The Chronicles of Narnia - Complete 7 Books in One Edition. C. S. Lewis

on, then," snarled Trufflehunter, but he was immediately interrupted.

      "Stop, stop, stop," said Doctor Cornelius. "You go on too fast. The Witch is dead. All the stories agree on that. What does Nikabrik mean by calling on the Witch?"

      That grey and terrible voice which had spoken only once before said, "Oh, is she?"

      And then the shrill, whining voice began, "Oh, bless his heart, his dear little Majesty needn't mind about the White Lady—that's what we call her—being dead. The Worshipful Master Doctor is only making game of a poor old woman like me when he says that. Sweet Master Doctor, learned Master Doctor, who ever heard of a witch that really died? You can always get them back."

      "Call her up," said the grey voice. "We are all ready. Draw the circle. Prepare the blue fire."

      Above the steadily increasing growl of the Badger and Cornelius's sharp "What?" rose the voice of King Caspian like thunder.

      "So that is your plan, Nikabrik! Black sorcery and the calling up of an accursed ghost. And I see who your companions are—a Hag and a Wer-Wolf!"

      The next minute or so was very confused. There was an animal roaring, a clash of steel; the boys and Trumpkin rushed in; Peter had a glimpse of a horrible, grey, gaunt creature, half man and half wolf, in the very act of leaping upon a boy about his own age, and Edmund saw a badger and a Dwarf rolling on the floor in a sort of cat fight. Trumpkin found himself face to face with the Hag. Her nose and chin stuck out like a pair of nut-crackers, her dirty grey hair was flying about her face and she had just got Doctor Cornelius by the throat. At one slash of Trumpkin's sword her head rolled on the floor. Then the light was knocked over and it was all swords, teeth, claws, fists and boots for about sixty seconds. Then silence.

      "Are you all right, Ed?"

      "I—I think so," panted Edmund. "I've got that brute Nikabrik, but he's still alive."

      "Weights and water-bottles!" came an angry voice. "It's me you're sitting on. Get off. You're like a young elephant."

      "Sorry, D.L.F.," said Edmund. "Is that better?"

      "Ow! No!" bellowed Trumpkin. "You're putting your boot in my mouth. Go away."

      "Is King Caspian anywhere?" asked Peter.

      "I'm here," said a rather faint voice. "Something bit me."

      They all heard the noise of someone striking a match. It was Edmund. The little flame showed his face, looking pale and dirty. He blundered about for a little, found the candle (they were no longer using the lamp, for they had run out of oil), set it on the table and lit it. When the flame rose clear, several people scrambled to their feet. Six faces blinked at one another in the candlelight.

      "We don't seem to have any enemies left," said Peter. "There's the Hag, dead." (He turned his eyes quickly away from her.) "And Nikabrik, dead too. And I suppose this thing is a Wer-Wolf. It's so long since I've seen one. Wolf's head and man's body. That means he was just turning from man into wolf at the moment he was killed. And you, I suppose, are King Caspian?"

      "Yes," said the other boy. "But I've no idea who you are."

      "It's the High King, King Peter," said Trumpkin.

      "Your Majesty is very welcome," said Caspian.

      "And so is your Majesty," said Peter. "I haven't come to take your place, you know, but to put you into it."

      "Your Majesty," said another voice at Peter's elbow. He turned and found himself face to face with the Badger. Peter leaned forward, put his arms round the beast and kissed the furry head: it wasn't a girlish thing for him to do, because he was the High King.

      "Best of badgers," he said. "You never doubted us all through."

      "No credit to me, your Majesty," said Trufflehunter. "I'm a beast and we don't change. I'm a badger, what's more, and we hold on."

      "I am sorry for Nikabrik," said Caspian, "though he hated me from the first moment he saw me. He had gone sour inside from long suffering and hating. If we had won quickly he might have become a good Dwarf in the days of peace. I don't know which of us killed him. I'm glad of that."

      "You're bleeding," said Peter.

      "Yes, I'm bitten," said Caspian. "It was that—that wolf thing." Cleaning and bandaging the wound took a little time, and when it was done Trumpkin said, "Now. Before everything else we want some breakfast."

      "But not here," said Peter.

      "No," said Caspian with a shudder. "And we must send someone to take away the bodies."

      "Let the vermin be flung into a pit," said Peter. "But the Dwarf we will give to his people to be buried in their own fashion."

      They breakfasted at last in another of the dark cellars of Aslan's How. It was not such a breakfast as they would have chosen, for Caspian and Cornelius were thinking of venison pasties, and Peter and Edmund of buttered eggs and hot coffee, but what everyone got was a little bit of cold bear-meat (out of the boys' pockets), a lump of hard cheese, an onion, and a mug of water. But, from the way they fell to, anyone would have supposed it was delicious.