The Flight of Dragons (4 page)

“No, Terty dearest. I’ve been thinking. All we have to do is put up a notice in the marketplace saying there are one or two vacancies here at the palace.” Fedora picked up her
Handbook
. “There’s a whole section here about appointing new staff, and of course I’ll interview them myself.”

Tertius took a deep breath. For a second he considered throwing the book out of the window into the weed-infested moat, but a smile from his beloved — the first for some long time — melted his resolution. “Fedora, darling . . . if that’s what you want. You write the notice, and I’ll send Bobby.”

Fedora gave him another gracious smile. “Thank you, Terty. Now, let me see . . .” She picked up a piece of parchment, complete with a shining royal seal, and sucked the top of her pen. “One cook. Do we really need a head butler?”

“Yes,” Tertius said firmly. “Father would be miserable without one. He and Mr. Trout used to play checkers together every night. You’d better add a note about that. Not chess, mind. Father hates chess.” He rubbed his nose. “Actually, it might make Father feel better about losing Mrs. Basket if you can find a new head butler who sometimes lets him win. Mr. Trout used to win all the time.”

“If you say so, dearest.” Fedora blew him a kiss. “And what about six footmen, all the same height? They’d look SO smart!
Much
better than the old ones . . . and a couple of housemaids. That should be enough, don’t you think? I’m sure Bobby can manage on his own. And if we don’t have any more pages, it’ll pay for the extra footmen.” The young housekeeper looked pleased with her thoughtful economies. “And we could get an extra coachman . . . AND a new coach.” At which point Fedora drifted off into a wonderful dream, where she was driven around the Five Kingdoms in a pink-and-silver coach with her name and coat of arms emblazoned in large gold letters on the door. She was trying to decide whether she should have a matching pink dress or go with a contrast in delicate turquoise, when the door opened and Bobby announced, “Look out, all! Here comes the king, Your — erm — Highnesses.”

King Horace came bustling in, his brow furrowed. “Tertius! Whatever’s happened? I came home and there was nobody around except that poor little housemaid with big feet. Had to hang up my own coat. Poor soul couldn’t reach, although she did try. And Bobby tells me the footmen have gone!”

Tertius looked meaningfully at Fedora, who bristled. “
You
tell him,” she whispered. “He’s your father!”

“But it was you who got rid of them all!” Tertius hissed back.

Fedora glared at him. “Actually, Father-in-Law,” she began, “there’s been a bit of a . . . a bit of a change.” Seeing King Horace’s face, she hastily added, “It’ll all be fine — I promise. I’ve got it all under control. Haven’t I, Terty dear?”

Tertius, considerably braver now that his father had come home, shrugged. “If you say so, darling.”

“I do. Dearest. Sweetie pie. Poppetty woozle.” Fedora turned her back on her beloved as she scribbled furiously. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll have a lovely new cook and housemaids, and as soon as they’re settled in, I’ll sort out the butler and the footmen and the pages, and it’ll all be as right as rain. Only lots better. Bobby! Would you run to the marketplace and pin this on the notice board?”

Bobby, who had been hovering in the doorway, dashed forward. “Sure thing, Your Highness. And when I get back, shall I bring King H. some toast? I’m an expert at making toast. Mrs. Basket says —”

“Thank you, Bobby. That’s quite enough.” Fedora was beginning to feel she was losing control. “Take the notice, and then you can come back and make toast. And tea. In fact, you could make it for all three of us.”

King Horace looked shifty. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve already had a little snack. Called in on Mrs. Basket, as I happened to be in that direction, and she just happened to be taking a steak-and-kidney pudding out of the oven. Felt a bit peckish after nothing but cold porridge for breakfast, y’see.” Catching sight of Fedora’s appalled expression, he felt it might be tactful to change the subject. “Expect you know what you’re doing, m’dear.” The king fished in his pocket and extracted a shiny silver coin. “Off you go, Bobby, my lad, and buy yourself a pie while you’re out.”

“Yikes! Thanks very much, King H. I’ll be back in a jiffy!” And Bobby sped out of the door, his face one huge happy smile.

Tertius sat down with a
flump.
“You could have asked him to get a pie for me, too, Father. I don’t suppose that Mousewater girl is any good at cooking, and Feddy can’t even boil an egg. I’m not going to survive for the rest of the day on nothing but toast and tea, I can tell you.”

Fedora stood up and marched across the room. “You’re an ungrateful pig, Terty, and you don’t deserve me. I’m going straight to the kitchen, and I’m going to cook us the most delicious lunch ever. So there!” And she flounced through the door, slamming it hard behind her.

“Dear me . . .” King Horace’s eyes were very round. “Is that how girls usually behave?”

Tertius had no time to reply. Fedora had reappeared, her eyes still flashing thunderbolts; she was storming back across the room to collect her
Handbook
. “We’ll see,” she said through gritted teeth, “what the suggested menu is for Tuesdays. I’ll ring the gong when it’s ready. Good-
bye
!” And she was gone with another mighty
CRASH!
that left the portraits swinging on the wall in mute protest.

A
mile or so away from the palace of Niven’s Knowe, Thistly Canker, arms folded, was glaring at her twin daughters. “I’ve had enough,” she announced. “More than enough. You’re big girls now. Far too big to be cluttering up my house, lying around like pigs in a sty and never lifting a finger except when you want to push food into your greedy, grasping mouths. There’s nothing I can do with that useless lump you call your father, but I was a Mousewater before I was stupid enough to take up with a Canker, and Mousewaters have always earned an honest wage. Now, you two may be Cankers by name, but you’ve Mousewater blood in you — so out you go, and don’t come back until you’ve got work. Understand?”

The twins looked at each other. Conducta shrugged, and Globula rolled her eyes. Thistly saw the exchange and picked up a rolling pin. Her daughters heaved themselves to their feet and dragged themselves to the door.

“You’ll be sorry for this, Ma,” Conducta said grimly as she lifted the old wooden latch.

“
Really
sorry,” Globula echoed as she followed her sister out into the lane that led to the market square.

The Canker twins had no heart. Few of the Cankers did; as they were descended from zombie ancestors, this was a family weakness. Or strength, depending on your point of view. Conducta and Globula had no use for such an organ; their beady-eyed observation of other girls had led them to believe the possession of a heart was a distinct disadvantage. All that weeping and wailing about boys. And stupid tears about icky-picky kittens with no whiskers. No. The twins had their dreams, and there was no trace of sentimentality or concern for others to get in their way. The two of them fully intended to get extremely rich as soon as possible and spend the rest of their lives ordering people around and eating chocolate. Conducta preferred the dark sort, with rose-scented cream inside, dribbling as she sucked out the soft pink centers. Globula had a passion for chocolate with nuts, which she gleefully crunched into pulp with her yellowing tombstone teeth. Not that they had had much access to such delights; it was many months since their father had helped himself to a large heart-shaped box of mixed centers left in a royal coach. The coach had been standing outside the blacksmith’s shop while the driver negotiated terms for a new wheel; Weasel Canker had seized his opportunity and departed with a fur rug, three satin cushions, and the chocolates. Biting hard on a chocolate Brazil nut with a rotten tooth had resulted in a sudden decision to donate the box to his daughters; the rug and the cushions had been sold to a useful contact beyond the borders of the Five Kingdoms and the proceeds spent in a dark, dank, and generally unpleasant little inn on the edge of Howling Mere. Conducta and Globula, however, had tasted heaven and found the Meaning of Life.

“Out!” The rolling pin crashed against the door, and Conducta scowled. A woman passing by with a baby in her arms saw her expression and hurriedly covered the baby’s eyes with her hand; the small boy trailing behind her burst into tears and clung to his mother’s leg.

“Little sissy! I’ll bite your nose off!” Globula hissed, and the little boy’s cries ratcheted up to an ear-splitting scream of terror. His mother snatched him up and ran.

“Nasty little snot-faced brat,” Conducta remarked as she tucked her arm through her sister’s. “So — what are we going to do now?”

“Think of something really, really nasty to do to Ma?” Globula sounded hopeful — but Conducta shook her head.

“That can wait. No — we need money. Money — and somewhere to live. And I’ve got an idea.”

“Tell!” Globula’s tiny piggy eyes gleamed.

Her twin looked first left, then right. Satisfied that she couldn’t be overheard, she whispered, “We’ll go and find Great-Grandpa.”

Globula opened and shut her mouth, then swallowed. “You mean . . . Dad’s grandpa? The one who lives outside the border? The BAD one?”

Conducta nodded. “That’s right.”

“But . . . we don’t even know if he’s still alive!” Globula still had the expression of a startled goldfish.

“Of course he is,” Conducta snapped. “Why do you think Ma never ever lets us go with Pa when he visits Grandma? It’s ’cause she’s scared. Scared we’ll meet Great-Grandpa, and he’ll turn us evil, just like he is.” She gave an admiring grunt. “Fancy being so evil, you’re not allowed into the Five Kingdoms!”

Globula sniggered. “Who’d want to be a goody-goody, though? ’S much more fun pinching babies to make them scream . . .”

“And twisting arms until we get pennies,” Conducta agreed.

“And throwing stones at puppies . . .”

“And sneaking plums from the market . . .”

“And spitting the stones into the village well!”

The twins grinned at each other.

Then Globula asked, “Do you know where Great- Grandpa lives? Will we be able to find the way?”

“I know which path goes to the border,” Conducta told her. “After that we can ask, but it can’t be far. When Pa goes to see Grandma, he’s back in a day.”

“Unless he gets drunk at the Howling Arms,” Globula pointed out — but Conducta ignored her.

“We’ll get going straightaway. If Great-Grandpa’s as bad as Ma says he is, he’s bound to have some ideas for making easy money. Or maybe he’s got a treasure stash from when he used to turn puppy dogs into meat pies, and he’ll give us a bag of gold.”

“And then”— Globula stuck her grubby fingers in her mouth and sucked noisily —“we can buy CHOCOLATE!”

Conducta didn’t answer. She was watching a small boy dressed as a palace page hurrying across the market square. He was clutching a piece of parchment, and even at a distance, a golden crest could easily be seen, glinting in the sunshine. It was the same crest that had adorned the large box of stolen chocolates, the box that was still the twins’ most prized possession. Conducta’s eyes gleamed. “I think,” she said, “we might like to see what’s on that piece of paper, don’t you, Globula?”

Globula sniggered. “Why? Do you think it’s an invitation to a ball?”

Conducta took no notice and set off toward the unsuspecting Bobby. He was trying to fix the parchment to a board with the aid of a bent nail and a rusty thumbtack and failing miserably.

“Not making much of a job of that, are you?” Conducta sneered.

Bobby jumped and looked around. “Oh! Erm . . . excuse me, miss . . .”

Globula appeared on his other side and plucked the parchment out of his hand. “ ‘The job of a lifetime,’ ” she read aloud. “ ‘Come and join the happy team at Niven’s Knowe Palace. Two maids and a cook. Only those with the very best of references need apply. Signed, Princess Fedora. P.S. Come to the palace early tomorrow morning.’ Hmph!”