The Heart of Glass (9 page)

Alf took a deep breath and steadied himself. “It’s Gubble, Uncle Marlon. His head fell off, and I found it for him, and then I asked him to hang on to the tree Miss Gracie fell into because I was getting so tired and dizzy, and then —
whoomph!
He was gone too! And I didn’t know what to do, so I came to find you.”

His uncle gave him an unsympathetic glare. “Alfred Batster,” he said coldly, “are you telling me you’ve left that tree unmarked?”

Alf shook his head. “It’s OK. It’s not moving anymore, Unc. Ever since it ate Gubble, it’s been keeping very, very still — and it’s got hiccups.”

Bestius and Marlon stared at the small bat. “Hiccups?” Bestius said at last.
“Hiccups?”

Alf nodded. “Follow me, and I’ll show you. Oh, Uncle Marlon, do you think Gubble will rescue Miss Gracie? Will it end happily ever after, after all?”

“I think,” Marlon said carefully, “we’d better have a look at this tree.”

I
n the dark, cavernous throne room, deep beneath the forests beyond the Five Kingdoms, King Thab was waiting for his princess. Spittle eyed him thoughtfully as Thab paced around and around.

Mullius was also watching the king. He had always been of the opinion that any female, be she princess or troll, was a bad idea and must be gotten rid of as soon as possible. Females caused trouble. Arguments. Confusion. Thab was not like the High Kings of old, who had regularly dragged their wives and sweethearts over rocks by the hair if they showed signs of disobedience. He was, in Mullius’s view, a mere puppet, and the arrival of a human princess would make him even more feeble. The Old Troll flexed his muscles, and the chain attached to his wrist rattled.

King Thab glanced around at the noise and stopped his pacing. He stomped toward the iron box and stood staring down at it. At last he said, “Key!”

Spittle scrambled down from his perch behind the massive throne, convinced he had misheard. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty? What did you say?”

“Key!” The king pointed to a large bunch of iron keys hanging on a hook by the heavily barred door.

The goblin nodded and ran to fetch them. Mullius growled deep in his chest, but he made no move as the king took the keys and pointed to the door.

“Go,” the king ordered. Mullius still made no move, and Thab frowned. “Go!” he repeated. He turned to Spittle and waved an imperious arm. “Go too.”

Spittle bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. And when shall we come back? That is, I assume you do want us to come back? I trust this isn’t a termination of our employment . . .”

King Thab shook his heavy head. “Thab will call. Go!”

“Ah!” The goblin did his best to hide his relief. “I see. You wish to be alone with your box. Of course. How tactless of us. Come, Mullius.” And the goblin gave the massive bulk of the Old Troll a helpful push. Mullius roared with anger, then roared again as the door crashed shut behind him and the wooden bar thudded into place.

Alone in the throne room, King Thab turned the bunch of keys around in his scaly hands until he found the one he wanted. Bending down, he carefully unlocked a small cupboard underneath his throne, and from the cupboard took a curiously twisted key. This he slotted into the lock on the iron box — but he did not turn it. Instead, he lowered himself to the stone floor and sat very still for a long time.

“Pretty princess,” he murmured at last. “Pretty princess. Be special king for pretty princess.” He took a deep breath, turned the key, and lifted the lid. Inside was a piece of thick black velvet; Thab moved it away and was almost dazzled by what lay beneath. Gleaming and glittering even in the low light of the cavern, a heart of glass lay on its soft velvet bed.

“Aaaaaah,” breathed the king, and he placed one hand on the heart and one on his chest. “Aaaaaah . . .”

“Mind you, don’t break it,” Oolie said from right behind him. “Precious sort of thing, that is.”

As the king swung around, rage, surprise, and fear written all over his face, she held up a protective arm. “Now, don’t you go hurting old Oolie. Oolie might have news for you, news that’ll make you happy.” She squatted down, her small black eyes glinting. “Guess what Oolie caught today in her little old trap.”

King Thab moved to cover the heart with the piece of velvet, but Oolie caught his hand in a grip of iron.

“Not so fast, my dearie. Guess first!”

The king considered throwing her against the wall, but there was something in her eyes that reminded him of the way Mullius looked at him; a look suggesting a lack of respect — contempt, even. Unwilling to risk a full-blown battle of wills, he decided to humor her. “Rabbit,” he said. “Goblin. Dwarf . . .” He paused as Oolie shook her head.

She tapped her nose and grinned, showing her broken teeth, sharp as needles. “Better,” she hissed. “Much better.”

The heart shifted a little in its velvet-lined box, throwing sharp sparkles of light across the dark and dirty ceiling. King Thab shut his eyes tightly, then opened them. “Trueheart?” he whispered, hardly daring to believe he was saying the word. “Not . . . Trueheart?”

Oolie nodded. “Trueheart it is.” Distracted by its dazzle, she peered at the heart. “So that’ll be the High King’s lost heart, then.” She gave a long, low whistle. “Had it long, have you?”

King Thab did his best to look superior. “Grandfather got treasure box. Hush! Hush! Secret! Grandfather gave it Father. Father gave it me. Only royal kings know secret in box.”

“Ooooh! Royal, is you?” Oolie sneered. “I heard as your grandpappy got to be king by snake’s-tongue words and power of poison. Nothing to do with the High King, was he?”

“Who you?” Thab stared at her, his face scarlet with suppressed anger. “How get in? Doors shut — big bars. Bolts!”

Oolie swung herself from foot to foot, chuckling sourly. “Oolie has her ways. Been hiding and sliding for hundreds of years, Oolie has, since the Old Trolls was sent away . . . but you never knew as I was here, did you?”

King Thab shook his head.

“Come from the Old Trolls, I does, and the old ones never trusted anyone. If there was a lock, they’d set a spy to watch it . . . and a secret door to slither and slide through — but you wouldn’t know that, poor thing that you is.”

For a moment it seemed as if Oolie had gone too far; Thab let out a mighty roar and sprang at her, fully intending to throttle her with his bare hands. Oolie, agile despite her age, slid out of his reach behind the throne. “Isn’t you wanting to hear about the Trueheart, then?” she mocked.

Panting, the king stood still. “Tell!”

Oolie grinned an unpleasant grin. “What’ll you give poor old Oolie in exchange for telling? Gold? A fireside? Food and warmth for the rest of my days?”

“Yes!” The king nodded. “Yes! Where Trueheart now?”

“Oh, she’s safe enough, she is. Thinks she’s about to get out with a silly little bat to show her the way. A silly little bat who squeaks loud enough for old Oolie to hear . . .” Oolie rubbed her hands together with glee. “But Oolie’s traps is good traps. There’s no way out, no way out at all. Not the way she’s running. She’ll come to the end, then
wham-slam
! Caught, she’ll be, cuz Oolie’s traps is sneaky. Nasty, they is. Double sprung, with a twist at the end. Mullius Gowk, he’ll tell you of my traps. Many a dwarfie-pie he ate when he was young, and all of them caught by Oolie.” She gave a high-pitched cackling laugh and licked her lips.

King Thab looked at her uneasily.

“No eat dwarves now. Laws say no. No eat dwarves.”

“More’s the pity!” Oolie snapped. She pointed at the glittering heart. “The High King’d eat them two at a time. Crunch their bones, then pick the beard hairs out of his teeth.” She gave Thab a calculating look. “So . . . so what was you thinking of doing with my Trueheart, then?”

King Thab stood up straight and thrust out his chest. “Is story. Old story. ‘When Trueheart life . . .’” He hesitated, searching for the words.

“I knows that story, my dearie dear,” Oolie said in a softer tone. “The old ones sang it when Oolie was in her cradle, long, long ago. Shall Oolie say it for you?”

“Yes! Yes! Say!” The king clapped his hands.

Oolie began to chant:

“Good!” King Thab stamped his foot in excitement. “King of Kings! Thab be King of Kings! Great king, like High King. Then . . .” His small eyes began to glow. “Pretty princess will love Thab when Thab is King of Kings!”

Oolie chuckled silently.
So that’s the way of it,
she thought. She got off the throne and made an obsequious bowlegged curtsy. “You will be King of Kings indeed, my dearie. And Oolie will give up her home to help pretty princess, because pretties need a lady friend, as you well knows.” She came a little closer and adopted a wheedling tone. “Promise you’ll let old Oolie stay and make the pretty one happy, my dear. You’ll be all-powerful, just like it says in the story.”

“Power! Yes! Can make new rules! New laws!” King Thab thundered across the room and ripped the notice about a smile a day from the wall. “All will listen to Thab! Dwarves, goblins, human kings — all will bow!”

“Don’t feel too certain of yourself, does you?” Oolie was unable to keep a jeering note out of her voice. “Is that why you went along with all those contracts and suchlike? ’Fraid folk’d find out your grandpappy was nothing more than the High King’s servant — not even one of the Old Trolls . . . ?”

Thab’s eyes dimmed, and his shoulders drooped. He picked up the torn notice and began to straighten it before turning back to Oolie. “Am king,” he said flatly. “King Thab.”

“But you’ll soon be King of Kings . . . just as long as Oolie helps you.” Oolie sidled up and gave him an ingratiating smile. “Promise you’ll always look after your friend Oolie. Promise you’ll put it in writing, so’s all can see. ‘Oolie to be your true friend, and always companion of the pretty princess.’ Then Oolie will find you the Trueheart.”

King Thab nodded and looked more cheerful. “Yes,” he said. “End Trueheart life. Power for King Thab!” He bent to wrap the heart of glass in the black velvet — but as the material touched the glimmering surface, there was a hiss and a puff of smoke. The velvet shriveled and turned to ashes. The king jumped back, alarmed, and Oolie cackled loudly.

“Seems you’ve woken something that doesn’t want to sleep again.” She stretched out a long, sinewy arm and pushed at the box’s iron lid. It clanged into place; King Thab tried to turn the key, but it would not move. “Best leave it as it is,” Oolie advised. “Now, let’s get that promise in writing, shall us, my dearie? Oolie can write. Clever, she is.”

To Oolie’s frustration, the king ignored her. He gave the box a doubtful glance, then marched to unbar the door.

Spittle was hovering outside, a curious expression on his face. “What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Get Mullius,” King Thab ordered. “Mullius find Trueheart.
Now!
”

Oolie leaped forward. “But is
Oolie’s
Trueheart! Oolie will fetch . . .”

King Thab looked at her and grunted. “No. Show the way.”

Before Oolie could reply, the goblin gave her a mocking glance. “He won’t trust anyone but Mullius, dear madam. I suggest you do as you’re told.” He scurried toward the doorway. “Mullius! MULLIUS!”

As Mullius made his way back into the room, he greeted Oolie without surprise, giving her a sullen nod. When Thab told him the Trueheart was heading toward one of Oolie’s dwarf-traps, however, the Old Troll’s eyes shone with a greedy gleam. “Mullius know all traps,” he said. “Mullius find Trueheart.”

Oolie dug her talon-like nails into her palms. In her boastfulness, she had said too much. “What of Oolie?” she wailed. “You’ll not forget old Oolie, will you? ’Twas Oolie as catched the Trueheart, ’twas Oolie as told you . . .”

But the king wasn’t listening. Oolie moved slowly backward, and her hand slid over the back of the enormous throne. A tweak on a cunningly concealed lever, and she was gone. King Thab, intent on sending Mullius on his mission, did not notice.