The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  “A hankie? How very unhygienic.” Fedora sniffed, but she was beginning to look interested. “And where is the lady when this happens?”

  “On … on a throne.” Marcus’s brain was working overtime. “On a stage, so everyone can see her.”

  This went down well. Fedora was almost smiling. “And what does she wear?”

  “Her very best dress, of course.” Marcus, making sure Fedora could not see him, pinched Tertius hard. “Isn’t that right, Terty?”

  Tertius had now had time to make a full recovery, and he came back into the fray with enthusiasm. “Absolutely right. Wasn’t going to tell you, poppet – but you’ve wormed it out of us, clever little thing that you are. Ha ha ha! You’re going to have the most lovely dress ever, and it’ll be a present from me to you ’cos you’re the most lovely inspiration ever!”

  Fedora melted. “Oh, DARLING Tootle Toes!” She flung her arms round him. “What a beastly girl I am to doubt you. Will you ever forgive me?”

  Marcus held up a warning finger. “He’ll only forgive you if you don’t ask any more questions. And you have to keep it a secret. We don’t want anyone else to know, or it won’t be a surprise.”

  “Oh, of COURSE! I won’t breathe a word to anyone … especially not Marigold.” Fedora looked smug. “She’ll be SO jealous when I have a gorgeous new dress, and she doesn’t.”

  “Marigold?” Marcus asked. “What’s she got to do with it?”

  Fedora gave him a knowing look. “We all know you’ve got your eye on my dear little sister … and a little bird told me she might have her eye on you too!”

  Marcus stared at her. “You’re stark, staring mad.”

  “I say, Marcus old chap,” Tertius protested, “that’s a bit much! And my poppet has a point, you know. You’ll need a lady fair. What was it I said? An inspiration…”

  “But I’ll have Gracie.” Marcus was astonished that there could be any doubt about his choice. “Why on earth would I want anyone else?”

  Fedora and Tertius exchanged meaningful glances, but neither spoke. Marcus looked from one to the other. “What is it?” he demanded. “You’ve been talking about me and Gracie, haven’t you? I can tell!”

  Tertius coughed. “Ahem. All a bit embarrassing, this. None of our business really.”

  “Rubbish, Terty!” Fedora gave her beloved a bracing glare. “You agreed with me! ‘Not suitable’ is what you said! You know you did!”

  The worm finally turned. “No, I didn’t,” Tertius said. “It was YOU who said she wasn’t suitable.”

  Fedora sniffed. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Marcus put his hand on Glee’s neck to steady himself as he tried to keep his temper. “Hang on. Not suitable for what, exactly?”

  “Gracie’s not suitable for you.” It was Fedora who answered. “We all agree. We had a little party, and…” Her voice died away. Marcus’s scowl was terrifying.

  “And who,” he asked coldly, “is ‘all’ of you?”

  Fedora turned to Tertius. “Vincent was there, wasn’t he, sweetie? And Marigold. And Albion. And Nina-Rose, of course—”

  “But not you and Arry,” Tertius put in. “Arry was busy. You didn’t answer the invitation,” he added, a note of reproach in his voice.

  A vague recollection of a gold-crested envelope lying unopened on the breakfast table tweaked Marcus’s conscience. “Sorry,” he said. “But either Gracie comes to the tournament, or I resign. I think she’s suitable for me, and that’s that.”

  He swung himself into the saddle, and glared down at Fedora. “And now I think I’ll be going, unless there’s anything else you want to tell me? No? Good. Terty – I’ll see you soon. You can sort out some armour for us … and get a stage built. And two thrones.” With a curt nod of farewell he turned Glee’s head towards Gorebreath, and set off at a gallop.

  Tertius sighed. “Oh dear. Now he’s furious.”

  “Nonsense, Terty.” Fedora opened the coach door and jumped inside. “All we have to do is tell Marigold she’s going to be Marcus’s lady of choice at the tournament, and make sure she gets there early. Even that Gillypot girl wouldn’t dare push in when it’s all set up.”

  Tertius was looking worried. “I don’t know, petal…” A thought struck him. “Has Marigold really got her eye on Marcus?”

  “Of course she hasn’t.” Fedora shook her head at her husband’s obtuseness. “She likes Vincent. They have tea and cake together every Tuesday. But we’ve got to get Marcus away from the Gillypot girl somehow. Arry actually likes her, and even Albion said she was all right.”

  Tertius scratched his head. “You know what, poppet? I don’t see why there’s a problem.”

  “Stupid!” Fedora’s eyes flashed. “Arry’s engaged to Nina-Rose, isn’t he? And Nina-Rose is my sister! And Marcus, in case you haven’t remembered, is Arry’s brother – so if Marcus marries Gracie then we’ll ALL be related to her! And Terty – she’s WEIRD! She lives with WITCHES! And if she comes here to the Five Kingdoms who knows what’ll come with her? Now, hop in, and if you’re very good and agree with me I’ll let you hold my hand all the way home.” Tertius, defeated, did as he was told.

  Foyce Undershaft was humming as she wove. She had been humming all day; there had been occasional pauses when she murmured quietly to herself, but the humming always began again, and Edna, Val and Gracie were sitting over a cup of afternoon tea in the kitchen and wondering why.

  “She almost sounds happy,” Gracie said. “But I don’t think she can be. When I lived with her and her father and things were going well she never hummed.” She did not add that Foyce’s idea of demonstrating happiness had been to pinch Gracie until her eyes watered, or pull her plaits until she begged for mercy.

  Val shook her head. “It’s just as you thought, Edna. She’s up to something. She’s been here for months, and she’s never hummed before. And we’ve all noticed the Web is acting very strangely. One minute it’s clear, and the next it’s covered in streaks and splotches … and that means trouble.”

  “That’s true.” Edna stirred her tea, and helped herself to a biscuit. “Gracie, dear – has Gubble sorted out the shutters in Foyce’s room?”

  Gracie put down her cup. “Yes. I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to open them again, though. Gubble used the most enormous nails, and he banged them into the walls with a huge hammer.”

  Gubble, who was sitting at the other end of the table trying to eat sugar with a fork, beamed. “Ug. No opening now. All dark.”

  “Well done, Gubble.” The Ancient One nodded at him. “I’d say it’s a good thing they can’t be opened – for the time being, at least. Once this full moon is over we’ll see how Foyce behaves. Maybe now she can’t see the moonlight things will change.”

  “She was doing so well to begin with,” Val said with regret. “I thought we’d be able to deal with her quite quickly. I mean, I know she made our Gracie’s life a total misery before she came here, and she was terribly vicious and evil, but once she got here she did seem to settle into a kind of grumpy acceptance. But then all of a sudden she started smiling, and now she’s HUMMING!”

  Edna looked thoughful. “I always said she’d be a hard nut to crack. I’d say she’s been trying her best to lull us into a sense of security. She’s half werewolf, remember, and werewolves are clever. Very clever. They have to be, because their lives are never easy. And often a werewolf is clever in all the right ways, and is a pleasure to know … but from time to time a werewolf goes the wrong way, and a bad werewolf is about as evil and cunning as you can get. Foyce may well have been making plans for a very long time.”

  Gracie leant across the table and replaced Gubble’s fork with a teaspoon. “But where would she go? I don’t think her father can help her.”

  Val gave a loud shout of laughter. “He certainly can’t! He’ll be paying for his wickedness up until the end of time and beyond, and serves him jolly well right.”

  “I’m not sure Foyce wants to escap
e,” Edna said slowly. “I don’t think that’s what she’s after.”

  Both Val and Gracie stared at her in surprise. “Not escape?”

  The Ancient One gave a deep sigh. “Revenge. I think she wants revenge.”

  Val’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, but Gracie was still puzzled. “But what for?”

  Edna took Gracie’s hand. “Gracie, dear – you’re a Trueheart. You see the best in people, and if there is good in them you bring that goodness out … but you also have the reverse effect. You make evil people worse. Think about it. What brought Foyce here? She’ll never admit that she deserves punishment … so who does she blame? Who would she like to hurt more than anyone else in the whole wide world?”

  Gracie paled, but before she could answer there was a wild flutter of wings and Alf landed on her shoulder, panting hard.

  “Our Miss Gracie,” he said. “That’s who she wants to hurt! But never fear! Alf Batster is here! And … and … and … me and Unc will look after Miss Gracie, who is very very DEAR!”

  “Ug.” Gubble came stomping round the table. “Gubble here too.” He glowered at Alf. “Gubble bigger than bat. Stronger. Much stronger!”

  Edna and Val began to laugh and Gracie, after a momentary pause, laughed too. “That’s all right, then,” she said cheerfully. “I won’t worry.”

  “Good.” Val picked up the teapot. “And I know we’re only old women, but we Ancient Crones do still have a certain amount of power. And of course, there’s the Web. As long as we keep weaving Gracie can’t come to too much harm, can she, Edna? Now, shall we have another cup of tea?”

  Outside the door Foyce, sent by Elsie to ask for tea and toast, froze. “Gracie can’t come to much harm? That’s what YOU think. The little slug deserves to wriggle on a red-hot pin, and I’ll make sure she does.” Then, rearranging her face into an enchanting smile, she hurried into the kitchen, where the Ancient One was still sitting over a teapot.

  Far away in Wadingburn, Queen Bluebell was also presiding over a tea table. She was enjoying herself immensely. Her very dear friend Hortense, the Dowager Duchess of Cockenzie Rood, had come to visit, as had also Queen Kesta of Dreghorn. They were happily discussing the forthcoming Centenary Celebrations; all three were gratified to discover that they felt the planned marches, parades and exhibitions of martial power were most unnecessary.

  “It isn’t as if we’ve ever had to fight any wars,” the duchess pointed out. “In fact, in my opinion we don’t need an army at all.”

  Queen Kesta sighed. “Boys,” she said. “It’s the boys. They just LOVE dressing up and wearing gold buttons and rattling their swords. And at least the marching up and down gives them some exercise.”

  Bluebell snorted. “Vincent’s never marched a step in his life. Totally hopeless, that boy. All he ever thinks about is cake.” She looked across the room to where Loobly was sitting curled up in a large armchair, cuddling a remarkably large rat. “And she’s not much better. I’ve done my best to give her a bit of education, but she’s just not interested in anything that doesn’t have whiskers. Which reminds me. I want to ask your opinion about an idea I’ve had … but let’s have tea first. I was up early this morning baking muffins, and though I do say so myself they’ve turned out remarkably well. And Cook’s made some of her special chocolate eclairs.”

  There was a dissenting squeak from the armchair. “No eclairs, Grandmother. Vinnie did take the eclairs.”

  “What?” Bluebell raised her lorgnette in order to inspect her granddaughter. “Taken them where?”

  Loobly looked as if she wished she hadn’t spoken. “In … in his picnic.”

  “PICNIC?” Bluebell’s voice increased in volume. “And what picnic was that, may I ask? Where’s he gone?”

  Loobly buried her face in a cushion. “Don’t know, Grandmother.”

  Bluebell rose to her feet and strode across the room. Towering over her granddaughter, she removed the cushion, leaving Loobly clutching her rat as if her life depended on it. “You can no more tell a lie, Loobly, than fly. You do know, but you think I won’t like the answer. Isn’t that the case?”

  Loobly nodded.

  “Then you’d better tell me at once,” Bluebell ordered, “so I can get ready to mop up the mess.”

  “Is gone to Gorebreath,” Loobly said with a wriggle of acute embarrassment. “Gone to tell ’bout Gracie. ’Bout Gracie being queen.” As her grandmother’s face gradually turned an unbecoming shade of purple she added, “Did tell Vinnie Gracie is good! Loobly likes! Loobly like lots!”

  Hortense, who had been unashamedly listening, got up to join her friend. “What is it, Bluebell? What’s Vincent been up to? You look dreadful!”

  Bluebell, incandescent with rage, was unable to speak.

  “Punch the cushion, dear,” the duchess advised. “Imagine it’s Vincent’s head. You’ll feel much better.”

  “Really, Hortense!” Queen Kesta was shocked, but Hortense merely smiled at her.

  “You’ve got girls, dear. Bluebell suffers from Vincent. I suffer from Albion. Sometimes punching a cushion is the only way to relieve one’s feelings.”

  Bluebell took a deep breath and hit the cushion so hard that it burst. As feathers flew in all directions she threw herself back in her chair, and groaned loudly. “That boy,” she said. “That stupid, STUPID boy.”

  “But what’s he done?” Kesta was pale with agitation. “I don’t understand.”

  “What he’s done,” Bluebell told her, “is rush off to Gorebreath to tell King Frank and Queen Mildred that I intend to leave my kingdom to Gracie Gillypot.” She gave a mirthless guffaw. “When you come to think about it, it could be quite entertaining. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he tells them. I bet they’ll be in a state of high old agitation – if they believe him, of course.” She sat up, looking more normal. “And that’s a good point. They’ll probably take no notice of him, and I’ve done terrible things to my blood pressure quite unnecessarily.”

  Hortense chuckled. “I’m sure you’re right, dear. But why would you leave the kingdom to Gracie? Are you thinking of retiring?”

  “I certainly am.” Queen Bluebell of Wadingburn folded her arms. “I’ve been ruling this kingdom far too long. I’m fed up with all the rules and regulations, and the way that royalty is supposed to behave. All this parading and showing off – a load of nonsense! I want to have some fun before I’m too old to enjoy myself.”

  “Quite right.” Hortense nodded her agreement. “I often feel the same, but what can I do? Dowby’s King of Cockenzie Rood, but he’s always busy with his horses, and Albion’s got the brain of a goldfish. He could never cope on his own. If I thought he could I’d be with you in a flash.”

  Bluebell gave her friend a thoughtful look. “Hm,” she said. “We ought to talk more about this. Have you ever fancied meeting a werewolf?”

  Kesta gave a little scream. “Bluebell! How could you? And what did you mean?” She sounded anxious. “You’re not serious, are you? You’re not really thinking of leaving Wadingburn to Gracie Gillypot?”

  “It was an idea I had, that’s all.” Bluebell sighed. “No more than that … at the moment, anyway. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Gracie’s got far too much sense to want to be bothered with a kingdom. But I was silly enough to mention it to Vincent, and it seems he took me seriously. Oh well. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Let’s have our tea. Even if we’ve been deprived of our chocolate eclairs we’ve still got the muffins.”

  The three women drew closer together, and the conversation became general as the tea and muffins arrived. It was noticeable, however, that Queen Kesta wasn’t her usual chatty self; Hortense had to ask her twice if she wanted sugar in her tea, and she kept dropping things. After the third teaspoon had landed on the carpet Bluebell put down her cup and saucer. “What is it, Kesta?” she asked. “Something’s up, and it’s no good saying it isn’t. I can tell.”

  Kesta went very pink. “Oh,
Bluebell! It … it’s just the thought of you resigning. What would we do without you? You’re so very, very sensible!”

  Bluebell gave an embarrassed cough. “Ahem. Sorry. Muffin went down the wrong way. Nice of you, Kesta m’dear, but nobody’s indispensable.”

  “Kesta’s right,” Hortense said slowly. “You balance us all out. There does seem to be a certain –” she paused while she searched for the right word – “a certain self-satisfaction in the Five Kingdoms. And you challenge that in the most refreshing way.”

  “You mean our fellow Royals are smug and much too pleased with themselves,” Bluebell said.

  “I suppose I do,” Hortense agreed. “What do you think, Kesta?”

  Queen Kesta of Dreghorn had never been a forceful woman. She had brought up a string of daughters, and every daughter had many strong opinions that they never hesitated to inflict on their mother. As a result, Kesta was reluctant to offer a view of her own; she was too used to being shouted down by loud cries of “MA! That’s RIDICULOUS!” She screwed up her forehead in earnest thought, however, and did her best to consider Bluebell’s remark.

  “I’m not really sure,” she said at last. “All I know is that I like things the way they are. I mean, we’re all very comfortable together, aren’t we?”

  Bluebell heaved a gusty sigh. “That, Kesta, dear, is one of the reasons that I’m bored. I do envy the young, don’t you? Just look at what Marcus and Gracie get up to – adventures with trolls, and witches, and all sorts. If I were younger I’d join them like a shot.”

  A look of extreme alarm came over Queen Kesta’s amiable face. “Oh NO, Bluebell! That’s why we have the border! We really, REALLY don’t need to know about horrible things like witches. I do so wish Marcus would leave well alone, and be more like his darling brother. I lie awake at night sometimes, worrying that he’s going to bring something terrible back with him.”

  “You make it sound like measles!” Bluebell gave a loud snort. “Haven’t you ever realized, Kesta, that Marcus has been helping to keep us safe? Him and Gracie.”