The Heart of Glass (21 page)
We are thrilled and delighted to report that the long-awaited nuptials between Princess Fedora of Dreghorn and Prince Tertius of Niven’s Knowe have taken place in the truly splendid setting of Dreghorn Cathedral. The bride looked radiant in a pink satin dress decorated with tiny blue rosebuds, and the groom was resplendent in the red, purple, and gold uniform of the Niven’s Knowe Cavalry. Their crowns were of an exceptionally high quality, a fact commented on by many. All the bridesmaids were, of course, exemplars of beauty, modesty, and elegance. Princess Marigold, sister of the bride, surprised us all with her spontaneous rendition of a song, which, we learned later, she had composed herself.
The entire congregation was in complete agreement that they had never heard anything like it; her companion, Prince Vincent, told me, “She’s amazing. Really amazing. Amazing. Don’t you think so?”
The procession to and from the cathedral was graced by a number of royal personages, including Princes Arioso and Marcus of Gorebreath. Prince Arioso was especially noticeable for the splendor of his attire. Prince Marcus, if we may so remark without incurring the ire of his royal parents, had the appearance of having dressed in something of a hurry. He was seen afterward at the reception in the company of Her Royal Highness Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth of Wadingburn, Miss Gracie Gillypot, and a troll. The latter caused some consternation among the more sensitive of our royal personages and was politely requested to leave. I am happy to report that he did so without complaint. He was accompanied by Prince Marcus and Miss Gillypot, and the reception continued without incident. We wish the royal couple every happiness, and hope they will live Happily Ever After.
Marcus, reading the
Gazette
over his brother’s shoulder, snorted. “What a load of rubbish!”
Arioso shook his head. “Give the poor reporter a chance. He could hardly say that Marigold’s singing was dreadful and Fedora was livid.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Marcus said. “I meant that stuff about beautiful bridesmaids. Gracie’s far prettier than the whole lot of them put together.”
Arry looked at his twin in astonishment. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”
Marcus blushed and picked up his hat. “I don’t. But she is. And I’m just off to see her. We’re going to look for dragons. See you later, bro.”
Find out how Gracie, Marcus, Marlon, and Gubble met in the First Tale from the Five Kingdoms!
The Robe of Skulls
The First Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Lady Lamorna, an evil sorceress . . . wants a gown ‘beyond all compare.’ . . . Only the Ancient Crones can produce such a garment. . . . Unfortunately, the Crones charge dearly for their work, and Lady Lamorna has neither gold nor silver. So she devises a clever scheme: find all the princes in the land, turn them into frogs, and then ransom [them] to their parents. . . . An adventure where everyone gets his, her, or its due, where goodness is rewarded and evil punished oh-so-wickedly.”
— The Horn Book
There are more adventures to be had in the Five Kingdoms!
The Bag of Bones
The Second Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Dear Mrs. Cringe! I’m so glad you’re with us tonight! And Mrs. Vibble and Mrs. Prag as well. Fabulous! And darling Ms. Scurrilous is here too! And Mrs. . . .”
The Grand High Witch faltered for a moment. What was the name of the hunched old witch on the far side of the fire? Even with the flames now burning brightly under the cauldron, it was too dark to see her face. It certainly wasn’t Mrs. Gabbage, and Ms. Pettigroan had sent a bat earlier that evening with polite apologies.
Mrs. Cringe shuffled up, looking distinctly guilty, and the Grand High Witch’s heart sank. Even worse, her little toe had begun to throb, which was a far more reliable warning of impending trouble. She had always been wary of Mrs. Cringe, not least because she was known to have relations outside the Five Kingdoms who were suspected of indulging in Deep Magic of the nastiest kind.
“Ahem,” Mrs. Cringe addressed the Grand High Witch, whose toe was becoming increasingly painful. “That there’s my grandmother, Truda Hangnail. She’s come visiting from the other side of the More Enchanted Forest. Asked if I could invite her in for a week or two. Things got troublesome for her over there, she said. Too many two-headed cows and sheep with five legs appearing all over the place.” She stepped closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Best to be polite. She’s in a bit of a temper. Fell in a ditch on the other side of the border gate.” She nudged the Grand High Witch. “Shouldn’t even be here in the Five Kingdoms. Deep, she is. Very Deep. But we won’t tell, will we?”
Evangeline Droop, Grand High Witch of Wadingburn, froze. It was a serious offense to invite a Deep Witch to cross the border of the Five Kingdoms. They had been banished many years before, together with werewolves and sorcerers. On the other hand, she had absolutely no idea how to confront a Deep Witch, let alone how to tell her to go home.
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.
When a pair of evil twins threatens the Five Kingdoms with Total Oblivion, Gracie Gillypot and her intrepid friends must save the day.
The Flight of Dragons
The Fourth Tale from the Five Kingdoms
Vivian French
“Dragons?” Professor Scallio peered over the top of his spectacles. “MORE dragons? Where were they this time?”
The very young bat perched on a shelf in the ancient library of Wadingburn Palace opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A much older bat, balanced precariously on a pile of books on the professor’s desk, gave him a sharp look. “Give us the gossip, kiddo. Quick smart! No time to hang about!”
The very young bat began to quiver. “If you please, Mr. Marlon Batster,” he whispered. “I ain’t accustomed to human people.”
Marlon gave a snort of disapproval. “Thought you wanted to learn the biz.”
“Oh, I do, Mr. Marlon Batster! I do!” The little bat flapped his wings. “When you said I could be a Batster Super Spotter, I was so excited, I was all of a flap, so to speak, but I didn’t know you’d want me to talk to human people.” He gave the professor a nervous glance. “They’re SCARY!”
“Not as scary as I’ll be if you don’t spill the beans, young Samson,” Marlon said cheerfully. “Come on, kid. You can do it. How many dragons? Where? What time?”
Samson screwed up his eyes and took a deep breath. “Three of them. One gold, one blue, and one green. Beyond the southern border. Twilight yesterday.”
“That’s more like it,” Marlon told him. “Now hop to. You know the drill. Any more sightings and you’re back here, pronto.”
