The Robe of Skulls

by Vivian French

  Gracie could only nod.

  “So, Marlon brought you here,” Edna went on. “Do you know why?”

  Gracie shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

  Edna’s bright blue eye studied Gracie appraisingly. “Hmm. He’s up to something. We asked him to find a replacement for Val, but you’re much too young. And besides, you’re a Trueheart. Working on the web wouldn’t teach you anything. You’ve had a hard life, have you?”

  Gracie nodded again. “I was living with my stepfather and my stepsister,” she said. “They weren’t — they weren’t always very nice to me.”

  “Marlon told us as much,” Edna said. “He says your stepsister’s a werewoman.”

  “Foyce?” Gracie’s eyes opened wide. “She’s a what?”

  “Didn’t you know? Her mother was a werewolf. Good at running, is she?”

  “Yes,” Gracie said.

  “Unusually good sense of smell? Excellent hearing?”

  Gracie paused. When she came to think about it, it was true. “Yes,” she said.

  “There you are, then,” Edna said. “Ah, here’s Elsie. About time, too. Have your tea and cake, child. Afterward you can have a hot bath. Val’s due for a rest, so she’ll show you to your room. We’ll chat again later.”

  Gracie took her mug of tea most gratefully. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Erm. Could I ask you something, er . . . Auntie Edna?”

  “Of course,” Edna said, “if you’re quick. I’m about to go back to sleep.”

  “Is it true?” Gracie asked. “Do you really have to keep the looms working all the time?”

  “The loom that spins the web must never stop. We use the other for orders. Clothes and so on.” Edna looked pleased with herself. “We charge a fortune. Keeps us in cake and other necessities.”

  “What happens if it does stop?” Gracie wanted to know.

  Edna frowned. “We don’t exactly know,” she said slowly. “We daren’t risk finding out. There’s Magic outside, and it’s been there much longer than I’ve been here. You must have noticed the Unwilling Bushes, and the Bogs of Unimaginable Depths, and the Mires of Sinking Sand . . .”

  “I certainly found the bushes,” Gracie said with feeling, “but I didn’t see any mires or bogs.”

  “Goodness! You are a Trueheart!” Edna said. “Well done! But those things are there to protect the web, so the web must be powerful — so we need to keep weaving. If you ask me, I think the web acts as a filter. It helps to keep good and evil in balance. And it’s been throwing a dark shadow just the last few days, so there must be something wicked stirring out there that we need to keep an eye on.”

  Gracie didn’t understand. “I think I’ll ask you to explain again after my bath,” she said, and yawned. “I’m so sorry — but we were walking a very long way. . . .”

  “You poor dear,” Edna said. “Of course you need a rest. Elsie’s back, so Val will show you around. See you later on. . . .”

  And as Edna settled herself under her cats, Gracie, yawning fit to burst, followed Val out of door seventeen, along the corridor, and into HEDGEHOGS ONLY. There she found a ramshackle four-poster bed, a tin bath full of steaming hot water, and a heap of fluffy white towels.

  “Enjoy!” Val said, and left Gracie to have a gloriously hot bath, followed by a long, dreamless sleep.

  Foyce was glowing with pride. As she sauntered away from the walled garden, the band broke into a waltz, and she danced a few steps with her basket before making her way back into the heart of the celebrations. She had completed her mission, and so far nobody had noticed. As she floated past the Royal Pavilion, she heard murmurs of “Has anyone seen Prince Tertius?” and “Where could Prince Arry have gotten to?” and “Isn’t it time those sweet things were getting ready for the Wild Rejoicings?” but on the whole the older members of the various Royal Families were having much too much of a good time to worry about their offspring.

  “There! There’s that horrid, mean girl!”

  Foyce turned. The smallest of Nina-Rose’s sisters was pointing at her. When she saw Foyce looking at her, she stuck out her tongue.

  “You’re nasty!” The next youngest was glaring at Foyce too. “We saw you! You turned our sister into a frog! We told on you, but our mommy said we were just telling stories — but we weren’t! You’re horrid and we hate you!”

  Foyce turned her snake-like eyes on the little girls. “I’ll turn you into frogs if you aren’t quiet!” The girls shrieked, and Foyce moved swiftly away. Time I left, she thought.

  But leaving quietly was harder than she had anticipated. As she moved through the crowded throng, men and boys of all shapes and sizes kept stepping up and offering to fetch her drinks, carry her basket, or bring her the meatiest pie. When a scruffy boy with leaves in his hair and scratches on his face created a sudden diversion by head-butting a soldier, then screaming, “Witch! Witch! There’s a witch in the gardens!” she took advantage of the chaos and hurried away as fast as she could go.

  Lady Lamorna was waiting on the bench beyond the Royal Gates in a fever of anticipation. When she saw Foyce skimming down the drive toward her, she had to force herself to appear quite indifferent.

  Foyce blew kisses at the colonel-in-charge as he opened the gates for her and strolled across the road. “Easy as pie,” she said coolly. “They haven’t even noticed —”

  From behind the gates came the sound of shouting, followed by a great deal of screaming. The colonel blew his bugle, and his company of soldiers regretfully stopped gazing at Foyce and marched swiftly away.

  “Well, maybe they have now.” Foyce sniggered. “Shall we go?”

  “You have the frogs?” Lady Lamorna asked.

  Foyce pulled back a corner of the cloth covering her basket, and a tiny indignant voice said, “Oi! You there! Turn me back at once!”

  Other voices joined in.

  “That’s right!”

  “We’ll have you thrown in the dungeons!”

  “This is shocking!”

  “Please let us go. . . .”

  “Be quiet!” Foyce snapped. “Or I’ll drop all of you in the road and stomp on you!”

  The frogs fell silent. The sorceress looked at them doubtfully. “I think you should have left them behind,” she said. “They seem very noisy.”

  Foyce frowned. “I’ve explained it once already,” she snapped, “and you agreed. Prince — or princess. Zap! Frog. Right?”

  Lady Lamorna nodded.

  “And then we send their weeping mommies and daddies a letter offering your services to change the little croakers back into royal boys and girlies — for a large sum of money.”

  Lady Lamorna decided to ignore the “we.” “We” was not part of her plan. She nodded again.

  “Well, they’ll try anything not to pay that much.” Foyce rolled her eyes. “Royalty’s like that. Cheap as weasels. They’ll try that cheapo magician in Niven’s Knowe first, and then the old wizard in Cockenzie Rood, and then the Witches of Wadingburn — and we can’t risk them succeeding, can we?”

  Lady Lamorna drew herself up to her full height. “No one can break my spells except me,” she announced.

  “But we don’t know for certain, do we?” Foyce insisted. “Suppose they got lucky? But now I’ve swapped the royal croakers for ordinary ditch frogs; there’s nothing they can do. They can wave their wands over them until they’re blue in the face. We’ll keep these little beauties safe and sound — and they’ll have to agree to our terms!” And Foyce smiled proudly.

  Naturally, Foyce did not mention her real reason for keeping the frogs in her possession. She was certain Lady Lamorna intended to keep the gold for herself, but she knew that as long as she, Foyce Undershaft, had the royal frogs in her keeping, she could strike a hard bargain.

  After a pause Lady Lamorna, whose plans were much as Foyce suspected, said, “Yes. Yes, you may be right.”

  “I am,” Foyce said. “Now, we should be going. It just so happens that I know of the ideal
cellar to keep these froggies safe and happy. It’s time we went back to Fracture, Your Evilness. Oh, and there’s a little bit of business I have to finish in Gorebreath as we pass through. By the way, where’s the troll?”

  Lady Lamorna glanced around, surprised. “Gubble?” she called.

  There was no answer.

  Foyce looked at the two donkeys tethered to the back of the bench. “He can’t have gone far,” she said.

  Lady Lamorna, remembering the state Gubble had been in when he and the donkey limped their way back from a stout and unyielding bramble bush on the way to Niven’s Knowe, thought the same. Nevertheless, no amount of calling brought any answer. “I had to teach him a lesson for calling me Evilness in front of the soldiers,” she said. “He may be sulking.”

  Foyce saw an opportunity. “I say we leave the troll.”

  Having no heart, Lady Lamorna was unable to feel any regret. She did, however, feel it would be inconvenient to do without Gubble.

  Seeing her wavering, Foyce said quickly, “When you’ve got all that gold, you can pay for a hundred servants — servants who’ll obey your every word!”

  “Indeed.” Lady Lamorna swung herself into her saddle with a calculating look in her eye. “How many frogs are there?”

  Foyce peered into the basket. “Six.”

  “Six thousand gold pieces . . . Yes. I will have a hundred servants as well as my robe of skulls.” She watched Foyce strapping the basket of frogs firmly onto the back of the second donkey. “Are you not going to ride?”

  Foyce shook her head. “I can run,” she said. “Let’s go. . . .”

  “Marcus? Is it really you?”

  Marcus, swinging from the ham-size fist of a soldier, tried to speak, but his collar was too tight. “Unf,” he said.

  “Put my son down,” his father ordered.

  The soldier loosened his grip. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he said apologetically, “but I found him crawling in through a hedge. And then he was yelling his head off about witches and suchlike, and I couldn’t see that he was up to much good —”

  The king waved a weary hand. “Please accept my thanks. Marcus, have you heard the terrible news?”

  Marcus nodded and sank to one knee. “I know, Father.” He fished down the front of his shirt. “Here he is.” And he held out a hot and bothered frog.

  King Frank stared at him. “Are you mad? This is no time to play stupid games. There’s been a kidnapping, my boy — a kidnapping. Arry, Tertius and Fedora, Nina-Rose, Albion of Cockenzie Rood, and little Vincent of Wadingburn — they’ve all been taken!”

  “But they haven’t been kidnapped!” Marcus waved the frog under his father’s nose. “They’re in the fountain! They’re —”

  “King Frank! King Frank!” Queen Kesta of Dreghorn appeared, puffing hard and clutching a large damp handkerchief. “I came hurrying to tell you, my dear friend. It’s so dreadfully utterly totally awful! Nina-Rose’s sisters saw it happen — but when they told me, of course I didn’t believe them for a minute. I mean, imagine! A pretty girl turning our dear ones into frogs! Such a story, I thought, and I was quite cross with my little precious pearls. But then they came back a little later looking so pale, and I just knew there was something wrong because I do have a mother’s instinct, and they said they’d seen the witch again and she’d said she would turn them into frogs too! So their father went with them, just to keep them quiet, you know, and they took him to the fountain, and there they all were — their crowns lying in the water beside them! Oh, imagine it! My beautiful Nina-Rose a horrible slimy frog!” And she collapsed on Marcus’s father in a fit of sobbing.

  King Frank handed her to the soldier and folded his arms. “We must take action at once!” he said. “Whoever has done this dreadful thing must be found and punished!” He stopped and rubbed his head. “No! No, the first thing we must do is restore them to themselves. Call the magicians, the wizards — anybody who can remove this terrible spell! Put up notices! Send messengers throughout the land! Offer a reward — yes! Offer a large reward!” He stooped down to the wilting Queen Kesta. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Anything!” she wailed. “Anything that will bring my darling back to me!”

  “We’ll call a council immediately!” King Frank declared. He hauled Queen Kesta to her feet. “We’ll hold it in the Royal Pavilion!” He was about to hurry away when he remembered Marcus. “Soldier! Make sure my other son is kept safe! There may be more witchery yet.”

  “Sir!” The soldier saluted, then turned to look for Marcus . . . but Marcus was long gone. Queen Kesta’s arrival had momentarily distracted him, and the frog had taken a leap for freedom. Marcus had dived after it, and as he caught it, an incredibly clear thought flashed into his head. This isn’t Arry! Arry would never run away from me!

  Pushing his way back through the holly hedge, Marcus made his way to a gravestone and sat down to study the frog. It sat nervously on the palm of his hand, panting hard.

  “Frog,” Marcus said, “are you Arry? Because I don’t think you are. If I’m wrong, wave a leg.”

  The frog didn’t move.

  “OK. We’ll try again,” Marcus said patiently. “If you’re not Arry, wave a leg.”

  The frog still didn’t move.

  “Kiddo,” a familiar voice said, “it’s a frog. Plain, ordinary, tribe of tadpole. Let it go.”

  Marcus wheeled around. The bat was in the shade of the hedge, and Marcus stared at him. “So where’s Arry? You seem to know so much about everything. Where is he?”

  “Think, kiddo . . . think! What did you see when the dame came out of that arbor place?”

  Marcus screwed up his eyes to remember. “She was carrying her basket . . . and I saw her put a frog inside! Was that Arry?”

  “You hit the nail right on the head,” the bat said. “That dame was catching frogs this morning like it was going out of style. Betcha she did that with all the kids. Swapped ’em. Not what we expected. Clever bit of work, that dame.”

  Marcus gaped, his mind spinning. “You mean she changed Arry into a frog, then took him and left a real frog in his place?”

  The bat sighed. “The prof said you were quick on the uptake. Guess even a prof can be wrong.”

  “The professor?” Marcus did more gaping. “You know the professor?”

  “Who d’you think put me up to chasing you around, kiddo? I don’t do charity.” The bat sounded peevish. “You never noticed me checking you out in that bookstack of yours?”

  Marcus, trying hard to absorb this new information, gently put the frog on the grass. It hopped away without a backward glance. “Sorry,” he said, and stood up. “So we have to find that girl — what did you say her name was?”

  “Foyce. And what’s with the we? This is your adventure, kiddo.” The bat yawned. “Not to say I don’t have an interest, but it’s you at ground level. Me — I need a break. All this day stuff — wears a fellow out. See ya later!” He flipped a wing, soared up toward the church tower, and vanished. A second later he flew a loop over Marcus’s head. “Fracture,” he called down. “Look for the dame in Fracture. . . .” And he was gone.

  “Wait!” Marcus yelled, but the only reply was a snuffle and the clink of a bridle. “Glee,” Marcus said as the pony butted him affectionately. “Oh, Glee! Am I glad to see you. . . .” He put his arms around his pony’s neck and burst into tears. “Oh, Glee, we’ve got to find Arry — but I don’t know where to go! Where’s Fracture?”

  “Evilness,” grunted a headstone. “Prince. Zap! Frog.”

  Marcus hastily wiped his eyes. “Come on out, troll!” he said as bravely as he could. He pulled the map out of his pocket and rolled it into a tube. “I’m . . . I’m ready for you!”

  Gracie woke up slowly and lay wondering if she’d died and gone to heaven. Never in her life had she had smooth white sheets, or soft pillows, or a feather bed that rustled comfortingly every time she moved. She turned over luxuriously, enjoying the warmth.

  Th
ere was a tap on her door, and she sat up. “Hello?” she said, and Val came in carrying a tray laden with boiled eggs, toast dripping with butter, a jar of marmalade, and a mug of hot milk.

  “Wow,” Gracie breathed. “Thank you so much.”

  “Ancient says she’ll see you after,” Val said brusquely.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” Gracie hesitated. “Excuse me for asking — but do you want to be back in the world very badly?”

  Val’s eyes filled with tears. “I have a brother I’d like to see,” she said. “I hear news of him, but it’s not the same. We planned to retire together . . . take a little cottage . . .”

  “I’m so sorry,” Gracie said. “And you can’t leave until someone else comes to take your place?”

  Val heaved a heavy sigh. “Who would want to stay here?” she asked.

  “Well . . .” Gracie said, “I was thinking. Maybe when I’m older, I could help out. Perhaps I could do a couple of days a week, or something like that?”

  For the first time since Gracie had met her, Val smiled. “You’re a real Trueheart,” she said. “And thank you. But I’m afraid minding the web is a punishment. You have to be a Falseheart — and a bad one at that — before Ancient takes you on.” She saw the look on Gracie’s face. “Oh, I’m a Trueheart now. Have been for years — paid my dues in full measure.” She looked wistful for a moment. “I felt bad about stealing the treasure chest, but there was such a lovely train set inside. It took me years to repent, but I did in the end. I’d better get back. The web’s acting up, and Elsie’s not as good at handling it as me.”

  Gracie ate her eggs and toast slowly after Val had gone, enjoying every mouthful. When she got out of bed, she found that her clothes had been washed and ironed, and the rips in her dress had been neatly darned.

  They’re so kind, she said to herself. Maybe having a mother would be a bit like this. I wonder what I can do to thank them. She made her bed neatly, piled her breakfast things on the tray, and carried it out of HEDGEHOGS ONLY.