The Bag of Bones (7 page)

In the Royal State Room of Wadingburn Palace, Prince Vincent was blissfully happy. It was State Visit Friday, and he was standing in for his grandmother, Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth, who had declared that she was going to arrive later. She had a terrible cold, and Vincent was secretly hoping she might not get up at all. Normally firmly suppressed by his illustrious grandmother, he was making the most of his opportunity as he worked his way around the crowded room.

“Did I tell you about the different kinds of cake we’re having at Grandmother’s Declaration Ball tomorrow?” he asked Queen Kesta of Dreghorn.

Queen Kesta, who had already heard about the soups, the fish, the pies, and the ice creams, stifled a yawn. “No, dear,” she said as politely as she could. “Do tell me.”

Prince Vincent beamed at her, but he had hardly finished describing the first of the eight different varieties of cake before Queen Kesta’s eyes closed. The prince, certain she was imagining the glories of rose-petal cream, continued unabashed.

Princess Nina-Rose, Queen Kesta’s oldest daughter, had managed to escape from Vincent somewhere between the pies and the ice cream, but having been bored beyond belief, she was feeling decidedly contrary. She was sitting on a window seat, gazing out the window, while behind her, Prince Arioso, heir to the kingdom of Gorebreath, stood on one leg, looking forlorn.

“But
why
won’t you promise me the first dance?” he asked plaintively. “You said you would the other day.”

Nina-Rose shrugged a shoulder and went on looking out the window.

Marcus, Arioso’s twin brother, squashed a strong desire to box her ears. Marcus had little time for princesses who spent their time fluttering fans, changing their minds, and worrying about frilly dresses. He also disliked the fact that his brother, older by exactly ten minutes, looked like a lost puppy whenever he was near Nina-Rose. He sighed, squinted up at the ballroom clock, and was depressed to discover that it was only three minutes since he’d last looked. State visits were supposed to last at least an hour, and so far they had managed only a quarter of the allotted time — although fifteen minutes of Prince Vincent had made it feel like several days already. “If you don’t feel like talking, I’m sure Vincent wouldn’t mind if Arry and I left a bit early,” he said hopefully.

Nina-Rose shrugged the other shoulder, and Arry’s face grew even longer. Marcus sighed impatiently and moved toward the door, but Arioso shot him a pleading look.

Rolling his eyes, Marcus sat down again, wondering why his twin brother — so like him to look at — was so completely different in character. Arry was a model of good behavior, never caused trouble, and actually seemed to enjoy royal duties that made Marcus squirm with boredom. Indeed, Marcus would never have come on the visit to Wadingburn Palace if he hadn’t been in need of Arry’s help; state visits were extremely low on Marcus’s list of essential activities, but Arioso adored them and liked Marcus to keep him company. Adventures, however, were something else, and Marcus had in mind a plan to explore the Less Enchanted Forest beyond the borders of the Five Kingdoms . . . a plan that would mean he was away from home overnight. This was something his parents would not allow under any circumstances, so he needed Arry to come down to breakfast twice, once as himself, and then — rather later, and in a terrible hurry — pretending to be Marcus. The two of them were so alike that even King Frank and Queen Mildred couldn’t always tell them apart; only Marcus’s complete lack of concern about clothes, and a tendency to have his hair sticking up in tufts, distinguished him from Arioso.

Marcus looked at the clock again. Seventeen minutes gone. Nina-Rose was still staring out the window, and Arry was still drooping. All around the room little groups of princesses were giggling and peeping at the princes over the tops of their fans, and sooner or later he’d be forced into conversation with one or another of them. Something had to be done, or he’d go completely mad.

“What if Arry went on a quest?” he asked suddenly. “You know — like the knights of old? Caught a dragon for you, or something like that? Would you dance with him then?”

Arry looked horrified, but Nina-Rose turned around. “I wouldn’t like a dragon,” she said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. “It would make too much of a mess. All that nasty fire and trampling about.”

Marcus saw a glimmer of hope. “Not a dragon, then. A mermaid? A griffin?”

Nina-Rose gave Arry a sideways look, making sure he got the full benefit of her exceedingly long eyelashes. “Would you really go on a quest for me?”

Aware that Arry was quite likely to say that he would do anything for Nina-Rose just as long as it didn’t involve foolishness and danger, Marcus slapped his twin so hard on the back that Arry coughed instead of answering.

“Of course he would,” Marcus promised. “He never stops talking about you and how wonderful you are.” This was true. “He’s always saying he can’t wait to prove how much he adores you.” This was not true, but Nina-Rose went a delicate shade of pink and smiled at Arry for the first time since he had arrived.

“Oh, Arry
darling,
” she breathed. “How amazing of you! As it happens, there
is
something I’d really, really like.” She paused to consider the effect she was having on Arry and noticed an apprehensive look in his eyes. Annoyed, she went on, “That is, if you really
are
brave enough. If you aren’t, I’m sure Prince Albion of Cockenzie Rood would fetch it for me. He promised he’d do
anything
if I’d dance with him. . . .”

“WHAT?” Arry sat bolt upright and looked almost warlike. Marcus grinned. This was more like it. “What is it you want?”

Nina-Rose, now enjoying herself hugely, leaned back against the window with a little sigh of pleasure. “Someone told Mother they’d seen a snow-white peacock in Flailing. I’d
love
a feather from a snow-white peacock for my hair. . . .”

“Consider it yours,” Arry said firmly, then paused. “At least —”

“At least nothing,” Marcus cut in swiftly, jumping to his feet. “Arry’ll be off on his quest at once — won’t you, Arry?”

“At once?” Arry looked up at the clock. “But we haven’t finished our visit —”

“No time to worry about royal etiquette now,” Marcus told him. “I’m sure Nina-Rose will forgive you and give Vincent our apologies for leaving early,” and he bowed to the princess as he pried Arry to his feet.

Nina-Rose, who had been wondering what else she could ask for, looked disappointed, but she smiled sweetly enough at Arry. “Of course,” she said.

“And you’ll dance the first dance with me?” Arry called over his shoulder as his brother frog-marched him toward the door.

“Oh, Arry . . .” Now that he was leaving, Nina-Rose began to feel pangs of remorse. Arry was, after all, incredibly handsome. And rich. And adoring. “I’d absolutely love to dance with you all night long.”

“Wowsers!” Arry’s smile nearly split his face in two as they left the room. “Did you hear that, Marcus?”

“I did. Now, come on — we’ve got to get back to Wadingburn so I can get Glee saddled and ready to go.”

“And you’ll bring me back that peacock feather?” Arry asked anxiously.

Marcus threw up his hands in frustration. “YES!” And he pushed his brother out the palace door and into the coach that was waiting outside.

Arry climbed in, still beaming. “There’s nothing like dancing with the girl you love,” he declared as he settled into a corner. “Maybe you’ll find a beautiful princess to dance with as well, Marcus. I’m sure Princess Marigold always gives you a special kind of smile when she meets you. Mother was saying you’d make a lovely couple.” He lowered his voice. “Nina-Rose told me not to tell you, but Marigold’s going to ask you for the Last Waltz.”

“Me?” Marcus stopped halfway in and halfway out of the coach. “If I dance with anyone — and I’m not saying I will — it’ll be with Gracie Gillypot. She’s got more sense in her little finger than any of those frilly sisters of Nina-Rose!”

The smile left Arioso’s face. “But Marcus — she won’t have been invited!”

“WHAT?” Marcus stared at his brother. “What do you mean, she’s not invited?”

Arry shrugged. “I know she’s a friend of yours, but she’s . . . well, she’s only an orphan, isn’t she?”

Marcus went on staring while he took in what his brother was saying. Then, with a muttered exclamation, he left the coach and shot back into Wadingburn Palace.

He arrived in front of Prince Vincent in a flurry, and grabbed his arm. “Hey!” he demanded. “You can ask Gracie to this ball, can’t you?”

Prince Vincent’s mind was full of buttercream icing and strawberry jam. His mouth fell open, and he gaped at Marcus. “Gracie?” he asked vaguely.

“You know — Gracie Gillypot. Lives with the Ancient Crones. Saved you from being a frog once, but I don’t suppose you care to remember that.”

“Oh — er, yes.” Vincent first nodded, then shook his head. “Actually, I don’t suppose she
can
be asked, old boy. Not the right sort of person at all, Gracie Gillypot. Don’t want to make her feel out of place, and all that.” He coughed. “I mean, once you ask one orphan, they’ll all be expecting to come, won’t they? Even if she is a friend of yours.”

Marcus went a furious purple — but before he could utter a word of protest, a booming voice echoed from the doorway. “A friend of Marcus’s? Of course she’s invited. ATCHOOO!” Queen Bluebell produced an enormous handkerchief embroidered with the royal arms of Wadingburn and blew her nose with the sound of trumpets. “Especially if it’s that little girl who lives with the crones. Good girl, full of spirit. Not like some of the young royals around here, and I’m not talking about you, young Marcus!”

Vincent looked at his grandmother in alarm. “You don’t mean
me,
do you, Grandmother?”

Queen Bluebell gave him a withering glance. “If the cap fits, then wear it.
Atchooo!
” She swung around on Marcus, her lorgnette perched on the end of her aristocratic nose. “You tell Gracie Gillypot she’s to come on my personal invitation, and she’s to sit next to me. Vincent, you’re a fool. And a snob besides, and if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a snob. Now — out of my way! I need to talk to dear Kesta about something of the
utmost
importance!” And Queen Bluebell the Twenty-eighth thundered across the polished floor to where Queen Kesta was rubbing her eyes and trying to remember where she was.

As Marcus hurried away to the waiting Arry, he saw something small dressed in black whisk quickly under the grandfather clock in the palace front hall.

Weird,
he thought.
Almost looked like a tiny person! Must have been a rat. . . . Wonder if Queen Bluebell knows the rats are dressing up these days?
He grinned as he leaped into the coach and slammed the door.
Good thing Vincent didn’t see it. He’s always moaning about them.
And then he forgot all about it as he urged the coachman to make top speed back to the palace of Gorebreath. Arry, rattling from side to side as the coach flew over the cobbled roads, couldn’t help noticing that Marcus whistled happily all the way home.

Evangeline Droop stifled a squeak as she arrived, trembling, under the old wooden clock.

“Told you to be careful.” Mrs. Cringe was unsympathetic, despite the fact that it was she who had persuaded Evangeline to creep out and listen from the inadequate protection of the radiator. “Did he see you?”

Evangeline, still trembling, shook her head. “I’m sure he didn’t. He was in such a hurry — he jumped straight into the coach and was off.”

“Hmph.” Mrs. Cringe made a note to report to her grandmother that the Grand High Witch had put their lives in serious danger. “Right, ladies. We need to get into that room and check what the old battle-ax is telling that pal of hers. ‘Utmost importance,’ eh? Bet that’ll be about the Declaration!”

Mrs. Prag sighed wistfully. “I wish there was something to eat. I’m so hungry.”

“Aren’t we all?” Mrs. Cringe snapped back, and it was true. The five tiny witches had found nothing to eat on their long journey from Wadingburn Hill to the palace gardens. Only the thought of Truda Hangnail’s wrath had kept them going — that, and the hope of being restored to their proper selves. They had reached the palace as dawn broke over the hills and had made their way inside, thanks to a forgetful maid who had left the boot-room window wide open. The Virginia creeper that covered the palace walls had proved easy to climb, and the five small spies had arrived in a heap among the boots and shoes piled up and waiting to be cleaned. There was a worrying number of rattraps; fortunately they remained unoccupied, and despite some suspicious scuttling noises that left Mrs. Cringe in a state of extreme nervous agitation, no rats had appeared. This was just as well, as the boot-room door was locked solid, and the witches of Wadingburn had had to wait there until the boot boy came, yawning and stretching, to begin his duties. It wasn’t until his departure to beg some bread and jam from the cook that they could go any farther. A terrifying dash along an endless corridor had led them to a swinging baize-covered door, and by all heaving together, they had managed to find themselves in the grand marble hall of Wadingburn Palace.