The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  As the two old women made their preparations for the night, Foyce was far from thinking about sleeping. She had extended the gap above the window by the width of another two bricks; she stood back and inspected her work with pride. There had been a bad moment when the Youngest had come in without knocking; fortunately she had been concentrating so hard on the tray of stew and dumplings she hadn’t seen anything significant. The curtains had all but covered the window, and once the tray had been put down Val had hurried away.

  Foyce licked her lips, and chuckled – or tried to chuckle. To her alarm the sound that came out was more of a satisfied growl; she clutched at her throat, and moved swiftly away from the moonlight pouring into the room.

  “Full moon tomorrow night,” she told herself, and was conscious of an unusual feeling of anxiety. The howling … and now a growl. What was happening to her?

  A sound from outside made her move cautiously back to the window. Jukk was standing outside, gazing up at her window. In his arms was a bunch of roses; in the light of the moon they looked black, but as he tossed them one by one into her room she saw they were as red as blood.

  “Stupid fool,” Foyce muttered. “How can I explain away roses?” And once again a small guttural growl escaped her. Now seriously alarmed, she studied her hands and arms, but there was no sign of wolfish hair or claws. As the final rose fell at her feet she looked up at the sky, and saw the moon slide behind a bank of clouds. Much relieved, she stepped forward so the watching Jukk could see her. “What sweet flowers!” she trilled. “Who are you, that you bring such kindness to a poor prisoner?”

  “I am Jukk, leader of the pack.” Jukk’s voice rang out, and Foyce put a finger to her lips.

  “Hush! My guards may be listening! And if you are discovered, I will be lost to you for ever.” Foyce allowed a tear to roll down her cheek as she hung her head.

  “Not so!” Jukk was whispering now. “You must never be lost to me. I will call my brothers, and we will storm the house and set you free—”

  “No … my dear sweet friend. That must not be. But there is a way, a way you could do me such service that I will be in your debt for ever and ever…” Foyce was calculating madly. Her burning desire to see Gracie humiliated and destroyed was growing stronger and stronger, but to act too soon would send her plans crashing into ruins.

  Jukk, so deeply caught in the net of Foyce’s wiles that he would have promised her anything, stood up straight and held his hand to his heart. “I swear your wish shall be my command, whatever it might be! Only ask, and I will obey, oh, breath of my soul, and song of my heart.”

  Foyce repressed a snort of derision. “Fancy-pancy speak” she muttered, but out loud she said, “Kind sir – all I ask is that you destroy my enemy, and the friends of my enemy. Then, and only then, will I be freed from my chains…”

  The werewolf bowed. “I swear. Tell me when and where, and it shall be done, if I die in the attempt.”

  Coming closer to the window, Foyce began to hiss her instructions.

  “There is to be a tournament in the Five Kingdoms, and my enemy will be riding out. Challenge him! Challenge Marcus, brother of the heir to the kingdom of Gorebreath! He wishes me to be his bride; I am prisoner here until I promise I am his – or until he dies. Throw him to the ground, and then – kill him!”

  At the thought of a rival Jukk’s lovesick mind filled with a furious red mist, and he snarled and bared his teeth. “It shall be done! And you will be mine, fair lady – mine, and mine alone!”

  Deep in the darkness of the laurel bush Billy opened his eyes for a moment, and shivered. He was having a dream. That’s what it was. A terrible, terrible dream. When he woke up he would be safe in the kitchen drawer, and Miss Gracie would be moving gently round the kitchen, and all would be well…

  He closed his eyes once more.

  The news that Queen Bluebell of Wadingburn had gone to have a cup of tea with the Ancient Crones had left King Frank of Gorebreath in a quandary. He was unable to decide if he was relieved or horrified or both, and the confusion made him tetchy. Urgently needing to take control of something he could understand, he decided that Marcus’s tournament required a firmer hand and stricter rules.

  He got up early the following morning, and sent a flurry of messengers riding off to Niven’s Knowe, Cockenzie Rood and Dreghorn to announce that he was now in charge, and that the venue would be Gorebreath. With a swirl of his pen he wrote a further instruction: all the princes of the Five Kingdoms were to take their place in the tournament. Refusal would not be tolerated.

  The Prince of Wadingburn was the first to be informed of this directive. Vincent had stayed overnight at Gorebreath, and came face to face with King Frank at the breakfast table. Here he was terrified into a state of trembling collapse – so much so that even the king had to admit it was highly unlikely that this particular prince would ever be seen on a horse. Growling to himself, he sent orders for a uniform to be found, firmly ignoring Vincent’s feeble requests for something custom-made with a good deal of gold braid and buttons. After the reply came through from Cockenzie Rood the king’s growling got louder. The dowager duchess had done her best to send a tactfully worded reply, but had not entirely succeeded. “Allergic to horses?” King Frank muttered. “What are these modern-day princes made of? Candyfloss?” And the order went out for a matching uniform for Prince Albion, together with instructions that he should arrive early on the Wednesday morning.

  “Thank heavens for Tertius and Arioso,” King Frank told himself as he put down his pen. “And Marcus, of course. Stout fellows. Sure to put on a good show. And the girls will give it a touch of glamour. The peasants like a touch of glamour. Reminds them that we’re the Royals, and they’re not.” For a moment he allowed himself to smile, but then he remembered that amongst “the girls” would be Gracie Gillypot. The smile vanished, and he snatched up the pen and began to chew the end. It seemed only too obvious that Gracie was the reason that Bluebell had abandoned her senses and her kingdom—

  King Frank stopped.

  Could that be true? Had she abandoned her kingdom? When Marcus had come hurrying in to report that the queen was safe and sound he had said nothing about her plans to return. What if she had decided to move in with the Ancient Crones? The king jumped up and began to pace to and fro. He felt as if his world had taken a sudden alarming lurch, and all the rules and regulations that knit the Five Kingdoms into a safe and harmonious whole were in danger of unravelling. Striding across the room, he rang the bell, and when a page boy came running to see what was wanted he demanded that Marcus and Gracie be sent to him at once.

  Gracie had not appeared at breakfast. Marcus had persuaded her to stay the night, arguing that it was too late to return to the House of the Ancient Crones, and Gracie, conscious of King Frank’s increasing coldness towards her, had agreed with much reluctance. Queen Mildred, uncomfortably aware of things not being as smooth as they might once have been, had tactfully suggested that Gracie have her breakfast in bed. Gracie had been surprised, but had enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of a silver tray heaped with plates of porridge, scrambled eggs and toast. The king’s summons found her carrying her tray down the stairs to the kitchen; the page took it from her with a broad smile. All the servants at Gorebreath Palace were fond of Gracie. As they regularly told each other, “She never gives herself airs, that one. Nice as pie to everybody, she is. Not like them princesses, with their ‘Do this! Do that!’ and never a please or a thank you.”

  “Mind your step, Miss,” the page whispered. “His Majesty’s in a right old mood.”

  “Thanks,” Gracie said, but her heart sank. She was cheered by seeing Marcus running towards her, and even more so when he swept her up in a hug before kissing her soundly.

  “Let’s go and see what the old grump wants,” he said as he took her hand. “And whatever it is, don’t worry. He can’t chuck us in a dungeon.”

  Gracie privately thought that there might be worse things than bein
g thrown into a dungeon, but she didn’t say as much. She and Marcus walked together down the long marble corridor, and into the king’s private office. King Frank was sitting behind his desk, and he made no attempt to get up and greet the young couple as they came in.

  Gracie stepped forward, and bobbed a curtsey. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

  The king frowned, but before he could reply the door opened again.

  “Morning, Father! Mother said Marcus and Gracie were here, and I thought you might be talking about the tournament, so I thought I’d pop in as well.” Arry beamed, and settled himself in an armchair. “Hello, Gracie. I’m so pleased you’re going to be there. It’s going to be super fun, isn’t it?”

  King Frank had not expected this. He cleared his throat while he tried to rearrange his thoughts. “Ah. Yes. The tournament.” He coughed again, and went on, “Yes. I did want to talk about the tournament…”

  “Was it about the stage?” Arry asked helpfully. “Mother says it’s going to take place here now, and not at Niven’s Knowe.”

  “No. No, it wasn’t about the stage.” Momentarily deflected from his purpose, King Frank looked at the notes on his desk. “That’s all sorted. There’s a wagon bringing it over from Niven’s Knowe this afternoon. It’ll be all set up by tomorrow.”

  “Ready for the tournament!” Arry gave Marcus a quick glance. “Tertius and Marcus battling it out first, and then Terty against me.” He saw Marcus’s tiny nod of agreement, and went on beaming. “Ha! Can’t wait!”

  “What?” The king raised his eyebrows. “No, no. You’re the oldest. You’ll go first. And then Marcus will ride out against the winner. I’m sure that’ll be you, Arioso!”

  If the king had not been staring at his desk he would have noticed the sudden disappearance of Arry’s smile, and his agonized look at his twin. Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but a second thought made him close it again without saying anything, and wink at Arry instead. “It’s OK,” he mouthed. “We’ll sort it.”

  Unaware of the silent communication between the brothers, the king went on, “But now I have something else I need to say. You may as well stay, Arioso. I’m sure you’ll agree with me. Ahem.” He fiddled with the papers on his desk, then took a deep breath and looked up. Faced with Gracie’s clear blue gaze he faltered for a moment. “Erm … that is … yes.” In sudden need of reassurance, he put up his hand to settle his crown more firmly on his head. Feeling the comforting weight of royalty heavy on his brow, he was able to continue. “I’ve called you here, Miss Gillypot, because I want to ask something of you. I want you to go home, and not return to the Five Kingdoms.” There was a sharp exclamation from both Marcus and Arry, and the king held up his hand. “No! Hear me out. I know I agreed that Miss Gillypot could attend the tournament, but I’ve changed my mind. The circumstances are different now.”

  Marcus was very pale. “What circumstances? Explain. What circumstances?”

  His father was finding the situation harder than he had expected. “Really, Marcus! I do NOT expect to be spoken to in that tone of voice! How dare you?”

  “Because I want to know.” Marcus was keeping his temper with difficulty. “I think it’s only fair to give Gracie the facts before you ask something like that.”

  “I’d be glad if you could tell me, Your Majesty,” Gracie said gently.

  King Frank swallowed. “The thing is, Miss Gillypot, that you’re in a very unusual situation. I’ve been giving the matter a lot of thought. It – it’s not at all usual for a young lady of your background to set foot in a palace, let alone make advances to a prince of the realm.”

  Marcus gave a loud gasp, but Gracie put a restraining hand on his. “Let’s hear what your father has to say.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gillypot. As I was saying, you have been behaving in the most unusual way. And your influence has led my son Marcus to behave in an unusual way for a prince. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he has been behaving for some time in what can only be described as a thoroughly – er – thoroughly unusual manner. Not the kind of thing his mother and I expect. No. Not at all. And … and other members of royalty are also being led astray. Our own dear Bluebell, Queen of Wadingburn, for example. I believe she is, at this very moment, either with the strange old women who you call aunts, or on her way back—”

  The king stopped. Gracie, her eyes very bright, was standing right in front of him.

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty. Are you saying that I am responsible for the actions of both your son and the Queen of Wadingburn?”

  “Well … perhaps not personally responsible,” King Frank admitted. “But if it wasn’t for you, Miss Gillypot, Marcus wouldn’t be wittering on all the time about dragons and zombies and werewolves – and we don’t need to know about these things!” The king’s voice was rising, and he began to stab the air with his finger. “You see, it was all so COMFORTABLE before you came along! Here in the Five Kingdoms we’ve always known what’s what, and who’s who, and how we like things to be – and that’s the way we’ve ALWAYS been – but now I keep wondering what might be lurking outside the border and—”

  “And you’re scared.” Gracie nodded. “I can understand that.”

  The king was, momentarily, speechless.

  “But there have always been those things outside the border, Your Majesty,” Gracie told him. “Pretending they aren’t there doesn’t make them go away, you know. But not all of them are scary. And the Ancient Crones will always be there to protect you—”

  This was too much. King Frank stood up, his face scarlet with rage, and glared at Gracie. “What nonsense are you talking? Get out of here, young woman, and never come back. NEVER! Do you hear me? NEVER!”

  Gracie, hoping that the trembling of her knees would not betray her, moved closer to Marcus. “I think I’d better go. But if you still want me to be your – what was it you said? – your Partner of Choice at the tournament tomorrow, then I promise that I’ll be there.”

  Marcus took her hand. “Just a minute. I’ve had enough of this. I’m coming with you.” He gave his father a cold look. “I’ll be back for the tournament. I’m not going to let Arry down, or Tertius. But I’m not going to stay here. You can’t talk to people like that, Father. You really can’t. Gracie’s just the same as you, or me, or the little boy who stirs the soup in the kitchen. Just because you wear a crown on your head doesn’t mean you have the right to think you’re better than everyone else.”

  Eyes popping, King Frank stared at Marcus, then turned to Arioso. “What? What? What’s he saying? Is he mad?”

  Arry shook his head. “I’m afraid Marcus is right, Father. Gracie’s a great girl. No doubt about it. Just as good as us.” He sighed. “In fact, do you know what? I’d say she’s better. Rather a lot better, actually.”

  “Well said, bruv.” Marcus gave his brother a slap on the back that sent him reeling. “Well said indeed! Come on, Gracie. We’ll say goodbye to Mother, and then we’ll be off.”

  “Wait!”

  Marcus would have ignored his father, but Gracie heard the hidden appeal in the king’s voice, and held the prince back. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Just … just give me a moment.” King Frank held on to his crown as if he might find some help in the feel of it. Gracie and Marcus stood waiting, and Arioso held his breath.

  “I suppose—”

  The remainder of the king’s speech was lost in the sound of splintering wood and a loud crash as the door fell in.

  “Ug.” Gubble’s flat green face was glowing with triumph at his achievement. “Find Gracie!”

  He was immediately followed by a small bat, who flew in a circle over the troll’s head, squeaking loudly.

  “I told him not to, Miss Gracie! I did! I really did!”

  “Cool it, kiddo!” A second bat was right behind. “A troll’s gotta do what a troll’s gotta do, that’s a fact. Morning, all!”

  King Frank made a curious gobbling noise, then rushed for the broken-down door.
“Guards!” he yelled, “Guards! Guards! GUARDS!”

  Ten minutes later, Gracie and Gubble found themselves locked in a dungeon. It was chilly, but not entirely unpleasant. As nobody had been imprisoned there for over a hundred years the royal household had taken to using it for storage, and all kinds of miscellaneous items were piled up against the walls. Gracie and Gubble were able to make themselves reasonably comfortable on a couple of velvet sofas, one of which was surprisingly new, apart from copious smears of jam and cream. Gubble, who had wasted at least an hour attempting to force his way through the steel-reinforced dungeon door, was now lying back with one of Gracie’s hankies tied round his bruised and battered head. He was sucking his thumb, and from time to time a green tear trickled down his dust-smeared cheeks.

  Gracie sighed. “It’s all right, Gubble. You weren’t to know it was the king’s private office.”

  Gubble took out his thumb and gave Gracie a mournful look. “Gubble bad. Gubble VERY bad. Gubble bring TROUBLE.”

  “Marcus will get us out of here very soon,” Gracie told him, with rather more hope than conviction.

  The king had been very angry indeed, and had refused to listen to any arguments or pleading from either Marcus or Arioso. Gracie and Gubble were taken to the dungeon, and Marcus, fighting all the way, escorted to his room and locked in. It had not helped when he inadvertently poured fuel on the flames by telling his father that Bluebell was staying on in the Less Enchanted Forest, and would only be returning the following day for the Celebration Tournament. King Frank had taken this as a personal affront and something akin to a declaration that the queen had gone over to the enemy; after seeing his tormentors dealt with he had stormed off to send urgent messages to King Horace of Niven’s Knowe, the dowager duchess of Cockenzie Rood and Queen Kesta of Dreghorn. So far there had been no response, and this was not improving his temper. Vincent, who had been foolish enough to remark that at least his grandmother hadn’t been eaten by werewolves, was told that it might have been better if she had.