The Flight of Dragons (8 page)

“Oh, we
will
!” Conducta promised with her fingers crossed behind her back, and she gave a cheerful wave as she and Globula walked out into the daylight.

Behind her, Old Malignancy gave another chuckle as he sank into his bed. He lifted a hand, and Carrion came sidling in, his wicked little eyes gleaming. “Met their dear ol’ granpappy, then. Sly young ladies, them two. Take after you, I’d say.” 

“Follow them to Niven’s Knowe,” Old Malignancy ordered. “Watch them, and watch the palace, too. No . . . wait.” He paused, and the crow, who knew him well, gave an encouraging squawk. “Tell me, Carrion: ‘two housemaids and a cook.’ Am I right?”

“That’s what the paper said,” the crow agreed.

“Then there is, as one might say, an unusual opportunity.” Old Malignancy sounded thoughtful. “An opportunity that may never come again.” His eyes, sunk deep in rolls of pale flesh, glittered. “Oh, that I could make my way into the palace. To be inside . . . oh, how I would corrupt and poison and bind them to me. . . .”

Carrion gave a harsh laugh. “Ain’t you forgetting? You’re banned! Laws of the Five Kingdoms.”

“I never forget.” The glittering eyes turned on the crow. “Never. But kings and queens make the laws, and kings and queens can change their minds.”

“True.” Carrion tweaked a tail feather into place. “Amazin’ how a mind can change. ’Specially when a bit of discomfort’s involved. Couple of broken toes. Bump on the head. A few missing teeth. Never fails to surprise me how the human mind can turn right around when the owner’s likely to lose a tooth or two.”

Old Malignancy tapped the crow on his beak with a surprisingly long, thin finger. “But there are other ways, Carrion. Far more subtle ways. To creep into their bodies . . . to seep into their minds . . . that is true corruption.”

“If you say so.” Carrion nodded. “Go on, then. What was you thinking of?”

There was a deep hollow laugh. “Sending my sister to the palace of Niven’s Knowe.”

The crow looked up in surprise. “Sister? What sister? I ain’t never heard you mention no sister.”

“There are sisters, and there are sisters. Her name is . . . what shall we say?” There was a thoughtful pause. “ ‘Mercy Grinder.’ Yes. That will do very well.”

Carrion put his head on one side. “And what’s this Mercy Grinder going to do exactly?”

Old Malignancy leaned forward. “She will cook . . . and, oh, what a cook she will make!” His shapeless body quivered and shook with silent laughter. “What a cook! Early tomorrow morning, she will cross the border, Carrion. Mercy Grinder is not banned from the Five Kingdoms, you see. Mercy Grinder is a cook, on her way to the palace of Niven’s Knowe.”

The crow shifted from foot to foot. “What about them guards? Not a lot of use, I know, but they’ll still ask questions. Can’t cross the border without an invite, you know.”

One pale eye winked. “Correct me if I am wrong, dear Carrion, but did the advertisement not conclude with the words ‘Come to the palace early tomorrow morning’? Written in the princess’s very own handwriting, no less? And then there was a seal. A very fine seal. The sort of seal that makes foolish guards believe that Royalty Has Spoken. I can tell you, Carrion, that the guards will believe in Mercy Grinder. What is more, she will inform them that she will speak well of them if she is treated with courtesy, so naturally they will escort her across the border . . . and thus the power of the web will be rendered impotent!”

Carrion gave an admiring squawk. “You’re a one, you are! I get it!”

The eye winked a second time. “Carrion, you are my second self. Fly now, and take that parchment from my little cankerettes.”

“Good as done,” Carrion cawed. “Good as done!”

As the twins’ great-grandfather sank back into the darkness, the crow spread his tattered wings, flew up into the air, and circled away from the house. From a vantage point in a tall beech tree, he could see the twins hurrying along the path. It had begun to rain, but as yet they were protected by the cover of the trees. Their voices reached him easily; he clicked his beak as he listened.

“Phew!” Conducta said. “What a horror! He looked like a hideous old balloon.” 

Globula gave a nervous giggle. “It was a bit scary. I didn’t expect him to be quite so . . . so weird.”

Conducta spat neatly into a bush, and an outraged rabbit leaped out and dashed away into the distance, the top of his head stinging as if it had been burned. “I don’t care. Just as long as we get some money. Lots and lots and lots of money.”

“So are we going to go to the palace and ask for jobs?” Globula wanted to know. “It sounds awfully like hard work.”

Conducta thought about it. “I s’pose we could. I like the idea of being a spy.”

“And making people angry is
fun,
” Globula pointed out.

Her sister pulled out the parchment and inspected it. “It says to come to the palace early tomorrow morning. Oof!” She looked up into the sky. “Bother. It’s raining. We’re going to get soaked going home.”

Globula made a face. “Does ‘first thing’ mean we have to get up early?”

“Of course it does. Don’t be stupid.” Conducta gave her sister a sharp slap. Globula slapped her back, and Fedora’s advertisement fell to the ground. As Conducta turned to pick it up, she was distracted by a rumbling sound. A heavily laden hay wagon was trundling along the rutted track, heading in the direction of the border. A brightly painted sign on the wagon’s side proclaimed that it belonged to Jason Honeyseed, Golden Green Farm, Niven’s Knowe.

“Come on,” Globula urged, the fight forgotten. “We can get a lift home!” As the wagon passed them, they swung themselves onto the back and, after a certain amount of wriggling, made themselves comfortable under the tarpaulin.

Conducta grinned at her twin. “This is much better than walking. We’ll be home well before dark.”

“Ma’ll be pleased when we tell her we’re going to the palace,” Globula said drowsily.

Conducta raised her eyebrows. “Since when have you cared what Ma thought?”

Her twin yawned. “I was thinking she’d cook us an extra-special tea. And if she’s pleased, we can ask for everything we want. I’m hungry.”

“Oh. Yes, me too,” Conducta agreed, and then she also began to drift away into a land of rose-scented chocolate creams.

Carrion watched the wagon as it trundled steadily away, a calculating expression in his sharp black eyes. “Chips off the old block, all right,” he mused. “Nasty little bits of work. Just what we like!” And he picked up the parchment and flew back to report his success.

F
edora’s lunch had been completely inedible. Tertius had done his best, partly because he loved her and partly because he knew only too well that he would have to pay for any lack of enthusiasm once he and his bride were alone together. King Horace made no pretense at all. “Good thing I had that steak-and-kidney pie,” he announced as he pushed away his plate of raw onion, congealed half-cooked eggs, and burned pastry. “Tell you what, Feddy, m’dear: you could do a lot worse than pop around to dear old Mrs. Basket and ask her for a few tips.” This suggestion was met with such a remarkable drop in temperature that even the king noticed. “Hmm. Well. Must go and see to a spot of royal business.” And he stomped off to his private study, where he settled himself in his favorite chair, put his feet on the mantelpiece, and went to sleep.

Tertius, left alone in an atmosphere that even a polar bear would have found depressingly chilly, tried to hide his pastry under his knife. Fedora watched him, ready to pounce, but held back from actual comment as she was unable to finish her own meal. When he began trying to balance the onion on top of his knife, she gave a loud martyred sigh. “Do you know how long I spent making you this delicious lunch, Terty?”

Given that it was nearly four o’clock and Fedora had begun her activities in the kitchen at midday, Tertius had a fair idea, but he thought it best not to say so. “Dearest one,” he said, “it’s very very kind of you to have taken so much trouble, and please don’t think I don’t appreciate it . . . but I don’t think I’m terribly hungry just now.”

Fedora hesitated and then gave in. “That’s all right, Terty darling. I’m not very hungry, either.” A brilliant idea flashed into her mind. “Tell you what — why don’t we go and visit Mother? We’d be just in time for high tea.” Realizing that this contradicted her earlier remark, she hastily added, “The fresh air will give us an appetite.”

Tertius leaped up from the table with enthusiasm. “You’re such a clever little poppet! Yes — that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll just tell Father, and then we can go.” With a light step and a rumbling stomach, he hurried down the corridor to his father’s study. “Father! Feddy and I are going to Dreghorn! We’ll be back later.”

“Hmph? Dragon? What? Did you say dragon?” King Horace, woken much too suddenly, sat up with his crown askew and his hair on end. “Dearie me. Was having a dreadful dream. All about dragons. Terrible. Simply terrible. Dragons running wild all over the place. All that young Prince Marcus’s fault. Dreamed one popped out of Mrs. Basket’s chicken pie. Shockin’. And another one —” Tertius made a sympathetic sort of noise by way of interruption, and his father came back to the present moment. “Did you say you were going out?”

His son nodded. “We’re going to Dreghorn. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

King Horace looked plaintive. “But what’ll I have for my tea?”

“Bobby’ll make you toast,” Tertius told him. “And you can always go see Mrs. Basket. Take your umbrella, though; it’s raining again.”

“Mrs. Basket? Good idea.” The king relaxed. “Did I tell you I found Trout and the other servants there? Well, not that girl — what’s her name? Saturday? She’s still here. But all the others were there.” A happy smile floated across his face. “Rather fun, don’t you know. Might wander over and have a game of checkers with Trout later on.”

“Good idea,” Tertius said. “See you later, Father!” And he hurried off, to find his beloved tapping her foot as she waited in the royal traveling carriage. “Here I am, dearest Feddy!”

“You were ages,” Fedora said crossly as the coach began to roll down the drive. “I’ve told the coachman to go as fast as he can.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Tertius argued. “I just waited a moment while Father told me about a horrible dream he’d had, that’s all.”

Fedora sniffed. “I expect he had indigestion after Mrs. Basket’s pie.” 

“Actually,” Tertius said, “it was a beastly nightmare about dragons.”

“Dragons?” Fedora sniffed again. “Definitely indigestion.”

As the door closed, King Horace went back to sleep.

He was woken at five, by Bobby. “Toast, Your Maj?”

“Yes, please.” The king stretched. “Still on your own, are you?”

Bobby grinned. “Just me and Saturday Mousewater. Been playing hide-and-seek all over the palace.” A worried look crossed his face. “That’s OK, isn’t it, King H.?”

“Of course, of course.” King Horace nodded. “Word of warning, though. Not a good idea when my daughter-in-law’s about. Pretty little thing, but fussy. Got this book of rules, don’t you know. All Don’ts and not many Dos, far as I can see. Still, sure it’ll all turn out for the best.”

There was a broad grin on Bobby’s face as he began to leave the room, but as he reached the doorway, he hesitated. “Erm . . . sorry to bother you, King H., but . . . can I ask you something?”

The king looked up in surprise. “What’s the matter? Broken something, have you?”

“No. But that paper — the one Princess F. asked me to put up in the marketplace. A couple of girls took it away. . . . D’you reckon that’s OK? They were a bit peculiar, if you know what I mean. But they said Saturday knew them. Relations or something.”

King Horace was doubtful. What would Fedora say? But then a splendid thought came to him. If there were no applicants, surely then he could persuade the pretty little thing to reinstate his own well-loved servants. “That’s fine,” he said firmly. “Don’t you worry about it. Now, let’s have that toast.”

Bobby trotted away, and the king made his plans for the rest of the evening. After eating his toast, he decided, he would wander across the park to see what Mrs. Basket was cooking. And if Trout was there, so much the better. A game of checkers after a good meal would be perfect. And perhaps he could make sure he was safely tucked up in bed before Tertius and Fedora got back.

King Horace pulled himself together with an effort. He was, he told himself firmly, very fond of his new daughter-in-law. Seeing Bobby coming back through the door with a plate piled high, he decided to concentrate on the good things in life. He did, however, resolve to leave Mrs. Basket’s house in plenty of time to allow for an early night.

Bobby, after a happy half hour spent eating the king’s crusts with a quite excessive amount of butter, went back to the kitchen.

Saturday Mousewater was staring into the flames of the kitchen range, and she jumped as he came in. “ ’Tis very lonely, only us being here, like.” Her voice was quiet.