The Silver Chair, by C. S. Lewis
- ISBN: 9780064471091 | 0064471098
- Cover: Paperback
- Copyright: 10/15/2010
|Behind the Gym||p. 3|
|Jill Is Given a Task||p. 19|
|The Sailing of the King||p. 33|
|A Parliament of Owls||p. 48|
|The Wild Waste Lands of the North||p. 78|
|The Hill of the Strange Trenches||p. 95|
|The House of Harfang||p. 110|
|How They Discovered Something Worth Knowing||p. 126|
|Travels Without the Sun||p. 140|
|In the Dark Castle||p. 156|
|The Queen of Underland||p. 171|
|Underland Without the Queen||p. 186|
|The Bottom of the World||p. 200|
|The Disappearance of Jill||p. 214|
|The Healing of Harms||p. 228|
|Table of Contents provided by Ingram. All Rights Reserved.|
The Queen of Underland
Two Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation -- the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.
She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.
"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door.
"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"
Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:
"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you. First -- as for your Ladyship's design of putting me at the head of an army of Earthmen so that I may break out into the Overworld and there, by main force, make myself king over some nation that never did me wrong -- murdering their natural lords and holding their throne as a bloody and foreign tyrant -- now that I know myself, I do utterly abhor and renounce it as plain villainy. And second: I am the King's son of Narnia, Rilian, the only child of Caspian, Tenth of that name, whom some call Caspian the Seafarer. Therefore, Madam, it is my purpose, as it is also my duty, to depart suddenly from your Highness's court into my own country. Please it you to grant me and my friends safe conduct and a guide through your dark realm."
Now the Witch said nothing at all, but moved gently across the room, always keeping her face and eyes very steadily towards the Prince. When she had come to a little ark set in the wall not far from the fireplace, she opened it, and took out first a handful of a green powder. This she threw on the fire. It did not blaze much, but a very sweet and drowsy smell came from it. And all through the conversation which followed, that smell grew stronger, and filled the room, and made it harder to think. Secondly, she took out a musical instrument rather like a mandolin. She began to play it with her fingers -- a steady, monotonous thrumming that you didn't notice after a few minutes. But the less you noticed it, the more it got into your brain and your blood. This also made it hard to think. After she had thrummed for a time (and the sweet smell was now strong) she began speaking in a sweet, quiet voice.
"Narnia?" she said. "Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia."
"Yes, there is, though, Ma'am," said Puddleglum. "You see, I happen to have lived there all my life."
"Indeed," said the Witch. "Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?"
"Up there," said Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. "I -- I don't know exactly where."
"How?" said the Queen, with a kind, soft, musical laugh. "Is there a country up among the stones and mortar of the roof?"
"No," said Puddleglum, struggling a little to get his breath. "It's in the Overworld."
"And what, or where, pray is this how do you call it. . . Overworld?"
"Oh, don't be so silly," said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment of the sweet smell and the thrumming. "As if you didn't know! It's up above, up where you can see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you've been there yourself. We met you there."
"I cry you mercy, little brother," laughed the Witch (you couldn't have heard a lovelier laugh). "I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends in strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask them to remember it."
"Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia."
"And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she were humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies."
"We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked.
"And thou art Queen of Narnia too, I doubt not, pretty one," said the Witch in the same coaxing, half-mocking tone.The Silver Chair (rack). Copyright © by C. Lewis. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Excerpted from The Silver Chair by C. S. Lewis
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