The Robe of Skulls

by Vivian French

  Marcus groaned in perplexity. “What do you think, Glee?” he asked his pony.

  Glee whickered and pushed gently at Marcus’s shoulder.

  “That’s no help,” Marcus said. “Bother it all. I think we’re going to have to go to Dreghorn. I can’t risk it — oh!” He suddenly brightened. “I know! I’ll go and ask Professor Scallio what he thinks! Come on, Glee — with any luck, we’ll be off to the mountains yet!”

  As Marcus galloped up the driveway one way, Lady Lamorna and Gubble galloped in the other direction, Lady Lamorna muttering to herself. “Once I have those princes in my power, I’ll teach their servants how to speak to me! I’ll make them pay! Oh, how I’ll make them pay! I’ll make them pay double and triple times over . . . Gubble!”

  “Yes, Evilness?” Gubble’s voice was muffled. He was hugging his donkey’s neck in an increasingly hopeless attempt to stay on its back.

  “Which way should we go?” Lady Lamorna reined in Figs and stared at the crossroads ahead. She recognized the road that led back to Gorebreath village, but there was no signpost to suggest which of the three other roads led to Dreghorn.

  “Umph,” Gubble said, and fell off. His donkey brayed triumphantly and hurried away as fast as its legs would carry it.

  Lady Lamorna glared down at her companion. Things were not going according to plan in any way, shape, or form, and she was angry. Angrier than she had been for a long, long time. “Gubble!” she spat. “Stand up!”

  Gubble got up slowly, his thumb in his toothless mouth and terror in his piggy little eyes.

  “Gubble!” his mistress hissed. “You are completely useless!” She slapped him as hard as she could. His head spun off, rolled across the dusty road, and came to rest in a clump of nettles. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” the head howled, and Lady Lamorna smiled in sour satisfaction.

  “That’ll teach you,” she snarled, and then stopped. And stared. The most beautiful girl she had ever seen was walking down the road toward her, Gubble’s donkey drooping beside her.

  “I think this might belong to you, dear Mrs. Bones,” said the girl as she tossed back her tumbling golden curls and smiled with her rosebud mouth. “May I introduce myself? My name is Foyce Undershaft, and there are things we need to talk about.”

  Lady Lamorna looked at Foyce suspiciously. “I thank you for returning the animal,” she said, “but I see no reason for us to speak further. Unless, of course, you are expecting some kind of reward.” She began to reach for her purse, but Foyce shook her head and smiled again. Lady Lamorna’s experience of human beings was limited, but she did know that smiles were meant to be warm and friendly. She was interested to see that Foyce’s smile was as friendly as the stare of a rattlesnake.

  “Why don’t we have a little get-together,” Foyce suggested sweetly, but with the sweetness of poisonous berries. “Then we can chat more comfortably.”

  Foyce left the donkey standing in the middle of the road, its head hanging, and stepped into the stinging nettles. Lady Lamorna noticed that they had no effect on Foyce’s delicate white skin, and her eyebrows rose. They rose even higher when she saw Foyce pick up Gubble’s head without a shudder and tuck it neatly under the owner’s arm.

  As Gubble put himself back together, Foyce leaned against the dejected donkey. “I understand you have a plan,” she said, and put a delicate finger to her rosy lips. “I do assure you that I’m the soul of discretion. You mustn’t think I’ve mentioned your arrival here in Gorebreath to anyone.” She looked up and down the empty road and bobbed a little curtsy. “Of course,” she whispered, “I do understand that you’re traveling in disguise.”

  Lady Lamorna was, for once in her life, taken aback. Who was this girl? She was certainly different. There was no sickly stench of the milk of human kindness hanging around her. She took decapitation in her stride. Nettles didn’t sting her. The overconfident donkey was in a state of piteous dejection. There was no doubt that she was evil . . . but evil, by its very nature, could not be trusted. Lady Lamorna decided to be careful. Very careful.

  “Thank you for your interest, my dear,” she said. “And I can see that you are a very clever girl, but I think I shall deal with my own business in my own way. Thank you again for stopping the donkey.” Her tone changed. “Gubble! Get back in that saddle now!”

  Foyce watched Gubble flailing about with a curious expression on her face. When he was ready to go, she curtsied again to Lady Lamorna. “We shall meet again, Your Evilness,” she said smoothly, and was pleased to see the sorceress start. “Our ways are destined to join. Oh, the road to Dreghorn is the middle one — and I wish you a fine journey. I also hope you find as many princes as you need for your . . . for your business.” She smiled her snake-like smile and sank down among the nettles to watch Lady Lamorna and Gubble riding away at a brisk trot.

  Professor Scallio listened intently as Marcus described the strange woman who had called herself Grandmother Bones and the squat, mud-covered, green-faced troll. When Marcus mentioned the little puff of purple smoke, the professor grunted and got up from his chair to fetch an old red leather-bound book from a pile on the floor.

  Marcus, who had been hoping his tutor would pooh-pooh the whole event, thus setting him free for the rest of the day, felt increasingly worried. “Is it bad?” he asked.

  Professor Scallio tapped the open book with his pencil. “Yes,” he said. “I think it is.”

  Marcus leaped to his feet. “I must go to Dreghorn!” he exclaimed.

  The tutor shook his head. “I fear,” he said, “that it would be of little use.”

  “Why?” Marcus asked. “Glee can go like the wind — I can be there in plenty of time to warn them!”

  “If you do that,” Professor Scallio said slowly, “you might make things worse.” He pushed the book forward, and Marcus saw a picture of a vial of purple powder. “Was the smoke you saw that color?”

  Marcus nodded.

  “Then,” the tutor said, “I think we are almost certainly dealing with a sorceress. Most probably Lady Lamorna.” He saw Marcus’s eyes widen and asked, “Have you never wondered why your father was so set on you and Arioso staying within the Northern Plains? Why you have never been allowed to study the areas that lie outside the royal boundaries?”

  Marcus looked blank. “I suppose I thought Father wanted us to know about local stuff because Arry’ll be king of it all one day. I thought he just wasn’t bothered about what went on outside. . . .”

  “No, Prince Marcus,” Professor Scallio said. “Your father didn’t want you to know about the outside world because he is frightened. Not frightened for himself, you understand, but frightened that once you had heard about the Less Enchanted Wood, and the Wild Enchanted Forest, and the ancient sorceress of Fracture Castle, and the House of the Ancient Crones, you would want to ride out and investigate.”

  “You bet I would!” Marcus agreed enthusiastically. “I was going to — that is — I mean . . .” He blushed bright red and began to stammer.

  “You were going to ride out and explore today,” said the tutor. “I know. That is why I gave you the map. It would have given you fair warning when you were near danger.”

  Marcus looked puzzled. “But you didn’t try to stop me. . . .”

  Professor Scallio sighed. “Your father and I disagree,” he said. “I believe it is better to know what is there, so that you are aware of the dangers and can avoid them. Your father believes that if you ignore danger and keep it outside your door, it will go away, or at least not bother you.” He sighed again. “But now it seems that danger has crossed right over the step and into the kingdom, and we must wait and see what it has in mind.”

  “Can’t we just have the sorceress — what did you call her? Lady Moaner? — thrown into Dreghorn jail? And that troll as well?” Marcus wanted to know.

  “But as yet they have done nothing wrong,” Professor Scallio said. “And Dreghorn, like Gorebreath, is a democratic kingdom. There would be an uprising if anyone or anythi
ng was imprisoned without fair trial. No. I fear all we can do is keep our eyes wide open and wait. At least she has lost the advantage of complete surprise.”

  “I suppose so.” Marcus got to his feet and began to wander idly around, inspecting the rows of gilt-framed pictures and the heavily laden bookshelves. Although Professor Scallio had been at the palace for more than seven years, Marcus had never seen his private rooms. The tutor had made it very clear that visitors were not welcome, but by the time Marcus had ridden back from the guardhouse, he had persuaded himself that Arry was in such deadly danger that he had flung himself into the tutor’s sitting room without so much as a knock on the door. Now his eye was caught by the portrait of a small dumpy woman who looked remarkably like the professor, and he paused in front of it. “Is that your sister, sir? Are you twins?”

  “How very observant of you, Prince Marcus,” the tutor said. “I have been told that the likeness is extreme. But”— he neatly edged Marcus toward the door —“surely you are wanting to take your pony and make the most of your free day?” He saw Marcus’s look of doubt. “I do promise you, dear boy, that your brother and family will come to no more harm without you than they would if you were there.” He pushed Marcus gently out onto the landing. “Just two words of advice. One — always keep the map close beside you. Two — in the most unlikely event of everything going seriously wrong, go to the House of the Ancient Crones. They know all the answers. Although”— the tutor stood back and eyed Marcus with a thoughtful look —“you do have the distinct disadvantage of being a boy. Still, they might stretch a point.” After which cryptic remark Professor Scallio went back into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Marcus, left standing outside, dithered. He wasn’t sure if he felt like adventuring now . . . but when would he ever have a free day again? He walked slowly down the staircase, thinking all the way. Glee whickered cheerfully to see him come out into the sunshine, and Marcus grinned.

  “Hello, boy!” he said. “It’s all right — we’re going out after all. I’ve decided. We’ll go to Dreghorn, but we won’t let anyone see us. We’ll go over the field and through the wood, and when we get there, I’ll sneak up the old church tower. . . . I bet you can see right into the palace grounds from the top. I’ll soon spot that old sorceress if she turns up with her horrible troll, and if anything looks suspicious, I’ll ring the church bells until I burst!”

  Gracie ate the last of her berries and licked her fingers. “I’m ready,” she said, without much enthusiasm. “Are we nearly there?”

  “Kiddo,” Marlon said, “we’ll be there when we’re there.”

  Gracie sighed and got up from her seat on top of an exceedingly hard rock. She was aching all over and horribly thirsty. The berries were delicious but did nothing to quench her thirst. It was a long, long time since she and Marlon had left the yew tree and the little stream. “Couldn’t we find another stream?” she asked.

  Marlon groaned. “It’d take us way out of our way,” he said. “Do y’like tea? Mugs and mugs of tea?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gracie said. “Yes, please!”

  “Well, you’ll have enough tea to float a boat just as soon as you get through the door,” Marlon promised. “Now, shake a leg. See the top of that hill? Over that, and we’re snug as a bug in a rug.”

  “That’s what you said when we came to the last hill,” Gracie said. “And the hill before. And the hill before that.”

  “Had to keep your spirits up, kiddo,” Marlon said unapologetically. “But this one’s the one. Bona fide. Bat’s honor. Now, off we go!”

  To Gracie’s amazement, Marlon was right. As she clambered wearily over the top, she saw a clearing in the thick forest below. A chaotic house was dropped into the middle. It looked as if it had once been a sensible sort of building, but someone had come along and muddled it all up: chimneys poked out of walls, the roof was peppered with cracked and dusty windows, the front door appeared to be balanced on top of an outhouse, and the front path jiggled and squiggled around and around the outside like a quite impenetrable maze. A misty haze hung low over the house, reaching to the very edges of the clearing.

  “Can you see it, kiddo? Can you see it?” Marlon asked.

  “Of course I can,” Gracie said. “Erm . . . it doesn’t look very . . . ordinary. There’s an awful lot of green smoke.”

  “Knew you were a Trueheart,” Marlon said. “If you weren’t, you’d see nothing but forest. Smoke keeps prying eyes away, see.”

  Gracie pushed her hair back from her face and squinted more closely at the house below. “The path keeps changing direction,” she said.

  “Does it?” Marlon sounded surprised.

  Gracie stared at him. “Can’t you see it? Look! It keeps twisting all over the place. Now it’s tied itself up in a bow!”

  “I always fly in,” Marlon said. “No need for paths. Come on, babe — got to get in before it gets too bright out here.” And he zigzagged off ahead.

  Gracie stumbled after him. As she traveled lower and lower, the trees grew thicker and the shrubby undergrowth was harder and harder to push through. Brambles caught her dress and pulled her hair, loops of grass tripped her, and small whippy branches flicked her as she passed. “I don’t think anything here likes me much,” she panted.

  Marlon laughed. “You should see what happens to the Falsehearts, kiddo! There are bogs, and sinking sands, and all sorts of things!”

  Gracie supposed she should be grateful, but as a shower of wet and soggy leaves soaked her the very next moment, she decided she wasn’t.

  “Here we are!” Marlon flew a victory roll over Gracie’s head. “See the gateway? Just over there?”

  Gracie peered through the branches and found that there were two towering gateposts only a yard or two in front of her. In between was a ramshackle gate that couldn’t make up its mind if it was open or closed. As Gracie watched, it opened wide, shut, quivered, opened a couple of inches, closed, and opened wide once more.

  “Watch how you go through,” Marlon warned. “For a magical gate, it ain’t that clever.”

  Gracie pushed her way out from the sheltering trees, and the gate immediately slammed shut.

  “Talk to it, kiddo,” Marlon told her.

  Gracie coughed politely and said, “Please, dear gate, may I come in?”

  There was a long pause before the gate reluctantly creaked open just wide enough for Gracie to slide through. At once the path untangled itself and came zooming toward her, quivering like an excited puppy.

  Marlon, high above Gracie’s head, said, “See? It’s pleased to see you. Be good, now, and I’ll be back soon. Just remember to trust your old friend Marlon. . . .”

  To Gracie’s utter horror, he flapped his wings and vanished into the darkness of the forest. “Marlon!” she yelled, pulling at the gate to chase after him — but the gate wouldn’t budge. Instead, the path tickled her ankles and rippled encouragingly.

  Gracie tried hard not to cry. She fished in her pocket for a hankie, but all she could find was the soft little cloth that had contained her Trueheart Stew. She stuffed it back and wiped her nose on the edge of her shawl.

  “You can’t go back, Gracie Gillypot,” she told herself firmly, “so you’ll just have to go forward!” And to the path’s great excitement, she strode out along it to see where it took her.

  The road between Gorebreath and Dreghorn was longer than Lady Lamorna had expected, and it was well past midday by the time she crossed the border. She kept Figs moving at a brisk trot, and as Gubble fell off his donkey with increasing regularity, she reached the gates of the Royal Palace well ahead of him. To her extreme surprise and annoyance, she saw that Foyce Undershaft was there before her. Foyce was sitting on the knee of one soldier and smiling sweetly into the adoring eyes of another. Lady Lamorna would have been even more annoyed had she been able to hear what Foyce was saying.

  “Such a big, muddy green-faced troll,” she was lisping. “And it chased me all the way fr
om Gorebreath! But now I know I’m safe, because you brave soldiers would never let such a horrid thing near the dear Royal Family, would you?”

  “Never!” promised the soldiers. “Never ever!”

  “Thank you,” Foyce whispered coyly. Her business done, she jumped up and ran to meet the old sorceress. “Why, Granny Bones!” she called in her silvery voice. “How lovely to see you! Are you coming to the royal party? Shall we go together?” And she skipped toward Lady Lamorna in a cute and girlish way.

  The soldiers at the gates immediately fell even more deeply in love with her, but Lady Lamorna could see the calculating look in Foyce’s big blue eyes.

  You don’t fool me with that act of yours, she thought, and was about to brush Foyce to one side and ride through the gates when there was the clatter of galloping hooves and Gubble appeared in a cloud of dust.

  “Help me, Evilness — help me!” he yelled — and flew past the gates, on down the road, and out of sight.

  The soldiers immediately leaped to attention and swung the gates shut with a mighty clang. “Full alert!” barked the colonel-in-charge. “’Tenshun! Troll sighted!”

  Foyce watched the closing gates with a cool smile and turned to the furious and frustrated Lady Lamorna. “I would have thought such an important person as yourself would have had a servant with — shall we say — more skills than a mere troll?” Foyce said. “Might I offer my services? I think you might find me very . . . useful.” When she received no answer, Foyce twirled her fingers into Figs’s mane. At once the donkey moaned and shivered.