The Bag of Bones (20 page)

Truda had not expected this, and she began to tap her foot angrily. “Patience, Truda, patience,” she told herself. “Let the old bag have a few more minutes.”

The double doors behind Queen Bluebell burst open, and an enormous blue-and-white birthday cake was wheeled in, ablaze with candles. There was a burst of enthusiastic applause, and as the orchestra struck up a birthday tune, Queen Bluebell sank into a deep curtsy. The guests sang loudly and enthusiastically until the queen, with one enormous breath, blew out each and every candle, and Prince Vincent shouted, “Three cheers for Grandmother!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Queen Bluebell boomed, and she picked up a large parchment scroll. “And now —”

“Wait!” screeched a voice. “Wait!”

The guests looked around, startled and alarmed.

“
Aaargh!
It’s a RAT!” Princess Marigold pointed with a quivering finger as Truda Hangnail stepped out from under the platform.

“Look again, you little fool,” Truda jeered. “Look again!” As she grew taller and taller, the guests shrank back in horrified silence. The witch gave a mocking laugh and strode toward Queen Bluebell, a triumphant smile on her face. “A queen to follow you, that’s what you want. And a queen you shall have, for I’m here to take my place. And you’ll declare Truda Hangnail queen, or else —”

“Stop!” Gracie came running out of the crowd. “Stop! There is an heir — there is! And I know where!” She rushed to the birthday cake and wrenched away the top layer, revealing the hollow interior.

For a long, long moment, nothing happened, and then Loobly’s pale face emerged. Slowly, as the watching audience held its breath, she stood up and, with Gracie’s help, climbed out to stand by Queen Bluebell’s throne. When she saw the sea of staring faces, she went pink, and brushed at her grubby apron. “Loobly dirty,” she said apologetically.

“No,” Gracie said, and she turned to the astonished Queen Bluebell. “Don’t you see? Loobly dirty. Seventeen years ago this girl was left on the orphanage steps in a basket with nothing but a shoe — but she’d been taught her name. Loobly Dirty. Bluebell the Thirtieth. Here is the shoe, Your Majesty.” Gracie pulled the shoe from her pocket and laid it on the table. “And this is your granddaughter, Bluebell.”

“Not so fast, young lady,” Truda’s lips were drawn back in an ugly snarl. “Not so fast! I’ve not come this far to be stopped by the likes of you and your fairy stories.” She held the bag of bones high above her head and waved it at the doors and windows of the Royal State Room. Purple stars flew in all directions, and Truda chanted, “Open the doors! Open the windows! Let the rats run in! Open the doors!”

The royal visitors, transfixed by fear and incredulity, gasped and whispered and clutched at one another as four more witches rose up, seemingly from nowhere. They moved to the doors, and they moved to the windows, and they opened them wide.

Loobly screamed, “Aunty Levangeline! Aunty Levangeline! Look! My ratty — he no picklified no more. Look!” She brought out a rat from her pocket and held him up . . . and the incoming sea of rats stopped.

They stopped, and they stared, and they shook their heads in disbelief. “Brother Burwash!” they whispered. “Brother Burwash!”

The rat opened his eyes, shook his head, and slipped out of Loobly’s arms to the back of the throne. Then he spoke. “Listen here, guys. This won’t do. Won’t do at all. The young lady’s done a lot for me, and I don’t want you spoiling her day. Seems as if she’s something special, so I’d like you to just run away and —”

“No! No! NO! NO!” Truda raged, and she took her bag of bones and tore it open. Flurries of purple powder swirled into the air, spiraled into eddies, twisted into strange shapes of grinning imps and dancing demons and roaring dragons, while the kings and queens and princes and princesses cowered down, whimpering and moaning . . . and then it was gone. Nothing was left but a cloud of the palest blue butterflies, which flittered this way and that before settling on Loobly’s arms and shoulders and dress, so that she had every appearance of being dressed in shimmering blue satin. Truda Hangnail, clutching at the throne, gave a feeble moan and began to shrink. Down and down and down she went, smaller and smaller and smaller . . . until she was the size of a rat. Then a mouse. Then a beetle. Then . . . she was gone.

“Wow!”
breathed Gracie. “WOW!”

Brother Burwash, his dignity a little impaired by the butterfly sitting on his head, marched briskly toward the goggling rats. “Come along, guys,” he said briskly. “Don’t want to be intrusive, do we? Think the young lady’ll be OK now.” He turned and made Loobly a deep bow. “Any time I can be of service, miss, just call me. Brother Burwash, leader of the rats. And I’ll make sure you’re never bothered by us again, miss. We’ll be out of sight. Rat’s honor!” And with a cheery whistle, he marched his army away.

There was a long silence, broken at last by Queen Bluebell. “Goodness gracious me.” Her voice shook, and she pulled a large handkerchief out of a capacious pocket and wiped her eyes. “Goodness me.” She picked up the shoe and put it down again. “It’s the mate to the shoe that Vincent came with. Bella’s shoe. Bluebell, my dear, I’m so
very
glad to meet you. Welcome home.”

Loobly looked at her grandmother in wonder. “You truly be my grandma?”

“I truly am,” Queen Bluebell said, tears running down her cheeks. “I very truly am. Might . . . might you feel able to give your grandma a hug?”

As Loobly was swept into Queen Bluebell’s arms, there was a loud and happy sigh from the watching crowd, followed by massive applause.

“It’s a real happy-ever-after,” said a small voice in Gracie’s ear.

“Alf!”
she said, startled. “Where have you been?”

“Unc says I’m his true successor,” the little bat announced proudly. “Look who I’ve brought here.” He waved a small wing. The double doors behind the throne burst open once more, and the dumbfounded guests were treated to the sight of a squat green troll hauling a sullen Buckleup Brandersby behind him.

“Bad man,” Gubble announced.

“It’s a troll!” Prince Vincent shrieked. “Call the guard!”

“Absolutely not.” Marcus stepped forward as Gracie ran to Gubble’s side. “
This
is the man in charge of the orphanage where Loobly was brought up.
This
is the man who kept her in a washhouse. . . .”

There was no need for Marcus to explain any more. As Loobly screamed and hid behind Queen Bluebell, the queen held up her hand. “Take the horrible man away,” she ordered. “He will be dealt with later.” She sank back onto her throne, holding Loobly tightly as Buckleup Brandersby was pried from Gubble’s unwilling grasp. “My poor child. My poor child.”

But Loobly was smiling. “Look!” she said. “Look! Is orphans!”

And it was true. Spilling through the doors were the orphans, led by Letty. “Hi, Loo,” she said, and grinned. “We came to see you! The troll said there was a party. Said we should come.”

Queen Bluebell rose to her feet. “If you are friends of my granddaughter, you are all most welcome,” she said. “And you will continue to be welcome. My granddaughter will have a great deal to learn, and it would, I am sure, be a comfort to her to have you here with her.”

“ ’Scuse me,” said the smallest orphan, “but does that mean we can eat that cake?”

“The cake and much, much more,” Queen Bluebell told him, and with a loud yelp of joy the smallest orphan hurled himself into the middle of the icing.

Loobly tugged at her grandmother’s sleeve. “Is to truly stay here?” she asked.

“Truly is, my dear,” Queen Bluebell told her.

Loobly’s smile filled the room. “Is
good,
” she said happily.

Queen Bluebell’s guests were mopping their brows and readjusting their crowns as they were marshaled away from the State Room and into the banqueting hall. The orphans were systematically destroying the birthday cake, and it was felt they were best left to get on with it. Plates of healthier and more substantial food were being organized, but for the time being, cake was what they wanted. Gubble was supervising them, aided by Alf and the witches of Wadingburn, with the exception of Mrs. Cringe, who had tiptoed away unseen. Evangeline Droop, who was suffering from a shockingly bad headache, had decided she would leave trying to make sense of all that had happened until another day.

“But perhaps we could assist with the education of these dear children,” Ms. Scurrilous suggested.

“Work experience!” Mrs. Prag agreed.

“The preparation of creams and soothing herbs,” said Mrs. Vibble. “So very useful.”

“We’ll think about it,” Evangeline said.

The kings and queens were also trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Must have been some kind of play,” said one loud voice.

“Of course!” said another, with evident relief. “Of course it was!”

“Splendid stuff, Bluebell old girl!” King Frank marched across and shook the queen’s hand. “Never seen anything like it in my life! Good show! Best ever!”

“And
such
a sweet way to introduce your granddaughter,” Queen Mildred said with a sigh. She smiled at Loobly, who was holding Queen Bluebell’s hand. “You must come and visit us very soon.”

“We’ll be delighted,” Queen Bluebell told her. “And I’d be most grateful if you could put me in touch with that excellent tutor you had for your boys. Professor Scallio, was it?”

“Of course,” Queen Mildred said with a certain doubt in her voice. “Erm . . . you do know his sister is one of the Ancient Crones?”

“And none the worse for that,” Queen Bluebell boomed. “Which reminds me. Where’s Gracie Gillypot? Good girl, Gracie. Very good girl. In fact”— she leaned toward Queen Mildred and lowered her voice to a low rumble —“she was the one I’d chosen as my successor. I like her style, and your boy likes her too, doesn’t he? Still, things have turned out differently. And she’d probably have hated it. Do help yourself to the chocolate muffins. Delicious, so Vincent tells me.”

Gracie Gillypot was not in the banqueting room. Neither was she in the ballroom, where Prince Arioso, an expression of heavenly bliss on his face, was dancing cheek to cheek with Nina-Rose. From time to time the white peacock feather in her hair tickled his nose and made him sneeze, and then Nina-Rose would give him an adoring look and hand him her minute lace handkerchief.