Read Online The Bag of Bones by Vivian French - Free Book Online

you’re frightened by a few dogs, whatever will you do if you come across Deep Magic?
She took a big breath and called, “You go that way, Gubble. I’m staying here.” Then she straightened her back and marched on.
    As she went she attempted a brave whistle, but as the sound of the barking grew louder, the tune began to wobble, and by the time she had turned a corner and seen the dogs rushing toward her, she had no whistle left . . . until Snarler ran straight by her without giving her a second glance.
    “Phew!” Gracie heaved a sigh of relief, and she skipped onto the grass to watch the rest of the dogs hurtling past. “There! Didn’t I say they weren’t looking for us?” And she gave the purple and perspiring Buckleup Brandersby a cheery smile and a wave as he thundered up the path.
    Buckleup, wheezing hard, might not have noticed Gracie if she hadn’t waved. He was purple with rage as well as exhaustion; there had been no sign of Loobly anywhere in Gorebreath, and after the dogs had upset three market stalls and helped themselves to a variety of sausages, ham bones, and cheeses, he had been forced to leave at some speed. In Buckleup Brandersby’s head this had become Loobly’s fault, and the fault of all orphans high and low wherever they might be, and he was muttering such hideous and terrible threats as he pounded away from Gorebreath that the leaves on the trees on either side of the path shriveled and fell off as he passed.
    But then Gracie waved, and Buckleup saw a tall, skinny girl in a bathrobe, her hair in straggly braids, with soaking-wet bedroom slippers on her feet. Every one of his very basic instincts screamed “Runaway Norphan.” He discounted the fact that none of the orphans in his care had ever been known to enjoy the comfort of bathrobes or bedroom slippers; it was after ten in the morning, and in Buckleup’s opinion anyone of Gracie’s age still in her nightclothes had to be on the run. He lumbered to a stop and peered at her. The dogs, grateful that their master was no longer shouting and screaming at them, sat down at a safe distance.
    “So who are you?” Buckleup inquired with what he fondly believed to be a disarming smile.
    Gracie, taken aback that he had stopped to speak to her, hesitated, and Gubble grunted a warning from behind his bush. “Erm . . . I’m Gracie Gillypot,” she said.
    Buckleup, always on Orphan Alert, noticed the hesitation. “ ’Oo’s your mother?”
    Gracie saw the bushes behind Buckleup shaking and, knowing that Gubble was watching, thought it safer to reply rather than risk annoying this huge purple-faced man. “I haven’t got a mother. Or a dad. I live very happily in the Less Enchanted Forest, though, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a rather important —”
    She had no time to explain further. Buckleup was trembling with excitement. He had lost one orphan, but now, without any help or assistance, he had found another . . . and a wondrous idea exploded in his head. With a shout of triumph, he grabbed Gracie. “GOTCHER!” he yelled, and, slinging her over his shoulder, he turned and set off at a run.
    “Put me down!” Gracie screamed, and she kicked and wriggled with all the strength she had — but Buckleup’s grip grew tighter.

    “Shut it,” he growled, and then, as Gracie showed no signs of obeying, he pulled his Orphan Snuffer from his pocket. Gubble, scrambling out of the bushes as fast as he could go, saw the Snuffer whirl through the air, followed by a most unpleasant thud — and Gracie’s limp body was hoisted back over Buckleup Brandersby’s shoulder and borne away at a steady jog.
    Gubble stood frozen in the middle of the path. Two large tears rolled down his cheeks, and a massive sob shook his solid body. “Bad Gubble,” he whispered. “Gubble not help. Gubble BAD.” He took a few indecisive steps in the direction of Gorebreath and paused. “Gubble
think,
” he said, and an expression of acute agony