The Robe of Skulls (8 page)

Professor Scallio listened intently as Marcus described the strange woman who had called herself Grandmother Bones and the squat, mud-covered, green-faced troll. When Marcus mentioned the little puff of purple smoke, the professor grunted and got up from his chair to fetch an old red leather-bound book from a pile on the floor.

Marcus, who had been hoping his tutor would pooh-pooh the whole event, thus setting him free for the rest of the day, felt increasingly worried. “Is it bad?” he asked.

Professor Scallio tapped the open book with his pencil. “Yes,” he said. “I think it is.”

Marcus leaped to his feet. “I must go to Dreghorn!” he exclaimed.

The tutor shook his head. “I fear,” he said, “that it would be of little use.”

“Why?” Marcus asked. “Glee can go like the wind — I can be there in plenty of time to warn them!”

“If you do that,” Professor Scallio said slowly, “you might make things worse.” He pushed the book forward, and Marcus saw a picture of a vial of purple powder. “Was the smoke you saw that color?”

Marcus nodded.

“Then,” the tutor said, “I think we are almost certainly dealing with a sorceress. Most probably Lady Lamorna.” He saw Marcus’s eyes widen and asked, “Have you never wondered why your father was so set on you and Arioso staying within the Northern Plains? Why you have never been allowed to study the areas that lie outside the royal boundaries?”

Marcus looked blank. “I suppose I thought Father wanted us to know about local stuff because Arry’ll be king of it all one day. I thought he just wasn’t bothered about what went on outside. . . .”

“No, Prince Marcus,” Professor Scallio said. “Your father didn’t want you to know about the outside world because he is frightened. Not frightened for himself, you understand, but frightened that once you had heard about the Less Enchanted Wood, and the Wild Enchanted Forest, and the ancient sorceress of Fracture Castle, and the House of the Ancient Crones, you would want to ride out and investigate.”

“You
bet
I would!” Marcus agreed enthusiastically. “I was going to — that is — I mean . . .” He blushed bright red and began to stammer.

“You were going to ride out and explore today,” said the tutor. “I know. That is why I gave you the map. It would have given you fair warning when you were near danger.”

Marcus looked puzzled. “But you didn’t try to stop me. . . .”

Professor Scallio sighed. “Your father and I disagree,” he said. “I believe it is better to know what is there, so that you are aware of the dangers and can avoid them. Your father believes that if you ignore danger and keep it outside your door, it will go away, or at least not bother you.” He sighed again. “But now it seems that danger has crossed right over the step and into the kingdom, and we must wait and see what it has in mind.”

“Can’t we just have the sorceress — what did you call her? Lady Moaner? — thrown into Dreghorn jail? And that troll as well?” Marcus wanted to know.

“But as yet they have done nothing wrong,” Professor Scallio said. “And Dreghorn, like Gorebreath, is a democratic kingdom. There would be an uprising if anyone or anything was imprisoned without fair trial. No. I fear all we can do is keep our eyes wide open and wait. At least she has lost the advantage of complete surprise.”

“I suppose so.” Marcus got to his feet and began to wander idly around, inspecting the rows of gilt-framed pictures and the heavily laden bookshelves. Although Professor Scallio had been at the palace for more than seven years, Marcus had never seen his private rooms. The tutor had made it very clear that visitors were not welcome, but by the time Marcus had ridden back from the guardhouse, he had persuaded himself that Arry was in such deadly danger that he had flung himself into the tutor’s sitting room without so much as a knock on the door. Now his eye was caught by the portrait of a small dumpy woman who looked remarkably like the professor, and he paused in front of it. “Is that your sister, sir? Are you twins?”

“How very observant of you, Prince Marcus,” the tutor said. “I have been told that the likeness is extreme. But”— he neatly edged Marcus toward the door —“surely you are wanting to take your pony and make the most of your free day?” He saw Marcus’s look of doubt. “I do promise you, dear boy, that your brother and family will come to no more harm without you than they would if you were there.” He pushed Marcus gently out onto the landing. “Just two words of advice. One — always keep the map close beside you. Two — in the most unlikely event of everything going seriously wrong, go to the House of the Ancient Crones. They know all the answers. Although”— the tutor stood back and eyed Marcus with a thoughtful look —“you do have the distinct disadvantage of being a boy. Still, they might stretch a point.” After which cryptic remark Professor Scallio went back into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Marcus, left standing outside, dithered. He wasn’t sure if he felt like adventuring now . . . but when would he ever have a free day again? He walked slowly down the staircase, thinking all the way. Glee whickered cheerfully to see him come out into the sunshine, and Marcus grinned.

“Hello, boy!” he said. “It’s all right — we’re going out after all. I’ve decided. We’ll go to Dreghorn, but we won’t let anyone see us. We’ll go over the field and through the wood, and when we get there, I’ll sneak up the old church tower. . . . I bet you can see right into the palace grounds from the top. I’ll soon spot that old sorceress if she turns up with her horrible troll, and if anything looks suspicious, I’ll ring the church bells until I burst!”

Gracie ate the last of her berries and licked her fingers. “I’m ready,” she said, without much enthusiasm. “Are we nearly there?”

“Kiddo,” Marlon said, “we’ll be there when we’re there.”

Gracie sighed and got up from her seat on top of an exceedingly hard rock. She was aching all over and horribly thirsty. The berries were delicious but did nothing to quench her thirst. It was a long, long time since she and Marlon had left the yew tree and the little stream. “Couldn’t we find another stream?” she asked.

Marlon groaned. “It’d take us way out of our way,” he said. “Do y’like tea? Mugs and mugs of tea?”

“Oh,
yes,
” Gracie said. “Yes,
please
!”

“Well, you’ll have enough tea to float a boat just as soon as you get through the door,” Marlon promised. “Now, shake a leg. See the top of that hill? Over that, and we’re snug as a bug in a rug.”

“That’s what you said when we came to the last hill,” Gracie said. “And the hill before. And the hill before that.”

“Had to keep your spirits up, kiddo,” Marlon said unapologetically. “But this one’s the one. Bona fide. Bat’s honor. Now, off we go!”

To Gracie’s amazement, Marlon was right. As she clambered wearily over the top, she saw a clearing in the thick forest below. A chaotic house was dropped into the middle. It looked as if it had once been a sensible sort of building, but someone had come along and muddled it all up: chimneys poked out of walls, the roof was peppered with cracked and dusty windows, the front door appeared to be balanced on top of an outhouse, and the front path jiggled and squiggled around and around the outside like a quite impenetrable maze. A misty haze hung low over the house, reaching to the very edges of the clearing.

“Can you see it, kiddo? Can you see it?” Marlon asked.

“Of course I can,” Gracie said. “Erm . . . it doesn’t look very . . . ordinary. There’s an awful lot of green smoke.”

“Knew you were a Trueheart,” Marlon said. “If you weren’t, you’d see nothing but forest. Smoke keeps prying eyes away, see.”

Gracie pushed her hair back from her face and squinted more closely at the house below. “The path keeps changing direction,” she said.

“Does it?” Marlon sounded surprised.

Gracie stared at him. “Can’t you see it? Look! It keeps twisting all over the place. Now it’s tied itself up in a bow!”

“I always fly in,” Marlon said. “No need for paths. Come on, babe — got to get in before it gets too bright out here.” And he zigzagged off ahead.

Gracie stumbled after him. As she traveled lower and lower, the trees grew thicker and the shrubby undergrowth was harder and harder to push through. Brambles caught her dress and pulled her hair, loops of grass tripped her, and small whippy branches flicked her as she passed. “I don’t think anything here likes me much,” she panted.

Marlon laughed. “You should see what happens to the Falsehearts, kiddo! There are bogs, and sinking sands, and all sorts of things!”

Gracie supposed she should be grateful, but as a shower of wet and soggy leaves soaked her the very next moment, she decided she wasn’t.

“Here we are!” Marlon flew a victory roll over Gracie’s head. “See the gateway? Just over there?”

Gracie peered through the branches and found that there were two towering gateposts only a yard or two in front of her. In between was a ramshackle gate that couldn’t make up its mind if it was open or closed. As Gracie watched, it opened wide, shut, quivered, opened a couple of inches, closed, and opened wide once more.

“Watch how you go through,” Marlon warned. “For a magical gate, it ain’t that clever.”

Gracie pushed her way out from the sheltering trees, and the gate immediately slammed shut.

“Talk to it, kiddo,” Marlon told her.

Gracie coughed politely and said, “Please, dear gate, may I come in?”

There was a long pause before the gate reluctantly creaked open just wide enough for Gracie to slide through. At once the path untangled itself and came zooming toward her, quivering like an excited puppy.

Marlon, high above Gracie’s head, said, “See? It’s pleased to see you. Be good, now, and I’ll be back soon. Just remember to trust your old friend Marlon. . . .”

To Gracie’s utter horror, he flapped his wings and vanished into the darkness of the forest. “Marlon!” she yelled, pulling at the gate to chase after him — but the gate wouldn’t budge. Instead, the path tickled her ankles and rippled encouragingly.

Gracie tried hard not to cry. She fished in her pocket for a hankie, but all she could find was the soft little cloth that had contained her Trueheart Stew. She stuffed it back and wiped her nose on the edge of her shawl.

“You can’t go back, Gracie Gillypot,” she told herself firmly, “so you’ll just have to go forward!” And to the path’s great excitement, she strode out along it to see where it took her.