The Robe of Skulls by Vivian French Page B

herself up to her full height. “
No one
can break my spells except me,” she announced.
    “But we don’t know for certain, do we?” Foyce insisted. “Suppose they got lucky? But now I’ve swapped the royal croakers for ordinary ditch frogs; there’s nothing they can do. They can wave their wands over them until they’re blue in the face. We’ll keep
these
little beauties safe and sound — and they’ll
have
to agree to our terms!” And Foyce smiled proudly.
    Naturally, Foyce did not mention her real reason for keeping the frogs in her possession. She was certain Lady Lamorna intended to keep the gold for herself, but she knew that as long as she, Foyce Undershaft, had the royal frogs in her keeping, she could strike a hard bargain.
    After a pause Lady Lamorna, whose plans were much as Foyce suspected, said, “Yes. Yes, you may be right.”
    “I am,” Foyce said. “Now, we should be going. It just so happens that I know of the ideal cellar to keep these froggies safe and happy. It’s time we went back to Fracture, Your Evilness. Oh, and there’s a little bit of business I have to finish in Gorebreath as we pass through. By the way, where’s the troll?”

    Lady Lamorna glanced around, surprised. “Gubble?” she called.
    There was no answer.
    Foyce looked at the two donkeys tethered to the back of the bench. “He can’t have gone far,” she said.
    Lady Lamorna, remembering the state Gubble had been in when he and the donkey limped their way back from a stout and unyielding bramble bush on the way to Niven’s Knowe, thought the same. Nevertheless, no amount of calling brought any answer. “I had to teach him a lesson for calling me Evilness in front of the soldiers,” she said. “He may be sulking.”
    Foyce saw an opportunity. “I say we leave the troll.”
    Having no heart, Lady Lamorna was unable to feel any regret. She did, however, feel it would be inconvenient to do without Gubble.
    Seeing her wavering, Foyce said quickly, “When you’ve got all that gold, you can pay for a hundred servants — servants who’ll obey your every word!”
    “Indeed.” Lady Lamorna swung herself into her saddle with a calculating look in her eye. “How many frogs are there?”
    Foyce peered into the basket. “Six.”
    “Six thousand gold pieces . . . Yes. I will have a hundred servants as well as my robe of skulls.” She watched Foyce strapping the basket of frogs firmly onto the back of the second donkey. “Are you not going to ride?”
    Foyce shook her head. “I can run,” she said. “Let’s go. . . .”

“Marcus? Is it really you?”
    Marcus, swinging from the ham-size fist of a soldier, tried to speak, but his collar was too tight. “Unf,” he said.
    “Put my son down,” his father ordered.
    The soldier loosened his grip. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he said apologetically, “but I found him crawling in through a hedge. And then he was yelling his head off about witches and suchlike, and I couldn’t see that he was up to much good —”
    The king waved a weary hand. “Please accept my thanks. Marcus, have you heard the terrible news?”
    Marcus nodded and sank to one knee. “I know, Father.” He fished down the front of his shirt. “Here he is.” And he held out a hot and bothered frog.
    King Frank stared at him. “Are you mad? This is no time to play stupid games. There’s been a kidnapping, my boy — a kidnapping. Arry, Tertius and Fedora, Nina-Rose, Albion of Cockenzie Rood, and little Vincent of Wadingburn — they’ve all been taken!”
    “But they haven’t been kidnapped!” Marcus waved the frog under his father’s nose. “They’re in the fountain! They’re —”
    “King Frank! King Frank!” Queen Kesta of Dreghorn appeared, puffing hard and clutching a large damp handkerchief. “I came hurrying to tell you, my dear friend. It’s so dreadfully utterly
totally
awful! Nina-Rose’s sisters saw it happen — but when they told me, of course I didn’t