The Heart of Glass (10 page)

I
n the darkness of the tunnel, Gracie was trying not to panic. Her outstretched hands could feel nothing but solid earth in front of her. “Flo!” she whispered. “I can’t go on! What shall I do?”

There was a fluttering and a sneeze, then Flo’s small voice said, “Turn sharp to the right, Trueheart. Be careful.”

Gracie did as she was told, and her exploring fingers found the narrow entrance to a smaller tunnel. As she felt her way inside, a breath of fresh air touched her face. “Oh! This must be the way out!” she exclaimed, and she was about to take a joyful stride forward when the bat squeaked loudly and fluttered across her face.

“Wait! Stop! I’ve made a mistake! It’s no good!”

“No good?” Gracie asked. “What do you mean?” A thought struck her, and she fished in her pocket for the tinderbox. It took her a moment or two to make it work, but when the sparks finally flew in the air, she gasped. In front of her was a narrow tunnel leading upward, with the faintest glimmer of daylight at the far end — but if she had rushed into it, as every part of her longed to do, she would have fallen into a pit so deep she was unable to see the bottom. “Oh,” Gracie breathed as she leaned against the wall to recover. “Flo, you’re a hero. If I’d fallen in there, I’d never have gotten out again. Not ever, and it would have been much,
much
worse than being in a tunnel”— she shivered —“even with that horrible Oolie person chasing me . . . but I think she’s gone away now, thank goodness.”

Flo sneezed several times in quick succession. “But she might be up to something.” She sneezed again, and Gracie wondered if the little bat sneezed whenever she was anxious. “Do you know much about trolls?”

Gracie was beginning to say that one of her very best friends was a troll when a vibration in the wall beside her made her jump. The vibration became a shaking, and a large chunk of earth fell with a thud close to Gracie’s feet. Her mouth went dry, and for a terrible moment she thought Oolie was about to leap on her. Instead there was another fall of earth, followed by the sound of a heavy body crashing to the ground. Gracie was frozen with fear; she held her breath, hoping against hope that nobody could hear the sound of her heart hammering in her chest.

“Ug,” said a familiar voice. “Ug.”

“Gubble?”
Gracie’s eyes filled with grateful tears. “Gubble? Is that you?”

“Is,” said Gubble, and Gracie stumbled toward him and hugged as much of him as she could find in the darkness.

“Oh, Gubble,” she said, “oh, Gubble — I’m so pleased to see you!”

“Gubble pleased too.” Gracie could tell he was smiling his widest smile. “Gubble fell. Gubble went bump.” There was a pause. “Gubble lost head.”

Gracie pulled the tinderbox out, and by the light of a flurry of sparks she inspected the troll. “No, you haven’t,” she said. “It’s just where it ought to be. On your shoulders. Gubble, let me introduce you to Flo — she’s the most wonderful bat. She saved me from falling into a horrible pit! Flo — Flo? Where are you?”

Flo, who had been lurking in the side tunnel, sneezed and fluttered onto Gracie’s shoulder. “What sort of troll is that?” she asked.

“This is the friend I was telling you about,” Gracie explained. “He must have come to rescue me.” She found Gubble’s hand and held it tightly. “Gubble, I’ve promised Flo that the crones will cure her hay fever, so we’ve all got to get out of here together. How did you get in? Can we get out the same way? Oh — I do wish that we could
see
each other.” She sent another stream of sparks flying from the tinderbox and was delighted to see one of Oolie’s candle ends stuck in a shallow cavity in the wall. A moment later it was burning steadily, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s better. So — how can we get out?”

“Gubble fell through tree,” Gubble announced. He turned around, but the wall behind him showed no sign that it had ever been disturbed. He looked puzzled. “Came that way. Where hole now?”

“That’s how I got here,” Gracie told him. “I fell down at first, but then I slid sideways. It’s like a secret door in the side of the tunnel, but it’s really a dwarf-trap — isn’t that right, Flo?”

Flo was shifting uneasily on Gracie’s shoulder. “That’s right. But you should get out of here as soon as you can. It’s dangerous — especially for you, Trueheart.”

“Why? What’s wrong with being a Trueheart?” Gracie asked.

There was a wild flurry of sneezing before Flo could reply. “I don’t exactly know . . . but . . .” She began sneezing so uncontrollably that Gracie took her in her cupped hands and began to smooth her fur.

“Hush,” she soothed, “hush . . .”

“It’s the trolls!” Flo gasped between sneezes. “I’ve heard them talking, and my brothers and sisters have heard things too.” Her sneezes overcame her again, and it was a couple of minutes before she could go on. “There’s something about Truehearts and trolls, and it’s not good, not good at all. Didn’t you see how Oolie behaved when she thought you might be one? And she was so disappointed when you said she’d made a mistake. And . . .” The sneezing grew to a crescendo. “And when I called you ‘Trueheart,’ she went hurrying off the other way — and I’m sure it was to tell the troll king, and it’ll be my fault if they send that huge mountain of a Mullius to catch you . . . and nobody can ever, ever, EVER stop him!”

Gracie forgot her fears at the sight of Flo’s evident distress. She shook her head and smiled at the exhausted little bat. “You didn’t mean to give me away,” she said gently, “and I’m sure we can get out somehow.” She paused to think. “If you go down that side tunnel, can you get to the outside world? I’m sure I saw daylight.”

Flo nodded. “It’s not a very big opening, though.
You
might be able to wriggle through, but your friend won’t fit.”

“I don’t think either of us could jump over the pit,” Gracie said with a shudder. “But you could fly out, Flo. Do you think you could take a message? A message to Marlon? He’ll know what to do.”

“Marlon?” Flo looked shocked. “Me? Go to find Mr. Batster?”

“Please,” Gracie said. “Please, dear Flo. He’ll tell Marcus and the Ancient Crones, and then they’ll tell him how we can escape.”

She sounded so confident that Flo sneezed, shook her wings, and sat up. “I’ll try — but what about you?”

“Gubble and I’ll look after each other until you get back,” Gracie told her.

“If you say so, Trueheart.” Flo hesitated. “What’s your name? Who shall I say?”

“Gracie. Gracie Gillypot.”

“OK, Gracie Gillypot. See you soon!” Flo flipped her wings and zoomed up the narrow tunnel like a small, determined arrow. The candle flame flickered as she went, and Gubble grunted.

Gracie squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, Gubble. Flo’ll find Marlon, and we’ll be out of here in no time.” The wisp of silver on his wrist caught her eye, and she pointed at it. “That’s pretty.”

Gubble nodded, pulled the thread free, and held it out to her. “Yours.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Gracie wove the silver in and out of one of her braids and smiled as she saw it glitter in the candlelight. “It almost looks as if it came from the web. Where did you find it?”

Gubble didn’t answer. He grunted again. “Hear steps.”

As he spoke, Gracie realized she could hear them too. They were still some ways away, but the ground beneath her feet was already beginning to shake.

“Do you know what, Gubble?” Gracie said, hoping her voice wasn’t wobbling. “I think we’d better see if there’s a way to get across that huge pit after all. I don’t think I want to meet whatever it is that’s coming, do you?”

Gubble said nothing. He had turned to inspect the tunnel wall behind him, pushing at the earth with his fingers. A moment later he was wrenching at a tree root as thick as Gracie’s arm. A heavy shower of earth fell from the roof above, but Gubble shrugged it off and went on tugging.

“Gubble get in, Gubble get out,” he muttered. “Get in, get out . . .”

Gracie bit her lip and made no comment. She knew from experience that when Gubble had that particular expression on his face, it was no use trying to stop him; even orders from the Ancient One herself had no effect when he was convinced that what he was doing was right.

“Ug.” The tree root came away, setting off another avalanche.

Gracie looked up anxiously, wondering how far it was to the grass and the trees and the sunshine, and how many tons of rock and soil lay in between. Gubble began to attack another root, this one even more substantial. It felt to Gracie as if the whole tunnel was in imminent danger of collapse; she moved closer to Gubble, hoping his solid bulk would protect her.

“Ug, ug, UFF!” Gubble was pulling as hard as he could, his muscles bulging. His eyes were screwed shut, and every inch of him was concentrated on the root. He was covered in earth, and more was falling. A large lump of mud crashed down beside Gracie, sending the candle flying into darkness.

“Grind! Crush! Slay!” An echoing roar rolled down the tunnel toward them.

Gracie gave a terrified squeal and clutched at Gubble. Gubble grunted, gave a final mighty heave — and the tree root screamed and sprang back, dragging the troll and Gracie into a tiny confined space, where they were pressed together so tightly they could hardly breathe. The ground trembled as the heavy footsteps thundered nearer and nearer; Gracie shut her eyes and prayed that she and Gubble were invisible.

“TRUEHEART!” Mullius Gowk gave a wild bellow of triumph — but it was muffled by a massive fall of mud and rocks and earth. The enormous troll was buried, all but his feet.

Gracie was flung backward, and before she could catch her breath, she was seized by an irresistible force stronger than any wind. All she could think was,
I’m falling . . . falling
UPWARD
!
Up and up, up and up she whirled, until sunlight blinded her and she found herself tossed out of the darkness onto a patch of grass in front of an astonished Marlon, a dwarf, and a wide-eyed Alf. Behind her, a battered and broken birch tree limped hastily away to recover in the cool, dim depths of the Unreliable Forest.

There was no sign of Gubble.

P
rince Vincent’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again.

“Stupid boy!” his grandmother thundered. “You look like a cod!” She heaved an enormous sigh. “Are you a prince or a worm?”

Vincent’s teeth began to chatter. “P-p-please, Grandmother, I’d rather be a worm than go out of the Five Kingdoms.”

Queen Bluebell of Wadingburn looked at her grandson with disgust. “The Dowager Duchess of Cockenzie Rood assures me that Marigold will hardly have crossed the border. You’re not likely to meet anything more ferocious than a cow.” Seeing Vincent’s face grow even paler, she hastily added, “In a field, you silly boy. In a field.”

Vincent shuffled his feet and played with the tassel on his sword belt. There was no sword; sharp things made him nervous. “But Grandmother . . . couldn’t Marcus go instead? He likes adventures. I don’t.”

“That young man’s already having adventures of his own.” Bluebell decided the time had come to play her trump card. “Of course, I was thinking of sending you in my best traveling coach.”

Prince Vincent brightened a little. “With a coachman? A
big
coachman?”

“The biggest coachman we can find,” his grandmother assured him. “And there’ll be a picnic. Marigold won’t have had anything to eat for hours and hours, and she looks to me like a girl who likes her puddings and pies.”

Vincent brightened even more. “A picnic? Hmm. I see. Would I be able to choose what’s in the picnic?”

His grandmother took a deep breath. “Yes, Vincent. You may go to the kitchens this very minute and order whatever you like. Hurry up about it, though — I want you on your way as soon as possible.”

Her grandson positively danced his way out of the schoolroom, and Bluebell sank into an armchair.

“Heavens to Betsy,” she said as she fanned herself cool again. “What am I to do with the boy?”

Professor Scallio, part-time tutor to Prince Vincent and his sister, Princess Loobly, looked up from a heavy leather-bound history book and suggested, “Find him a strong-minded princess. When he’s older, of course.”

“But who’d have him?” Bluebell asked gloomily. “Besides, the Five Kingdoms don’t produce strong-minded princesses. You must have noticed that, Professor. My beloved Loobly hardly has a mind at all — although one hopes she’ll be better when she’s had a year or two of your excellent tuition.”