The Heart of Glass (11 page)

The professor chuckled. “I must admit I was surprised to hear you say Princess Marigold had gone on an adventure.”

“Hmph.” The old queen put her feet up on Vincent’s desk. “She’s only gone because she’s chasing after young Marcus, and he’s gone hunting dwarves, or so Hortense tells me. Now, there’s a lad with a bit of spirit.”

“Indeed.” Professor Scallio nodded. “A tutor should never admit to favorites, but I do have a very soft spot for that young man.” He paused and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Did you say he was hunting dwarves?”

“Watching them, I should have said.” Bluebell waved a casual hand. “Gone with Gracie Gillypot. That’s why Marigold’s rushed off. Green-eyed jealousy, I’d say.” She gave the professor a piercing glance. “What’s up? You look worried.”

The professor picked up his book, then put it down again. “Just a thought. Nothing more.”

Queen Bluebell took her feet off the desk and leaned forward. “What kind of thought?”

“I was wondering about the dwarves,” Professor Scallio said slowly. “It’s that wedding at Dreghorn. There’s never been one quite as grand, and the orders for gold must be unimaginable. They must be under a lot of pressure. Could be a bit of a mistake to go looking for them just now. Wish he’d asked me first.”

“But dwarves are jolly little chaps, aren’t they?” Bluebell was puzzled. “Can be grumpy if they’re not paid on time, but no real harm in them.”

“No. That’s true.” The professor tapped the book in front of him. “But history can tell you a lot. In times of stress the dwarves have been known to call upon the trolls for help, and trolls are a very different type of character.”

Bluebell frowned. “Rubbish, my dear professor. Trolls were dealt with hundreds of years ago, after that High King fellow died. We’ve got laws now. Agreements. Charters. Creatures like that are well under control, you mark my words. Besides, isn’t that twin sister of yours one of the Ancient Crones? Surely she’d know if anything were wrong. And little Gracie’s a Trueheart. She won’t have any trouble with trolls.” She heaved herself to her feet. “No, no, no. Those children are safe as houses. Which reminds me — you’ll have to excuse me while I get Vincent on his way. Fingers crossed that he gets there without having eaten the entire contents of the picnic basket.” The queen gave the professor a worldly-wise nod and sailed out of the parlor to rout Vincent from the kitchens and send him on his adventure.

Professor Scallio went back to his history book, but he was unable to concentrate. “Trolls,” he murmured to himself. “Truehearts. Now . . . what was that story about trolls and Truehearts?” He took another even older book from the shelves and began to flick through the pages. “Here we are . . . yes.” He read a paragraph, then read it again. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

“Shocking rhyme, and may not be true, of course, but that doesn’t matter. If the trolls believe it, it’s dangerous.” The professor jumped to his feet and began to walk back and forth. “I’d better send a warning. But then again, maybe the Ancient One knows all about it? Dear me, dear me. But better safe than sorry. I’ll send a bat, just to be sure.”

Professor Scallio scribbled a note on a small piece of parchment, then hurried out of the schoolroom and into the library. There he clicked his fingers, and a small bat winged her way down from a shadowy bookcase. “Hello, Prof,” she said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“Millie, dear — could you take a message to the House of the Ancient Crones?” The professor handed over the scrap of parchment. “I’m a little concerned about Gracie.”

Millie, the youngest in Marlon’s widespread family of messenger bats, flew an anxious circle. “Oh, no! I’d do anything for Miss Gracie. Does Dad know about it?”

The professor shook his head. “I haven’t seen Marlon in a long while. If you bump into him on your way, tell him to make sure Gracie doesn’t go near any trolls.” Catching sight of Millie’s anxious face, he added, “It may be nothing. Don’t worry too much.”

“I’m off this second, Prof,” Millie told him, and she was gone.

Professor Scallio walked over to the open library window and watched her zigzag into the afternoon sunshine. As he turned back to his books, there was a rumbling on the carriageway below, and Queen Bluebell’s most luxurious traveling coach came rolling into sight. There was no sign of Prince Vincent, but the professor could see a number of baskets and boxes packed inside the coach, so he presumed the prince was somewhere among them. He smiled when he saw the size of the coachman; Vincent’s grandmother had been as good as her word. “Let’s hope he enjoys adventuring,” Professor Scallio said aloud to himself. “Although I think there’s little hope of that. If only he were more like Prince Marcus.”

M
arigold had slept for much of the day and had been dreaming. It had started as a wonderful dream in which she and Marcus were walking hand in hand under the stars, but after a while it had turned nasty. Something was chasing them, and Marcus wasn’t taking it nearly seriously enough. He kept clapping his hands and telling her to listen for the beat of the happy little feet as they hurried down the street —

Marigold screamed and sat up. Her dream did not go away, however. The sound of hurrying feet continued — until she realized it was not feet at all, but hooves. Galloping hooves.

“Marcus!” Marigold shrieked as she scrambled to her feet and waved her arms wildly. “I’m here! Come and save me!”

Glee saw her out of the corner of his eye, swerved, then slowed to a walk. He had been seriously spooked by his collision with Gubble, and his long gallop through the forest had been exhausting; he was delighted to see someone he knew. Whenever he had come across Marigold in the past, she had cooed over him and fed him sugar, and comfort was what he most wanted just now. He was disconcerted when Marigold looked at his empty saddle and began to cry; lowering his head, he nuzzled hopefully at the rosebuds on her dress, but she went on crying.

“Marcus has fallen off,” she sobbed, “or he’s been eaten by a monster, and I’ll never see him again . . . Whatever shall I doooooo?”

The pony, having discovered that the rosebuds were not only inedible but distinctly unpleasant, moved an indignant step or two away. Neither Marcus nor Ger, his stable boy, ever cried over him, and he was contemplating making his own way back to Gorebreath when Marigold suddenly realized that she might be about to lose a second pony in one day and caught at his reins. She and Glee looked at each other in some perplexity, both wondering what should happen next. They were saved from making a decision by the sound of someone running; before Marigold had a chance to scream or prepare herself in any way, Marcus came panting down the track, his face scarlet and his hair standing on end.

This was not at all how Marigold had envisaged his arrival, and although she was pleased to see that he had not been eaten by a monster, she made a face.

“You’re all hot and sweaty,” she said, pouting.

At that precise moment Marigold was the last person in the entirety of the Five Kingdoms that Marcus expected to see; she was also the last person he wanted to see. He was worried about Gracie and had been devastated to find that Glee had vanished. He had seen the broken branches and other signs of struggle where Glee and Gubble had collided, and had convinced himself that the pony had been carried off by some fierce and terrible animal and would never be seen again. Relief made him crotchety. “What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded. “And what are you doing with my pony?”

Marigold had no intention of replying to such rude questions. She patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, then checked to see if Marcus had noticed how delightfully she was dressed. As she looked up at his mud-spattered face, she made a surprising discovery. “You’ve been crying.” She sniffed. “I thought you
liked
adventures!”

Marcus was now furious. “What I like and don’t like isn’t any business of yours, Marigold.” He all but snatched Glee’s reins from her hand, and swung himself into the saddle. “As it happens I’m on the most important adventure of my entire life, and it was nearly wrecked by you stealing my pony, and . . .”

Marcus’s voice died away as he suddenly realized what he was saying. And remembered what he was meant to be doing. He stared at Marigold for so long that she began to blush.

“It’s all right, Marcus,” she simpered. “I know I look terribly, terribly pretty. And I didn’t take your pony, you know. He came running up the road, but when he saw me he stopped at once.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I expect he was wondering why I was here on my own.”

Marcus made no reply but went on staring. Marigold smiled her sweetest smile and twirled around twice so that the full glory of Fedora’s sky-blue dress could be seen to its best advantage. “Aren’t
you
wondering why I’m here?” she prompted.

“No,” Marcus said. “Not really.”

Marigold tried another twirl, but the prince frowned. “Would you mind not doing that? It’s making me dizzy, and I’m trying to think.”

“That’s all right.” Marigold did some more eyelash- fluttering. “Just as long as you’re thinking about me.” She was delighted to see Marcus nod in reply; she had begun to think he wasn’t really worth bothering with, but this was much more hopeful. She tilted her head to one side. “Guess what I’m doing! Go on — guess!” As there was no response, she went on, “I’m having an adventure! It was such fun, until my naughty pony ran away . . . but now you’ve come hurrying to rescue me. Darling Marcus! Wouldn’t you like to kiss me?”

“
Kiss
you?” Marcus looked so horrified that all Marigold’s romantic dreams died a sudden and dramatic death. “Why would I want to kiss you?”

Marigold scowled at him. “I was . . . I was joking, stupid. Can’t you take a joke?” She folded her arms. “I suppose I’ll have to let you give me a ride home, seeing as Fedora’s — I mean, my pony ran away. And I want to go now.”

Marcus slowly dismounted, his thoughts whirling. He had promised to find a princess to take back to the dwarves, and fate had neatly placed a princess in his path, but now that it actually came to asking her to pay a visit to a troll — even if only for the shortest of times — he could see what a difficult task he had set for himself. In his head he had been thinking of one of Marigold’s sisters; Arabella, perhaps, or Araminta. They were both inclined to giggle whenever Marcus came anywhere near them, but they would do almost anything if they were promised a new ballgown or a new pair of gloves. But
Marigold
? Marcus groaned loudly.

“What’s the matter with you?” Marigold snapped. “Thinking of your stupid Gracie Gillypot, I suppose. Where is she, by the way?”

“Actually,” Marcus said through gritted teeth, “she’s in trouble. She needs help. Not that you’d care.”

Marigold tossed her head. “I don’t.” This wasn’t entirely true, but Marigold had no intention of showing that she was interested in such an ordinary girl. She was about to repeat her demand to be taken home when something small and dark and fluttery flew past, doubled back, and landed on Marcus’s arm.