The Robe of Skulls by Vivian French

Author:Vivian French
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780763656355
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2007-03-10T13:00:00+00:00

The bat fluttered wildly in his face. “Watch her!” he begged. “See what she does next!”

But it was too late. Marcus was already hurling himself down the ladder. As he reached the belfry, his way was blocked by a burly Dreghornian in national costume.

“Come to see the bells, m’lad?” he inquired cheerfully. “Well, I’d suggest you whiz down them stairs smartish. You don’t want to be in ’ere once they starts a-ringing, which they will do any second now.”

Marcus seized the man by his suspenders. “Ring them now!” he yelled. “There’s a witch turning princes into frogs — you’ve got to warn them! Ring the bells!” And he shot away down the spiral staircase.

The Dreghornian shook his head. “They starts drinking so young these days,” he said sadly as he checked his watch. “Exactly three o’clock.” He leaned over the stairwell and bellowed, “Let’s have those bells, Grebbin!”

The bells rang out as Marcus reached the last step.

At least that’ll warn everybody, he thought as he shot out the church door. Seconds later, the sound of cheering swelled up to mingle with the bells. Marcus groaned as he hurtled into the graveyard. “They think it’s part of the celebrations! I have to get there and tell them. . . . Glee! Glee! Where are you?”

But there was no sign of the pony. Marcus groaned again and hurled himself at the thick holly hedge that separated the churchyard from the Royal Gardens. It was a solid hedge, grown to repel the boldest of intruders, but Marcus was desperate. Scratched and bleeding, he emerged at last on the other side to be greeted by a large soldier with his hands on his hips.

“And what do you think you’re doing, laddie?” the soldier asked.

Marcus was too breathless to answer at once. He glanced around and saw to his complete astonishment that the celebration party was continuing exactly as before. Crowds of Dreghornians were happily strolling among the tents and stalls, helping themselves from tables groaning under the weight of assorted pies and puddings. Various kings and queens were sitting in the shade of the Royal Pavilion’s golden canopy, sipping cooling drinks from silver cups. There was no sign of the frog girl.

“I asked you a question, laddie,” the soldier said. “What do you think you’re doing? Scruffy little urchin —”

Marcus shut his eyes, yelled, and head-butted the soldier in the stomach as hard as he could. The soldier grunted and collapsed. Marcus seized his opportunity, tore past him, and ran in between the tents until he found his way to the rose garden. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he rushed into the rose arbor . . . and found a small green frog sitting mournfully on a damp patch on the stone floor.

“Ribbit,” it said. “Ribbit!”

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