“I suppose all you chaps-owls， I mean，” said Scrubb， “I suppose you all know that King Caspian the Tenth， in his young days， sailed to the eastern end of the world. Well， I was with him on that journey； with him and Reepicheep the Mouse， and the Lord Drinian and all of them. I know it sounds hard to believe， but people don‘t grow older in our world at the same speed as they do in yours. And what I want to say is this， that I’m the King‘s man； and if this parliament of owls is any sort of plot against the King， I’m having nothing to do with it.”
“Tu-whoo， tu-whoo， we‘re all the King’s owls too，” said the owls. “What‘s it all about then？” said Scrubb.
“It’s only this，” said Glimfeather. “That if the Lord Regent， the Dwarf Trumpkin， hears you are going to look for the lost Prince， he won‘t let you start. He’d keep you under lock and key sooner.”
“Great Scott！” said Scrubb. “You don‘t mean that Trumpkin is a traitor？ I used to hear a lot about him in the old days， at sea. Caspian-the King， I mean-trusted him absolutely.”
“Oh no，” said a voice. “Trumpkin’s no traitor. But more than thirtychampions （knights， centaurs， good giants， and all sorts） have at one time or another set out to look for the lost Prince， and none of them have ever come back. And at last the King said he was not going to have all the bravest Narnians destroyed in the search for his son. And now nobody is allowed to go.”
“But surely he‘d let us go，” said Scrubb. “When he knew who I was and who had sent me.”
（“Sent both of us，” put in Jill.）
“Yes，” said Glimfeather， “I think， very likely， he would. But the King’s away. And Trumpkin will stick to the rules. He‘s as true as steel，but he’s deaf as a post and very peppery. You could never make him see that this might be the time for making an exception to the rule.”
“You might think he‘d take some notice of us， because we’re owls and everyone knows how wise owls are，” said someone else. “But he‘s so old now he’d only say， ‘You’re a mere chick. I remember you when you were an egg. Don‘t come trying to teach me， Sir. Crabs and crumpets！’”
This owl imitated Trumpkin‘s voice rather well， and there were sounds of owlish laughter all round. The children began to see that the Narnians all felt about Trumpkin as people feel at school about some crusty teacher， whom everyone is a little afraid of and everyone makes fun of and nobody really dislikes.
“How long is the King going to be away？” asked Scrubb.
“If only we knew！” said Glimfeather. “You see， there has been a rumour lately that Aslan himself has been seen in the islands-in Terebinthia， I think it was. And the King said he would make one more attempt before he died to see Aslan face to face again， and ask his advice about who is to be King after him. But we’re all afraid that， if he doesn‘t meet Aslan in Terebinthia， he’ll go on east， to Seven Isles and Lone Islands-and on and on. He never talks about it， but we all know he has never forgotten that voyage to the world‘s end. I’m sure in his heart of hearts he wants to go there again.”
“Then there‘s no good waiting for him to come back？” said Jill.
“No， no good，” said the Owl. “Oh， what a to-do！ If only you two had known and spoken to him at once！ He’d have arranged everything- probably given you an army to go with you in search of the Prince.”
Jill kept quiet at this and hoped Scrubb would be sporting enough not to tell all the owls why this hadn‘t happened. He was， or very nearly. That is， he only muttered under his breath， “Well， it wasn’t my fault，” before saying out loud：
“Very well. We‘ll have to manage without it. But there’s just one thing more I want to know. If this owls‘ parliament， as you call it， is all fair and above board and means no mischief， why does it have to be so jolly secret-meeting in a ruin at the dead of night， and all that？”
“Tu-whoo！ Tu-whoo！” hooted several owls. “Where should we meet？ When would anyone meet except at night？”
“You see，” explained Glimfeather， “most of the creatures in Narnia have such unnatural habits. They do things by day， in broad blazing sunlight （ugh！） when everyone ought to be asleep. And， as a result， at night they’re so blind and stupid that you can‘t get a word out of them. So we owls have got into the habit of meeting at sensible hours， on our own， when we want to talk about things.”
“I see，” said Scrubb. “Well now， let’s get on. Tell us all about the lost Prince.” Then an old owl， not Glimfeather， related the story.
About ten years ago， it appeared， when Rilian， the son of Caspian， was a very young knight， he rode with the Queen his mother on a May morning in the north parts of Narnia. They had many squires and ladies with them and all wore garlands of fresh leaves on their heads， and horns at their sides； but they had no hounds with them， for they were maying， not hunting.
In the warm part of the day they came to a pleasant glade where a fountain flowed freshly out of the earth， and there they dismounted and ate and drank and were merry. After a time the Queen felt sleepy， and they spread cloaks for her on the grassy bank， and Prince Rilian with the rest of the party went a little way from her， that their tales and laughter might not wake her.
And so， presently， a great serpent came out of the thick wood and stung the Queen in her hand. All heard her cry out and rushed towards her， and Rilian was first at her side. He saw the worm gliding away from her and made after it with his sword drawn. It was great， shining， and as green as poison， so that he could see it well： but it glided away into thick bushes and he could not come at it. So he returned to his mother， and found them all busy about her. But they were busy in vain， for at the first glance of her face Rilian knew that no physic in the world would do her good. As long as the life was in her she seemed to be trying hard to tell him something. But she could not speak clearly and， whatever her message was， she died without delivering it. It was then hardly ten minutes since they had heard her cry.
