“Yes.” Vincent knew exactly where he stood on this question. “There’s the right way, and the wrong way. And me and Arioso and Marigold and everyone except Marcus are right. I blame that girl Gracie Gillypot for the way Marcus carries on. He was never as bad before he met her, never!”
Up on the curtain rail Alf nudged Billy. “Did you hear that? That’s typical, that is.”
Billy nodded solemnly as Queen Bluebell raised her eyes heavenwards.
“Vincent,” she said, “I’m not sure I can take any more of your opinions just now. I think we’d better discuss Gracie another time.”
Under the mistaken impression that he had won his point, her grandson smiled happily. “So can I order my cream cake now?”
“No.” Bluebell began polishing her lorgnette in a businesslike manner. “I haven’t finished telling you about my plans. Your cake can wait. I want to retire, but before that can happen, a new queen has to be appointed – and according to the laws of Wadingburn that will be YOU, Loobly.”
“Eh?” Loobly’s eyes grew very round.
Bluebell gave an exasperated snort. “Ruling the kingdom goes down the female line. I’ve told you that a thousand times. Always has done … up until now, that is.”
Loobly looked agonized. “Not queen,” she said. “Loobly wouldn’t like be queen. Not like AT ALL.” She pointed to Prince Vincent, who was doing his best to fade into the wood-panelled walls. “Make Vinnie queen.”
“Well, Vincent?” The queen swung round. “What do you say to that? Do you really see yourself as King of Wadingburn?”
Vincent opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He knew only too well what his grandmother thought of him.
“Exactly.” Bluebell was triumphant. “Just as I said. Goosewits!” She paused, and a thoughtful expression floated across her face. “Hmmm … do you know what, Vincent? I do believe you’ve given me an idea.”
“I have?” Her grandson was startled into speech.
Bluebell folded her arms. “What if I were to offer the kingdom to ‘that girl Gracie Gillypot’, as you call her? She’s got more sense in her little finger than you two put together.”
“Gracie Gillypot?” Prince Vincent turned pale with horror. This was worse than the idea of his grandmother fraternizing with a werewolf. Far worse. “GRACIE GILLYPOT? But … but she’s not … she’s not even NEAR being a princess!”
Queen Bluebell wasn’t listening. She was walking up and down the room, muttering to herself. “Am I right? She’s a clever girl, but is that enough? Would it be fair to ask her? The rest of the Royals are mostly a pack of numbskulls … but there’s the odd hopeful. And Wadingburn needs a sensible queen. One with a bit of backbone … If Gracie were willing, it could be the perfect solution. She’d have Marcus beside her as king, of course. Goes without saying. The two of them together … yes! YES! But is it allowed? Is it possible?” Bluebell slapped the table. “That’s what I need to find out! And no time like the present. Where’s my prime minister? Drat the man! Never around when he’s wanted!” And she hurried out of the room, leaving Vincent gasping for breath.
“She’s gone mad! Did you hear her, Loobly? She’s gone stark staring mad! She needs help! She needs locking up! We have to tell someone – but who?”
Loobly shrugged. “Loobly likes Gracie Gillypot. Is kind and smiley…”
Vincent threw up his hands in horror. “Really, Loo! She’s a COMMONER! She lives with a bunch of dotty old witches and she talks to trolls and bats…” He clutched at his head. “Imagine THAT as queen of Wadingburn!”
His twin sister remained unmoved. “Loobly likes bats. And rats.”
“But you’re a Royal, Loobly! It’s OK if you do things like that. It … it’s just ‘one of Princess Loobly’s little ways’. But if someone like Gracie does it, then it’s bonkers.”
Loobly gave him a sharp look. “Grandmother have funny little ways? Or bonkers?”
Vincent wasn’t listening. He was tugging at a bell rope to summon a servant, and as soon as one appeared he gave his orders. “Call a carriage! At once! It’s an emergency – I have to go to Gorebreath right now this minute!”
“WHEEEE!” Alf was swinging round and round the curtain rail. “Did you hear that, young Billy? That’s our Gracie they’re talking about! Our very own Gracie. Just wait until Unc hears about this. Come on – we can hitch a ride to Gorebreath!”
Billy looked blank. “Where’s that, Mr Alf?”
Alf didn’t answer. He was heading for the window.
Vincent’s departure was not as speedy as it might have been. It occurred to him that the journey was a long one, so a well-filled picnic basket was an absolute necessity. Then there was the argument with the coachman, who was used to receiving his orders from the queen.
“Her Majesty didn’t give no instructions for an outing,” he said doubtfully.
Vincent scowled. He was about to argue that HE was giving the order, but second thoughts prevailed, and he managed a fake smile as he explained that there must have been a mistake. “The queen must have forgotten,” he said. “She definitely promised that … that I could go and visit my friends. Prince Arioso, you know. And Prince Marcus.”
The coachman was still unconvinced, but at that moment the cook’s boy staggered out into the courtyard with the most enormous picnic basket. Vincent was inspired.
“See?” he said. “There’s my snack for the journey! I wouldn’t have that if I wasn’t expecting to go, would I?”
Muttering, the coachman gave in. The horses were harnessed, and Vincent and his picnic basket finally settled inside Queen Bluebell’s largest travelling coach, together with a number of extra cushions and blankets.
“Off we go!” he instructed. “Off we go!”
Alf, comfortably ensconced in the coach hood, nodded at Billy. “Get some shut-eye, young ’un. Next stop Gorebreath. I’ll wake you up if there’s anything you need to see.” And he yawned loudly, yawned again and began to snore.
Billy tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes for longer than a second the House of the Ancient Crones swam into his mind. The House, and the shuttered window, and the small knothole, and—Billy sat up very straight, his heart hammering. The wink. That horrible, horrible wink. And the eye had been watching him as he flew away. He knew it had; a chill had crept through his body, and his head had felt as if it was full of wasps. And now something was calling to him to come back. He could feel it deep in his bones. It was very far away, but increasingly persistent … not a voice, or a whistle, or any audible noise, but willpower. A mind much stronger than his own was willing him to obey its commands. He made one last effort to resist.
“Mr Alf,” he whispered. “Mr Alf? Help me, Mr Alf!;”
The only answer was a snore. Billy sighed a small tired sigh, stretched his wings and flew.
Alf slept soundly until the carriage reached the long drive that led to the palace of Gorebreath. He opened his eyes, peered round and remarked, “Here we are! Second of the Five Kingdoms! Take a note, Billy …Billy? BILLY?”
There was no answer, and Alf scratched his head in surprise. “Where’s he got to? Billy? We’re back in business! Gotta check out what goes on here…”
Alf’s voice died away. It was all too evident that the little bat was missing. He flew a couple of circles round the carriage, but without much expectation of finding his small companion. He knew that Billy’s hearing was even more acute than his own; he would have heard had he been anywhere near by.
“That’s strange,” Alf told himself. “Not like the young ’un to flit off for no reason. Keen as mustard, that one! Wonder what—”
Alf’s musings were brought to a sudden stop by the screech of brakes as Queen Bluebell’s carriage came to a jolting halt outside Gorebreath Palace’s front door. “Have to wait ’n’ see if he turns up,” he decided, and looped down to see what was going on.
“Sorry about that, Your Highness,” lied the coachman as Vince
nt struggled out of the coach, half a chocolate cream eclair squashed in his hand.
“I shall complain to my grandmother!” Vincent said crossly. “My picnic’s gone all over the place! It’s not good enough!”
The coachman grinned. Vincent, unaware of cherry-pie stains down his coat front and mustard smears on his chin, grew even angrier. “You did that on purpose!” he accused. “I know you did! You can jolly well wait here until I’ve been to see King Frank, and then you can take me home again, and we’ll see what Grandmother has to—” He stopped abruptly, remembering that this was the grandmother he had come to complain about. “Well. Yes. Just stay here, and I’ll be back in five minutes. Or ten. But don’t move.”
The coachman bowed. As soon as Vincent had disappeared he clucked at the horses and drove them round to the Gorebreath stables for a well-earned rest.
Vincent, meanwhile, had made his way to King Frank and Queen Mildred’s private parlour. He found them sitting cosily together having tea and cake. Prince Arioso, heir to the throne of Gorebreath, was standing by the mantelpiece with his arm round his fiancée, Princess Nina-Rose.
Queen Mildred looked up and smiled as Vincent stomped in, wiping the cream on his fingers onto his trousers.
“Vincent, dear! How lovely to see you!” Anxiously aware that Vincent was about to lower his cream-covered lower half onto a pale pink velvet sofa, she offered him a napkin. “Is darling Bluebell with you?”
Vincent ignored the napkin and sat down. “No. No, she’s at home.” He saw the cake, and his face brightened. “I say! That looks awfully delicious!”
Queen Mildred, trying not to regret the ruin of her favourite seat, cut him a large slice. “I hope she’s well?”
Vincent shook his head vigorously before attacking his cake. “I’m afraid she isn’t. Not at all. In fact, that’s why I’m here! I think she’s going mad.”
“Mad?” King Frank frowned. “Bluebell? Rubbish! There’s no one as sane as Bluebell.”
“But she IS!” Vincent, his mouth full of cake, waved his arms to make his point more forceful. “She’s talking about retiring, and – guess what!” He banged his fist on the arm of the unfortunate sofa, leaving it covered in jammy crumbs. “She wants to make Gracie Gillypot queen of Wadingburn!”
There was a stunned silence, followed by a high-pitched scream as Princess Nina-Rose threw up her hands and staggered dramatically into Arioso’s arms. Alf, lurking in a dark corner, winced.
“Arry! I’m going to faint! That ghastly horrible beastly girl … You’ve got to stop her!”
Arioso, never the swiftest of thinkers, stared at Vincent. “What do you mean, Queen Bluebell’s retiring?”
Nina-Rose was miraculously restored to health. “I do wish you’d learn to listen, Arry darling. Vincent said his grandmother is going to retire. That means Wadingburn will need a new queen, and Bluebell’s going to choose that dreadful Gracie Gillypot!”
Vincent, delighted with Nina-Rose’s reaction, nodded. “Heard it with my very own ears.”
“Now, now, now, Vincent.” King Frank, recovered from the initial shock of the news, and remembering Vincent’s general unreliability, poured himself another cup of tea. “This is all a little unlikely, don’t you know? What exactly did your grandmother say?”
Vincent opened his mouth, then paused. He had no intention of reporting the full conversation. His grandmother’s opinion of him was both misplaced and inaccurate, and was therefore best omitted. “She said,” he began, “she was tired of being queen.”
“But Vincent dear, we’ve all felt tired from time to time,” Queen Mildred told him. “Nothing mad about that. Rather the opposite, in fact. What else did she say?”
“She said she wants to be an ancient crone, and she wants to meet a werewolf.” This made Queen Mildred gasp, and King Frank’s eyebrows rise. Vincent was quick to press home his advantage. “You see? Mad! Quite mad! And she said Loobly couldn’t be queen and she was going to talk to her prime minister!”
The King and Queen of Gorebreath looked at each other in consternation. Talking to one’s prime minister suggested a seriousness of purpose that it was difficult to ignore.
“That’s not good, Mildred,” King Frank pronounced. “Not good at all. We can’t allow it. Not under any circumstances.”
Nina-Rose stepped forward. “I’ve always said she was a troublemaker, that girl. I mean, who does she think she is? You should ban her from the kingdoms—”
The parlour door opened and Prince Marcus, twin brother of Prince Arioso, but younger by ten minutes, wandered into the room.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Who should be banned from the kingdoms? Anyone interesting?”
“Your friend Gracie Gillypot,” Nina-Rose snapped. “She’s trying to wheedle her way into being a queen!”
Even Vincent felt this was a little harsh. “Hang on a minute!” he began. “That’s not what I said—”
“Oh?” Marcus’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. “So what DID you say, Vincent?”
Vincent had always been frightened of Marcus. He was the one and only member of all the royal families resident in the Five Kingdoms who willingly rode over the border and actively sought adventures. Not only did he seek them; he came back covered in glory. And his companion in these adventures was always Gracie Gillypot … and it had become only too obvious in recent months that Marcus had developed a most regrettable affection for Gracie.
Vincent swallowed. In his rush to report the unfortunate state of his grandmother’s mind he had completely forgotten that Marcus was involved, and would have an opinion on the matter. A very strong opinion.
He swallowed a second time, and said feebly, “Grandmother’s gone mad, that’s all. She wants Gracie to be Queen of Wadingburn.” A thought struck him. “And you to be king, Marcus. She said that too. Honestly, she did!”
Marcus was prevented from making any reply by Nina-Rose collapsing into hysterical laughter. “MARCUS? A KING? Now I know it’s a joke. Goodness, Vincent – you had us all fooled! I never thought you could be so…”
Her voice died away. Three pairs of royal eyes were regarding her with cold disapproval. Arioso, embarrassed rather than disapproving, coughed.
“Ahem. Sweetie-pie. Marcus IS a prince, you know. Second in line to me, actually. If a pig fell on my head, he’d be the heir to the throne.”
Nina-Rose did her best to rally. “But darling, DARLING Arry – guess what! I was joking too! Couldn’t you tell?” An expression reminiscent of someone eating an exceptionally sour lemon crossed her face. “Of course it would be simply fabby if Marcus was a king when you’re a king and I’m a queen. What fun we’d have! Thousand thrills a minute!”
Arry patted her hand. “There speaks my own Nina-Rosey-posey.”
“Hang on a second.” Marcus flung himself down on a chair. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Bluebell’s not dead or anything, is she?”
“No!” Vincent shook his head. “No … but she’s a bit … strange. Acting weird.” He produced his trump card. “Says she wants to meet a werewolf, and be an ancient crone.”
“Well, THAT’S not mad,” Marcus said, with some relief. “She’d love the crones, and what’s wrong with wanting to meet a werewolf? I’ve always wanted to meet one. And Gracie does too. We were talking about it only yesterday – it’s nearly a full moon, you know. We thought of riding to the Less Enchanted Forest to see if we could find a few.”
King Frank glared at his younger son. “Don’t be so foolish, Marcus. You’ll do no such thing. Most unwholesome things, werewolves.”
Nina-Rose gave a hysterical giggle. A sudden vision of Gracie Gillypot solving the current problem by being eaten had popped into her head. “OH! Oh, Marcus! What an adventure that would be! Or maybe Gracie would prefer to go on her own? Had you considered that, Marcus?” She gave him her very best irresistible smile. “Dear Gracie! I’m sure she and the werewolves would find such a lot in common—”
Unlike h
is twin, Marcus had never had any trouble resisting Nina-Rose’s fluttering eyelashes. “You’re only saying that ’cos you hope Gracie’ll get into trouble. I’d never let her go on her own, and you know it.”
“Really, Marcus!” King Frank was frowning. “The border was created to keep us safe from such terrible things. I fail to see why you should feel the need to search them out. You’d be much better off staying here in Gorebreath and attending to your duties. I noticed you were absent at yesterday’s parade, by the way. Disappointing, my boy! Most disappointing.”
“That’s right, Marcus old bean.” Vincent nodded. “We Royals need to stick together.” He looked hopefully at King Frank. “Don’t suppose you’d like to have a word with Grandmother, would you?” A pained expression floated across his pudgy face. “She doesn’t listen to a word I say.”
Marcus grinned. “That’s because she’s got more sense, Vincent old bean. Right … I’m off. I’ll see you all later.”
“Where are you—” King Frank began, but he was too late. Marcus had gone.
“There!” Nina-Rose stuck out her lower lip. “I bet he’s gone rushing off to tell Gracie Gillypot she’s going to be a queen!”
Arioso put his arm round her. “I don’t think he is, my sweetest petal. I think he’s going to Niven’s Knowe to see Tertius. They were talking about a tournament as part of the Centenary Celebrations.”
“A tournament?” Nina-Rose cheered up at once. “Oh, Arry DARLING! Will you wear silver armour? And ride a white horse? You’ll look SO wonderful! And I’ll give you a white rose, and you can hold it in your teeth and wave it as you gallop past at a million miles per hour to defeat the evil foe!”
Arry, who had no intention of taking part in any such energetic activity, smiled nervously. “Well, I think Marcus and Tertius rather want to act it out together,” he began.
Nina-Rose turned a threatening shade of purple. “No, Arry! You absolutely have to take part! And you have to be the winner because you’re the heir to the throne, and I really, REALLY think that if you love me like you say you do then you could do just this little tiny thing for ickle pickle me…”
The Snarling of Wolves Page 3