The Bag of Bones (15 page)

Loobly went very pale. “Must run away,” she said. “You run, ratty. Is terrible badness coming. . . .”

“Hang on.” Bodalisk regretfully put down the piece of ham. “I’m off. Going to find out what’s going on, I am. Can’t have my babe messed around with by that old trout. She’s got a plan for tomorrow night; going to be queen, she reckons. You stay here.” And Bodalisk, still bristling with indignation, slid under the kitchen door and disappeared in the direction of the hayloft.

Loobly looked up at the night sky. “Where be Mr. Marlon?” she asked. “Where be Alf? Where be crones? Oh, Loobly . . . bad Loobly. Should have gone to crones like Auntie Levangeline was asking.” She sighed, and a tear trickled down her face and dripped off her chin. “And where be my dearly Doily? Where be lovely Sprout?”

It was well past midnight in the House of the Ancient Crones, and the Ancient One was studying the web of power over Elsie’s shoulder. The purple stain was intensifying and was in danger of spreading across the full width of the material.

“And if that happens,” the Ancient One said, “all of the Five Kingdoms will be threatened.” She sighed and readjusted the cat on her head. “I’ll see how it looks in the morning.”

There was a tap at the window, and she looked up to see Marlon grinning at her.

“Marlon!” she said as she opened the window and let him in. “At last! Have you seen Gracie?”

“No worries,” Marlon said, settling himself comfortably upside down on the curtain rod. “She’s being rescued by the prince and the troll.”

“Rescued?” Elsie stopped weaving for a moment. “Oh, Marlon! Did the Deep Magic get her?”

Marlon shook his head. “She was popped into an orphanage, but I’ve sorted it out. Left Alf in charge.” He paused to smile proudly. “The lad done good. This time tomorrow, Gracie’ll be back here, safe and sound.”

Room seventeen gave a convulsive shudder, and Marlon looked alarmed. “What’s that?”

“The House is upset,” the Ancient One told him. “Marlon, have you seen any sign of Deep Magic?”

The bat nodded. “I got Gracie well away,” he boasted. “Some dame was up on Wadingburn Hill last night; purple mist ’n’ all sorts. Threatening to take over as Queen of Wadingburn. Nasty piece of work. I came here to file a report; she’s got the witchy women running all over the place. Not that they’ll be any trouble. They’re rat-size. Flash of blue light, and a few minutes later, down they went. But she’s serious stuff.”

He stopped. Both Edna and Elsie were staring at him. “Blue light?” they said together.

“Sure thing.” Marlon was emphatic. “Blue all over.”

“And Gracie was nowhere near,” the Ancient One said thoughtfully.

Marlon shifted on the rod. “There was a kid hiding. Runaway orphan. The dame was after her, and the fat guy from the orphanage. Funny kid.” The bat modestly studied a claw. “Rescued her, too. Damsel in distress, see?”

Elsie clapped her hands. “You’re a hero!”

“Marlon,” the Ancient One asked, her one blue eye shining, “could this girl be a Trueheart?”

“What?” Marlon considered for a moment. “Yup. Guess so.” He went on thinking. “There was trouble with the dogs; ran into a purple kinda spell. The kid was up above in the tree, and as soon as the witch tried something — bang! Blue light everywhere, and they were up and at ’em again.”

Elsie nodded. “Definitely a Trueheart. No doubt about it.”

“Marlon,” Edna said slowly, “I think there could be a way to defeat this witch . . . but I’ll need your help.”

The bat puffed out his furry chest. “No prob.”

“I must ask you to be a hero for a second time.” Edna gave the web a quick glance. “I want you to bring this girl and Gracie together. Two Truehearts together make a powerful combination and can alter the path of Deep Magic so it does little or no harm.”

“Cool,” Marlon said cheerfully. Room seventeen gave an immediate ripple, and he slid from one end of the rod to the other, flapping his wings indignantly. “Hey! What’s with the shaking?”

“It’s a Trueheart House. It’s trying to send you on your way,” Elsie told him. “It’s a good sign, really. It means it thinks you can help.”

The bat was still ruffled. “If you say so. And yup. I can get the kids together. But . . .” he paused. “That dame’s dangerous . . .”

“And you’re worried about Gracie,” the Ancient One completed his thought. “I can’t promise she’ll be safe. Where Deep Magic’s concerned, nothing and nowhere is safe. Not even here. But I know Gracie would want to do all she could to help.”

“Check. Me too.” Marlon stood at attention, but the effect was lost as he tried to hide a yawn and wobbled.

“You’re tired.” Elsie nodded at him sympathetically. “We won’t expect you to fly all the way back, will we, Edna?”

There was no time for an answer. Room seventeen gave another violent shake, and Marlon found himself tossed through the open window. A gust of wind caught him and sent him high in the air, only to drop him on the path that was snaking around and around the outside of the House.

“Oi!” Marlon said, but already the path was off, carrying him with it at a breathless speed. Up the hill it raced, past bushes and bogs and in and out of trees, until the bat was so dizzy he was forced to shut his eyes. On and on they went, scooting through the Less Enchanted Forest and zooming through the Pretty Normal Forest until the path finally slithered down along the road that led to Wadingburn village. With a twist and a roll, it dropped its passenger in a heap with the sticks and pebbles and leaves it had gathered on its way, rippled a farewell, and vanished as speedily as it had come.

Marlon staggered to his feet amid the rubbish. A white feather, half buried, caught his eye, and he picked it up and inspected it. “Whoa,” he said in surprise, and he tucked it under his wing before dusting himself off. Surprised to find that his tiredness had vanished, he chuckled. “What a way to travel! Excellento. Best be off. Check the orphanage, then on to the palace!” And he was gone.

Gracie awoke with a start and for a moment couldn’t remember where she was. There was a faint light attempting to brighten the windows, and she decided it must be early in the morning. She stretched and flapped her arms in an effort to warm herself up, but she felt chilled to the bone. A tear trickled down her nose, and she wiped it away crossly with her pajama sleeve.

“It would be easier to be brave if I had something to eat,” she said out loud. “I’m starving. It feels like days since Gubble and I had those berries.”

A thought struck her, and she went to look in the hiding place under the sink that Letty had shown her. Perhaps Loobly had a secret store of cookies? But there was only the old shoe and a broken wicker basket. Gracie pulled out the shoe, and looked at it again.

“That’s our Loobly’s,” said a shrill voice. “Don’t you go taking what isn’t yours!”

Gracie jumped and looked around. At first she could see nothing in the shadowy light, but a moment later an elderly rat appeared on the draining board beside her.

“I’m so sorry,” Gracie said. “I wasn’t going to take it away. I was looking for something to eat.”

The rat sat up and inspected her. “You’re not a Screamer, I see. Hmph. That’s a surprise.” He pulled at a whisker. “Our Loobly wasn’t neither, but then she was used to us. Knew her from a baby, we did. Erm — didn’t find nothing to eat, then?”

Gracie shook her head. “No. Are you hungry too?”

“Hungry?” The rat rubbed his stomach, and it gurgled gently. “Hear that? Thinks my throat’s been cut.” He came a little closer. “It’s the wife, though. She’s the one I’m worried about. She doesn’t get around as fast as she used to, so we don’t go skittering through the kitchens anymore. Loobly used to bring us bits and pieces after her dinner, see, and we got used to it. Lazy, I suppose.”

“She sounds very kind,” Gracie said. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“She was awayed by the witchy women, our Loobly was.” The second voice was so high-pitched that Gracie had to strain to hear the words. A small, stout lady rat came shyly out from a hole behind the sink. “She be gone, and we be sadly without, ain’t we, Sproutie?”

“There there, Doily.” Sprout put his arm around his wife, and Gracie smiled at the two of them.

Doily came a little closer to Gracie. “You do smile like my Loobly. She did smile like summery days when she be happy, and she be happy with me and Sproutie.”

“Was my Doily taught Loobly to talk,” Sprout said proudly. “Couldn’t say nothing at all when she arrived, so little she was. Just her name and how she was dirty.”

“Letty told me about that.” Gracie rubbed her nose. “And that she was in a basket with her shoe.”

Sprout nodded. “Pretty little thing. All dressed up, too. Frills everywhere, weren’t there, Doily?”

Doily sighed. “Lovely frilleries.” She gave Gracie a hopeful look. “You be finding our Loobly?”

“I’ve got to get out of here first,” Gracie said. “And I’m not —”

Tap!

Something tapped at the window, and the rats and Gracie swung around. A small black shape flapped cheerfully outside the dirty glass — and Gracie gasped, laughed, and ran toward it.

“Batsie!” Doily sounded nervous.

“It’s my friend!” Gracie was already climbing up to see if she could unlatch the window, but the catch was welded up with rust and age. “Oh, well,” she said, and picked up a scrubbing brush.

The glass broke with a sharp tinkling sound, and Alf flew in, tumbling into loop after loop in his excitement. “Oh, Miss Gracie!” he squeaked. “Are you OK?”

Gracie beamed at him. “It’s
so
lovely to see you. Oh — might I introduce some new friends? Mr. . . . er . . . Sprout and Mrs. Doily?”

The two rats and the bat eyed one another for a moment before Sprout nodded. “Hello,” he said with a certain caution.

Alf flew a series of tight spirals over Gracie’s head. “Guess who’s outside waiting for you?”

“Gubble!” Gracie clapped her hands.

“AND Prince Marcus!” Alf spiraled once too often, misjudged his landing, and ended his flight in a sink full of half-washed socks. “Ooooof!” Gracie rushed to help him, but before she reached the sink, Alf emerged, sneezing. “So now we can have a happy ending, ’cause the prince has come to rescue you!”

Doily scampered forward and held up her paws imploringly. “Girlie — nicely girlie — prince be rescuing our Loobly too?”

Alf shook himself. “Loobly Higgins?”

“You know she?” Doily looked at the little bat in surprise.

“We rescued her.” Alf tried to look modest. “Me and Uncle Marlon. We saved her from . . .” He suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to mention Truda Hangnail. “We saved her from the orphanage man, and now she’s safe in Wadingburn Palace kitchen!”

“Wow!” Gracie gave Alf a thumbs-up. “That’s amazing! You’re a star, Alf!”

Alf blinked and blushed under his fur. Sprout and Doily fell into each other’s arms. “She’s safe,” Sprout rejoiced. “Will she be coming home soon?”

There was a rattle of small stones against the window, and Alf zoomed into a spin, grateful for the interruption. “That’ll be the prince! We’ve got to get you out of here, Miss Gracie.”

Gracie heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks. D’you know what? If only I could get out into the drying yard, you might be able to help me find a way to get over the wall.”

“I know!” Alf shot toward her, his little eyes sparkling. “I heard it in a story! Sheets! You tie them together and make a rope and —”

Gracie shook her head. “But there aren’t any sheets. There’s only socks.”

There was a pause. Even the indefatigable Alf could see that knotting heaps of damp woolen socks together might be impractical, but then Gracie jumped to her feet, her eyes shining. “I’m so stupid!” she exclaimed. “The clothesline! It’s strong enough to hold loads and loads and
loads
of washing — I’m sure it’ll hold me!”

“So all we’ve got to do is open that door!” Alf waved a cheerful wing at the heavy wooden door, firmly locked with a massive iron lock — and then looked again. “Oh,” he said sadly. “Oh, dear.”

Sprout coughed. “Ahem. The key’s on that top shelf. Saw him hide it there myself.”

It took Alf only a moment to push the key off the top of the dresser.