The Bag of Bones (14 page)

Gracie was also watching the stars, through the dusty windows of Buckleup Brandersby’s office; Buckleup was striding to and fro, his face purple with anger. The note lay on the table, and Gracie was trying to look innocent. Much to her relief, Letty had been sent off to the dormitories with nothing more than a stinging slap.

“So who’s this Marcus, then?” the orphanage keeper asked for the tenth time.

Gracie said nothing.

Buckleup tried a different approach. “Trying to get out of here, are you, Gracie Gillypot?”

“If you please,” Gracie said politely, “you told me I was Loobly Higgins, and I wasn’t to forget it.”

“Don’t you try and be clever with me, miss!” Buckleup stared at her with bloodshot eyes. He knew it was Gracie who had written the note, but there was something about her clear-eyed gaze that was making him feel uncomfortable. Loobly had had the same effect on him; he was able to bluster and threaten, but he hesitated to use brute force. “I’ll teach you to be fresh, young lady. You’ll stay in the washhouse tonight, and every night afterward, until you’ve learned not to answer back.”

Gracie dipped a curtsy. “Yes, sir.”

“Right!” Buckleup jangled the keys on his belt and strode toward the door, pushing Gracie in front of him. “Let’s see how you like it down there in the cold and the dark when there’s no one around to keep you company.”

Gracie didn’t answer. It wasn’t until the huge wooden door had slammed behind her and the key had clicked in the lock that she finally took a deep breath. The washhouse was silent now, and a chilly dampness filled the air. Gracie shivered as she looked around.

“I’m not going to cry,” she told herself. “Maybe this is all for the best; at least I’m on my own.” She studied the windows, wondering if any of the rusty bars could be loosened, but they were much too deeply embedded in the solid stone walls. She pushed at the door to the drying yard, but that was locked as well as bolted.

So what do I do now?
she asked herself.
I can’t find a way out, so . . . so maybe I’d better get some sleep. Things’ll look better in the morning — at least, I hope they will. They can’t look any worse
. A thought struck her, and she smiled to herself.
Actually, they could be a whole lot worse — imagine if I was back living in Fracture with a horrible stepfather and being shut in a totally black cellar every night.
Gracie began to feel almost cheerful.
And Gubble will be looking for me.

She yawned again and found her way to a pile of socks that were already washed and dried. Curling up among them, she did her best to think of glowing fires, and mugs of hot chocolate, and warm, cozy blankets, until she forgot about the cold stone floors and walls and drifted off to sleep.

Alf, tapping gently on the window an hour or so later, was unable to wake her. “Just like in the stories,” he told himself with a romantic sigh. “Sleeping while she waits to be rescued.” He flitted off to encourage Gubble, who had stopped some way down the road.

“Hurry up,” Alf called, but Gubble held up a hand.

“Horse,” he said. “Horse coming fast!”

Gubble was right. Seconds later Glee came galloping toward them.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Marcus said as he slid from his panting pony. “Is she OK?”

Alf waved a wing at Gubble. “Only just got here ourselves,” he said. “That troll takes his time. And she’s asleep.” He looked hopefully at Marcus. “You could wake her with a kiss.”

Marcus looked horrified. “I’d frighten her to death,” he said. “Besides . . .” he pointed to the looming bulk of the orphanage, hideous even when painted silver by the moon. “We’re supposed to be getting her out, not getting us in.”

“She won’t wake up,” Alf told him. “I knocked on the window, but she didn’t hear me.”

“I could chuck something at it and break the glass,” Marcus suggested, then shook his head. “Silly suggestion. Too noisy. Sorry. Guess I’m tired.”

Gubble suddenly sat down. “Gubble sleep,” he announced, and closed his eyes.

“Oh, no!” Marcus said, but Alf flew an excited circle.

“I know! You could both sleep,” he squeaked. “I’m like Uncle Marlon. I’m good at night. You sleep, and I’ll keep watch!”

Marcus yawned. “If you’re sure . . . but wake us the minute Gracie wakes up.”

Alf puffed himself up proudly. “Sure thing!” he said, and he flew to take up his position outside the washhouse window.

A minute later, he too was fast asleep.

The witches of Wadingburn were huddled together in a corner of the Wadingburn Palace dairy. In front of them were three old cheese parings, one moldy crust and a bacon rind that had definitely seen better days. Bodalisk had presented the meal to Evangeline with a flourish, and she had done her best to be grateful, but it was difficult.

Truda Hangnail took one look at the meager offerings and snapped her fingers. She started to grow upward and outward, and Brother Bodalisk, sitting on the cold stone floor beside Evangeline, squeaked in horrified astonishment. Truda ignored him and began to help herself from the dishes of cream and freshly churned butter and plates of rich yellow cheese that were laid out in rows on the dairy shelves.

“This is the stuff for queens,” she said with relish.

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Ms. Scurrilous objected, “that hardly seems fair. Could you pass us a little cheese?”

“I do mind,” Truda snarled, and pointed a bony finger.

Ms. Scurrilous said no more. Her ears were itching unbearably.

“This time tomorrow, the princesses will be arriving,” Truda gloated as she continued eating, “along with the queens and kings and all . . . and won’t they be in for a surprise!” She helped herself to more cream. “And once I’m given that crown, the Deep Magic’ll flow . . . flow and flow . . . and grow and grow.” She snapped her fingers a second time, and a flurry of purple sparks shot up into the air. A second later they were tiny purple wasps buzzing around and around the dairy.

Malice, who had been sulking ever since he was shrunk, opened one wicked eye to watch as Mrs. Prag and Mrs. Vibble scurried under a stool.

“See?” Truda cackled in triumph. “Be very, very careful, my little witchy friends. And now I’m off to sleep, and a future queen doesn’t sleep on the cold stone floors of a dairy.” She cracked her knuckles and peered out the dairy window. “There’s a hayloft above the stables. That’ll do for now. Where’s my granddaughter?”

“Here, Grandma!” Mrs. Cringe stepped forward eagerly.

“You come with me. I’ll need messages run in the morning. As for the rest of you — don’t you go getting any fancy ideas!” And, pulling her black hood over her head, Truda slid out into the darkness, her tiny granddaughter scuttling behind her.

“What about us?” Ms. Scurrilous called from the doorway, but there was no answer.

“Got a cozy little nest under the churn,” Brother Bodalisk offered.

The witches trailed after him, only to find that a cozy little nest for one was a bit
too
cozy when shared between four. There was a good deal of muttering and shoving before they settled down.

“Shall I sing you a lullaby?” Bodalisk asked.

“No,” snapped Mrs. Prag.

“No, thank you,” said Evangeline, more kindly.

“Okeydokey.” The rat waved and slipped away to see what was going on in the palace. It was late enough for most of the Large Ones to be in their rooms, and the cavernous kitchen was almost empty. Just one small kitchen maid was left struggling with the last of a heap of frying pans.

Bodalisk eyed the obvious preparations for the next day’s party with interest; there would be good pickings afterward. There was an enormous birthday cake covered all over with blue and silver icing on one table and a host of other smaller cakes on another. He was considering the chances of making off with a mouthful of fruitcake when a small voice said, “Ratty? Be you hungry?”

Brother Bodalisk froze. How could she have seen him under the dresser?

“Here you be, ratty, currants . . . currants for my dearly ratty. Be you better now?”

There was a faint answering squeak but no sign of any currants appearing on the floor, and Bodalisk relaxed. There must be another rat. He peered out cautiously and saw that the skinny girl was gazing earnestly into the pocket of her oversize apron.

“Weird,” he decided. “Still . . . if she likes rats . . .” He took a step forward.

“Hello, more ratty,” Loobly said. “Don’t be frighted.”

Bodalisk hesitated. There was nothing threatening about this girl; indeed, he felt as if he had walked into a patch of warm sunlight. He shook himself, and the lingering echo of Truda’s purple Evil drifted from his mind, leaving him feeling wonderfully clearheaded. “Hi,” he said, and bowed. “Brother Bodalisk. Pleased to meet you.”

“Loobly,” said Loobly. “And is pleased to be meeting too.” She lifted a cover from a silver platter and took out a slice of fresh pink ham. “Here you be. Nicely for ratties.”

“Wow!” Bodalisk said, and tucked it under his arm. “Thanks! Thanks very much!”

“No eating?” Loobly asked in surprise.

Bodalisk shook his head. “Got a lady friend,” he explained. “I . . . I’d like to share it with her.” He looked up at Loobly coyly. “Name of Evangeline Droop. Pretty name, ain’t it?”

“Levangeline?” Loobly was wide-eyed. “But . . . is Auntie!” She shivered and crouched down by Bodalisk. “Listen, ratty. Listen to Loobly. Auntie Levangeline was magicked into littleness by badness.
Bad
badness . . . Loobly saw. Watch for badness, ratty. Is purple. Purple badness make things big and little and bad.” She shivered again and glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Where Auntie Levangeline now? Is with scary witchy woman?”

Bodalisk, for the first time ever, was speechless. His eyes bulged as he stared at Loobly and took in what she was saying. It all made terrible sense: the purple mist that had cast a spell over the rats in the cellar, the way Truda had suddenly grown. . . . He swallowed. How had he not realized what was happening? He had known it was Deep Magic — hadn’t he told Evangeline and tried to protect her? But somehow it hadn’t seemed to matter very much — somehow he had gone along with Truda. Slowly Bodalisk realized that he too had been under Truda’s spell, and a sense of righteous indignation made his whiskers tremble. He sat up straight and folded his arms. “As it happens,” he said, “Evangeline’s in the dairy, and the witch is in the hayloft — but don’t you go out there. Could cause no end of trouble.”