The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  Gracie was just wondering whether to mention the possibility of werewolves, when Gubble stepped forward. “Wolfies.” He nodded. “Lots of wolfies.”

  “Wolves, you say?” The queen of Wadingburn’s smile widened. “Don’t tell me they’re werewolves! I’ve always fancied meeting a werewolf. I’ve heard they can be splendid company. Best avoided at full moon, of course.”

  “Ug.” Gubble pointed upwards. “Big moon soon.”

  Billy, who had been listening and watching wide-eyed, gave a sudden twitch. “Badness,” he whispered.

  “Sssh,” Gracie soothed. “You’re safe with me.”

  “Gubble keep Gracie safe.” Gubble frowned up at Billy as if the tiny bat had threatened to usurp his position.

  “So you do,” Gracie agreed, “but maybe you could keep Queen Bluebell safe instead? Could you show her the way to the House?” She turned to Bluebell. “It’s not always easy to find. There’s a thick green mist that comes down; King Horace’s messenger wandered about for ages and ages, and ended up in the Relentless Thorns. We had to make him a new pair of trousers by way of compensation.”

  “But what about you, dear?” Bluebell asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Gracie assured her. “I’m more than used to the journey, and Gubble will catch up with me later.”

  Bluebell was puzzled. “But will he be able to? Isn’t he – please forgive me, Mr Gubble – rather slower than your pony?”

  Gracie chuckled. “Not the way he goes. Gubble’s a great believer in travelling in a straight line. He’s been known to walk through a brick wall if it happens to be in his way.”

  Gubble was still considering Gracie’s suggestion. “Ug,” he said at last. “Gubble take queen.”

  “I’m extremely grateful,” Bluebell told him, and she tucked his arm through hers. “We’ll have a good chat as we go. I expect you know all about the forest, don’t you, Mr Gubble?”

  It was all Gracie could do not to burst out laughing as the queen and the troll set off up the path together arm in arm.

  “Don’t they look funny?” she said, but Billy didn’t answer. He was listening; his acute hearing had picked up the sound of stealthy footsteps in the undergrowth bordering the path. As the pony made its way onwards towards Gorebreath the footsteps kept pace; when Glee trotted, they went faster too.

  “Miss Gracie,” he whispered, “something’s following us.”

  Gracie’s heart beat faster, but her hands were steady on the reins, and no one watching would have noticed any alteration in her expression. “Would you be able to go and see who or what it is?” she asked softly.

  Billy nodded, and a moment later he was circling over Gracie’s head. Remembering his Super Spotter instructions he did not immediately fly in the direction of the follower; he gradually widened his circle and then, as if on some casual quest of his own, dropped in-between the trees.

  A moment later he was back, quivering with excitement. “Miss Gracie! Miss Gracie! It’s the wolf woman!”

  There was an instant whirl of conflicting thoughts in Gracie’s mind. Should she stop? she wondered. Could it be a trap? After all, wasn’t this the woman Foyce had sent Billy to find? And there had been howling outside the House the night before … and Alf had seen not just one, but two werewolves. But he’d said they were male…

  Gracie made up her mind. She pulled Glee to a halt, and looked into the shadowy depths of the Less Enchanted Forest. “Please don’t be frightened,” she called. “And please come out, whoever you are. I won’t hurt you.”

  For a long minute nothing happened. Gracie found her hands were sweating and her mouth was dry, but she made herself look calmly about her. At last the bushes parted, and the tall thin figure of a woman stepped cautiously out. She stared at Gracie, and Gracie looked back at her, her fear fading.

  I’m sure she’s a werewolf, she thought, but she looks as if she’s more frightened of me than I am of her. Holding out her hand, Gracie introduced herself. “Hello … I’m Gracie Gillypot. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

  Agony Clawbone continued to stare, and made no attempt to take Gracie’s hand, or to answer. Just as Gracie was beginning to wonder if she should introduce herself again, Agony moved nearer. She put a thin bony hand on Glee’s neck and peered up into Gracie’s face as if searching for some recognizable feature.

  “You were never called Foyce, child?” she asked, and there was such longing in her voice that Gracie’s heart ached for her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But no.”

  Agony gave a long weary sigh. “Oh.”

  Gracie hesitated. “I do know Foyce,” she said. “She … she lives in the same house as I do. The House of the Ancient Crones.”

  “What?” Agony went rigid. “You both live there? And who else? What others are there?”

  “It’s just me and Foyce and the crones,” Gracie told her. “And Gubble, of course. He’s a troll – oh, oh – please don’t do that!” The wolf woman was pulling at her own hair with a terrible ferocity. “What do you want to know? If I can help you, I will – I promise!”

  Agony stopped, and once more stared at Gracie as if committing each and every feature of her face to memory. Then she said, “I believe you. You are good, and there is no evil in you. I can see that. Gracie Gillypot, I need to know the truth.”

  “If I know the truth, I’ll tell you,” Gracie promised.

  “Then –” Agony came even closer, so that Gracie could see the deep lines etched on her face, and the purple hollows beneath her eyes – “put me out of my misery. Is Foyce a prisoner in the House?”

  “Yes,” Gracie said.

  “Has she done much wrong?”

  Gracie took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Agony Clawbone dropped her gaze and stared at the ground. “Keel – my brother – told me there was a prisoner in the House, but he said she is fair, and beautiful, and good. He said she has a voice that twists cords around a man’s heart, and he loves her, but that she is not for him. He said she is kept prisoner by enchantment and sorcery, but –” Agony’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Gracie had to strain to hear her – “but I do not believe him. If the girl is good, why would she be kept prisoner by the Ancient Crones? That is not their way. So it seemed to me that she must be evil, but I hoped – oh, how much I hoped! – that it was not Foyce. Surely, I told myself, it was some other girl, some girl who had learned dark wicked ways to trap a listener with poisoned words. Not Foyce. Not my daughter—”

  “Your daughter?” Gracie looked at the wolf woman in wonder. “Foyce is your daughter?”

  Agony began to pace up and down the narrow path. “Her father was Mange Undershaft, an evil, evil man.”

  “Yes. I know…” Gracie stopped. What else could she say? That Mange was her stepfather and had made her life miserable from the very first moment he had set eyes on her as a small child? That he and Foyce had starved her and bullied her and humiliated her in every way they could? That until she met the Ancient Crones, she had never known love and kindness?

  The wolf woman had an animal’s instinct for suffering, and she read a little of Gracie’s unhappiness in her face. “I see,” she said. “You and I – we know him for what he is. The thought of his return makes us both tremble.”

  Gracie shook her head. “Oh no. He won’t be coming back. He’s the servant of the Lady Lamorna now – and she’ll never let him go.” She gave Agony a rueful smile. “Besides, one of his feet is enclosed in an enormous block of stone, so he can’t exactly go anywhere.”

  “Is this true?” The bushes had been pushed aside, and to Gracie’s astonishment another figure stepped out. “You speak of Mange Undershaft? You say he is imprisoned? Will you swear it?”

  Before Gracie could answer Agony spoke for her. “Can’t you see, Keel? She doesn’t need to swear. The truth is in her face.”

  “Wait!” Keel was staring at Gracie. “I saw you at the House of the Ancient Crones.”

&
nbsp; “That’s right.” Gracie was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Keel had come closer than she liked, and there was a strange glazed look in his eyes as if he was only half aware of what he was doing and saying. Had Gracie been able to see Jukk, she would have observed the same expression; such was Foyce’s power of enchantment.

  Glee, who had been standing peacefully while Gracie spoke with Agony, grew suddenly restive, pawing at the ground and shaking his head. Gracie put a hand on his neck to calm him, even though she was nervous too. She could tell that Keel was a wolf man … but what did he want? Was he planning to rescue Foyce?

  She turned to Agony. “I’m very sorry to have given you bad news, but the Ancient Crones will look after Foyce. They really will! They look after everyone…”

  Agony was playing with Glee’s mane, twisting and turning a lock of hair. “Will you take her a message?”

  “No!” It was Keel. “There will be no messages.” He was scowling at Gracie. “You have met my cousin. What you do not know is that she has disgraced us. Whoever you are, you will not go to the crones on her behalf. The House is forbidden to her as it is to me. Jukk has spoken, and we must obey. Come, Agony.” He seized Agony’s arm, but before he pulled her away he gave Glee a stinging slap. The pony, already jittery, set off at a gallop and Gracie, taken entirely by surprise, was forced to grab his mane and hang on for all she was worth. It was several minutes before she could bring the pony back to a trot, and by that time any hope she might have had of finding Agony again was gone.

  “Wow!” she said. “What did you make of that, Billy?”

  There was no answer. Billy was not on her shoulder, and neither was he flying above her. It was Alf who circled down and landed on her shoulder.

  “Afternoon, Miss Gracie!” He gave her an admiring look. “You didn’t half travel when that wolf man hit the pony. I could only just keep up with you – and they call me the Super Speedster!”

  Gracie shook her head. “I just hung on to poor Glee’s mane and hoped for the best. Alf, Billy’s gone missing again. I think he must have got left behind when Glee bolted.”

  “Too small for speed,” Alf said. “He’ll catch up.”

  “Did you see the wolf people?” Gracie asked. She shivered. “The wolf man – I think his name was Keel – he was weird. His eyes were … I can’t explain it. As if he wasn’t quite awake.”

  “Certainly did.” Alf puffed out his chest. “Me and Unc, we searched the woods until we found the werewolves that went running away from the House last night. Unc followed the big one, but I’ve been on the tail of that one all day.” He glanced over his shoulder as if werewolves might still be watching, and lowered his voice. “He was following the lady one, and she was following you, Miss Gracie.”

  “She’s called Agony, and she’s Foyce’s mother,” Gracie told him. “She wanted me to take Foyce a message, but she never said what it was. She was very sad, Alf. I do wish I could help her…”

  Alf gave her a fond look. “That’s ’cos you’re a Trueheart, Miss Gracie. But you’re right about her cousin. Weird as weird can be. I heard him telling her she couldn’t send a message. He’s a nasty piece of work, if you ask me.”

  Gracie was looking thoughtful. “But one thing was good. He said he wasn’t allowed to go to the House, and nobody else was either … so it doesn’t sound as if they’re thinking of trying to rescue Foyce. He said someone called Jukk had ordered them not to. Is he the other one you saw?”

  “Big guy,” Alf agreed. “He’s the leader. Unc’s on his trail right now, seeing what he gets up to. Sometimes he’s got two legs, then woop! he’s covered in fur and running on four.”

  “I feel so sorry for poor Agony.” Gracie sighed. “But maybe she and Foyce can get together after the aunties have cleared the evil away… I’ll talk to Auntie Edna about it when I get home. But now we’d better get on to Gorebreath – unless you think we should go and look for Billy?”

  Alf stretched his wings. “Leave it to me, Miss Gracie. I’ll take a turn, find the kid and be back before you know it. I’ll be there to see you rush into Mr Prince’s arms, no worries.”

  Gracie decided to ignore this remark. “Thank you, Alf. I’ll see you soon.”

  And as Alf soared up into the late-afternoon sky, she urged Glee forward in a steady trot.

  King Frank of Gorebreath had called out the army for an evening inspection. He was distressed to see how few of them there were. There had never been any wars in the Five Kingdoms; although there were guards, and a small platoon of soldiers who spent their time sitting around in the guardroom at the end of the palace drive, when you put them all together they were less than impressive – especially if you were worrying about the defence of the kingdom. Vincent, red in the face and puffing hard, had arrived from Wadingburn with the shocking news that Queen Bluebell had driven away from her palace without telling anyone where she was going, and that the pony had returned without her. What was worse, it had arrived dragging the larger part of an extremely battered trap.

  “She’s been kidnapped!” Vincent had announced. “Kidnapped by werewolves!”

  King Frank was of the private opinion that any werewolf attempting to kidnap Bluebell would soon discover the error of its ways, but he had not said as much. He had told Queen Mildred to calm Vincent down, and gone outside to consider the situation. There was every possibility that she would come striding home unharmed; driving accidents were by no means rare in the kingdom of Wadingburn, and Bluebell was well known to be an enthusiastic but erratic horsewoman. There was also no proof that she had crossed the border; Vincent had not thought to check if she had been seen by any of the border guards, but … then again, what if she had? Strange and dangerous things lurked on the other side of the border; things that might be stirred into action by the arrival of a queen. What better hostage could there be than a reigning monarch from the Five Kingdoms?

  It was this thought that had sent the king of Gorebreath out to check his own security arrangements.

  “Preparing for the celebrations, are we, Your Majesty?” enquired a large and grizzled sergeant major.

  “Erm … yes. Are you sure there aren’t any more of you?” King Frank stared at the massed ranks of fewer than a hundred. The buttons were shiny, and the boots well polished, but the general impression was more fancy dress than serious intent to do damage.

  The sergeant major leapt to attention and executed a smart salute. “No, sir! All present and correct, sir!”

  “Ah.” The king stroked his chin. “But I expect you’ve a number of new recruits somewhere, Sergeant. Lots of healthy strapping boys in training?”

  The sergeant major bristled. “No need for that, Your Majesty. No need at all. Good lads, these. Do their duty every day.” He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the king. “There’s no cause for complaint, I hope, sir?”

  King Frank was taken aback, but also reassured. A man who stood up to a king was surely capable of defending a kingdom. He did his best to look as if he was in command of the situation. “No, no, Sergeant Major. I have every faith in you. Every faith. I’m sure the – er – lads are splendid chaps.” He paused. “You’d say the border was well protected, wouldn’t you?”

  The sergeant major relaxed. So THAT was what it was all about. Yet another stupid rumour about zombies, or dragons, or witches. It happened all the time, and he was used to ignoring such things. He and his troops had had many cheery discussions about the foolishness of the royal families, and their fond belief that the border was kept safe by guards. The military knew better. They had seen for themselves what happened when a geographically confused zombie hit the force field of the Web surrounding the Five Kingdoms; their role was simply to pick up the pieces and leave them in a safe spot where the owner could reassemble himself once the shock had worn off. Where the force field came from was of no interest; it worked, and the guards were grateful. They could happily play cards, or knit socks, or pop elsewhere to visit a friend witho
ut a care in the world. This was not, however, something that they advertised. If royalty chose to pay them a respectable salary for guarding the kingdom and marching up and down from time to time, who were they to query a mutually satisfactory arrangement?

  The sergeant major gave the anxious king a comforting pat on the back. “No worries at all, Your Majesty. Safe as houses. Guards on duty night and day.”

  “Excellent. Good show. Keep it up!” King Frank nodded, and went back to the palace to see if there was any news of Bluebell. No messages had arrived, and he made his way to his private parlour, where he found Vincent sitting with Queen Mildred.

  It was an indication of the prince’s state of mind that the piece of cake in front of him was quite untouched. He looked up as the king came in, his face even paler than usual. “Has she been eaten?”

  “What? Eaten? Certainly not!” King Frank sounded more confident than he felt. “She’ll come rolling in, full of beans as usual. Just you wait and see.”

  Vincent was not convinced. “But what if she doesn’t? What’ll happen to the kingdom? Loobly doesn’t want to be queen; she told Grandmother so. And –” Vincent’s face crumpled, and for a moment he stopped looking pompous and turned into a little boy who had lost his way – “I don’t know how to be a king. Would Marcus do it for me, do you think?”

  “Do what?” Marcus, carrying a long wooden lance, swung into the room. “I say, Father! This lance is ANCIENT! Haven’t we got anything better? I’ll never knock Tertius off his horse with this.”

  There was a loud wail from Vincent. “The tournament! I’d forgotten all about the horrid tournament! What am I going to do? Grandmother promised I wouldn’t have to play! She said she’d arrange for me to walk in front of you and Arry instead – but she’s not here any more, so what am I going to say to Marigold? I can’t ride a horse! I can’t wave a spear!”