The Bag of Bones (10 page)

Alf gazed at him in admiration. “How did you know the door was going to open at that exact moment, Uncle Marlon?”

“Intuition, kiddo,” Marlon lied. “And now we’d better fly.”

Alf, delighted to be included in the plan, puffed up his very small chest. “Sure thing, Unc. Let’s hit those crones!”

His uncle cuffed him, but not unkindly. “You said it, kid. Let’s fly.”

And they flew.

Evangeline Droop wasn’t enthusiastic about rats when she was her usual height; in her present circumstances, being only a little taller than the rat in front of her, she was terrified. She screamed — then slapped her hand in front of her mouth, horrified at what she’d done. Fortunately, Queen Bluebell was in the middle of a spasm of nonstop sneezing, and the scream went unheard.

“Now, now,” the rat said reproachfully, “that’s no way to treat a guy.” He grinned at Evangeline. “Busy this afternoon, are you?”

“Er . . .” Evangeline was quite unable to think of a suitable reply. A voice answered for her.

“What you got on offer?”

The rat blinked. There was something strange about this voice, something that made him feel edgy and uncomfortable. It was also a voice that expected an answer.

“Erm . . . us rats are having a big meeting,” he said without enthusiasm. “Thought the young lady here might like to come with me.” He nudged Evangeline in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Just the two of us.”

Evangeline swallowed hard. She knew that voice; it was Truda Hangnail’s. It must have been Truda who had been whispering with Mrs. Cringe a moment or two earlier. Evangeline’s heart began to beat much too fast, and without being aware of what she was doing, she edged a little nearer to the rat.

“What kind of meeting?” Truda insisted. “What’s up?”

The rat had had enough. “What’s it to you, lady? I’m talking to the pretty one. Taken a fancy to her, I have, and seems like she feels the same about me. So keep your nose out of our business,
if
you don’t mind!”

There was a tiny puff of purple smoke, and the rat began to cough.

When he spoke again, his tone was very different. “ ’Scuse me. Sorry about that, lady. Didn’t mean to be rude.” He coughed again. “It’s our leader, Brother Burwash, ma’am. He’s gone missing, so it’s voting time. Gotta pick a new leader, see?”

Truda gave him a sharp glance. “And who are you?”

“Brother Bodalisk, ma’am, at your service.” The rat bowed to Evangeline. “
You
can call me Boddie, sweetheart.”

The horrified Evangeline was saved from thinking of an answer. The sounds in the Royal State Room suggested that visiting time was ending, and a babel of voices drowned out any reply she might have wanted to make. Queen Bluebell, intermittently interrupted by ferocious sneezes, was wishing everyone a good journey home, and Prince Vincent was scurrying about, getting in everyone’s way.

As the final footsteps departed, the queen heaved a loud, gusty sigh and remarked, “Thank goodness for that! ATCHOOO! Glad to see the back of them. Never seen such a lot of frilly-minded females in my life; couldn’t say a word when I asked them what they thought about this year’s hay crop or the price of peas. Not Kesta, of course. Good woman, even if she does talk too much. Vincent — stop shilly-shallying and go and do something useful.
ATCHOOO!
Find out if your rat catcher’s doing his stuff. We’ve got rats everywhere, and it won’t do. It won’t do at all. Never bothers
me,
of course — I quite like the little fellows, in fact — but what’ll our guests think if the place is running with rats tomorrow? They’ll all be off home again, quick as a wink, and there won’t be a single king or queen left to witness the Declaration.” There was another loud sigh. “D’you know what, Vincent? I’m feeling my age. I never thought I’d say it, but I am. I’m surrounded by nincompoops frightened by nothing more than a set of whiskers and a scaly tail . . . 
Atchooooooo
 . . .” And her booming voice faded away as she sneezed herself into the distance.

At last there was no sound. The witches and the rat strained their ears, but there was an emptiness in the air. Brother Bodalisk took advantage of the silence to give Evangeline a quick squeeze, and she screamed again.

“What’s that?” Prince Vincent, who had been brooding in the doorway, came clattering back. Bending down, he peered under the bookcase and was appalled to see six pairs of eyes staring back at him. Bodalisk had vanished.

“EEEEEEEK!” Vincent’s shriek echoed to the roof turrets of Wadingburn Palace, and the pigeons fluttered away. Servants came running from all directions, and the gibbering prince pointed with a trembling finger to the bookcase. “There!” he quavered. “Under there! THOUSANDS of rats . . . I saw them!”

“I’ll get the catcher, Your Highness,” said a tall footman as two of the maids jumped hastily onto chairs, and the others suddenly remembered they were urgently needed elsewhere. “I understand as he’s having a cuppa tea in the kitchen.” He marched off at speed. A second, braver footman bent down to see for himself, but a shaking Vincent pulled him away.

“They might run out!” he said. “Don’t look! They’re horrible! They might leap on you! They’ve got the beastliest whiskers and hideous teeth!”

The footman looked alarmed. “I’ll tell the rat catcher to hurry up, Your Highness!”

As he strode away, Vincent climbed onto his grandmother’s golden throne. One of the maids tittered, and he gave her a chilly look. “I can observe the rodents better from here,” he announced.

Under the bookcase, Truda glared at Evangeline. “Now see what you’ve done!” she hissed, and reached into her pocket.

“Teach her a lesson, Grandma!” Mrs. Cringe encouraged, rubbing her hands together in glee. Evangeline, very pale, was beginning to stutter an apology when her hand was grabbed.

“This way, doll!” Bodalisk was back. “Quick! Follow me.” And he led her swiftly toward a small opening at the back of the bookcase. With a squeeze and a wriggle, he disappeared. Evangeline hesitated. The hole was extraordinarily small and dark.

“Get on with it!” Truda said. “Here — let me go first!” She shoved Evangeline out of the way and followed the rat. There was the sound of a kiss and then a scuffle, but any comment from Truda was drowned by the noise the rat catcher made as he stomped into the State Room, accompanied by his yapping dog. Mrs. Cringe squeaked in terror and elbowed her way past Evangeline. She forced herself through the rat hole, and as the yapping grew closer, Ms. Scurrilous, Mrs. Vibble, and Mrs. Prag squeezed after her. It wasn’t until the little Jack Russell terrier pushed his nose under the bookcase that Evangeline finally plucked up the courage to follow them . . . and found herself sliding into a blackness so profound that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

“That you, babe?” said Bodalisk’s voice. “Welcome to
Chez Rattus Rattus
! But we’d better get going.” There was a creaking sound as if a rusty door were being opened, and a dim light lit up the tunnel. “This way, gorgeous!” And Bodalisk frisked his way around the other witches to take Evangeline’s arm before walking her away along a twisty tunnel that led down and down.

Truda Hangnail snorted but said nothing. In the distance she could hear the sounds of many rats squeaking and murmuring, and there was a cold and calculating look in her sharp black eyes as she hurried along behind the Grand High Witch and her scaly-tailed companion. Her hand was in her pocket, fingering her bag of bones.

Gracie’s head hurt.

She tried to open her eyes, but the stars circling her head twinkled so brightly that she shut them again. Someone dripped cold water on her face, and it dribbled down her neck; she sneezed, and a voice said, “Told you! I knew she wasn’t dead. She’s just been snuffed.”

This time Gracie managed to open first one eye, then the other. She was lying on a bed so hard she had thought she was on the floor, and she was surrounded by a group of children with enormous hollow eyes. They were so skinny that the light from the dirty barred window almost shone right through them, but they were looking at her with interest.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“Orphanage,” said the tallest girl. “You should know that. You’ve lived here long enough.”

“What?” Gracie turned her head to stare at the girl and winced. Her head was throbbing, and there were still a few stars dancing just beyond her vision. She was also extremely cold; her bathrobe had vanished, and her pajamas were muddy and damp. “What do you mean? What orphanage?”

“He said you wouldn’t know where you were,” said a small boy with sticking-out ears. He peered at Gracie. “Or who you are. And you
do
look ever so different. He said it was the witches did that to you.”

Gracie’s head began to spin, and not just with pain. “Witches? What witches?”

The tallest girl folded her arms. “Come on, Loobly Higgins.” She spoke in a loud, clear voice as if she thought Gracie were deaf or simpleminded. “We know you aren’t very clever, but even you must remember you’ve been up with the witches. Work experience, remember?” She leaned closer, and for a millisecond Gracie thought she saw a tiny wink. “You were let out for a week, and you ran away last night —”

“And Mr. Brandersby found you, but you didn’t want to come back here, and so he snuffed you!” the small boy interrupted. He sounded as if he were thrilled by the excitement of it all.

“But you’ll never run away again, will you, Loobly?” The tall girl was now looking at Gracie very hard indeed, and again there was the suspicion of a wink.

“Erm . . .” Gracie’s thoughts were whirling. Was she expected to agree? “No. No, I’m sure it’s a very bad thing to run away.”

“That’s right!” The tall girl smiled, and it was obvious that Gracie had given the right response. “It’s a
very
bad thing to run away.”

“Very bad,” Gracie echoed, and a bulky figure moved out of the dark shadows beneath the window. He was carrying a large, knobbly stick, and even Gracie cringed as he swung it to and fro.

“I’m glad you’ve seen sense, Loobly Higgins,” Buckleup Brandersby growled. “Those witches didn’t do you no good. No good at all. Turned your wits, what little you had of them.
And
changed your looks — and not for the better in my humble opinion. Still, I’m a fair man. You’re back now, so we’ll let bygones be bygones. You get down to that washhouse with Letty and set to work. And the rest of you”— he turned a burning eye on the other orphans and gestured with a clenched fist —“SCAT!”

The orphans scatted, with the exception of the tall girl. As she put out her hand to help Gracie to her feet, Buckleup Brandersby loomed over the two of them.