The Robe of Skulls (9 page)

The road between Gorebreath and Dreghorn was longer than Lady Lamorna had expected, and it was well past midday by the time she crossed the border. She kept Figs moving at a brisk trot, and as Gubble fell off his donkey with increasing regularity, she reached the gates of the Royal Palace well ahead of him. To her extreme surprise and annoyance, she saw that Foyce Undershaft was there before her. Foyce was sitting on the knee of one soldier and smiling sweetly into the adoring eyes of another. Lady Lamorna would have been even more annoyed had she been able to hear what Foyce was saying.

“
Such
a big, muddy green-faced troll,” she was lisping. “And it chased me all the way from Gorebreath! But now I know I’m safe, because you brave soldiers would
never
let such a horrid thing near the dear Royal Family, would you?”

“Never!” promised the soldiers. “Never ever!”

“Thank you,” Foyce whispered coyly. Her business done, she jumped up and ran to meet the old sorceress. “Why, Granny Bones!” she called in her silvery voice. “How
lovely
to see you! Are you coming to the royal party? Shall we go together?” And she skipped toward Lady Lamorna in a cute and girlish way.

The soldiers at the gates immediately fell even more deeply in love with her, but Lady Lamorna could see the calculating look in Foyce’s big blue eyes.

You don’t fool me with that act of yours,
she thought, and was about to brush Foyce to one side and ride through the gates when there was the clatter of galloping hooves and Gubble appeared in a cloud of dust.

“Help me, Evilness — help me!” he yelled — and flew past the gates, on down the road, and out of sight.

The soldiers immediately leaped to attention and swung the gates shut with a mighty clang. “Full alert!” barked the colonel-in-charge. “’Ten
shun
! Troll sighted!”

Foyce watched the closing gates with a cool smile and turned to the furious and frustrated Lady Lamorna. “I would have thought such an important person as yourself would have had a servant with — shall we say — more skills than a mere troll?” Foyce said. “Might I offer my services? I think you might find me very . . . useful.” When she received no answer, Foyce twirled her fingers into Figs’s mane. At once the donkey moaned and shivered.

Lady Lamorna had been secretly reaching for her leather purse, but now she paused to stare thoughtfully at Foyce. “And why might that be?” she asked.

“I have a way with animals,” Foyce said sweetly. “And”— she indicated the soldiers, who were marching up and down behind the gates with a great deal of impressive foot stomping —“with men. But I don’t wish to inconvenience Your Evilness. I want to benefit us both.” And she led the quivering Figs to the far side of the road, where there was a comfortable bench provided for the aged of Dreghorn on their way back from market.

Lady Lamorna dismounted and sat down, her mind whirling. She was uncomfortably aware that her disguise had not been a success. Perhaps she was getting old and did need help. Human beings were so much more trouble than she remembered. Had it not been for her urgent need for gold, and plenty of it, she would happily have retreated to her castle that very moment . . . but her dress was ordered! And the Ancient Crones might take terrible revenge if she failed to pay her debts. Besides, she wanted that dress badly.
Very
badly.

Lady Lamorna looked slyly at Foyce. Could they work together? The girl certainly seemed able to charm her way wherever she wanted. But could she be trusted?

Foyce knew exactly what Lady Lamorna was thinking. She could smell her weariness and greed and suspicion, and she gave a tinkling laugh. “Trust is always such a problem, isn’t it? Let me tell you what I know about you, and then I will tell you something about me that no one else knows.” She paused. “You can use it against me if you need to.”

Lady Lamorna leaned back against the bench. This girl was even cleverer than she had thought. “Go on,” she said.

Foyce ticked off the points on her fingers as she spoke. “
One:
you are looking for princes. That is why you are here for the Royal Engagement Celebration.
Two:
you have plans for these princes. In the words of your green-faced servant: ‘Prince.
Zap!
Frog.’
Three
”— and here Foyce was hoping that her beautiful mask of a face gave no sign that she was guessing —“as your disguise is distinctly unoriginal, it follows that you are short of cash, so you are intending to use those frogs in order to bargain for a large reward. Gold.” She laughed again. “I’m very fond of gold myself.”

“You may be right,” Lady Lamorna said, “or you may not. Tell me your secret.”

Foyce twirled a ringlet and swung her dainty foot. “My mother was a werewolf. In Gorebreath, Dreghorn, and all the kingdoms of the Northern Plains, such an inheritance is punished with banishment. That is why my beloved father took me to live in Fracture. But now my time has come, dear Lady Lamorna. I can smell your excitement. Tell me the rest of your plan!”

Lady Lamorna made up her mind. She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Listen,” she said.

Marcus swung himself out of the saddle. The pony was hot and panting, and Marcus took time to walk him to and fro to cool him.

“Good boy,” he said, “you did really well!” Then, leaving Glee to crop the long green grass in Dreghorn churchyard, he slipped into the doorway of the tall church tower and began to climb the steep stone steps. Up and up he climbed, the darkness only occasionally broken by a narrow shaft of light from a slitted window. Marcus tried hard not to think about what might be hiding in the gloom; it wasn’t so much the darkness he minded as the thought that he could be trapped at the top of a solid stone spiral staircase. He breathed a sigh of relief as he came out onto the dusty balcony where the bells were hung. Gritting his teeth, he headed for the wooden ladder that led to a small door that led to the top of the tower.

Once Marcus was outside in the sunshine, all his fears fell away. He hurried to the edge and, as he had hoped, found he had a perfect view of the Royal Gardens. Anxiously he scanned the crowds and almost immediately saw Arry walking hand in hand with Princess Nina-Rose, while his parents beamed benevolently from behind.

“Phew,” Marcus sighed. “So
that’s
all right!”

“You reckon, kiddo? Keep watching. Look out for a dame with a great big basket!”

Marcus jumped, his heart flip-flopping so wildly in his chest that he couldn’t speak.

“Keep your hair on,” said the small squeaky voice. “And keep your peepers open. Action’s just about to start, if you ask me. Which you ain’t, but you should.”

Marcus, having looked in all directions but the right one, finally found the owner of the voice crouched in the shadow of the weather vane. “Are you . . . are you a
bat
?” he asked in disbelieving tones.

“Sure am, kiddo. Not usually out in this weather. Can’t see too good, so you keep looking.” The bat waved a scaly wing. “D’you see the dame yet?”

Marcus obediently went back to the tower wall. “What sort of dame?”

A horrible thought leaped into his head. “You don’t mean the tall one with whiskers? The one with the troll?”

“Nah — they wouldn’t let her in.” The bat chuckled. “She was outside the gates last I saw. Spitting mad. And the troll was all over the place — head one side of the road, body the other.”

Marcus squinted into the sunlight, but the gates were too far away for him to make out anything very clearly. “So who am I looking for, then?”

“Told ya. Big basket.”

“I can see lots of people with baskets,” Marcus reported. “They’re giving out ribbons and biscuits and flowers and stuff.”

“Blond,” the bat said. “Skippy. Big blue eyes.”

“Oh!” Marcus suddenly leaned so far forward he was in danger of falling over. “You mean the pretty one?
Wow!
She’s amazing! I always thought all girls looked the same, but she’s fantastic! What’s her name? Hey, maybe I should go and join the party after all!” He pulled himself back onto his feet, his face one big grin.

“No!” the bat squeaked as loudly as he could.
“Keep watching!”

Marcus hesitated. There was urgency in the bat’s squeak, and reluctantly he looked down again. “She’s talking to Arry,” he said. “Nina-Rose is looking pretty sick. Now she’s walking Arry away into the rose garden — hey! Guess what? They’re going into the rose bower together. Rats! I can’t see them clearly . . . oh. Oh, no.” Marcus went pale.

“
Tell me,
kiddo!”

“It’s that purple smoke. . . . I saw it once before.”

“That’s bad,” the bat said grimly. “What’s happening now?”

“She’s coming out on her own and”— Marcus rubbed his eyes furiously —“she’s holding a
frog!
That’s so weird! Now she’s shoved the frog into her basket, and she’s sort of skipping away. . . . What’s going on? I don’t understand — why isn’t Arry coming out?”

“Just keep watching,” the bat said.

“The frog girl’s heading for the Royal Pavilion. Oh! She’s met Prince Albion! He’s talking to her and — yuck! — he’s kissing her hand. Oh, and there’s little Prince Vincent too —”

Marcus’s voice was drowned out by a trumpet call, followed by the Dreghorn Brass Band bursting into a foot-tapping version of the conga. The bat groaned, flapped out of the shade, and landed on Marcus’s shoulder. “Keep looking,” he urged. “What’s the scene?”

“They’re all dancing,” Marcus reported. “But I still can’t see Arry —”

“The girl!” the bat hissed. “What’s
she
doing?”

“She’s dancing too. She’s at the head of a line. . . . there’s Vincent and Albion and Tertius too — and Fedora’s there, but she doesn’t look too keen, she’s just hanging on to Tertius — and Nina-Rose as well, and about six of Nina-Rose’s little sisters. They’re doing the conga in and out of the tents — they look hysterical! Albion looks like a total idiot! Now she’s leading them around the Pavilion and across the yard to the walled garden.” Marcus snapped his fingers in time with the music. “Di-da-da-da-
dah
-da, di-da-da-da-
dah
-da! Nina-Rose’s little sisters have had enough . . . but the rest of them are going around and around and
around
the fountain, and they’re laughing like crazy — Hey! They’ve flung their crowns into the water! What’s that frog girl doing? Oh, my sainted
stars.
There’s purple smoke everywhere — I can’t see. . . . Yes, I can! Oh, no. No!
No
!
” Marcus went whiter than white and clutched at the stone wall for support.
“She’s turned them into frogs!”
he whispered. “The fountain’s full of them! She’s turned them into frogs —
what’s she done to Arry
?” Marcus lunged for the tower door.

The bat fluttered wildly in his face.
“Watch her!”
he begged. “See what she does next!”

But it was too late. Marcus was already hurling himself down the ladder. As he reached the belfry, his way was blocked by a burly Dreghornian in national costume.

“Come to see the bells, m’lad?” he inquired cheerfully. “Well, I’d suggest you whiz down them stairs smartish. You don’t want to be in ’ere once they starts a-ringing, which they will do any second now.”

Marcus seized the man by his suspenders. “Ring them
now
!” he yelled. “There’s a witch turning princes into frogs — you’ve got to warn them! Ring the bells!” And he shot away down the spiral staircase.

The Dreghornian shook his head. “They starts drinking so young these days,” he said sadly as he checked his watch. “Exactly three o’clock.” He leaned over the stairwell and bellowed, “Let’s have those bells, Grebbin!”

The bells rang out as Marcus reached the last step.

At least that’ll warn everybody,
he thought as he shot out the church door. Seconds later, the sound of cheering swelled up to mingle with the bells. Marcus groaned as he hurtled into the graveyard. “They think it’s part of the celebrations! I
have
to get there and tell them. . . . Glee!
Glee!
Where are you?”

But there was no sign of the pony. Marcus groaned again and hurled himself at the thick holly hedge that separated the churchyard from the Royal Gardens. It was a solid hedge, grown to repel the boldest of intruders, but Marcus was desperate. Scratched and bleeding, he emerged at last on the other side to be greeted by a large soldier with his hands on his hips.