The Heart of Glass
| Prince Marcus | second in line to the throne of Gorebreath |
| Gracie Gillypot | a Trueheart |
| Marlon | a bat |
| Alf | Marlon’s nephew |
| Millie | Marlon’s daughter |
| Flo | a bat (No relation to Marlon. Or Alf. Or Millie.) |
| Gubble | a domesticated troll |
| Queen Kesta | Queen of Dreghorn |
| Princess Fedora | Queen Kesta’s oldest daughter |
| Princess Marigold | Queen Kesta’s third daughter |
| Great-Aunt Hortense | Dowager Duchess of Cockenzie Rood |
| Queen Bluebell | Queen of Wadingburn |
| Prince Vincent | Queen Bluebell’s grandson |
| Professor Scallio | Prince Vincent’s tutor |
| Fingle | Queen Bluebell’s coachman |
| King Thab | King of the Underground Trolls |
| Spittle | King Thab’s scribe |
| Mullius Gowk | an Old Troll, servant to King Thab |
| Clod | an Underground Troll |
| Oolie | half Old Troll, half goblin, wholly evil |
| Bestius Bonnyrigg | a dwarf |
| Master Amplethumb | a dwarf |
T
HE
A
NCIENT
C
RONES
| Edna | the Ancient One |
| Elsie | the Oldest |
| Val | the Youngest |
| Foyce | Gracie’s stepsister and apprentice crone |
“I
f I were you, kiddo,” the bat remarked, “I’d close your mouth. Dangerous, leaving it open like that. Never know what might pop in. Flies, midges, the odd moth. Furry things, moths. Not nice unless you’re used to them.”
Prince Marcus, second in line to the throne of Gorebreath, did as he was told. “But where IS she?” His voice was shaking. “One minute she was leaning against that tree, and then —
WHOOOMPH!
She was gone!” He rubbed his eyes. “And was it that tree? Or that one? They all look exactly the same! Did you see, Marlon?”
“Cool it, kid,” the bat said. “Alf’s ahead of you. Alf? Where are you?”
“Here, Unc!” The small squeak came from some ways away.
Marcus stared at Marlon. “What’s he doing?”
“Hanging on a branch.” Marlon sounded pleased. “Marking the tree. Good work, Alf!”
Marcus shook his head. “That can’t be right. Gracie was here beside me. I
know
she was!”
Marlon sighed. “Look at your map, kiddo. Where are we? The Unreliable Forest. Now the thing about unreliable forests, in case you hadn’t guessed, is that they’re unreliable. See a handful of berries you fancy? Walk toward them, and —
FFFFT!
They’ll be behind you.”
Seeing his companion’s doubtful expression, the bat sighed again. “Try it for yourself. Got a hankie? Well, tie it to a branch.”
Unwillingly, Marcus did as he was told. The scarlet handkerchief, emblazoned with the royal arms of the House of Gorebreath, fluttered in front of him . . . and vanished.
“That’s gone too!” The prince took a step backward and looked at Marlon. “What’s going on?”
“Turn around.”
Turning, Marcus was just in time to see the tree his hankie was tied to make a sudden sideways leap and hide behind a substantial oak. The oak showed no inclination to move, and Marcus leaned against it, feeling breathless. “That’s SO weird,” he said. “And however are we going to find Gracie?”
Marlon twitched his wings. “Kiddo,” he said, and he sounded far more solemn than usual, “we need help on this one. You stay here. Keep an eye on Alf.”
“What?” Marcus stared at the bat. “Where are you going?”
“Trust me, kid. I’ll be back pronto.” Marlon was circling high in the air. A moment later he was gone.
I
t had all started out rather well. Marcus, together with his very good friend Gracie Gillypot, had been planning a dwarf-spotting expedition for some time. It was well known that the dwarves had an access tunnel in the middle of the Unreliable Forest of Flailing. Marlon had told Gracie that Monday was the best day to visit, as that was when the dwarves emerged to deal with Aboveground Business, and she and Marcus had made their arrangements accordingly.
A certain amount of subterfuge had been necessary on Marcus’s part; not only was Flailing a good half-day’s ride beyond the border of the Five Kingdoms (and therefore regarded by his parents with much suspicion), but his home life was far from simple. A good deal of his time was being taken up with rehearsals for a wedding, soon to take place in the Kingdom of Dreghorn, and he had had to make sure his absence would not cause his mother to collapse in a fit of the vapors. He and his twin brother, Prince Arioso, had been asked to take part in the wedding procession; Arioso, always the perfect prince, was delighted, but Marcus was horrified. At first he had refused to have anything to do with it, but his father, King Frank, issued an ultimatum. “No son of mine,” he declared, “will disgrace the Royal House of Gorebreath. If you don’t do your duty, young man, you’ll not be allowed to leave the palace grounds for the rest of the year. And don’t think I don’t mean it, because I do!”
Huffing and puffing, Marcus had fought his way to a compromise: He would attend rehearsals and walk in the procession, but he was to be allowed weekends off, together with every other Monday — and no one was to question what he got up to. Or where.
Gracie was more fortunate. After an unpleasant and unhappy early life with a wicked stepfather, during which she was forced to endure the company of a stepsister who was an all-time expert in pure evil, she had managed to escape to the House of the Ancient Crones hidden deep in the hollows of the More Enchanted Hills. The three old women who lived there had adopted her, and she was now free to plan expeditions and outings whenever she felt like it . . . a freedom much envied by Marcus.