke. “Your tongue is made of candy. I’ll slay this ragged prince, if Krang has missed him. If there were light, I’d show you on my sleeves the old brown stains of seconds, where they bled and died. I slew time in these gloomy halls, and wiped my bloody blade—”

  “Ah, shut up,” said Hark. “You are the most aggressive villain in the world. I always meant to tell you that. I said it and I’m glad.”

  “Silence,” roared the Duke. “Where are we?” They stumbled down the secret stairs.

  “This is the hidden door,” said Hark, “that leads into the oak room.”

  “Open,” roared the Duke, his sword gripped in his hand. Hark groped and found the secret knob.

  VIII

  HE BLACK oak room was bright with flaming torches, but brighter with the light of Saralinda. The cold eye of the Duke was dazzled by the gleaming of a thousand jewels that sparkled on the table. His ears were filled with chiming as the clocks began to strike.

  “One!” said Hark.

  “Two!” cried Zorn of Zorna.

  “Three!” the Duke’s voice almost whispered.

  “Four!” sighed Saralinda.

  “Five!” the Golux crowed, and pointed at the table. “The task is done, the terms are met,” he said.

  The Duke’s cold eye slowly moved around the room. “Where are my guards?” he croaked, “and where is Krang, the greatest of them all?”

  “I lured them to the tower,” said Zorn, “and locked them in. The one that’s tied in knots is Krang.”

  The Duke glared at the jewels on the table. “They’re false!” he said. “They must be colored pebbles!” He picked one up, and saw that it was real, and put it down again.

  “The task is done,” said Hark, “the terms are met.”

  “Not until I count them,” said the Duke. “If there be only one that isn’t here, I wed the Princess Saralinda on the morrow.” The figures in the room were still and he could hear their breathing.

  “What a gruesome way to treat one’s niece,” the Golux cried.

  “She’s not my nie
ce,” the lame man sneered. “I stole her from a king.” He showed his lower teeth. “We all have flaws,” he said, “and mine is being wicked.” He sat down at the table and began to count the gems.

  “Who is my father then?” the Princess cried.

  The spy’s black eyebrows rose. “I thought the Golux told you, but then, of course, he never could remember things.”

  “Especially,” the Golux said, “the names of kings.”

  “Your father,” said the spy, “is good King Gwain of Yarrow.”

  “I knew that once,” the Golux said, “but I forgot it.” He turned to Saralinda. “Then the gift your father gave to Hagga has operated in the end to make you happy.”

  The Duke looked up and bared his teeth. “The tale is much too tidy for my taste,” he snarled. “I hate it.” He went on counting.

  “It’s neat,” said Hark, “and, to my taste, refreshing.” He removed his mask. His eyes were bright and jolly. “If I may introduce myself,” he said, “I am a servant of the King, the good King Gwain of Yarrow.”

  “That,” the Golux said, “I didn’t know. You could have saved the Princess many years ago.”

  The servant of the King looked sad, and said, “This part I always hate to tell, but I was under a witch’s spell.”

  “I weary of witches,” the Golux said, “with due respect to Mother.”

  The Duke’s smile showed his upper teeth. “I cannot even trust the spies I see,” he muttered. His eye moved glassily around and saw the Golux. “You mere Device!” he gnarled. “You platitude! You Golux ex machina!”

  “Quiet, please,” the Golux said, “you gleaming thief.”

  “Nine hundred ninety-eight.” The Duke was counting. “Nine hundred ninety-nine.” He had counted all the jewels, and put them in a sack. There was none left on the table. He gave them all a look of horrid glee. “The Princess,” said the Duke, “belongs to me.”