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if you aren’t there?” she hissed. “She’s as Shallow as they come. And you’ll be seeing me soon enough — don’t you worry!”
    Mrs. Cringe perked up immediately. Spying on her so-called friends was always a pleasure, and the thought of being able to tell tales about Evangeline made her quiver with excitement. “Of course,” she whispered hoarsely. “Won’t let her out of my sight!”
    “That’s it.” Truda nodded. She watched the five little cloaked figures bob away down the moonlit path and considered her plans. “So the palace is infested with rats, is it? I’ll remember that. Where there are rats, there are tunnels and holes and secret ways. But for now there’s that Trueheart to deal with.” She turned to the cauldron. Tossing in a handful of bone, she began to mutter. A moment later, a thin, purplish snake with glittering black eyes slid over the rim, and Truda rubbed her skinny hands together. “See that, Malice?” she crowed. “Nothing wrong with
my
spells.” She pointed at the snake. “Find the Trueheart. Go!”
    But Loobly was gone. As soon as Buckleup Brandersby and his dogs had tramped away, Marlon had persuaded her to slip down from the tree and follow him on a zigzag journey down the hill. Loobly had done as she was told without complaint, even when he’d insisted she paddle across a freezing stream not just once but several times.
    “No smell in water, kiddo,” he said. “It’ll keep whatever’s after you off the scent.”
    “But the dogs went the other way,” Alf pointed out.
    “There’s things worse than dogs,” Marlon told him severely, and as they flitted on through the wavering moonlight, Alf saw with some astonishment that they were heading toward the outskirts of Wadingburn village.
    “Where are we going, Uncle Marlon?” he asked.
    “To see crones.” Loobly’s voice was small but definitive.
    Marlon did a backflip, landed on a twig, and gave Loobly what Alf thought of as Uncle Marlon’s Serious Stare. “Listen, kiddo,” he said, “do you want to help your auntie?”
    Loobly nodded.
    “Then we don’t go to the crones,” Marlon told her. “’Scuse me saying so, but you wouldn’t travel fast. We need to play close, and we need to play clever. Right?” He did not add that he thought it highly unlikely that Loobly would ever make it to the House of the Ancient Crones before being found either by Buckleup Brandersby’s dogs or by Truda Hangnail. He was also aware that he could reach the crones much faster if he was unimpeded.
    “Right,” Loobly echoed, but her small, grimy face was screwed up in confusion.
    “We’ll put you where they’ll never think of looking, kiddo.” Marlon winked at her. “Check this out. Where d’you hide a big black cat?”
    Alf did a double spin and squeaked, “In a big black cellar!”
    Marlon shook his head. “Good, Alfie boy, but not good enough. Get the dogs out — they’d find it right off. Nah — you put your big black cat in the middle of a dozen big black cats.” He waved a wing at Loobly. “Small, skinny —’scuse me, kiddo, but facts are facts — we’ll put you in the palace kitchen. There’s at least a dozen small, skinny kitchen maids — you’ll vanish. And that Truda dame? Last place she’ll look for you.”
    “Queenly palace?” Loobly looked more confused than ever as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “But —”
    “But me no buts,” Marlon said grandly. “You’ll do fine, kid. And once you’re safely stashed, I’ll tell the crones what’s what, and we’ll know how to get your auntie fixed up. OK?”
    Loobly bit her lip, then nodded. “Please fix Auntie, Mr. Bat.”
    “Wilco. Now, time to fly!” And Marlon set off with Alf flapping close behind him. Loobly ran to keep up.

If Marlon had been able to hear a conversation taking place early the following morning, he would have been even more delighted with his decision. Buckleup Brandersby, finding that Loobly had not returned to