The Bag of Bones (6 page)

“No smell in water, kiddo,” he said. “It’ll keep whatever’s after you off the scent.”

“But the dogs went the other way,” Alf pointed out.

“There’s things worse than dogs,” Marlon told him severely, and as they flitted on through the wavering moonlight, Alf saw with some astonishment that they were heading toward the outskirts of Wadingburn village.

“Where are we going, Uncle Marlon?” he asked.

“To see crones.” Loobly’s voice was small but definitive.

Marlon did a backflip, landed on a twig, and gave Loobly what Alf thought of as Uncle Marlon’s Serious Stare. “Listen, kiddo,” he said, “do you want to help your auntie?”

Loobly nodded.

“Then we don’t go to the crones,” Marlon told her. “’Scuse me saying so, but you wouldn’t travel fast. We need to play close, and we need to play clever. Right?” He did not add that he thought it highly unlikely that Loobly would ever make it to the House of the Ancient Crones before being found either by Buckleup Brandersby’s dogs or by Truda Hangnail. He was also aware that he could reach the crones much faster if he was unimpeded.

“Right,” Loobly echoed, but her small, grimy face was screwed up in confusion.

“We’ll put you where they’ll never think of looking, kiddo.” Marlon winked at her. “Check this out. Where d’you hide a big black cat?”

Alf did a double spin and squeaked, “In a big black cellar!”

Marlon shook his head. “Good, Alfie boy, but not good enough. Get the dogs out — they’d find it right off. Nah — you put your big black cat in the middle of a dozen big black cats.” He waved a wing at Loobly. “Small, skinny —’scuse me, kiddo, but facts are facts — we’ll put you in the palace kitchen. There’s at least a dozen small, skinny kitchen maids — you’ll vanish. And that Truda dame? Last place she’ll look for you.”

“Queenly palace?” Loobly looked more confused than ever as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “But —”

“But me no buts,” Marlon said grandly. “You’ll do fine, kid. And once you’re safely stashed, I’ll tell the crones what’s what, and we’ll know how to get your auntie fixed up. OK?”

Loobly bit her lip, then nodded. “Please fix Auntie, Mr. Bat.”

“Wilco. Now, time to fly!” And Marlon set off with Alf flapping close behind him. Loobly ran to keep up.

If Marlon had been able to hear a conversation taking place early the following morning, he would have been even more delighted with his decision. Buckleup Brandersby, finding that Loobly had not returned to the orphanage, had gotten up at the crack of dawn with the firm intention of finding her. After cheering himself up by canceling breakfast for every orphan in the orphanage, he had whistled for the dogs and set off once more for Wadingburn Hill. There he found Truda Hangnail, who had spent what remained of the night practicing her spells and concocting nasty-looking potions in the cauldron. She was feeling much better; she had perfected the art of shrinking and growing to the point where she could reduce herself to the size of a rat with the snap of a finger, and she had almost managed to convince herself that the shrinking of the Wadingburn witches was all her own work. Several bald wood pigeons, a squirrel with two tails, and a collection of poisonous biting beetles demonstrated that she had not lost her Deep Magic touch. She was not pleased to see Buckleup; she had decided that although he was wicked and cruel, he was also dull.

“What do you want?” she asked him.

Buckleup didn’t answer. He was holding an old and well-worn sock out to the dogs. “Find Loobly!” he commanded. The dogs began to circle the clearing, sniffing as they went.

Truda watched them sourly. “Are you looking for the witches?”

Buckleup shook his head. “Told you. A norphan. Loobly Higgins. Spindly little thing. She was here for certain; Snarler was hot on her trail last night. She went with the witches to Cauldron Fest, but she never came back.”

Truda’s voice suddenly sharpened. “I don’t suppose she had anything to do with that one calling herself the Grand High Witch? Evangeline Droop? She called to someone, and I’d say that someone could have been hiding in those bushes. Malice”— she indicated the drooping furry creature hanging around her neck —“heard a sneeze.”

Hearing his name, Malice yawned, stretched, and raised his head to whisper in her ear.

“What?” Truda’s eyebrows rose. “She said
what
?”

Malice whispered again, and Buckleup leaned forward to try to catch what he was saying.

“The crones — what’s that? What’s he talking about? What’s that about the crones?”

Truda was looking thoughtful and also angry. “Her. Evangeline. Malice”— she gave the animal a vicious slap —“Malice says she was telling your Loobly to find the Ancient Crones . . . so I’d say that’s where she’s gone. And what I’d like to know is why he didn’t think to mention it before!”

Buckleup stared at Malice, and Malice leered back.

“The crones, eh?” Buckleup stroked his chin. “They’re a funny lot. Best not messed with, by all accounts.”

“Rubbish!” Truda snapped. “You’ve got dogs, haven’t you? From what my granddaughter tells me, those crones live right on the other side of the Five Kingdoms. She can’t fly, can she, this Loobly? You’d catch her long before she got to Gorebreath.”

Buckleup Brandersby, unaware that Truda had her own reasons for wanting Loobly caught but sensing her urgency, brightened. “You’re right, missus. I’ll be on my way.” He gave Truda an evil wink. “And I’ll make sure she never thinks to run away again once I’ve got her safely back in that there washhouse. Don’t you go worrying yourself about that!” And he called to his dogs and set off briskly.

As Truda watched him go, she considered what she’d discovered. An orphan named Loobly Higgins had been hiding when she had cast her Deep Magic. There had been the smell of Trueheart in the air at the time . . . so surely it was only reasonable to assume that the orphan was a Trueheart and therefore responsible for the alteration of the spells. Truda sucked angrily at a tooth. Her power over the witches had been seriously undermined, and she was now obliged to rule them by fear; only Mrs. Cringe could be entirely trusted. If Truda was to succeed in her plan to become Queen of Wadingburn, there was no doubt that the Trueheart orphan must be kept well out of her way.

“Once she’s back in that orphanage, she’d better not get out again,” Truda told herself, but remembering the expression on Buckleup Brandersby’s face, she relaxed. It was unlikely that Loobly would ever see the light of day again once she was caught. “So what next?” She folded her arms and surveyed the kingdom stretched out below. “Maybe it’s time to see what those little witchy ladies are up to. I’ll shrink myself and spy on my spies . . . and see the palace for myself.” The idea of sneaking up on the witches of Wadingburn tickled Truda, and she cackled again. In the distance, Buckleup Brandersby felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle uncomfortably, and Snarler lifted up his head and howled.

As the morning sun lit the top of the looms, the Ancient One came stomping into room seventeen, her one bright blue eye glaring fiercely. She waved a piece of paper scrawled on in violet ink under the Oldest’s nose. “Elsie! Gracie’s gone! I’ve just found a ridiculous note written by that dratted pen on the kitchen door. It says she’s gone to save the Five Kingdoms. When did you last see her?”

Elsie quailed. “She brought me some tea around midnight,” she said. “She mentioned something about the quill pen writing on her walls, and then she disappeared. I thought she’d gone back to bed. I wasn’t really listening to her; I was so worried about the stain on the web. It’s Deep Magic, Edna — there’s no doubt about it!”

“Exactly,” the Ancient One said drily. “It is indeed Deep Magic, and it seems to me that you’ve allowed Gracie to walk out into the thick of it.”

Elsie burst into a noisy fit of crying. “Oh, I’m sorry, Edna — I really am! But the House was rumbling this way and that all night, and what with that and the web, I never thought for a minute she’d do anything so amazingly brave.”

The Ancient One looked marginally less angry. “Brave, or just plain silly,” she remarked. “But I didn’t know the House was up to its tricks as well.” She sighed. “That’s the trouble with a Trueheart House. It doesn’t believe in being cautious when it comes to defeating evil.”

“Has anyone seen Gubble?” Val, the Youngest, was standing in the doorway yawning. She lived outside the House with her brother, Professor Scallio, but arrived early each morning to take up her duties, which included making breakfast. “His cupboard was empty when I got here, and even when I called him for his boiled egg, he didn’t appear. And Gracie seems to have vanished as well —”

“Oh, Val!” Elsie pointed at the purple stain on the silver web. “Look! There’s Deep Magic somewhere about, and Gracie’s gone off to find it, and she might be getting herself into dreadful trouble!”

“That’s a worry.” Val seated herself at the loom as Elsie got up. “But do you know what? I’d say Gubble’s gone with her. He’s devoted to Gracie — and I’ve never known him to miss a boiled egg before.”

Edna’s blue eye brightened. “If she’s got Gubble with her, I won’t worry quite so much. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

“I could go after them,” Elsie suggested, but the Ancient One shook her head.

“Certainly not,” she said firmly. “With luck, the two of them’ll be back before long, safe and sound. And we’ve got the Newest and all her tantrums to cope with, and that length of blue velvet needs to be finished. Princess Nina-Rose won’t have a dress for Queen Bluebell’s birthday party if it’s not finished today.” She paused to snort derisively. “Declaration Ball, indeed! Whom do you think she’s chosen to be queen after her? None of those Five Kingdoms’ princesses can hold a candle to our Gracie, but presumably the queen’s chosen one of them, seeing as her own daughter’s not around. Clever way to announce it, mind you.”

The two other crones nodded, and while Elsie went to get her breakfast, Val continued the weaving of the silver web. Edna walked to the window and looked out. It seemed as if she had quieted her companions’ fears for the moment, but she hadn’t convinced herself. The purple stain was spreading, and even the most solid and robust of trolls would be little protection if Gracie found herself in the midst of seriously Deep Magic.

But she
is
a Trueheart,
the Ancient One thought.
And sensible with it. She’ll be all right . . . I hope.