The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  Gracie blushed a fiery red, and concentrated on Billy. “Is Alf going to show you round the Five Kingdoms, Billy? Make sure he introduces you to Queen Bluebell. She’s wonderful, and she’s a great friend of Alf’s Uncle Marlon, so she’ll be ever so pleased to meet you.” She paused for a moment. “But I’m sure you’ve been warned that some of the royal families aren’t very – um – sensible about bats.”

  “She means they do lots of screaming and jumping up and down if they catch sight of us,” Alf explained.

  “Just remember it’s because they’ve never been properly educated,” Gracie said. “Try not to let it worry you.”

  Billy nodded. “Yes, miss.”

  “We’d better be going, I s’pose,” Alf said reluctantly. “Let you get your beauty sleep, Miss Gracie.” He giggled. “Although I bet Mr Prince doesn’t think—”

  “That’s quite enough, Alf,” Gracie said firmly. “And you’re right about my needing sleep.” She yawned. “It’s been such a long day. We were much later going to bed than usual because of sorting out Foyce’s tangles. It probably sounds really lazy, but I think I’ll tell Auntie Edna about the hole in Foyce’s shutters in the morning.” She leant back against her pillows, and tickled Billy’s furry tummy. “It was nice to meet you, Billy. Enjoy your trip around the Five Kingdoms, and don’t believe everything Alf tells you.”

  “Ciao, Miss Gracie!” Alf dipped in salute, and flew through the window.

  “Bye, Miss Gracie,” Billy echoed.

  Gracie smiled, and snuggled under her blankets. In no time at all she was asleep again.

  There was no sleeping being done in the room next door. The eye was back at the knothole, watching, and waiting. It saw the two little figures flittering past, and noticed with evil satisfaction how the smaller of the two kept glancing nervously back before disappearing between the moonlit trees.

  “So you saw a wolf woman, did you?” The voice was as cold and sharp as a sliver of ice. “Well, well, well. How interesting. How very, very interesting…”

  Gracie Gillypot woke with a start. A shadow had troubled her dreams, and was lingering on even though sunshine was streaming into her room. As she sat up a bird flew past the window, and the fluttering wings made her think of Alf and Billy.

  “Foyce!” The image in her dreams took a sudden shape. “Billy said she was looking at him! I ought to tell the aunties…”

  She got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. As she did so a goose-feather quill pen, dripping with violet ink, zoomed down from the ceiling and began writing urgently on her whitewashed walls. “CAREFUL! CAREFUL! CAREFUL!”

  “It’s OK,” Gracie told it. “There’s no panic.”

  The pen hesitated, then began again. “CAREFUL! CAREFUL! CAREFUL!”

  Gracie sighed. “You know what?” she said. “It would be really helpful if you could tell me what I’m supposed to be careful of, rather than just being mysterious.”

  “HER!” scrawled the pen, “HER! HER! HER!” then slid away under the door, leaving a pool of violet ink behind it.

  “That’s horribly messy,” Gracie said disapprovingly. “And I do so wish you wouldn’t write on the walls. I spent a whole afternoon last week painting out your silly poem about me and Marcus sitting in a tree K.I.S.S.I.N.G.” Even in the privacy of her own room she was blushing. “That sort of thing is none of your business.”

  The pen reappeared in a rush, wrote “SORRY!” on the one remaining clean wall, followed it up with a badly drawn heart, then vanished as speedily as it had come.

  Gracie shook her head. “And that serves me right for telling it off.”

  She mopped up the ink as best she could with an old handkerchief, then went down the stairs. The doors in the corridor slid towards her in greeting, and she waved hello as she opened the door to Room Seventeen. The Ancient One was still in her chair, and the Oldest was still working away at the loom.

  “Dear girl! You’re up very early … but you’re a sight for sore eyes at any time.” The Ancient One smiled at Gracie. “I don’t suppose you fancy making a nice pot of tea? Val hasn’t got up yet, and Elsie and I are gasping.”

  Gracie smiled back. “Of course I will. But there’s something I need to ask you – did you know there’s a hole in the shutters in Foyce’s room?”

  There was a sudden silence as Elsie and Edna exchanged glances. Gracie’s heart sank.

  “Oh no. It DOES matter, doesn’t it? I should have told you last night. I’m so sorry … but Alf said it was only a very little hole.”

  As the steady clack clack clack of the shuttle began once more, Edna leant forward in her chair. “It may not matter too much. Hm. Alf didn’t mention it when he flew in last night. It seems he’s giving guided tours, with me as the main attraction.”

  Gracie was unable to repress a giggle. “I know! Me too. He’s got this teeny little bat called Billy in tow –he’s training him to be a Batster spy!”

  The Ancient One nodded. “I saw Billy. He’s very young to be out on his own with Alf, though. He’s a mere baby. He didn’t see Foyce, did he?”

  The sinking feeling came back to Gracie with a vengeance. “Yes. He was all trembly – he thought she was a witch… Oh, Auntie Edna! She can’t hurt him, can she?”

  Once again there was a meaningful silence as the two crones looked at each other. Then Elsie said, “You’d better tell her, Edna. She needs to know.”

  The Ancient One gave a deep sigh. “You’re right, Elsie dear.”

  “Tell me what?” Gracie’s eyes were wide. “What is it?”

  “Well…” Edna leant back in her chair. “We’ve been a little worried about Foyce.”

  Gracie stared at her. “But I thought she was getting better? I mean, I know she tangled all the threads yesterday, but she always does that when it’s coming up to full moon. She’s not been calling me names nearly as often as she used to. And she hasn’t had a temper tantrum for ages.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why we’re worried,” Edna said. “We’d be delighted with a gradual improvement, with a few backslidings here and there. That’s to be expected. But Foyce has changed her behaviour very suddenly and, to be honest, it makes me suspicious. She hasn’t said anything to you, has she?”

  Gracie shook her head. “She doesn’t talk to me unless she has to.”

  Elsie unhooked her wig from the end of the loom and gave it a shake before putting it on. “I suppose we could be worrying unnecessarily, Edna dear. After all, we’ve never had a case like Foyce before. What do you think, Gracie?”

  “I don’t know enough about it,” Gracie said slowly. “Auntie Val told me it’s never easy when a Falseheart first comes here, though. She told me it was ages before she learnt to behave, and she nearly drove you mad.”

  “That’s true enough,” Elsie agreed. “But Val was an angel compared to Foyce. Well, a very bad angel, with a tendency to steal toy trains from small children.”

  Edna chuckled. “I’d forgotten about the trains. But Elsie’s right. Foyce is far worse than Val ever was.”

  “And do you think she’s planning something?” Gracie asked.

  The Ancient One nodded. “I’ve suspected for a while that she’s got a way of tapping into a source of evil. If she’s been able to look out of her room at the time of the full moon, then that would explain it.”

  Gracie was puzzled. “But why?”

  “Because she’s half werewolf, dearie.” Elsie tapped the loom with her shuttle. “When the moon’s full, the evil part of her can be fed by moonlight. That’s why we’ve always kept her room firmly shuttered at night, and why we have these thick curtains in here.”

  “I see.” Gracie looked up at the velvet curtains. It was true; not the smallest ray of moonlight could find its way through. “But if the hole is closed up, will that make it all right again?”

  “I hope so.” Edna heaved herself out of her chair, and went to look at the Web of Power. The shimmering silver threads rippled and gleamed like
moving water as she came closer, and Gracie rubbed her eyes. “Goodness! I’ve never seen it look so shiny!”

  Edna frowned as she considered the Web. “I’ve not seen it look like that either. There’s no sign of approaching evil … but something’s wrong. Have you any ideas, Elsie?”

  Elsie scratched her bald head. “Don’t ask me. It looked pretty much as usual when I took over last night. I did have a couple of threads snap, though, and that’s never happened before.”

  “I think I’ll try a little test,” the Ancient One decided. She leant over the loom, and picked up a shuttle laden with shining silver. “Let’s see what this shows us. Remind me to tell Val to keep a close eye on the Web when she finally gets out of bed.”

  “I meant to ask about that,” Gracie said. “Is she staying long? Isn’t her brother missing her?”

  Edna shrugged. “It’s because of Foyce, dearie. We thought it best that we were all here until after the full moon. Just in case. Now, what about that tea?”

  As Gracie turned to go, there was a loud bang! and the door burst open. Gubble was standing in the doorway carrying a large tray.

  “Tea!” he announced proudly. “Gubble make tea.”

  “Now that,” Elsie said, “is enough to cheer the gloomiest heart!”

  Gubble stomped in and dumped the tray on a nearby table. The cups rattled and the teapot shook, but only the sugar bowl spilled its contents. Gubble licked a grubby green finger and wiped it round the tray. “Tidy,” he said as he sucked the sugar off his finger with loud slurping noises. “Gracie pour?”

  Gracie was viewing the tray with some suspicion. The milk jug was empty, and the teapot lid was set at a rakish angle. Hoping for the best, she began to pour … and a curious brown liquid dribbled into the first cup.

  “Gubble,” she said, “this is VERY kind of you, and VERY clever – but what did you put in the teapot?”

  Gubble beamed. “Leaves. Lots of leaves. And water.”

  “Ah.” Gracie put the teapot down. “And am I right in thinking you used cold water?”

  Gubble went on beaming. “No hot water for Gubble. Hot water BURNS!”

  “Very sensible of you to be so careful,” the Ancient One said from her chair. “But I think perhaps we might make some hot tea as well.”

  Gracie nodded. “Well done, Gubble,” she said, and picked up the tray. As she walked through the door a slim figure came gliding towards her, and with one swift movement tipped the tray and all its contents over Gracie.

  “Oh NO! What have I done? Sister dear, I’m so, so sorry!” The voice was clear and musical, but there was a fine-honed razor edge beneath the words, and Foyce’s big blue eyes gleamed with pleasure as she viewed the stains down Gracie’s dressing gown. “I do SO hope it hasn’t burned you. It was dreadfully careless of me.”

  “Actually,” Gracie said, “Gubble used cold water.”

  “Oh.” The sigh sounded disappointed rather than relieved, but the honey-sweet voice went on, “I’m SO pleased. Would you like me to make more tea?”

  “I can manage, thank you,” Gracie said, and escaped with the tray. For a second Foyce’s beautiful face was contorted with frustrated rage, but she regained her equilibrium as she sauntered into Room Seventeen. As she passed Gubble she gave him a sly pinch, but he was still sucking his finger and noticed nothing.

  The Ancient One looked at her thoughtfully. “Good morning, Foyce. I hope you slept well?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Foyce made her way to the looms. “Shall I begin weaving? I’ll try harder today.”

  “If you’re ready.” Edna stood up, and handed Foyce the shuttle loaded with silver silk.

  “Silver?” Foyce was startled.

  “That’s right, dear,” Edna said, and Foyce took the shuttle without further question.

  “AAGH!” She dropped it with a cry of pain. “It burnt me!” Nursing her hand, she turned on the Ancient One, and her eyes were harsh yellow, and her rosy lips drawn back into an evil snarl. Then her face changed, and had the two crones not been watching they would have believed that Foyce had never been anything other than blue-eyed and beautiful. Elsie bent down to pick up the discarded shuttle, and saw the silver thread had turned black. Silently she dropped it into the waste basket, and went back to her work.

  Edna, as bright as if nothing untoward had happened, patted the stool in front of the second loom. “Start whenever you’re ready, dear.”

  “Of course,” Foyce said sweetly, and sat down. A moment later she was weaving thick green wool as steadily as if she had been doing it all her life. Elsie, sitting in front of the Web of Power, saw a shadow darken the gleaming fabric in front of her, and sighed.

  “Goosewits!” Bluebell, Queen of Wadingburn, glared at her two grandchildren. “Goosewits, both of you! You haven’t a brain between you!”

  Princess Loobly and Prince Vincent shifted uneasily.

  Bluebell gave the map on the blackboard behind her a hearty thump. “So WHERE exactly would you find the Less Enchanted Forest?”

  Loobly gave her brother an agonized look. Vincent coughed. “Erm … I’d say it’s best not to know about places like that, Grandmother. Actually. Not the kind of place for PLU, you know.”

  “PLU?” Queen Bluebell fixed her grandson with a piercing eye. “And what, precisely, does that stand for?”

  Vincent coughed again. “People Like Us, Grandmother. You know the sort of thing. Royalty. Blue blood. Cream of the custard.”

  His grandmother’s gaze grew even frostier. “And I suppose you believe that People Like Us are in some way better than everybody else?”

  Vincent’s eyes bulged. “But OF COURSE we are,” he said. “That’s the whole point of royalty.”

  “I see.” Bluebell folded her arms. “Well, let me tell you, Vincent, that I know several bats who have considerably more common sense than you do.”

  Up on the curtain rail Alf nudged his companion. “See, Billy? What did Miss Gracie tell you? That’s real royalty, that is, and a real friend of bats. Take a note.”

  “Yes, Mr Alf, sir. Note taken. She’s very grand, though, isn’t she?”

  “Shh!” Alf raised a warning claw. “A Super Spotter has to obey the rules. Watch and listen. No chit-chat. Best way of checking out what’s going on.”

  Billy nodded, and Alf gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  Down below, Prince Vincent was frowning. “Bats? Marcus is always going on about bats. He even says he talks to the horrible things.” He gave a sudden shriek of laughter. “Oh! I say! I’ve thought of a joke! I expect it’s because HE’S bats. Bats in the belfry!”

  His grandmother shook her head. “Really, Vincent. That’s not at all funny.”

  Vincent went on cackling. “Bats in the belfry! Just wait till I tell Princess Marigold. She’ll howl with laughter.”

  “That,” Queen Bluebell agreed, “would not surprise me in the least. She always was exceptionally silly. Just like you, Vincent. Sometimes I wonder what to do with you.”

  Vincent smiled. His grandmother appeared to have forgotten about her geography lesson, and was now looking resigned rather than angry. “You don’t need to worry about that, Grandmother.” He gave a little skip. “But there’s something I’d like right now this minute! Can I order a cream cake for elevenses? With raspberry-jam filling?”

  “That won’t do your figure any good.” Bluebell inspected him through her lorgnette. “You’re already as round as a barrel.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.” Vincent was adept at ignoring any reference to his ever-enlarging waistline. “So can I? Loobly likes cream cake too, don’t you, Loobly?”

  Loobly nodded, and Queen Bluebell sighed a gusty sigh. “Whenever I look at you two I ask myself WHAT will become of Wadingburn after I’ve gone.”

  “Gone?” Loobly looked up. “Where going, Grandmother?”

  Her brother dug her in the ribs with his elbow. “Shh, Loo. She means –” he lowered his voice to a sepulchral whisper – “dying.”
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  “Rubbish!” Bluebell rose to her full height and glared at Vincent so fiercely that he took an involuntary step backwards. “I have no intention of dying for a good many years yet. Unless, of course, I am driven so mad by my grandchildren that the only way to escape is to leap off a very high cliff.” Her glare intensified. “Now, have you two noticed that this is our centenary year? I hope you have. And I hope you’ve also noticed that we’re having a massive celebration for the founding of the Alliance of the Five Kingdoms.” She turned a basilisk stare on Vincent, and he hastily nodded.

  “Yes, Grandmother. Exactly. One hundred years! Or is it two? Whatever. Good stuff. Five Kingdoms … united we stand ’n’ all that. Yes. Hope we get another hundred. Or two. Erm … yes. Splendid—”

  “Vincent! Stop wittering and listen. I’ve been ruling Wadingburn for more than fifty years, so I’ve decided I’m going to celebrate as well. I’m going to retire. I’m fed up of ruling a kingdom, and I want to have a little fun in my last remaining years. Travel, perhaps. See what’s on the other side of the border… What’s the matter NOW?”

  Vincent was staring at his grandmother as if she had grown horns and a tail. “The other side of the border?” He swallowed hard. “But … but TERRIBLE things live there! Werewolves! Zombies! Witches! Trolls! Giants! Dragons! And those Ancient Crones where Gracie lives – they’re scary. Really scary.” He leant forward, his eyes bulging in his earnest desire to make his grandmother see sense. “Trust me. I’ve been there, and it was utterly, utterly, UTTERLY ghastly!”

  Queen Bluebell beamed. “Sounds utterly wonderful to me. Gracie Gillypot’s a dear sweet girl, and I’m a bit of an ancient crone myself. And I think it’s high time I met a werewolf. I’m sure it would be far more interesting than poor old King Horace. Or King Frank.”

  Her grandson was almost speechless. “You … you … you’re beginning to sound as mad as Marcus!”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Bluebell raised her eyebrows. “Has it ever occurred to you, Vincent, that there is more than one way of looking at the world?”