The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Finally, he turned to look at Honey Bee. After a long moment, he said: ‘That’s Honey Bee. No discernible skills.’

  Honey Bee also blushed, but in a whole different way—and then Glim spoke up. ‘Honey Bee is also a great athlete,’ she said softly, and you should’ve seen Honey Bee’s face now. Open eyes, open mouth, then a grin like she’d just walked into a surprise party.

  Bit of an overreaction, I thought.

  ‘Hamish is fast too,’ I admitted.

  ‘So many athletes!’ Bronte said, setting down her teacup in the grass. Now she did a peculiar thing. She started whispering. Loud enough to hear—like a stage whisper, I mean. Not that long ago we’d thought they were Whisperers, I recalled. But of course, actual Whisperers only Whisper in your head. Not aloud like this. ‘We should rescue you all from here,’ Bronte was shout-whispering, ‘and take you to the Kingdom and Empire Games!’

  Now that was a daft thing to say. Kingdom and Empire Games have been cancelled on account of the war. Plus you have to be eighteen to compete. Plus ‘rescue’ was a strange word to use.

  ‘Yes!’ Alejandro put in, and he was also whispering. ‘And somebody must rescue that teapot. I think it is tipping over.’

  Rosalind reached out and straightened the pot.

  ‘We should rescue that family of mice I saw earlier, living in the log,’ Bronte whispered.

  ‘Hold up,’ Hamish said. ‘Mice are probably perfectly happy in that log.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Alejandro whispered solemnly. ‘We should rescue them. And then we should rescue the clouds from the sky.’

  ‘Oh good idea,’ Bronte hissed, nodding along. ‘The clouds seem so unhappy up there.’

  I’d had enough. ‘What are you two on about?’ I demanded. I mean, I’d been thinking they were all right, the pair from the future, but now they just struck me as loopy.

  Glim breathed in sharply. She scooted away a little, and beckoned the rest of us to her side. ‘I think they might be trying to tell us something,’ she murmured.

  ‘Like what we’re supposed to be doing?’ Honey Bee agreed, nodding excitedly. ‘To fix history.’

  ‘Rescuing someone?’ I tried. ‘They want us to rescue someone. But why the whispering?’

  ‘Maybe to hide from the Detection Magic?’

  ‘Oh, the Detection Magic has very good hearing,’ Bronte called sunnily. ‘We would never try to defeat it by whispering. We’d never try to get around it at all!’

  Glim squinted hard, thinking. ‘It’s part of the message,’ she said. ‘Maybe we’re meant to go to the Whispering Kingdom, and rescue—’

  ‘Jaskafar!’ the twins and I hissed at the same time.

  ‘You should try rescuing all the clouds from the sky,’ Alejandro shout-whispered. ‘Not just the one.’

  Honey Bee dropped the piece of plum cake she was holding. ‘They mean us to rescue all the children from the Whispering Kingdom!’ she cried.

  And the children from the future disappeared.

  Honey Bee

  On the cart ride home, everybody made fun of me for accidentally sending the future children home. Once they’d tired of that, we discussed the idea of rescuing the stolen children from the Whispering Kingdom. At first, we found it exciting—we would be heroes! How wondrous to bring home the little orphan boy Jaskafar and free all the other children!

  But then we agreed it was ridiculous. If the K&E Alliance Army, Navy and Dragon Corp had not been able to rescue the children, how could we?

  Glim was frowning to herself. ‘But I think,’ she said, ‘that we are going to try to rescue the children—because Bronte and Alejandro want to set history on the correct path, right? And when Honey Bee said that about the idea of rescuing aloud, it triggered the Detection Magic. So that must be our proper path.’

  ‘Could be we’re supposed to try it and fail dismally,’ Eli pointed out.

  Taya brightened, and punched her twin brother’s arm. ‘Maybe history says we tried and then we all got slaughtered! That’s what Bronte and Alejandro are up to—getting us back on track to our destinies—’

  ‘—of being brutally murdered!’ Eli finished.

  He laughed uproariously. They both did. They have rather a dark sense of humour, those twins.

  That very night, Finlay wrote the first chapter of this story, and sent it along to me on the following morning’s milk cart. I returned the second to him with the baker’s wagon. We have been exchanging chapters in this way ever since, although on the weekends we meet up in the Town Square and sit at the outdoor tables there, passing the story back and forth. Finlay is very eager to get it ‘all squared away’, and he sets a cracking pace. We hand over the bundle of chapters to Bronte and Alejandro when we see them—they find us in the Town Square now and then—and they whisk our words back to their genie friend.

  Once we reached the first Tuesday of volunteer work in the story, Finlay made a great show of flinging the pen away and dusting off his hands, terribly pleased to be done. However, Bronte apologised and handed our pages back to us.

  ‘The genie insists you carry on describing what’s happening,’ she explained. ‘You seem to be getting on track, she says, but it’s still touch-and-go.’

  ‘Right bossy one, she is,’ Finlay muttered, but he obeyed.

  As will I now…

  The second Tuesday morning of volunteer work, we returned to the Junkyard.

  I apologised for triggering the Detection Magic, and Bronte and Alejandro were much kinder about it than the others had been. Detection Magic is tiresome, they said, they themselves are always tripping over it.

  Rosalind arched her eyebrows and said that Bronte and Alejandro ought to learn from the Time Travel Brothers, our fortune-tellers in the Town Square. ‘They come from the future,’ she said, ‘and they know how to tell people what’s going to happen without vanishing.’

  This made Bronte and Alejandro laugh. They’d eavesdropped on those particular fortune-tellers, they said, and they were scam artists from the little village of Wasping, which is two hours east of here. They knew nothing of the future. Rosalind got into a sulk then, and refused to do any more collecting, instead lying moodily in the back of the cart. Victor brought her a bunch of grapes from the picnic basket, which cheered her up, although not sufficiently to get her out of the cart.

  As we picked through the junk, slowly filling our sacks, we talked in circles about trying to rescue children from the Whispering Kingdom. You could not reach the place by boat because you would be dashed against the rocks. Nor through the Impenetrable Forest because it would scratch you to pieces and throw you out. Nor from the road, because of the Whispering Gates. And nor, finally, from the sky because—well, for one thing, none of us could fly and for another the whole Kingdom is enclosed in a Witch-made shroud.

  Bronte and Alejandro simply nodded along as we talked, which was rather frustrating.

  ‘By Jove, I’ve got it!’ Hamish said. ‘If you want to go to the Whispering Kingdom, you simply ask permission of the King! My father and I vacationed there once. Father was meeting with diamond mine owners, discussing equipment issues for his own mines. They’re such a sweet people, always smiling shyly, never cutting their hair—they can hear the whispers of your emotions, you know! To get in, you ask permission of the Whispering King and he says, “Righto”, then they unlock the three gates and in you pop! Easy!’

  We set our sacks down so we could stare at Hamish properly.

  ‘Hamish,’ I said carefully. ‘You do know that we’re at war with the Whispering Kingdom?’

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘And that battles are going on across the Kingdoms and Empires? Which all started because the Whispering King stole children from everywhere and formed a club with pirates and Shadow Mages?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hamish agreed. ‘Nasty business!’

  ‘But you think we can simply call him up and ask for the children back?’

  ‘Worth a try, isn’t it?’


  Rosalind and Victor tittered madly and Glim cut in.

  ‘Hamish is right, in a way,’ she said. ‘I mean, not that we can call up the King and ask him to let us in. Sorry, Hamish, things have changed since you visited. But it’s true that Whisperers were always nice people. Look at Snatty-Ra-Ra. Why have they changed so much? Why is the King acting like this?’

  The twins seem to know about current affairs: all their newspaper reading.

  ‘He was always more ambitious than previous monarchs,’ Eli said, ‘then his wife died not long after their daughter, the Princess, was born. He turned mean and angry then, shutting the gates to the Royal Gardens, and cancelling the annual Full Moon pageant.’

  ‘How old is the Princess now?’ Finlay asked.

  ‘A teenager.’

  Bronte cleared her throat, and rubbed her nose. Alejandro glanced at her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Something odd was going on there.

  ‘By Jove, this time I have got it!’ Hamish said suddenly, hair flying around like the mane of a wild horse. ‘Bronte and Alejandro are from the future! So they must help us figure it out! Let’s make a game of it! I do like a good parlour game! Bronte and Alejandro, do give us some clues about the fut—’

  Once again, the future children disappeared.

  Honey Bee

  Me again.

  Stealing another chapter. I hope Finlay will forgive me. It’s just that I must tell you about a very strange incident.

  On the cart ride home that Tuesday, nobody bothered to make fun of Hamish for accidentally sending the children home. If you teased Hamish for all the daft things he did, you’d never get any sleep. We didn’t talk much at all that ride, actually. Nothing to say.

  The strange thing happened the following Monday. I haven’t told anybody this yet, and I’m trusting Finlay to keep it secret.

  That Monday morning, I was in mathematics class, and we were doing a test. I quite like mathematics. It’s like a big toy where you snap numbers apart, push them around and click them together again.

  Madame Dandelion, our teacher, was sitting at the front of the classroom. She had pushed off her shoes and her stockinged feet were stretched out on her silk-covered stool. She carries this little stool about wherever she goes.

  She was sighing, which she does often, as she is a tragic figure. I know this because she tells us. ‘I am a tragic figure, boys and girls, and this is why I sigh—sigh.’ It also explains why she has to lean back, put her feet up and file her nails in class. And why she moves about slowly and asks students to go and fetch berries and cigars for her.

  Rain fell heavily outside, and Rosalind was sneezing.

  Achoo, achoo (said Rosalind).

  25 apples x 3 gold pieces = 75 gold pieces (I wrote). (Expensive apples! I thought.)

  Achoo, achoo.

  95 slices of cake – 62 slices of cake = 33 slices of cake. (So much cake! I thought. Yum!)

  Achoo, achoo, achoo.

  I looked up.

  2 sneezes + 2 sneezes + 3 sneezes = 7 sneezes. (A lot of sneezes! I thought.)

  I turned around. Three rows behind me, Rosalind’s head was resting on its side on her desk. Her pen was moving very slowly across her paper. She is never a very enthusiastic student, Rosalind, and mathematics is not her thing, but still. Something was wrong.

  I looked at Madame Dandelion. She was admiring her own ankles.

  Back to Rosalind I turned. Achoo, achoo, said Rosalind. Her pen slipped from her fingers. She reached for it, then appeared to give up, and slumped back down.

  ‘Rosalind?’ I hissed.

  Madame Dandelion sighed. ‘No cheating,’ she said.

  As if I would cheat by calling across the room.

  As if I would cheat by asking Rosalind for an answer.

  ‘Excuse me, Madame Dandelion?’ I said. ‘I am only wondering if Rosalind Whitehall is quite well?’

  The moment I said it, there was a rustle of exclamations through the classroom. Everybody seemed to realise all at once: oh yes, Rosalind has been sneezing! The children either side of Rosalind glanced at her, then leapt to their feet and scurried away. Others clutched their knees up to their chests as if a mouse was running across the floor. Even Madame Dandelion pressed a palm to her mouth.

  Rosalind remained slumped on her desk.

  There was a long moment of suspense.

  At last, very slowly, Rosalind lifted her face.

  GASP!

  (That was the sound of us all gasping. In combination, it was like a wave hitting the sand.)

  Rosalind’s cheeks burned in bright pink spots. Her eyes were bloodshot and squinting. Snot ran in twin green lines from her nostrils.

  Everyone stared, aghast.

  ‘What?’ Rosalind murmured, her eyes slowly roaming the room.

  Madame Dandelion winced.

  ‘You are ill, Rosalind,’ she said, sounding bossier and less tragic than I’d ever heard her. ‘I think you have this terrible flu. You must go to the infirmary at once.’

  Rosalind smiled and wiped the back of her hand across her face. The snot smeared. It was streaked in blood.

  ‘Ew,’ said Victor.

  ‘EWW!’ agreed several other members of the class.

  Rosalind blinked. ‘No, thank you, Madame Dandelion,’ she muttered. ‘I’m happy here in bed.’ Her head clunked back onto the desk.

  ‘Golly,’ Hamish said. ‘She thinks she’s in bed! Or have I got that wrong?’

  Madame Dandelion’s eyes rushed around the room. They landed on me.

  ‘You there!’ She clicked her fingers at me. Again, she was not at all tragic. ‘Honey Bee. Take her to the infirmary!’

  There was a strange sound from Rosalind’s desk. ‘Oh, and hooray and merry days for me!’ It was a song. Rosalind was singing.

  ‘Take her at once!’ Madame Dandelion urged. ‘Cut through the teachers’ wing!’

  I must admit I hesitated. I knew Rosalind needed urgent medical help, but I did not want to catch that flu. Now Rosalind coughed. The children closest to her shrieked.

  ‘Go on!’ Madame Dandelion cried. ‘Get her out of here! Now!’

  I hurried to Rosalind’s side, hoisted her out of her desk, propped my arm around her shoulder, and half-carried her from the classroom.

  Cut through the teachers’ wing, Madame Dandelion had instructed.

  But I paused at the entrance to the teachers’ wing.

  For a student to enter that wing is frowned upon at usual times. It is positively outlawed nowadays. The wing is being used by the codebreakers from the Top Secret Military Division. ‘It is an honour to have them here!’ Sir Brathelthwaite told us at breakfast each day. ‘We are doing our duty in this war!’

  Hm, I thought. Pretty easy duty, to have people moving around in the teachers’ wing looking after their own food, cleaning and laundry, and staying well away from us.

  Nevertheless, Sir Brathelthwaite was awfully proud. ‘They have asked us not to disturb their secret work,’ he warned each morning. ‘And we shall not disturb their work! It is our great and noble duty not to disturb them!’

  This is why I paused.

  On the one hand, I wanted to do my great and noble duty and not disturb them.

  On the other hand, going through the teachers’ wing would take me directly to the infirmary. Going around it meant stepping out through the side door into the garden, skirting around the fountain, and climbing the back stairs.

  Rosalind snored quietly onto my shoulder.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I dithered.

  ‘Do you think I’ll be a singing star one day?’ Rosalind asked suddenly, her voice muffled by my uniform. ‘Probably I will, you know. They’ll throw flowers on the stage! I will swim through the flowers to the grasshopper’s waltz and I’ll blow bubbles into all of the zucchini. Not just some of it, mind. All of it.’

  Oh my, I thought. She’s completely delusional.

  Rosalind cannot sing a note.

  Into the teachers’ wing we went.r />
  At first, the corridor was empty, and I clumped along, half-dragging Rosalind past several closed doors. Music Teachers’ Staff Room, said the sign on one door. Conference Room, said the next.

  Then I passed a door that was slightly ajar. I glanced inside. I could not help it. Men and women were gathered around a large table. Mostly strangers, but I spotted our local constable, Rachel Rally—the one I’d seen Spellbinding the queen’s guard. She must be learning codebreaking too, I thought. I peered at the table and saw the most peculiar thing! It was covered in looms. The kind that you use to weave nets! I caught glimpses of hands moving swiftly, pieces of twine crossing back and forth.

  Gosh, I thought.

  The next door was wide open.

  ‘Slice the dandelions finely,’ a woman’s voice said, loud and clear. ‘Then add a handful of pink peppercorns and a quart of boiled water.’

  Oh my, I thought.

  The next two doors were closed, but I could hear men and women’s voices in each. They were chanting a verse.

  I began to feel extremely uneasy.

  Who were these people? We had been told that they were codebreakers. But don’t codebreakers try to break codes? What were they doing weaving nets, chopping up dandelions and chanting poetry?

  No wonder they insisted on not being disturbed!

  ‘Come on,’ I hissed at Rosalind. She had nestled her head onto my shoulder as if I was a pillow, and her legs were beginning to sink towards the floor. ‘Rosalind! Please!’

  At that moment, a door opened, just down the corridor ahead of us. A woman stepped out, smiling to herself as if something amusing had just happened. She was large, maybe in her twenties, with bright eyes and a great swoop of hair bundled together with a silver clip.

  She stopped. Her smile fell. Her eyes flew from my face to Rosalind’s drooping form and back again.