The Flight of Dragons

by Vivian French

  Marcus shifted uncomfortably before looking back at Gracie. “Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.” There was another pause, and then he added, “But I can’t help wishing we’d found a live dragon’s egg.”

  “But you did, kiddo,” said a squeaky voice, and Marlon swooped into the room. “You did. Apologies for the delay, but the troll doesn’t travel fast. Navigational problems.”

  “Ug.” Gubble came stomping backward through the door, his dusty burden still clasped to his chest. He handed it to Gracie, and as she took it from him, she could feel its warmth and the beat of a heart deep inside. “Egg,” Gubble announced. “Egg for Gracie. Gubble good?”

  Gracie nodded. “Very good, indeed. Very, very indescribably and wonderfully good.”

  “Wow!” Marcus was alight with joy.

  “We’d better go,” Gracie said. “We’ll take it to the crones, and then back to its parents.” She handed the egg to Marcus, who took it reverently as Gracie walked to where the other egg was lying discarded by the wall. She picked it up and cradled it in her arms. “And we’ll give this one a proper burial. Poor, poor thing . . . OH!”

  “What is it?” Marcus stared at her.

  “I think it’s alive! I felt it move! And LOOK! It’s started to glow! Whatever’s happened to it?”

  It was Carrion who answered. “Trueheart effect,” he said. “You must be a good ’un, too. Trueheart through ’n’ through, the way you carry on. And did nobody ever tell you? Dragon’s eggs double yer power.” He peered sourly at Gracie. “Gets into the air, as well. Like swapping winter for summer. Any minute now, I’ll be singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’ Not my style, so I’ll be off. Ark.” His squawk was embarrassed. “Goin’ to take the old woman her voice back. See what you’ve done? Now I’m doin’ good deeds! Ark! Nice to meet you ’n’ all that. . . . Don’t suppose we’ll meet again.” He spread his tattered wings and flew through the broken window.

  As he disappeared, Queen Bluebell got to her feet, brushing down her skirt. “Horrid bird! What was he talking about? Now, Horace, old chap, don’t know what’s been goin’ on here.” She swayed and put her hands to her head. “Goodness! Feel a bit . . . a bit out of it. Up too early this morning, I expect. That’ll be the reason! No doubt about it. Up too early, and I’m not as young as I was. But I’ve brought you a cook. Good lad. Name of Marshling. Determined type. Won’t stand any nonsense from that daughter-in-law of yours.”

  There was an outraged squeal, and Fedora emerged from under the table, looking ruffled. Tertius followed, looking anxious. “Queen Bluebell!” Fedora snapped. “How . . . how dare you!”

  If Bluebell was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Now then, Fedora, I’ve known you since you were in diapers, so don’t try taking that tone with me. What you need is some help, and I’m here to give it. Your mother’s a fine woman, but she never did know how to control you girls.”

  Fedora, scarlet with rage, stamped her foot. “I DO know what I’m doing!” She waved The Handbook of Palace Management under the queen’s nose. “I’ve got this! I don’t need any other help at ALL, thank you!”

  The queen plucked the book from Fedora’s hand and tossed it out the window with a grandiloquent gesture. “A load of old rubbish!”

  “It’s NOT!” Fedora was crying with anger.

  “Actually, Your Highness, it is.” Marshling Stonecrop had been standing in the doorway ever since Gubble had made his dramatic appearance, a wide-eyed Saturday and Bobby beside him. “My mum gave up working in a palace because of that book. She walked out. So did everyone else. Couldn’t cope with all the rules and regulations.”

  Tertius put his arm around Fedora. “You’re much too wonderful to need a stupid book, Feddy darling. Isn’t she, Father?”

  King Horace agreed with enthusiasm. “Absolutely! Splendid little thing! No need of any books!”

  Fedora stood first on one leg, then on the other. “All right,” she said at last. “Just as long as Marshling can make chocolate cake.”

  “It’s what I’m best at,” Marshling assured her. “Not so hot on the stew and potatoes just yet, but chocolate cake? I’ve won prizes.”

  Bluebell regarded her protégé with satisfaction. “Good boy! Now, run down to the kitchen and make us all some tea.”

  Bobby put his hand up. “I’ll make some toast!”

  “Splendid idea, Bobby!” King Horace wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Just what we need.”

  “I’d better start cleaning up, like,” Saturday volunteered.

  Fedora looked down at the floor, then at Prince Tertius. “I’ll . . . I’ll give Saturday a hand,” she said. “And . . . and if you want, Terty darling, you can ask all your old servants back.”

  King Horace gave a loud roar of approval. “Good girl! Tell you what. Give ’n’ take ’n’ all that. We’ll get Mrs. Basket back to give young Marshling here a few tips, and then Mrs. B. can retire. She’d like that. Told me so herself. Is it a deal?”

  Princess Fedora curtsied prettily to her father-in-law. “It’s a deal,” she said.

  Marcus and Gracie had already crept to a doorway. Now, quite unobserved, they slipped out and made their way to the outside world. Gubble stomped after them, Marlon on his shoulder acting as guide while Alf and Great-Uncle Alvin made helpful comments from above. Marcus was carrying one egg, Gracie the other. As they stepped into the yard, even the sunshine felt approving.

  “I’ll go and get the ponies,” Marcus said. “You wait here,” and he handed Gracie his egg.

  Gubble sat down on the ground. “Ug,” he said plaintively, rubbing at his head. “Poor Gubble. Nose in wrong place.”

  “Hmm.” Gracie was looking thoughtful. “Gubble . . . can I try something?” Gubble did his best to nod, and Gracie carefully placed both eggs in his lap. Then she took hold of his ears and gave a sharp twist. “Phew! That’s a relief. It worked!”

  Gubble gazed at her, adoration in his eyes. “Nice. Much niceness. Good Gracie . . . Gracie Pillypot.”

  Gracie was still laughing as Marcus came back, leading Glee and Hinny. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s Gubble,” Gracie explained. “He’s happy because now his head’s the right way around.”

  “That’ll make it much easier for traveling,” Marcus agreed. “Shall we get going?”

  Gracie said nothing. She was looking up into the sky, and as Marcus followed her gaze, he caught his breath. Soaring high above the southern hills was a flight of dragons, their scales shining in the sunlight. Up and up they flew, then swooped, only to rise again. Marcus and Gracie watched in awe until at last the flight sank into the distant mists.

  “Wow . . .” Marcus could hardly speak. He helped Gracie mount Hinny and waited while she wrapped the eggs in her cloak. “Do you think they know we’re coming?”

  “I’d say so,” Gracie said. “I think they’ll be waiting for us. They’ll be on the other side of the southern border.”

  “And that’s not far, Miss Gracie.” Millie was suddenly hovering over Gracie’s head. “I’ve been watching them all day. That golden dragon, Miss Gracie, she’s been all of a twitch. Knew just what was happening, I’d say.”

  Gracie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, Millie. We’d better hurry.”

  With the aid of a convenient mounting block, Gubble was settled on Glee, and Marcus swung himself up behind him. “I’ll show you the quickest way, Miss Gracie,” Millie said, and the cavalcade set off.

  There was little conversation as they made their way along the path. The dragons had left them with a strange sense of peacefulness, and as they drew nearer to the border, this feeling increased. Even Alf and Marlon were quiet; Great-Uncle Alvin dozed in the saddlebag, and Millie flew silently in front as their guide.

  The border guards were also asleep, leaning against the wooden fence. Marcus raised an eyebrow but made no comment as he opened the gate to let Gracie ride through.

  Gracie shook her head and slid
off Hinny’s back. “I think we should go on foot now,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me why. I just think we ought to. . . . It feels more polite, somehow. . . .”

  Marcus understood at once. He helped Gubble down and tied the ponies to the gatepost. Great-Uncle Alvin woke and stretched, and as Alf and Marlon flew to join Millie, Great-Uncle Alvin took up his perch on Gracie’s shoulder. Gracie could feel him trembling but was unsure if it was with fear or excitement.

  “Go on, Trueheart,” he whispered. “Step forward!”

  Then Marcus, Gracie, and Gubble walked out into the southern lands . . . and as they walked, they could feel the earth vibrating beneath their feet. There was a warm wind; as they went farther and farther, it grew warmer and warmer. A faint smell of smoke hung in the air. Emerging from under the trees, they saw a wide green meadow in front of them. Both Marcus and Gracie found themselves tiptoeing, and even Gubble did his best to walk softly on his flat green feet.

  “Shh!” Gracie caught at Marcus’s sleeve. “Can you hear it?”

  Marcus could. It was the sound of beating wings, and the three stood still and waited.

  “Here they come. Look, Trueheart, look! It’s Lumiere . . .” Alvin gave a small, half-stifled sob. “Lumiere and Indigo and Luskentyre . . . I never thought I’d see them again.”

  * * *

  Lumiere, the female dragon, was the first to arrive. Her eyes were liquid gold, and her scales glittered and shone. She bowed her head to Gracie as she landed on the springy green turf. “Trueheart,” she said. “Trueheart.” Behind her the blue and green dragons folded their gleaming wings as they, too, settled in the meadow; Indigo, his steel-gray eyes wide and watchful, gave only the slightest indication that there were humans present, but the sea-green shimmering Luskentyre lowered his heavy crested head in greeting.

  Gracie’s heart was hammering in her chest as she and Marcus walked forward and placed the eggs gently on a tussock of soft grass. “Please,” Gracie said, “here they are.” Marcus bowed, then stood very straight as if he were on guard.

  As Lumiere drew closer, a thin crack appeared in first one egg and then the other. The dragon breathed softly over them, and her warm smoky breath made Gracie cough. Marcus’s eyes were watering, but he remained at attention. There were more cracks, then a series of small squeaks and cries as two tiny dragons crawled out of the empty shells and half ran, half skittered toward their mother. She lifted her head and called, her voice as richly golden as her eyes and scales. The baby dragons stretched their wings and called back, their voices as high-pitched as the echo of a fine glass bell. And then they flew. They fluttered unsteadily at first, then with more confidence. They twirled and looped, then looped again for the sheer joy of it, and at last they flew to their mother. With enormous tenderness, she nuzzled them, before turning once again to Gracie and Marcus. “Truehearts,” she said softly. “Truehearts . . .” Then, as the tiny dragons tucked themselves safely on their mother’s back, Lumiere looked at Great-Uncle Alvin. “Old friend,” she said, “will you come with us?” And Great-Uncle Alvin spread his ancient leathery wings.

  “Unc? Unc! What are you doing?”

  Alf’s squeak was lost in the sound of rushing wind as Lumiere stretched her golden neck and soared into the air. As Indigo and Luskentyre rose with her, the nearby trees bent and shook as if blown by a gale, and leaves swirled and scattered across the bright green grass.

  Gracie clutched Marcus’s arm, and Alf sheltered under Gracie’s cloak; Marlon rode the eddies and currents as best he could. Only Gubble remained solidly unmoved.

  When all three dragons were skyborne, Lumiere made one last swoop and circled low above Marcus and Gracie. “Truehearts . . .” she called, and her golden voice rang loud. “Truehearts . . . farewell!”

  There was silence in the meadow, and for a long while nobody moved or spoke. At last Gubble said, “Ug. Good. Gubble like.” A subdued Alf squeaked agreement, then was quiet.

  “Can’t believe old Unc went off with them.” Marlon shook his head. “I’ll miss the old misery-guts. Hope he knew what he was doing.”

  Gracie smiled at him. “He looked happy. Very happy.”

  Millie sniffed and wiped her nose with her wing. “He was never happy here.”

  “The whole thing was . . .” Marcus shook his head. “Amazing doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  “I know.” Gracie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Wasn’t it truly and utterly and absolutely wonderful!” She suddenly laughed, swung around, and turned a cartwheel in the middle of the meadow. “I’ve just remembered something.”

  “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

  Gracie laughed again. “Today’s my birthday! And we’ve seen a flight of dragons. . . . How perfect is that?”

  “Ug.” Gubble took Gracie’s hand. “Happies, Gracie Pillypot. Much happies.” And then, hopefully, he asked, “Cake?”

  “I do hope so,” Gracie said. “Let’s go and see. . . .”

  In the House of the Ancient Crones, the Ancient One was putting the finishing touches on an enormous birthday cake. The Oldest One, holding a box of candles, asked, “Are you sure she’ll be home today?”

  Edna gave her companion a sharp look. “Of course she will. Didn’t you see the web? Smooth as silk. She’s dealt with whatever the unpleasantness was, and dealt with it for good. There’s not a sign of it left. An excellent result.”

  Professor Scallio — comfortably settled in the largest chair in the kitchen with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of toast in the other — nodded. “It certainly looks like it. A great relief, I must admit.”

  Elsie pulled off her wig and scratched her bald head. “I was thinking Gracie might prefer to celebrate with Marcus.”

  “On their own?” Edna shook her head. “She’ll want to be here with us.”

  “We’ll see.” Elsie carefully replaced her red curls. “But she’s growing up.”

  The Ancient One nodded. “And quite right, too, Elsie. But she’s not growing up that fast. Tell you what . . . you set a place for Marcus, and I’ll send the path to fetch them home.”

  “Wheeee!” Alf was twirling in ecstatic circles. “Look, Uncle Marlon! Look! The path’s come to meet us ’n’ we’regoing to go home ’n’ we’re going to have a PARTY!”

  Marlon was inspecting the path, which was quivering hopefully at the edge of the meadow. It gave an encouraging ripple — but Marlon looked doubtful. “Hmm. Gets me dizzy, traveling on that.”

  “Oh, Dad.” Millie sighed loudly. “Don’t be such an old grouch. You sound just like Great-Uncle Alvin.”

  Marlon zigzagged over Marcus’s head and onto Gracie’s shoulder. “Never let it be said that I sound like Unc. All the best for today, kiddo. Let’s go party!”

  Alf looped a double-spiral backflip of his own invention that bore a very faint resemblance to the shape of a heart. “Have you wished her a happy birthday, Mr. Prince? Have you?”

  Marcus grinned. “Not yet,” and he leaned forward and kissed Gracie on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Gracie Gillypot.”

  Find out how Gracie, Marcus, Marlon, and Gubble met in the First Tale from the Five Kingdoms!

  The Robe of Skulls

  The First Tale from the Five Kingdoms

  Vivian French

  “Lady Lamorna, an evil sorceress . . . wants a gown ‘beyond all compare.’ . . . Only the Ancient Crones can produce such a garment. . . . Unfortunately, the Crones charge dearly for their work, and Lady Lamorna has neither gold nor silver. So she devises a clever scheme: find all the princes in the land, turn them into frogs, and then ransom [them] to their parents. . . . An adventure where everyone gets his, her, or its due, where goodness is rewarded and evil punished oh-so-wickedly.” — The Horn Book

  There are more adventures to be had in the Five Kingdoms!

  The Bag of Bones

  The Second Tale from the Five Kingdoms

  Vivian French

  “Dear Mrs. Cringe! I’m so glad you’re wit
h us tonight! And Mrs. Vibble and Mrs. Prag as well. Fabulous! And darling Ms. Scurrilous is here too! And Mrs. . . .”

  The Grand High Witch faltered for a moment. What was the name of the hunched old witch on the far side of the fire? Even with the flames now burning brightly under the cauldron, it was too dark to see her face. It certainly wasn’t Mrs. Gabbage, and Ms. Pettigroan had sent a bat earlier that evening with polite apologies.

  Mrs. Cringe shuffled up, looking distinctly guilty,and the Grand High Witch’s heart sank. Even worse, her little toe had begun to throb, which was a far more reliable warning of impending trouble. She had always been wary of Mrs. Cringe, not least because she was known to have relations outside the Five Kingdoms who were suspected of indulging in Deep Magic of the nastiest kind.

  “Ahem,” Mrs. Cringe addressed the Grand High Witch, whose toe was becoming increasingly painful. “That there’s my grandmother, Truda Hangnail. She’s come visiting from the other side of the More Enchanted Forest. Asked if I could invite her in for a week or two. Things got troublesome for her over there, she said. Too many two-headed cows and sheep with five legs appearing all over the place.” She stepped closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Best to be polite. She’s in a bit of a temper. Fell in a ditch on the other side of the border gate.” She nudged the Grand High Witch. “Shouldn’t even be here in the Five Kingdoms. Deep, she is. Very Deep. But we won’t tell, will we?”

  Evangeline Droop, Grand High Witch of Wadingburn, froze. It was a serious offense to invite a Deep Witch to cross the border of the Five Kingdoms. They had been banished many years before, together with werewolves and sorcerers. On the other hand, she had absolutely no idea how to confront a Deep Witch, let alone how to tell her to go home.