The Heart of Glass (2 page)

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” he said gloomily as he and Gracie walked out of the House and into the early morning sunlight. “All I get all day and every day are orders and instructions. And I’m supposed to be prancing along in this stupid wedding procession arm in arm with Marigold, and she’s the silliest girl I ever met in my entire life.”

Gracie, who knew exactly how lucky she was, made soothing noises and tried not to feel pleased that Marcus was so dismissive of Princess Marigold. It wasn’t that she was jealous — after all, who could be jealous of someone who was kept awake all night by the thought of a new bottle of nail polish? — but she was very aware that Marigold was positioned right under Marcus’s nose by his anxious parents as often as possible. She had also noticed Marigold’s tendency to blush and flutter her eyelashes whenever Marcus was nearby.

“It’ll all be over soon,” she said. “And you never know. Prince Vincent might sweep her off her feet at the reception.”

Marcus brightened. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Maybe I could bribe him. He’ll do anything for a box of chocolates.”

Gracie smiled and opened the gate. The path showed signs of wanting to follow her, and she frowned at it. “STAY!” she commanded, and waited until it had tucked itself away. “
GOOD
path,” she said, and gave it a farewell wave.

Marcus looked around in surprise. “Isn’t Gubble coming with us?”

Gracie shook her head. “He’s still asleep in his cupboard. When he wakes up, he’s going to make a cake with Auntie Elsie. Chocolate with nuts. With any luck it’ll be ready when we get back.”

“Are trolls any good at cooking?” Marcus sounded doubtful, and Gracie laughed.

“Auntie Elsie’ll make sure it’s delicious. Come on — let’s get going!” And the two of them set out along the rough track that led away from the House of the Ancient Crones and toward the Unreliable Forest.

To begin with, they walked beside Marcus’s pony, Glee, but as the track gradually narrowed, they took turns riding. The trees became more and more twisted and bent on either side, and the undergrowth thicker. Glee shied as a large root snaked suddenly across the path in front of him. Marcus soothed him and stroked his neck, and the pony trotted unwillingly on, his ears flicking to and fro.

“I think we must be nearly there,” Gracie said at last. “Listen! Can you hear voices? I can!”

Marcus pulled Glee to a halt. “No . . . I don’t think so . . .”

“They’re arguing,” Gracie reported. “One of them’s telling the other — OH!” A huge smile spread across her face. “It’s not the dwarves! It’s Marlon! And Alf!”

Even as she spoke, the two bats came swinging out from the trees and circled around Glee’s head. “Miss Gracie! Miss Gracie!” The smaller bat dived into a loop and came up looking anxious. “Uncle Marlon says you won’t want me coming with you to watch the dwarves because it’s a . . . a . . . a himposition — but you don’t mind, do you?”

“Just tell him to buzz off, kiddo.” Marlon was gruff. “Getting above himself. Doesn’t know when he’s not wanted.”

Gracie smiled. “He’s very welcome,” she said. “It’ll be much more fun if the two of you come with us.”

“There!” Alf made a face at his uncle, then zoomed out of the reach of his leathery wing. “I told you, Unc, but you wouldn’t listen!”

Marlon sighed and settled himself on Marcus’s shoulder. “If you’re sure. Don’t want to spoil any two-by-two stuff.”

Marcus winked at Gracie and was surprised to see her blush. She covered it quickly by laughing and shaking her head at Alf. “You’d better be polite to your uncle. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I’d still be living in a pitch-black cellar surrounded by spiders. He’s a hero!”

The older bat looked pleased. “All in the line of duty, kid. Now, let’s go. Best to leave the pony here, I’d say.”

Marcus nodded. He knotted Glee’s reins and led him toward a patch of grass. “Wait here, boy,” he instructed, and the pony looked around warily before lowering his head to graze.

“Will the dwarves be very hairy?” Alf twittered as Marlon flew ahead. “Will they have beards to their knees?” The older bat heard him and looped back.

“Watch it, Alf. Those guys are ancient. Respect ’n’ stuff.”

Alf looked suitably apologetic. “Sorry, Uncle Marlon.”

As Marlon swooped off to lead the way, Gracie tried to remember what she knew about dwarves. Auntie Val had looked doubtful when she mentioned the expedition, but the Ancient One had pooh-poohed any suggestion that it might be dangerous. “Our Gracie’s a Trueheart,” she’d said. “She’ll be fine. Dwarves know more about Good and Evil than almost anyone; they’ve been around such a long time. Can be tricksy, of course, but they’re hardworking. Very hardworking. Not like some I could mention . . .” And the Ancient One had given Auntie Val a meaningful stare that had sent her scuttling back to her weaving.

“Dwarves mine for gold, you know,” Marcus said, as if he were reading Gracie’s thoughts. “Father told me they’ve got a huge order in for the wedding. Crowns galore.” He snorted derisively. “Apparently Queen Kesta is expected to give Fedora and all her sisters new crowns, and Fedora has to have a special one to give Tertius, and then he has to bow and present her with yet another one — and goodness only knows what happens after that. They probably play hoop-la with them all afternoon.”

Gracie laughed, then stopped as the narrow pathway made a sudden sharp turn around a bent and twisted tree. In front of her was a green grassy hollow. A tingle ran up and down her spine when she saw that in the center was a large hole and a heap of freshly dug earth.

“Dwarves!” Alf squeaked, and zoomed over Gracie’s head.

Gracie jumped and put out her hand to steady herself when dry twiggy fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist. She had no time to cry out; she hardly saw the tree trunk opening before she was hauled deep inside and swallowed up.

Marcus, turning to ask her what they should do next, saw no sign of her. Gracie had vanished.

G
reat-Aunt Hortense, otherwise known as Dowager Duchess of the kingdom of Cockenzie Rood, was not happy. “This,” she told herself, “is not what I expected.” She fished in her ample handbag, pulled out her niece’s letter, and began to read aloud. “‘
D
O
come and stay in Dreghorn for darling Fedora’s wedding to precious Prince Tertius, Auntie dear. It’ll be
SUCH
fun having you here, and we’ll make sure you have a lovely rest. Loads of love and kisses, Kesta.’ HMPH! I’d have had more of a rest if I’d stayed at home organizing tea parties for the entire population.” She did her best to suppress a sigh and turned her attention back to the third of Queen Kesta’s many daughters.

Princess Marigold was standing in front of a heap of discarded dresses, frowning fiercely. “I’ve nothing to wear,” she said accusingly. “Nothing at all. How can I make Marcus think I’m the wonderfullest and prettiest princess in the whole wide world if I don’t have anything to wear?”

“Most wonderful,” her great-aunt corrected her. “There’s no such word as
wonderfullest.
”

Marigold took no notice. “It’s SO not fair,” she went on. “Fedora’s got
everything
new, and Mother won’t even buy me a new dress. If I had a sky-blue satin dress covered in tiny pink rosebuds with a hooped petticoat and lace borders, I just
know
Marcus would fall madly in love with me forever and ever. Fedora doesn’t need a dress like that — I do!”

The dowager duchess rolled her eyes. Marigold had talked of nothing but new dresses and Marcus for the last three days. Today the somewhat one-sided conversation had started before Hortense had even had her breakfast, and as a result she was both hungry and tetchy. Marcus had been pointed out at the last wedding rehearsal, and Hortense had noticed his unbrushed hair and mud-covered boots, together with his tendency to stand on one leg and gaze out the window when he was meant to be paying attention. He seemed an unlikely candidate for Marigold’s affections, even though there was no doubt that he was good-looking. His twin brother, Arioso, neat and tidy and attentive in every way, looked far more suitable, but when Hortense suggested this, Marigold rolled her eyes.

“Arry? Oh, he’s madly in love with Nina-Rose. Besides, he’s boring. Marcus likes going on adventures and having fun.” Marigold put her head on one side and looked wistful. “I wish
I
could go on adventures. He’d be sure to notice me then, but he likes that horrible Gracie Gillypot, and she’s not even a princess! She’s just
ordinary
. AND she’s got a friend who’s a troll!”

Marigold’s great-aunt studied her thoughtfully. She was well aware that Marigold, in common with her many sisters, was not a clever girl. Pretty, opinionated, and somewhat spoiled, but not clever. Her eldest sister was about to be married to Prince Tertius of Niven’s Knowe, and no doubt the two of them would live together comfortably enough to rate as a “happy ever after.” Nina-Rose apparently had her eye on Arioso; they too would make a delightfully dull royal couple. Was Marigold any different? Possibly. It was certainly unusual for any princess from the Five Kingdoms to express an interest in adventure.

The old duchess stroked her chin. She had had many adventures in her youth and firmly believed that they had made her a more interesting person. Perhaps some kind of carefully contrived expedition into the world beyond the kingdoms would knock some of the foolishness out of Marigold’s brain. Hortense nodded. It was worth a try. After all, anything was better than hearing Marigold endlessly complain about the contents of her wardrobe.

“What kind of adventures does Prince Marcus like, exactly?” she asked.

Marigold’s eyes began to shine. “He helped rescue Fedora and Nina-Rose from a horrible sorceress! And he found Queen Bluebell’s long-lost granddaughter as well. He’s . . . he’s WONDERFUL. And I heard him telling Arry that he was going on a hunt to find the dear little dwarves who make our crowns for us, and he wanted nasty Gracie to go with him.” Marigold pouted. “What’s so special about
her
?”

Her great-aunt thought of pointing out that anyone who had been invited to live with the powerful Ancient Crones must be very special indeed, but decided this was not the right moment. Instead she said, “Have you thought of going to see the dwarves for yourself?”

Marigold’s mouth fell open.

“Tut, child!” Hortense frowned. “That is a most unattractive look. I repeat, have you thought of going to see the dwarves for yourself? Flailing is the place, I believe. The Unreliable Forest.”

Marigold gulped. “But . . . but that’s miles and miles outside the border! We’re not allowed. There are horrible things out there. Really, really, REALLY horrible!”

“I thought you wanted to have an adventure!” Hortense’s tone sharpened.

“I do!” Marigold wailed. “But I want a nice
safe
adventure here in the Five Kingdoms!”

There was a moment’s silence while the duchess gathered her thoughts. “Perhaps you could go just a little way beyond the border — a place where Prince Marcus would come across you on his return? That would be quite safe, but it would show a splendid spirit.”

“But I can’t!” Marigold looked horrified. “What if I meet”— her not very active imagination did its best —“a wasp?”