Day 13 – Saturday
No suspicious activity during my dawn perimeter check.
At breakfast, Principal Hortense gave a speech about what a marvellous night it had been, how scrumptious the cakes were, how hilarious the Elves, how beautifully we had sung, and so on. We all gave rounds of applause for the Cook, the Elves and ourselves.
After breakfast, we were going directly to the gymnasium to meet with parents and look at artworks, and then parents would visit the classrooms.
‘Those who don’t have parents here may read a book or catch up with homework,’ Principal Hortense suggested.
I still had the carpet wrapped around me.
As we headed out of the dining hall, I wondered if I was going to be able to read a book through the carpet. Could I see the pages? (Again, I was forgetting that it was imaginary.)
I was almost at the gymnasium when Imogen skidded up beside me.
‘Esther!’ she said. ‘I was calling you! Didn’t you hear?’
Sounds were very muffled behind the carpet. I shook my head. ‘Sorry.’
‘Where were you last night?’ she asked. ‘I couldn’t see you anywhere at the twilight picnic. Are you all right? You don’t look well.’
I shrugged. ‘Well …’ I began. But where to begin?
Some of Imogen’s friends were calling her anyway. ‘Come on, Imogen! We’re supposed to be in the gymnasium!’
‘Coming!’ she called back and then to me: ‘Listen, you won’t believe it! I got a telegram this morning—guess who’s coming to school today?’
I waited patiently.
‘Mother!’ Imogen cried. ‘Can you believe it? Me neither. She never visits!’
And she skidded away to join her friends.
I stopped perfectly still in the middle of the corridor and only moved again when somebody slammed into my back.
A thin ray of light shone into my carpet, and began to tap quick and soft against my heart.
In the gymnasium, we were allowed to wander around looking at the different grades’ artworks, and then we had to gather in front of our own grade’s piece to wait for our parents.
Our Grade 6 artwork was called: SUNSHINE.
Other girls from my grade were already huddled around it saying, ‘Oh, that’s mine! Ha ha, my sun’s crooked!’ and ‘Yours looks great, Maria!
Our paintings were glued in rows.
A golden circle against a blue background, a golden circle against a blue background, a golden circle against a blue background—
And so on.
Some of the circles were pale, some buttery, some a fierce yellow, almost orange. Some were a bit wobbly and many had lines radiating out from the circle like spider legs.
Parents began to pour into the room, and girls called, ‘Father! Over here!’ or ‘Mother! This way!’
‘Autumn,’ said a voice. ‘Are your parents coming?’
I spun around. Zoe Fawnwell had asked the question, a worried smile on her face. Others looked away from the influx of parents and towards Autumn, many blinking. Once again, we’d forgotten that Autumn was a Whisperer.
Which meant her parents were Whisperers too.
‘Only,’ Zoe added, ‘we should prepare ourselves if adult Whisperers are about to arrive. They could literally Whisper us!’
‘Zoe!’ Tatty cried, placing an arm around Autumn’s shoulder. ‘It’s not Autumn’s fault she’s a Whisperer!’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t let actual adult Whisperers in,’ Hetty added, giving Autumn’s arm a squeeze. ‘Don’t be silly, Zoe.’
‘They’re not coming,’ Autumn replied, gazing up at the artwork.
There was a ripple of relief mixed with disappointment, but then, suddenly, parents were amongst us. Girls embraced their own and pointed to the artwork: ‘See that one? It’s mine! No, not that one, the second from the right.’
Various parents exclaimed: ‘Oh, what a lovely artwork!’ or ‘Gracious, isn’t it beautiful?’
A golden circle against a blue background, a golden circle against a blue background, a golden circle—
I turned and there was my mother. Sunlight caught at a pattern of dust in the air, and lit up her hair. She hesitated in the doorway to the gymnasium, her head darting around, not sure what to do. Her satchel was clutched beneath her arm, as usual. Her hair was neatly combed and she wore her best blue suit with silver buttons.
The shaft of light tapped against my heart once more: tap-tap-tap-tap.
‘Mother!’ I called, but at that moment, Mother marched across to where Astrid was waving. She stopped to admire the Grade 4 picture of a school of rainbow fish.
Well, she would come to me next.
Or perhaps to Imogen and the Grade 7 artwork, I supposed.
But then to me.
I turned back to our artwork.
Golden circle against a blue background—
A golden circle against—
I stopped.
You might be thinking it was taking a while for me to catch on, but remember my imaginary carpet? Everything was hazy through woven fibres.
So this was the first moment I wondered.
More slowly, I ran my eyes along the pictures—golden circle, golden circle—
I ducked around girls and parents—golden circle, golden circle—and that was it.
I had seen the whole painting.
‘Mrs Pollock?’ I asked.
She was standing to the side, arms behind her back, accepting compliments from parents.
‘Yes, Esther dear?’ Mrs Pollock crouched to hear. Some of the parents saw this and smiled lovingly.
‘I can’t see my painting.’
‘Oh, Esther dear,’ Mrs Pollock’s face became sorrowful. She spoke in a soft, confiding murmur. ‘Your painting was grey and rainy, remember? I couldn’t include it in an artwork called SUNSHINE, could I?’
That made sense. I nodded.
Mrs Pollock straightened and began chatting with Zoe Fawnwell’s mother. After a moment, I realised that Autumn and Pelagia were either side of me. They were the only girls in our class whose parents had not come.
‘Your painting would have looked perfect in the centre,’ Autumn commented quietly. ‘Rain with lots of sunshine radiating out from it.’
Pelagia spoke even more softly. ‘She didn’t have to name the artwork Sunshine.’
I hadn’t thought of that.
The three of us stood in a row staring at the sunshine.
I glanced across the gymnasium and caught sight of my mother in a crowd of Grade 7 parents. Imogen was standing on tiptoe, pointing out the crepe-paper flowers she had added to her class’s ‘Garden’ artwork. Mother looked pleased.
Any moment, Mother would approach and say, ‘Hello, Esther. And which one of these is your painting?’
I walked out of the gymnasium and back to my classroom.
Nobody else was there yet.
Our classroom looked festive: streamers and paper chains, sample exercises and drawings tacked all over the wall, self-portraits hanging from strings across the ceiling.
My painting was sitting on my desk.
I smiled at it. The colourful umbrellas were very bright against the rainy background. Maybe not as neat as I’d remembered, but still—
It was a beautiful painting.
I knew what I’d do. I’d give it to my mother as a gift.
It was lucky it hadn’t been included in the artwork! As soon as Mother came in for the classroom visit I’d hand it over.
Girls and parents began to file into our classroom then, and there was more exclaiming from the parents. ‘Oh, what a lovely classroom!’ and ‘Show me your desk?’
I sat waiting for Mother. I supposed she might go to Astrid’s classroom first, and then to Imogen’s. Or perhaps she’d come straight to mine after not finding me in the gymnasium?
I watched the doorway.
More girls came in leading their parents. The room began to fill with people studying the walls
and decorations and making humorous little comments to their daughters and to each other.
I picked up my painting. The edges really were a bit smudged, but never mind.
I turned it over to see if I’d splashed any paint on the back. I often do that, I don’t know how.
Mrs Pollock’s handwriting was on the back of the painting.
In large, black ink, she’d written:
Very messy, and much too grey. Do you want to depress people? Next time, try sunshine.
C-
I slid out from behind my desk, crossed the room and dropped the painting in the wastepaper bin. Then I returned to my seat and carried on watching the door.
Mother took a seat at a corner table in the Orange Blossom Teashop. ‘Imogen, you take that chair by the window,’ she instructed. ‘Astrid, come by me. Sit down, Esther, you funny thing, don’t hover!’ There was nowhere for me to sit. Only three chairs at the table. ‘Well, grab one from another table then! Use that clever brain of yours!’
We had just walked into town together. Imogen had found me in my classroom alone, and called from the door, ‘Mother’s taking us into town for afternoon tea! Come on!’
So here we were. It took me a while to find a spare chair. The café was crowded with girls from Katherine Valley having afternoon tea with their visiting parents.
‘What will you all have? Choose whatever you like,’ Mother told us.
We ordered from the waitress—not the tall, thin one; she was across the café and hadn’t even glanced at me—but a short waitress with a droopy face. She cheered up when my sisters and I ordered chocolate-strawberry pies, and Mother ordered the scones, and she gathered our menus and walked away. Mother checked that none of us had grown out of our shoes, by crouching at our feet and pressing at the toes, then the waitress returned with our orders.
Imogen turned to Mother. ‘It’s a shame you missed the twilight picnic last night,’ she said.
‘Twilight picnic?’ Mother took a large bite of her scone, grimaced, chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and swallowed again. She shuddered. ‘This scone is very dry. I can’t think why they’re famous for their scones. What picnic is this?’
‘Last night,’ Imogen explained. ‘Most parents came.’
Mother chuckled. ‘No, dear, parents were invited to see artworks and do classroom visits. No picnic. Funny thing.’
‘Actually, there was a—’ Imogen began, but she decided not to bother. ‘What did you think of the art? And the classrooms?’ she asked instead.
Mother’s eyes widened. ‘Just wonderful!’ she said. ‘Really excellent classrooms you all have!’ She took another bite of her scone.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘We all have?’
Mother nodded. ‘Lucky things!’
‘But you didn’t see my classroom.’
Imogen and Astrid looked at me in surprise.
‘Of course I saw your classroom, Esther! Yours had the—the decorations. A really magnificent room.’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You didn’t visit my classroom.’
‘I most certainly did. I went the moment I’d finished looking at the artworks. You were probably still in the gymnasium chatting with your friends.’
At that point, the waitress arrived to check if we were enjoying our food. I think she wanted us to say, ‘Delicious!’ but Mother said, ‘A little dry,’ and my sisters and I, being distracted, only said, ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I left the gymnasium early,’ I told Mother—and the waitress, disappointed, slid away. ‘I was the first one at my classroom.’
Imogen piped up. ‘You didn’t go to Esther’s class first, Mother. Remember, you and I left the gymnasium together and walked to my classroom?’
‘And then you came to mine,’ Astrid put in, ‘as it’s only two doors down from Imogen’s. She showed you the way.’
‘Well, honestly, I’m not sure why it’s important to pinpoint the time I saw your classroom, Esther! I suppose it was after Astrid’s then.’ Mother reached her fork out to my chocolate-strawberry pie. ‘You don’t mind if I try a little, do you? I’m so disappointed with my scones.’
‘I waited in my classroom,’ I told her steadily, ‘until all the parents had gone. That was where Imogen found me and we walked into town.’
Mother nodded seriously. ‘I hope you girls never walk into town unsupervised.’
‘We’re not allowed in town anymore,’ Astrid explained, through a mouthful. ‘Because of—’
‘Shadow Mages.’ Mother took a forkful of Astrid’s chocolate pie. ‘May I have a little? Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetheart. Yes, there are Shadow Mages in the mountains.’ She glanced at me. ‘You are being careful, Esther? I expect this is the first you’ve even heard about the Shadow Mages around here!’
I stared at her.
Imogen and Astrid both protested: ‘Of course she’s heard about the Shadow Mages in the mountains! Principal Hortense made an announcement! And we were all at the pool when the Sterling Silver Foxes attacked! Esther’s friend Katya had her laughter stolen! Esther’s the one who realised about that! She saved Katya’s—’
Mother laughed. ‘Don’t make such a fuss, girls!’ she said. ‘I’m only teasing Esther. She’s absent-minded, that’s all I mean. You lucky girls, ordering this pie. It’s much better than the scones.’
We all glanced at Mother’s scone plate, which was perfectly empty, except for a few crumbs. As we watched, Mother picked these crumbs up with her fingertips and ate them.
‘Why don’t you order yourself a slice of pie then?’ Astrid suggested.
Mother laughed. ‘Pie and scones! Oh, to be a child!’ She beckoned the waitress.
‘Did she really not come to your classroom at all?’ Astrid asked me, while Mother was distracted.
‘Did she see your artwork in the gymnasium?’ Imogen asked.
I shrugged. I was all right. I only had to pull the carpet more tightly around me. Safe and soft here.
Mother was ordering herself another pot of tea.
‘Right,’ she said, turning back and scooping up a piece of Imogen’s pie. ‘Where were we?’
I pushed back my chair.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, and I walked out of the café.
There was a crisp breeze outside.
I let it tousle my hair and flick my cheeks. I didn’t do anything else. I just stood there.
The sky was blue and the flowers bright in their buckets at the stalls. More girls from school wandered the streets with their parents. Everyone was shiny-eyed and chatty. The parents listened closely to their daughter’s words and then laughed or said, ‘Oh, really?’
In my pocket, I had a few coins and a pebble. I don’t know why the pebble was there. It was not pretty or smooth, it was just a pebble.
Soon, Mother would pick up her satchel and return us to school. There, she would kiss us each on the cheek, and set off to catch the coach back home.
Once again, I would begin my checks of the school’s perimeters. Running up to the top floor and looking through the windows. Climbing over the wall. Sneaking into the kitchen to replenish my supplies. Searching the library for ideas on how to defeat Shadow Mages.
Studying my toenails for hours, longing for them to turn blue, as it would be so much simpler if only I was a Spellbinder.
It was only for two more weeks, I reminded myself. In two weeks, the Spellbinders would arrive. They would take care of the school!
Only two more weeks.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
I leaned against the glass of the café window.
Fourteen days.
I counted them.
One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
The numbers seemed to go forever.
Five,
Six,
They moved so slowly! Each was a giant, slimy slug.
Seven.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn�
�t even count that high.
Schoolwork, homework, dance lessons, running up the stairs, clambering over the wall.
Eight.
Nine.
But I had to do it.
Ten.
Eleven.
A man was walking down the street in the direction of the café. He wore a striped jacket and an interested expression, glancing around at everything he passed. He was quite bald. He ducked around families, smiling and calling, ‘Hello there!’ to some, and ‘Nice to see you again!’ to people at the stalls.
Twelve.
The man looked towards the café.
Thirteen—
The man saw me. His face lit up. He raised a hand to wave.
‘Esther!’ he called.
The carpet unfolded itself and fell with a thud to the ground. Air and brightness flooded me.
I ran into my father’s arms.
I told him everything.
Well, first I burst into tears. I didn’t plan that. I was laughing with happiness, actually, as I ran into his arms, but a strange thing about laughter is this: it can fall into crying. Sometimes laughing is like running along the edge of a pond of tears.
Father’s voice changed at once from, ‘Esther! It’s you!’ to ‘Esther! Oh, darling! Esther?’ He held onto me very tightly, patting my back, and then he set me down and said, ‘Wait here.’ He ducked into the café and I watched through the glass as he strode across to my mother and sisters’ table. He hugged each of them quickly, spoke a few words, and came back out to me. Imogen and Astrid’s faces were quite bewildered, I saw, but Mother’s back was to me. So I cannot describe her face.
‘I said I had to duck out for new shoelaces,’ he explained. ‘Now, let’s go sit by the lake.’
That’s where I told him everything. As we sat on a bench by the lake, watching boats slide by, and ducks, I told him about the conversation I’d overheard, hiding in the mailroom, and how I’d thought the secret Spellbinder must be one of the two new girls. I told him about the Sterling Silver Fox attack, and my research for my speech, and Katya’s laughter being stolen.
The Stolen Prince of Cloudburst Page 17