The Flight of Dragons (20 page)

And they ran.

K
ing Horace, Prince Tertius, and Queen Bluebell did not hear Carrion. They watched with glazed expressions as Old Malignancy, already smiling a triumphant smile, billowed his way across the floor. As he heaved his enormous body toward King Horace, the door leading to the royal apartments burst open, and a shrill voice exclaimed, “Terty! How
dare
you give me an empty box of chocolates! I thought you were sorry for being such a greedy horrible pig — and you weren’t! You’re mean, and I hate —” Fedora stopped as she took in the scene in front of her. “You’re eating AGAIN? And why’s Mercy Grinder here? What’s going on?”

Old Malignancy turned, and the force of his cold stare made her catch her breath and stagger against the wall. “Leave us!” he hissed. “Little fool. Leave us!”

“Oh! I say!” Tertius, despite the numbing gray fog that filled his head, gave a muffled cry of protest. “That’s my darling Feddy you’re talking to!”

“
Dearest
Terty! You’re so brave! Save me!” Fedora flew across the room and hurled herself under the table and into her beloved’s arms.

Old Malignancy rolled forward, his grossly swollen body now half filling the room. “Sign,” he ordered, and he handed King Horace the parchment and pen. “Sign!”

King Horace obediently took the pen and parchment and signed his name.

“Just a minute!” Gracie was standing in the doorway, Marcus close behind her.

Old Malignancy swayed around with an echoing roar of anger, but when he saw Gracie, he was suddenly silent. “A Trueheart,” he hissed. “If I’m not much mistaken, it’s a Trueheart. Well, Trueheart, you are fortunate. Very fortunate. You will see me restore the Five Kingdoms to their rightful state . . . a state of Evil. Enjoy, Trueheart. Enjoy!” He turned back to the table and pushed the parchment in front of Queen Bluebell. “Sign!”

As Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth of Wadingburn drowsily lifted her hand and did as she was told, Gracie took an urgent step nearer. She was finding it difficult to breathe, and her heart was racing in her chest; her mouth was dry with fear, but she forced herself to speak. “Wait! I’ve something to offer you. Leave the Five Kingdoms, and I’ll give you this.” She opened her cloak and held up the dragon’s egg, desperately hoping her shaking hands would not let it slip. “A dragon’s egg in return for the Five Kingdoms. What do you say?”

“Gracie!” Marcus was aghast. “Gracie! Stop it! You can’t!” He reached for the egg, but Gracie moved away from him.

Old Malignancy studied the prince and grunted with satisfaction as he saw that the horror on Marcus’s face was real and unfeigned. A fierce anticipatory fire blazed in his eyes, and he held out his hand. “Give me the egg.”

“Not until you tear up that document.” Gracie did not move.

There was a long silence, and then Fedora spoke from under the table. “You should do as she says, ’cause I’m never going to let my darling Terty-pops sign your horrid paper. So there!”

Old Malignancy said nothing, but the look he gave Fedora made her squeal and hide her face in Tertius’s chest.

“Tear up the document,” Gracie repeated.

Old Malignancy picked up the parchment and tore it in half, then again and again, and scattered the pieces on the floor.

“The egg is yours,” Gracie told him, and with a little sigh, she placed it in Old Malignancy’s outstretched hands.

At once he began to laugh — a hideous, mirthless sound that made icy shivers run up and down Marcus’s spine. “A Trueheart? You are no Trueheart. You are only a fool! Do you not know that now that I have the egg in my hands, I have more power than you can ever oppose? I need no document now. The Five Kingdoms are mine to take — mine, mine, MINE!” And Old Malignancy raised his massive arm.

Marcus leaped forward with a yell, but Gracie stayed very still, and the blow, when it reached her, fell lightly on her shoulder.

And it was Old Malignancy who shrieked, shrieked so loudly that the chandeliers shattered into a thousand tiny fragments of glass, and the whole room glittered as if spread with fallen stars. “Tricked!” he screeched, and dropped the egg as he made another lunge forward, only to be held back by the folds of his own flesh as his monstrous body deflated and sank toward the floor. “Tricked!” A puzzled expression crossed his doughy face as he glowered at Gracie. “But a Trueheart cannot lie. . . .”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Gracie said sadly. “It
is
a dragon’s egg. Truly. But it’s dead. That egg will never, ever hatch.”

Old Malignancy closed his eyes and began to breathe in short panting gasps. The hanging flesh and the sagging bags of skin quivered and shook, then began to shiver and shrink, and as Marcus and Gracie stared, it became horribly obvious that he was returning to his original shape.

All of a sudden, his eyes snapped open. “Don’t think you’re done with me yet,” he hissed. “Face me out, Trueheart! Face me out! Evil against truth and goodness . . . who will win?” And he looked deep into Gracie’s eyes.

Gracie looked straight back. She could feel the strength of his gaze; whirling dark thoughts spun into her mind, thoughts of unkindnesses, slights, cruelties . . . but she kept them at bay as best she could.

Old Malignancy took a step forward, and Alf twittered anxiously from a curtain rail. “You can do it, Miss Gracie,” he squeaked. “You can do it!”

Gracie heard him, but Old Malignancy increased the force of his stare, and she had no choice but to concentrate on him and him alone. Shadows floated around her, memories of her unhappy childhood, memories of a lonely cold cellar, of shouting, of harsh beatings . . .

“Don’t give in, Trueheart!” But Great-Uncle Alvin had a tremor in his voice — and Old Malignancy heard it.

“See her falter,” he whispered. “See her fail. . . .”

“But she won’t!” Marcus stepped forward and stood firm at Gracie’s side. “She’s a Trueheart through and through. She’ll never fail.”

Gracie took a long deep breath. “That’s right!” she said. “Never!” And she opened her eyes wide and gave Old Malignancy one of her most beaming smiles.

He blinked, the tension between them broke, and with an agonized cry of defeat, the figure sank into a sodden, shapeless mass. “Carrion!” he called, but there was no strength in his voice. “Carrion!”

The crow flapped down, clicked his beak as he inspected his master, then shook his head. “No honor among the wicked,” he said cheerfully. “Had yer chance and lost it.” And he retreated to his chair and began to preen his feathers.

“My little cankerettes! Where are you?”

The twins came out from behind the sofa, their faces smeared with chocolate.

“Help me! Help your dear old granpappy, my little dears,” Old Malignancy begged. “Do what you do best, little cankerettes. . . . Whistle and spit for me. Whistle and spit. . . .”

Conducta and Globula stood and gazed at their great-grandfather, their faces completely unmoved. Then they looked at each other.

“Those chocolates you made,” Conducta said accusingly. “They were
disgusting
!”

“Revolting!”
Globula agreed. “Just like ashes!”

Old Malignancy began to tremble with the faint echo of a terrible anger. “Mousewater,” he whispered. “There is Mousewater in you yet . . . and I cast you from me!”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Globula folded her arms. “
We
cast
you
out! We’re going home to Mother.”

“That’s right!” Conducta stamped her foot. “Maybe it’s not so bad being a Mousewater. Well, at least a bit of a Mousewater. At least we’ll never end up like YOU!” She leaned forward and stuck out her tongue. “Do you know what you are, old Granpappy Canker? You’re a failure — and we don’t like failures.” The twins linked arms, and with a toss of their heads, they marched out of the dining room, slamming the door behind them so hard that the walls shook.

Old Malignancy moaned and dragged his sagging body across the floor. With one last heave, he hauled himself up, crashed through the window, and slithered into the sunshine. There was a low keening wail that flowed on and on and on; at long last, it grew faint and faded into silence.

Alf, still on his curtain rail, gave a startled squeak. “Worms! Miss Gracie — that thing’s turned into worms!”

Alf was right. The gargantuan white body had vanished; the white clothes were strewn empty over the grass, and wriggling out from underneath were long white worms that twisted and squirmed before vanishing deep into the earth.

B
ack in the dining room, there was a remarkable change in the atmosphere. King Horace yawned and rubbed his eyes. Queen Bluebell hiccuped, apolo-gized, and sat up straight with the air of someone who has fallen asleep without meaning to and who is likely to challenge any accusation that her eyes ever closed. Fedora and Tertius stayed under the table; Tertius was kissing Fedora’s nose, and she was giggling happily.

“Wheeee!” Alf zigzagged down to land on Gracie’s shoulder. “You did it, Miss Gracie! You did it!”

“That’s right. Well done.” Marcus sounded strained. “Well done, Gracie.” He paused, then said stiffly, “You could have told me the egg was addled.”

Gracie sighed. “No, I couldn’t. Dear Marcus — don’t you see? If I had, you would never have tried to stop me, and that . . . that thing wouldn’t have believed me. And then it would have won.”

Marcus grunted. “I could have pretended to try and stop you. I’m not entirely useless, you know.”

He was rewarded with a smile. “You’re anything but useless! If you hadn’t come to stand beside me, I’d never ever have been able to keep going. And you did it even though you were cross with me, and that made it all the better.” Her cheeks were very pink as she went on, “And do you know what? That was the action of a real Trueheart.”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably before looking back at Gracie. “Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.” There was another pause, and then he added, “But I can’t help wishing we’d found a live dragon’s egg.”

“But you did, kiddo,” said a squeaky voice, and Marlon swooped into the room. “You did. Apologies for the delay, but the troll doesn’t travel fast. Navigational problems.”

“Ug.” Gubble came stomping backward through the door, his dusty burden still clasped to his chest. He handed it to Gracie, and as she took it from him, she could feel its warmth and the beat of a heart deep inside. “Egg,” Gubble announced. “Egg for Gracie. Gubble good?”

Gracie nodded. “Very good, indeed. Very,
very
indescribably and wonderfully good.”

“Wow!” Marcus was alight with joy.

“We’d better go,” Gracie said. “We’ll take it to the crones, and then back to its parents.” She handed the egg to Marcus, who took it reverently as Gracie walked to where the other egg was lying discarded by the wall. She picked it up and cradled it in her arms. “And we’ll give this one a proper burial. Poor, poor thing . . . OH!”

“What is it?” Marcus stared at her.

“I think it’s alive! I felt it move! And LOOK! It’s started to glow! Whatever’s happened to it?”

It was Carrion who answered. “Trueheart effect,” he said. “You must be a good ’un, too. Trueheart through ’n’ through, the way you carry on. And did nobody ever tell you? Dragon’s eggs double yer power.” He peered sourly at Gracie. “Gets into the air, as well. Like swapping winter for summer. Any minute now, I’ll be singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’ Not my style, so I’ll be off.
Ark
.” His squawk was embarrassed. “Goin’ to take the old woman her voice back. See what you’ve done? Now
I’m
doin’ good deeds!
Ark!
Nice to meet you ’n’ all that. . . . Don’t suppose we’ll meet again.” He spread his tattered wings and flew through the broken window.