The Snarling of Wolves

by Vivian French

  Marcus looked at him, baffled. “Who said you were going to have anything to with the tournament? It’s me and Tertius. Oh, and Arry.”

  King Frank was listening with interest, and now he nodded. “Just a minute, Marcus, my boy. You really mustn’t be so selfish, you know. Of course Vincent must be there! All the princes of the Five Kingdoms taking part – that’s the way to do these things. You’ll have to ask Albion just as soon as possible – can’t imagine why you didn’t think of it. His father’ll be delighted. Absolutely delighted. Amazing horseman, King Dowby.”

  It was common knowledge that Albion turned a nasty shade of green if he so much as saw a picture of a pony, but Marcus was wise enough to keep this information to himself. Instead he made a noise that could be taken for agreement, and turned back to Vincent. “What are you doing here, Vinnie? Come with more stories about your grandmother going mad?”

  Vincent stared at him. “Don’t be horrid.” He sniffed, and rubbed his eyes. “My grandmother might have been eaten by werewolves.”

  “What? Bluebell? Eaten by werewolves?” Marcus gave a dismissive snort. “Never.”

  “But she’s missing!” Vincent wailed. “Her pony came back without her and the trap was chopped into little tiny pieces!”

  Marcus, taken aback by this news, looked questioningly at his father, who nodded. “It’s a serious situation, Marcus. You should be more considerate of Vincent’s feelings.”

  “Sorry, Vincent.” Marcus gave his fellow prince a sympathetic slap on the shoulder, but there was an interested gleam in his eyes. “When did she go missing? And which direction did her pony come from?”

  Vincent looked at him in astonishment. “How should I know? I had ever such a bad night and I had to have an extra little sleep this morning – and when I woke up she was gone! And then her pony came back without her, and I jumped in the carriage and I came here.” His lower lip began to tremble. “I was so upset I didn’t even think about bringing a snack with me, and I never, ever go anywhere without a little snack…”

  “Really, Marcus.” King Frank gave a disapproving tut. “You can’t go bothering the poor boy with questions when he’s so anxious about his grandmother.”

  “Sorry again, Vincent,” Marcus said. “Erm … if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just thought of something I must do.”

  His father frowned. “I trust you’re not up to anything foolish. It’s getting late, and it’ll be dark before long.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Don’t worry, Father. See you soon, Vincent…” And leaving his lance propped up against the wall, he hurried out of the room and headed for the stables. It was only as he turned into the stable yard that he remembered that Glee had been left at the House of the Ancient Crones.

  “Blast! What am I going to do now?” He walked down the line of loose boxes to see which other horses or ponies were there, and found Arioso’s pony Hinny looking hopefully at him over her half-door. “Brilliant,” Marcus said. “Fancy going on a little adventure, Hinny?”

  The pony whickered softly, and Marcus grinned. “You don’t get out much, do you? Poor old girl. But today’s your lucky day. There’s a queen gone missing, and I’m going to find her … even if it takes me all night.” He paused, and rubbed his head thoughtfully. “If only Gracie were here. Adventures aren’t the same without her.”

  Hinny wasn’t listening to Marcus. Her ears were twitching, and she was looking eagerly over his shoulder.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked, but it was another moment before he too heard the sound of hooves. Going to the stable door, he saw Gracie riding into the yard on Glee, her blue eyes shining with pleasure as she caught sight of him.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’ve brought Glee back. Erm … are you going somewhere?”

  Marcus caught her as she swung herself off Glee’s saddle, and gave her a quick hug. “You’re just in time! Bluebell’s been knocked out of her trap and gone missing, and Vincent’s in a terrible state, and I was just about to go and look for her – but now you can come too, so it’ll be much more fun.”

  “Oh!” Gracie, her cheeks very pink, looked up at him. “But she’s not lost! She’s having tea with the Ancient Crones – I met her just after her accident. Gubble went with her to show her the way to the House.”

  “Really?” Marcus’s disappointment showed in his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Gracie told him. “I’m very sorry. I did meet two werewolves, though.”

  Marcus brightened. “You did? I wish I’d been there. Hang on a moment while I put Hinny’s saddle away, and then you can tell me all about it.”

  Foyce had been weaving all day. She had been careful not to draw attention to herself; she had noticed the murmured consultations that had resulted from her humming the day before. She was also aware that the Oldest had been upstairs to snoop around her bedroom, but as nothing had been said she assumed that the careful camouflaging of her night-time activities had been successful. Now, as she wove, her mind was whirling. She knew that Marcus was to take part in a tournament at the Centenary Celebration Day, and that Gracie would be present. Crowds from all around the Five Kingdoms would be attending; this, Foyce had already decided, would be the ideal time to strike. Her cold heart beat faster at the thought of Marcus lying bleeding and broken in the dust while Gracie looked on … and perhaps there could be even more carnage? Foyce’s fingers moved faster on the loom in her excitement, and she dropped the shuttle. As she picked it up she was imagining princes and princesses falling in heaps, while the crowd pointed accusing fingers at Gracie. “It’s your fault!” they would howl. “All your fault!” And Gracie would cower away, but still the shouting would go on, and hands would reach out to tear at her silk dress, and bring her screaming to the ground and rip her limb from limb…

  Foyce stopped weaving and stared, unseeing, at the silk on the loom in front of her. She had to be there. It would be no kind of revenge unless she could watch every blow, every taunt. But how? How could it be done?

  The Youngest sighed. “Foyce – you’re not paying attention to your work.”

  With a jolt, Foyce came back from her dream and reluctantly took up the shuttle again. As she did so she became aware of a voice in the distance, and what she heard made her lean towards the loom to conceal her expression as she listened with every part of her being.

  “So tell me about this Web you weave. Keeps the Five Kingdoms safe, you say?”

  Foyce risked a quick glance at Val, but the youngest crone gave no indication of hearing anything out of the ordinary. She was weaving steadily, and the silver sheen of the Web rippled and flowed under her fingers. Several shadows were darkening its gleaming surface, and Val was studying them thoughtfully; it was evident that no word of Bluebell’s had reached her.

  The Ancient One’s reply was not loud enough even for Foyce’s acute hearing, and she bit her lip in annoyance, but then Bluebell’s voice rose again. “So the Web creates a protective wall? My goodness! Clever stuff indeed. Has it ever been broken?”

  Once more the Ancient One’s answer was lost, but from Bluebell’s loud guffaw Foyce guessed that the reply had not been serious. She waited for the next comment.

  “So it protects you and your house as well?”

  Foyce froze. She had always assumed it was the power of the Ancient Crones that held her captive. She had often tried to escape, especially when she first found herself under their guardianship, but every time she had made an attempt she had been defeated. As she drew near to any outside door a feeling of weakness would seize her; her arms would lose strength, her legs would give way and her head would be filled with a mindless buzzing that sent her reeling. But if it was the Web, that was different. Surely it would be possible to—

  “Foyce!” Val had noticed her preoccupation. “You’re not paying attention! Just look at those tangles. It’ll take at least an hour to put that right. I really think you’d better give up for today. Go to your room, and I’ll bring you something to
eat later after I’ve sorted out this mess.”

  Hoping for the opportunity to hear more from Bluebell and the Ancient One, Foyce threw down her shuttle, jumped to her feet and headed for the door. Her hopes of lingering outside the kitchen were, however, frustrated, as she met the Oldest coming to take her turn on the Web.

  “Off to your room, dear?” Elsie asked and, much to Foyce’s annoyance, stayed to watch the girl make her way slowly up the staircase. She continued watching until Foyce had gone into her room and slammed the door behind her.

  “Hm,” Elsie said to herself. “She’s scowling. Is that a good sign or a bad one? Could be either, I’d say. Certainly more her usual style, so maybe it’s good.” And she went to take up her place at the loom in Room Seventeen.

  Foyce, meanwhile, was considering her next move. Should she uncover the hole above the window? The Youngest had promised to bring her supper; would she notice anything if the curtains were drawn, hiding the missing bricks? Foyce thought not. Val had never been as observant as Edna or Elsie, and the curtains were thick and heavy. Even if it was windy outside they would be unlikely to stir. Deciding she was safe, Foyce began to methodically undo her work of the morning. She was careful to make sure no plaster flakes fell on the carpet, and she kept the curtains all but closed in case of a surprise visitation. In no time she was once more breathing in the evening air; as she looked out she could see the evening star twinkling high above her. Something fluttering towards the house caught her eye, and she leant forward to see what it was.

  “The little bat!” she breathed, and as she smiled she showed her sharp pointed teeth. “Billy! Come here! Come here this minute, or you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

  It was Billy’s worst nightmare coming true. Having lost Gracie, he had dithered between flying home or following along the path to see if he could catch up with her, but the speed at which Glee had taken off had made him doubt that he could fly fast enough. In the end he had decided to go back to the House. He knew he would feel safe in the warm kitchen, and he wanted to wait there until Gracie returned – but now Foyce’s cold eyes were staring at him and he was unable to resist her order. Quivering, he flew nearer.

  “Where’s the worm?” Foyce demanded. Seeing Billy’s blank stare she added, “Gracie, stupid! Where is she?”

  “Riding on a pony,” Billy whispered.

  “But where is she? In the forest? I’ll find out, so don’t try telling me lies.”

  Billy was no more capable of lying than of turning pink. “I don’t know,” he quavered. “When the werewolf hit the pony, he ran away.”

  Foyce’s eyes narrowed to slits. “A werewolf? And he hit the pony? Why did he do that?”

  The tiny bat’s mind was so frozen with terror he could find no answer. All he could offer was, “I don’t know. Please – I don’t know nothing…”

  If Foyce had been able to reach Billy she would have crushed him right there and then. As it was she turned away from the window, while she thought about what he had said. Billy, released, made a desperate dash for safety, but before he was out of earshot Foyce summoned him once more.

  “Billy,” she hissed, “if you so much as breathe a word about me I’ll find you, wherever you are, and boil you alive. I’ll grind you to a paste, and feed you to the frogs. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Billy squeaked. “Yes!” Completely overcome, he fluttered helplessly in a downward spiral, whirling round and round until he fell in among the thick leathery leaves of a laurel bush. There he lay still, his eyes closed.

  Foyce drummed her fingers on the windowpane. So … there was a werewolf in the forest, he’d met Gracie and he’d sent her and her pony running … but what did that signify? Evidently he hadn’t fallen under Gracie’s Trueheart spell, and that was pleasing. It also suggested he wasn’t afraid to confront a human, and that pleased her even more. But could it have been the magnificent creature that she had seen the previous night? Somehow she found it hard to imagine him engaging Gracie in conversation … but, certain that he would be coming back to the House very soon, she abandoned that line of thought and concentrated on removing another brick from the wall.

  Marlon had sent Alf after Keel while he followed Jukk. Hovering above the pine trees he had watched him walk deep into the forest and make his way to a cave half hidden by ferns and bracken. Marlon, flying close, had hoped to discover a gathering of werewolf conspirators, but instead he found himself in a bare but serviceable room.

  For a moment Jukk stood in the doorway. He appeared to be staring out into the night, but his eyes were glazed and lacking focus. Marlon shook his head. “Looks mad. Off his head, or been eating dodgy mushrooms.”

  As he watched, Jukk heaved a heavy sigh, and flung himself onto a large couch. In seconds he was fast asleep.

  Marlon flew a swift circle of the room in case he was missing something, but discovered nothing more suspicious than a large collection of bones. Hearing a succession of faint snores coming from the couch, Marlon decided that conspiracy was not on the agenda for the time being.

  “Might as well catch a quick kip while I can.” He yawned, and settled himself on the top of a convenient coat rack. A moment later the werewolf’s snores were echoed by his own.

  Marlon woke to find he was alone. Impressed by the werewolf’s silent exit, he looped swiftly out of the empty cave. Several circles later there was still no sign of Jukk. Feeling faintly guilty for not having stayed awake and alert he headed for the House. There he found Queen Bluebell and the Ancient One deep in conversation in the kitchen. A lot of tea had been drunk, judging by the number of teapots and cups on the table, and as he arrived through the bat flap Edna was pouring out yet another brew while Bluebell expounded her problems.

  “So you see –” the queen waved a teaspoon in the air to make her point more forcefully – “another few years and the Five Kingdoms will be in chaos. All of us older rulers will be gone, and if you added up the combined brain cells of Loobly, Albion, Vincent, Tertius and Arioso you’d probably have enough for a very small guinea pig. And what about Dreghorn? Fedora’s married to Tertius – so does that mean Dreghorn will have to be linked with Niven’s Knowe? Or will one of the other daughters be queen instead? Nina-Rose will be married to Arry by then, heaven help him, so that leaves Marigold – and she can’t see further than the next pair of satin slippers.” Bluebell pulled out her lorgnette and polished it fiercely. “I think we’re coming to the end of the Five Kingdoms. I really do.”

  “But the end of one thing can make room for the beginning of something different,” Edna said. “Change isn’t always a bad thing. It can be … enlivening.”

  Bluebell gave her loud booming laugh. “We could certainly do with a spot of that in the Kingdoms.”

  The Ancient One chuckled. “Maybe change will come about in its own way.” She glanced up at the picture rail. “What do you think, Marlon?”

  Marlon shrugged as he settled himself for a chat. “Qué será, será ’n’ all that jazz.” He scratched his head. “Never quite got the point of kings ’n’ such, excuse me for saying. I mean, how come someone gets to call the shots just ’cos they’ve got a crown?”

  “You’re quite right, Marlon.” The Queen of Wadingburn beamed at him. “It’s a ridiculous idea. Now tell me, who do you think should be in charge of the Five Kingdoms?”

  There was a pause. “Tough ask,” Marlon said at last. “With us bats, it’s the guy –” he saw Bluebell’s expression, and hastily added, “or the gal who’s been around a bit and knows what’s what, and who looks out for the little ones, and doesn’t get big-headed ’cos they’re the big chief.”

  “An excellent summary of the necessary virtues,” Bluebell told him.

  Marlon coughed. “Thought of something else. Gotta listen. Important, that. Not too good at it, myself. At least, that’s what my daughter tells me, and she’s a good girl.”

  “But a willingness to admit to the occasional mistake is also of prime import
ance.” Bluebell clapped her hands. “So – we know what we need. But where will we find such a perfect leader?”

  The Ancient One and Marlon exchanged a glance of complete understanding and agreement. “Looks to me like you, Your Maj,” Marlon said. “And if you can hang on a bit longer, you might get young Marcus and Gracie trained up in time to follow you on.”

  Bluebell looked hopeful. “You don’t think they’d be able to manage now?”

  “Nah.” Marlon was very definite. “Too soon. Too young.”

  “I’m afraid I agree with Marlon,” Edna said.

  “Oh dear,” Bluebell said, and she sounded weary. “Oh dear.”

  The Ancient One heaved herself up from her chair, and came to lay a hand on Bluebell’s shoulder. “You can do it, my dear. And I promise that whenever you need a rest, you’ll be more than welcome to come and stay here. In fact, I think I should offer you a bed for the night tonight – it’s getting very late.”

  “I do feel tired,” the queen agreed, but then a sudden alarming thought made her sit bolt upright. “But what about Vincent? He could be up to anything by now! I should get back—”

  Elsie shook her head. “Gracie will have told them that you’re here. And I’ve had an idea. Why don’t you stay tomorrow, as well? You look as if you could do with a little break. Marlon will take a message, won’t you, Marlon?”

  “Be my pleasure,” Marlon said, and he stretched his wings. “I’ll be offski toute suite, pardon my Italian. Ciao, ladies both!”

  Bluebell and Edna watched as he took a short cut behind the curtains and out through the window. “He’s a character, that one,” Bluebell remarked. “I’m honoured he considers me his friend.”

  “I’m not sure what we’d do without him these days,” Edna told her as she began to clear up the tea things. “His past doesn’t bear a lot of investigation, to be honest, but ever since he met Gracie he’s been on the straight and narrow. Now, would you like a hot water bottle?”