Bluebell beamed and gave him a conspiratorial wink.
Marcus grinned and took Gracie’s hand in his. “And now, if it’s OK with everyone, I’d like to take Gracie home . . . Someone’s waiting for her.” He did not add that he was expecting to travel on a flying path, accompanied by two bats and an Ancient Crone.
This was not at all what King Frank had expected, but he was still feeling magnanimous. “Of course, dear boy! Off you go. And good-bye, Gracie. Thanks to you too, of course.”
Albion was not entirely sorry to see Marcus taking his leave of the assembled company. The discovery of the missing silver had removed him from his place in the sun, and he was hoping to retrieve it. He was, however, genuinely sad to see Gracie go. He rushed after her and Marcus, and hovered in the doorway. “So you’ll definitely come to see my parade?” he asked anxiously. “You will come, Gracie?”
“Of course I will,” Gracie promised.
“We’ll both come,” Marcus told him.
Albion dithered. “Yes. Good. So I’ll see you soon . . . Well, good-bye!”
Queen Bluebell, seeing that Albion was showing no signs of removing himself, stalked over and imposed her substantial bulk in front of him. “Don’t let us keep you, my dears,” she said firmly. “Good luck . . . and come and see me soon. Don’t forget, now!”
Gracie stood on her tiptoes and kissed the queen. “Thank you. We will!” She gave a sudden giggle. “We’ll send Alf to say we’re coming!”
“I’d enjoy that.” Bluebell nodded. “I’d enjoy that very much, indeed.”
As Gubble shut the door and followed them down the steps, Marcus heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Wow! Thank goodness that’s over. Oh! It is OK if I come back with you, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Gracie told him. “The aunties will be ever so pleased to see you.”
Marcus held her hand a little tighter. “I wasn’t really worrying about them. I was wondering about you, Gracie. I — I really need to know. YOU’LL be pleased, won’t you?”
Gracie looked at him, her eyes very clear and blue. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ll be pleased. In fact, I’ll be very pleased, indeed.”
“Good,” Marcus said. And then, “You kissed Queen Bluebell.”
“I know,” Gracie said. “I’m very fond of her.”
Marcus said nothing.
Gracie blushed, then began to laugh. “OK,” she said. “OK . . .” And she kissed him too.
High above their heads, Alf flew the biggest victory roll of his entire life. “YES!” he squeaked. “YES!”
The Ancient One was sitting with her feet up reading the Cockenzie Rood Daily Register. “‘The Royal Parade was, without a doubt, the outstanding event of Cockenzie Rood Day,’” she reported to Elsie, who was curling her wig on the other side of the kitchen table. “‘Prince Albion is a true prince and will one day be worthy to take his place as king.’ Oho! Listen to this, Elsie! ‘Twenty chosen members of the guard wore scarlet cloaks, and a fine sight they were as they marched up and down while our noble prince took the salute in the absence of his father, King Dowby. Tribute was paid to Queen Bluebell, one of the guests, on the occasion of her eighty-first birthday; a cake was presented during the evening’s entertainments. Among the many guests were —’ Are you listening, Elsie?”
“Of course I am,” Elsie said.
The Ancient One put the newspaper down and inspected her companion. “You’re spending a lot of time on that wig. May I ask why?”
Elsie twirled a curl around her finger. “You never know,” she said as casually as she could. “I might want to go out somewhere again. I rather enjoyed my little adventure, but I’d have looked less of a fright if I’d had my wig.”
“It would have blown away while you were flying on the path,” Edna said in crushing tones. “If you’re going to have adventures, you’d be better off without it.”
Elsie brightened. “So you wouldn’t mind if I popped out from time to time? Not too often, of course . . .”
“Of course.” The Ancient One went back to her paper. “Now, listen to this . . . ‘Among the many guests was Prince Arioso, heir to the kingdom of Gorebreath. On his arm was his fiancée, Princess Nina-Rose of Dreghorn. Also present was Prince Marcus, escorting Miss Gracie Gillypot. Will we be hearing double wedding bells in the not-too-distant future?’” Edna flung the paper down. “Really!”
Elsie put on her wig and peered at her reflection in a saucepan before taking it off again. “But don’t you think she might marry Marcus one day?”
“She might, or then again she might not,” Edna said, “but she’s got far more sense than to have a double wedding with those two sticks of celery.”
Elsie laughed and picked up the rejected newspaper. “I’m sure you’re right. What other news is there? Oh, well I never! ‘The Howling Arms is open once more after general refurbishment.’ That means they’ve blocked up the holes Gubble made in the walls.”
“That reminds me,” Edna said, looking at the damaged kitchen door. “We really must get that mended.”
Elsie wasn’t listening. “‘Gruntle Marrowgrease Welcomes You All! His new staff member, Aloysius Bullstrop, will be delighted to take your orders, while Marley Bagsmith will provide every support in the kitchen.’ You’d need to hang on to your handbag if you went anywhere near that lot.”
“And you’d need to hang on to your wig,” the Ancient One retorted with a chuckle. “I’m going to check the web.” She heaved herself out of her chair and stomped off to room seventeen. Val was working at the web of power, and Foyce was sulking in front of a piece of purple cloth.
“All well?” Edna asked cheerfully.
Val nodded. “Smooth as a summer’s day,” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was true. The silver rippled and shone, every so often throwing out a sparkle like a tiny star.
“It looks positively happy,” Edna said thoughtfully. “Maybe good things are on the way.”
Val stuck out her slipper-clad feet. “I did get my slippers back,” she said, “and they’re better than ever, so that’s a good thing. Gracie must have taken great care of them.”
“I don’t think that was quite what I had in mind,” the Ancient One said, “but I’m delighted. How are you getting on, Foyce?”
“Can’t see why that stupid Prince Albion wants a purple cloak,” Foyce complained. “He’ll look hideous.”
Edna ignored her remarks and bent to look at the weaving. “Well done,” she said in surprise. “You’re coming on well! This is splendid!”
Foyce was, for once, speechless.
“There!” Val looked pleased with herself. “That’s another good thing!”
“Hmm,” said the Ancient One. “I still think there might be something else . . .”
Sitting under a tall tree, Marcus and Gracie were throwing pinecones into a stream. Gubble sat beside them, while Marlon and Alf argued aimiably above their heads.
“What shall we do tomorrow?” Marcus asked idly.
Gracie giggled. “Anything you like, just as long as I don’t have to watch Albion marching up and down and up and down and —”
“Up and down and up and down,” Marcus finished her sentence. “I know.”
“Still, he did enjoy it,” Gracie said. “Maybe his father will take some notice of him now.”
Marcus made a face. “Dowby? He’ll probably want mounted cavalry next year and make poor old Albion miserable again. Do you think he’ll ever find out that all his trophies went missing?”
“I think the duchess or Queen Bluebell will tell him.” Gracie gave the prince a sideways glance. “They want to make sure everyone remembers it was you who found them.” She did not add, “Especially your father,” but the words hung in the air.
“Gubble found them, really.” Marcus threw a pinecone right across the stream. “He’s much more of a hero than I am.”
Gubble turned purple. “Not hero. Am Gubble.”
“So you are
,” Gracie told him.
Marcus picked up another cone, and began pulling off pieces. “I did wonder,” he said slowly, “if you’d like to ride out and visit the giants. See how they’re getting on.”
Gracie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, YES!” she said. “That’s a brilliant idea!”
“Really?” Marcus dropped his pinecone and jumped to his feet. “Then, that’s what we’ll do!”
He suddenly started to laugh, and Gracie looked at him in surprise. “What’s up?”
“Can you imagine,” Marcus said, in between paroxysms of laughter, “what Nina-Rose would say if Arry asked her to go and see some giants? Oh, Gracie Gillypot, I’m so glad you’re the way you are. You’re the very, very, VERY best, and do you know what?”
Gracie shook her head. Up on the branch above, Marlon and Alf froze. Gubble gazed upward, his small piggy eyes as wide as they would go.
“I love you,” Marcus said. “I really, really do. Come on. Let’s go!”
And he and Gracie walked away between the trees . . .
www.candlewick.com
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 © 2012 by Vivian French
Illustrations copyright © 2012 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 2013
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2012943656
ISBN 978-0-7636-5930-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7636-6377-3 (electronic)
Candlewick Press
99 Dover Street
Somerville, Massachusetts 02144
visit us at www.candlewick.com
The Music of Zombies Page 17
