When this didn’t work a proper hunt began. The police were called and scoured every inch of the palace grounds and went into every house in Waterfield, and the army was sent out to hunt in the surrounding countryside. The sound of bloodhounds baying could be heard all through the night, the schoolchildren were told to pray and sing hymns, and people wept openly in the streets.
At first her parents had thought it might be a kidnap attempt, and they waited every moment of every day for a ransom note but none came.
“She can’t possibly have run away,” said her mother. “Not when she had everything a girl could want.”
So had she met with some dreadful accident? Wells and rivers were searched, the lifeguards put out to sea, the Boy Scouts looked in potholes and caves — but still day followed day and there was no sign of the princess.
Both her sisters were sent for — Sidony came with her husband, who had brought his stamp collection to sort out while they waited, and Angeline came with her husband, who sucked even more peppermints when he was worried. Both the sisters were expecting babies and they sat and knitted baby clothes and shook their heads.
“Could she have run away to a traveling zoo or something?” Sidony wondered. “She was so nutty about animals.”
But there hadn’t been any traveling zoos or circuses in the neighborhood for many months, and their mother always began to cry again when anyone suggested that Mirella had not been entirely happy at home.
After a week the schoolchildren were given a day’s holiday; the flags flew at half-mast as people began to think that Mirella might be dead; and they could no longer put off giving the terrible news to Prince Umberto.
So Mirella’s father went to Amora, where he found Prince Umberto in a mauve quilted dressing gown being measured for a new suit by his tailor while a hairdresser rubbed pomade into his hair.
The prince was very upset indeed to hear that his intended bride was missing and perhaps dead.
“Oh dear,” he said. “This is terrible. Quite terrible.”
And indeed it was. Umberto owed money to his tailor and his shoemaker and to the man who trained his racehorses, and he hadn’t paid for his new carriage. Up to now he had kept everyone quiet by telling them he was going to marry a princess whose father was very rich and would pay all his debts, and now he didn’t know what to do.
“I shall have to order some mourning clothes, I suppose — fortunately black suits me — or is it too early? I mean, there may still be good news.”
But as the days passed there was no news at all. In the war, when someone disappeared, they put out bulletins saying “Missing: Presumed Dead.”
It was these words that the police now wrote in their files.
CHAPTER 9
What Ogres Eat
The troll bent over the ogre, lying limply on the sofa. His breath was shallow, and when the troll levered up the giant’s huge wrist and felt his pulse, he found that it was far too fast.
“If you hurry, you can free those poor wretches down in the dungeon,” said Ulf quietly to the others, “and then we can think what to do about the princess. I’ll stay here and if it looks as though he’s coming around I’ll warn you.”
So the others hurried downstairs and across the courtyard to the grating. There were no groping hands this time, but they could hear voices and the same wails as before.
“Hullo there,” called Ivo. “We’ve come to help you! We’re going to set you free. Do you know where the key is for the dungeon?”
A head appeared — it had thinning black hair combed over a bald patch and a drooping black moustache. A second head bobbed up beside it — that of a woman with a sharp nose and tight, blue-rinsed curls.
“What key?” said the man.
“There isn’t a key,” said the woman. “You can get in if you go down the steps over there to the oak door. Just open it; it’s not locked.”
“You mean you’re not locked in?” The Hag was completely bewildered. “But then why don’t you escape?”
But the heads had disappeared. The rescuers made their way to the steps and down to an oaken door. It was opened from the inside — and two people dashed toward them.
“Where is the ogre?” asked the woman with blue-rinsed hair.
“Do you bring news?” inquired the man with the sad moustache.
The dungeon was furnished in a rather unusual way. There was a sofa in one corner and a table with chairs in another. On the table was a large teapot, a plate of biscuits, and a pack of playing cards.
“Yes, we do,” said the Hag. “We bring you wonderful news. The ogre is ill and he won’t harm you — so you can go home. You’re free. Only you must hurry, there’s no time to waste.”
There was a moment of total silence, and then it began.
“Go home?” said the man. “You must be mad. I can’t go home — I’ve sold my house and my car to come here and I’m staying.”
“You mean our house and our car,” said the woman, glaring at him. “And I’ve given up my job,” she went on, “so we can’t possibly go back.”
“I’ve never heard of anything so silly,” said the man, tugging at his moustache. “Why would we want to go home after taking all the trouble to get here? If the ogre isn’t feeling well enough today, we’ll just wait till he feels better.”
“Tell him we’re not going home and no one has any right to make us,” said the woman. “And tell the people in the kitchen that we’ve run out of tea bags.”
The rescuers looked at one another. None of them could make head or tail of all this.
“We’d better go back upstairs and try to find out what is going on,” said the wizard.
They found the ogre propped up on cushions, sipping something the troll had mixed for him.
“They won’t go away,” said the Hag wearily. “And they’re not imprisoned, either.”
The ogre put down his cup. “Did you say they won’t go away?” he rumbled in his hoarse voice.
“That’s right,” said the Hag. “They said they couldn’t go back to where they’d come from.”
“Did you tell them that I was finished? Through?” asked the ogre.
“Yes. Well, we told them you were ill.”
“Oh God — what have I done to deserve this,” said the ogre, clutching his forehead.
But the rescuers had had enough. “However ill you feel,” said the Hag firmly, “you really must tell us what all this is about.”
There was a groan from the sofa.
“No, it’s no good groaning,” the Hag went on. “We’ve come a long way and nothing is what it seems. If you explain we may be able to help but not otherwise.”
The ogre looked at the troll, hoping perhaps that he would be forbidden to excite himself, but Ulf, too, was looking at him and waiting. So the ogre gave one more deep groan — and then he began.
“You know what ogres do?” he said.
“They eat people?” suggested Ivo.
“Exactly so. But I never liked the taste of human flesh,” he said. “The first time I ate a person it turned the corners of my mouth blue and gave me a pain here.” He put his hand on his side. “It’s my liver, I think. The livers of ogres are very sensitive. I thought maybe he was too fresh — the bloke I ate — so after that they brought me an idiot who’d shot himself instead of the deer he was after, but it wasn’t any better.” The ogre shuddered. “Ugh, I can taste him still.