The Robe of Skulls by Vivian French Page A

found a ramshackle four-poster bed, a tin bath full of steaming hot water, and a heap of fluffy white towels.
    “Enjoy!” Val said, and left Gracie to have a gloriously hot bath, followed by a long, dreamless sleep.

Foyce was glowing with pride. As she sauntered away from the walled garden, the band broke into a waltz, and she danced a few steps with her basket before making her way back into the heart of the celebrations. She had completed her mission, and so far nobody had noticed. As she floated past the Royal Pavilion, she heard murmurs of “Has anyone seen Prince Tertius?” and “Where could Prince Arry have gotten to?” and “Isn’t it time those sweet things were getting ready for the Wild Rejoicings?” but on the whole the older members of the various Royal Families were having much too much of a good time to worry about their offspring.
    “
There!
There’s that horrid, mean girl!”
    Foyce turned. The smallest of Nina-Rose’s sisters was pointing at her. When she saw Foyce looking at her, she stuck out her tongue.
    “You’re nasty!” The next youngest was glaring at Foyce too. “We
saw
you! You turned our sister into a
frog
! We
told
on you, but our mommy said we were just telling stories — but we
weren’t
! You’re
horrid
and we
hate
you!”
    Foyce turned her snake-like eyes on the little girls. “I’ll turn
you
into frogs if you aren’t quiet!” The girls shrieked, and Foyce moved swiftly away.
Time I left,
she thought.
    But leaving quietly was harder than she had anticipated. As she moved through the crowded throng, men and boys of all shapes and sizes kept stepping up and offering to fetch her drinks, carry her basket, or bring her the meatiest pie. When a scruffy boy with leaves in his hair and scratches on his face created a sudden diversion by head-butting a soldier, then screaming,
“Witch! Witch! There’s a witch in the gardens!”
she took advantage of the chaos and hurried away as fast as she could go.
    Lady Lamorna was waiting on the bench beyond the Royal Gates in a fever of anticipation. When she saw Foyce skimming down the drive toward her, she had to force herself to appear quite indifferent.
    Foyce blew kisses at the colonel-in-charge as he opened the gates for her and strolled across the road. “Easy as pie,” she said coolly. “They haven’t even noticed —”
    From behind the gates came the sound of shouting, followed by a great deal of screaming. The colonel blew his bugle, and his company of soldiers regretfully stopped gazing at Foyce and marched swiftly away.
    “Well, maybe they have now.” Foyce sniggered. “Shall we go?”
    “You have the frogs?” Lady Lamorna asked.
    Foyce pulled back a corner of the cloth covering her basket, and a tiny indignant voice said, “Oi! You there! Turn me back
at once
!”
    Other voices joined in.
    “That’s right!”
    “We’ll have you thrown in the dungeons!”
    “This is
shocking
!”
    “
Please
let us go. . . .”
    “Be quiet!” Foyce snapped. “Or I’ll drop all of you in the road and stomp on you!”
    The frogs fell silent. The sorceress looked at them doubtfully. “I think you should have left them behind,” she said. “They seem very noisy.”
    Foyce frowned. “I’ve explained it once already,” she snapped, “and you agreed. Prince — or princess.
Zap!
Frog. Right?”
    Lady Lamorna nodded.
    “And then we send their weeping mommies and daddies a letter offering your services to change the little croakers back into royal boys and girlies — for a
large
sum of money.”
    Lady Lamorna decided to ignore the “we.”
“We”
was not part of her plan. She nodded again.
    “Well, they’ll try anything not to pay that much.” Foyce rolled her eyes. “Royalty’s like that. Cheap as weasels. They’ll try that cheapo magician in Niven’s Knowe first, and then the old wizard in Cockenzie Rood, and then the Witches of Wadingburn — and we can’t risk them succeeding, can we?”
    Lady Lamorna drew