The Heart of Glass

by Vivian French

  “Absolutely.” Marcus was so emphatic that Millie’s last doubts faded away.

  “Ooooh,” she breathed. “A medal for Dad. Just wait until I tell Alf.”

  “Alf was there,” Gracie told her. “He saw it all. Him and Flo — they were there all the time, up on the roof beams. He’ll tell you how brave your dad was.”

  Millie wiped away a tear. “You’ve made me very happy, Miss Gracie. I didn’t like thinking badly of my dad. Just a minute. . . . Who’s Flo?”

  Gracie laughed. “She saved me as well. You bats — you’re all amazing. I don’t know what we’d do without you!”

  “I don’t think I did much,” Millie said doubtfully. “Only sorted out Professor Scallio when he was bat-walking. Did you know he’s waiting for you at the top of the cliff? Him and a great big coachman?”

  Marcus gave a delighted cheer. “The prof? Oh, that’s grand. Come on, Gracie — let’s go and say hello!”

  Much to Millie’s pleasure, he took Gracie’s hand, and the two of them clambered up to the top of the ravine.

  Millie, dizzy with excitement and relief, flew downward to find Marlon. He was sleeping off the excitement of the night in the mine, but was happy to be woken by his ecstatic daughter.

  “Wotcher, kiddo,” he said fondly. “Thought you weren’t speaking to me.”

  “Dad!” Millie squeaked. “You’re a HERO! Miss Gracie told me!”

  Marlon blinked and waved a wing. “Never let it be said that Marlon Batster failed in his duty.”

  When at last the coach reached the grassy plateau, the dwarves waved a hasty good-bye as Master Amplethumb prodded them back to work.

  Only Bestius Bonnyrigg remained, his eyes fixed on Gracie. “Good-bye, miss,” he said gruffly. “Just wanted to say, you’re a fine companion in an emergency. You could be a dwarf, you could.”

  Gracie flung her arms around him and gave him a hug. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “But maybe we’ll meet again. I do hope so.”

  Bestius, scarlet with emotion, nodded speechlessly. There was a loud bellow from the bottom of the ravine, and he jumped. “Got to go.”

  “Just a minute.” Gracie pulled at her braid and tweaked out the silver thread. “Here — please take this. You’ve been so kind, and it’ll remind you of me. And I think it’s sort of magic.”

  The dwarf took the thread and studied it with a professional eye. “Much too heavy to be pure silver,” he said, and then he whistled. “It’s not . . . it’s not from the web of power, is it?”

  “Gubble gave it to me,” Gracie told him. “I don’t know where he found it.”

  Bestius put the thread carefully in his pocket and gave a formal bow. “I’ll treasure it. And if ever you should need a helping hand, Miss Gillypot, just ask. Bestius Bonnyrigg is yours to command.”

  Gracie smiled her full-beam smile. “Thank you so much,” she said, and Bestius gave her one last wave before hastily scrambling down to the impatiently waiting Master Amplethumb.

  On the far side of the plateau, Professor Scallio and Fingle were deeply engrossed in a game of poker. Fingle had spent the night placidly waiting; the professor had been more anxious — until the coachman had produced a well-thumbed pack of cards. Now they were interrupted by a triumphant shout from Marcus and looked up to see the coach rolling toward them, with Gubble between the shafts. The professor leaped to his feet with a cry of delight; Fingle picked up the cards scattered over the grass.

  Vincent was somewhat taken aback to see his tutor waiting for him, but Marigold took it as no more than her due. She insisted that Professor Scallio come sit beside her in the coach and proceeded to recite her exceptionally long list of grievances. The tutor listened patiently but from time to time was obliged to hide a chuckle of amusement with a cough.

  Fingle, after a decidedly tight-lipped inspection of the battered coach, released Gubble and harnessed the four white horses. At the same time, Marcus saddled Glee, and Gracie stood stroking the pony’s nose. “Will you be riding back with Marigold and Vincent?” she asked, trying to sound bright and cheerful and as if this was exactly what she was hoping Marcus had in mind. “Haven’t you got a wedding rehearsal today?”

  “Oh.” Marcus looked bleak. “Oh. Yes. I suppose I have.”

  Professor Scallio, having politely but firmly stopped Marigold midway through her third repetition of the horrors of the previous night, appeared beside him. “I’d say you deserve a day off, young man,” he said. “I’ll go back with my young friends here and”— a twinkle appeared in his eye —“I’ll make certain that your father knows how you saved Princess Marigold and Prince Vincent from the trolls.”

  “Saved us?” Marigold burst out of the coach in fury. “SAVED us? It was all his fault we were there in the first place!”

  The professor gave her a thoughtful look. “So did Marcus ask you to wear your sister’s wedding dress and drive to the edge of the Five Kingdoms?”

  His tone was one of polite inquiry, but Marigold blushed a deep and unattractive plum color. “No,” she said grumpily. “No, he didn’t. But he did ask me to go on an adventure.”

  “And now you’re safely back,” Professor Scallio said smoothly. “Something to tell your sisters about, I’d imagine. Very few princesses have ever had an experience such as yours.”

  This was an aspect of adventuring that Marigold hadn’t thought of. She was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes. Well. I was rather brave, wasn’t I?”

  “You screamed a lot,” Marcus pointed out unhelpfully.

  “That,” the professor said, “is only to be expected in a young person of Princess Marigold’s extreme sensitivity, and something you will never mention again.” He gave Marcus a warning glare.

  Marigold hesitated. “OK,” she said at last. “I give in. Marcus rescued me and Vincent. But I was very, very, very brave.”

  Marcus swept her a deep bow. “The bravest princess there.”

  The professor hastily opened the coach door. “Time to return you to your mother, Princess. She has been most concerned for your welfare.” He turned back to Marcus. “I’ll tell your father you’re seeing Gracie ­safely home and you’ll be back later, or even tomorrow.”

  “What about the rehearsal —” Marigold began, but Vincent took her arm.

  “Wouldn’t it be much nicer to go home on our own, darling?”

  Marigold bit her lip and looked angrily at Marcus and Gracie. At last she shrugged. “All right. We can practice walking together without him interfering, and if he’s not there, Fedora will see how unreliable he is.” She climbed into the coach, and Vincent followed her, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Professor Scallio beamed at Marcus and Gracie and swung himself up beside Fingle. “My regards to the crones,” he told them. “Tell that sister of mine I’ll be seeing her soon.”

  “Strange, that, kiddo,” Marlon remarked as he flew in a circle around Gracie and Marcus, closely followed by Millie, Alf, and Flo. He waved a wing at Gracie. “Trueheart effect. Works like magic — except on princesses.”

  Gracie smiled, then put up her hand to cover a yawn. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m really tired.”

  “Arf.” Gubble, who had been dozing on the roadside, woke with a start. “Arf. Cake?”

  “Good thinking.” Marcus brightened. “Let’s go and see if there’s any left.” He turned to Gracie. “You ride Glee, and I’ll walk with Gubble.” He helped her into the saddle.

  As they began to walk away, the ever-observant Alf noticed that Marcus’s hand was resting on top of Gracie’s. “Wheee!” he squeaked. “Two-by-two stuff —”

  “Shh!” Millie cannoned into him and rolled him over in midair. “Don’t you say another word, or I’ll tell Dad that you kissed Flo!”

  Alf stared at her in astonishment, while Flo twittered in embarrassment. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. It was a lucky guess!” And Millie chortled as she whizzed out of her cousin’s reach.

  Gracie,
hearing the squeaking but unaware of the cause, turned around. “Flo!” she called. “Flo! Are you coming with us? Aunt Edna’ll cure your hay fever in no time.”

  Delighted by the invitation, Flo recovered herself sufficiently to zigzag her way onto Gracie’s shoulder. “Thank you ever so much,” she said. “But do you know what, Miss Gracie? I haven’t sneezed once since we had that party last night.”

  “Maybe it was the tunnels that made you sneeze,” Gracie suggested. “But you’re still very welcome to come with me.”

  Flo dithered and looked coy. “Actually,” she whispered into Gracie’s ear, “I might just stay with Alf, if you don’t mind.” She stroked Gracie’s cheek before circling up to join Alf and Millie, and Gracie watched her go with a fond look.

  “Hurrah!” Alf did a victory roll. “We’ll give you a guard of honor all the way back home, Miss Gracie! Me and Millie and Flo and Unc . . . Unc? Uncle Marlon — where are you?”

  Marlon, perched in between Glee’s ears, sighed. “He’s a good kid at heart. But noisy . . . very noisy.”

  In the House of the Ancient Crones, Edna inspected the shimmering silver web with a snort of satisfaction. “No trouble there,” she announced. “I expect Gubble and Gracie and Marcus will be back soon.”

  The trainee crone sitting beside her hiccuped, and Edna looked at her suspiciously. “Are those cake crumbs on your dress? Chocolate cake crumbs?”

  Foyce looked guilty. “They might be.”

  “Hmph.” The Ancient One gave her a considering look. “We’ve still got a way to go with you, Foyce, but at least you’re admitting when you’ve done something wrong. Now, leave what you’re doing and go and find Val and Edna. I want a fresh chocolate cake made as soon as possible, and a large pot of tea.” She squinted at the sun outside. “You’ve just about got time.”

  Sure enough, by the time Marlon came flitting in through the window to announce Marcus, Gracie, and Gubble’s arrival, the smell of baking was heavy in the air. Gubble headed straight for the cake plate with a determined expression on his face; it took all Gracie’s powers of persuasion to get him to agree to being washed first, and then having his bruises treated.

  The Ancient One sat back in her chair and inspected Marcus. There was stone dust in his hair, and the royal tailor would never have recognized his clothes under the layers of dirt, but something about him must have been satisfactory, because Edna was smiling. “Enjoyed yourself?” she inquired.

  Marcus scratched his head. “Kind of. Gracie was heroic. She nearly got herself killed, but she hasn’t said a word about it.”

  “She’s a Trueheart,” Edna said, and sighed. “Not always an easy life. It’s good that she’s got you as a friend.”

  “Is it?” Marcus asked, surprised.

  “You make a good team,” Edna told him. “You’re loyal and truthful, and you’re very fond of each other.”

  A slow blush crept up Marcus’s neck, over his face, and into his dusty hair. “I’d do anything for Gracie,” he said fiercely.

  “Good,” said the Ancient One. “Maybe you should tell her sometime. Now, go and have your tea. That cake smells as if it ought to be taken out of the oven right this minute.”

  It was difficult for Marigold to tell her story. When she and Vincent finally reached Dreghorn, her mother burst into tears as soon as she saw the battered coach. The queen continued to weep copiously all through Vincent’s disjointed and rambling explanations, and she refused to believe that her daughter had been returned to her safe and unharmed. “Oh my poor darling girl whatever have they done to you when Fedora’s pretty pony came trotting up the drive — and I will not tell you what Fedora said on that subject as no daughter of mine should ever have spoken in such a way or used such terms of abuse — I just knew you were lost to me lost lost lost and gone forever and ever and ever — and with the wedding so near and everything all but organized and what was I to do . . .”

  Hortense and Queen Bluebell bore with her as long as they could, but in the end a glass of icy water was called for, and Queen Kesta, water dripping from the end of her nose, finally came to her senses. Even then she was unable to ask any coherent questions, as Fedora seized the moment to list her own complaints and to inform Marigold that she was most certainly not going to take any part in the wedding, and if she thought she was going to be a bridesmaid, she was very VERY much mistaken.

  This tirade set Queen Kesta off again, and Bluebell took Fedora by the elbow and marched her away to hear a few home truths. She then did the same with Marigold, with the result that the sisters, both extremely red-eyed and apologetic, kissed their mother and each other and made up.

  “So now,” Hortense said hopefully, “we can all look forward to a wonderful wedding.”

  We are thrilled and delighted to report that the long-­awaited nuptials between Princess Fedora of Dreghorn and Prince Tertius of Niven’s Knowe have taken place in the truly splendid setting of Dreghorn Cathedral. The bride looked radiant in a pink satin dress decorated with tiny blue rosebuds, and the groom was resplendent in the red, purple, and gold uniform of the Niven’s Knowe Cavalry. Their crowns were of an exceptionally high quality, a fact commented on by many. All the bridesmaids were, of course, exemplars of beauty, modesty, and elegance. Princess Marigold, sister of the bride, surprised us all with her spontaneous rendition of a song, which, we learned later, she had composed herself.

  The entire congregation was in complete agreement that they had never heard anything like it; her companion, Prince Vincent, told me, “She’s amazing. Really amazing. Amazing. Don’t you think so?”

  The procession to and from the cathedral was graced by a number of royal personages, including Princes Arioso and Marcus of Gorebreath. Prince Arioso was especially noticeable for the splendor of his attire. Prince Marcus, if we may so remark without incurring the ire of his royal parents, had the appearance of having dressed in something of a hurry. He was seen afterward at the reception in the company of Her Royal Highness Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth of Wadingburn, Miss Gracie Gillypot, and a troll. The latter caused some consternation among the more sensitive of our royal personages and was politely requested to leave. I am happy to report that he did so without complaint. He was accompanied by Prince Marcus and Miss Gillypot, and the reception continued without incident. We wish the royal couple every happiness, and hope they will live Happily Ever After.

  Marcus, reading the Gazette over his brother’s shoulder, snorted. “What a load of rubbish!”

  Arioso shook his head. “Give the poor reporter a chance. He could hardly say that Marigold’s singing was dreadful and Fedora was livid.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Marcus said. “I meant that stuff about beautiful bridesmaids. Gracie’s far prettier than the whole lot of them put together.”

  Arry looked at his twin in astonishment. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”

  Marcus blushed and picked up his hat. “I don’t. But she is. And I’m just off to see her. We’re going to look for dragons. See you later, bro.”

  Find out how Gracie, Marcus, Marlon, and Gubble met in the First Tale from the Five Kingdoms!

  The Robe of Skulls

  The First Tale from the Five Kingdoms

  Vivian French

  “Lady Lamorna, an evil sorceress . . . wants a gown ‘beyond all compare.’ . . . Only the Ancient Crones can produce such a garment. . . . Unfortunately, the Crones charge dearly for their work, and Lady Lamorna has neither gold nor silver. So she devises a clever scheme: find all the princes in the land, turn them into frogs, and then ransom [them] to their parents. . . . An adventure where everyone gets his, her, or its due, where goodness is rewarded and evil punished oh-so-wickedly.” — The Horn Book

  www.candlewick.com

  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!”