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Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess
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“We saw Arbel there still and didn't know what had happened,” Meg said.
“
We
didn't know what had happened,” Dilly exclaimed.
So Meg told Dilly and Nort all about the dragon and Vantor and the cave, and Cam told them about the night journey and the twin princes and his sister's farm.
Then it was Dilly's turn to explain what had happened over at the witch's cottage. Meg wasn't very sympathetic about the frog princes. “They'd be fine if they had just left her alone.” When she heard about Bain's plan, she was more concerned. “Magic?”
“‘Fight fire with fire,' he said.”
“Where would he get magic?” Cam wondered.
“In town, of course'” Nort said. “There are lots of wizards in Crown.”
Meg nodded. “My mother called a wizard once, when she'd lost her ruby necklace.”
“I heard all the wizards were fakes'” said Cam.
“Some are. But a few are quite good,” Nort said.
“So that's where Bain will have gone'” Meg concluded. “We'd better go warn the witch.”
“I have to get back,” said Dilly, disappointed. “Sterga yelled at me for half an hour last night.”
“I suppose I'm standing guard again,” Nort said with a sigh.
“If you don't mind,” Meg said hopefully.
Nort picked up his spear as Dilly took her leave. Meg and Cam set off in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods.
 
When Vantor reached the cave, he nearly tripped over a snoring Horace. The prince kicked his manservant. “Untie him!” he snapped at the others, stalking into the cave.
Vantor emerged to find a guardsman giving Horace a drink of water.
“It's all gone!” Vantor raged. “All my treasure is gone!” He kicked Horace again. “What happened?!”
Horace grasped his sore leg protectively. “First, a couple of them stole the dragon and attacked me inside the cave.”
“Who did?” said Vantor, his hand reaching for his sword. It wasn't there.
“Where's your sword?” Horace asked.
The rest of the men took a step back as Vantor's face darkened. “We were ambushed by bandits.”
“Many, many bandits,” one of the men clarified.
Horace winced, standing up. “The ones who got at
me
—well
the first lot—seemed very young.”
“You were attacked by children?” Vantor said derisively. He paused. “What do you mean, the first lot?”
Horace saw the expressions on the faces around him and reconsidered. “Must have been bandits. And the dragon burned me.”
Someone chuckled.
“That little creature?” Vantor asked.
“Fire's fire'” Horace said, sullen now.
“Go on.”
“When I chased them, another man attacked me from behind.”
“And then? What did you hear?”
Horace looked vague. “Footsteps?”
“Fell asleep, didn't 'e?” one of the men jeered.
Vantor clenched his fists and his jaw. Next he said a great many words so noxious even Horace didn't know them. Finally, he stopped long enough to announce, “We're going after the bandits. After our gold!”
The men gave a ragged cheer. Vantor pointed at one of them. “You. Go into town and buy me another horse.”
“Are we going to set up our secret camp now?” a great bear of a man asked.
“We will set up our secret camp,” Vantor explained sarcastically, “when we get our secret gold back to put in it!”
“Yes, sir,” the man said, oblivious to the prince's tone.
For his part, Horace found a rock and sat down again. “I've a different task for you,” Vantor told him. “Get that witch.”
Horace whitened. “She'll turn me into a frog.”
“Attack her from behind. You know all about that,” Vantor said.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Now,” Vantor told him.
Horace rose and started down the hill, limping slightly.
“Watch out for children and baby dragons!” he heard, followed by the sound of Vantor's men laughing.
 
Gorba's clearing was quiet, with no sign of any princes. Meg walked right up to the cottage and knocked.
The witch opened the door. “Oh, it's you.”
“You're in grave danger,” Meg blurted.
“Do you have amnesia?” the witch asked. “You told me that already.”
“It's a new danger,” Cam said, stepping forward.
The witch scratched her bulgy nose. “Who are you?”
“I'm the gardener's boy up at the castle,” Cam explained.
The witch looked from Meg to Cam and back to Meg. “I see,” she said slyly. “Then
she
must be a princess in disguise.”
Meg's jaw dropped. “How did you know?” she squeaked.
“Stands to reason.” The witch sighed and beamed. “True love. And such young love.”
“What?” said Cam.
“She thinks we're in love,” Meg told him.
Cam made a face.
“I'm Gorba,” the witch chirped. “Come in, come in! Mind the frogs.”
Cam and Meg trailed her into the cottage, stepping over half a dozen frogs. Gorba shooed several more off the sofa. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Bewildered, Cam and Meg sat. They watched the frogs as the witch bustled about making tea. Finally, she plopped herself down on the flowered armchair and served it. Meg noticed the teacups were shaped like skulls, with green worms twisting out the eyeholes for handles. “They were my grandmother's,” Gorba said.
“They match the curtains,” Meg said approvingly.
“Now.” Gorba cleared a protesting bullfrog off the table and leaned forward. “How can I help the course of your love to run smooth?”
“I—UM,” MEG SAID.
Gorba smiled, revealing gaps in her long yellow teeth. “No need to be coy. Here you are. The princess and the gardener's boy.”
“Cam,” he muttered.
“You're running away, aren't you?” the witch asked.
“Sort of,” Meg said.
“You see,” Cam tried, “a prince is bringing a spell to attack you with.”
“Very sweet,” Gorba said, “but you're changing the subject. Do you want me to turn a rival suitor into a frog?”
Meg looked intrigued. “Vantor,” she whispered behind her hand, but Cam shook his head.
“We know you're not worried about princes,” Meg explained, “but one of them is going to pay a wizard to make some magic to harm you.”
Gorba chortled. “Those old goats? I can handle anything they throw at me!”
Someone knocked heavily on the door.
The witch got up. “Don't!” Meg cried. It was too late. Gorba was already opening the door. But she bent down to scoot one of her frogs aside, and a flash of light flew right over her head into the room.
Cam and Meg tried to dive out of the way. Instead they bumped heads and the spell reached them, striking Cam full in the chest. Meg scrambled up, only to see Cam struggle, floating in midair, then shrink, shrink, shrink as Prince Bain burst in the door, tipping the witch over.
He was halfway across the cottage, and all that was left of Cam was a little triangular box made of silver. The thing still glowed slightly. Meg reached for it, but Bain was faster. He scooped it up and leaped into the corner, a dagger in one hand and the spell in the other.
“Give him to me!” Meg cried.
Bain only grinned.
Gorba glared at the prince. “You'll have to find your own pond when I'm through with you,” she sputtered.
“Surrender, witch,” Bain said, unconcerned.
Meg stepped forward, her eyes on the little box.
Recognition dawned on Bain's face. “You're the girl who stole the dragon,” he said, surprised.
How did he know? Meg wondered.
“You did?” Gorba asked Meg.
Bain tossed the silver box in the air and caught it. “I'll trade you this boy for the beast,” he said.
Before Meg could answer, the witch said,
“I'll
give
you safe passage out of my house in exchange for the boy.” She began inching toward the intruder.
“I suppose it's safe to say I've lost the element of surprise,” Bain remarked, eyeing the frogs. He looked at Meg again. “Who are you working for?”
“Myself.”
Bain smiled sweetly. “Then we have something in common. Now, take me to the dragon, and I'll give your friend back.”
Meg took a step closer. “How do I know you'll keep your word?”
Gorba was nearly within arm's reach of him now.
Bain tucked the box in his pocket. “A valuable lad, even if he isn't a witch.” With that he plunged through the half-open window, bursting the shutters wide.
“Cam!” Meg shouted. She ran to the window, throwing herself out after Bain. Meg hit the ground hard and scrambled to her feet to chase the prince, but she could not see him. A twig snapped. Meg rushed at the sound, but nothing was there. Bain had disappeared into the forest, and Cam had disappeared with him.
“Come inside, child,” Gorba said at the window.
Meg ranged among the trees for a long time before she admitted she wasn't going to find the prince or his prisoner. Finally she made herself go back to the witch's cottage. Her shoulder ached where she had landed on it.
“Sit down,” Gorba said.
Meg sank onto the sofa, still unable to believe what had happened.
“That thing was meant for me, was it?” Gorba asked thoughtfully.
“It was.” Meg glanced up, suddenly hopeful. “Can you change him back? When I find him?”
Gorba didn't meet Meg's eyes. “Magic like that needs a counterspell.”
“And you can't—”
“From the wizard who made it,” Gorba added.
“I'll have to find the wizard,” Meg said.
“That you will.”
The two sat in silence for a bit. At last Meg said, “It's not safe for you here.”
“I've got my frog spell, haven't I?”
“If one prince thought of that magic, so will another,” Meg told Gorba. She ought to finish what she had started. And besides, she thought dolefully, she should tell Janna about Cam. “I know a place you can hide out for a while.”
“Hide out?” the witch growled. “I've got my pride!”
“It will be like a vacation.”
“And the boys?”
Meg looked around for boys. “You mean the frogs?”
The witch nodded.
“Haven't they been prisoners long enough?”
Gorba began to laugh, and every frog in the room croaked along. The witch wiped her eyes and spoke. “I've tried sending them home time and time again.”
“What?”
“They like it here,” the witch said simply. She imitated
a manly royal voice. “Oh, Gorba, me and Prince Kelorian were just going to square off for the weekly leaping finals. Please leave us be.”
Meg gaped.
“It's true,” the witch said. “I've only had one go back in I don't know how many years. And he was allergic to flies.”
“Well …” Meg watched the frogs for a moment. In the nearest tub, a leopard frog swam laps with obvious enjoyment. The bullfrog rumbled contentedly.
Someone else knocked heavily on the door. “You see?” Meg hissed.
This time the witch stood well to one side of the door to swing it open. The porch seemed empty. Gorba shrugged. She was about to close the door when a man burst around the jamb and threw a cloak over her head. “I've got you now!” he shouted, but a faint muttering could be heard beneath the cloak, and the man shriveled away to the floor.
The witch pulled the cloak off. She and Meg looked down, bemused. “Have you ever done a salamander before?” Meg asked.
“No.” Gorba picked the little orange-and-black creature up and slipped it onto the edge of the bathtub, where it eyed the frogs fearfully. “Can't think what happened.”
“That was Prince Vantor's man,” Meg observed.
“Not a prince.” The witch frowned. “Maybe he was a duke or an earl.”
“Maybe,” Meg agreed, a little confused.
The witch folded her arms. “I suppose you'll need help getting your true love back.”
“Cam,” Meg said, resigned.
“It's gotten very annoying, all these hoodlums mucking through my wood.”
Meg waited.
“I'd better come along,” Gorba told her.
“And the boys?”
“And the boys.”
 
“We haven't got time,” Prince Dorn told his brother, pushing a branch out of the way.
“It won't take long.”
“If they catch us, we're right out of this.”
Dagle gave him a look. “We're not afraid of dragons or witches. Are we afraid of a scrawny prime minister?”
“The witch wasn't home,” Dorn remarked.
Dagle stopped. “Are you afraid of
princesses
?”
Dorn waved his hand. “That satin. Those batting eyelashes. The eerie swishing of fans. It's not—”
“Not as sure as a sword blade?” Dagle asked kindly. “Don't worry, I've got just the weapon for all that.”
The two princes came to the edge of the woods behind the princess's tower.
“What weapon?” Dorn asked.
“Poetry.”
Dorn stared at his brother. “That's what you were doing yesterday. Making up a poem.”
“And I finished it,” Dagle said.
The twin princes of Hanaby Keep came around the tower, startling a skinny young guard.
“Hey there,” the boy said indignantly. “Be off with you!”
Two hands held out gold coins. The guard's expression changed. “In five minutes, that is,” he said. “Don't tell the others.” He turned his eyes nervously up to the tower.
The princes followed his gaze with their own. “Is she enjoying her sojourn?” Dagle asked.
“Enjoying?” The boy practically choked. “She's taken a vow of silence,” he managed to say at last.
“Will she come to the window?” Dorn said.
The guardsboy shook his head vigorously. “She's rather occupied. All that sojourning, you know.”
Dagle cleared his throat. “O Princess!” he called. “My brother and I have come to court you—”
“At great personal peril, tell her,” Dorn whispered.
“At great personal peril,” Dagle repeated. “I will now read a poem to you, written by myself, about your legendary beauty and—ahem—so forth.” Dagle fished a battered piece of parchment from the pouch that hung at his hip and read in a strong, pleasant voice:
“O glorimous, glimmerous lady,
O Princess most worthy and fond,
Your hair is as shining as armor,
Your eyes they do shimmer like ponds.”
“Ponds?” Dorn repeated.
“Shh,” said Dagle. The guardsboy made an odd noise. Dagle went on, slamming his free hand over his heart.
“Our twin hearts, they beat in your service
As we conquer the dragonly beast,
Then as soon as we've finished the others,
We'll bring you right down for the feast.”
“What others?” Dorn hissed.
“Princess, when I say ‘others' I am referring to the witch and the bandits,” Dagle said loudly. “And now I conclude.”
“Good,” said the guard, then pretended he hadn't.
Dagle frowned at him.
“The true love for which you've been waiting
E'er since the glad day you were born,
Is standing right under your window
In the form of good Dagle or Dorn.”
Dorn smiled. “That ended nicely.”
“I'm sure she's touched,” the guard said. He looked over at the castle. “But you'd better go.”
“Well now.” Dagle seemed uncertain for the first time.
Dorn brightened. “Farewell, Princess!” he called.
“Farewell!” Dagle echoed. In a softer voice he told his brother, “Let's go fetch our cow.”
Bidding the young guard goodbye, they went back around the tower.
“Do you think she liked it?” Dagle asked.
“Of course,” Dorn said staunchly. “Love is sprouting in her heart right now, like a violet in springtime.”
“Why, Dorn, you're a poet, too!”
Dorn blushed.
 
“I'm not in love!” said the princess of Greeve for the fifteenth time. “And your spell's failed again.”
The witch turned around. Behind her, frogs were plopping out of the air onto the forest floor like fat raindrops. They lay half-stunned, gazing up at Gorba reproachfully. A single salamander curled in their midst like an orange-and-black question mark. “It isn't my spell,” the witch told Meg for the fifth time. “It was my grandmother's, and her work was unreliable.”
Gorba removed the spell, a dark blue scarf with too many eyes, from around her neck and whapped it against the nearest tree branch. The scarf giggled. Gorba ground her teeth. “Floating. Frogs.”
“And salamander,” Meg put in.
“
Obviously.
”
The scarf's eyes flickered like stars in a night sky. The frogs rose jerkily back into the air, until they were level with the top of Meg's head. “Three feet, since you
keep dropping them,” the witch said acidly. The frogs swooped partway to the ground and hovered, ribbeting in a nervous chorus. The salamander loop-the-looped once and joined his green companions.
Gorba flipped the scarf around her neck as she stalked off between the trees. The frogs followed her like the wobbling green train of a very odd court gown.
“I still don't see why you couldn't float these bottles and bags, too,” Meg said. She was carrying a heavy pack filled with what Gorba would call only “supplies.”

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