The Heart of Glass (4 page)

King Thab laboriously inscribed a cross at the bottom of the slate, then turned back to the goblin. “Clod,” he ordered. “Fetch Clod.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” said Spittle. Springing to his feet, he handed the slate to the dwarf. “Here. You’d better wait.” And then he was gone.

Bestius waited, very aware of Mullius’s looming and unfriendly bulk. King Thab took no notice of either of them; he was gazing into space, a faint smile on his face.

Time ticked on, until at last there was the sound of heavy footsteps echoing from the other side of the cavernous apartment. Bestius glanced up and blinked. Clod, following obediently behind the goblin, was easily as large as Mullius but had four arms. In each hand, he clutched a heavy iron spade, and he was encrusted with mud.

Spittle tittered as he saw the expression of astonishment on the dwarf’s face. “He’s a digging machine,” he explained. “Solve all your problems in a couple of hours, I’d say. Good luck, and don’t forget to bring him back when you’ve finished with him.” He gave Bestius a sideways look. “And remember to bring the pretty princess back with you. Not a good idea to mess with trolls, you know. But you’d better get going!” He slapped the monster’s leg and pointed at Bestius. “Follow him, Clod. Follow . . . and do as you’re told.”

“Yug,” Clod said.

“Oh. Well. Thank you very much.” Bestius was still in a state of shock. “It — I mean, he — will be perfect. We’ll see you again soon. Very soon.” He bowed, then turned and marched out of the room toward the wide, stone-floored tunnel that led away from the royal palace, Clod stomping meekly after him.

G
ubble was carefully measuring out the ingredients for the chocolate cake when Marlon came flitting through the open window.

Elsie, otherwise known as the Oldest Crone, looked up in surprise. “I thought you were showing Gracie and Marcus the way to the Unreliable Forest,” she said.

Marlon swung himself onto the curtain rail and hung upside down while he got his breath back. “Bit of a snag,” he reported.

“Really?” Elsie’s eyebrows rose. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Nope. Maybe. Yes.” Marlon shuffled along the rail. “It’s Gracie.”

Gubble gave an anxious grunt, and Elsie went pale. “Gracie? What’s happened? Surely the dwarves wouldn’t hurt a Trueheart!”

“Not the dwarves,” Marlon told her. “A tree. Gracie leaned against it.” He waved a wing. “Next minute — gone!”

“Oh, dear.” Elsie put her hand to her face. “I think we’d better tell the Ancient One.”

Gubble frowned. “Find Gracie,” he said. “NOW.” And he headed toward the back door, which immediately slipped to one side and pretended to be a window.

The Oldest rushed after him and towed him back. “Let’s hear what Edna has to say first, shall we?” she suggested, and led the way into the corridor. Room seventeen, the most important room in the House of the Ancient Crones, was, for once, immediately opposite, and Elsie sighed with relief as she and Gubble hurried in.

The two looms were click-click-clacking as usual; an extremely pretty young woman was angrily throwing the shuttle to and fro on the smaller loom, while the Ancient One was steadily weaving the iridescent silver of the web of power. Val, the Youngest Crone, was muttering to herself as she tried to sort out a tangle of thread on the floor.

“Edna,” said Elsie, “could you spare a minute? Marlon’s just arrived with some rather alarming news.”

The Ancient One glanced around, her one blue eye gleaming. “Can’t be too alarming. The web’s clear. Look!”

All three crones stared at the loom, and indeed the gleaming silver cloth flowed smooth and stain-free.

The pretty girl sneered. “What’s the matter? Has my nasty little stepsister gotten herself lost? Serves her right. Perhaps she’s been eaten by a bear. Crunch, crunch — Gracie for lunch!”

“Be silent, Foyce,” Edna said. “Remarks like that will most certainly prolong your stay here. We can release only those who are purged of wickedness and evil.” Her voice was quiet, but the girl flinched and bent low over her work. The Ancient One turned to Val. “Val, dear, could you take over for five minutes? I’ll have a word with Marlon, and then I’ll be straight back.”

The Youngest nodded and took Edna’s place in front of the web. As she did so, a faint shadow rippled across the shimmering sheet of silver, and both old women caught their breath, but a second later it was gone.

“Hmm.” The Ancient One sounded thoughtful. “Keep a close eye on it, dear. It looks as if something might be stirring after all. I’ll go and see what Marlon has to say.”

Marlon was fretting. Only his deep respect and admiration for the Ancient Crones stopped him from flying into room seventeen and asking them to hurry things along. When Gubble came stomping back into the kitchen, Marlon flew down to perch on a chair back and asked, “Well? Action stations or what?”

“Unk,” Gubble said as he marched across the room, a determined expression on his flat green face. “Get Gracie. Gubble go.”

“Yay!” Marlon said approvingly. “What did the crones say?”

Gubble ignored him. Reaching the back door — which was where it belonged but upside down — he grunted loudly. The door shot up to the ceiling, and Gubble folded his arms and grunted again. When there was no response, he walked through the wall, leaving a troll-shaped space behind him, together with a great deal of fresh air.

Marlon began to laugh but stopped as Edna and Elsie came in from the corridor. He waved a wing at the gaping hole. “Gubble’s gone.”

“We can see that for ourselves,” the Ancient One said crisply. “Now, please tell us exactly what happened.”

Marlon stood at attention and gave a short but accurate account of the early morning’s events.

When he had finished, Edna nodded. “Very sensible to mark the tree. Well done.” Marlon glowed — but he looked increasingly uneasy as she went on. “It sounds like a dwarf-trap, but I can’t be sure. I thought they’d all been sealed up long ago, but it’s possible one or two of them were forgotten about. Nasty things, dwarf-traps.”

Elsie frowned. “What were the dwarves hoping to catch?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the dwarves who set them.” Edna sounded surprised by Elsie’s ignorance. “They’d never do anything like that. It was the trolls. They used to catch dwarves, because . . .” She hesitated, then went on. “Because in those days the trolls liked nothing more than a dwarf for dinner.” She saw the Oldest’s horrified expression and added, “I’m talking about a
very
long time ago, Elsie dear.”

Marlon leaned forward. “So — we’re talking traps. One way only? In but no out?”

“I would imagine so.” Edna pondered for a moment. “I suggest Marcus try to talk to the dwarves. I’m sure they could dig Gracie out again. . . . I imagine she’s fallen into some kind of pit.”

“Marcus — dwarves — chitchat — rescue — happy ever after. Check.” Marlon stretched his wings. “Better be off.”

Edna held up her hand. “One moment. The dwarves don’t always take kindly to humans, especially if the humans are asking for a favor.”

“But Marcus is a
prince,
” Elsie said in shocked tones.

“In my opinion, that’s a distinct disadvantage,” Edna told her. “It’s the Royals who keep the dwarves so hard at work. They’re always wanting gold for weddings and suchlike.” She fished in her pocket and produced a handful of silver threads. “Here — take these. They’re offcuts from the web of power, and they can be quite useful, although you never can tell exactly how they’ll work. Pure and unadulterated goodness is an odd commodity. Give a couple of them to the dwarves with my best wishes, and keep a couple for emergencies. Do be careful, though. They can have unexpected side effects.”

Marlon looped the threads around his neck, staggered, and fell off the chair. “Got a problem,” he announced from the floor.

Elsie hurried forward and removed all but one of the silvery wisps. She looked reproachfully at the Ancient One. “You never remember how heavy these are, Edna. They come from the web, remember. Only Truehearts like you and Gracie think they weigh nothing at all.”

“I’m so sorry,” Edna said. “Are you all right, Marlon?”

The bat nodded and fluttered back to the chair. Even the single thread seemed to be weighing heavily on his small, furry shoulders, but he held his head up high. “Report soon as mission accomplished,” he promised. “Erm . . . what about Gubble?”

The Ancient One smiled. “Let’s hope you and Marcus will have rescued Gracie by the time he reaches the Unreliable Forest. He’s not the speediest of travelers.”

Marlon nodded, wobbled, regained his balance with an effort, and launched himself into the air. “See ya!” he called, and swooped out the window.

Elsie watched him go, then turned to Edna. “Tell me,” she said, “I didn’t want to ask in front of Marlon — I didn’t want to worry him . . . but what if Gracie’s fallen into a tunnel? Where would it lead?”

“To the trolls’ caverns, most likely.” Edna shook her head. “Not a happy thought. The underground trolls are better than they used to be, but they really are a completely different breed from overground trolls like Gubble. Still, at least they sent all the Old Trolls away. They were even nastier than the ogres, and that’s saying something.”

Elsie looked uneasy. “Wasn’t there some rumor that King Thab kept one of the Old Trolls as a bodyguard?”

“What?” The Ancient One’s voice was sharp. “Where did you hear that?”

Elsie took her wig off, scratched her head, and replaced the wild red curls. “I really can’t remember. I could be wrong, of course.”

“Let’s hope you are,” Edna said. “You should have told me about that as soon as you heard it. And while you’re busy digging around in your memories of the past, is there anything else I should know?”

“Well . . .” Elsie hesitated. “I was wondering, how do underground trolls feel about Truehearts? Isn’t there an old story about a Trueheart and a troll king?”

The Ancient One sat down hard on a kitchen chair. “Oh, my goodness. You’re right. The prophecy . . . Oh, Elsie, how could I have forgotten?” She frowned for a moment, then sighed. “It’s no use worrying about it. We must hope the dwarves find our Gracie safe and sound . . . and then, as soon as she’s back here, we can warn her. No more exploring — or, at least, not where there might be underground trolls.”

“Or Old Trolls,” Elsie added.

Edna nodded, pulled herself to her feet, and set off for the door. “I think we’d better check the web right this minute.”

Elsie hurried after her.

They heard Val calling them before they even got through the door of room seventeen — and by the time they reached the loom, it was all too clear that ugly mud-colored stains were creeping across the sheet of silver. “What does it mean?” Val asked anxiously. “Doesn’t that color mean trolls?”

Gracie’s stepsister, busy untangling knots on the other loom, snorted. “I can tell you what it means,” she said. “It means trouble. Trouble for your darling Gracie — and it serves the little worm right!”

H
igh in the air, Marlon came swooping over the forest. Looking down, he saw Marcus sitting on the grass, his back against the comforting solidity of an oak tree; clearly there had been no dramatic developments. As Marlon swung into a dive, however, the silver thread slipped off his shoulders and fell into a particularly thick tangle of gorse below; he muttered and flew after it, but the sun was in his eyes and he could not see where it had fallen. He circled the gorse bushes several times, trying to find a perch among the prickles, but there was no glint of silver anywhere.