The Bag of Bones Read Free

Gubble,” Gracie said cheerfully. “Tea for three.” She filled the teapot, poured out a cupful, and added milk and four sugars.
    “Five?” The voice was hopeful.
    Gracie shook her head. “Not good for you.” Leaving the cup on the table, she put the other two cups on a tray and made her way to room seventeen, where the Oldest was steadily weaving. The second loom was neatly packed up for the night; a length of sky-blue velvet lay on it, and Gracie smoothed it lovingly as she walked past.
    “Pretty, isn’t it?” said the Oldest as she pushed her wig of bright red curls farther back on her head. “Shame it’s for Princess Nina-Rose; it’d suit you nicely. Just the thing for a pretty girl at her first ball. Although I don’t know why Queen Bluebell’s calling it a Declaration Ball, exactly, seeing as her daughter ran away years ago.”
    Gracie smiled, trying hard not to look as if she were sorry for herself. “I told you, Auntie Elsie. Queen Bluebell’s not going to ask me. The ball’s this coming Saturday, and I haven’t had an invitation. I’ve brought you some tea.”
    “That’s very nice of you, dear,” Elsie said, and she patted Gracie’s hand. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, though?”
    “I was.” Gracie busied herself with the cups. “But . . . but the quill’s been writing things all over my walls. I came to ask you about it. It wrote DANGER , and HELP , and URGENT ! — and the House is desperate for me to go somewhere, but I don’t know where. What do you think?”
    The Oldest didn’t answer. She had turned back to the loom and was staring at the fine cloth in front of her.
    Gracie, peering over her shoulder, saw a dark purple stain spreading across the silver. “What’s that?” she asked.
    “That,” said the Oldest grimly, “is Trouble.”
    “Oh.” Gracie rubbed her nose thoughtfully. “What sort of trouble?”
    The Oldest Crone looked again at the stain. “Magic, I’d say. And Deep Magic at that. The very nastiest sort of magic. Oh, dearie, dearie me. That’s dreadful. I wonder where it could be coming from?”
    “That must have been what the quill was writing about.” Gracie was conscious of a cold chill creeping into her stomach. “No wonder the House is so upset.” She swallowed hard. “It really,
really
wants me to go . . . and if I leave now, I could be in the Five Kingdoms by midday. It’s market day in Gorebreath, so if anything odd’s been happening, somebody there’s sure to know.” She didn’t add that her stomach was now feeling as if it were full of whirling butterflies and that she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do if she met up with any Deep Magic. Neither had she any idea how to recognize it if she
did
meet it. “And then . . . then I suppose I could come back here to tell you?”
    The Oldest wasn’t listening. She was studying the web intently. “That sounds very sensible, dear,” she said vaguely. “Now, should I wake the Ancient One at once or leave it until the morning when Val arrives and we can discuss it together? What we need to know is, has it reached the Five Kingdoms . . .”

    “I’ll try to find out,” Gracie promised, and she hurried out of room seventeen to get dressed before the enormity of what she was about to do made her change her mind.
    The House, however, had other ideas. As Gracie reached the corridor, it tipped itself up, and she found herself sliding inexorably toward the front door. This time she could do nothing to save herself, and before she could shout or scream, she was outside sitting on the front path. With a wriggle of excitement, the path picked itself and Gracie up, swung around toward the front gate, and deposited Gracie neatly on the other side.
    “Ooof!” Gracie tried to catch her breath.
    A second later the top of the path reappeared, and a large, solid figure was unceremoniously dumped on the ground beside her. “Unk,” it remarked.
    Gracie’s eyes widened. “Gubble! Did it