The Bag of Bones (11 page)

“Just you remember, Letty Higgins.” He held the Snuffer warningly under Letty’s nose as he pointed at Gracie. “This here is Loobly, and I hold YOU responsible for making sure as she remembers. That witchery’s strong stuff. If she starts telling any tales as to how she’s not Loobly, or she goes causing trouble, you’ll be in for it. Get it?”

Letty shivered. “Come on, Loobly. It’s socks today but — you remember that, don’t you?” As she spoke she gave Gracie’s arm a meaningful squeeze.

“Socks,” Gracie repeated, and shivered in her turn.

“Good work!” Buckleup almost smiled. “Letty Higgins — I’ll make something of you yet! Now — get away to that washhouse.” And he opened the dormitory door with a mock bow and watched the two girls scurry away down the corridor. As they went, he pulled Gracie’s package of cookies out of his pocket and crammed six into his mouth. “Very satisfactory,” he told himself. “By the time those busybodies get to see her, she’ll be answering to Loobly as if she were born to it.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “Now, let’s see if I can get a few pennies for that bathrobe. Nice bit of stuff, that robe.” And he stomped off in the other direction.

Two elderly rats, who had been watching unseen from underneath a bed, shook their heads.

“That wasn’t our lovely Loobly,” said the bigger one. “Our Loobly’s gone.”

“That’s a nimpostor!” the little one agreed. “Our Loobly does bring cheeses. Cheeses for us ratsies.”

The bigger rat looked mournful. “What’ll we do without her, Doily? That man — he’d eat the paper that wrapped the rind that covered the cheese before he’d give us anything.”

“Us’ll go hungry,” said Doily, and two tears rolled down her nose. “Us’ll be little starvy bones. Big bones for you, Sproutie, and little bones for me.”

Sprout scratched an ear. “Maybe we could ask the impostor?” he suggested. “She wasn’t our Loobly, but she didn’t smell of wickedness. She smelled . . . she smelled good. And that’s like our Loobly.”

“Dunno.” Doily thought about it. “Maybe. You do the askings, Sproutie. I be scared.”

“We’ll wait until she’s safe in bed,” Sprout decided. “The old man’ll be away by then. If she does the Scream, she’ll not be heard.”

Doily looked at Sprout in admiration. “You be my hero, Sprout! But ain’t you awaying? Meeting of ratsies?”

“Ah.” Sprout scratched the other ear. “It’s a long way, Doily. And we haven’t eaten since our Loobly left. Reckon I’ll wait and have a word with the impostor instead. Must look after my Doily.”

Doily gave him a fond look and stroked his whiskers. “I do be wishing our Loobly were safe home, Sproutie.”

Sprout sighed. “Maybe she’ll come back. But then again, maybe she won’t. We always knew there was something different about her, Doily. She’s not like the others.”

Marlon, looping steadily through the air, saw Alf suddenly zigzag, then zoom downward.

“Seen something, kid?” he asked. “Can’t stop for sightseeing, y’know. Things to do, crones to meet —”

“Unc!” Alf’s voice was even squeakier than usual.
“Look!”

“What? Who?” Marlon flew in a swift circle but could see nothing unusual on the road below. They had reached the far side of Gorebreath; the market traders had been in a state of some agitation, but there had been no sign of anything sinister either there or elsewhere on their journey.

“There!” Alf pointed.

Marlon looked again and saw what appeared to be a green hillock at the side of the road. As he flew closer he saw it had legs and arms waving feebly in the air. Faint cries of distress were coming from a nearby bush.

“Good work, kiddo.” Marlon dived and saw that, as he had suspected, Gubble and his head had become separated. Marlon issued instructions, and after some confusion as to which was Gubble’s left hand and which was his right, his two parts were reunited.

As soon as his head was properly in place, Gubble struggled to his feet and set off as fast as he could go, grunting as if he were in pain.

“You OK?” Marlon inquired, flying at his left shoulder.

“Urk,” Gubble said. “Gracie. Thud. Marcus. URK!”

“Gracie?”
Marlon, who prided himself on always staying cool and calm, looked flustered. He fluttered in front of Gubble’s large moon face. “What thud? Who thudded? When?”

Gubble slowed, then stopped. “Gracie,” he explained. “Man ask Gracie questions. Thud! Gracie carried away.” He rubbed his eyes and sniffed loudly. “Gubble in bushes. Gubble BAD. Find Marcus!”

“Hang on.” Marlon digested the information. “See any witches?”

Gubble looked blank.

“OK. No witches.” Marlon beckoned to Alf, who was hanging off a twig and twittering with excitement. “Kiddo — here’s a problem. We’ve got witches, we’ve got Evil, we’ve got an orphan, and we’ve got a kidnapping. What’s the deal?”

Alf, unable to help himself as a dazzling idea sprang into his head, did a sideways spin under Gubble’s nose. “The man!” he squeaked. “Were there dogs?”

Gubble’s small piggy eyes brightened. “Ug. Dogs!”

“That’s it, Unc! We saw him!” Alf was spinning like a top. “On the hill! The orphanage man! With the scary witch!”

“Cool it!” Marlon glared at his nephew. “This is serious stuff, kid.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Marlon nodded. “Yup.”

“So are we going to hunt him down and rescue Miss Gracie and tell Marcus — I mean, Prince Marcus — they can live happily ever after?” Alf began a final twirl but stopped halfway around when he saw his uncle’s expression.

“Happly after.” Gubble beamed at Alf. “Gubble like happly after!”

Marlon sighed deeply. “Hate to spoil the party, guys — but look at the situation. What have we got? One troll, two bats. That guy’s big. What’s more, he’s got dogs. And — correct me if I’m wrong — that orphanage place has bars. Steel bars. Best to get straight to the crones.”

“But you’ve got brains!” Alf’s eyes were shining with admiration and belief. “Uncle Marlon, you can do it!”

There was a short silence, then Marlon took a deep breath. “Kid,” he said, “you’re right. Duty calls. Never let it be said that Marlon Batster failed in his duty.”

“Hurrah!” Alf cheered. “Hurrah! Hurrah —”

“OK, OK.” Marlon stretched his wings. “You and the troll get to the orphanage. I’ll wise up the prince and send him after you.” He paused and eyed Alf and Gubble thoughtfully. “Don’t mention the witch or Wadingburn Palace. Not at all. Don’t want young Gracie involved in Deep Magic. Send her home, out of harm’s way.”

Gubble nodded. “Go home,” he said. And then, “Boiled egg!”

“When are you coming back?” Alf asked anxiously.

Marlon held up one wing. “It’s all in the plan, kid. No prob. Check the prince, report to the crones, back pronto.
Ciao!
”

Gubble watched the bat fly high into the sky, and nodded. “Happly after.”

Gracie, having been brought up by a wicked stepfather and an evil stepsister, was used to hardship and hard work, but even she was taken aback when she saw the orphanage washhouse. Huge copper vats were seething and boiling, and the air was thick with steam that smelled hideously of sweat and dirt and dirty socks. Her head, still sore from the Snuffer, began to throb.

“It’s dreadful!” she said as Letty hurried her in. “Do you work here every day?”

Letty shrugged. “Have to.”

Gracie looked around as the older girl led her toward a huge stone sink. “Don’t you ever want to escape?”

Letty shook her head. “Where’d I go?” She heaved a bucket up from the cold stone floor, tipped it into the sink, and began to scrub at the heap of sodden socks with a brush with very few bristles. “And don’t you go thinking you can get out of here.” She leaned toward Gracie and lowered her voice. “If you take my advice, you’ll start thinking you’re the one-and-only Loobly Higgins right now, this minute. Otherwise I’ll be in for it — and I’m not going to take a beating if I don’t have to!”

Gracie found another brush and set to work beside Letty. The older girl was looking fierce, and it was a few moments before Gracie plucked up the courage to ask the question that was burning a hole in her brain. “Excuse me — and I promise I’ll try not to get you into trouble — but
why
does that man want me to be your sister?”

“Sister?” Letty stopped scrubbing for a moment. “What sister? I haven’t got a sister.”

“But he said Loobly Higgins, and you’re Letty Higgins, so I thought . . .” Gracie’s voice died away as an angry flush spread over Letty’s face. “I’m sorry. Did I say the wrong thing?”

Letty glowered. “He calls us all Higgins. Says it doesn’t matter, and it’s easier to remember. I’m Liz Brownley, but he said that’s a name for a person, and I’m nothing but an orphan, so Letty would do. Letty Higgins.” Letty almost spat the name out. “No wonder nobody ever wanted to adopt me — not that he’d have let them. Loses him money if we get adopted. That’s why you’re here, of course.”

Gracie frowned. “I still don’t understand.”

Letty heaved up an armful of moderately clean wet socks and dumped them in a second sink. “Loobly ran away. So he was scared he’d lose his shilling a week and his bread. But now he’s got you, so you can be Loobly — and those stupid orphanage lady visitors will never know he lost an orphan.” Letty grinned sourly. “Funnily enough, they get quite upset about that. Dunno why. They never get upset that we’re all starving.”

Gracie rubbed her nose with a damp finger. “So what’s Loobly’s real name?”

“No idea.” Letty was wringing out socks as if she were trying to strangle them. “Not Higgins, that’s for sure. She was dumped on the doorstep in a basket, and all she’d say was, ‘Loobly dirty, Loobly dirty.’” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s why Fatso sent her to work in the washhouse. Ho, ho, ho, very funny — I don’t think so. Poor little scrap couldn’t even reach the sink! Now get on with those socks!”

Pushing a strand of wet hair out of her eyes, Gracie considered her situation. Things were not good, she decided. The orphanage was practically a prison; there were bars at every window, and the doors were heavy with solid iron locks. On the other hand, Gubble was somewhere not too far away, and presumably he’d seen her taken prisoner . . . or had he? Gracie swallowed as a vision of a miserable Gubble tied up in chains floated before her eyes. Could he have been captured too?

“Erm . . .” Gracie began. Letty was once again scrubbing socks, a grim expression on her face. “Erm . . . was anything — I mean, anyone — else brought in when I was?”

Letty raised her eyebrows. “Like what? Three mince pies and a kangaroo?”

“I was thinking more of a troll,” Gracie explained.

Letty stared at her. “A
troll
? What kind of a girl are you?” She folded her arms and inspected Gracie from her feet to her head. “You know what? You really are a lot like Loobly. Odd. Do you talk to rats?”

“Not rats,” Gracie said. “Well, not so far. I do have quite a few friends who are bats, though.” She glanced up at a steamy window and sighed. “If they knew I was here, I’m sure they’d help me.”

“Uh-uh.” Letty glared. “I told you. None of that sort of talk. You try anything, and I’m in big trouble, and that means a LOT of trouble for you.”

Gracie ignored the threat. “But you could come with me, Letty! I’m an orphan, and the crones took me in. I’m sure they’d look after you too.”