Marigold opened her mouth to say that she wouldn’t go on an adventure with Marcus even if untold riches, heaps of pretty frocks, and a truly handsome prince were waiting at the other end, but a thought struck her and she was silent. Putting her finger in her mouth, she considered the proposition. She was, after all, dressed in the most exquisite dress in the whole wide world, and it would be a shame to waste it. She no longer had any romantic aspirations for Marcus’s hand in marriage, but she was still piqued that he had chosen a pigtailed orphan as his companion . . . and wouldn’t the pigtailed orphan be extremely taken aback, upset, and jealous to hear that Marigold had taken her place? “What kind of an adventure?”
Marcus, who had been certain Marigold would refuse, gathered his wits together as best he could. “Erm . . . there’s a friend of mine . . . well, more a friend of a friend . . . and he wants to meet a princess.” Inspiration struck. “He wants to meet a really pretty princess. And he’d like her to . . . to come to tea.” It occurred to Marcus that he had no idea what trolls ate, but he remembered Gubble’s activities of the morning. “There’ll be chocolate cake, I expect.”
“Will I get something nice if I come?” Marigold wanted to know. “Like treasure, or something?”
This was almost too much for Marcus, but he swallowed hard and kept a smile pinned to his face. “Of course you will.” He mentally reviewed the contents of the ancient piggy bank that was lying somewhere at the bottom of a cupboard. “You can have anything you want. Well, almost.”
Marigold fixed him with a gimlet eye. “What do you mean, ‘almost’?”
“Why don’t we get going?” Marcus suggested, with a degree of cunning he had never known he possessed. “And you can tell me all the things you want as we go.”
“All right.” Aware that she now had Marcus at a useful disadvantage, Marigold began to smile. “And I want to ride your — Oh! What’s that?”
Both Marigold and Marcus swung around as a large and opulent traveling coach came rattling down the track. On seeing Marigold, the coachman gave a loud whistle and pulled on the reins, and the four white horses came to a halt. The door opened, and Prince Vincent of Wadingburn stepped out.
“Princess Marigold,” he announced with a grandiloquent bow, quite unaware of the jam liberally spread around his mouth, “I have come to rescue you from your adventure and take you safely home.”
Marigold, delighted to be the object of such attention, curtsied. “Thank you, Vincent,” she said. “But would you mind waiting a little while? I’ve got to go on an adventure with Marcus — but I won’t be long, and it would be simply lovely to go home in a coach afterward.”
“Oh.” Vincent frowned. His instructions from his grandmother had been to drive to the border of the Five Kingdoms, collect Marigold, and bring her home again. “Can’t you come straightaway? I’ve got a splendid picnic for us to share.”
Marigold dithered. She had provided herself with a basket of sweets and cookies before leaving the palace, but the basket had gone off with Fedora’s pony and cart and she was hungry. “I know!” she said. “You can come too, and we’ll ride in your coach and eat our picnic as we go.” She gave Marcus a cool glance. “Marcus can lead the way on his pony — can’t you, Marcus?”
It was Vincent’s turn to dither. “I don’t know. Which way would we be going?”
Marigold looked at Marcus, and Marcus said, “That way.” He pointed up the rough and stony track. “We’re going to Flailing.”
“No.” Vincent shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no. That’s not safe. We couldn’t possibly.” He turned to the coachman for support. “Grandmother would never allow it, would she, Fingle?”
The coachman, who had been chosen for his substantial bulk and muscle rather than his intelligence, shrugged his massive shoulders. “I couldn’t say, Your Highness.”
“There you are.” Marigold took control of the situation. “Your grandmother won’t mind at all, Vincent. Don’t be so feeble. It’ll be much more fun if we all go. Hurry up and get in the coach. Coachman, drive on!”
After she sat up, wiped the dirt out of her eyes, and smiled at Marlon and Alf, the first question Gracie asked was, “Where’s Marcus?”
“He’s gone to find a princess,” Alf squeaked.
“A princess?” A chill gripped Gracie’s stomach.
“It’s a swap, see. He gets a princess for —”
“Alf!” Marlon cut his nephew short. He had noticed Gracie’s bleak expression, and the tender heart that beat under his cool exterior would not allow him to leave her under any misapprehension. “It’s a deal, kiddo. Nothing more. We wanted you dug out, and Bestius here agreed to do the deed, but he needs a princess for . . .” Marlon decided details were inappropriate. “We promised him a princess in exchange. The kid’s gone riding off to find one. Be back soon.”
“Oh.” The chill lifted, and Gracie’s thoughts went straight back to Gubble. “Marlon, you’ve got to help me! I must find Gubble. We were in a tunnel — it was really scary — and he found a way out for me, but somehow he got left behind.”
Alf waved a cheery wing. “You don’t want to go back down there, Miss Gracie.”
“But I have to,” Gracie said. “I absolutely have to.” She looked pleadingly at Marlon.
“Alf’s right. You’ve only just gotten out, kiddo,” the bat protested. He had been delighted to see Gracie safe and sound, if covered in mud, and was distressed by her insistence on going back for Gubble. “I tell you — if you got out, the troll can too.”
“What if he can’t?” said Gracie, tears in her eyes. “I’d never forgive myself. No, I’ve got to find out what happened to him. Something huge was coming after us. I only got away because Gubble was so strong . . . but he didn’t come with me.” She fished in her pocket for a hankie and blew her nose hard. “I’m not going to cry about him. I’m going to find him.”
“Yeah!” Alf squeaked. “Miss Gracie to the rescue!”
Marlon suppressed his nephew with a quelling glare and tried another approach. “What about the crones? Shouldn’t you check with them?”
“And leave Gubble on his own? Never!” Gracie frowned.
Marlon sighed. “You’re the truest of Truehearts, kid,” he said. “OK. Where’s the entrance to this tunnel of yours? The tree’s hopped it.”
It hadn’t occurred to Gracie that there would be any difficulty in finding the tunnel entrance, and she looked around, perplexed. “It can’t be far. Don’t you know about it, Mr. Dwarf?”
Bestius shook his head. “Sorry, miss. Sounds like that was a troll tunnel, and we don’t concern ourselves with those. There’s only one we share, and we usually leave it well alone unless we have business with them.”
“Couldn’t I go down that?” Gracie asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. Seeing a small bat flitting between the trees, she leaped to her feet, waving her arms. “Flo! Flo? Is that you? I’m over here!”
Flo swooped down, saw Marlon and Alf, and was seized with such a paroxysm of sneezing that she landed flat on her back by Gracie’s feet. Gracie picked her up and tried to calm her, but it was a couple of minutes before the little bat was able to speak.
“Wow! Some sneezing fit!” Alf was impressed. “Have you got hay —”
“Yes, she has,” Gracie said quickly. “Flo, dearest Flo, I haven’t got time to explain, but please, please, please will you show me the way back into the tunnel? I’ve got to find Gubble. And as soon as you’ve shown me where to go, Alf’ll take you to the Ancient Crones, and they’ll make you better. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Alf ?”
“I’d do anything for you, Miss Gracie,” Alf declared, “but if you’re going into a tunnel, then I’m coming too.”
“Cut the heroics, kid.” Marlon eyed his nephew with exasperated affection. “You do as you’re told. I’m going with Gracie. Which way, young Flo?”
Seeing Flo was about to be overcome again, Gracie said, “Quick! Point, Flo — point with your wing
!” She looked over her shoulder at Bestius. “Are there any planks nearby? Or even a ladder? There’s a simply enormous pit in the tunnel floor and there’s no way I can get around it. I’ll need to crawl over . . .”
The dwarf’s face cleared, and he nodded. “Back in a sec.” He hurried off.
Gracie, Marlon, and Alf followed the speechless Flo’s waved instructions. It was a short walk to a small mound covered in briars and bracken; the entrance to the tunnel was neatly concealed behind a fallen pine tree, its roots bare and pointing to the sky.
A moment later, Bestius appeared, carrying a sturdy ladder and a spade; his eyebrows rose as he joined Gracie and her party of bats. “Well, I never! Fancy me not knowing there was an entrance here. The Old Trolls used to have secret spy-holes and tunnels all over this forest, but I thought they’d been sealed up for safety’s sake.” He pulled at his beard thoughtfully and crooked a finger at Marlon. “Excuse me for asking,” he said in a low voice, “but this doesn’t alter our agreement, does it? I mean, the young lady got out safe and sound without our help, and now she’s going underground again of her own free will. The prince won’t hold it against us, will he? He’ll still bring us a princess?”
Marlon blinked as he realized that things were beginning to get complicated, but, being a bat with a strong belief in his ability to survive any crisis, he merely said, “No worries. The kid’ll come good.”
Gracie was studying the ladder. “I think it’ll be long enough; I just hope I can get it through the entrance.”
Bestius tipped his hat to her. “It would be my pleasure to help you, miss.” He swung his spade, and in seconds the tunnel entrance had doubled in size. Gracie smiled at him, her eyes shining. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Even Gubble will be able to get out now. Thank you so much.”
“Stand back, kiddo.” Marlon flew over her shoulder. “I’ll check it out.” Alf flew straight after him; there were sounds of argument and protestation — and then a long silence.
Gracie, clutching the ladder, strained her ears but could hear nothing. She turned to Flo, but the little bat had no answers.
“I can’t hear any more than you can,” she apologized. “It’s all the sneezing. My ears get blocked. I’ll go and see what they’re up to.” With a flick of her wings, she too was gone, and Gracie was left waiting restlessly for one or all of them to return.
“You don’t think something could be catching them, do you?” she asked Bestius.
He shook his head. “They’ve gone exploring, I’d say. Looking for that friend of yours. What was his name? Gubble? Another prince, is he? That Prince Marcus was properly upset when he thought you were stuck underground. All in a tizzy, he was, make no mistake.”
Gracie concealed her pleasure at this information with a laugh. “Gubble’s a troll,” she explained. “He lives with me at the House of the Ancient Crones.”
Bestius gulped. “The . . . crones? The ones who spin the web? The web of power?”
“That’s right.” Gracie nodded. “Do you know them?”
The dwarf gulped again. He had convinced himself that it was allowable to hide a few unpalatable facts about trolls from Marcus, but this information made him look at things from a very different perspective. If word ever got back to the Ancient One that a dwarf had had anything to do with leading a friend of theirs — or even the friend of a friend of theirs — into danger, then anything might happen. Bestius began to chew the end of his beard while he tried to think what he should say.
Before he could say anything, Marlon, Alf, and Flo came flying out of the tunnel bursting with news. “He’s there, Miss Gracie!” Alf did a double spin in his excitement. “Gubble’s there, but he’s got a tree root wrapped around him, so he can’t get out, and loads of earth have come down! And there’s the most enormous pair of feet you ever did see sticking out from underneath, and I wanted to tickle them but Unc said not to!” Alf ended his breathless report with another spin and a double dive before settling on a twig close beside Gracie. Flo settled next to him and confirmed his report with several sneezes.
“It’s cool, kiddo.” Marlon stretched his wings. “Checked the pit too — you’ll be OK if you take it steady on the ladder. Watch the troll doesn’t shift it on the way back — he’s heavier than you.”
Gracie nodded. “Will you come with me? It gets really dark in the main tunnel.”
Bestius, who was feeling more and more guilty, reached into his coat pocket and produced the lantern he used when working. He lit it with his tinderbox and handed it to Gracie. “Here, miss.” Gracie’s beaming smile did not improve the way he was feeling, and he added, “I’ll come after you and hold the ladder steady while you crawl across.”
“Thank you,” said Gracie. “You’re very kind.”
Bestius felt even worse. As Gracie crawled into the tunnel, he was so deep in thought that she had already dragged the ladder into place over the pit and was almost halfway across before he realized what she was doing. He hurriedly scrambled after her and held the ladder safely in position until she reached the other side.
“It’s OK,” Gracie called over her shoulder. “You can let go now.”
The dwarf looked down at the ladder, then beyond into the darkness of the tunnel, where the glow of Gracie’s lamp was steadily getting smaller and smaller. “Oh, oddspillikins,” he said, and slapped himself on the chest. “Bestius Bonnyrigg, are you a dwarf or a sneaky, sniveling goblin?” And he set off after Gracie.
Marlon, who had been watching the dwarf with interest, chuckled to himself. “Typical Trueheart, our Gracie. Brings out the best in the good, and the worst in the bad.” He called for Alf and Flo, but there was no sign of them. The two little bats had vanished. Marlon called again with increasing irritation. Finally he heard a series of distant answering squeaks — but it was not Alf or Flo who flew down to join him.
It was his daughter, Millie, and she was looking ruffled. “Dad! Have you seen Miss Gracie? There’s an urgent message from Miss Val’s brother. Miss Gracie’s not to go near any trolls — well, not meaning Gubble, of course, but any other ones. If you see her, can you tell her? I’m off to the House — the professor said they might know anyway, but I’ve got to make sure.”
“Hang around, kid,” her father said as Millie showed signs of flying off again. “What’s the panic?”
Millie paused. “I’ve got one of my feelings, Dad. Mr. Prince says it’s all OK, but —”
Marlon held up an imperative claw. “You’ve seen the Royal? Where? What was he doing?”
“I don’t know,” Millie said peevishly. “He was with a girl; she was hiding behind a tree, but I saw her. All in flounces and petticoats, but nothing like as nice as Miss Gracie. And Mr. Prince said Miss Gracie had fallen in a hole but not to worry — but I AM worried, Dad, and we’ve got to find her!”
Marlon put a comforting wing around his agitated daughter. “It’s cool, kiddo. Young Gracie’s safe as houses down that tunnel. Gubble’s in trouble, but she’ll save him.” Marlon’s tone was admiring. “Sounds as if the Royal’s doing good too. Found a dame already, I’d say.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s a plan, Millie my girl. Going like clockwork.”
Millie refused to be impressed. “Do Miss Val and Miss Edna and Miss Elsie know about it?”
“The crones? Natch.”
Marlon had only hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, but it was enough for Millie. “You haven’t told them, have you? Not all of it, anyway. I know you, Dad — you think you can sort everything out all by yourself, and I know you’re wonderful and as clever as can be, but this is serious stuff. Like I said, I’ve got a feeling. A bad one.”
Marlon gave his only daughter a loving nibble on her ear. “Old worryguts. OK. Here’s the deal. Gracie’ll be in and out of that tunnel in a couple of ticks, and she’ll bring the troll with her. Young Marcus is collecting a princess — guess it’s the dame you saw. She’ll be delivered to the dwarves, ’n’ the dwarves’ll take her to th
e troll king. Then she gets rescued by Marcus with trumpets and stuff, and the kid’s a hero. Check!” Marlon finished with a flourish and waited for the applause.
None came. Instead there was a thoughtful silence until Millie said, “I don’t get it. Why does the princess have to go and see the troll king in the first place?”
Marlon was beginning to sense that his plan was not being as well received as he had hoped. “The dame’s by way of a swap. But there’s no need to bother your —”
Millie was in the air, raging. “Dad! Don’t you DARE! I’m going straight to Miss Edna, and I want you to promise you’ll stop Mr. Prince this minute! The very idea! That princess may be nothing but frills and fancy clothes, but she’s still a girl, and girls have feelings, and you’re treating her just like a . . . like a PARCEL! I never, ever thought I’d say this, but I’m ashamed of you, Dad — I really am.” And Millie gave a heartbroken sob as she flew swiftly away.
A deflated Marlon watched her go. He was genuinely taken aback by her outburst; part of him was worried because he had upset her, but another part wondered if his plan could, in fact, be altered without the most terrible consequences. Coming to the conclusion that it would be impossible, he began to justify his actions. “Little Millie don’t know the whole story — that’s the problem. We only got the royal dame involved because we wanted young Gracie dug out. Couldn’t have known she’d pop up like a bunny from a hole, could we?” He shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the uncomfortable knot in his stomach to subside. It didn’t, and he began to feel angry instead. “Too independent, that young bat. Hmph. Needs to mind her own business!” And he shot into the tunnel to check on Gracie.
He was traveling at such a speed that he was quite unable to avoid Bestius, who was carefully maneuvering himself off the ladder at the far end. As Marlon thudded into the back of his head, Bestius yelped in surprise before rolling onto solid ground. The ladder slid sideways, wobbled, then fell down, down, and down again into the murky depths of the pit.
The Heart of Glass Page 8
