“Were you there all the time?” Marcus asked. “I didn’t see you.”
“Waved, but you were too busy squaring up for a fight with His Maj. You need to check out your curtain rails, kid. We Batsters like to keep a close eye on what’s hangin’.”
The sense of injustice overwhelmed Marcus yet again. “He was SO unfair! Gracie’s a million times better than any of us. Why can’t he see that? ‘Not a suitable companion for my son…’ How DARE he?”
Marlon, who had observed King Frank’s purple face and popping eyes with interest, made a sympathetic noise, then added, “Running scared, I’d say.”
Marcus was so shocked at this suggestion that he almost fell out of his saddle. “SCARED?”
“Yup. What does Gracie Gillypot mean to someone like your pa? Life outside the border. And you can do two things about life outside the border. Go and check it out, or keep your peepers firmly shut. Anyone ever talk about werewolves when you were a youngster? Nah. Chat about giants? Never. Mention the fact that there are zombies roamin’ round the forests? Not a chance. Pretend they aren’t there, and you’ve got no worries. But if your kid insists on making friends with someone who lives in those great big scary places – then wooeeee!” Marlon whistled. “You can’t pretend any more, can you? Think about it. Your kid’s girlfriend lives with three weird old women who might or might not be witches and, just occasionally, you wake up in the middle of the night and have a nasty little suspicion that those three old women are keeping the kingdoms safe. What does that do? It makes you feel VERY peculiar. So you turn over in bed and – like I said – keep your peepers tightly shut.”
Marcus rubbed his head. “But … but Gracie’s a Trueheart…”
“Think that makes it any better? Nah.” Marlon shook his head. “Ten times worse.”
“So what do I do?” Marcus asked. “I’ve got to do something. I’m not giving Gracie up, and I’m not going to stop crossing the border either.”
“Your call, kid.” Marlon folded his wings. “I’m just a bat, remember.”
“I think,” Marcus said slowly, “I need to see Gracie and the Ancient Crones. I’ll forget about Vincent for now. But I’d better hurry, or everyone will be tucked up in bed.”
In Dreghorn, Queen Kesta was fast asleep and snoring gently. Her daughters, however, were wide awake and squabbling loudly.
“But WHY, Marigold?” Princess Fedora stamped her foot, and glared at her younger sister. Marigold carefully chose another chocolate from the box Fedora had brought with her to Dreghorn Palace.
“I like strawberry creams best,” she remarked. “Don’t you? All pink and squidgy and sweet.” She giggled. “Like me, Vinnie says.”
Fedora went on glaring. “Don’t change the subject. All we want you to do is to arrive really early at the Celebration Tournament and sit with Marcus and be his – what did you call it, Terty darling?”
Tertius, who had taken himself off to an armchair at the other end of the room, looked up. “Lady Fair, my poppet. Just like you are to me. My chosen one. My darling sweetest pudding—”
“Yes.” Fedora cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. “So that’s what we want you to be, Marigold. Isn’t that right, Nina-Rose?”
Nina-Rose giggled. “You can be Marcus’s pudding.”
“Shan’t.” Marigold licked her fingers and chose another chocolate. “I want to sit with my darling Vinnie. He’s promised to bring a super-dooper picnic. Besides, Marcus is weird. He doesn’t like me. He likes that Gracie Gillypot girl.”
Fedora’s exasperated sigh echoed round the royal sitting room. “Marigold! You haven’t been listening to a word I said! That’s EXACTLY why we want you to sit with Marcus. So the Gillypot girl can’t!”
Nina-Rose nodded. “If you’re there she can’t push her way in, can she?”
“She might.” Marigold ate the last chocolate and sighed. “Did you bring any more? That wasn’t a very big box.”
“It was HUGE, and you’re a greedy pig—” Fedora began, but Nina-Rose elbowed her sharply, and she forced herself to smile. “Erm … suppose we buy you a new dress, Marigold? EVERYBODY will be looking at us, and we’ll be sitting on dear little thrones on a stage.”
Nina-Rose turned and stared at her sister. “On THRONES? On a STAGE?”
Fedora hesitated. She had meant to keep the details of the tournament to herself. It was bad enough having to share the stage with Marigold; if Nina-Rose knew what was planned she would undoubtedly refuse to be left out … even now her eyes were gleaming.
“You can’t sit with us,” she said. “Arry’s not taking part in the tournament.”
“Actually –” Nina-Rose made a mental note to redouble her efforts with the already-wilting Arry – “actually, Fedora, he’s promised that he will.” She crossed her fingers under the table. “He said he was absolutely LONGING for me to be his Lady Fair. So there.”
Marigold sat up. If both her older sisters were going to be on display, the situation was different. “Did you say you’d buy me a new dress?”
“I’m sure Mother will buy us both new dresses,” Nina-Rose said, with a careful eye on Fedora’s frosty expression. “If we’re going to be on a stage she’ll want us to look our very best. I bet you’re having a new dress, aren’t you, Fedora?”
Fedora gave in. She was no match for Nina-Rose. “Darling Terty’s buying me something VERY special.”
Marigold beamed. “OK. If I get a new dress, I’ll sit next to Marcus. Come on, Nina-Rose, let’s go and ask Mother right now.”
“You can’t.” Fedora shook her head, pleased to at least be able to postpone her sister’s triumph. “She’s gone to bed and she’ll be asleep now. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow – and don’t forget, Marigold: you’ve promised! Hasn’t she, Terty?”
Tertius, who had been dozing in his armchair, woke up with a jump. “What was that, my poppet?”
“Marigold’s promised to sit with Marcus at the tournament,” Fedora explained.
“And I’M going to be on the stage as well,” Nina-Rose informed him, “because Arry’s going to play at tournamenting too.”
“Oh, I say – is he really?” Tertius’s forehead wrinkled. “But … but I don’t think he can, actually, Nina-Rose old bean. It’s the sort of thing that’s done in twos, you see. One prince against another.”
The etiquette of tournaments was nothing to Nina-Rose, and she brushed Tertius’s objection aside with a shrug. “You’ll just have to make it work.”
Fedora decided to pour oil on troubled waters. “Darling Terty,” she cooed, “let’s see what happens, shall we? After all, Arry has lots of duties, and they might prevent him from taking part. Now, we’d better be getting home.” And she swept up her husband and propelled him to the door before any further discussion could be had.
Marigold and Nina-Rose, left together, were silent. Both were plotting to take their places centre stage at the tournament: Nina-Rose was determined that Arioso would be a participant, and was planning a relentless campaign; Marigold had seen an opportunity that she had no intention of discussing with her sister. She knew Nina-Rose would never rest until Arioso had agreed to take part, and Tertius had said that that would be a problem … but what if she solved the problem by providing a fourth participant? She didn’t entirely know what happened in a tournament – something like a tug-of-war, perhaps? – but she had no doubt that if Arry was capable of taking part, then Vincent could too.
“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” she decided. “Or – I know! I’ll send a special messenger tonight. But I’ll tell Vinnie to keep it utterly secret, and then Fedora and Nina-Rose can’t interfere. After all, I’ll still be doing what they want me to do – but I won’t get stuck with stupid Marcus.” Delighted with herself, she picked up the box of chocolates and had a thorough search amongst the wrappers in case she had missed something. Finding one last nutty crunch, a variety she particularly disliked, she offered it to Nina-Rose with every appearance of sisterly
sweetness before heading off to find her box of pink frilly-edged and scented notepaper.
Gubble was nearly back at the House when Billy began to stir. The troll stopped to inspect the little bat, and saw he was trembling.
“Cold?” he asked tenderly. “Bat cold?”
Billy opened his eyes. A large green face was peering at him, and a large green mouth was opening wide…
With a faint squeak, Billy flapped his wings in an effort to escape, but he was too tired. He fell back, shut his eyes and waited to be eaten. When nothing happened, he cautiously opened one eye and saw the green face smiling at him.
“See Gracie,” Gubble told him. “Gracie make better.” And he stomped on.
Gracie was in the kitchen putting the kettle on for a hot-water bottle when Gubble came puffing through the door. “Bat,” he announced. “Poorly bat.” And he held out his hand. Gracie, with a cry of pity, took Billy from him. “What happened?” she asked. “Where did you find him?”
“Bat found Gubble.” Gubble pointed at his large and rock-solid stomach. “Wheeee! Thump.”
“Poor little bat.” Gracie smoothed Billy’s fur. “Where does it hurt?”
Billy gave a feeble groan. “Is my head, Miss Gracie.”
Gracie glanced at Gubble’s substantial body. “Your head, Billy? Did you bump it very hard?”
“Was the voice,” Billy whispered. “It told me things, and I had to find the wolf woman, and it was a long, long way … and now my head hurts.”
Her mind whirling, Gracie pulled an old tea towel towards her and made Billy a soft resting place in the corner of a kitchen drawer. “You’re worn out,” she said. “Have a good sleep here tonight, and then you’ll feel better. You’ll be quite safe.”
“No!” The little bat fluttered anxiously. “The witch lady with the eye! It was her, Miss Gracie! She said to tell the wolf woman she was here and I didn’t want to but Mr Alf wouldn’t wake up ’n’ so I had to go … and she said she’d eat me, Miss Gracie!”
“Who did? The wolf woman?” Gracie asked.
“The witch lady!” Billy began to tremble. “The witch lady upstairs!”
“Hush…” Gracie soothed. “You’re with me now, Billy. Don’t worry about it any more.”
Billy lay back in his nest. “If you say so, Miss Gracie…” His eyes closed, and Gracie heard the tiniest of snores. She looked at Gubble.
“Did you see anything, Gubble? What did he mean? What’s Foyce been up to?”
Gubble scratched his head. “Not see nothing,” he said. “Only bat when fetching wood. Ug! Wood! Gubble dropped wood! Bad Gubble. Gubble get.” And he stomped out of the door, slamming it behind him. As this was his usual mode of exit Gracie did not take offence. She returned to the business of the hot-water bottle, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Hello?” she said. “Is that you, Gubble?”
“It’s me,” said a familiar voice, and Marcus walked in, Marlon flying above his head. Gracie stared at them in surprise, and the prince grinned apologetically.
“Hi,” he said. “The back door was wide open, so I came straight through. I’m really sorry it’s so late, but I had to talk to you … and is Edna around?”
“She’s weaving just now,” Gracie said. “Alf’s keeping her company. Marcus – what’s happened?”
Marcus flung himself into a chair. “I’m fed up. Totally, completely and utterly.”
There was the faintest of squeaks from the drawer behind him, and he turned to look. “Is that a bat? It’s not Alf, is it?”
Gracie shook her head. “That’s Billy.”
“Alf’s trainee?” Marcus peered at the little bat. “What’s he doing here? Alf thought he’d gone home.”
Marlon, swinging from his usual spot on the curtain rail, sat up and listened with interest.
“He’s had a shock,” Gracie explained. “He’s not making a whole lot of sense, but he’s been in the forest looking for a wolf woman, and –” she lowered her voice – “I think it was Foyce who sent him out there.”
“Really? Why would she do that? Oh—” Marcus’s eyes began to sparkle. “Hey! Isn’t Foyce’s mother a werewolf? Do you think she’s looking for her?” He leant forward and seized Gracie’s hand. “Weren’t we saying that we wanted to meet a werewolf? Why don’t we go and find her?”
“Find who, dear?” The Ancient One was standing in the doorway.
Marcus swung round. “Foyce’s mother! Gracie thinks Foyce is looking for her—”
Edna put her finger to her lips, and Marcus was silent. The Ancient One glanced over her shoulder, then shut the door behind her. “What makes you think such a thing?”
Gracie pointed at the small sleeping bat. “It was Billy, Auntie Edna. He says he had a voice in his head, and it told him to go and find a wolf woman.”
“And the voice belonged to Foyce.” Edna stated it as a fact, and Gracie nodded.
“He calls her the witch.”
Edna chuckled. “He does, does he?”
“You don’t seem very worried, Auntie,” Gracie said wonderingly. “Isn’t it bad that Foyce is sending messages?”
“I’d be far more worried if she was sending messages to her father,” the Ancient One said. “He’s appalling, and Foyce grew up exactly like him.” A small cough floated down from the curtain rail, and she glanced up. “Quite right, Marlon. She was worse. And as far as I know, Foyce’s mother had a terrible time. Mange Undershaft drove her out of her own house.”
Marcus was listening eagerly. “So could she be the wolf woman?”
“That I can’t tell you.” Edna sat down next to him. “It’s possible. But there are a good many werewolves in the forest.”
“I think we should go and find out,” Marcus said. “It’s not full moon until the day after tomorrow, so we’d be quite safe, wouldn’t we?”
The Ancient One leant back in her chair. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do if you find her?”
Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked embarrassed. “You’re quite right,” he said. “I hadn’t thought it through. Sorry.”
Edna patted his hand. “Dear boy. Werewolves are proud creatures. And sometimes dangerous. You can’t go and peer at them as if they were fish in a tank. If you really want to meet one I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said, and he glanced at Gracie. “Maybe we could ask Bluebell to come too. She’s longing to meet a werewolf. She told Vincent, and he was so shocked that he dashed over to tell Mother and Father.”
Gracie laughed. “Did he? What did they say?”
Marcus began to fiddle with the cups and saucers on the table. “Well … that isn’t quite all he came to tell them. There’s been a bit of a … a fuss.” He picked up a cup, then put it down again. “That’s really … that’s why I’m here.”
“Marcus! Leave my crockery alone, and tell us what’s been going on,” Edna said. “Breaking cups won’t help anything. That’s part of a matching set, I’d have you know.”
“It’s Father,” Marcus began. “He’s being completely idiotic, and saying all kinds of ridiculous things – and I don’t know what to do about it.” He flushed as the day’s events came back to him, and went on in a rush. “It all started because Vincent was in some kind of mad panic about Bluebell and you and Wadingburn, and everyone got all worked up about it – and Father said…” He grabbed Gracie’s hand, and held it tightly. “He said you weren’t to come to the Celebration Tournament, and he said that I needed to learn my place in society and I oughtn’t to leave the Five Kingdoms and –” Marcus gulped loudly – “and I was letting him down by mixing with commoners.” He stopped, put his head on the table and groaned. “I can’t bear it.”
Gracie made a sympathetic noise and moved as if she was going to hug him, but the Ancient One held up a warning hand. “Really, Marcus! Pull yourself together, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. If anyone has anything to bear it’s Gracie, but I don’t see
her moaning and groaning. Of course you feel your father’s being unreasonable – he is – but running away isn’t going to change anything. He’ll never learn to think differently unless you show him how.”
Marcus, gaping like a goldfish, sat up and stared at her. “But—” he began.
“But me no buts! Just behave like the very excellently open-minded prince that you are, and set him an example. Take part in the tournament. Invite Gracie. Make sure that the two of you together show the crowds the way these things ought to be done. If they see Gracie being pushed out of her rightful place, I can tell you here and now that their sympathies won’t be with the royal family.”
There was a silence, followed by a round of applause from the curtain rail. The Ancient One creaked to her feet and curtsied. “Thank you, Marlon.”
Marcus took a deep breath, and stood up. “Yes,” he said, “thank you.” He moved to stand in front of Gracie, and bowed. “Miss Gillypot, might I request your presence at the Centenary Celebration Tournament? And will you take your place as my partner of choice?”
Gracie was blushing, but she looked steadily into Marcus’s eyes as she said, “Thank you. I would be most honoured, and I accept.”
“Phew!” Marcus let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thanks, Gracie.” He straightened his shoulders and grinned at her. “We’ll show them! And now I’d better be going. I’ve stuff to sort out.”
“I’d better get busy as well,” said Edna. “I’ve left Val working on the Web for far too long as it is … and I want to set up the other loom with something special, all ready for the morning. King Horace’s tweed can wait.”
Gracie looked at her in surprise. “But I thought that was an urgent order?”
“Not as urgent as your dress for the tournament, dear,” the Ancient One said, and she opened the door to the corridor to return to Room Seventeen. As she did so Alf came whizzing in, twittering wildly.
The Snarling of Wolves Page 7