Conducta sniggered. “It was there with her dear little gold pen.” She pulled the pen out of her pocket and gave it a loving pat.
Old Malignancy rumbled approval. “Fetch me a sheet or two of that parchment. Run!”
“What if the king sees her?” Globula asked.
“The king will see nothing.” Old Malignancy was in no doubt, and Conducta ran.
Two minutes later she was back, brandishing several sheets of parchment complete with the royal seal of Niven’s Knowe. “He’s asleep,” she reported. “What did you put in that fruitcake? I pulled his beard, and he never even twitched.”
“Lethargy,” Old Malignancy told her. “Apathy. Eventually Total Oblivion . . . but first I have need of that foolish king’s signature.”
“Oooh!” Conducta sniggered. “Do you want his autograph?”
Old Malignancy glared at her, and she subsided. “Write!” He placed a piece of parchment on the kitchen table and began to dictate. Conducta, her eyes screwed up in concentration and Fedora’s gold pen clenched in her hand, did her best to keep up.
“Stupid.” Globula was hanging over her. “You don’t spell permission like that. It’s got an r in it.”
“Such small niceties are of no matter,” Old Malignancy announced. “Continue!”
As Conducta went on writing, Globula’s eyes opened wider and wider. “You’re going to get them to let zombies back into the Five Kingdoms? And Deep Witches?”
“Nobody will be excluded. Now, I think we are done.” The twins’ great-grandfather picked up the parchment and studied it. “Yes . . . that will do. That will do well.”
Conducta and Globula smirked. “So do we get a treat?” Globula asked.
“No.” Old Malignancy had the air of someone about to make a joke, a joke that only he would enjoy. “I want you, my little cankerettes, to employ yourselves another way. Mercy Grinder has returned. Wash the dishes.”
The twins, outraged, opened their mouths to complain, but they were unable to make a sound. Mercy went back to her chocolate mousse. Conducta slowly picked up a sponge and Globula a tea towel.
“Work, my little cankerettes. Work . . . First work, and then you shall have your reward. I have a task you will enjoy. Make sure the Mousewater leaves the palace. This is no place for her. No place at all, so see she goes. Do it in whichever way it pleases you.”
The words were hardly more than a breath, but the sisters jumped as if they had been stung. Seconds later they were working as they’d never worked in their lives, calculating smiles on both their faces.
Gubble was making slow but steady progress. He had been briefly halted by a stone wall enclosing a vegetable garden, but after taking several short runs at it, he had reduced it to a satisfactory pile of rubble and walked over it. The owner — a small, skinny woman — had come storming out of her cottage followed by her eleven children; once she had actually set eyes on Gubble, she gathered them up like a mother hen protecting her chicks and beat a hasty retreat.
Only the oldest boy was left outside. “Oi! That’s my mum’s wall!” he yelled, but he got no answer as Gubble continued on his way.
The troll stomped heavily through the potato patch, straight through the rickety fence that marked the far side of the garden, and off into the field beyond.
“We’ll see about this!” the boy said to himself. “The kids’ll be running out and getting lost, and who knows what’ll come running in through that gap.” And with a determined look in his eye, he set off after Gubble.
Gubble continued on his way. By the late afternoon, the boy was not alone; another dozen offended property owners were trailing the troll. None of them was brave enough to confront him face-to-face, but there was an increasing sense of solidarity. Their estimates of the damage he had caused were also increasing as each mile passed; an impartial observer would have been astonished to hear that Gubble had not only knocked down a stone wall and a rickety fence but had also destroyed a barn full of best-quality hay, two cottages, a cow barn, and several brand-new pigpens.
“Shouldn’t be allowed,” they told one another. “He must belong to someone, though. If we follow him, we can claim!” The boy kept to himself; every so often he walked close beside Gubble and shouted in his ear, but the troll took no more notice than if he had been a buzzing fly.
With the coming of evening and the onset of a chilly wind, the number of followers began to drop; one by one, they fell away, muttering darkly as they did so. By midnight only the determined boy was left. As Gubble rolled into a ditch in order to take a much-needed rest, the boy marched up to him. “You!” He bent over and stuck his finger into Gubble’s chest. “You broke down my mum’s wall. You’ve got to come back and mend it!”
Gubble was already asleep, but he began to dream he was being tickled. He chuckled before turning on his side and beginning to snore.
The boy tried pulling Gubble’s nose, but a smile crossed the flat green face and the snoring grew louder. “DUH!” The boy stamped his foot in frustration. “Trolls! Well, you needn’t think you’re going to escape. I’m going to wait right here, and wherever you go, I’m going to follow you, so there!” And he found himself a clump of reasonably dry grass, curled himself up like a puppy, and did his best to ignore the steady droning noise coming from the ditch.
Gracie and Marcus had also been overtaken by the coming of darkness. Glee had shown signs of weariness, and Marcus had reluctantly agreed it would be best if they stopped for the night at Gorebreath Palace. Marlon and Alf, always happiest when the stars were out, had already taken themselves off, Marlon to report to the Ancient Crones, and Alf to tell the professor the events of the day. Great-Uncle Alvin was still peacefully asleep.
“We’ll borrow Arry’s pony,” Marcus told Gracie as they led Glee into the Gorebreath Palace stable yard. “Then we can get to Niven’s Knowe really early. If we leave at four in the morning, there’ll be nobody to see us, so we can gallop nonstop!”
Gracie leaned against Glee’s warm and comforting flank. “I think you might be right. What time does the sun come up?”
“Not sure.” Marcus took Glee’s saddle off and began to rub him down with a wisp of straw. “Tell you what . . . why don’t we sleep here in the stable? If we get anywhere near Mother and Father, we’ll end up having to have a formal dinner and they’ll ask all kinds of boring questions. If we stay here, we can get up as soon as it’s light. Glee should have had enough rest by then, and we can take Hinny as well — that’s Arry’s pony — and we’ll get to Niven’s Knowe before anyone’s up and about.”
“Shouldn’t you ask Arry first?” Gracie wanted to know.
Marcus shook his head. “He won’t mind. He’s trying really hard to impress Nina-Rose, and he’s hopeless at riding. He falls off all the time.”
Gracie grinned, and the grin turned into a yawn. “Ooof. I’m tired. Shall I get Glee some oats?”
Between them they settled the pony down for the night. Marcus found a couple of old horse blankets, and Glee whickered softly as he realized he was to have company. Gracie was about to take her blanket into a corner when she remembered Great-Uncle Alvin. She opened Marcus’s saddlebag, and a pair of sharp black eyes peered up at her.
“How are you feeling?” Gracie asked.
“I’ll live.” Alvin crawled out, spread his wings, and flew up to a roof beam. “Heard you talking.” He sniffed. “Didn’t think to ask my opinion, of course.”
“I thought you were still asleep,” Gracie said apologetically.
Alvin sniffed again. “Well, I wasn’t. And I don’t suppose for a moment you’ll be interested, seeing as you know all the answers already, but I could — if I wanted to, of course — tell you where the dragons were stabled.”
There was a respectful silence.
Great-Uncle Alvin enjoyed every second; he closed his eyes and reveled in the experience.
At last Marcus exclaimed, “WOW!”
“You’re amazing, Great-Uncle Alvin,” Grac
ie agreed. “And do you think that’s where the egg might be?”
Alvin opened his eyes. “How should I know? Lumiere hid the egg, didn’t she, and it must have been well hidden or it would have been found long ago.”
“Of course.” Gracie hoped she sounded suitably chastened. “But you’re quite right. The stable’s the best place to start looking.”
The elderly bat nodded. “So we’ll set off at dawn tomorrow. Don’t be late.” And he turned himself upside down and closed his eyes.
Marcus grinned at Gracie as he spread out his blanket on the other side of the stable. “Don’t be late!” he mouthed, and she did her best not to giggle.
“I heard that. I’m a bat.” But Great-Uncle Alvin sounded fond rather than irritable.
Gracie smiled as she tucked herself deep into the hay. “Night-night, Marcus,” she said sleepily.
“Night, Gracie,” Marcus answered, then wondered if he should say anything else. After a moment’s thought he added, “Sweet dreams”— and was immediately wide awake and covered in confusion. What an idiot! he thought. What if she thinks I mean she ought to dream about me? He waited, listening for an answer, but there was nothing but the sound of peaceful breathing. Obscurely disappointed, Marcus wrapped himself in his blanket and shut his eyes.
In the palace of Niven’s Knowe, only Carrion and Old Malignancy were awake. The twins were tucked up in a small attic bedroom, tired out by their first day of work. They had finished washing the piles of pots and pans and then, with infinitely more enthusiasm, proceeded to make Saturday’s life a misery in every way they could. They had upset coal scuttles, knocked over wastepaper baskets, and spilled buckets of soapy water until she was worn out with cleaning up the mess. Now Saturday and Bobby were asleep in their respective rooms, and the three members of the royal family were also, as Saturday would have put it, down for the count. King Horace was snoring in his study, an empty chocolate-mousse bowl clasped in his arms. Princess Fedora was asleep in her beribboned and lace-looped four-poster bed, her Handbook of Palace Management tucked under her pillow. Prince Tertius, who had sneaked back to the dining room as soon as he could escape Fedora’s watchful eye, was comatose under the table with his head on a large tin of cookies. His eyes had become unbearably heavy after he had eaten most of the substantial fish pie that Mercy Grinder had sent up for supper, and he had been unable to move any farther. Fedora had refused to look at the pie and had insisted on having a boiled egg sent up to her private boudoir. The cook had tried to tempt her with more chocolate cake, but the princess had held her Handbook tightly to her chest like a talisman, and Bobby had returned to the kitchen with the cake untouched. This had not gone down well; Mercy had glowered angrily, and Bobby had sidled away as soon as he could.
Now Old Malignancy, his huge white bulk looming pale in the darkness, was moving slowly around the outside of the palace. Carrion was flying above him, giving a running report on what he could see through the windows. “The king’s snoring his head off. . . . So’s the prince. . . . Can’t be comfortable, though. Must be strong stuff in that fish pie to put him out like that! What have we got in the attic? Let’s have a peek . . . well, well, well. Those twins of yours ain’t a pretty sight. Look just as nasty when they’re asleep as when they’ve got their peepers open. . . . Already got a nice little stash of stuff they’ve filched from Her Majesty. . . . Oho! There’s a thing to make your teeth curl! Bobby’s got that Saturday’s hankie in his fist. Can’t see Saturday. . . . She’s got her head under her pillow. Been crying, I’d say. . . . Let’s go down a bit. Here we go. . . . Classy velvet curtains . . . and the princess is snoozing in among her frillies . . . but she’s looking as if she’s in a right ol’ mood.”
Old Malignancy made an impatient gesture as if he was brushing away something irritating. “The king and the prince are full of my food, and tomorrow will be wanting more . . . much, much more . . . and when I make my small and most reasonable request, they will be only too willing to agree. A change in the law will mean nothing to them now, nothing at all. But I see a problem.”
Carrion flew down and perched on a statue. “A problem? Nah! What problem?”
Old Malignancy shrugged, and his enormous body rippled from head to foot. “To alter the laws of the Five Kingdoms, three royal signatures are needed — three at the least. King Horace’s will be one. Prince Tertius’s two. But Princess Fedora is different. Very different. She has a will of steel. How can I break her, Carrion? And that weak and watery prince does all she tells him.”
After giving the back of his neck a good scratch, the crow suggested, “Chocolates. Not cake. Chocolates. What you might call the classy sort. And not a lot. Just a few. All elegant, like. A present from the prince to his lady. You’ll have to make ’em strong stuff, mind.”
“Chocolates . . .” Old Malignancy considered the suggestion. “Carrion, you have a dark and devious mind.”
Carrion gave a delighted squawk. “That’s me, boss. Now, if you’re done for the night, I needs my shut-eye. Nice collection of trees down there in the park. Suit me nicely. Give me a chance to see if anyone’s sneaking in the back way, too.”
“Go.” Old Malignancy was already deep in thought as he waved the crow away. “A hazelnut enrobed in a thick dark casing of richest chocolate, perhaps . . . or a delicate cream imbued with the scent of fresh pink roses . . . or maybe subtle violets . . .” And he moved smoothly back to the kitchen, making no sound.
In the House of the Ancient Crones, the night was very long. In room seventeen the Ancient One was crouched over the web of power, and the Oldest sat beside her. They did not speak; it was taking all their concentration and skill to keep the silver threads from knotting and twisting and breaking.
When Marlon flew into the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, the Youngest gave him a warning glance. “Don’t bother them. There’s trouble; I didn’t go home last night. Looks like some kind of terrible evil has sneaked in through the borders, but we can’t tell what or where. Edna and Elsie are only just managing to keep the web flowing. What’s your news?”
Marlon gave a brief account of Great-Uncle Alvin’s revelations and Gracie and Marcus’s plans.
Val sighed. “Doesn’t sound good to me.”
Ever the optimist, Marlon waved a cheery wing. “The kid’s a Trueheart.”
Val gave him a disapproving look. “So she is. But she’s also looking for something every evil thing is going to want, and the web’s telling us some horrible character or other’s already inside the kingdoms. Let’s just hope Gracie’s not heading into danger.”
Marlon waved the other wing. “Danger-schmanger. She’s got her uncle Marlon to keep an eye on her. No worries! All the same . . .” He hesitated.
“Yes?” Val prompted.
“Gotta go. Marlon Batster, ever the open eye. Ciao!” And he was gone.
The dawn light was still thin and gray when Great- Uncle Alvin took it upon himself to wake Marcus and Gracie. He woke Gracie first, and she sat up as he fluttered across to Marcus, who came to with a start and was on his feet almost before his eyes were open.
“I’ll saddle Glee,” he said. “You go and meet Hinny. You’ll get on ever so well with her — she’s just like a rocking horse. Arry used to fall off all the time, but now he hardly ever does. She’s in the loose box next door. Oh, and have a look in the cupboard on the wall. There’ll be apples and carrots in there — but don’t give them all to Hinny. I’m starving, and I bet you are too!”
Gracie, who was so hungry her stomach kept rumbling, treated him to one of her sunniest smiles and went to look. There were indeed apples and carrots, and after making Hinny’s acquaintance, Gracie helped herself. She took a handful back to Marcus and Glee, and the three of them munched companionably while Marcus finished saddling the pony.
“That’s better,” Marcus said as he gave Glee his apple cores. “I’ll get Hinny ready, and we’ll be off.”
Ten minutes later, they were riding the poni
es out of the stable yard and into the early morning, guiding them away from the cobbles and onto the soft grassy verge, where their hooves would make no sound. A mist hung over the fields, and Gracie became very aware of the silence. Even the birds were still asleep; when Hinny tossed her head and whinnied, it made Gracie jump. “Oh!” she said, and then, “Marcus! Have you seen Great-Uncle Alvin since he woke you up?”
Marcus shook his head. “I thought he was with you.”
Gracie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no! How could we? We’ve forgotten him —”
“Nice to know you’re thinking of me at last,” said a sarcastic voice. The bat emerged, ruffled, from the saddlebag and landed on Gracie’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” Gracie said in heartfelt tones. “I think it’s because it’s so early.”
“Hmph,” Alvin said. But he stayed on Gracie’s shoulder, and as they turned out of the palace gates and set off toward the road to Niven’s Knowe, he was still there. A moment later Glee broke into a canter, and Hinny followed suit; Gracie took a sharp breath, but she soon began to enjoy herself. They covered the miles steadily without pushing the ponies too hard, and it was still early when they reached Niven’s Knowe.
Marcus pulled Glee to a walk and gave Gracie an inquiring look. “Shall we head straight for the palace? It’s not far from here. If we ride across the grounds instead of going up the drive, we should be able to get reasonably near without being seen.”
Gracie nodded. “Let’s hope everyone’s still asleep.”
Great-Uncle Alvin gave a small gusty sigh. “If I was the smart young bat I once was, I’d fly over and check for you. Where’s Marlon when you need him? Or young Alf ? Nowhere to be seen. Typical. Only the aged still on duty —”
“Complaining again, Unc? Alf Batster, present and correct!” The small bat wheeled around their heads, making sure he was well out of his great-uncle’s reach. “Want the palace checked? I’m your bat! Safety report coming up ASAP!” He waved cheerily and zoomed off in the direction of the palace — only to reappear a moment later. “Forgot to say. Prof sends his best wishes ’n’ says you’re to be careful. Says if you find the Thing We’re Looking For”— Alf attempted to wink, shut both eyes by mistake, and saved himself from a crash landing by a whisker —“you’re to take it to the House of the Ancient Crones. He’ll meet you there. See ya!” And he was off again.
The Flight of Dragons Page 10