The Robe of Skulls (15 page)

Shrieks and thumps came loudly from the kitchen, but outside there was complete silence.

Marcus cautiously moved the map. He seemed to be alive, and still a boy. He looked at Gracie. She was sitting up, her face pale, but definitely still a girl.

“That was one lucky escape, kiddo.” Marlon appeared above them. “Whatever’s in that map? But best get moving —”

Marcus staggered to his feet, pulling Gracie after him. It wasn’t easy, because they were directly under the feet of a statue, the stone statue of a donkey and an ancient woman. The woman’s stone face was contorted with anger and surprise, but it was still possible to see evil in her eyes. In fact, as Marcus moved away, the eyes watched him, alive and glittering in the unmoving stone. “Phew,” Marcus said. He looked at the map wonderingly. “The professor said I should look after it —”

“KIDDO!”
Marlon’s voice was urgent. “The dame’s winning! Scat!”

And Marcus and Gracie scatted. They ran and they ran, Marlon always flittering in front of them, showing them which way to go. They tore through bushes and scrambled up and down hills, and as they ran, Marlon encouraged them.

Every so often he would fly high to check if they were being followed, and the sun was high and hot when he dropped down to hiss, “I can see her. Boy is she mad! But she’s limping now. Hurry — the stream’s not far. . . .”

They forced themselves on. When the small stream crossed their path, Marlon yelled, “Now!” and Gracie dropped the tiny scrap of Trueheart cloth into the muddy water.

There was no reaction.

“Sorry, kids. Keep running,” Marlon urged. Marcus and Gracie didn’t need telling, and they struggled on and on, even though Gracie had a stitch that was tearing her in two and Marcus’s breath was rasping in his throat.

From behind them came an ear-piercing shriek. Marlon soared into the air and came back, grinning for the first time since they had left.

“You did it, kid,” he said. “She can’t cross — she’ll have to go around by the bridge. That’ll hold her up awhile. We might do it yet!”

As Foyce, her eyes red and smarting from the Trueheart mists that floated above the stream, raged her way back to find the bridge, her father finally woke from his Trueheart sleep. He yawned, and stretched, and stared in astonishment at the chaos in the kitchen. His chair and the table were the only items that remained as he remembered; everything else was upside down or smashed into a thousand pieces. “Gracie!” he yelled. “Foyce!”

There was no answer.

Mange heaved himself onto his feet and staggered across the room. He peered into the darkness of the cellar, but there was no sign of anyone down there. He stumbled up the ramshackle stairs to the two small bedrooms. Nobody there either, but as he moved past the window of the smaller bedroom, something outside caught his eye, and he stopped to look.

A statue?

Since when had there been a statue of a ragged woman on a donkey outside his house?

Mange shook his head and looked again. Now he saw he had been mistaken. It wasn’t a statue after all. The woman was moving, albeit very slowly. She was frowning, and muttering, and peering into some kind of leather pouch.

Mange’s heavy eyes brightened. The woman was old, and she was slow, and she was holding a purse. A large purse. This was a combination he liked. He turned and headed for the stairs.

Lady Lamorna climbed stiffly off the donkey, noticing as she did so that its eyes were frozen open in a look of complete astonishment. The spell was evidently still affecting it, but even as she looked she saw an ear twitch.

“At least I’ll be able to get back to my castle,” she told herself wearily. “But what then? That girl’s long gone. I heard her screeching. Oh, if only I’d turned her to stone . . . If only I’d never seen her . . . If only I’d never had anything to do with the world outside . . .”

Lady Lamorna was stopped in her regrets by the sound of a door opening. A man stepped out of the house, blinking in the bright sunlight. There was something about his shambling gait that reminded her of something. Something familiar. Something familiar, and
useful
 . . .

An idea edged itself into her mind. One glance at his close-set eyes and thin acquisitive nose assured her that he was both mean and ruthless, qualities that were high on Lady Lamorna’s list of essential requirements. He was smiling at her now — at least, she assumed that was what he intended, even though it had more the appearance of a black-toothed leer — and moving toward her. She furtively peeked into her leather pouch.

A pinch of spell powder was all that remained. One pinch only.

It will be enough,
Lady Lamorna thought.
It’s a long time since I had a human to train. . . . Was Gubble once a human? I don’t remember. It will kill the hours while I think of other ways to pay for my dress. Oh, that dress . . . that beautiful dress!

She took the pinch of spell powder in her skeletal fingers and lifted it high — just as Mange lunged for the purse.

“Be
mine
!” hissed Lady Lamorna, and sprinkled the powder in the air.

Mange froze for a second, then swore. He swore with eloquence and real venom, and Lady Lamorna smiled more cheerfully than she had for a long time.

“What an ideal servant you will make,” she remarked. “Now the donkey has shaken free of its spell at last. Let us go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mange growled. “Give me my foot back!”

“Certainly not,” his new mistress said. “Your foot will remain a lump of stone until you have served me for at least fifty years. Or, of course, until I’m tired of you.”

Mange gulped. His foot was indeed a lump of stone, and although he could move, it was only with much effort. He was also becoming increasingly aware of a huge power emanating from the old woman that he was totally unable to ignore. Desperately he tried to think of a way to escape his fate. “I’ll give you . . . I’ll give you gold,” he said at last.

“Gold?” If Lady Lamorna had had a heart, it would have leaped. As it was, she stared at Mange, her silver eyes gleaming. “How much gold?”

“Wait!” Mange, dragging his stone foot behind him, half ran, half hobbled into the house. He came back clutching a wooden, brass-bound box and thrust it into Lady Lamorna’s arms. “Now let me go,” he whined. “Give me my foot back. . . .”

Lady Lamorna opened the box very slowly.

Was it possible? Could it really be that, after all her terrible experiences, she was now to be rewarded for her efforts?

As she saw the shining gold she had to bite back a sigh of relief. The dress was hers.

And so was her new servant.

“I will take your gold,” she said graciously. “Perhaps now I will consider letting you go after thirty years — or, then again, perhaps not.” She climbed back on her donkey, the box under her arm. “Come! We will celebrate our new arrangement with cakes and wine!” She did not think it worth mentioning that it would be she who did the celebrating, while Mange fetched and carried.

And Mange Undershaft was unable to refuse. Despite all attempts to stay exactly where he was, his body took not the slightest notice of his wishes. He found himself following the sorceress obediently as she rode slowly away.

As the sun rolled on around the sky, Gracie and Marcus ran. And ran. The shadows were lengthening when Marlon reported that Foyce was once again in sight. He landed on Marcus’s shoulder, and Gracie saw that he was exhausted. His eyes were dull and his fur was matted, and he was panting hard.

“Been a long day,” Marlon apologized when he saw her looking. “And sunshine. Doesn’t do the eyes no good.”

“Is she coming fast?” Gracie asked.

Marlon didn’t answer. He was clinging to Marcus’s jacket and already asleep.

“Do you know the way, Gracie?” Marcus gasped.

“Tell you when we get to the top of that hill.” Gracie stopped to double up and ease her stitch. As she straightened, she felt the beat of running feet in the ground beneath her. “Oh, no . . .” she said. “Oh,
no
— come
on
!”

Panic gave them wings, and they tore up the hill as if their weariness had fallen away.

At the top Gracie let out a long sigh of relief. “Look!” she said. “Can you see? Down there — under the green smoke?”

“Wow! Weird or what?” Marcus said. “And what’s that path doing?”

“You’ll see,” Gracie told him. “Oh, she’s nearer! I can hear her now! Run!”

“Could we hide?” Marcus was close beside her as they tumbled and fell into a clump of brambles.

“She’ll smell us out,” Gracie wailed. “Listen — she’s
really
close — she’s going to catch us.”

Marcus stopped. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll hold her back for as long as I can. It’s the frogs she wants. The frogs and you — not me.” He gave Gracie a parting push, stepped out from the bush — and
“GUBBLE!”
he yelled. “Gubble! Gracie, look who it is! It’s
Gubble
!”

Gubble was somewhere around two hundred years old, but never in all that time had anyone greeted him with such enthusiasm. He positively beamed as he slid off the donkey.

“Your head’s the right way around!” Marcus said. “What happened?”

“Head fell off,” Gubble explained. “Head bite girl, girl kick. Gubble more careful. Head back this way.”

“Where did you get the donkey from?” Gracie asked.

“It must have been following Lady Lamorna,” Marcus guessed. “But Gubble — how did you stay on so well?”

Gubble turned a curious purple, and Gracie guessed he was blushing.

“I know!” she said. “You rode back to front!”

“We’d better keep going,” Marcus said. “Gubble, did you see Foyce? Is she far away?”

Gubble looked blank.

“You’d better get back on the donkey,” Gracie said. “I know we’re nearly there, but she might still catch us.”

Between them, Marcus and Gracie helped Gubble back onto the donkey, which set off again at a fast trot. It seemed to know exactly where it was going, and at first Marcus and Gracie ran on either side as it followed a small winding path that led down the hill. Gradually it went faster, and then faster still, until Gubble was far ahead, looking back at them and waving wildly.