The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader Page #4

to the slave traders...

you're likely to be fed to the mist.

We have to find Lucy...

before it's too late.

- I bid 60.

- I bid 80.

100 for the little lady.

Any more bids?

Sold!

Ah!

Come on, move.

Move!

And now...

for this...

fine specimen...

who'll kick off the bidding?

Come on now...

he may not look like much

but he's strong.

Yeah, he's strong, all right.

Smells like the rear end of a Minotaur!

That is an outrageous lie!

I won the school hygiene award

two years running.

Come on, someone make a bid!

I'll take them off your hands.

I'll take them all off your hands!

For Narnia!

Narnia!

Guards! Guards! Move yourselves!

Thanks, Reep. I knew you'd come.

Your Highness.

Ha!

Get the keys!

Keys!

Oh, you're a boat in a magical land.

Can't you row yourself?

Oh, God. I hope that wasn't

the British Consul.

Your Majesty.

Your Majesty!

Hold it!

My wife was taken

just this morning.

It's all right, Drinian.

I beg you, take me with you.

Gael!

- I want to come.

- No, Gael, stay with your aunt.

I'm a fine sailor.

Been on the seas my whole life.

Of course, you must.

- Thank you.

- But, Daddy!

Have I ever

not come back?

Now be good.

My king.

My king.

This was given to me by your father.

I hid it safely in a cave all these years.

That's an old

Narnian sword.

It's from your Golden Age.

There are seven such swords,

gifts from Aslan to protect Narnia.

Your father

entrusted them to us.

Here, take it.

And may it protect you.

Thank you, my lord.

And we shall find your lost citizens.

Edmund.

Dear diary, there has been

an extraordinary turn of events.

I've been abducted by my cousins...

and set adrift in uncharted waters

in some ridiculous-looking boat.

What's worse is I share quarters

with an obnoxious mouse thing.

And I thought bunking with

my cousin was bad enough.

So far, every person I've met

in this strange place...

suffers from the most florid delusions.

Chasing green mists

and looking for lost lords.

I can only assume that this is...

the result of poor diet.

Or theyre all just barking mad.

Cousin Edmund is no exception.

He spends every spare second

rubbing that tin sword of his...

like it's some magic lantern.

Poor fool clearly needs a hobby.

It's going to be magnificent.

Do they come in a smaller size?

Peeving marmot!

He's even more deluded than my cousin.

In England, we have mouse traps

for that sort of thing.

Speaking of food, you don't know

where I could get any, do you?

Uh, why are you talking to that bird?

I just naturally assumed you can...

He's talking to birds!

He's mad as a loon,

that one.

Yeah!

Shoo! Go on, get off!

Are you aware...

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