Leo and Conker pushed Spoiler into Brewer’s dingy, sour-smelling kitchen. As the rest of the team followed, they heard the door of the shop being unlocked and the little bell ringing.
‘Ah, Crabclaw!’ Brewer said in oily tones. ‘Perfect timing! Your hair-growing salve is ready and waiting for you.’
‘I don’t want it any more!’ raged the witch. ‘Some interfering busybody has rescued my damsel! She’s got clean away, thanks to that pompous fool Whitebeard! He wouldn’t let me use the Gap to look for her! I had to fly to town!’
‘What a pity,’ said Brewer indifferently. ‘But Crabclaw, this Hair-Gro was an order, I’m afraid. Made up for you specially. And that means you have to pay for it whether you need it or not.’
‘Boil your head, Brewer!’ the witch shouted. ‘And get out of my way! I’m going through the Gap to see if –’
Her voice became muffled as Mimi quickly pushed the door shut.
The small window in the back wall of the kitchen was so smeared with grease and dirt that it let in very little light. The smell of rancid fat and unwashed dishes drifted in the air, and the floor was sticky and teeming with dots.
The dim sound of the witch and Brewer arguing went on and on. Bertha kept giving little shrieks as dots ran, tittering, over her trotters, Conker was trembling with impatience, and the sound of Spoiler’s chattering teeth was putting everyone on edge.
‘Conker, why don’t you send a message to Hal while we’re waiting?’ Leo suggested desperately, and was relieved to see Conker nod and feel in his pocket for his notebook and pencil.
‘I’ll just tell him to call a press conference, and meet us at the Black Sheep,’ Conker muttered, beginning to write in his usual laborious fashion. ‘Bertha will have to tell the papers about this hero business before we can go on to Flitter Wood.’
‘At least we’ve got better news for Hal than we thought,’ said Freda.
‘Yes!’ Bertha nodded excitedly. ‘It’s not just the hair of a hero the queen hasn’t got for her potion. It’s female dragon’s heart as well! No wonder she’s so desperate to find that silver box.’
‘We’ll get rid of it as soon as we get to the tavern – put it in that Safe Place in your room,’ Conker said, without taking his eyes from his notebook. ‘Oh, my lungs and liver, things are looking up.’
‘It’s wonderful!’ Mimi agreed fervently. ‘And the green dragon’s not in danger!’
‘Oh yes, that’s wonderful!’ Freda jeered. ‘Lovely to think he’s going to stay alive to abduct a few more slaves for the queen, isn’t it?’
‘That reminds me,’ said Conker, tearing the page from his notebook. ‘Bertha should put out a general warning about Princess Pretty, too. She’s obviously out and about doing the queen’s dirty work. She could be dangerous.’
He knocked on the sticky floor three times and waited, folding the note small and tapping his foot irritably.
‘Lawks-a-daisy, I can’t get over what Brewer said about Princess Pretty using a love potion on Claude!’ said Bertha. ‘I mean, that’s cheating! Not to mention illegal!’
‘You mustn’t tell anyone about that, Bertha!’ Mimi exclaimed. ‘Pretty was probably desperate. All that pressure to get married – and she really likes Claude, the queen said.’
Leo couldn’t help grinning. Imagine Mimi Langlander, of all people, defending a spoilt princess!
Mimi scowled at him. ‘Pretty’s probably spent her whole life trying to act like a proper little princess, when she’d rather be a firefighter or something,’ she said defiantly. ‘That would make anyone bad-tempered. Plus that sister, Sweet, sounds like a real pain.’
‘She is,’ Freda put in. ‘Smug as a cat, stupid as an owl, and boring as newt spit.’
A muscular mouse with a camouflage helmet tipped casually to the back of its head emerged from a hole in the skirting board. It seemed to be chewing gum.
‘For Hal in Flitter Wood,’ Conker said, holding out the note.
The mouse looked him up and down. ‘You Conker the dot-catcher?’ it drawled.
‘What’s it to you?’ Freda snapped.
The mouse switched its gum to the other side of its mouth. ‘Orders are, any message from Conker the dot-catcher to the Chief to be delivered double quick,’ it said to Conker, ignoring Freda. ‘So are you, or aren’t you?’
‘Yes!’ Conker said through gritted teeth.
The mouse sniffed. ‘Thought you’d be taller,’ it said, clipping the message to the chain around its neck. It marched back to the hole in the skirting board, and disappeared.
‘What’s this “Chief” business?’ Freda said, taking advantage of the fact that Conker had been rendered speechless with rage. ‘It sounds like Hal has come out of his shell a bit since we left.’
‘And about time too,’ Bertha declared. ‘Organising behind the scenes is all very well, but –’
‘Shh!’ Mimi hissed suddenly. ‘Listen!’
‘What is it?’ moaned Spoiler.
‘It’s just awfully quiet out there,’ Mimi said, frowning. ‘You don’t think the witch could have turned Brewer into stone or something, and gone through the Gap without us hearing her, do you?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Freda said with interest.
Bertha pressed her ear to the door. ‘I can’t hear a thing,’ she breathed. ‘Perhaps we should – eek!’
She toppled through the door as it was abruptly pulled open.
Leo caught a single glimpse of Brewer’s astounded face before the potion-maker fell heavily backwards, with Bertha on top of him.
‘At last!’ Conker roared, bursting out of the kitchen and swerving to avoid the tangle of bodies on the floor. ‘Forward, team! To the tavern!’
He pushed through the brown curtain with Freda flying after him. Bertha scrambled up, shook back her trailing hat ribbons, and followed with as much dignity as she could muster. Mimi and Spoiler were close behind her.
Leo stopped to help the groaning potion-maker to his feet.
‘Leo, come on!’ Mimi yelled from the front of the shop.
‘Oh, never mind about me,’ Brewer mumbled, flapping his hands. ‘Just go along, will you? Go!’
Leo went, glad that Crabclaw’s refusal to pay for her order seemed to have made Brewer forget all about his hopes of selling Conker part of his horrible scrap of dried dragon’s heart. He collected Spoiler, who was skulking on the other side of the brown curtain, apparently reluctant to go any further without Leo to protect him, and joined Freda, Mimi and Bertha at the shop door.
‘Conker grabbed the pack and took off,’ Freda quacked. ‘He wants to see Hal and get rid of the dragon’s heart before the press conference. Let’s go.’
She led the way into the street and turned left to head for the Black Sheep.
The smell of charred wood still hung in the air, but the street looked much more lively than it had when the quest team had last seen it. The cobblestones were clean, the shops and stalls were open again, and people with bags and baskets were shopping or standing in groups chatting, just as they had always done.
Not far ahead, a grey-haired man stood with his back to a lamp-post, energetically banging away at a battered drum set while an old spotted dog wearing a red ruff and matching tap shoes danced on its hind legs behind a hat heaped with bones.
‘Morning, Spot,’ called Freda as she and the others reached the dancing dog. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Can’t growl,’ yapped the dog, turning a rapid somersault and nodding casual thanks as a passing woman threw a small bone into the hat. ‘Got to keep going, haven’t you? Conker ran by a minute ago, all goggle-eyed. Wouldn’t stop to chat. Keeping busy, are you?’
‘You could say that,’ said Freda. ‘Any news?’
‘Not much,’ said the dog, slowing down to a relaxed time-step. ‘Crumble the pie-seller turned up – he escaped from the dragon, apparently – but now he’s in gaol, accused of trying to poison Begood with a turnip pie laced with enchanted chilli. A gang of squirrels raided an antique shop up in Hobnob and got away with six silver trinket boxes and a toothpick holder. A black sheep was hanging around the tavern asking a lot of questions about Hal’s whereabouts. When Jolly got suspicious she tried to bite him, then ran off before anyone could catch her. The dragon had a go at abducting the old giant-killer, but the g-k’s local witch – Zillah, I think it is – was alerted by the crow patrol and got the defence shield up in time. There’s no sign of Spoiler, and the north is still full of smoke. That’s all. Still, we’re keeping our ears pricked.’
Without raising his head, the grey-haired drummer mumbled something.
‘Oh,’ said the dog. ‘The old man says Hal’s surfaced. He’s at the Black Sheep, and an emergency press conference has been called. Looks like things are moving.’
‘Looks like it,’ Freda said. ‘Well, thanks, Spot. Take it easy.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ said the dog cheerfully, executing a complicated pirouette that involved a perfect storm of taps. ‘Still, it’s a living. Don’t let the dragons get you down!’
The Black Sheep was packed. As well as reporters, a lot of the town shopkeepers and stallholders were milling around, chattering excitedly.
The moment she appeared, Bertha was surrounded. For a while nothing could be seen of her but the roses and poppies bobbing on her hat. Swearing irritably, Freda dived into the throng. In moments the reporters were retreating, many rubbing their ankles or shins, and Jolly, the landlord, was escorting Bertha to a low platform that had been set up in front of the bar.
‘Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,’ Bertha began, with impressive composure. ‘The purpose of this conference is to ask you to spread the word of some important new developments in the Blue Queen’s campaign against us. First, we have reason to believe that Princess Pretty…’
As Bertha went on to warn that, until further notice, Princess Pretty should be regarded with suspicion, Leo looked around the room. The reporters were all scribbling in their notebooks. The other spectators were watching Bertha avidly and whispering to one another. His heart lifted as he saw the tall figure of Hal standing alone at the back of the room. He began to edge around the back of the crowd, pulling Spoiler with him.
Spoiler baulked. ‘I don’t want Hal to see me like this,’ he said under his breath. Leo glanced up at the heavy, red face beneath the limp bonnet frills, saw the watery eyes and the loose, trembling lips, and again felt that stab of exasperated pity that Spoiler so often roused in him.
‘It can’t be helped,’ he said, hardening his heart and dragging the man on. ‘At least no one else will recognise you. You’re not very popular around here.’
Hal turned his head as they reached him. His eyes were cold as he looked at Spoiler, but he seemed unsurprised by the ridiculous Dame Dally disguise. Presumably, Leo thought, Conker had warned him what to expect.
‘… and, unfortunately, the same applies to anyone else known to have been abducted by the queen’s dragon,’ Bertha was saying. ‘Now, the second thing I have to report particularly concerns the heroes among us …’
The grey glass door that led to the tavern stairs swung open a little, and Conker edged into the room, hauling his pack after him. Looking grim, he sidled around the crowd till he reached Hal, Leo and Spoiler.
‘Didn’t you get rid of it?’ Hal asked quietly.
Conker shook his head. ‘The Safe Place rejected it. Said it was still half alive, or some such rubbish.’
‘Oh, no!’ Spoiler moaned. A few people turned to look at him and he cringed and ducked his head.
‘We’ll take it back to the wood and bury it as soon as this is over.’ Hal’s eyes flicked back to Bertha. ‘She’s finishing up. Shouldn’t be too long now.’
‘… and so,’ Bertha was saying, ‘again until further notice, we urge all registered heroes, and anyone who thinks he or she might be a hero, to abandon any quests they might have on at present, stay indoors, and refuse any further pleas for help. Thank you.’
A great clamour broke out as reporters started waving their arms and shouting questions. The loudest cries of all came from a gnome in a purple shirt and tight black trousers. With distaste, Leo recognised Scribble, the unscrupulous reporter from the Rondo Rambler.
‘Verity?’ Bertha said, nodding to a tall woman in the centre of the throng.
‘Verity Wordsmith of the Rondo Herald,’ the woman said crisply. ‘Mistress Bertha, do we know why the Blue Queen is trying to capture heroes in particular?’
‘Not at this point in time,’ Bertha lied smoothly.
‘Scribble of the Rondo Rambler!’ shrieked the gnome in the purple shirt, his rasping voice cutting through all the other sounds in the room. ‘Bertha, you claim that the Blue Queen is hunting heroes?’
‘Yes,’ Bertha said coldly.
‘Then surely you would agree that anyone keeping company with heroes is also in grave danger?’ Scribble asked. ‘And you would warn my readers to avoid it?’
‘Well, I…’ Bertha hesitated, looking uncertain for the first time.
‘And you and the other members of your little quest team, most of whom are present at this meeting, regard yourselves as heroes, I gather?’ Scribble went on, scribbling rapidly in his notebook.
‘Well… yes,’ said Bertha, as the crowd began murmuring uneasily.
‘Perhaps then, dear lady,’ Scribble said nastily, ‘you would like to explain why you have chosen to risk the lives of the members of Rondo’s press, not to mention a large number of innocent bystanders, by forcing them into this tavern with not just one, but six highly dangerous persons?’
The chatter in the room rose to a crescendo. Someone squeaked in fear. The next moment, there was a rush for the door. And in seconds, the tavern was deserted.