“I will take your gold,” she said graciously. “Perhaps now I will consider letting you go after thirty years — or, then again, perhaps not.” She climbed back on her donkey, the box under her arm. “Come! We will celebrate our new arrangement with cakes and wine!” She did not think it worth mentioning that it would be she who did the celebrating, while Mange fetched and carried.
And Mange Undershaft was unable to refuse. Despite all attempts to stay exactly where he was, his body took not the slightest notice of his wishes. He found himself following the sorceress obediently as she rode slowly away.
As the sun rolled on around the sky, Gracie and Marcus ran. And ran. The shadows were lengthening when Marlon reported that Foyce was once again in sight. He landed on Marcus’s shoulder, and Gracie saw that he was exhausted. His eyes were dull and his fur was matted, and he was panting hard.
“Been a long day,” Marlon apologized when he saw her looking. “And sunshine. Doesn’t do the eyes no good.”
“Is she coming fast?” Gracie asked.
Marlon didn’t answer. He was clinging to Marcus’s jacket and already asleep.
“Do you know the way, Gracie?” Marcus gasped.
“Tell you when we get to the top of that hill.” Gracie stopped to double up and ease her stitch. As she straightened, she felt the beat of running feet in the ground beneath her. “Oh, no . . .” she said. “Oh, no — come on!”
Panic gave them wings, and they tore up the hill as if their weariness had fallen away.
At the top Gracie let out a long sigh of relief. “Look!” she said. “Can you see? Down there — under the green smoke?”
“Wow! Weird or what?” Marcus said. “And what’s that path doing?”
“You’ll see,” Gracie told him. “Oh, she’s nearer! I can hear her now! Run!”
“Could we hide?” Marcus was close beside her as they tumbled and fell into a clump of brambles.
“She’ll smell us out,” Gracie wailed. “Listen — she’s really close — she’s going to catch us.”
Marcus stopped. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll hold her back for as long as I can. It’s the frogs she wants. The frogs and you — not me.” He gave Gracie a parting push, stepped out from the bush — and “GUBBLE!” he yelled. “Gubble! Gracie, look who it is! It’s Gubble!”
Gubble was somewhere around two hundred years old, but never in all that time had anyone greeted him with such enthusiasm. He positively beamed as he slid off the donkey.
“Your head’s the right way around!” Marcus said. “What happened?”
“Head fell off,” Gubble explained. “Head bite girl, girl kick. Gubble more careful. Head back this way.”
“Where did you get the donkey from?” Gracie asked.
“It must have been following Lady Lamorna,” Marcus guessed. “But Gubble — how did you stay on so well?”
Gubble turned a curious purple, and Gracie guessed he was blushing.
“I know!” she said. “You rode back to front!”
“We’d better keep going,” Marcus said. “Gubble, did you see Foyce? Is she far away?”
Gubble looked blank.
“You’d better get back on the donkey,” Gracie said. “I know we’re nearly there, but she might still catch us.”
Between them, Marcus and Gracie helped Gubble back onto the donkey, which set off again at a fast trot. It seemed to know exactly where it was going, and at first Marcus and Gracie ran on either side as it followed a small winding path that led down the hill. Gradually it went faster, and then faster still, until Gubble was far ahead, looking back at them and waving wildly.
“Keep going, Gubble!” Gracie called. “Tell them to put the kettle on!” She looked at Marcus and laughed. “I never thought we’d make it, did you?”
Marcus was looking over Gracie’s shoulder, his eyes wide. “Gubble wasn’t waving at us,” he said hoarsely. “Look!”
Gracie turned, and there was Foyce.
Gracie screamed, and Foyce leaped, knocking Marcus off his feet and sending him rolling down the slope.
“Now you’re mine, you little slug!” Foyce hissed, and lunged at Gracie.
Flinging herself to one side, Gracie scrabbled to get away, but she was too late. A hand had seized her ankle and was pulling her back. . . .
“AYEEEEEEEE!” Foyce’s scream made the Ancient One sit bolt upright in her chair. The four princes and two princesses who were sipping tea in WATER WINGS froze. Elsie dropped her shuttle, and Val, leaning over the web, saw the dark stain fade. A great hope leaped inside her.
Gracie felt the grip on her ankle loosen and, wriggling free, saw that her stepsister was sinking slowly but inexorably into a sludge of wet sand.
“Help me!” Foyce shrieked. “Heeeeelp . . . !” And then, in front of Gracie’s horrified eyes, there was nothing left of her but bubbles.
“It’s OK, kiddo.” Marlon was flying above the sand, grinning at Gracie. “She won’t be hurt. They need her down at the house, see? She’ll turn up in room thirteen. Remember? ‘DO NOT ENTER UNLESS ABLE TO SWIM.’ She’ll be sandy between the toes all right, but fine.” He winked at Gracie. “Until she meets the Ancient One, of course. Don’t think much of her chances. Be a crone for hundreds of years if you ask me. Hey, there’s a friend of yours come to get you!”
Gracie, shaky all over, looked down to where Marlon was pointing . . . and saw the path wriggling cheerfully at her feet. “Hello,” she said, and stepped gently on.
With a surge of pure joy, the path swooped down and then up and then down again, and with the sensation of being on a particularly energetic roller coaster, Gracie found herself deposited at the door of the House of the Ancient Crones.
The celebrations were subdued. Arry greeted Marcus with real gratitude and delight, but once the hugs were over, he was so very much inclined to put his arm around Princess Nina-Rose in a proprietorial fashion that Marcus had to work hard not to feel rejected. Prince Albion refused to stop being indignant and demanding decapitation for all and sundry, until at last the Ancient One sent a message asking him to come to room seventeen on his own. He came back looking pink and was obsequiously grateful to both Marcus and Gracie. Prince Tertius and Princess Fedora endlessly gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes and took no notice whatsoever of their surroundings.
“Do you think they even noticed that they were turned into frogs?” Marcus asked under his breath. Gracie giggled and went on passing out chocolate cake.
Little Prince Vincent was the only one who was excited by his adventure. “Imagine me being a frog!” he kept saying. “Ribbit, ribbit!” Then he’d fall over laughing at his own joke until it was time to try it again. Gracie caught Marcus’s eye, and he had to smother his laughter with a napkin.
When the irrepressible path had finally been persuaded to lie down and widen itself, and the royal carriages were able to come rolling up through the green mist, the Royal Families were reunited with hugs and tears.
“Well done, Marcus m’boy,” King Frank boomed, over and over again. “Arioso says it’s all thanks to you that he’s back to normal! Well done, m’boy!”
“Actually,” Marcus said, “it was much more Gracie. And —” He looked around for Gubble, but Gubble was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s in hiding, kiddo,” whispered Marlon, who was happily perched on Val’s shoulder, with Millie on the other side.
“I’m sure the little lady was a great help,” King Frank said, looking disapprovingly at the bats. “But we must be off! Hop into the carriage — there’s a lad.”
Marcus stood up straight and bowed. “Excuse me, Father, but I won’t be coming back with you. Glee’s here, so I shall ride him back later. Perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Please give my very best wishes to my mother, and”— he suddenly grinned hugely —“to Professor Scallio. Tell him the map was amazing.”
King Frank looked long and hard at his second son. “Hmm,” he said at last. “D’you know what? You’ve grown up, m
’lad. Come back when you’re ready.” He tucked Nina-Rose’s arm in his. “Oh — and about that map. Better keep it. Think you deserve it.”
There was a wonderfully peaceful feeling in WATER WINGS after the princes and princesses had gone. Elsie sat back and helped herself to another piece of cake. “Wouldn’t be royal if you paid me,” she observed. “Don’t know how you turned out so well, young Marcus.”
Marcus shrugged. “I had a good tutor,” he said, and glanced at Val. She looked anxious, but Marcus smiled. “He is your brother, isn’t he?”
“Sure is,” Val replied.
Marlon chipped in. “Best prof ever! Taught me everything I know!”
“And now we’re going to live happily ever after, ain’t we, Dad!” Millie said, and she fluttered a wing against Val’s cheek.
Gracie began clearing up the plates and cups. “That’s so nice,” she said, and was pleased to note that she didn’t sound at all wistful. “Happy-ever-afters are the best. . . . Oh! Where’s Gubble?”
Elsie laughed. “He’s in with the Ancient. They’re talking about old times. She’s promised him a cupboard in room four for his very own, and he’s one happy troll.”
Millie made a sudden swift zigzagging flight from Val to Gracie. “You’d be ever so welcome to come and share with us, Miss. Wouldn’t she, Miss Val? And Dad?”
“Sure thing, kiddo,” Marlon said. “Be a real pleasure. An honor. Absolutely.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Gracie said slowly. “It really is. But I think, if it’s OK, I might stay here for a while. If you’ll have me, of course.” She looked across at Elsie, who nodded reassuringly. “It’s odd,” Gracie went on, “but I kind of need to know that Foyce is all right . . . that she settles down as a crone. Is that silly?”
“Foyce?” Elsie stared at Gracie, then slapped her forehead. “Oh, my goodness me. If we haven’t forgotten all about her. Just look at the time! She’ll be about to pop up any moment! Marlon, be a good bat and warn the Ancient One. And Val — run back to the web so the Ancient’s free!” She jumped up and hurried out of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Gracie followed her.
Outside room thirteen, Elsie paused with her hand on the door handle. “Are you sure you want to see her again, sweetie?” she asked. “She may be a little — shall we say — cross? Not dangerous, though. She’ll be too sand-soaked for that.”
“I’ll be fine,” Gracie said. All the same, she held her breath as Elsie opened the door and led the way into the room.
At first Gracie thought it was an ordinary sitting room. There were a couple of cozy armchairs and a comfortable sofa, and a small but cheerful fire was burning in the grate. Only gradually did she notice that there were no windows and that what she had at first taken to be a brown circular rug in the middle of the floor wasn’t a rug at all. It was a pool of wet sand, and from time to time a large bubble rose up, hovered on the surface, then popped.
“My word,” Elsie said, “she must have been a bad ’un if she’s taken this long to come through. Still, just as well. Wouldn’t have been very nice for her to get here and find no welcome. Do have a seat, sweetie. May as well make ourselves comfy while we’re waiting.”
“Yes,” Gracie agreed as she settled herself in an armchair. “Erm — where does she come from?”
“From there, of course.” Elsie waved a hand at the sand pool. “Ooooh — looks like she might be on her way after all!”
The sand was beginning to bubble faster, and as Gracie watched in fascination, each bubble grew bigger than the one before.
“Won’t be too long now,” Elsie said. “Be a dear and give the Ancient a shout, will you?”
But Gracie didn’t need to. The door opened, and the Ancient One wheeled herself in. “The web’s all over the place,” she announced, “so I knew it must be time. Ah . . . I was right!”
As Elsie and the Ancient One bent over the sand pool, Gracie took a step back. Something was beginning to emerge, something that looked as if it could be Foyce’s head. Despite the wet sand, the golden curls were untouched, and as she continued to rise up, Gracie saw that Foyce was as clean and fresh as if she had just had a bath. She was dressed in snow-white clothes that seemed familiar; it took a moment for Gracie to realize they were Foyce’s usual clothes but with all color drained out of them.
“Welcome to the House of the Ancient Crones, Miss Undershaft,” Elsie said, and held out her hand.
Foyce ignored her. Her big blue eyes were fixed on Gracie, but there was an element of uncertainty as well as cold fury in her expression. “I might have guessed this was all your fault, you little rat,” she hissed. “And you’d better get me out of here, or —”
“Or what?” Elsie asked sweetly.
“Or she’ll wish she’d never been born!” Foyce snapped.
“I fear,” the Ancient One said slowly, “you will not be leaving us. Not for a long while. We have cleansed your clothes, but there are harder and much darker things that we must deal with, and these will take time. A long time.”
Foyce stared disbelievingly at the Ancient One. “You can’t keep me here,” she snarled.
“Oh, but we can,” said the Ancient One. “We can keep you here for as long as you need.” And she turned the full force of her one blue eye on Foyce Undershaft.
Gracie had once left a tall candle too near the hearth, and the heat of the fire had caused the wax to gradually soften until it was drooping over. She was reminded of the candle as she watched Foyce wilt under the Ancient One’s eye and meekly agree to follow Elsie into room seventeen.
The Ancient One watched her go with interest. “She’ll be a tough nut to crack,” she said thoughtfully. “She’ll fight back as soon as she’s recovered, but we’ll get there in the end.”
“I do hope so,” Gracie said.
The Ancient One chuckled. “You should have seen Elsie when she first came here. Robbed her grandparents, abandoned her mother, cheated her father, burned down orphanages by the dozen — and all with language you’d never believe! Now, leave that young woman to us, and you hop back to young Marcus.”
Gracie nodded, and the Ancient One wheeled herself away to where Elsie was introducing Foyce to the intricacies of the weaving looms.
“You’ll soon get the hang of it,” Elsie told her. “We’ve got a nice little project for you to begin with. Black velvet, with blood-red petticoats. By the way, are you any good at embroidery?”
Foyce’s only reply was a snort.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Elsie said. “Not to worry. Now, just sit yourself here. I’ll tell you when you can get up again.”
Gracie found Marcus wiping down the table with surprising efficiency, Marlon and Millie making helpful suggestions as he did so.
“Hi,” Gracie said, and lifted a pile of plates off a chair. “Foyce is here, but she’s quite safe. She’s been taken to the web room. She looks sort of . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Kind of empty.”
“That’ll be the beginning,” Marlon said chirpily. “Bad seeping out. Takes a while before the other grows in.”
“It’ll be odd living in the same house as Foyce and not having her shouting at me all the time,” Gracie went on. “But I would like to stay here — for a while, anyway. It’s strange. I lived in Fracture all my life, but that never felt like a real home. But this does.”
Marcus took the plates from Gracie’s hands. “Might you care to explore a bit from time to time?” he asked diffidently. “There are a lot of places on the map I’d like to see . . .”
“Sounds good to me,” Gracie said, and her smile lit the room. She picked up the teapot. “But in the meantime, there’s an awful lot of washing-up waiting to be done.”
“OK,” Marcus said. “You wash; I’ll dry.”
In room seventeen, the Ancient One watched as the last vestiges of gray faded from the web, leaving a smooth sheet of shining silver. “So that’s all right,” she said.
“It’s nice to have a happy
ending, isn’t it?” Elsie agreed.
Foyce muttered something, but the Ancient One ignored her. “It is, Elsie,” she said. “Very nice indeed. Let’s hope it lasts. . . .”
In room four, Gubble grunted happily in his cupboard. “Gubble’s Trouble gone,” he said to himself, and then paused. An idea was seeping into his brain. An amazing idea. An idea that was so incredibly brilliant that he had to close the cupboard door quickly in case it escaped and was lost forever.
“Gubble, Gubble — got no Trouble!” he said, and closed his eyes in ecstasy.
Out in the corridor, the purple quill was working overtime. THE END, it wrote. THE END THE END THEENDTHEENDTHEEND . . .
And it was.
Or was it?
Late one evening, a small bat came flipping over the balustrade of Lady Lamorna’s castle as the old sorceress sat peacefully dreaming up unusual and unpleasant tasks for her new servant.
“I’m Alf,” he said proudly. “Bat in training. Uncle Marlon’s teaching me the tools of the trade, see, and I’ve brought a message!”
“Message?” Lady Lamorna asked. “What message?”
Alf puffed out his chest. “DRESS READY ALL COMPLETE STOP. SEND CASH PLUS DEPOSIT FOR DONKEY STOP. DELIVERY BY DONKEY AS SOON AS CASH RECEIVED STOP. PRICE DEDUCTION FOR LATE DELIVERY STOP. END OF MESSAGE STOP.”
Alf, panting hard, perched himself on a twirl of ivy to recover.
Lady Lamorna smiled and went to find Mange’s wooden brass-bound box. She counted out the gold into a small velvet bag and hung the bag around Alf’s neck.
Alf fell backward into the darkness.
“Watch it, kiddo,” said a voice from below. “Told ya to wait for me, didn’t I? Heavy stuff, cash. Never mind. Millie — you ready? We’ll do it easily with the three of us, but next time you’re on your own, lad.”
Lady Lamorna strode the battlements of her crumbling castle with a new spring in her step. The blood-red petticoats rustled in the most satisfactory manner, and the black velvet gown was patterned all over in silver with truly delightful spiders’ webs and twists of poison ivy. The hem was deeply encrusted with more silver; embroidered skulls of every size and shape jostled each other for space, while silver-painted walnuts, looking for all the world like tiny skulls, clittered and clattered on the cold stone floors.
The Robe of Skulls Page 10