Gubble, crouched only a few yards away from Lady Lamorna as she hit the highest and most piercing note of her scream, sighed heavily. Her stepsister, Foyce, caught the full blast, and when Gracie was finally allowed out of the cellar, Foyce slapped her several times because her head felt as if it were full of stinging wasps, and she didn't like it. Even in the cellar she heard a faint cry and wondered what it could be-but her ears did nothing worse than tingle. Gracie had been shut in her stepfather's cold, dark, and spidery cellar for being cheerful, and the cellar had very thick walls. the old, the extremely deaf, and Gracie Gillypot. Only the old and extremely deaf were spared. Dogs howled and bit their owners.Ĭats' whiskers curled into corkscrews and fell off.Ĭhildren clutched their ears and shrieked in agony. They still talk about that scream in the high mountain village of Fracture. With a smile of happy anticipation, she swept toward her treasure chest, flung open the lid. Ciao!' And the bat whizzed away into the purple twilight.įor a second, Lady Lamorna considered frizzling the bat to a burnt ember as it flew, but then she remembered her delicious dress.

Coins of all denominations readily accepted. I'll be back soon with info on price and delivery. I'm a bat, right? Bat ears 'n' all that stuff. 'Bat! Listen to me! I would like a new robe, made of deep-black velvet-' 'Got it.' The bat made a swift circle over the Lady's head. 'I require a new robe, edged with skulls-' 'I have an order for the Ancient Crones,' Lady Lamorna said. Lady Lamorna snapped her long bony fingers, and within seconds a sharp-toothed bat came flipping in through the open window. oh, yes, yes, YES! It will be a robe beyond all compare, and I shall order it this very minute!' Layers and layers of blood-red petticoats. 'In fact, why not interweave the ivy with spiders' webs? That would be truly beautiful. A motif of spiders, or maybe twists of poison ivy.' Her huge silver eyes gleamed. 'After all, it really is time I had a new gown. Rows and rows of dear little skulls, sewn all along the hem.' She sighed with pleasure as she imagined the clitter-clatter of bone on her cold stone floors.

The Robe of Skulls by Vivian French