STORMING UP TO THE KING, the Hag snapped her bony fingers under his nose. “You can hear me and see me, can’t you, Thoroughgood – and if ever a king had a foolish name, it’s you! I’m here to make you sorry – oh, so very, very sorry!”
Dancing up and down, she stuck out her tongue at the three sleeping Fairy Godmothers. “Look! They can’t help you – they’re much too old and feeble. Yah! Bah! Silly old bags. And guess what I’m going to do with your little bubsy wubsy?” The Hag let out a screech of delight as the king began to tremble, and Peony leant forward, holding her breath. “I’m going to take your precious little son, and you’ll never, ever, ever see him again!” And she moved towards the cradle.
“No! She mustn’t see it’s empty – she’ll go mad.” Peony searched frantically in her pockets and brought out a handful of cherry stones. “YES!” Balancing one on the gallery rail, she flicked it at the Hag. It hit the fairy right on the end of her nose; she jumped and swore violently before twisting to see where it had come from. Peony ducked down and crawled to the other side of the gallery. The Hag, seeing nothing, swore again. As soon as her back was turned, Peony flicked another cherry stone. It hit a wine glass with a loud ping! and the glass shattered.
“Who did that?” the Hag snapped, and she peered angrily at the queen and Peony’s sisters. “Was it one of you?” She swung round to the guests, collapsed among the plates and silver and flowers. Not one of them was moving, and she gave a suspicious grunt. “Something strange is going on.” She paused, and her beady little eyes gleamed. “Aha! Of course.” She swept up to the Fairy Godmothers, and stopped with her face inches away from Fairy Geraldine’s. “Well, well, well … so it’s not you after all. You’re snoring too loudly.”
Peony fired another cherry stone. It hit the prime minister on the ear and he stirred a little. “Go ’way,” he mumbled. “Nasty fly…”
The Hag went purple. “NO! Someone spoke! Is my magic fading? It’s not possible!” She pulled out her wand and waved it wildly above her head. “Sleeping twine, sleeping twine… Go to sleep. That baby’s MINE!” and she rushed at the cradle.
“STOP!” Peony jumped to her feet. “Stop! The baby’s gone. I took him away. You can’t have him!”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!” The Hag’s scream echoed round and round the banqueting hall. She glared up at Peony, her face twitching with fury. “I don’t know who you are,” she hissed, “but I’m going to make sure you never cross me again, you horrid little worm … because I’m going to turn you into a FROG!” Swelling with anger and frustration she pointed her wand. Green and purple sparks flew into the air as she began to chant—
And it was at that precise moment that Lionel Longbeard and Basil the cat, frantically working in the midst of the rosebushes, undid the final knot on the second bundle of twine. The green fog vanished … and the Hag’s snakeskin dress split from top to bottom, revealing a grubby yellow vest and patched spotty knickers.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!” Her scream was even more piercing than before. She dropped her wand and ran for the doors, still screaming, and fought her way out – straight into the arms of the guards. “AAAAAAAAAAGH!” Her legs kicking wildly, she was carried away to the dungeons.
Behind her there was a rustling and a creaking, a murmuring and a stretching as the guests sat up and rubbed their bleary eyes.
“Oh! The spell’s wearing off.” Peony clapped her hands in delight. Queen Dilys shook herself and looked up. She caught sight of Peony, dusty, scratched, smeared with cherry juice and wearing something so torn and dirty it was unrecognisable.
“Peony? Peony! You NAUGHTY girl. What do you think you’re doing?” She looked over at the cradle. “Oh me! Oh my! The BABY – someone’s stolen my baby! Call the guards! Call the guards – Thoroughgood! DO something!” And she dissolved into floods of hysterical tears.
The guests, aware that something very extraordinary was happening, stared as the king slowly rose to his feet. He took no notice of his wife’s demands. Instead he turned and faced Peony.
“Peony,” he said, “I believe I saw you save your brother. Where is he now?”
Peony was very pale, but she managed to smile. “Vicenzo’s outside, Father. You can stop crying, Mother. He’s quite safe.”
“But Peony … Peony! Whatever have you been doing?” her mother wailed.
Miss Beef, yawning hugely, heaved herself up from the floor and came bustling forward.
“Let me take care of this, Your Majesties. Princess Peony’s shocking behaviour will be punished most severely—”
“No,” said the king. “No. There will be no punishment.”
“Oh yes there will.” Miss Beef shook her finger at the musicians’ gallery. “This is yet another example of Peony’s rebellious nature! I INSIST that she receives the punishment she deserves!”
“And I,” said King Thoroughgood, “insist that you, Miss Beef, leave my employment right now this minute.”
The governess gawped at him and the six princesses froze in their seats.
“Did you hear me, Miss Beef?” The king’s eyes flashed. “You’re dismissed. Now go!”
Speechless with indignation, the governess stalked away between the tables. Her face was scarlet, but she held her head high and as she left she slammed the doors behind her with a mighty crash.
King Thoroughgood looked up at Peony. “Peony, my child – today you have done something extraordinarily brave. You saved your brother, Prince Vicenzo. Won’t you come down?”
“I can’t,” Peony said, and her voice was trembling. “The Hag’s magic worked. I … I’ve got frog’s feet.” She stumbled her way to the small spiral staircase linking the musicians’ gallery to the hall and stood there shivering … and there was a universal gasp.
Her feet were webbed and green.
