Sorcery And Sudden Vengeance
巫术与即刻的刑罚
Mean while Trumpkin and the two boys arrived at the dark little stone archway which led into the inside of the Mound， and two sentinel badgers （the white patches on their cheeks were all Edmund could see of them） leaped up with bared teeth and asked them in snarling voices， “Who goes there？”
“Trumpkin，” said the Dwarf. “Bringing the High King of Narnia out of the far past.”
The badgers nosed at the boys‘ hands. “At last，” they said. “At last.” “Give us a light， friends，” said Trumpkin.
The badgers found a torch just inside the arch and Peter lit it and handed it to Trumpkin. “The DLF had better lead，” he said. “We don’t know our way about this place.”
Trumpkin took the torch and went ahead into the dark tunnel. It was a cold， black， musty place， with an occasional bat fluttering in the torchlight， and plenty of cobwebs. The boys， who had been mostly in the open air since that morning at the railway station， felt as if they were going into a trap or a prison.
“I say， Peter，” whispered Edmund. “Look at those carvings on the walls. Don‘t they look old？ And yet we’re older than that. When we were last here， they hadn‘t been made.”
“Yes，” said Peter. “That makes one think.”
The Dwarf went on ahead and then turned to the right， and then to the left， and then down some steps， and then to the left again. Then at last they saw a light ahead-light from under a door. And now for the first time they heard voices， for they had come to the door of the central chamber. The voices inside were angry ones. Someone was talking so loudly that the approach of the boys and the Dwarf had not been heard.
“Don’t like the sound of that，” whispered Trumpkin to Peter. “Let‘s listen for a moment.” All three stood perfectly still on the outside of the door.
“You know well enough，” said a voice （“That’s the King，” whispered Trumpkin）， “why the Horn was not blown at sunrise this morning. Have you forgotten that Miraz fell upon us almost before Trumpkin had gone， and we were fighting for our lives for the space of three hours and more？ I blew it when first I had a breathing space.”
“I‘m not likely to forget it，” came the angry voice， “when my Dwarfs bore the brunt of the attack and one in five of them fell.” （“That’s Nikabrik，” whispered Trumpkin.）
“For shame， Dwarf，” came a thick voice （“Trufflehunter‘s，” said Trumpkin）. “We all did as much as the Dwarfs and none more than the King.”
“Tell that tale your own way for all I care，” answered Nikabrik. “But whether it was that the Horn was blown too late， or whether there was no magic in it， no help has come. You， you great clerk， you master magician， you know-all； are you still asking us to hang our hopes on Aslan and King Peter and all the rest of it？”
“I must confess-I cannot deny it-that I am deeply disappointed in the result of the operation，” came the answer. （“That’ll be Doctor Cornelius，” said Trumpkin.）
“To speak plainly，” said Nikabrik， “your wallet‘s empty， your eggs addled， your fish uncaught， your promises broken. Stand aside then and let others work. And that is why-”
“The help will come，” said Trufflehunter. “I stand by Aslan. Havepatience， like us beasts. The help will come. It may be even now at the door.”
“Pah！” snarled Nikabrik. “You badgers would have us wait till the sky falls and we can all catch larks. I tell you we can’t wait. Food is running short； we lose more than we can afford at every encounter； our followers are slipping away.”
“And why？” asked Trufflehunter. “I‘ll tell you why. Because it is noised among them that we have called on the Kings of old and the Kings of old have not answered. The last words Trumpkin spoke before he went （and went， most likely， to his death） were， ’If you must blow the Horn， do not let the army know why you blow it or what you hope from it.‘ But that same evening everyone seemed to know.”
“You’d better have shoved your grey snout in a hornets‘ nest， Badger， than suggest that I am the blab，” said Nikabrik. “Take it back， or-”
“Oh， stop it， both of you，” said King Caspian. “I want to know whatit is that Nikabrik keeps on hinting we should do. But before that， I want to know who those two strangers are whom he has brought into our council and who stand there with their ears open and their mouths shut.”
“They are friends of mine，” said Nikabrik. “And what better right have you yourself to be here than that you are a friend of Trumpkin’s and the Badger‘s？ And what right has that old dotard in the black gown to be here except that he is your friend？ Why am I to be the only one who can’t bring in his friends？”
“His Majesty is the King to whom you have sworn allegiance，” said Trufflehunter sternly.
“Court manners， court manners，” sneered Nikabrik. “But in this hole we may talk plainly. You know-and he knows-that this Telmarine boy will be king of nowhere and nobody in a week unless we can help him out of the trap in which he sits.”
“Perhaps，” said Cornelius， “your new friends would like to speak for themselves？ You there， who and what are you？”
“Worshipful Master Doctor，” came a thin， whining voice. “Soplease you， I‘m only a poor old woman， I am， and very obliged to his Worshipful Dwarfship for his friendship， I’m sure. His Majesty， bless his handsome face， has no need to be afraid of an old woman that‘s nearly doubled up with the rheumatics and hasn’t two sticks to put under her kettle. I have some poor little skill-not like yours， Master Doctor， of course-in small spells and cantrips that I‘d be glad to use against our enemies if it was agreeable to all concerned. For I hate ’em. Oh yes. No one hates better than me.”
“That is all most interesting and-er-satisfactory，” said Doctor Cornelius. “I think I now know what you are， Madam. Perhaps your other friend， Nikabrik， would give some account of himself ？”