“Rack and ruin!” the king roared as he marched into his parlour to see if Queen Mildred would lend him a sympathetic ear. “Rack and ruin! Am I the only sane person left in the Five Kingdoms, Mildred? Whatever next? Revolution and uprising, that’s what it’ll be. You mark my words!”
The queen said nothing, but silently handed him a cup of tea. Marlon, watching from the curtain rail, nudged Alf. “Letting him get it out of his system,” he observed. “Sound move.”
Alf was fidgeting up and down the rail. “Hadn’t we better see how Miss Gracie’s doing?”
Marlon held up a reproving claw. “Need to check out the action,” he explained. “Need to get the full picture before you report back.”
“Me?” Alf asked. “Report?”
“Clear the fluff outta your brain, kid,” his uncle snapped. “We’ve got Gracie in a dungeon, Marcus locked in his room and a king that’s mad as a box of frogs. Gotta report back to the heavy guys, ’n’ that means your pal Bluebell and the crones. Now shut it and listen.”
Rightly judging that Marlon’s irritation was caused by worry, Alf did as he was told.
King Frank had downed his tea in a couple of gulps, and was now consuming cake while Queen Mildred refilled his cup. “Thank you, Mildred. A firm hand – that’s what’s needed. A firm hand. If there’s a firm hand in charge, we may yet restore the Five Kingdoms to the way it was, and always has been. If we can get the celebrations out of the way without any trouble, then we can start again. I’ll get together with Horace and Kesta and Dowby – no, not Dowby. He’ll only talk about horses. We’ll get Hortense, and we’ll bash out a few new rules. That should do it. Everyone to stay inside the border. Nobody in, and nobody out, except by special permission. That’ll be MY permission, of course.” The king stopped to swallow. “Hm. That’s better. Nothing like a nice cup of tea. In the meantime, I’ve made quite certain that the Gillypot girl and that DREADFUL troll can’t cause any more trouble, and we’ll keep Marcus in his room until it’s time for the tournament, however much he shouts about it.” King Frank shook his head. “I have to say, my dear, I was strongly tempted to shut him in the dungeon as well, but he and that Gillypot gal are best kept apart, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Might there be another cup of tea in that pot?”
There was, and the queen poured it out. She had her own opinions about Gracie, but now was not the moment to mention them. Instead, she topped up the teapot with hot water, and handed the king his third slice of fruit cake. He took it without noticing what he was doing, but Queen Mildred saw that he was now leaning back in his chair, and the hectic purple tinge had faded from his cheeks.
“I’m sure you’ll do whatever is right and proper, my dear,” she said soothingly.
The king nodded. “I always try to do my best. Responsibility comes with the crown, you know. Hm! Very fine cake, this. Very fine indeed.” He heaved a massive sigh. “Shame our boys don’t have more of a sense of responsibility.”
The queen was shocked. “Frank! Arry’s always been a perfect model of responsibility!”
“Not any more. Do y’know, he actually tried to tell me Gracie Gillypot shouldn’t be put in a dungeon? He’s fallen under her spell, I’m afraid—” The king suddenly choked on his cake. “Mildred! Do you think that’s it? Witchcraft?”
“No, no, no.” Queen Mildred put a reassuring hand over the king’s. “She’s a perfectly ordinary girl.” Judging that she could risk a little persuasion, she added, “I’ve always found her extremely sensible, as it happens, and I know Hortense thinks the same. Rather a sweet child, in fact. I’m sure she won’t make a fuss when you let her out to watch the tournament.”
“Let her out?” King Frank’s eyebrows shot up. “No, no, Mildred. I’m keeping her safely under lock and key until the celebrations are well and truly over. You can be quite certain of that! Now, let’s have another cup of tea and talk about something much more pleasant. What are you going to wear tomorrow? I’ve found some splendid uniforms for Albion and Vincent, and our boys and Tertius will look magnificent in their armour – and I believe all Kesta’s gals are having brand-new dresses. But what about you, my love?”
Up on the curtain rail Marlon nudged Alf. “Time to go. Report to the House. Fast as you can. I’ll pop down and check on our Gracie.”
Alf nodded. “Sure thing, Unc. Erm … what about Mr Prince? Shouldn’t you see him too? Torn apart from his lady love, ’n’ all?”
“Gotta point there, kid,” Marlon conceded.
“And there’s the other Mr Prince who isn’t our Mr Prince,” Alf went on. “Fighting for our Miss Gracie too, he is.”
Marlon gave his nephew a cold look. “Think I’m past it, kiddo? On my list. Now, scram!”
Alf gave his uncle a cheery claws-up, and made a silent departure through the open window. Marlon, aware that it was more than likely that Marcus’s window would be shut and barred to prevent escape, headed for the fireplace. He was well acquainted with the maze of interconnected chimneys within the palace, and he made no mistakes as he flew through the darkness. Moments later he landed, only a little sooty, on the back of an armchair in Marcus’s room.
“Wotcher, kid. I wouldn’t, if I was you!”
The prince, who was standing by the window holding a large and unflattering bust of King Frank, jumped. “Marlon! Marlon – I’m going mad! I’ve got to get out of here. If I smash the window I think I can swing down onto the wisteria—”
“Nah.” The bat shook his head. “Wouldn’t hold you. End up with a broken arm or leg, and then what good’ll you be?”
“Are you sure?” Marcus swung the bust to and fro in front of the glass.
“Certain. Sorry, kiddo, but you need Plan B.”
Marcus slumped down on the chair. “And that is?”
“Door unlocked.” Marlon waved a wing in the general direction of the outside world. “Any chance your bro can help out?”
“He’s been banned from talking to me,” Marcus said gloomily. “He had to promise, and Arry never breaks his promise.”
Marlon’s eyes brightened. “No need for the old chit-chat. Just slide a key under the door.”
“I wish it was that easy. Father’s got the key in his pocket. Have you seen Gracie? Is she OK?”
“On my way. Gotta message?” Marlon was circling the room as he spoke, looking for any possible alternative escape route. Marcus’s room was in the oldest part of the palace, and the walls and door were substantial; it was unlikely that even Gubble would be able to force an entrance.
Marcus saw what he was doing, and shrugged. “I’ve been over all the walls, tapping and banging. They’re solid as a rock. There’s no way out. Give Gracie my love, and tell her I’m really sorry my father is such an idiot. Tell her I’ll make it out of here somehow, and we’ll get away together.”
“Willco.” Marlon nodded.
“And Marlon–” Marcus was anxious – “can you come back and tell me what she says? I wouldn’t be surprised if she never wants to speak to me again.”
“Sure,” Marlon said. “Be back soon as. Keep your spirits up, kiddo. It ain’t all over ’til the fat lady sings.” And with a flutter of his wings he shot back up the chimney.
Marcus watched him go. A moment later he was kneeling in the fireplace, staring upwards. “Who’s the idiot?” he asked himself. “Me, that’s who. How could I have missed it?” And with a wriggle and a squirm, he began to climb.
“Don’t you think I look absolutely gorgeous in purple?” Princess Marigold was twirling in front of her sisters. It would have been hard for them to have looked less interested, but Marigold was used to their indifference. She twirled nearer, tweaked Nina-Rose’s nose and simultaneously pulled Fedora’s hair. They squealed and looked up, and Marigold beamed at them. “I said, Don’t I look gorgeous?”
Nina-Rose sniffed. “You look like a shiny purple plum. No wonder Vincent likes you so much.”
“I know.” Marigold took the remark as a compliment. “He adore
s me! And tomorrow he’s going to lead the parade into the Celebration Tournament, and I’m going to wave MADLY at him from the front of the stage!”
Fedora glowered. “Actually, little sis, you’re wrong. My darling Terty will be MUCH the most important person there, and as I’m his wife AND the future queen of Niven’s Knowe it’ll be ME at the front of the stage!”
“Just a minute!” Nina-Rose was scowling now. “What about me? I’m going to be queen of Gorebreath, and Gorebreath is MUCH bigger than potty little Niven’s Knowe! And tomorrow Arry’s going to be JUST as important as Tertius.”
“Girls, girls, GIRLS!” Queen Kesta put down her sewing. “You’ll sit in a row, and you’ll all look beautiful – but if you keep on quarrelling you’ll get nasty little frown lines, and then you won’t be pretty at all.”
Marigold stuck out her tongue at her older sisters. “See? So I WILL be at the front of the stage.” She turned to her mother. “Ma – what’s happening about that Gillypot person? Suzy in the kitchen says her boyfriend – whose gran is one of the cooks at Gorebreath – told her she’s in a dungeon!”
Fedora stared at her sister. “Why would anyone put a cook in a dungeon?”
“No, stupid! It was Gracie they put in a dungeon!” Marigold giggled. “And that fat green troll she goes about with is in there too! Suzy says her boyfriend says his gran says he flattened five guards before they got him locked up!”
Nina-Rose began to smile. “Really? Gracie’s in a dungeon? How long for?”
Marigold shrugged. “I don’t know. Suzy says her—”
“That’s enough, Marigold!” Queen Kesta said sharply. “How often have I told you not to gossip with the servants?”
“But Ma – it’s the only way I ever find out anything!” Marigold was indignant. She giggled again. “Suzy says Vincent got ever so drunk the night I asked him to the tournament. She says—”
“That’s enough, I said.” The queen looked flustered. “Poor Vincent! He’s got a lot to cope with at the moment, so you must be very kind to him.”
“Because Bluebell’s gone totally mad, you mean?” Fedora asked.
“Certainly not! She’s done no such thing!” Kesta did her best to sound as if she believed what she was saying, even though she had private doubts. “Wherever did you get an idea like that?”
Fedora hesitated. She had, in fact, overheard the information, but saw no reason why it shouldn’t be true; the coachman had been talking to the footman, and the groom had agreed with them, adding that he’d heard the same story from the postman.
“Everyone’s talking about it,” she said vaguely. “They say she’s gone to be one of those witchy women in the forest outside the border. The ones Gracie lives with.”
Queen Kesta was remembering Bluebell’s behaviour at their little tea party, and her doubts were in no way removed. Unwilling to admit as much to her daughters, she said brightly, “Well! Let’s wait and see, shall we? I’m sure darling Bluebell will be here for the celebrations, whatever she may be up to just now.”
Had Queen Kesta been able to see the Queen of Wadingburn at that precise moment, she would have been appalled. Bluebell was sitting at one of the looms in the House of the Ancient Crones having her very first weaving lesson, and enjoying every minute.
“Very soothing,” she was saying. “A delightful activity! And I can pop back any time I want?”
“Yes, indeed.” Edna straightened a wobbly thread. “I think you’ve got a natural aptitude. That silk will make up into Gracie’s dress for tomorrow, and it’s looking wonderful.”
“And that other loom holds the Web of Power?” Bluebell looked across to where Elsie was working. “What colour is it? I thought it was silver, but I’m not so sure now. Looks a bit patchy, if you don’t mind my mentioning it.”
“Something evil’s stirring,” Elsie told her. “It’s been patchy off and on for quite a while now.”
Bluebell pulled out her lorgnette and peered more closely at the Web. “Can it tell you where the evil is?”
Elsie shook her head. “Sadly, no. Sometimes it’s a long way away, and doesn’t really affect us. We can usually tell if it’s threatening the Five Kingdoms, though.”
“I see.” Bluebell put her lorgnette away. “And are you able to prevent the evil from doing any damage?”
“That depends.” Edna began to tidy away the shuttles of blue silk. “We keep the border as strong as we can, and if it looks like an undesirable is trying to get across we can increase the protective barrier.” She paused, staring down at the loom. “Sometimes I wonder if we do too much.”
“Could do the Five Kingdoms good to meet a few undesirables, I’d say,” Bluebell agreed. “Especially the Royals. Stop them being so terrified. All too easy to be scared of something you’ve never met.”
The Ancient One nodded. “That’s quite right.” She gave the queen a sharp look. “Would you say the spirit of adventure is lacking, generally speaking, amongst the royal families?”
Bluebell began to laugh. She laughed until she was whooping and coughing, and Elsie began to wonder if she was about to have some kind of attack.
“Spirit of adventure?” Bluebell mopped at her eyes. “My dear Edna – I may call you Edna? – there’s more spirit of adventure in the smallest of those little bats than there ever will be in the palaces of the Five Kingdoms. Marcus is the one glorious exception, and his father is doing his level best to crush him. He won’t succeed … but if he’s not careful, he’ll lose the boy entirely.”
“That’s what I thought.” The Ancient One nodded. “Marcus reminds me of his great-grandfather. He used to call in here quite often to talk about this and that.” A reminiscent smile spread across her face. “I remember he liked chocolate cake. I think Marcus does too.”
Mentally readjusting her assessment of the Ancient One’s age, Bluebell smiled. “What boy doesn’t?” she began, but any further thoughts were halted by the sudden arrival of Alf, panting hard and squeaking his news before he had even got through the window.
“… and it’s EVER so dark, Mrs Edna, and we’ve got to get her out!” He landed on the top of the loom, wobbled and fell into Elsie’s lap. “Ooops! Sorry, Mrs Elsie. Bit out of breath.” He fluttered his way back, and waved a wing at Bluebell. “Hi, Mrs Queen! Isn’t it dreadful?”
“Alf!” The Ancient One pointed a gnarled finger at him. “Take a deep breath, and begin at the beginning. We don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“But I told you—” Alf stopped. “I mean, it’s Miss Gracie! She’s in a dungeon! And Gubble is too – and Mr Prince is locked in his room, and his dad is raging mad at them all! And he’s not letting Mr Prince out until tomorrow, and he says he’s not letting Miss Gracie out because it’s all her fault and oh, Mrs Queen, he’s going to make a law so nobody can ever go over the border without his permish .. permish … permission!”
The three old women looked at each other. “I think this is what’s called a crisis,” Bluebell said. “That silly, SILLY man. Oh dear.” She pulled herself up to her feet. “I’d better be going, and see if I can make Frank see sense.”
“Yeah! Mrs Queen to the rescue!” Alf clapped his wings together.
“Just a minute,” Edna said slowly. “Suppose we wait a little longer, and see what happens?”
Alf’s eyes opened wide, but Elsie put her finger to her lips and he was silent.
Bluebell sat down again. “Tell me what you’re thinking, dear.”
“I’m thinking,” the Ancient One said, “that we are very old. And the Web is very old. How much longer can we go on protecting the Five Kingdoms when they behave like this? When they don’t even believe in us?”
“I see.” Bluebell took out her lorgnette, polished it and put it back in her pocket. “Well, apart from poor Gracie being most uncomfortable, I don’t see that waiting for a little while can do any harm.”
“No…” Edna sank back in her chair. “And this needs serious consideration. I might
need to sleep on it … but for the moment, I do believe we should leave the Five Kingdoms alone.”
Alf, outraged, took to his wings and flew an angry circle round the room. “But Mrs Queen! Mrs Edna! You can’t! You can’t not help Miss Gracie!” He saw Elsie’s expression and, suspecting an ally, flew down to her shoulder. “Tell them, Mrs Elsie!”
“Hush, Alf.” The Ancient One was taking the silk off the loom and laying it out on a table. “Don’t let’s rush into anything. For the moment, the most important thing is to get Gracie’s dress made.” And she picked up a pair of scissors with a flourish.
“But Edna, pet, how will she be able to take part in the tournament if she’s shut up in a dungeon?” Elsie wanted to know.
“Tomorrow is another day,” Edna said cheerfully. “And besides, our dear friend the Queen of Wadingburn will be returning in the morning. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Bluebell nodded. “I can take Gracie’s dress with me, if it’s finished.” She raised an eyebrow at the Ancient One. “Unless you were thinking of coming to the tournament yourself?”
Edna shook her head. “I think not. But if you can give the dress to Gracie, that would be most helpful. Now, how would you like to learn how to use a sewing machine?”
“But –” Alf was on the point of bursting – “but – but – how CAN you talk about sewing machines when Miss Gracie’s in a dungeon and Mr Prince is locked away?”
Bluebell gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t fret, Alf. Gracie’s a brave girl, and what’s more, she’s clever. And so is Marcus. Why don’t you have a little rest, and then you can pop back and tell Gracie I’ll be bringing her dress tomorrow.”
“But what am I going to tell Unc?” If bats could turn pale, Alf would have been white.
“You’ll tell him that everything is fine,” the Ancient One said firmly. “Now do as you’re told. Go to sleep.”
It took Marcus until late in the evening to escape from the palace. The chimneys interlinked one with another, and each time he thought he had found an escape route he found himself frustrated, either because the chimney narrowed to such an extent that he was unable to squeeze through, or because he found himself at a dead end. He was considering giving up when he finally came across a flue wide enough to allow him to wriggle his way up to the very top; it was exceptionally sooty, and worryingly warm, but at last he was able to crawl out onto the palace roof.
The Snarling of Wolves Page 14