The Music of Zombies

by Vivian French

  Elsie was frowning. “I think it’ll be all right if it can just get off the ground,” she said. “But you might be right. Maybe it’s worn out. Come along, Path! Try and lift up, there’s a dear. Lift! LIFT?”

  Greatover, who had been sitting watching what was going on with uncomprehending eyes, understood something at last. Slowly he got to his feet. Very carefully, so as not to scare the little people, he moved toward them. “LIFT.”

  Elsie and Gubble shut their eyes as the huge fingers took hold of the path and raised it gently into the air. Gracie and Marcus watched the ground falling away; the path felt horribly limp, and Gracie held her breath. Then there was a wriggle, a twitch, and they were flying. Not fast but very steadily . . . and Gracie relaxed.

  “There we are,” Elsie said. “And now I suggest we all have a little snooze. It’s been a long night.”

  “Thank you!” Gracie shouted as loudly as she could. “THANK YOU!”

  Greatover lifted an enormous hand but said nothing.

  Meggymould looked at him. “BAD THING GONE!” he announced. “BAD THING ALL GONE!”

  “YES.” Greatover nodded, then nodded again. “IS GOOD.”

  Trunkly heaved herself up. “GIRL SAY EGGSIES! GO FIND EGGSIES?”

  “LATER,” Greatover told her. “LATER. NOW WALK.”

  “WALK,” agreed Meggymould, and the three giants began slowly walking back to where they had come from.

  Greatover was the first to sing. A vast tuneless droning echoed over the barren landscape — tuneless, but not unpleasant. It was the sound of wind on a mountain — a wind that wandered over rocky crags and treeless summits, endlessly searching for a place to rest and to sleep.

  “IS HAPPY,” Trunkly said, and joined in. “WOOOO . . . WOOOO . . . WOOOOOOO . . .”

  Auntie Vera did not hurry Hinny. Their progress was slow, as befitted a tired pony and an ancient bat, and they arrived at the palace much later in the day, just as the duchess and her impromptu party were settling down for afternoon tea. The distant rumblings and trembling of the earth early that morning had upset them all; several tiles had fallen off the palace roof, and the stable chimney had collapsed. The ensuing calm had been reassuring, but Nina-Rose was still inclined to scream at the slightest sound and throw herself into Arioso’s willing arms. Albion was refusing to leave his bedroom; his cousin had made a couple of attempts to persuade him out, but he had locked the door.

  “What IS the matter with the boy?” Hortense asked Bluebell, exasperated.

  Bluebell shook her head. “Leave him to sulk,” she advised. “Whatever it is, he’ll get hungry soon enough, and then he’ll come out.” She frowned. “I just wish we had some news about Marcus and Gracie.”

  There had been much discussion as to Marcus’s whereabouts; his father was of the opinion that he was afraid to come home because he knew he would be in trouble. His mother was not so certain. She suspected Bluebell and the duchess knew far more than they were prepared to say, and as the day went on and Bluebell grew more and more silent, so Queen Mildred’s anxiety increased.

  By teatime even King Frank was beginning to have his doubts. The sight of the riderless pony trotting up the drive was more than enough to make him regret his outburst of the night before, and he almost leaped from his chair. His plate of cucumber sandwiches and chocolate cake were left uneaten as he hurried to see if there was a note or any other message suggesting where the pony had come from, but there was no clue.

  Arry had followed his father; seeing Auntie Vera fluttering into the distance, her task completed, he called to her. “Bat! I say, Bat? What happened? Where’s Marcus?”

  Auntie Vera, offended at this form of address, took no notice and vanished into the vegetable garden.

  “Arry?” King Frank looked around in surprise. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Erm . . . thought I saw someone I knew,” the prince said lamely.

  “Someone called Bat?” the king asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  Arioso blinked. Maybe it was time to stand up for his brother. “Actually, Father,” he said, “it might have been a friend of Marcus’s. He talks to bats, you know.”

  The king’s eyebrows rose. “Marcus talks to bats?”

  “Yes,” Arry said. “And so do I. Sometimes. They can be very useful. In fact, it was a bat who brought me the message about Albion needing help.”

  The king was beginning to feel his grip on reality loosening. “Are you telling me, in all seriousness, that a bat brought you a message from Marcus?”

  Arioso nodded. “Yes.”

  “The boy’s right, you know.” Queen Bluebell was standing behind them. “Marcus has quite a few bat messengers, including a cheerful little fellow called Alf.” She sighed. “Think what we’ve been missing all these years, Frank.”

  The king pulled himself together. “You can believe what you want, Bluebell old girl, but I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a load of nonsense. Utter nonsense! I’m going to ask Hortense to send out a search party.” And he marched back indoors, followed by a drooping Arioso.

  Bluebell snorted and made her way around to the vegetable garden. There she peered from left to right, wondering where a bat might be found. Seeing the garden shed, complete with a Gubble-shaped hole at either end, she opened the door and looked inside. There was an irritable flutter in a dark corner; Bluebell remained politely in the doorway. “Excuse me for bothering you,” she said in her mildest tones, “but I’m a friend of Prince Marcus and Gracie Gillypot. I would be most obliged if you could tell me if they are safe.”

  “On their way back to the House of the Ancient Crones.” The squeak was so high-pitched, Bluebell had to strain to hear the words. “They did in the zombie, though. Did him in good and proper. Now, some of us need to catch up on our sleep, drafts and all. Rotten troll! Still, they couldn’t have done it without him. Saved the day. Good night!”

  The way in which Auntie Vera wrapped her wings around herself and turned away convinced the queen there was no point in asking any other questions. All the same, she felt wonderfully reassured and left the shed wondering how she could best convey the news to Marcus’s parents.

  The sound of voices in the distance made her stop to listen. One voice she recognized, or thought she did. “Marcus? How can that be? No . . . I must be wrong.”

  A moment later a small familiar figure zoomed over her head, circled, and then, to her intense delight, settled on her shoulder. “Hi there, Mrs. Queen,” Alf squeaked. “You’ll never guess what happened! Never!”

  Bluebell was unable to resist. “Let me think,” she said. “Aha! Could it be that Marcus and Gracie have defeated a zombie?”

  Alf’s squeak of astonishment made her blink. “Mrs. Queen! You’re the BEST! However did you know?”

  The queen chuckled. “Aha. And now they’re on their way to the House of the Ancient Crones!”

  “What?” Alf fluttered off her shoulder and hovered in front of her nose. “No, no, Mrs. Queen! Look! LOOK! They’re here!” And he pointed with a wing to where Marcus and Gracie were struggling up the path, carrying a large and obviously heavy bag between them. Gubble stumped behind them, a look of great satisfaction on his flat green face as he hauled a bulging suitcase over the ruts and stones.

  Bluebell was speechless.

  “Hello, Your Maj!” Marcus said as he and Gracie drew level with the queen. “Guess what we’ve found?”

  The queen had a flash of inspiration. “King Dowby’s trophies!” she said. “My goodness me! Were they at the Howling Arms?”

  Marcus was as astonished as Alf had been. “WOW!” he said. “How did you guess?” He paused. “Well, to be honest, they were thrown around outside. Gubble made a bit of a hole in the walls, and the landlord got a bit cross and chucked everything at him, including the silver. But how did you know?”

  Bluebell beamed at him. “There was a trail, and Hortense and I were following it . . . but we never
got as far as the Howling Arms. Well done, Marcus! Hortense will be thrilled! Come on up to the palace. Oh! Did you know your parents are here? And Arioso?”

  “They are? What’s going on?” Marcus looked suddenly anxious.

  “They were worried about you,” Bluebell told him. “In fact, we’d better hurry. Your father’s about to call out a search party. But tell me quickly, how was your adventure? Alf says it went well.”

  Gracie nodded. “It did, thank you. But only because of Marcus and Gubble, and Marlon and Alf. Gubble was a HERO.”

  Gubble grunted a bashful denial, but there was no doubt that he was pleased.

  “And you, Gracie,” Marcus said. “You were . . . amazing.” He smiled at her, and Queen Bluebell’s ancient heart warmed when she saw the way Gracie smiled back, her cheeks very pink.

  “They’ll be all right, those two,” she said to herself. “As long as the boy’s father doesn’t spoil everything.”

  There was a determined expression on Queen Bluebell’s face as she led the way back to the palace. She opened the dining-room door with a flourish and boomed, “Look who we have here! Prince Marcus, Miss Gracie Gillypot, and the very splendid Gubble!”

  Queen Mildred rushed at Marcus and hugged him with tears in her eyes, and then hugged Gracie. King Frank raised an eyebrow at such an excessive demonstration of affection, but he shook Marcus’s hand and slapped him on the back. The duchess winked at Bluebell and ordered more teacups to be brought.

  Arry was the next to greet his brother. Nina-Rose refused to detach herself from his arm, so he brought her with him. “Very nice to see you again, bro. And you, Gubble. And you too, Gracie. Erm . . . do you know Nina-Rose?”

  “I think we’ve met before, haven’t we?” Gracie did her best to be polite, but Nina-Rose’s smile was frosty.

  “We might have,” she said. “I don’t really remember things like that.” She stared pointedly at Gracie’s rubber boots. “Have you been hiking?”

  Gracie blushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry! I should have taken them off ! That’s so rude of me! I didn’t mean —”

  “Of course you didn’t, and it doesn’t matter in the least.” Hortense came hurrying forward. “But would you like to change your shoes?” She took Gracie’s arm and whisked her neatly away from the chilling disapproval of Nina-Rose. “Come with me, dear.”

  Before Gracie could think of any excuses, the duchess was showing her a wide selection of shoes and pressing her to try them on.

  “Actually, my dear,” the duchess said as she handed Gracie a choice of practical oxfords and a pair of furry slippers, “I’m delighted to have the chance for a private word. Please say you forgive me!”

  Startled, Gracie gazed at the duchess. “Forgive you? But what for?”

  “First you were turned away from my door, and then you had to sleep in a shed.” Hortense shook her head. “So shocking . . .”

  Gracie took the duchess’s hand. “It was fine, truly. Why, if I hadn’t been in the shed, I’d never have seen Albion being kidnapped!”

  Hortense squeezed her hand in return. “You’ve been wonderful, Gracie. And I mean that most sincerely. Bluebell and I both admire you very much, indeed, and I do so hope you’ll join us here on Cockenzie Rood Day for her birthday party — not that she wants one, poor thing. She can’t bear the idea of all that fuss and bother. Now, I’d better get back to my guests, but please, PLEASE choose whatever you like . . . I’ll be most offended if you don’t!”

  As the duchess swept away, Gracie studied the furry slippers. They were remarkably similar to the ones she had lost, and she was certain that Auntie Val would approve. With a small sigh she put them on. Then, aware of being watched, she looked up to find Albion standing in the doorway. “Prince Albion!” she said in surprise. “How are you feeling? Do you feel better?”

  Albion frowned. Gracie Gillypot was the last person he had expected to see in his cousin’s dressing room. “No. No, I don’t feel at all better. I was treated very badly, you know.”

  For a moment Gracie said nothing. Plainly the prince was upset, but her instinct told her that it was something more than mere pique. “Yes,” she agreed. “You were.”

  Still suspicious, Albion came a little nearer. “What was my cousin talking to you about?”

  “Oh . . . shoes. And she asked me to come to Cockenzie Rood Day.” Suddenly, Gracie remembered the scarlet cloaks. “It sounds very exciting. You’re going to have a grand parade, aren’t you?”

  Albion’s bravado dropped away, and he went pale. “How did you know?” he demanded. “Who told you?”

  Gracie, disconcerted that she had unwittingly discovered a secret, chose her answer carefully. “My aunties are making the cloaks,” she said, “but we haven’t told anyone about them. Is it a surprise?”

  The prince scowled. “It’s not going to happen now.”

  “But why ever not?”

  Gracie sounded genuinely concerned, and Albion shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He had never had a sympathetic listener, especially one with compassionate blue eyes. His cousin was the epitome of brusque, and his father never spoke to him unless there was information to be passed on.

  Gracie saw his hesitation. “I don’t really know anything about these things,” she said. “But I’d think a parade would be perfect. Are you going to lead it?” And she gave Albion one of her sweetest smiles.

  Albion, dazzled, threw caution to the winds. “Can I show you something?” Gracie nodded, and he hurried out of the room. Seconds later he was back, wearing his brand-new uniform jacket and twirling his sword. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” Gracie said, with more tact than accuracy, “you look magnificent. And I don’t think you should cancel the parade.”

  Albion threw his sword down in despair. “But it’s all turned into a celebration of Queen Bluebell’s birthday! It’s not about Cockenzie Rood at all! They want the band to play ‘Happy Birthday’!”

  Gracie picked up the sword and handed it back to him. “That doesn’t sound to me like much of a celebration for Cockenzie Rood Day. The crowd’ll want to cheer and shout and whistle and feel that they’re the MOST important of the Five Kingdoms. So why don’t you have your parade, and at the very end you can salute the crowd — and then, if she doesn’t mind, you could salute Queen Bluebell. Your cousin told me the queen doesn’t want any fuss — she’d absolutely hate it if the band played ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  There was a very long pause. Gracie wondered if she’d said too much or said it all wrong . . . but then Albion stood up straight. “Do you know what, Gracie Gillypot? You’re a very clever girl. That’s EXACTLY what I was thinking.”

  Gracie suppressed a smile. “I’m so glad.”

  “And I’m going to tell Cousin Hortense right now this minute,” Albion went on. He tucked the sword under his arm and headed for the door, only to stop with his hand on the handle. “Erm . . . would you mind coming with me? It’s very odd, but you make me feel better.”

  “Of course I’ll come with you,” Gracie said, and the two of them marched side by side to the dining room.

  Albion’s announcement was greeted by both Hortense and Bluebell with the most satisfactory enthusiasm. Even the twenty scarlet cloaks were accepted as entirely appropriate and very suitable for the occasion. Queen Mildred and King Frank also applauded the idea of a grand parade and made a mental note to have one themselves the following year.

  Only Princess Nina-Rose looked disapproving. “But I want the band to play ‘Happy Birthday to You,’” she said. “After all, it was my idea!” She tugged at Arioso’s arm. “YOU thought it was a BRILLIANT idea, didn’t you, Arry darling?”

  Bluebell got up from the chair she had been sitting in. “Rubbish!” she boomed. “I’d say Albion’s idea is first class. It’s Cockenzie Rood Day, not Bluebell day!”

  “Well done, Albion,” King Frank agreed. “A prince who thinks of his kingdom! Excellent. Excellent!”<
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  Albion glowed. He puffed out his chest and basked in the unaccustomed approval. “It’s going to be the best Cockenzie Rood Day ever,” he declared. “Ahem. I look forward to welcoming you all to the grandest parade in the Five Kingdoms. Even you, Marcus. Oh, and Gracie, of course.” He waved a gracious hand. “Yes. You must be sure to come. You’re a good girl, Gracie. A very good girl.”

  “What’s she got to do with anything?” Nina-Rose asked in a piercing whisper. “I do wish someone would tell me why she’s here. And that green thing. It gives me the creeps.”

  “Gubble,” Queen Bluebell said loudly, “is a very remarkable troll. Gubble dear, would you mind fetching the bag and the suitcase that we left outside the door?”

  Gubble grunted and did as he was told. Bluebell opened the bag, pulled out a silver cup, and handed it to the duchess. “Here you are, Hortense, old gal.”

  Hortense gasped. “Bluebell! It’s Dowby’s Challenge Cup! You’ve found it!”

  “No.” Bluebell raised her voice to full volume, and the room was silenced. “Marcus found it. In fact, he found all the stolen silver. You should be very proud of your son, Frank!” She tipped the contents of the bag and the suitcase onto the carpet. Flagons, cups, bowls, teapots, medals, jugs, and soup tureens tumbled out in a gleaming heap of bejeweled silver. “There you are! All safe and sound.”

  “Goodness me!” Hortense looked at it in wonder. “I’d no idea he’d taken so many things! Thank you, Marcus, my dear. I’m very, VERY grateful.”

  This was something that King Frank could understand and appreciate. He coughed and held out his hand to Marcus for the second time that day. “Well done, lad. Didn’t realize you were after a thief. Splendid stuff, splendid! Erm . . . yes. Let’s forget about everything I said before. Feel free to come and go. Yes. Good work, indeed.”

  Marcus shook his father’s hand warmly. “Thanks, Father.” He looked across at Bluebell and smiled at her. “And thank you too, ma’am.”