The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  “Burdies.” Gubble opened one eye. “Gubble see burdies. Burdies goin’ round and round and round and…” His eye closed again.

  Mr Briggs looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see flocks of seagulls. “Birds?”

  Gracie blew her nose, and smiled at him. “I think that means he’s recovering.”

  “If you say so, Miss.” Mr Briggs was disbelieving. “He’s still a bit of a funny colour, if you don’t mind me mentioning it.”

  Gracie was beginning to explain that Gubble was constitutionally green when the door swung open with a crash, startling them all. Before they could see what was happening a sooty figure had flung itself on Mr Briggs.

  “Let her go!” it demanded, and then, seeing the prone figure of Gubble, “WOW! What’s going on?”

  Recognizing Marcus underneath the layers of coal dust, Gracie pulled him away from Mr Briggs. The jailer had been so surprised by the sudden attack that he had made no resistance, but keeled gently over onto his side, where he lay like a grounded whale.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr Briggs,” she said. “Marcus – that is, Prince Marcus – must have thought you were someone else. Someone quite different. Here, let me help you up. Marcus – you help Mr Briggs too.”

  Between them they righted Mr Briggs, who stared at Marcus with a puzzled expression.

  “You? A Prince? One of the twins?”

  “That’s me.” Marcus bowed in his most dignified manner. “Prince Marcus, second in line to the throne of Gorebreath. But I must ask you to let Miss Gillypot go. There’s been a dreadful mistake, you see, and she’s not meant to be here. She’s expected to take her place at the tournament—”

  “Aha!” Mr Briggs took a step back so that he was firmly positioned in front of the dungeon door. “Now, that I can’t, young sir. My instructions was to keep the young lady and her friend safe in here until the tournament was properly over. Those was my instructions, and it was the king himself that gave them.” He gave Gracie an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I have to do it, as this is no place for a nice young lady like yourself, but orders is orders as I know you’ll understand.”

  Marcus began to protest, but Gracie interrupted him. “You’re quite right, Mr Briggs. Orders are orders.” She smiled her sunniest smile at the jailer. “But nobody – not even the king – could blame you if you’d been hit by a whole lot of falling furniture.” She pointed at the heap of smashed chairs, splintered tables and shattered cupboards. “It’s lucky you weren’t killed.”

  Mr Briggs looked thoughtfully at the ruins. “Ah,” he said.

  “And then you were attacked,” Gracie went on, “by a ferocious figure so covered in soot it was impossible to see who or what he was, and in the struggle you lost your keys, even though you defended yourself most bravely.”

  Up in a corner, Marlon silently applauded.

  “Just a minute, Miss.” Mr Briggs shook his head. “You’re wrong there, though in a way I wishes you wasn’t. I haven’t lost my keys, you see, so although it’s a fine story—”

  Gracie held up the keys. “But you did, dear Mr Briggs. And I’m really sorry, but Marcus and Gubble and I are going to escape. Right now, this minute. But Marcus will make sure you get a medal for your bravery in defending the dungeon, won’t you, Marcus?”

  Marcus was staring at Gracie, open-mouthed in admiration. “What? Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

  Mr Briggs sat down heavily on a sofa.

  “I think it might be best if we locked you in,” Gracie said as she and Marcus began heaving Gubble out through the door. “It’ll look so much better. You’ll find that sofa very comfortable. And we’ll make sure you don’t have to stay here too long. Thank you so much, Mr Briggs.”

  With a final heave they were through the door. As Gracie locked it behind them, Gubble began to stir. “Ug?”

  “It’s all right, Gubble,” Gracie told him. “You’re free now.” She turned to Marcus. “Where shall we go? I’d better not be seen, nor Gubble.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed. “Gracie … how on earth did you do that?”

  Gracie blushed. “Get the keys? I took them out of Mr Briggs’ pocket when you knocked him over. Is that very bad?”

  Marcus began to laugh. “Bad? You’re amazing! Now, let’s see. Why don’t you hide out in Mr Briggs’ room for the moment, just until Gubble’s feeling better? It’s reasonably comfortable, and Mr Briggs won’t be needing it. And as soon as I’ve cleaned up a bit I’ll come and collect you.”

  Marlon came swooping down. “Good work!” he said approvingly. He circled Gracie’s head. “Nice to see the Trueheart effect in action again, kiddo.”

  “Ug. No burdies … where did burdies go?” Gubble sat up, and looked round.

  “They’ve all flown away,” Gracie told him. “Do you think you could walk a little way? We’re going to have a rest, and then Marcus will take us to the tournament – oh!” She glanced down at her torn and dusty dress. “But what will I wear?”

  “No worries, Miss Gracie! Mrs Queen is bringing your dress over this morning!” Alf, looking pleased with himself, was hovering in the doorway. “You’ll be as pretty as a picture. All will be well, so ring on that bell. Mr Prince will be – Mr Prince? Is that you?”

  Marcus, his teeth very white in his grimy face, grinned. “Yes! So are you saying Bluebell’s on her way here?”

  “Sure as eggs is eggs.” Alf flew a little closer. “Where have you been, Mr Prince? You’re ever so dirty.”

  “Up a chimney. But I’m off to have a bath now – I’ll be back as soon as I can. See you all later.” Marcus headed for the passage, then stopped and turned back to Gracie. “And as soon as the tournament’s over we’ll be off. You and me.” His voice was confident, but his eyes were anxious. “That’s OK with you, isn’t it?”

  Gracie’s smile shone out. “Yes.”

  “YES!” Marcus punched the air. “See you soon!” And he was gone.

  Alf heaved a satisfied sigh. “True love,” he remarked. “True love. Doesn’t it make you feel all warm inside? Like a sunny day when all the birds are singing!”

  Gubble looked pleased. “Bat hear burdies too? Ug.”

  Foyce had laid her plans carefully. Although she was up and dressed she made no move when she heard the sound of the Ancient One going downstairs to take over from Val at the Web of Power. Elsie and Queen Bluebell followed soon after, and a strong smell of toast suggested breakfast. The patter of Val’s footsteps meant Edna was now safely at work, and this was confirmed when a nearby door opened and shut. The Youngest had retired to take her morning’s rest.

  “Not long now,” Foyce told herself. “Not long…”

  It was easy to hear what Queen Bluebell was up to, as her voice could clearly be heard all over the House. Foyce heard her discussing what she should have for breakfast, her remarks on the day to come, and – most importantly – the fact that she would like to reach Gorebreath an hour or so before the celebrations were due to start.

  “Got to give Gracie time to get dressed in her best,” she said.

  Elsie had been quietly fretting. “What if she’s still locked in a dungeon?” she asked.

  “She won’t be after I get there,” Bluebell said grimly.

  Foyce, listening, smiled mirthlessly. No, she thought. She’s needed in front of the crowd. She has to watch the hideous death of the prince of Gorebreath…

  “I’ll make sure Frank knows what an idiot he’s been,” Bluebell went on. “But first I need to get there, of course. How do I ride on this path?”

  “I’ll take you out to meet it,” Elsie said, and Foyce jumped to her feet.

  “Now,” she told herself. “Now it begins!”

  She was dressed in her most attractive dress. It was not what she would have chosen herself; she was forced to take what was given her. Nevertheless, she had no doubt that she was still beautiful; Jukk’s adoration was proof enough. She swept across the room, and opened the box that contained Billy. He was crouched in a co
rner, whimpering; she picked him up and shook him.

  “This is your moment, little bat,” she hissed. “This is when you become useful. Very useful. You, and only you, are going to take me to the kingdom of Gorebreath, and there we’ll see the end of Gracie Gillypot.”

  Billy shut his eyes. “Let me go,” he whispered. “PLEASE let me go!”

  Foyce threw back her head and laughed before flinging open her door. With Billy in her hand she made her way to the bottom of the stairs, arriving at the bottom step as Elsie and the queen were walking past on their way to the front door. Bluebell was carrying a basket, and Foyce raised her eyebrows.

  “Gracie’s dress, I presume. Such a lucky little worm to have such a itty pretty dress.”

  “You’re very late, Foyce, dear,” Elsie said reprovingly. “You’d better hurry and have your breakfast. The Ancient One is waiting for you to start work.”

  “No.” Foyce’s eyes were glittering. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving the House now.”

  “Nonsense!” Elsie’s voice was very sharp. “The power of the Web won’t allow you to leave, as you very well know.”

  Foyce held Billy up by one wing, and as he squeaked alarm she sneered at Elsie. “But I’ve got a little bat here. A friend of your dear sweet darling Gracie, I do believe. Wouldn’t it be a shame if I were to crush him in front of your eyes?”

  Billy was crying bitterly in between piteous calls for help. Foyce swung him to and fro above her head. “I mean it.”

  “Put him down right now this minute,” Bluebell boomed, and she stepped forward. Foyce took a step back, and gave Billy a sharp pinch.

  “Little bats mean nothing to me,” she hissed. “Let me go … or I’ll tear his wings off, first one and then the other.”

  Elsie put a warning hand on Bluebell’s arm. “Don’t say anything. Wait here. I’ll fetch Edna.” She scuttled off, and a moment later the Ancient One appeared.

  “It’s no good,” Foyce snarled. “You can say what you like. I’m going … or the bat dies.”

  The Ancient One looked at Foyce, her gaze calm and considering. Foyce, summoning all her powers, stared back.

  “Help,” Billy squeaked faintly. “Please…”

  Foyce pinched him again. “Shut up, or I’ll pull off your feet and stuff them down your throat.”

  Edna nodded. “You are evil, Foyce Undershaft,” she said. Her voice was cool and calm. “Very evil. I see now that we’ve failed. That being the case, there is no place for you here. You may go. I’ll stop the Web.”

  “Promise! I want your promise!”

  For a moment the air crackled with anger, and the Ancient One’s blue eye flashed. “How dare you doubt my word?”

  Alarmed, Foyce tightened her hold on Billy, and he gave a high-pitched squeak of pain.

  The Ancient One composed herself. “It’s a sign of your nature that you doubt me, Foyce, and much to be regretted. But because this is all that you are capable of understanding, I will say to you that I promise. I will stop the Web, until the full moon rises.”

  “Edna!” Bluebell was aghast. “How can you possibly let her go? She’s dangerous! What about Gracie?”

  “Gracie is a Trueheart,” Edna told her. “Hopefully that will be enough. There’s nothing more I can do.” She drew Bluebell to one side, and lowered her voice. “If blood is spilt in the House of the Ancient Crones – any blood at all, be it bat or human – we’ll have no powers ever again.”

  The Queen of Wadingburn nodded. “You’re an old, old woman, my dear, and very wise. If that’s the case I’ll say no more.”

  “Stop the Web!” Foyce’s voice had deepened to a growl, and Bluebell was shocked into staring at her. The girl still looked beautiful, but as she spoke there was the glimpse of a long red tongue and the gleam of sharp white teeth.

  Edna pointed down the corridor, and the door to Room Seventeen swung open. Elsie was sitting in front of the Web of Power, but her hands were folded in her lap.

  “Then let’s go,” Foyce ordered. “You first. I’ll follow.”

  “As you wish.” Edna led the way out through the door, Bluebell by her side. Foyce walked behind them, her eyes darting from side to side, and her ears pricked.

  The path was waiting ready, as if it knew it was needed, but as Foyce crossed the threshold it shot away to the other side of the gate and tied itself into a quivering knot.

  The Ancient One sighed. “I did wonder if we’d have trouble,” she said. “We’ll have to try and persuade it. Foyce, step out of sight for a moment.”

  Foyce’s eyes glittered. “It’s a trick,” she said angrily. “You’re trying to trick me back into the House.”

  “I wouldn’t have you back even if you begged me to,” Edna told her. “But if you want to get to Gorebreath—”

  Muttering, Foyce did as she was told. As she passed Bluebell she knocked the basket out of the queen’s arms with a sly nudge of her elbow, and kicked it neatly behind a small pot of geraniums.

  “Oh! Silly, silly me!” she murmured, and swooped down to pick it up and hand it back before sliding round the corner of the House. Once she was no longer visible the path was wheedled and cajoled into coming a little nearer, but the moment the Queen of Wadingburn had settled herself down with her basket on her lap it gave a convulsive twitch and a wriggle and took off. As it vanished between the trees it flicked its tail in a mocking farewell.

  Foyce, snarling with anger, came running after it, but she was too late. She turned on the Ancient One, her eyes narrowed in fury. “You did that on purpose!”

  Edna remained steady. “I did not. The path has its own thoughts and feelings.”

  With a howl of frustration Foyce lifted her hand to strike the old woman, but the blow never fell. Instead, she screamed. Billy had bitten her.

  Foyce flung him off – and ran. Leaping the fence, she slipped into the forest with the fleetness of her werewolf ancestors, and was lost from view. Only a flutter of leaves told those watching that she had passed that way.

  Edna shook her head, and turned to look for Billy. It took a moment for her to find him; he was lying amongst the dead leaves, as limp and crumpled as they were.

  “Poor little hero,” the Ancient One murmured, and picked him up. His fur was dull and matted, and his eyes were closed. There was no sign of a heartbeat as she bent to listen, and she sighed as she carried him into the House. She found Val and Elsie waiting for her, looking worried.

  “What happened?” Elsie asked.

  The Ancient One didn’t answer. She went swiftly to a cupboard and took out a small black bottle; Val saw what she was doing, and gasped. “Edna! There’s hardly any left!”

  “Billy thought he was saving me,” Edna said. “He may be beyond hope, but I have to try.” Carefully she let one drop fall from the bottle into the tiny bat’s open mouth, but he did not stir. The old woman’s face was very grim as she laid him down in his tea-towel nest. “Dear Billy,” she said, and tenderly straightened his tattered wings. “Dear, brave Billy.”

  Elsie and Val were watching, and each in turn stroked his fur before Edna covered him with a fold of the tea towel. “Sleep the long sleep, little friend,” she said. “It will come to us all, but for you it was too soon.”

  “Much too soon,” Val said as she wiped her eyes.

  Elsie pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, and blew her nose. “I suppose it was Foyce’s doing?”

  “Yes. And now, get ready.” The Ancient One straightened her shoulders. “The Web has stopped for the first time in hundreds of years, and we are going out. As soon as the path gets back, we’ll be off to Gorebreath.” She folded her arms. “I think we might be needed…”

  Tertius was sitting on the front steps of Niven’s Knowe Palace, his head in his hands. The carriage was waiting to take him and Princess Fedora to the Centenary Celebrations, but Fedora was trying on yet another dress. She had already changed her mind six times. Tertius had promised Marcus that he would arrive early; he was no
w beginning to wonder if he would even arrive in time to take part in the tournament. Hauling himself to his feet, he wandered back inside the palace to see how his princess was getting on.

  He found her standing in a frilly petticoat, in the midst of a heap of discarded dresses. She was not looking happy.

  “Sweetest one!” he cooed. “Are you nearly ready?”

  “Terty!” Fedora’s tone was not encouraging. “Don’t NAG! You don’t want me looking like a fright, do you?”

  “You always look beautiful to me, my popsy poodle,” Tertius told her.

  This was the wrong answer. “You mean everyone else thinks I’m hideous?”

  “Nobody could ever think that, my precious. Erm … what about your new dress? The one we bought together?”

  His popsy poodle pouted. “Pale blue makes me look exactly like Mother. I can’t think why you made me choose it.” She turned her back on him, and selected yet another dress from the rack.

  Tertius, making the sensible decision that she was best left alone, wandered back to his seat on the front steps. An hour later he was asleep, only to be woken by a furious Fedora. “Terty! Wake up! Whatever do you think you’re doing? We mustn’t be late.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Tertius gazed at the vision in pale blue standing beside him. “You look absolutely glorious, my petal.”

  “I don’t,” Fedora snapped. “I look like Mother. You should have made me choose the pink one. You’re hopeless, Terty. Come on – let’s go.”

  Tertius, who had never once succeeded in changing Fedora’s mind, and who had had nothing to do with the choosing of the despised blue dress, made no reply. Instead, he held open the carriage door and helped her inside. He was not thanked for his pains. Fedora settled herself comfortably amongst the cushions, leaving her young husband to perch on the extreme outside edge of the seat. “Do be careful of my skirt, Terty,” she said sharply as he attempted to make a little more room for himself. “I suppose you’ve remembered to pack your armour?”