The Heart of Glass

by Vivian French

  Alone in the throne room, King Thab turned the bunch of keys around in his scaly hands until he found the one he wanted. Bending down, he carefully unlocked a small cupboard underneath his throne, and from the cupboard took a curiously twisted key. This he slotted into the lock on the iron box — but he did not turn it. Instead, he lowered himself to the stone floor and sat very still for a long time.

  “Pretty princess,” he murmured at last. “Pretty princess. Be special king for pretty princess.” He took a deep breath, turned the key, and lifted the lid. Inside was a piece of thick black velvet; Thab moved it away and was almost dazzled by what lay beneath. Gleaming and glittering even in the low light of the cavern, a heart of glass lay on its soft velvet bed.

  “Aaaaaah,” breathed the king, and he placed one hand on the heart and one on his chest. “Aaaaaah . . .”

  “Mind you, don’t break it,” Oolie said from right behind him. “Precious sort of thing, that is.”

  As the king swung around, rage, surprise, and fear written all over his face, she held up a protective arm. “Now, don’t you go hurting old Oolie. Oolie might have news for you, news that’ll make you happy.” She squatted down, her small black eyes glinting. “Guess what Oolie caught today in her little old trap.”

  King Thab moved to cover the heart with the piece of velvet, but Oolie caught his hand in a grip of iron.

  “Not so fast, my dearie. Guess first!”

  The king considered throwing her against the wall, but there was something in her eyes that reminded him of the way Mullius looked at him; a look suggesting a lack of respect — contempt, even. Unwilling to risk a full-blown battle of wills, he decided to humor her. “Rabbit,” he said. “Goblin. Dwarf . . .” He paused as Oolie shook her head.

  She tapped her nose and grinned, showing her broken teeth, sharp as needles. “Better,” she hissed. “Much better.”

  The heart shifted a little in its velvet-lined box, throwing sharp sparkles of light across the dark and dirty ceiling. King Thab shut his eyes tightly, then opened them. “Trueheart?” he whispered, hardly daring to believe he was saying the word. “Not . . . Trueheart?”

  Oolie nodded. “Trueheart it is.” Distracted by its dazzle, she peered at the heart. “So that’ll be the High King’s lost heart, then.” She gave a long, low whistle. “Had it long, have you?”

  King Thab did his best to look superior. “Grandfather got treasure box. Hush! Hush! Secret! Grandfather gave it Father. Father gave it me. Only royal kings know secret in box.”

  “Ooooh! Royal, is you?” Oolie sneered. “I heard as your grandpappy got to be king by snake’s-tongue words and power of poison. Nothing to do with the High King, was he?”

  “Who you?” Thab stared at her, his face scarlet with suppressed anger. “How get in? Doors shut — big bars. Bolts!”

  Oolie swung herself from foot to foot, chuckling sourly. “Oolie has her ways. Been hiding and sliding for hundreds of years, Oolie has, since the Old Trolls was sent away . . . but you never knew as I was here, did you?”

  King Thab shook his head.

  “Come from the Old Trolls, I does, and the old ones never trusted anyone. If there was a lock, they’d set a spy to watch it . . . and a secret door to slither and slide through — but you wouldn’t know that, poor thing that you is.”

  For a moment it seemed as if Oolie had gone too far; Thab let out a mighty roar and sprang at her, fully intending to throttle her with his bare hands. Oolie, agile despite her age, slid out of his reach behind the throne. “Isn’t you wanting to hear about the Trueheart, then?” she mocked.

  Panting, the king stood still. “Tell!”

  Oolie grinned an unpleasant grin. “What’ll you give poor old Oolie in exchange for telling? Gold? A fireside? Food and warmth for the rest of my days?”

  “Yes!” The king nodded. “Yes! Where Trueheart now?”

  “Oh, she’s safe enough, she is. Thinks she’s about to get out with a silly little bat to show her the way. A silly little bat who squeaks loud enough for old Oolie to hear . . .” Oolie rubbed her hands together with glee. “But Oolie’s traps is good traps. There’s no way out, no way out at all. Not the way she’s running. She’ll come to the end, then wham-slam! Caught, she’ll be, cuz Oolie’s traps is sneaky. Nasty, they is. Double sprung, with a twist at the end. Mullius Gowk, he’ll tell you of my traps. Many a dwarfie-pie he ate when he was young, and all of them caught by Oolie.” She gave a high-pitched cackling laugh and licked her lips.

  King Thab looked at her uneasily.

  “No eat dwarves now. Laws say no. No eat dwarves.”

  “More’s the pity!” Oolie snapped. She pointed at the glittering heart. “The High King’d eat them two at a time. Crunch their bones, then pick the beard hairs out of his teeth.” She gave Thab a calculating look. “So . . . so what was you thinking of doing with my Trueheart, then?”

  King Thab stood up straight and thrust out his chest. “Is story. Old story. ‘When Trueheart life . . .’” He hesitated, searching for the words.

  “I knows that story, my dearie dear,” Oolie said in a softer tone. “The old ones sang it when Oolie was in her cradle, long, long ago. Shall Oolie say it for you?”

  “Yes! Yes! Say!” The king clapped his hands.

  Oolie began to chant:

  “When Trueheart’s life is ended here,

  the High King’s heart will beat once more

  and power come to those who reign.

  A King of Kings will rule again.”

  “Good!” King Thab stamped his foot in excitement. “King of Kings! Thab be King of Kings! Great king, like High King. Then . . .” His small eyes began to glow. “Pretty princess will love Thab when Thab is King of Kings!”

  Oolie chuckled silently. So that’s the way of it, she thought. She got off the throne and made an obsequious bowlegged curtsy. “You will be King of Kings indeed, my dearie. And Oolie will give up her home to help pretty princess, because pretties need a lady friend, as you well knows.” She came a little closer and adopted a wheedling tone. “Promise you’ll let old Oolie stay and make the pretty one happy, my dear. You’ll be all-powerful, just like it says in the story.”

  “Power! Yes! Can make new rules! New laws!” King Thab thundered across the room and ripped the notice about a smile a day from the wall. “All will listen to Thab! Dwarves, goblins, human kings — all will bow!”

  “Don’t feel too certain of yourself, does you?” Oolie was unable to keep a jeering note out of her voice. “Is that why you went along with all those contracts and suchlike? ’Fraid folk’d find out your grandpappy was nothing more than the High King’s servant — not even one of the Old Trolls . . . ?”

  Thab’s eyes dimmed, and his shoulders drooped. He picked up the torn notice and began to straighten it before turning back to Oolie. “Am king,” he said flatly. “King Thab.”

  “But you’ll soon be King of Kings . . . just as long as Oolie helps you.” Oolie sidled up and gave him an ingratiating smile. “Promise you’ll always look after your friend Oolie. Promise you’ll put it in writing, so’s all can see. ‘Oolie to be your true friend, and always companion of the pretty princess.’ Then Oolie will find you the Trueheart.”

  King Thab nodded and looked more cheerful. “Yes,” he said. “End Trueheart life. Power for King Thab!” He bent to wrap the heart of glass in the black velvet — but as the material touched the glimmering surface, there was a hiss and a puff of smoke. The velvet shriveled and turned to ashes. The king jumped back, alarmed, and Oolie cackled loudly.

  “Seems you’ve woken something that doesn’t want to sleep again.” She stretched out a long, sinewy arm and pushed at the box’s iron lid. It clanged into place; King Thab tried to turn the key, but it would not move. “Best leave it as it is,” Oolie advised. “Now, let’s get that promise in writing, shall us, my dearie? Oolie can write. Clever, she is.”

  To Oolie’s frustration, the king ignored her. He gave the box a doubtful glance, t
hen marched to unbar the door.

  Spittle was hovering outside, a curious expression on his face. “What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

  “Get Mullius,” King Thab ordered. “Mullius find Trueheart. Now!”

  Oolie leaped forward. “But is Oolie’s Trueheart! Oolie will fetch . . .”

  King Thab looked at her and grunted. “No. Show the way.”

  Before Oolie could reply, the goblin gave her a mocking glance. “He won’t trust anyone but Mullius, dear madam. I suggest you do as you’re told.” He scurried toward the doorway. “Mullius! MULLIUS!”

  As Mullius made his way back into the room, he greeted Oolie without surprise, giving her a sullen nod. When Thab told him the Trueheart was heading toward one of Oolie’s dwarf-traps, however, the Old Troll’s eyes shone with a greedy gleam. “Mullius know all traps,” he said. “Mullius find Trueheart.”

  Oolie dug her talon-like nails into her palms. In her boastfulness, she had said too much. “What of Oolie?” she wailed. “You’ll not forget old Oolie, will you? ’Twas Oolie as catched the Trueheart, ’twas Oolie as told you . . .”

  But the king wasn’t listening. Oolie moved slowly backward, and her hand slid over the back of the enormous throne. A tweak on a cunningly concealed lever, and she was gone. King Thab, intent on sending Mullius on his mission, did not notice.

  In the darkness of the tunnel, Gracie was trying not to panic. Her outstretched hands could feel nothing but solid earth in front of her. “Flo!” she whispered. “I can’t go on! What shall I do?”

  There was a fluttering and a sneeze, then Flo’s small voice said, “Turn sharp to the right, Trueheart. Be careful.”

  Gracie did as she was told, and her exploring fingers found the narrow entrance to a smaller tunnel. As she felt her way inside, a breath of fresh air touched her face. “Oh! This must be the way out!” she exclaimed, and she was about to take a joyful stride forward when the bat squeaked loudly and fluttered across her face.

  “Wait! Stop! I’ve made a mistake! It’s no good!”

  “No good?” Gracie asked. “What do you mean?” A thought struck her, and she fished in her pocket for the tinderbox. It took her a moment or two to make it work, but when the sparks finally flew in the air, she gasped. In front of her was a narrow tunnel leading upward, with the faintest glimmer of daylight at the far end — but if she had rushed into it, as every part of her longed to do, she would have fallen into a pit so deep she was unable to see the bottom. “Oh,” Gracie breathed as she leaned against the wall to recover. “Flo, you’re a hero. If I’d fallen in there, I’d never have gotten out again. Not ever, and it would have been much, much worse than being in a tunnel”— she shivered —“even with that horrible Oolie person chasing me . . . but I think she’s gone away now, thank goodness.”

  Flo sneezed several times in quick succession. “But she might be up to something.” She sneezed again, and Gracie wondered if the little bat sneezed whenever she was anxious. “Do you know much about trolls?”

  Gracie was beginning to say that one of her very best friends was a troll when a vibration in the wall beside her made her jump. The vibration became a shaking, and a large chunk of earth fell with a thud close to Gracie’s feet. Her mouth went dry, and for a terrible moment she thought Oolie was about to leap on her. Instead there was another fall of earth, followed by the sound of a heavy body crashing to the ground. Gracie was frozen with fear; she held her breath, hoping against hope that nobody could hear the sound of her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Ug,” said a familiar voice. “Ug.”

  “Gubble?” Gracie’s eyes filled with grateful tears. “Gubble? Is that you?”

  “Is,” said Gubble, and Gracie stumbled toward him and hugged as much of him as she could find in the darkness.

  “Oh, Gubble,” she said, “oh, Gubble — I’m so pleased to see you!”

  “Gubble pleased too.” Gracie could tell he was smiling his widest smile. “Gubble fell. Gubble went bump.” There was a pause. “Gubble lost head.”

  Gracie pulled the tinderbox out, and by the light of a flurry of sparks she inspected the troll. “No, you haven’t,” she said. “It’s just where it ought to be. On your shoulders. Gubble, let me introduce you to Flo — she’s the most wonderful bat. She saved me from falling into a horrible pit! Flo — Flo? Where are you?”

  Flo, who had been lurking in the side tunnel, sneezed and fluttered onto Gracie’s shoulder. “What sort of troll is that?” she asked.

  “This is the friend I was telling you about,” Gracie explained. “He must have come to rescue me.” She found Gubble’s hand and held it tightly. “Gubble, I’ve promised Flo that the crones will cure her hay fever, so we’ve all got to get out of here together. How did you get in? Can we get out the same way? Oh — I do wish that we could see each other.” She sent another stream of sparks flying from the tinderbox and was delighted to see one of Oolie’s candle ends stuck in a shallow cavity in the wall. A moment later it was burning steadily, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s better. So — how can we get out?”

  “Gubble fell through tree,” Gubble announced. He turned around, but the wall behind him showed no sign that it had ever been disturbed. He looked puzzled. “Came that way. Where hole now?”

  “That’s how I got here,” Gracie told him. “I fell down at first, but then I slid sideways. It’s like a secret door in the side of the tunnel, but it’s really a dwarf-trap — isn’t that right, Flo?”

  Flo was shifting uneasily on Gracie’s shoulder. “That’s right. But you should get out of here as soon as you can. It’s dangerous — especially for you, Trueheart.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with being a Trueheart?” Gracie asked.

  There was a wild flurry of sneezing before Flo could reply. “I don’t exactly know . . . but . . .” She began sneezing so uncontrollably that Gracie took her in her cupped hands and began to smooth her fur.

  “Hush,” she soothed, “hush . . .”

  “It’s the trolls!” Flo gasped between sneezes. “I’ve heard them talking, and my brothers and sisters have heard things too.” Her sneezes overcame her again, and it was a couple of minutes before she could go on. “There’s something about Truehearts and trolls, and it’s not good, not good at all. Didn’t you see how Oolie behaved when she thought you might be one? And she was so disappointed when you said she’d made a mistake. And . . .” The sneezing grew to a crescendo. “And when I called you ‘Trueheart,’ she went hurrying off the other way — and I’m sure it was to tell the troll king, and it’ll be my fault if they send that huge mountain of a Mullius to catch you . . . and nobody can ever, ever, EVER stop him!”

  Gracie forgot her fears at the sight of Flo’s evident distress. She shook her head and smiled at the exhausted little bat. “You didn’t mean to give me away,” she said gently, “and I’m sure we can get out somehow.” She paused to think. “If you go down that side tunnel, can you get to the outside world? I’m sure I saw daylight.”

  Flo nodded. “It’s not a very big opening, though. You might be able to wriggle through, but your friend won’t fit.”

  “I don’t think either of us could jump over the pit,” Gracie said with a shudder. “But you could fly out, Flo. Do you think you could take a message? A message to Marlon? He’ll know what to do.”

  “Marlon?” Flo looked shocked. “Me? Go to find Mr. Batster?”

  “Please,” Gracie said. “Please, dear Flo. He’ll tell Marcus and the Ancient Crones, and then they’ll tell him how we can escape.”

  She sounded so confident that Flo sneezed, shook her wings, and sat up. “I’ll try — but what about you?”

  “Gubble and I’ll look after each other until you get back,” Gracie told her.

  “If you say so, Trueheart.” Flo hesitated. “What’s your name? Who shall I say?”

  “Gracie. Gracie Gillypot.”

  “OK, Gracie Gillypot. See you soon!” Flo flipped her wings and zoomed up
the narrow tunnel like a small, determined arrow. The candle flame flickered as she went, and Gubble grunted.

  Gracie squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, Gubble. Flo’ll find Marlon, and we’ll be out of here in no time.” The wisp of silver on his wrist caught her eye, and she pointed at it. “That’s pretty.”

  Gubble nodded, pulled the thread free, and held it out to her. “Yours.”

  “Oh! Thank you!” Gracie wove the silver in and out of one of her braids and smiled as she saw it glitter in the candlelight. “It almost looks as if it came from the web. Where did you find it?”

  Gubble didn’t answer. He grunted again. “Hear steps.”

  As he spoke, Gracie realized she could hear them too. They were still some ways away, but the ground beneath her feet was already beginning to shake.

  “Do you know what, Gubble?” Gracie said, hoping her voice wasn’t wobbling. “I think we’d better see if there’s a way to get across that huge pit after all. I don’t think I want to meet whatever it is that’s coming, do you?”

  Gubble said nothing. He had turned to inspect the tunnel wall behind him, pushing at the earth with his fingers. A moment later he was wrenching at a tree root as thick as Gracie’s arm. A heavy shower of earth fell from the roof above, but Gubble shrugged it off and went on tugging.

  “Gubble get in, Gubble get out,” he muttered. “Get in, get out . . .”

  Gracie bit her lip and made no comment. She knew from experience that when Gubble had that particular expression on his face, it was no use trying to stop him; even orders from the Ancient One herself had no effect when he was convinced that what he was doing was right.

  “Ug.” The tree root came away, setting off another avalanche.

  Gracie looked up anxiously, wondering how far it was to the grass and the trees and the sunshine, and how many tons of rock and soil lay in between. Gubble began to attack another root, this one even more substantial. It felt to Gracie as if the whole tunnel was in imminent danger of collapse; she moved closer to Gubble, hoping his solid bulk would protect her.