It would have taken a much sharper eye than Lady Lamorna’s to see that the embroidery covered up many mistakes in the weaving — mistakes as if the weaver had been throwing the shuttle in a particularly angry fashion. . . .
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 with 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.
Evangeline’s little toe was now excruciating. All the same, she extended an unwilling hand and said as gracefully as she was able, “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Hangnail!”
The visitor stared at her with beady little eyes, and the strangely sinuous animal draped around her neck lifted its head and stared too. “Deep or Shallow?” the witch croaked.
Mrs. Cringe took her elderly relation by the arm. “I told you, Grandma. There aren’t any Deep Witches in the Five Kingdoms.”
Truda Hangnail gave a laugh like knives scraping steel. “There’s no fun in that,” she sneered. “You can’t turn princes into toads with Shallow Magic. How d’you put red-hot nails in a milkmaid’s shoes? And how d’you scare folk into giving you plump young chickens and apple pies and bowls of eggs and dishes of cream?”
“Actually, Mrs. Hangnail,” the Grand High Witch said haughtily, “we are respected members of our community.”
Mrs. Prag looked smug. “We’ve all been invited to Queen Bluebell’s eightieth-birthday party to hear the Declaration.”
“It’s a Declaration Ball, Vera,” Mrs. Vibble corrected her. “Do get it right.”
“So exciting!” Ms. Scurrilous beamed with pleasure. “We’ll be among the very first to know who she’s chosen as her successor!”
Truda stiffened like a fox who has seen a foolish young rabbit. Even her nose sharpened. “Successor?”
Ms. Scurrilous heaved a romantic sigh. “So sad. Her daughter ran away, and there’s only a grandson. And of course we don’t have kings in Wadingburn, so it’s been a terrible worry.”
“Serves the old bag right,” Truda snapped.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Hangnail!” Evangeline’s voice rose several octaves. “You are speaking of our beloved monarch!”
“Oooh — beg your pardon, I’m sure.” The old witch bobbed a sarcastic curtsy. “So what else do you do, besides visiting royalty?”
Mrs. Vibble bridled. “We offer charms and soothing cures for the afflicted.”
“That’s right,” Ms. Scurrilous added. “And we get paid for our work without frightening anyone.”
“YAH!” Truda stuck out her long green tongue. “Mimsy-whimsy sort of stuff. Cough drops and love potions as well, I’ll be bound.” She hobbled toward the bubbling cauldron and peered inside. “Just as I thought. Moldy mushrooms, shriveled spiders’ legs, chicken soup, and nail clippings. Call yourselves witches? Spineless old hags is what you are! Now, let me see . . .” She began to fish in the pockets of her shabby old cloak, then pulled out a tattered cloth bag. “Frog bones, bat bones, rat bones, cat bones . . . How about a few dragon bones to begin with? Nicely ground into dust, of course.”
Mrs. Prag grabbed Evangeline’s arm. “What’s she doing?” she hissed. “Stop her! Dragon bones are illegal!”
Evangeline swallowed hard. As Grand High Witch of Wadingburn, voted into the post by every witch in the kingdom, she knew she should take command. She should order this terrible old hag to go, scat, vamoose, and refuse to take no for an answer. But there had been something in Truda Hangnail’s eyes that was making Evangeline feel oddly indecisive.
“Erm . . .” she began. “We don’t usually use those kinds of ingredients.”
“You don’t, eh?” Truda sneered. “Well, could be it’s time you did. I’m thinking we could have some fun and games in this cozy little kingdom of yours. I’m thinking we could make it a tad more exciting. Could just be I’ve found something worth staying for!” She gave an evil cackle, opened the bag, and tossed a handful of gray dust into the cauldron.
What happens when a lonely troll king decides he’d like a princess of his very own?
The Heart of Glass
The Third Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Silence!” King Thab waved an imperious arm. “Write, Spittle.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.” The goblin’s pencil squeaked furiously on the slate. “Erm . . . how about, ‘Thab, King of All Trolls, presents his compliments to Master Amplethumb, and is delighted and ekstatik’”— Spittle paused and crossed the last word out —“‘Is delighted and happy to agree to his request for assistance in the matter of extracting gold from the valleys of Flailing. Thab, King of All Trolls, is willing to offer . . .’” Spittle paused again and put down his pencil. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but how many trolls will you be sending?”
Thab turned to the dwarf. “How many? He ask.”
“One or two would be sufficient, sir,” the dwarf told him, “trolls being that much bigger than us dwarves. And stronger,” he added with a sideways glance at Mullius.
“That’s right. That was in Master Amplethumb’s letter, Your Majesty.” The goblin picked up the parchment. “Erm . . . here we are. ‘The pressures upon us are immense owing to the forthcoming wedding in the Kingdom of Dreghorn. All our able-bodied dwarves are already actively employed in the extraction of gold, but I fear the order will not be ready in time unless you are able to assist us. One, or at most two, of your strongest trolls would be invaluable.’”
The king nodded. “Yes. Write, ‘Agree. One troll. One troll to dig.’”
Spittle’s pencil began to squeak again.
He put down his pencil, but the king snatched it up and thrust it back into his hand. “Write more, Spittle. Exchange! Payment! Write, ‘Troll dig for dwarves. Exchange pretty princess.’ Pretty for me — for King Thab!” Exhausted by this effort, the king lay back in his throne and closed his eyes, thus missing the expression of total horror on the dwarf’s face.
Spittle gave a sly chuckle and went on: “‘In exchange for this act of generosity, King Thab will expect delivery of a princess —’”
“Pretty!” interrupted the king without opening his eyes.
“
So sorry, Your Majesty. I was about to add that requirement. ‘One PRETTY princess, to keep His Most Royal Majesty company.’”
Bestius stood first on one foot, then on the other, as Spittle went on writing. How could he promise a princess in return for a troll? “Your Majesty,” he began, “there . . . there might be a bit of a problem.”
The king of the trolls frowned. “No problem. No. No pretty, no troll.”
“Ah.” Bestius pulled at his beard. Judging by King Thab’s expression, the matter was best left alone for the moment. He made a decision. Master Amplethumb had asked for a troll; Master Amplethumb could solve any ensuing difficulties. Bowing, he said, “Agreed.”
When a pair of evil twins threatens the Five Kingdoms with Total Oblivion, Gracie Gillypot and her intrepid friends must save the day.
The Flight of Dragons
The Fourth Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Dragons?” Professor Scallio peered over the top of his spectacles. “MORE dragons? Where were they this time?”
The very young bat perched on a shelf in the ancient library of Wadingburn Palace opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A much older bat, balanced precariously on a pile of books on the professor’s desk, gave him a sharp look. “Give us the gossip, kiddo. Quick smart! No time to hang about!”
The very young bat began to quiver. “If you please, Mr. Marlon Batster,” he whispered. “I ain’t accustomed to human people.”
Marlon gave a snort of disapproval. “Thought you wanted to learn the biz.”
“Oh, I do, Mr. Marlon Batster! I do!” The little bat flapped his wings. “When you said I could be a Batster Super Spotter, I was so excited, I was all of a flap, so to speak, but I didn’t know you’d want me to talk to human people.” He gave the professor a nervous glance. “They’re SCARY!”
“Not as scary as I’ll be if you don’t spill the beans, young Samson,” Marlon said cheerfully. “Come on, kid. You can do it. How many dragons? Where? What time?”
Samson screwed up his eyes and took a deep breath. “Three of them. One gold, one blue, and one green. Beyond the southern border. Twilight yesterday.”
“That’s more like it,” Marlon told him. “Now hop to. You know the drill. Any more sightings and you’re back here, pronto.”
“Yes, Mr. Marlon Batster, sir. Certainly, Mr. Batster, sir. Erm . . . Mr. Batster?”
Marlon lifted an imperious claw. “Spit it out, kid.”
“Ma said I had to go straight back to bed, Mr. Marlon Batster, sir.”
Marlon sighed. “Can’t get quality help these days. OK, young Samson. Scoot.” Samson scooted, and Marlon turned to Professor Scallio. “So. What d’you make of that?”
The professor shook his head and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “That’s the fourth time your spotters have seen dragons in the South. There’s one report from the North, two from the West, and so far nothing definite from this side of the Five Kingdoms, although Millie heard a farm boy telling his friends he’d seen a dragon. Luckily he’d spent most of the afternoon in the Pig Catcher’s Tavern, so nobody believed him.”
“Good girl, my Millie.” Marlon allowed himself a fond smile. “Not much gets past her.”
Professor Scallio stroked his chin. “So far the dragons have been seen only at daybreak and twilight, and they’re flying well outside the borders and keeping away from humans. But there’s something going on . . . and it’s worrisome. Very worrisome. What could they want?”
Before Marlon could answer, the library door flew open. Prince Marcus, second in line to the throne of Gorebreath, came striding in, his hair standing on end and his riding jacket covered in mud. “Hi, Prof!” he said. “Nina-Rose is staying at our place, and I can’t stand it any longer, so I came to see you. Arry’s behaving like a dying duck in a thunderstorm, and Father keeps talking about ‘jolly little lovebirds, ho-ho-ho!’ and Mother’s flapping around like a headless chicken. It’s murder. I was going to go and see Gracie, but Mother wants me at home tonight for a hideous family dinner, so I’m going tomorrow instead. It’s Gracie’s birthday soon, by the way. Thought I’d take her on an adventure — but I don’t know where yet. Oh! Hello, Marlon! Didn’t see you there!”
“Hi, kiddo.”
Marlon didn’t sound his usual chirpy self, and Marcus swung around to inspect him. “What’s up? You and the prof plotting something?”
The professor and the bat exchanged self-conscious glances, and Marcus brightened visibly. “You are! What is it?” He looked at the pile of books on the desk, and his eyes grew wide. “Dragons: An Introduction. The Larger Beasts of the Five Kingdoms — with pencil illustrations. Illnesses, Abscesses, and Heat Complaints with Reference to Dragons and Other Scaled Beasts. Wow! Have you found one? A dragon?”
“Certainly not.” Professor Scallio folded his arms. “Nothing of the kind. I . . . I was just doing some research. On dragons. Wasn’t I, Marlon?”
“Sure thing, Prof. Research ‘n’ all that stuff,” Marlon agreed.
Marcus had opened one of the books and was flicking through the pages. “Hey,” he said, “look at this! It’s Niven’s Knowe — there’s a drawing of a whole load of dragons outside Terty’s palace! How come?”
A pained expression crossed the professor’s face. “A flight of dragons, dear boy. A flight.”
“A what?” Marcus looked blank.
His old tutor clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Really, Marcus. Didn’t I teach you anything? Collective noun. Herd of cows. Flock of geese. Flight of dragons.”
Vivian French began her writing career after many years of acting and storytelling. Writing across genres and age groups, she has published dozens of highly acclaimed books for children, including the other books in the Tales of the Five Kingdoms series. Vivian French lives in Scotland.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2007 by Vivian French
Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Ross Collins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2011
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
French, Vivian.
The robe of skulls / Vivian French ; illustrated by Ross Collins. — 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: The sorceress Lady Lamorna has her heart set on a very expensive new robe, and she will stop at nothing — including kidnapping and black magic — to get the money to pay for it.
ISBN 978-0-7636-3531-2 (hardcover)
[1. Fairy tales.] I. Collins, Ross, ill. II. Title.
PZ8.F897Ro 2008
[Fic] — dc22 2007038290
ISBN 978-0-7636-4364-5 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-7636-5635-5 (electronic)
Candlewick Press
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Somerville, Massachusetts 02144
visit us at www.candlewick.com
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