Shasta Among The Tombs
夏斯塔在墓地
Shasta ran lightly along the roof on tiptoes. It felt hot to his bare feet. He was only a few seconds scrambling up the wall at the far end， and when he got to the corner he found himself looking down into a narrow， smelly street， and there was a rubbish heap against the outside of the wall just as Corin had told him. Before jumping down he took a rapid glance round him to get his bearings. Apparently he had now come over the crown of the island-hill on which Tashbaan is built. Everything sloped away before him， flat roofs below flat roofs， down to the towers and battlements of the city‘s Northern wall. Beyond that was the river and beyond the river a short slope covered with gardens. But beyond that again there was something he had never seen the like of-a great yellowish-grey thing， flat as a calm sea， and stretching for miles. On the far side of it were huge blue things， lumpy but with jagged edges， and some of them with white tops. “The desert！ the mountains！” thought Shasta.
He jumped down onto the rubbish and began trotting along downhill as fast as he could in the narrow lane， which soon brought him into a wider street where there were more people. No one bothered to look at a little ragged boy running along on bare feet. Still， he was anxious and uneasy till he turned a corner and there sawthe city gate in front of him. Here he was pressed and jostled a bit， for a good many other people were also going out； and on the bridge beyond the gate the crowd became quite a slow procession， more like a queue than a crowd. Out there， with clear running water on each side， it was deliciously fresh after the smell and heat and noise of Tashbaan.
When once Shasta had reached the far end of the bridge he found the crowd melting away； everyone seemed to be going either to the left or right along the river bank. He went straight ahead up a road that did not appear to be much used， between gardens. In a few paces he was alone， and a few more brought him to the top of the slope. There he stood and stared. It was like coming to the end of the world for all the grass stopped quite suddenly a few feet before him and the sand began： endless level sand like on a sea shore but a bit rougher because it was never wet. The mountains， which now looked further off than before， loomed ahead. Greatly to his relief he saw， about five minutes’ walk away on his left， what must certainly be the Tombs， just as Bree had described them； great masses of mouldering stone shaped like gigantic beehives， but a little narrower. They looked very black and grim， for the sun was now setting right behind them.
He turned his face West and trotted towards the Tombs. He could not help looking out very hard for any sign of his friends， though the setting sun shone in his face so that he could see hardly anything. “And anyway，” he thought， “of course they‘ll be round on the far side of the farthest Tomb， not this side where anyone might see them from the city.”
There were about twelve Tombs， each with a low arched doorway that opened into absolute blackness. They were dotted about in no kind of order， so that it took a long time， going round this one and going round that one， before you could be sure that you had looked round every side of every tomb. This was what Shasta had to do. There was nobody there.
It was very quiet here out on the edge of the desert； and now the sun had really set.
Suddenly from somewhere behind him there came a terrible sound. Shasta’s heart gave a great jump and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from screaming. Next moment he realized what it was： the horns of Tashbaan blowing for the closing of the gates. “Don‘t be a silly little coward，” said Shasta to himself. “Why， it’s only the same noise you heard this morning.” But there is a great difference between a noise heard letting you in with your friends in the morning， and a noise heard alone at nightfall， shutting you out. And now that the gates were shut he knew there was no chance of the others joining him that evening. “Either they‘re shut up in Tashbaan for the night，” thought Shasta， “or else they’ve gone on without me. It‘s just the sort of thing that Aravis would do. But Bree wouldn’t. Oh， he wouldn‘t.-now， would he？”
In this idea about Aravis Shasta was once more quite wrong. She was proud and could be hard enough but she was as true as steel and would never have deserted a companion， whether she liked him or not.
Now that Shasta knew he would have to spend the night alone （it was getting darker every minute） he began to like the look of the place less and less. There was something very uncomfortable about those great， silent shapes of stone. He had been trying his hardest for a long time not to think of ghouls： but he couldn’t keep it up any longer.
“Ow！ Ow！ Help！” he shouted suddenly， for at that very moment he felt something touch his leg. I don‘t think anyone can be blamed for shouting if something comes up from behind and touches him； not in such a place and at such a time， when he is frightened already. Shasta at any rate was too frightened to run. Anything would be better than being chased round and round the burial places of the Ancient Kings with something he dared not look at behind him. Instead， he did what was really the most sensible thing he could do. He looked round； and his heart almost burst with relief. What had touched him was only a cat.
The light was too bad now for Shasta to see much of the cat except that it was big and very solemn. It looked as if it might have lived for long， long years among the Tombs， alone. Its eyes made you think it knew secrets it would not tell.
“Puss， puss，” said Shasta. “I suppose you’re not a talking cat.”
