Evangeline’s little toe was now excruciating. All the same, she extended an unwilling hand and said as gracefully as she was able, “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Hangnail!”
The visitor stared at her with beady little eyes, and the strangely sinuous animal draped around her neck lifted its head and stared too. “Deep or Shallow?” the witch croaked.
Mrs. Cringe took her elderly relation by the arm. “I told you, Grandma. There aren’t any Deep Witches in the Five Kingdoms.”
Truda Hangnail gave a laugh like knives scraping steel. “There’s no fun in that,” she sneered. “You can’t turn princes into toads with Shallow Magic. How d’you put red-hot nails in a milkmaid’s shoes? And how d’you scare folk into giving you plump young chickens and apple pies and bowls of eggs and dishes of cream?”
“Actually, Mrs. Hangnail,” the Grand High Witch said haughtily, “we are respected members of our community.”
Mrs. Prag looked smug. “We’ve all been invited to Queen Bluebell’s eightieth-birthday party to hear the Declaration.”
“It’s a Declaration Ball, Vera,” Mrs. Vibble corrected her. “Do get it right.”
“So exciting!” Ms. Scurrilous beamed with pleasure. “We’ll be among the very first to know who she’s chosen as her successor!”
Truda stiffened like a fox who has seen a foolish young rabbit. Even her nose sharpened. “Successor?”
Ms. Scurrilous heaved a romantic sigh. “So sad. Her daughter ran away, and there’s only a grandson. And of course we don’t have kings in Wadingburn, so it’s been a terrible worry.”
“Serves the old bag right,” Truda snapped.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Hangnail!” Evangeline’s voice rose several octaves. “You are speaking of our beloved monarch!”
“Oooh—beg your pardon, I’m sure.” The old witch bobbed a sarcastic curtsy. “So what else do you do, besides visiting royalty?”
Mrs. Vibble bridled. “We offer charms and soothing cures for the afflicted.”
“That’s right,” Ms. Scurrilous added. “And we get paid for our work without frightening anyone.”
“YAH!” Truda stuck out her long green tongue. “Mimsy-whimsy sort of stuff. Cough drops and love potions as well, I’ll be bound.” She hobbled toward the bubbling cauldron and peered inside. “Just as I thought. Moldy mushrooms, shriveled spiders’ legs, chicken soup, and nail clippings. Call yourselves witches? Spineless old hags is what you are! Now, let me see . . .” She began to fish in the pockets of her shabby old cloak, then pulled out a tattered cloth bag. “Frog bones, bat bones, rat bones, cat bones . . . How about a few dragon bones to begin with? Nicely ground into dust, of course.”
Mrs. Prag grabbed Evangeline’s arm. “What’s she doing?” she hissed. “Stop her! Dragon bones are illegal!”
Evangeline swallowed hard. As Grand High Witch of Wadingburn, voted into the post by every witch in the kingdom, she knew she should take command. She should order this terrible old hag to go, scat, vamoose, and refuse to take no for an answer. But there had been something in Truda Hangnail’s eyes that was making Evangeline feel oddly indecisive.
“Erm . . .” she began. “We don’t usually use those kinds of ingredients.”
“You don’t, eh?” Truda sneered. “Well, could be it’s time you did. I’m thinking we could have some fun and games in this cozy little kingdom of yours. I’m thinking we could make it a tad more exciting. Could just be I’ve found something worth staying for!” She gave an evil cackle, opened the bag, and tossed a handful of gray dust into the cauldron.
What happens when a lonely troll king decides he’d like a princess of his very own?
The Heart of Glass
The Third Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Silence!” King Thab waved an imperious arm. “Write, Spittle.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.” The goblin’s pencil squeaked furiously on the slate. “Erm . . . how about, ‘Thab, King of All Trolls, pre-sents his compliments to Master Amplethumb, and is delighted and ekstatik’ ”— Spittle paused and crossed the last word out —“ ‘Is delighted and happy to agree to his request for assistance in the matter of extracting gold from the valleys of Flailing. Thab, King of All Trolls, is willing to offer . . .’” Spittle paused again and put down his pencil. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but how many trolls will you be sending?”
Thab turned to the dwarf. “How many? He ask.”
“One or two would be sufficient, sir,” the dwarf told him, “trolls being that much bigger than us dwarves. And stronger,” he added with a sideways glance at Mullius.
“That’s right. That was in Master Amplethumb’s letter, Your Majesty.” The goblin picked up the parchment. “Erm . . . here we are. ‘The pressures upon us are immense owing to the forthcoming wedding in the Kingdom of Dreghorn. All our able-bodied dwarves are already actively employed in the extraction of gold, but I fear the order will not be ready in time unless you are able to assist us. One, or at most two, of your strongest trolls would be invaluable.’”
The king nodded. “Yes. Write, ‘Agree. One troll. One troll to dig.’”
Spittle’s pencil began to squeak again.
He put down his pencil, but the king snatched it up and thrust it back into his hand. “Write more, Spittle. Exchange! Payment! Write, ‘Troll dig for dwarves. Exchange pretty princess.’ Pretty for me — for King Thab!” Exhausted by this effort, the king lay back in his throne and closed his eyes, thus missing the expression of total horror on the dwarf’s face.
Spittle gave a sly chuckle and went on: “‘In exchange for this act of generosity, King Thab will expect delivery of a princess —’”
“Pretty!” interrupted the king without opening his eyes.
“So sorry, Your Majesty. I was about to add that requirement. ‘One PRETTY princess, to keep His Most Royal Majesty company.’”
Bestius stood first on one foot, then on the other, as Spittle went on writing. How could he promise a princess in return for a troll? “Your Majesty,” he began, “there . . . there might be a bit of a problem.”
The king of the trolls frowned. “No problem. No. No pretty, no troll.”
“Ah.” Bestius pulled at his beard. Judging by King Thab’s expression, the matter was best left alone for the moment. He made a decision. Master Amplethumb had asked for a troll; Master Amplethumb could solve any ensuing difficulties. Bowing, he said, “Agreed.”
Vivian French began her writing career after many years of acting and storytelling. Writing across genres and age groups, she has published dozens of highly acclaimed books for children, including the other books in the Tales of the Five Kingdoms series. Vivian French lives in Scotland.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2010 by Vivian French
Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Ross Collins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U. S. electronic edition 2011
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
French, Vivian.
The flight of dragons : the fourth tale from the five kingdoms / Vivian French ; [illustrations by Ross Collins]. — 1st U.S. ed.
p.cm.
(Tales from the five kingdoms)
Summary: On Gracie Gillypot’s birthday, greedy, chocolate-hungry twins awaken the banished Old Malignant One, and unless Gracie can find a powerful, long-forgotten dragon’s egg, the Five Kingdoms may succumb to evil magic and Total Oblivion.
ISBN 978-0-7636-5083-4 (hardcover)
[1. Fairy tales.] — I. Collins, Ross, ill. II. Title. III. Series.
PZ8.F897Fli 2011
[Fic]—dc22 2010040130
ISBN 978-0-7636-5465-8 (electronic)
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