The Bag of Bones Read Free Page B

Evangeline’s arm. “Rats? Rats? I’ll give you pickled rats!”
    In among the trees, Loobly froze and clutched the rat closer to her skinny chest. “Not Ratty,” she mouthed silently. “No hurt Ratty. . . . Please be good to Ratty. . . .”
    The fire in the center of the clearing hissed and spat, and Truda swung around to look. A clear blue light sprang up, hovered over the cauldron, then died. Truda jumped, muttering as she turned first one way, then the other, her tongue flickering to and fro until she gave a sudden angry grunt.
    “That’s a whiff of Trueheart in the air, if I’m not much mistaken — but how come? There are no Truehearts here . . . or are there?” She eyed Evangeline coldly. “You’ll tell me who was here sooner or later. I’ll see to that!” And she scowled as she moved back toward the center of the clearing.
    The purple mist was patchy now, and the witches of Wadingburn stood waiting for her, each of them covered in warts and whiskers and, like Evangeline, with mindless eyes.
    Truda smiled. It was not a nice smile. “Now, you witchy women of Wadingburn — you listen to me, and listen well. You’re in the power of the Deep Magic, and you’ll do what I say.”
    “Do what you say . . .” the witches of Wadingburn repeated in a monotonous drone.
    Truda nodded. “And it’s time things changed in this little kingdom of yours. You”— Truda jerked a thumb at her cowering granddaughter —“you invited me to come, and here I’ll stay.” She gave a high-pitched cackle. “But not in that there poor little shed you call home. No, it’s a palace for me. Queen Bluebell’s still creaking her way around that palace of hers — but she’s got no daughter, and it’s a daughter she needs to be queen after she’s dead and buried.” Truda stopped for a moment. “That’s right, isn’t it? Only queens can take the throne?”
    “Only queens can take the throne,” the five witches chanted in unison.
    “Well, then!” Truda looked triumphant. “And if there’s no daughter, she’ll be choosing another fine lady — and I’ve always had a fancy for silks and satins and a crown. Silks and satins, and servants waiting on me hand and foot.” She looked down at her drab and faded black skirts. “A bit of luxury, that’s what I want — a bit of luxury, and a nice little kingdom where I can do as I like.” Her eyes began to gleam as she envisaged her future. “Queen Truda of Wadingburn, that’s what I’m after! And with a handful of Deep Magic here and there, that’s what I’ll get. Understand?”
    The witches swayed from side to side. “Queen Truda of Wadingburn. We understand.”
    “Excellent! Queen Truda . . . Queen Truda of Wadingburn.” The gleam in Truda’s eyes shone even brighter as her vision suddenly grew. “And who can tell? Could be I’ll be Queen of the Five Kingdoms one of these fine days! But I’ll begin right here and now. I’ll get the old bag to declare ME her successor, and then —”
    She stopped and stared. Something unexpected was happening . . . something so unexpected that she took a sharp step backward. The witches of Wadingburn were growing ever more whiskery, and they were shrinking. What remained of Mrs. Cringe let out an agonized shriek as she reached the size of a largish rat, and Mrs. Vibble and Mrs. Prag went pale beneath their extensive whiskers. Ms. Scurrilous dropped onto all fours and scuttled in an anxious circle, and Evangeline Droop drew herself up to her not-very-full height. Her eyes had completely lost their blank expression, and she was quivering with fury.

    “How COULD you?” she squeaked. “Just LOOK at us! I DEMAND to be restored to my correct size AT ONCE!”
    Truda Hangnail didn’t answer. She was thinking. It was true that her spells misfired from time to time, with surprising results. Those five-legged sheep, for instance. But this? This was different. Very different. Could a Trueheart be involved?