Free The Flight of Dragons by Vivian French Page A

chocolate cake as well,” Gracie said, and she hugged him. “No. I’m not angry. Heavens, no. So will you meet us at Wadingburn? In the library?”
    There was a shorter silence, and then Gubble announced, “Niven’s Knowe. Gubble go to Niven’s Knowe.”
    Gracie smiled. “You’ve done it again, Gubble. I said ‘Heavens, no,’ not ‘Niven’s Knowe.’ And we aren’t going anywhere near there. Well . . .” She paused, and honesty made her add, “Not unless we find out there’s a dragon’s egg, and it’s about to hatch. If that happens, then yes. We will be going to Niven’s Knowe.”
    A mutinous expression settled over the troll’s flat face. “Gubble go to Niven’s Knowe.”
    “OK.” Gracie gave up. “If that’s what you want. We’ll come and collect you.” She gave him another hug, and the two of them walked outside to find Marcus waiting, with Glee beside him. The path to the front gate was doing its best to shape itself into a heart, and Gracie looked around suspiciously. “Is Alf here, by any chance?”
    “Present and correct!” A small shape whizzed around her head. “Are we ready, boys and girls? Are we steady? Oh! What’s the troll doing?”
    “He’s going to Niven’s Knowe,” Gracie told him. “He — he’s on a very special mission of his own. Aren’t you, Gubble?”
    Gubble nodded solemnly before stamping heavily on the end of the path. With a disappointed wriggle, it went back to its usual position, and Gubble stomped his way out through the gate. He made a sharp turn, then headed into the thickest of the bushes and began to follow his own particular version of a crow’s flight to Niven’s Knowe.
    “Wow.” Marcus sighed as he watched Gubble plow his way through the middle of an especially dense and prickly blackberry bush with no apparent problem. “Does anything ever stop him?”
    “Not much,” Gracie admitted. “Of course, he has to stop for a bit if his head falls off, but that doesn’t seem to have happened much lately. And he’s not too keen on rivers because he can’t swim. He has to hold his breath and walk along the bottom. He can hold his breath for ages, though.”
    Gubble was now well out of sight, but his continued progress could be tracked by the sound of crashing branches. Alf, feeling that quite enough attention had been paid to the troll, flew down onto Marcus’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be on our way, Mr. Prince?” 
    “You’re right,” Marcus agreed. “Gracie, do you want to ride behind me? You’re light. Glee won’t mind. Later on we can walk for a bit so he doesn’t get tired out.”
    Gracie gave Alf a warning glance as she swung herself up onto Glee’s back, and he gazed up at the sky with the most innocent of expressions. “La-di-da,” he sang. “La-di-da.” Marcus touched Glee’s sides with his heels, and they trotted through the gate and steadily down the faint track that led between the trees. Behind them the path outside the house gave a couple of twitches before forming itself into a perfect heart.

P rincess Fedora, much fortified by an evening with her mother, Queen Kesta of Dreghorn — and even more fortified by having had the forethought to pack herself a large picnic breakfast before leaving the comforts of her old home — was ready to hold her interviews. Her mother had promised a return visit in a day or two, and Fedora was determined to have everything in order by the time she arrived. She had put out her best gold pen and a pad of crisp white paper, sharpened several pencils, tied her hair back with an efficient and business-like clip, insisted on Tertius hauling a very heavy desk into the palace dining room, settled herself behind it, decided it was too big and made him exchange it for a smaller desk from her own rooms, loosened her hair again, and finally settled herself in position.
The Handbook of Palace Management
was prominently displayed beside her.
    Tertius, still panting from his exertions, had gone