'That stupid butler! I heard them say he was drunk!' he cried in
a loud whisper, and was gliding from the room.
'Come here with that flagon, you! Page!' cried the doctor.
Curdie came a few steps toward him with the flagon dangling from
his hand, heedless of the gushes that fell noiseless on the thick
carpet.
'Are you aware, young man,' said the doctor, 'that it is not every
wine can do His Majesty the benefit I intend he should derive from
my prescription?'
'Quite aware, sir, answered Curdie. 'The wine for His Majesty's
use is in the third cask from the corner.'
'Fly, then,' said the doctor, looking satisfied.
Curdie stopped outside the curtain and blew an audible breath - no
more; up came Lina noiseless as a shadow. He showed her the
flagon.
'The cellar, Lina: go,' he said.
She galloped away on her soft feet, and Curdie had indeed to fly to
keep up with her. Not once did she make even a dubious turn. From
the king's gorgeous chamber to the cold cellar they shot. Curdie
dashed the wine down the back stair, rinsed the flagon out as he
had seen the butler do, filled it from the cask of which he had
seen the butler drink, and hastened with it up again to the king's
room.
The little doctor took it, poured out a full glass, smelt, but did
not taste it, and set it down. Then he leaned over the bed,
shouted in the king's ear, blew upon his eyes, and pinched his arm:
Curdie thought he saw him run something bright into it.
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