Here, Victor Ainsley wiped his mouth with a napkin and raised his hand. ‘Respectfully, sir,’ he said. ‘May I interject?’
‘Certainly, Your Grace!’ Sir Brathelthwaite replied. ‘Do you think me wrong?’
The teachers all call Victor ‘Your Grace’, as that is his proper title. Even though he is only twelve, he is already a duke. But most of the children just call him Victor. He might be a duke, but he is also a horrid little toad.
Victor chuckled. ‘No, no, Sir Brathelthwaite,’ he said. ‘You? Wrong? Impossible to imagine!’
Sir Brathelthwaite beamed. ‘Oh, you make me blush, Your Grace. What a delightful boy you are. Go on then. What is it?’
‘Sir, is it quite the thing for us to associate with local riffraff? Could not a wicked outsider conceal him or herself amidst the … unwashed crowds? Personally, I am not at all concerned about the danger, but some of our younger children might be nervous?’
‘Indeed,’ Sir Brathelthwaite replied solemnly. ‘You make a fine point. Dear students, please try to be as considerate as our young Duke. For His Grace is correct. Seventeen children have been taken from Spindrift in the last few months. Hundreds have been stolen across the Kingdoms and Empires. But I ask you, my dear students, has a single student of Brathelthwaite Boarding School been taken? Have they?!’
We all cried, ‘No!’ and cheered, which was what he meant us to do.
‘So, be calm, dear students. It’s true that the townsfolk will be at the Tournament, but they will be seated in the stands. Children will be seated across the field with their school groups, well-guarded by the local constabulary. The ten most highly trained constables will focus on protecting our school. I have demanded this.’
Sir Brathelthwaite cleared his throat. ‘In addition,’ he said, ‘your teachers will be vigilant about your safety.’ He waved his hand at the teachers seated around him at high table, and they all nodded seriously, trying to look vigilant. Uncle Dominic tried so hard to look vigilant that pastry crumbs spilled down his chin.
‘Then the only danger,’ Victor said, spooning a sugar cube into his tea, ‘will be the local children themselves? We could catch diseases from them, say, or slovenly habits?’
‘Oh, I say,’ Hamish Winterson piped up. ‘Last time I caught slovenly habits, I was laid up in bed for a week. I can’t be catching that again!’
Everyone spluttered, and Carlos, who was sitting next to me, laughed so hard he almost knocked over the cream jug. I reached over and caught it just in time. Carlos breathed a sigh of thanks. You could get horsewhipped by Uncle Dominic for knocking over the cream jug.
‘Slovenly habits are indeed to be feared, Hamish,’ Sir Brathelthwaite chuckled, ‘but not in the way you are thinking. His Grace makes another excellent point. We must keep our distance from the local children today.’
Once again, the other teachers nodded, and sent stern looks around the room.
‘When you win your event,’ Sir Brathelthwaite continued, ‘never shake your competitors’ hands. Nasty germs on local children’s hands. Merely remark that they have put in a “good effort”, perhaps offer a word of advice and briskly walk away. You will certainly see slovenly habits today, but I know you would never copy them! Students, let’s tell Hamish what sort of slovenly habits we are likely to see, especially from the Orphanage School?’
‘Bad grammar!’ somebody called.
‘Dirty fingernails!’
‘A limited vocabulary?’
‘Ragged clothes!’
‘Crumpled stockings!’
‘Worn-out shoes!’
‘Smallpox scars!’
‘Skinniness!’
‘Oh yes, their bones do stick out awfully,’ Rosalind Whitehall put in. ‘Those Orphanage children! Horrible to see! So thoughtless. They ought to eat more.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ Sir Brathelthwaite nodded, reaching for his teacup and slurping on his tea. ‘Have you got the hang of it now, Hamish?’
‘I believe so, sir,’ Hamish said, shuddering. ‘I say though, sounds awful. Must we go to the Tournament and see all this?’ Hamish is tall for ten, and lanky. His father is terrifically rich and owns most of the Kingdom’s diamond region, so Hamish is allowed to be as daft as he likes. He is also allowed to skip haircuts, which means his white-blond hair is always in his eyes. He flips it aside but it falls back into place at once, so he only gets to see for half a second.
Sir Brathelthwaite nodded at Hamish. ‘Yes, Hamish, we must go today. Imagine if the Royals came to Spindrift and only saw local children and their slovenly habits!’ Children shook their heads, aghast. ‘Now and then,’ Sir Brathelthwaite continued, ‘we must do our duty for our Kingdom. No matter how horrific we might find it.’
So we finished our breakfast, dressed in our sports kit, and set out for the Spindrift Tournament.
FINLAY
‘Finlay,’ hissed a voice just at my shoulder.
‘Lili-Daisy?’ I replied.
We were following the cart through the streets of Spindrift on the way to the Tournament. A proper crowd of us, small children in the middle, big ones encircling them.
The blue sky was up there, you know, in the sky. The day was as crisp as spring.
This is because it was spring.
‘Finlay, I need—’ Lili-Daisy began.
‘Morning, Lili-Daisy!’ A voice from across the street.
‘Good morning, Baker Joe!’ Lili-Daisy called back.
‘Fine day for it!’ Baker Joe shouted.
‘It is indeed!’
‘Morning, Lili-Daisy!’ Now it was the fishmonger. Lili-Daisy also had to wish the bookseller, news vendor, a fortuneteller, a couple of local pirates, and three Witches a good morning—and to agree with each that it was indeed a very fine day—before she could carry on. The roads and pavements were crowded with happy people, some clutching streamers, others bottles of beer, one a pet chicken (bundled squawking under his arm). The whole town was heading to the Green for the Tournament.
‘Finlay,’ Lili-Daisy said at last. ‘You and your lot will keep an eye on the little ones today, won’t you?’
By you and your lot she meant me and my best friends, Glim and the twins. They were walking alongside of me and listening to Lili-Daisy too. The twins were reading newspapers as they walked, but they can both read and listen at once. (From the moment they wake up until they fall asleep each night, the twins read newspapers. Never stop except to break something, punch someone or take a temperature—they’ve got an interest in health, the worse the health the better.)
‘Of course we will,’ Glim declared.
‘We’ve promised you often enough,’ I reminded Lili-Daisy. The twins coughed in a determined way, meaning that yes, we were always promising Lili-Daisy to keep an eye on the little ones and that, to be honest, they were sick of it.
‘Only, I have a bad feeling about today,’ Lili-Daisy admitted.
The twins cursed. They curse beautifully. Lili-Daisy pretended not to hear them.
‘We know,’ I sighed. She’d been on about her bad feeling all morning.
‘They’ve got extra constables coming, remember?’ Glim said soothingly. ‘So it’ll be fine.’
‘That’s exactly what bothers me,’ Lili-Daisy pronounced. ‘It’s when you get extra of anything that things go wrong.’
All four of us gave her sidelong glances.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she complained. ‘Remember when we persuaded the grocer to give us an extra sack of rice as it was such an icy winter and you were all so hungry and cold? Well, didn’t the rice spill while we were carrying it into the kitchen? And Avril slipped on the grains and twisted her ankle! Remember that?’
‘Of course we remember!’ It had happened just the month before. Avril was still limping. In fact, right at that moment, she was riding up in the cart with the picnic blankets.
‘Well!’ Lili-Daisy said. ‘So you see? That’s what happens with extras.’
Before we
got a chance to tell Lili-Daisy that she was talking a great big crate-load of crabapple, we were swinging through the gateway to the Green.
The first thing we saw was a row of constables looking fierce. A lot of children had been disappearing lately, see, all across the Kingdoms and Empires. At first, we thought they were running away, but they didn’t pack bags and they never came back. Ordinarily, when a child runs away, it’s about a squabble or some small complaint like finding mathematics homework unnecessary. A night out in a cold field begins to make the squabble or complaint seem pretty daft. So the child comes back and copies someone else’s homework. That’s my experience of running away. I’ve done it four or five times.
When Connor disappeared from the Orphanage on apple crumble day, we knew he must have been kidnapped. He loves apple crumble the way you might love your grandma (if she’s a kind-hearted grandma who always gives you extra pocket money. Never having had a grandmother myself, I’m very interested in them). Anyhow, the disappearing children explained all the constables.
By the way, it’s me, Finlay, talking again. You probably guessed that. I hope you are all right after your time with Honey Bee, and don’t have too serious a headache.
Before I continue, I need to tell you about Spindrift. If I’m honest, I thought Honey Bee would do that. I got the story started, and then Honey Bee should have said about geography. But she didn’t. So it’s up to me.
Spindrift is a small town on the coast of the Kingdom of Storms. (Its proper name is the Kingdom of Gusts, Gales, Squalls and Violent Storms, but that’s too long to be convenient.) Spindrift has a busy harbour where we do ship repair and sail-making. We also have a beach with yellow sand—known as the Beach with the Yellow Sand—which means that people in bathing suits like to visit. They get cranky on rainy days, windy days, hailstorm days and typhoon days. This is because they are daft gits who ought to have noticed that this is the Kingdom of Storms when they booked their vacation.
As for the Kingdom of Storms, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s just trees, hills, flat bits, cities, towns, farms: your regular kingdom. There’s a bunch of diamond mines up north and the capital city, Cloudburst, is right in the middle. That’s basically a factory town—they make umbrellas and raincoats—but they’re wealthy and dress all their houses up in marble and gold. Never stops raining there, so the cobblestones are always slippery and laundry’s always strung out to dry on balconies. Even on the fancy balconies of the Royal Palace where the Queen and Prince live. This is what I hear, anyway, from kids who’ve visited on school trips.
Now you might be wondering about surrounding Kingdoms and Empires. To the west, of course, is the sea. South, across the bay, is the Whispering Kingdom, a quiet little place that never caused anyone a bit of bother. But north and east? Crowds of Kingdoms and Empires and almost every one is wicked and nefarious. (Nefarious is just another way of saying wicked, to underline how bad these places are.) It’s crackerjack, all the wickedness. There’s an Empire of Witchcraft, a Colony of Radish Gnomes, the Cailleach Kingdom (filled with Sirens, Fire Sirens and Sterling Silver Foxes), and many more. Imagine Shadow Mages everywhere you turn and you have it right.
Now and then, folks from these places come all the way here to Spindrift, buy a cottage and move in. Look just like regular folk, by the way—well, Witches wear socks and sandals, and Radish Gnomes are very short with long, sharp nails (claws, really), Sirens have largish mouths, and Sterling Silver Foxes wear a lot of jewellery and have pointy ears, but those are little things. Generally, they’re just like regular folk and you hardly notice a difference.
They have to sign a form promising to stop using Shadow Magic, and then they can settle right in.
Ah, now I wish Glim was writing this. I need her to explain about what Shadow Magic is, in case you’re a daft git and don’t know. And she likes magic, Glim. Hang on and I’ll fetch her.
Hello, this is Glim. Setting aside the mending for a moment since Finlay just called you a ‘daft git’ if you don’t know about Shadow Magic. But you could be from far away where they don’t have any kind of magic. So you’re not a daft git, you’re just a sad git. Ha ha. No. Not a git at all.
He’s my best friend, Finlay, but he can be a bit harsh.
About me: I’m shy. It’s tricky being shy. You blame yourself for it, and other people blame you too.
‘Speak up for yourself!’ they say, getting cranky.
Finlay and I found a toy in the Junkyard once, a sort of wooden maze in a glass box. You put a marble through the hole at the top and the marble runs down wooden paths: slide then pop down to the next level, slide then pop down, slide and pop. Clatter, roll, clatter, roll, all the way to the bottom.
That’s what happens to my voice when I’m shy. It’s a marble rolling down, down, down, deep inside me. No chance I can get it back. The more you say, ‘Come on, child, speak!’ the more my voice drops away. Especially if you’re an angry or important grown-up.
I would never be able to speak to the Queen!
Also about me: I like to sing when nobody’s around. (It has to be when nobody’s around as I can’t sing in tune, apparently. Which is strange, because when I’m alone, sitting on a rock by the sea, my voice sounds so pretty (to me) that I honestly think a mermaid might splash up hoping to befriend me. But the twins always threaten to break me into seventy-two pieces if I sing near them.)
One final thing about me: I love magic, but I’m not a mage. Now I will tell you about mages. Skip this bit if you already know it.
A mage is someone who can do magic. There are three types: Shadow Mage (or dark mage), True Mage, and Spellbinder.
Shadow Mages are Witches, Radish Gnomes, Sterling Silver Foxes, Ghouls, Sirens and so on, and they generally cast wicked spells.
True Mages are Elves, water sprites, Faeries and so on, and they mostly cast sweet spells like for healing and love and so on. They often instil objects such as salt shakers or pencils with their magic.
Spellbinders have a very useful talent: they can bind the wicked magic of a Shadow Mage. They are born with this talent but have to train for years to use it, the way even a musically gifted person has to learn and practise the trombone before playing it. We have a few trained Spellbinders on our police force, in case any of our local Shadow Mages forget their promise to be good. Nobody knows which those constables are, of course: Spellbinders keep their identity a secret.
All mages do their magic by pretending to weave, stitch, knit, or crochet the spell or binding. They just move their hands around in the air, imagining the thread. Legends say that long ago they used actual thread for this.
Sometimes I walk along and secretly run my hands through the air, imagining the magic curving and winding around my fingers. Everywhere I go, I think, I am walking through magic. When I remember this, I feel a bit less shy.
Here’s Finlay back.
FINLAY
Thanks, Glim. Perfect. (I’m never harsh, by the way, only honest.)
Anyhow, there’s plenty more I can say about Spindrift, but that’ll do for now. Like I said, it’s what Honey Bee should have told you.
Speaking of Honey Bee, I’m about to share the first time I ever heard her voice.
Through the gateway and onto the Green, and there was the row of constables. Beyond them were crowds of townsfolk swarming in one direction, crowds of children swarming in another, popcorn and apple cider vendors hollering, ‘Come and get it!’ and the blare of the town band tuning up.
‘Come on then,’ Constable Dabnovich called to our group, waving us through. ‘Good luck today, kids!’
‘Hold up!’ boomed a voice. ‘Hold up!’
A little bald guy was blocking our path, a hand in the air. He had the daftest flappy sleeves.
‘The children of the Orphanage will wait, if you please, for the students of Brathelthwaite Boarding School!’
‘Oh,’ said Lili-Daisy. ‘I didn’t know you were first. Beg your pardon, go on then.’
> So there we were, squashed against the gate, while kids with backs as straight as masts and hair as shiny as an oil slick went marching by, chins propped up as if a puppeteer was overdoing their chin-strings.
White sports kit, they wore, and giant, round red hats. Like walking toffee apples.
Just as she passed me, one of these toffee apples—long legs, long braid—glanced towards the town band. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I cannot abide the sound of violins!’
She could not abide them. That’s what she said.
It’s because she’s rich, see. Regular people would say, ‘I don’t like violins,’ meaning they’d prefer to stay away from violins, thanks.
But rich people cannot abide things, and what they mean is, violins should not even exist.
And that was Honey Bee.
Honey Bee
And here she is again! Honey Bee!
That is to say: me.
I cannot abide the sound of violins. This is true.
But on to the events of the day! There was a great deal of chatter as we settled ourselves under our marquee. The maids had lined folding chairs up alongside a trestle table. Platters of fruit, cakes and savoury pastries were placed atop a linen cloth. We also had a drinking fountain, a stack of fresh towels and a makeshift changing room.
Sir Brathelthwaite was making a fuss because he had been promised the ten most highly trained constables to guard us, and there were only nine. It was not relevant, he said, that the tenth constable was at home with a nasty toothache. Nor that another was rushing back early from her vacation and would soon arrive. It was simply not good enough!
Uncle Dominic, meanwhile, was growling at Orphanage children. A handful of them were straying too close to our marquee. He was very much like a guard dog, Uncle Dominic, but this only made the Orphanage children creep closer, giggling.
Everyone was chattering, as I mentioned. ‘Where’s the Queen? Where’s the Prince?’ But that was a little daft. The Royals were not due to arrive until the afternoon. The Queen was going to present the trophy to the winning school. Sir Brathelthwaite had combed his moustache in preparation.
The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars Page 2