The Bag of Bones

by Vivian French

  “Queenly palace?” Loobly looked more confused than ever as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “But —”

  “But me no buts,” Marlon said grandly. “You’ll do fine, kid. And once you’re safely stashed, I’ll tell the crones what’s what, and we’ll know how to get your auntie fixed up. OK?”

  Loobly bit her lip, then nodded. “Please fix Auntie, Mr. Bat.”

  “Wilco. Now, time to fly!” And Marlon set off with Alf flapping close behind him. Loobly ran to keep up.

  If Marlon had been able to hear a conversation taking place early the following morning, he would have been even more delighted with his decision. Buckleup Brandersby, finding that Loobly had not returned to the orphanage, had gotten up at the crack of dawn with the firm intention of finding her. After cheering himself up by canceling breakfast for every orphan in the orphanage, he had whistled for the dogs and set off once more for Wadingburn Hill. There he found Truda Hangnail, who had spent what remained of the night practicing her spells and concocting nasty-looking potions in the cauldron. She was feeling much better; she had perfected the art of shrinking and growing to the point where she could reduce herself to the size of a rat with the snap of a finger, and she had almost managed to convince herself that the shrinking of the Wadingburn witches was all her own work. Several bald wood pigeons, a squirrel with two tails, and a collection of poisonous biting beetles demonstrated that she had not lost her Deep Magic touch. She was not pleased to see Buckleup; she had decided that although he was wicked and cruel, he was also dull.

  “What do you want?” she asked him.

  Buckleup didn’t answer. He was holding an old and well-worn sock out to the dogs. “Find Loobly!” he commanded. The dogs began to circle the clearing, sniffing as they went.

  Truda watched them sourly. “Are you looking for the witches?”

  Buckleup shook his head. “Told you. A norphan. Loobly Higgins. Spindly little thing. She was here for certain; Snarler was hot on her trail last night. She went with the witches to Cauldron Fest, but she never came back.”

  Truda’s voice suddenly sharpened. “I don’t suppose she had anything to do with that one calling herself the Grand High Witch? Evangeline Droop? She called to someone, and I’d say that someone could have been hiding in those bushes. Malice”— she indicated the drooping furry creature hanging around her neck —“heard a sneeze.”

  Hearing his name, Malice yawned, stretched, and raised his head to whisper in her ear.

  “What?” Truda’s eyebrows rose. “She said what?”

  Malice whispered again, and Buckleup leaned forward to try to catch what he was saying.

  “The crones — what’s that? What’s he talking about? What’s that about the crones?”

  Truda was looking thoughtful and also angry. “Her. Evangeline. Malice”— she gave the animal a vicious slap —“Malice says she was telling your Loobly to find the Ancient Crones . . . so I’d say that’s where she’s gone. And what I’d like to know is why he didn’t think to mention it before!”

  Buckleup stared at Malice, and Malice leered back.

  “The crones, eh?” Buckleup stroked his chin. “They’re a funny lot. Best not messed with, by all accounts.”

  “Rubbish!” Truda snapped. “You’ve got dogs, haven’t you? From what my granddaughter tells me, those crones live right on the other side of the Five Kingdoms. She can’t fly, can she, this Loobly? You’d catch her long before she got to Gorebreath.”

  Buckleup Brandersby, unaware that Truda had her own reasons for wanting Loobly caught but sensing her urgency, brightened. “You’re right, missus. I’ll be on my way.” He gave Truda an evil wink. “And I’ll make sure she never thinks to run away again once I’ve got her safely back in that there washhouse. Don’t you go worrying yourself about that!” And he called to his dogs and set off briskly.

  As Truda watched him go, she considered what she’d discovered. An orphan named Loobly Higgins had been hiding when she had cast her Deep Magic. There had been the smell of Trueheart in the air at the time . . . so surely it was only reasonable to assume that the orphan was a Trueheart and therefore responsible for the alteration of the spells. Truda sucked angrily at a tooth. Her power over the witches had been seriously undermined, and she was now obliged to rule them by fear; only Mrs. Cringe could be entirely trusted. If Truda was to succeed in her plan to become Queen of Wadingburn, there was no doubt that the Trueheart orphan must be kept well out of her way.

  “Once she’s back in that orphanage, she’d better not get out again,” Truda told herself, but remembering the expression on Buckleup Brandersby’s face, she relaxed. It was unlikely that Loobly would ever see the light of day again once she was caught. “So what next?” She folded her arms and surveyed the kingdom stretched out below. “Maybe it’s time to see what those little witchy ladies are up to. I’ll shrink myself and spy on my spies . . . and see the palace for myself.” The idea of sneaking up on the witches of Wadingburn tickled Truda, and she cackled again. In the distance, Buckleup Brandersby felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle uncomfortably, and Snarler lifted up his head and howled.

  As the morning sun lit the top of the looms, the Ancient One came stomping into room seventeen, her one bright blue eye glaring fiercely. She waved a piece of paper scrawled on in violet ink under the Oldest’s nose. “Elsie! Gracie’s gone! I’ve just found a ridiculous note written by that dratted pen on the kitchen door. It says she’s gone to save the Five Kingdoms. When did you last see her?”

  Elsie quailed. “She brought me some tea around midnight,” she said. “She mentioned something about the quill pen writing on her walls, and then she dis­appeared. I thought she’d gone back to bed. I wasn’t really listening to her; I was so worried about the stain on the web. It’s Deep Magic, Edna — there’s no doubt about it!”

  “Exactly,” the Ancient One said drily. “It is indeed Deep Magic, and it seems to me that you’ve allowed Gracie to walk out into the thick of it.”

  Elsie burst into a noisy fit of crying. “Oh, I’m sorry, Edna — I really am! But the House was rumbling this way and that all night, and what with that and the web, I never thought for a minute she’d do anything so amazingly brave.”

  The Ancient One looked marginally less angry. “Brave, or just plain silly,” she remarked. “But I didn’t know the House was up to its tricks as well.” She sighed. “That’s the trouble with a Trueheart House. It doesn’t believe in being cautious when it comes to defeating evil.”

  “Has anyone seen Gubble?” Val, the Youngest, was standing in the doorway yawning. She lived outside the House with her brother, Professor Scallio, but arrived early each morning to take up her duties, which included making breakfast. “His cupboard was empty when I got here, and even when I called him for his boiled egg, he didn’t appear. And Gracie seems to have vanished as well —”

  “Oh, Val!” Elsie pointed at the purple stain on the silver web. “Look! There’s Deep Magic somewhere about, and Gracie’s gone off to find it, and she might be getting herself into dreadful trouble!”

  “That’s a worry.” Val seated herself at the loom as Elsie got up. “But do you know what? I’d say Gubble’s gone with her. He’s devoted to Gracie — and I’ve never known him to miss a boiled egg before.”

  Edna’s blue eye brightened. “If she’s got Gubble with her, I won’t worry quite so much. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  “I could go after them,” Elsie suggested, but the Ancient One shook her head.

  “Certainly not,” she said firmly. “With luck, the two of them’ll be back before long, safe and sound. And we’ve got the Newest and all her tantrums to cope with, and that length of blue velvet needs to be finished. Princess Nina-Rose won’t have a dress for Queen Bluebell’s birthday party if it’s not finished today.” She paused to snort derisively. “Declaration Ball, indeed! Whom do you think she’s chosen to be queen after her? None of those Five Kingdoms’ princesses can ho
ld a candle to our Gracie, but presumably the queen’s chosen one of them, seeing as her own daughter’s not around. Clever way to announce it, mind you.”

  The two other crones nodded, and while Elsie went to get her breakfast, Val continued the weaving of the silver web. Edna walked to the window and looked out. It seemed as if she had quieted her companions’ fears for the moment, but she hadn’t convinced herself. The purple stain was spreading, and even the most solid and robust of trolls would be little protection if Gracie found herself in the midst of seriously Deep Magic.

  But she is a Trueheart, the Ancient One thought. And sensible with it. She’ll be all right . . . I hope.

  In the Royal State Room of Wadingburn Palace, Prince Vincent was blissfully happy. It was State Visit Friday, and he was standing in for his grandmother, Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth, who had declared that she was going to arrive later. She had a terrible cold, and Vincent was secretly hoping she might not get up at all. Normally firmly suppressed by his illustrious grandmother, he was making the most of his opportunity as he worked his way around the crowded room.

  “Did I tell you about the different kinds of cake we’re having at Grandmother’s Declaration Ball tomorrow?” he asked Queen Kesta of Dreghorn.

  Queen Kesta, who had already heard about the soups, the fish, the pies, and the ice creams, stifled a yawn. “No, dear,” she said as politely as she could. “Do tell me.”

  Prince Vincent beamed at her, but he had hardly finished describing the first of the eight different varieties of cake before Queen Kesta’s eyes closed. The prince, certain she was imagining the glories of rose-petal cream, continued unabashed.

  Princess Nina-Rose, Queen Kesta’s oldest daughter, had managed to escape from Vincent somewhere between the pies and the ice cream, but having been bored beyond belief, she was feeling decidedly contrary. She was sitting on a window seat, gazing out the window, while behind her, Prince Arioso, heir to the kingdom of Gorebreath, stood on one leg, looking forlorn.

  “But why won’t you promise me the first dance?” he asked plaintively. “You said you would the other day.”

  Nina-Rose shrugged a shoulder and went on looking out the window.

  Marcus, Arioso’s twin brother, squashed a strong desire to box her ears. Marcus had little time for princesses who spent their time fluttering fans, changing their minds, and worrying about frilly dresses. He also disliked the fact that his brother, older by exactly ten minutes, looked like a lost puppy whenever he was near Nina-Rose. He sighed, squinted up at the ballroom clock, and was depressed to discover that it was only three minutes since he’d last looked. State visits were supposed to last at least an hour, and so far they had managed only a quarter of the allotted time — although fifteen minutes of Prince Vincent had made it feel like several days already. “If you don’t feel like talking, I’m sure Vincent wouldn’t mind if Arry and I left a bit early,” he said hopefully.

  Nina-Rose shrugged the other shoulder, and Arry’s face grew even longer. Marcus sighed impatiently and moved toward the door, but Arioso shot him a pleading look.

  Rolling his eyes, Marcus sat down again, wondering why his twin brother — so like him to look at — was so completely different in character. Arry was a model of good behavior, never caused trouble, and actually seemed to enjoy royal duties that made Marcus squirm with boredom. Indeed, Marcus would never have come on the visit to Wadingburn Palace if he hadn’t been in need of Arry’s help; state visits were extremely low on Marcus’s list of essential activities, but Arioso adored them and liked Marcus to keep him company. Adventures, however, were something else, and Marcus had in mind a plan to explore the Less Enchanted Forest beyond the borders of the Five Kingdoms . . . a plan that would mean he was away from home overnight. This was something his parents would not allow under any circumstances, so he needed Arry to come down to breakfast twice, once as himself, and then — rather later, and in a terrible hurry — pretending to be Marcus. The two of them were so alike that even King Frank and Queen Mildred couldn’t always tell them apart; only Marcus’s complete lack of concern about clothes, and a tendency to have his hair sticking up in tufts, distinguished him from Arioso.

  Marcus looked at the clock again. Seventeen minutes gone. Nina-Rose was still staring out the window, and Arry was still drooping. All around the room little groups of princesses were giggling and peeping at the princes over the tops of their fans, and sooner or later he’d be forced into conversation with one or another of them. Something had to be done, or he’d go completely mad.

  “What if Arry went on a quest?” he asked suddenly. “You know — like the knights of old? Caught a dragon for you, or something like that? Would you dance with him then?”

  Arry looked horrified, but Nina-Rose turned around. “I wouldn’t like a dragon,” she said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. “It would make too much of a mess. All that nasty fire and trampling about.”

  Marcus saw a glimmer of hope. “Not a dragon, then. A mermaid? A griffin?”

  Nina-Rose gave Arry a sideways look, making sure he got the full benefit of her exceedingly long eyelashes. “Would you really go on a quest for me?”

  Aware that Arry was quite likely to say that he would do anything for Nina-Rose just as long as it didn’t involve foolishness and danger, Marcus slapped his twin so hard on the back that Arry coughed instead of answering.

  “Of course he would,” Marcus promised. “He never stops talking about you and how wonderful you are.” This was true. “He’s always saying he can’t wait to prove how much he adores you.” This was not true, but Nina-Rose went a delicate shade of pink and smiled at Arry for the first time since he had arrived.

  “Oh, Arry darling,” she breathed. “How amazing of you! As it happens, there is something I’d really, really like.” She paused to consider the effect she was having on Arry and noticed an apprehensive look in his eyes. Annoyed, she went on, “That is, if you really are brave enough. If you aren’t, I’m sure Prince Albion of Cockenzie Rood would fetch it for me. He promised he’d do anything if I’d dance with him. . . .”

  “WHAT?” Arry sat bolt upright and looked almost warlike. Marcus grinned. This was more like it. “What is it you want?”

  Nina-Rose, now enjoying herself hugely, leaned back against the window with a little sigh of pleasure. “Someone told Mother they’d seen a snow-white peacock in Flailing. I’d love a feather from a snow-white peacock for my hair. . . .”

  “Consider it yours,” Arry said firmly, then paused. “At least —”

  “At least nothing,” Marcus cut in swiftly, jumping to his feet. “Arry’ll be off on his quest at once — won’t you, Arry?”

  “At once?” Arry looked up at the clock. “But we haven’t finished our visit —”

  “No time to worry about royal etiquette now,” Marcus told him. “I’m sure Nina-Rose will forgive you and give Vincent our apologies for leaving early,” and he bowed to the princess as he pried Arry to his feet.

  Nina-Rose, who had been wondering what else she could ask for, looked disappointed, but she smiled sweetly enough at Arry. “Of course,” she said.

  “And you’ll dance the first dance with me?” Arry called over his shoulder as his brother frog-marched him toward the door.

  “Oh, Arry . . .” Now that he was leaving, Nina-Rose began to feel pangs of remorse. Arry was, after all, incredibly handsome. And rich. And adoring. “I’d absolutely love to dance with you all night long.”

  “Wowsers!” Arry’s smile nearly split his face in two as they left the room. “Did you hear that, Marcus?”

  “I did. Now, come on — we’ve got to get back to Wadingburn so I can get Glee saddled and ready to go.”

  “And you’ll bring me back that peacock feather?” Arry asked anxiously.

  Marcus threw up his hands in frustration. “YES!” And he pushed his brother out the palace door and into the coach that was waiting outside.

  Arry climbed in, still beaming. “There’s no
thing like dancing with the girl you love,” he declared as he settled into a corner. “Maybe you’ll find a beautiful princess to dance with as well, Marcus. I’m sure Princess Marigold always gives you a special kind of smile when she meets you. Mother was saying you’d make a lovely couple.” He lowered his voice. “Nina-Rose told me not to tell you, but Marigold’s going to ask you for the Last Waltz.”

  “Me?” Marcus stopped halfway in and halfway out of the coach. “If I dance with anyone — and I’m not saying I will — it’ll be with Gracie Gillypot. She’s got more sense in her little finger than any of those frilly sisters of Nina-Rose!”

  The smile left Arioso’s face. “But Marcus — she won’t have been invited!”

  “WHAT?” Marcus stared at his brother. “What do you mean, she’s not invited?”

  Arry shrugged. “I know she’s a friend of yours, but she’s . . . well, she’s only an orphan, isn’t she?”

  Marcus went on staring while he took in what his brother was saying. Then, with a muttered exclamation, he left the coach and shot back into Wadingburn Palace.

  He arrived in front of Prince Vincent in a flurry, and grabbed his arm. “Hey!” he demanded. “You can ask Gracie to this ball, can’t you?”

  Prince Vincent’s mind was full of buttercream icing and strawberry jam. His mouth fell open, and he gaped at Marcus. “Gracie?” he asked vaguely.

  “You know — Gracie Gillypot. Lives with the Ancient Crones. Saved you from being a frog once, but I don’t suppose you care to remember that.”

  “Oh — er, yes.” Vincent first nodded, then shook his head. “Actually, I don’t suppose she can be asked, old boy. Not the right sort of person at all, Gracie Gillypot. Don’t want to make her feel out of place, and all that.” He coughed. “I mean, once you ask one orphan, they’ll all be expecting to come, won’t they? Even if she is a friend of yours.”