The Heart of Glass (19 page)

The heart slipped from his fingers and fell, shattering into a thousand tiny fragments.

For a moment there was a stunned silence . . . until King Thab began to scream in frustrated rage. “No prophecy now! Thab not be King of Kings! No bowing to Thab — never, EVER!” Spittle, Bestius, and Gracie clapped their hands to their ears, but the scream bounced off the walls and went on and on and on. Mullius stood sullenly among the shards of glass, his head drooping . . . and the wooden door splintered into matchwood as Clod came staggering through, still dragging the coach behind him.

King Thab stopped screaming, but the sound continued. Gracie, certain now that she was in the middle of a hideous nightmare, saw a figure that looked like the ghost of Marcus climb stiffly off the snow-white coach. He shook himself and was enshrouded in a cloud of dust. Then, with a sharp
rat-a-tat-tat,
he knocked on the coach door. “Marigold! Could you please SHUT UP!” Only then did he look around to see where he was, and his eyes and his mouth opened wider and wider until he had the appearance of a startled fish.

“If I were you, kiddo,” said a well-known voice, “I’d close your mouth. Moths, remember. Moths.”

“MARCUS! I knew you’d come!” Gracie flew across the cavern and flung herself into the prince’s arms.

For a second, Marcus’s eyebrows rose even higher, but then he grinned happily and enveloped her in a protective bear hug.

“Excuse
me
!” The coach door opened, and Marigold appeared. Her pale blue dress was crumpled and stained, her hair was disheveled, and her face was purple with anger. Completely ignoring Mullius, King Thab, and Spittle, she glared at Marcus. “How DARE you speak to me like that! I’ve been rattled and jolted and bumped and I’m bruised all over and I think you’re completely and utterly horrible, and I’m never, ever,
ever
going to speak to you again because I HATE you! So THERE!” With a stamp of her foot and a toss of her head, she slammed the door shut again so hard that even Clod jumped.

“I guess that means I don’t have to walk with her in the wedding procession,” Marcus said. He sounded jubilant.

King Thab, who had sunk onto his throne in despair, looked up. “Who that?” he asked, pointing at the coach.

“That,” Marcus told him, “is Princess Marigold of Dreghorn. How do you do, by the way? I’m Prince Marcus from the kingdom of Gorebreath.” He bowed as politely as if they had been introduced in Queen Bluebell’s reception room and held out his hand.

King Thab stared at him, disbelief written all over his face. “You? You prince? And cross-face girl is princess?”

Marcus bowed again.

King Thab turned to Spittle. “Write!” he instructed urgently. “Write! Tell dwarves. No princess for troll. NEVER!”

Spittle did as he was told.

King Thab grunted approval, then considered for a moment, frowning heavily. Mullius stirred, and the king glowered at him. “Banished,” he pronounced. “Go. Go FOREVER!” He raised an imperious hand. “Clod! Take Gowk to caves. Deep, deep down. Take Gowk NOW!”

Even if he had tried to protest, Mullius Gowk would have been no match for Clod and his four arms. As it was he went meekly, rumbling deep inside but making no attempt to resist. Clod stomped steadily behind him.

“What’ll happen to him?” Marcus asked, but the king simply shrugged.

“Gone,” he said. “Gone. Gone like heart of glass. All gone.” He put his head in his hands and began to sigh.

Gracie looked at the scattered fragments of glass and then at the dejected figure of the king. The goblin was leaning on the arm of the throne, and she moved nearer. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” she said. “He seems so lonely. . . .”

It was Bestius who answered. The disappearance of Mullius and Clod had cheered him immensely, and he was beginning to think he might have a future as Master Amplethumb’s assistant after all. “The goblin said something about trouble with a lady . . .”

“Is that true?” Gracie asked.

Spittle nodded. “The king had a wife,” he said in a low voice. “Queen Thulka. She wasn’t bad, but she asked too many questions, and Mullius marched her home to her mother.”

“Then you should go and ask her to come back,” Gracie told him. “After all, Mullius isn’t here anymore. King Thab and Queen Thulka . . . sounds like a good combination to me.”

Thab raised his head and stared at Gracie. “Thulka?”

“You’d like to see her again, wouldn’t you?” Gracie spoke to the troll king as gently as if he were a troubled child. “And do you know what? Being a King of Kings wouldn’t be that special. People bow to
good
kings, not horrible, scary ones.”

A slow smile spread across King Thab’s face. “GOOD king,” he said. “GOOD!”

The goblin hesitated, then shook Gracie’s hand. “Thank you, Trueheart. I’ll bring Thulka back as soon as I can.”

“Hang on a minute.” Bestius fished in his pocket and brought out the gold necklace he had offered the king at the beginning of the day. He laid it on the stone table near Thab’s knee. “For your lady wife,” he said. “With the compliments of the dwarves.”

“Well done, kiddo!” Marlon flew in a celebratory circle around the king’s apartments. “Trueheart effect and all that stuff. Gets ’em every time.”

Flo, hanging from a roof beam, sighed approvingly.

Marcus grinned at Gracie. “Clever old thing, aren’t you?” Gracie smiled back at him, and the coach window opened with a bang.

“Excuse
me
! When EXACTLY are you thinking of taking us home? And don’t you even
dream
of telling us we have to walk. We’re going to stay in this coach, aren’t we, Vincent darling? So you’ll just have to find someone or something to pull it.”

There was a muffled agreement from inside, and Marcus looked at Gracie and Bestius in perplexity. “Whatever can we do?” he asked.

“Ug,” said a voice from the doorway. “Ug.”

I
t was late the following morning before Gubble finally hauled the coach containing Marigold and Vincent up onto the Flailing road, while Marcus and Gracie scrambled alongside. They had spent an uncomfortable night dozing in the coach outside King Thab’s royal apartments; Marigold and Vincent had made a fuss about sharing space with a troll and a dwarf, and eventually Gubble and Bestius had settled themselves underneath the coach wrapped up in an old horse blanket. They had had by far the most peaceful night, for Marigold had seen Marlon, Alf, and Flo having a merry reunion party by candlelight and, convinced that the bats were about to take up residence in her corner of the coach, had twitched and squealed at every tiny sound. It was a weary party that set out to follow Alf as he led the way back down the windings of the troll tunnel and through the dwarves’ shattered gold mine to the sunlit ravine where Clod had changed the landscape forever.

Marcus had expected that they would be forced to abandon the coach at this point, but Master Amplethumb, giddy with delight at the rich new seams of gold that had been revealed, insisted on organizing a team of sturdy dwarves to heave the coach up the fallen rocks to the grassy plateau above. “Least I can do for you, Your Highness,” he said. “Thanks to you, we’ll be on time with all the orders — so no reason for you to worry about the royal wedding. All the crowns’ll be there, and if you should ever be wanting a couple for you and your young lady friend, just you let me know. It’ll be no trouble, no trouble at all.”

Marcus, who had never had any intention of worrying about the wedding, thanked the dwarf as politely as he could. As the coach bumped and rattled upward, he gave Gracie a sideways look to see if she had heard Master Amplethumb’s remarks about lady friends — but she was gazing up at a small bat flying circles above.

“Isn’t that Millie?” she asked. “I’m sure it is. Millie! Millie! Is that you?”

Millie came down in one smooth swoop and greeted Gracie with enthusiasm. “Oh! Miss Gracie! I’m so pleased to see you, you can’t imagine! Are you all right? I’ve been thinking of all the dreadful things that could have happened to you, and I’ve been
so
worried! So’s Miss Edna — and it’s all Dad’s fault!” The little bat paused and frowned. “He’s gone too far this time, you mark my words. I never thought you’d hear me say this, but I’m ashamed of what he’s been up to; I really am.”

“But Millie!” Gracie stared at the bat in astonishment. “Haven’t you heard? It was Marlon who saved me! He was
so
brave. He flew at the Old Troll and made him drop the heart of glass! If he hadn’t been there, I’d have been killed!”

“What?” Millie’s eyes brightened. “My dad did that?”

Gracie nodded. “He was wonderful. Marcus is going to see about getting him a medal. Aren’t you, Marcus?”

“Absolutely.” Marcus was so emphatic that Millie’s last doubts faded away.

“Ooooh,” she breathed. “A medal for Dad. Just wait until I tell Alf.”

“Alf was there,” Gracie told her. “He saw it all. Him and Flo — they were there all the time, up on the roof beams. He’ll tell you how brave your dad was.”

Millie wiped away a tear. “You’ve made me very happy, Miss Gracie. I didn’t like thinking badly of my dad. Just a minute. . . . Who’s Flo?”

Gracie laughed. “She saved me as well. You bats — you’re all amazing. I don’t know what we’d do without you!”

“I don’t think
I
did much,” Millie said doubtfully. “Only sorted out Professor Scallio when he was bat-walking. Did you know he’s waiting for you at the top of the cliff? Him and a great big coachman?”

Marcus gave a delighted cheer. “The prof? Oh, that’s grand. Come on, Gracie — let’s go and say hello!”

Much to Millie’s pleasure, he took Gracie’s hand, and the two of them clambered up to the top of the ravine.

Millie, dizzy with excitement and relief, flew downward to find Marlon. He was sleeping off the excitement of the night in the mine, but was happy to be woken by his ecstatic daughter.

“Wotcher, kiddo,” he said fondly. “Thought you weren’t speaking to me.”

“Dad!” Millie squeaked. “You’re a HERO! Miss Gracie told me!”

Marlon blinked and waved a wing. “Never let it be said that Marlon Batster failed in his duty.”

When at last the coach reached the grassy plateau, the dwarves waved a hasty good-bye as Master Amplethumb prodded them back to work.

Only Bestius Bonnyrigg remained, his eyes fixed on Gracie. “Good-bye, miss,” he said gruffly. “Just wanted to say, you’re a fine companion in an emergency. You could be a dwarf, you could.”

Gracie flung her arms around him and gave him a hug. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “But maybe we’ll meet again. I do hope so.”

Bestius, scarlet with emotion, nodded speechlessly. There was a loud bellow from the bottom of the ravine, and he jumped. “Got to go.”

“Just a minute.” Gracie pulled at her braid and tweaked out the silver thread. “Here — please take this. You’ve been so kind, and it’ll remind you of me. And I think it’s sort of magic.”

The dwarf took the thread and studied it with a professional eye. “Much too heavy to be pure silver,” he said, and then he whistled. “It’s not . . . it’s not from the web of power, is it?”

“Gubble gave it to me,” Gracie told him. “I don’t know where he found it.”

Bestius put the thread carefully in his pocket and gave a formal bow. “I’ll treasure it. And if ever you should need a helping hand, Miss Gillypot, just ask. Bestius Bonnyrigg is yours to command.”

Gracie smiled her full-beam smile. “Thank you so much,” she said, and Bestius gave her one last wave before hastily scrambling down to the impatiently waiting Master Amplethumb.

On the far side of the plateau, Professor Scallio and Fingle were deeply engrossed in a game of poker. Fingle had spent the night placidly waiting; the professor had been more anxious — until the coachman had produced a well-thumbed pack of cards. Now they were interrupted by a triumphant shout from Marcus and looked up to see the coach rolling toward them, with Gubble between the shafts. The professor leaped to his feet with a cry of delight; Fingle picked up the cards scattered over the grass.

Vincent was somewhat taken aback to see his tutor waiting for him, but Marigold took it as no more than her due. She insisted that Professor Scallio come sit beside her in the coach and proceeded to recite her exceptionally long list of grievances. The tutor listened patiently but from time to time was obliged to hide a chuckle of amusement with a cough.