The Heart of Glass (14 page)

Bluebell gave him a hard stare. “Is that meant to be a joke?”

“Certainly not, Your Majesty.” The professor looked shocked at the idea.

Hortense leaned forward. “That — what did you call it? Unreliable Forest. Sounds nasty. Should we call out the army, do you think?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.” Professor Scallio’s tone was definitive. “There are a number of treaties and truces in place that mean the armies of the Five Kingdoms can cross the border only in an extreme emergency. There are some who would consider a military presence beyond the border to be a declaration of war.”

There was a loud and cheery snort from Bluebell as she banged the duchess on the back. “Well done, Hortense! There’s a thought! All-out war! Distract us nicely from Fedora’s wedding, and you can’t tell me that wouldn’t be a blessed relief.”

Professor Scallio smiled but shook his head. “I’m sure it won’t come to that, Your Majesty. If I might make a suggestion, perhaps I could look for the princess myself? I have the advantage of knowing the forests well.” He did not add that he also had the confidence of a number of highly intelligent bats who would be invaluable in the search for the lost princess.

Both Queen Bluebell and the duchess looked at him with undisguised relief. “Splendid!” Bluebell told him. “Excellent idea. Take any horse you want. Any carriage.”

The professor bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. And if I find all is well and your grandson has found the princess and is happily escorting her home, I will not interfere.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he added, “Neither will I inform him that I am . . . shall we say, the reserve rescue mission.” He bowed once more and left the room.

“There.” Bluebell reached for her glass. “Problem solved. Was almost expecting you to say you’d go with him, Hortense.”

The duchess smiled. “I did think of it — but I’d better go back and try to keep Kesta calm. At least I can reassure her that everything’s under control and there’s a responsible adult on his way to look for Marigold.” She reached for a glass. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

The queen laughed and filled Hortense’s glass to the rim. “Here’s to secondhand adventures. Cheers!”

M
arcus was not happy. His idea of being a hero did not include riding slowly in front of a laboring coach, especially when the occupants were very obviously enjoying a substantial and delicious picnic from which he was excluded. Nothing had come his way other than a couple of cheese sandwiches and an overcooked sausage. It sounded as if Marigold and Vincent were getting along extremely well; Marcus was far too modest to guess that Marigold’s shrieks of girlish enthusiasm were designed to make him go green with jealousy and realize how foolish he was to prefer a mere orphan to a princess.

Vincent, who, when his grandmother was elsewhere, was inclined to regard himself as something of a beau, was delighted by Marigold’s smiles and laughter. He managed two quite reasonable jokes and began to think she was the prettiest princess he had ever seen; this pleased Marigold even more, and she asked if he would like her to sing him a song. “Go for it,” Vincent told her. “Although I’m not very good at singing myself. Can’t tell ‘Pop Goes the Star’ from ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Weasel.’”

Marigold gave him a forgiving smile and began to sing. The coachman woke up with a jolt, and the horses broke into a trot. Glee’s ears flickered, and Marcus winced as he rode as far ahead as he dared.

Vincent, completely unaware of the sudden increase in speed, gazed at Marigold. “That’s amazing,” he breathed. “You sing like . . . like . . . nothing I’ve ever heard before. It’s SO amazing. Are you going to sing at the wedding?”

This possibility had already occurred to Marigold, but her suggestion had been firmly quashed by Fedora. Even Queen Kesta had failed to support her, and the refusal had rankled. Now, it seemed, she had found an ally. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Dear Vincent — do you think I should? Truly?”

Vincent nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never heard anyone sing the way you do. It made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. You’re . . . you’re
amazing,
Marigold.”

Marigold’s heart beat faster. If Vincent had been just a little taller, she would have kissed him, but she did not hold his size against him. He would grow, and she could wait. In the meantime, she could use him for other purposes. “Vincent,” she whispered, “will you walk with me in the wedding procession?”

Vincent stared at her. “But you’re walking with Marcus.”

“I’ll tell Mother I don’t want to. I want to walk with you.” Marigold squeezed his arm. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And when we get to the cathedral steps, we can stop in front of Fedora and Tertius, and I can sing a song to them while you make sure nobody interrupts.” Marigold did not think it necessary to say that she had already put this plan to Marcus, and he had laughed so much he had gotten the hiccups.

Vincent’s eyes grew wide. “Wow, Marigold! You’d really sing to them in front of everybody? What an amazing girl you are!”

Marigold looked smug. “I am, aren’t I? So it’s all settled, then? You’ll walk with me, and we’ll keep our surprise a secret just between us two.”

Nobody had ever asked Vincent to keep a secret before. Nor had a beautiful princess with golden curls and big blue eyes ever fluttered her eyelashes at him. He gulped, coughed, blew his nose, tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket, and took Marigold’s hand. “Marigold,” he said hoarsely, “I’d do anything for you. Absolutely anything. You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, and I’ll keep your secret forever and ever and ever.”

“Not forever, darling,” Marigold said with another flutter of her eyelashes. “Just until the wedding. And now that I see you
do
have a hankie, perhaps you could use it to wipe the jam off your face?” She sweetened this request by giving him her most charming smile, and Vincent’s capture was complete.

Marigold celebrated her success by peeping out of the coach window; she was horrified to see that they were deep in the middle of a forest of tall and twisted trees, with branches pointing menacingly at her. She let out a shriek, and Vincent hurried to her side. He shrieked too, and they clutched each other like two babes in the wood.

“Stop the coach! Stop this minute! Where are we? Stop! Stop, I say!”

The coach lumbered to a halt, and Marcus rode back to see what was the matter. Two indignant faces glared at him.

“We don’t want to be here!” Marigold said in her most imperious tones. “And I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go on an adventure with you. We want to go home, don’t we, Vincent darling?”

Vincent nodded. “We certainly do.”

Marcus sighed. “Don’t you want any chocolate cake?”

Marigold, who had been eating cake nonstop for the past couple of hours, shook her head. “What kind of baby do you think I am? Fingle, turn the coach around this minute!”

Fingle looked to the left and mumbled something under his breath. He looked to the right and mumbled again.

“What’s he saying?” Vincent demanded.

“I think,” Marcus said, trying not to sound too pleased, “he’s saying he can’t. There isn’t room. We’ll have to go a bit farther to find a turning place.”

The two heads disappeared, and there was a lot of loud whispering before the door opened and Vincent got out, looking self-important. “I’m checking for myself,” he announced. But he soon saw there was no option other than to continue. The trees grew thick on either side; there was only just room for the coach to move forward. Vincent held up a commanding hand. “Turn the coach around just as soon as you can,” he ordered. The coachman nodded, and Vincent climbed back inside. “We’ll soon be home,” he reported. “There’s sure to be a turning place. Why don’t you sing me another song?”

Marigold, who had never ever been asked to sing a second song by anyone who had heard the first, began to feel a genuine fondness for the stout little prince. “Darling Vincent,” she cooed, “of course I will.”

As the tuneless wailing began once more, Marcus groaned and encouraged a more-than-willing Glee to increase the distance between him and the coach. From close by, a familiar voice squeaked, “Hello, Mr. Prince! What’s that noise?”

“Alf!” Marcus slowed his pony and grinned. “It’s Princess Marigold. She’s singing to Vincent, and he actually likes it!”

Alf looked pained. “Hurts my ears. What do you think, Flo?”

Another bat, much the same size as Alf, came winging toward Marcus, then stopped to perch on a twig. She began to speak but was overcome with a fit of sneezing so violent that she was unable to continue.

“Hay fever,” Alf explained. “Miss Gracie says she’ll get it cured for her.”

“Have you seen Gracie?” Marcus asked eagerly. “Have the dwarves dug her out? Is she OK?”

Alf nodded. “Gone down a tunnel to rescue Gubble. Uncle Marlon’s there too. And a dwarf. Me and Flo are on our way to the crones, but Flo’s never been out of the tunnels, so I was showing her around a bit — and then we saw you.” Alf twirled in a circle around Marcus’s head. “Never met a prince before, have you, Flo?”

There was another explosion of sneezing, which Marcus ignored. “What do you mean, she’s ‘down a tunnel’?” His voice sharpened. “What kind of tunnel? And why’s Gubble stuck? Where did he come from?”

Alf, delighted to impress Flo with his familiarity with royalty, settled himself on Glee’s saddle and made a full report. He finished by describing the enormous feet sticking out from the pile of earth from the tunnel roof, and Marcus looked thoughtful. “I expect that’s the huge troll I saw in the clearing. He didn’t look very clever; maybe he brought the roof down by mistake.”

“Unc wouldn’t let me tickle his toes,” Alf told him. “Said it might wake him up.”

“I wish I’d been there to help,” Marcus said. “Gracie always has better adventures than me.”

He sounded as if he thought Gracie had been having fun, and Flo took a deep breath. “She’s very brave, Gracie Gillypot is.” She forgot her fears in her desire to defend Gracie and landed on Marcus’s arm. “When that horrid Oolie had hold of her and was dragging her to the king, she never screamed —”

“What?”
Marcus sat bolt upright and stared at the tiny bat. “What are you talking about? What king?”

Flo, unnerved, went into a fit of sneezing.

Marcus looked at Alf, but Alf looked blank. “Miss Gracie didn’t say anything about kings. All she said was she wanted to rescue Gubble . . .”

Marcus turned back to Flo. “Please,” he said, “please try to tell me.”

Struggling between nerves and sneezes, Flo did her best to explain. “Trueheart!” she gasped. “Trolls! Oolie . . . BAD. Oolie . . . danger . . .” It was too much for her, and she collapsed in a heap.

Marcus picked her up as gently as he could, but she showed no signs of recovery. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked Alf. Alf shook his head helplessly, and Marcus, after a moment’s consideration, slipped Flo into his pocket. He was beginning to feel seriously concerned. The desperation in Flo’s words had cut through his romantic dreams of heroic deeds and brought him back to reality with a bump. “We need to find Gracie,” he said. “And I want to find out what’s really been going on. I’ve got a feeling it’s not nearly as simple as Marlon made out.”

“I’ll show you where Miss Gracie is,” Alf volunteered, and Marcus gave him a thumbs-up before swinging around and riding back to the coach.

“Marigold! Vincent!” he called. “I’m going to ride on ahead!”

Vincent’s head popped out of the coach window. “You can’t,” he began — but Marigold appeared beside him.

“He can make himself useful and look for a turning place,” she said. “Can’t you, Marcus? And hurry up. It’s getting late. We want to get home.” She thumped the side of the coach to make her point. “I’m
so
not coming on any adventures with you again! Not EVER!”

Marcus, glad of the excuse and only too aware of how time was passing, waved agreement, but Marigold had seen Alf circling above his head. With a loud scream she pulled Vincent back inside and slammed the window shut. Marcus eased Glee into a canter and rode on.

T
he Ancient One was icing Gubble’s chocolate cake when Millie came flitting through the window. “Hello, Millie,” she said, her one blue eye twinkling — and then she saw Millie’s face. “Oh, dear. Bad news?”