The Bag of Bones

by Vivian French

  “That’s right!” The tall girl smiled, and it was obvious that Gracie had given the right response. “It’s a very bad thing to run away.”

  “Very bad,” Gracie echoed, and a bulky figure moved out of the dark shadows beneath the window. He was carrying a large, knobbly stick, and even Gracie cringed as he swung it to and fro.

  “I’m glad you’ve seen sense, Loobly Higgins,” Buckleup Brandersby growled. “Those witches didn’t do you no good. No good at all. Turned your wits, what little you had of them. And changed your looks — and not for the better in my humble opinion. Still, I’m a fair man. You’re back now, so we’ll let bygones be bygones. You get down to that washhouse with Letty and set to work. And the rest of you”— he turned a burning eye on the other orphans and gestured with a clenched fist —“SCAT!”

  The orphans scatted, with the exception of the tall girl. As she put out her hand to help Gracie to her feet, Buckleup Brandersby loomed over the two of them.

  “Just you remember, Letty Higgins.” He held the Snuffer warningly under Letty’s nose as he pointed at Gracie. “This here is Loobly, and I hold YOU responsible for making sure as she remembers. That witchery’s strong stuff. If she starts telling any tales as to how she’s not Loobly, or she goes causing trouble, you’ll be in for it. Get it?”

  Letty shivered. “Come on, Loobly. It’s socks today but — you remember that, don’t you?” As she spoke she gave Gracie’s arm a meaningful squeeze.

  “Socks,” Gracie repeated, and shivered in her turn.

  “Good work!” Buckleup almost smiled. “Letty Higgins — I’ll make something of you yet! Now — get away to that washhouse.” And he opened the dormitory door with a mock bow and watched the two girls scurry away down the corridor. As they went, he pulled Gracie’s package of cookies out of his pocket and crammed six into his mouth. “Very satisfactory,” he told himself. “By the time those busybodies get to see her, she’ll be answering to Loobly as if she were born to it.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “Now, let’s see if I can get a few pennies for that bathrobe. Nice bit of stuff, that robe.” And he stomped off in the other direction.

  Two elderly rats, who had been watching unseen from underneath a bed, shook their heads.

  “That wasn’t our lovely Loobly,” said the bigger one. “Our Loobly’s gone.”

  “That’s a nimpostor!” the little one agreed. “Our Loobly does bring cheeses. Cheeses for us ratsies.”

  The bigger rat looked mournful. “What’ll we do without her, Doily? That man — he’d eat the paper that wrapped the rind that covered the cheese before he’d give us anything.”

  “Us’ll go hungry,” said Doily, and two tears rolled down her nose. “Us’ll be little starvy bones. Big bones for you, Sproutie, and little bones for me.”

  Sprout scratched an ear. “Maybe we could ask the impostor?” he suggested. “She wasn’t our Loobly, but she didn’t smell of wickedness. She smelled . . . she smelled good. And that’s like our Loobly.”

  “Dunno.” Doily thought about it. “Maybe. You do the askings, Sproutie. I be scared.”

  “We’ll wait until she’s safe in bed,” Sprout decided. “The old man’ll be away by then. If she does the Scream, she’ll not be heard.”

  Doily looked at Sprout in admiration. “You be my hero, Sprout! But ain’t you awaying? Meeting of ratsies?”

  “Ah.” Sprout scratched the other ear. “It’s a long way, Doily. And we haven’t eaten since our Loobly left. Reckon I’ll wait and have a word with the impostor instead. Must look after my Doily.”

  Doily gave him a fond look and stroked his whiskers. “I do be wishing our Loobly were safe home, Sproutie.”

  Sprout sighed. “Maybe she’ll come back. But then again, maybe she won’t. We always knew there was something different about her, Doily. She’s not like the others.”

  Marlon, looping steadily through the air, saw Alf suddenly zigzag, then zoom downward.

  “Seen something, kid?” he asked. “Can’t stop for sightseeing, y’know. Things to do, crones to meet —”

  “Unc!” Alf’s voice was even squeakier than usual. “Look!”

  “What? Who?” Marlon flew in a swift circle but could see nothing unusual on the road below. They had reached the far side of Gorebreath; the market traders had been in a state of some agitation, but there had been no sign of anything sinister either there or elsewhere on their journey.

  “There!” Alf pointed.

  Marlon looked again and saw what appeared to be a green hillock at the side of the road. As he flew closer he saw it had legs and arms waving feebly in the air. Faint cries of distress were coming from a nearby bush.

  “Good work, kiddo.” Marlon dived and saw that, as he had suspected, Gubble and his head had become separated. Marlon issued instructions, and after some confusion as to which was Gubble’s left hand and which was his right, his two parts were reunited.

  As soon as his head was properly in place, Gubble struggled to his feet and set off as fast as he could go, grunting as if he were in pain.

  “You OK?” Marlon inquired, flying at his left shoulder.

  “Urk,” Gubble said. “Gracie. Thud. Marcus. URK!”

  “Gracie?” Marlon, who prided himself on always staying cool and calm, looked flustered. He fluttered in front of Gubble’s large moon face. “What thud? Who thudded? When?”

  Gubble slowed, then stopped. “Gracie,” he explained. “Man ask Gracie questions. Thud! Gracie carried away.” He rubbed his eyes and sniffed loudly. “Gubble in bushes. Gubble BAD. Find Marcus!”

  “Hang on.” Marlon digested the information. “See any witches?”

  Gubble looked blank.

  “OK. No witches.” Marlon beckoned to Alf, who was hanging off a twig and twittering with excitement. “Kiddo — here’s a problem. We’ve got witches, we’ve got Evil, we’ve got an orphan, and we’ve got a kidnapping. What’s the deal?”

  Alf, unable to help himself as a dazzling idea sprang into his head, did a sideways spin under Gubble’s nose. “The man!” he squeaked. “Were there dogs?”

  Gubble’s small piggy eyes brightened. “Ug. Dogs!”

  “That’s it, Unc! We saw him!” Alf was spinning like a top. “On the hill! The orphanage man! With the scary witch!”

  “Cool it!” Marlon glared at his nephew. “This is serious stuff, kid.”

  “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Marlon nodded. “Yup.”

  “So are we going to hunt him down and rescue Miss Gracie and tell Marcus — I mean, Prince Marcus — they can live happily ever after?” Alf began a final twirl but stopped halfway around when he saw his uncle’s expression.

  “Happly after.” Gubble beamed at Alf. “Gubble like happly after!”

  Marlon sighed deeply. “Hate to spoil the party, guys — but look at the situation. What have we got? One troll, two bats. That guy’s big. What’s more, he’s got dogs. And — correct me if I’m wrong — that orphanage place has bars. Steel bars. Best to get straight to the crones.”

  “But you’ve got brains!” Alf’s eyes were shining with admiration and belief. “Uncle Marlon, you can do it!”

  There was a short silence, then Marlon took a deep breath. “Kid,” he said, “you’re right. Duty calls. Never let it be said that Marlon Batster failed in his duty.”

  “Hurrah!” Alf cheered. “Hurrah! Hurrah —”

  “OK, OK.” Marlon stretched his wings. “You and the troll get to the orphanage. I’ll wise up the prince and send him after you.” He paused and eyed Alf and Gubble thoughtfully. “Don’t mention the witch or Wadingburn Palace. Not at all. Don’t want young Gracie involved in Deep Magic. Send her home, out of harm’s way.”

  Gubble nodded. “Go home,” he said. And then, “Boiled egg!”

  “When are you coming back?” Alf asked anxiously.

  Marlon held up one wing. “It’s all in the plan, kid. No prob. Check the prince, report to the crones, back pronto. Ciao!”

&n
bsp; Gubble watched the bat fly high into the sky, and nodded. “Happly after.”

  Gracie, having been brought up by a wicked stepfather and an evil stepsister, was used to hardship and hard work, but even she was taken aback when she saw the orphanage washhouse. Huge copper vats were seething and boiling, and the air was thick with steam that smelled hideously of sweat and dirt and dirty socks. Her head, still sore from the Snuffer, began to throb.

  “It’s dreadful!” she said as Letty hurried her in. “Do you work here every day?”

  Letty shrugged. “Have to.”

  Gracie looked around as the older girl led her toward a huge stone sink. “Don’t you ever want to escape?”

  Letty shook her head. “Where’d I go?” She heaved a bucket up from the cold stone floor, tipped it into the sink, and began to scrub at the heap of sodden socks with a brush with very few bristles. “And don’t you go thinking you can get out of here.” She leaned toward Gracie and lowered her voice. “If you take my advice, you’ll start thinking you’re the one-and-only Loobly Higgins right now, this minute. Otherwise I’ll be in for it — and I’m not going to take a beating if I don’t have to!”

  Gracie found another brush and set to work beside Letty. The older girl was looking fierce, and it was a few moments before Gracie plucked up the courage to ask the question that was burning a hole in her brain. “Excuse me — and I promise I’ll try not to get you into trouble — but why does that man want me to be your sister?”

  “Sister?” Letty stopped scrubbing for a moment. “What sister? I haven’t got a sister.”

  “But he said Loobly Higgins, and you’re Letty Higgins, so I thought . . .” Gracie’s voice died away as an angry flush spread over Letty’s face. “I’m sorry. Did I say the wrong thing?”

  Letty glowered. “He calls us all Higgins. Says it doesn’t matter, and it’s easier to remember. I’m Liz Brownley, but he said that’s a name for a person, and I’m nothing but an orphan, so Letty would do. Letty Higgins.” Letty almost spat the name out. “No wonder nobody ever wanted to adopt me — not that he’d have let them. Loses him money if we get adopted. That’s why you’re here, of course.”

  Gracie frowned. “I still don’t understand.”

  Letty heaved up an armful of moderately clean wet socks and dumped them in a second sink. “Loobly ran away. So he was scared he’d lose his shilling a week and his bread. But now he’s got you, so you can be Loobly — and those stupid orphanage lady visitors will never know he lost an orphan.” Letty grinned sourly. “Funnily enough, they get quite upset about that. Dunno why. They never get upset that we’re all starving.”

  Gracie rubbed her nose with a damp finger. “So what’s Loobly’s real name?”

  “No idea.” Letty was wringing out socks as if she were trying to strangle them. “Not Higgins, that’s for sure. She was dumped on the doorstep in a basket, and all she’d say was, ‘Loobly dirty, Loobly dirty.’” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s why Fatso sent her to work in the washhouse. Ho, ho, ho, very funny — I don’t think so. Poor little scrap couldn’t even reach the sink! Now get on with those socks!”

  Pushing a strand of wet hair out of her eyes, Gracie considered her situation. Things were not good, she decided. The orphanage was practically a prison; there were bars at every window, and the doors were heavy with solid iron locks. On the other hand, Gubble was somewhere not too far away, and presumably he’d seen her taken prisoner . . . or had he? Gracie swallowed as a vision of a miserable Gubble tied up in chains floated before her eyes. Could he have been captured too?

  “Erm . . .” Gracie began. Letty was once again scrubbing socks, a grim expression on her face. “Erm . . . was anything — I mean, anyone — else brought in when I was?”

  Letty raised her eyebrows. “Like what? Three mince pies and a kangaroo?”

  “I was thinking more of a troll,” Gracie explained.

  Letty stared at her. “A troll? What kind of a girl are you?” She folded her arms and inspected Gracie from her feet to her head. “You know what? You really are a lot like Loobly. Odd. Do you talk to rats?”

  “Not rats,” Gracie said. “Well, not so far. I do have quite a few friends who are bats, though.” She glanced up at a steamy window and sighed. “If they knew I was here, I’m sure they’d help me.”

  “Uh-uh.” Letty glared. “I told you. None of that sort of talk. You try anything, and I’m in big trouble, and that means a LOT of trouble for you.”

  Gracie ignored the threat. “But you could come with me, Letty! I’m an orphan, and the crones took me in. I’m sure they’d look after you too.”

  “I don’t need looking after,” Letty snapped — and then softened. “But thanks for the offer.” Her shoulders drooped. “Sorry. You don’t get much kindness in here. Only from Loobly. She was kind to everyone, even the rats.” Letty bent down and fished about under the sink. “Look at this. The only thing she ever owned, and Fatso tried to take it away from her.” She pulled out an old and battered shoe. It was extremely grubby, but the thought crossed Gracie’s mind that it could have been made of silk, or even satin. “Poor little Loo,” Letty went on. “She cried for days after he stole it — but I got it back. Snuck into his office and took it. Dunno what he wanted it for, except the shiny buckle. It was chucked in a bin by the time I found it. No buckle by then, of course.”

  Gracie smiled at Letty. “That was really kind of you. And he didn’t see you?”

  The older girl sniffed. “Never noticed. Loo and I found this hidey-hole under the sink so she could keep it safe.”

  “If it was so special, why didn’t she take it with her when she ran away?” Gracie asked.

  Letty’s eyes opened wide, and she looked at the shoe as if it might have some kind of answer before tucking it back in its hiding place. “I never thought of that. You’re right. Hey! Maybe Loobly didn’t run away! Maybe . . .” Her powers of imagination ran out. “Maybe she’s dead!”

  “But she might not be,” Gracie said encouragingly. “Perhaps we could find out. If you wanted, that is.”

  Letty looked doubtful. “Don’t see what we could do.”

  “Well . . .” Gracie hesitated. “Do you think there’s any way I could get a message out of here? To a friend?”

  “That’ll be a boy, then.”

  “How did you know?” Gracie asked in surprise.

  “You were blushing. Where does he live?” Letty tipped yet another bucketful of socks into the sink. “And keep working. If we haven’t cleared these by the end of the day, there’ll be no supper.”

  Gracie found herself blushing an even deeper red. “Erm . . . in the palace. Gorebreath Palace.”

  “One of the footmen, is he? Heard they’re tall and tasty.” Letty elbowed Gracie in the ribs. “Well . . . you might just be lucky. There’s a pile of clean sheets going back there this afternoon. You could tuck in a note and hope it gets there.”

  Gracie’s heart began to beat faster. Would a note addressed to Prince Marcus ever reach him? She imagined the chambermaids giggling and throwing it away . . . or would they? It had to be worth trying. “OK,” she said. “Where do I find a bit of paper and a pen?”

  Letty looked furtively left and right, then dug in her pocket. She produced a torn paper bag and a stump of pencil. “Here you go. And it’s that bundle by the door. See? The one with the label. You can tuck your note into the top.”

  Gracie took the pencil and paper, licked the end of the pencil, and wrote, “Dear Marcus, PLEASE HELP! I’m stuck in the orphanage.” And then she stopped. Should she write, “Love, Gracie”? Or was that assuming too much?

  “Hurry up!” Letty hissed. “The carrier’ll be around any minute.”

  Gracie hastily wrote, “Yours, Gracie,” and ran across to the bundle addressed to Gorebreath Palace. She was just in time; as she hurried back to her sink, a burly man came striding in. He swept up the bundle, along with three or four others, and heaved them onto his back. As he stood for a moment b
alancing his load, the note fluttered out and fell to the ground in front of him.

  With a grunt he bent to pick it up, and a wide grin spread across his face as he read it. “Trying to get out, girls?” he said, and leered at Letty and Gracie. “So which one of you’s Gracie?”

  Gracie stepped forward at once. “I’m Loobly, and she’s Letty,” and she pointed to the older girl. “There’s no Gracie here. Not that we know of.”

  “Hmph. We’ll see what Mr. Brandersby has to say,” the man said, and he waved the note in the air before tucking it carefully into a pocket. “Could be worth a pint of something for a poor thirsty man, this could. Bye-bye, girls!” And he marched out of the washhouse, still grinning to himself.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” Letty was white with anger.

  “I’m sorry,” Gracie said. “I really, really am.”

  Letty gave her a cold stare, then shrugged. “At least you were quick enough with the names,” she said grudgingly. “Here. We need to hang these up. I’ll show you the way.” And she led Gracie out into a stone-paved drying yard, where the surrounding walls were topped with broken glass. “Get pegging!”

  Gracie, staggering under the weight of the basket of sodden socks, did as she was told. Her head was aching badly, and she was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to see her beloved crones again. She reached for a handful of pegs and began to peg sock after sock after sock onto the sagging clothesline.

  “Hurry up,” Letty said impatiently. “You’ll have to be quicker than that! I’ll go and get the next basket.” As she hurried back into the washhouse, Gracie rubbed her eyes and reached for yet another sock.

  High above the orphanage, a very small bat dived into a victory roll followed by two twirls and a triumphant spiral before zooming away.

  Truda Hangnail was smiling, and it was not the sort of smile designed to make anyone feel happy. Evangeline could feel cold chills running up and down her spine, and Ms. Scurrilous and Mrs. Prag were trembling. Mrs. Vibble’s teeth were chattering; even Mrs. Cringe shivered. Bodalisk was aware of an unpleasant tingling under his fur as he led the way out of the long tunnel and onto the top of a large water tank set high in the wall of the wine cellars of Wadingburn Palace. Below, in among the wooden casks and racks of dusty glass bottles, heaved a restless mass of rats.