“Lysander and Demetrius do likewise fear to lay them down to sleep,” said Puck. “They fear to freeze to death. But I must drop the juice of the flower into their eyes, too, that they may fall in love with Helena.”
“But if you lot can do magic, can’t you just make it a bit warmer?” I asked.
Puck shook his head. “The only spells we have the power to cast are the spells we use in our play.”
“And aren’t there any of those that might help?” I asked. Puck and the fairy queen looked at each other. “Well,” said Titania. “Perchance—the fog.”
“The fog?” asked Puck.
“Fog is warmer than snow, at least.” She batted her glittering eyelashes.
Puck furrowed his brow, then nodded and started murmuring something about dark fogs, covered stars, and a veil of night. It stopped snowing instantly. The sky grew darker, and then darker still. Swathes of murky cloud descended on the clearing and swallowed up the figures of the fairy queen and her subjects.
“Can’t you conjure—like—a see-through fog or something?” I asked Puck, but he too had vanished. I heard Werther’s teeth chattering somewhere close by, but I couldn’t see him anymore. “Werther?” I asked.
“Miss Amy?” he replied, from a completely different direction to the one I’d been expecting. It also sounded as though he was no longer standing right beside me but a few yards away, in the trees somewhere. I put out my hands and felt about for Will, who had been standing to my left, but my fingers found nothing but empty air. “Will?” I called. “Will? Werther? Titania? Puck?”
Nobody answered.
“M … Mustardseed?” I stammered. What was the name of the other fairy Titania had mentioned? “Pea…” I swallowed. “… Pea-soup?”
Off to my right, somebody giggled.
I spun around and stumbled blindly a few paces toward the sound, but it didn’t seem to come any closer. The giggling grew fainter and fainter and eventually fell silent. I stood still and listened in the darkness. Perhaps, I thought, the fog swallowed up any sound you made and released it again in a completely different place. Or perhaps I’d just lost my bearings? Still, at least the fog had thawed the wood out a bit. The temperature was more like autumn than winter now. Wasn’t this pitch blackness going to make it difficult for the story to carry on as normal, though? Or was there an end to the darkness somewhere? Was I the only one left behind in Puck’s fog?
Wait—what was that?
There was something rustling in the bushes behind me. And a snapping noise, like somebody stepping on a twig.
I groped my way cautiously deeper into the wood. There was somebody breathing in the trees, and I moved slowly toward the sound.
“Will?” I whispered. “Is that you?”
“I love thee not, Helena,” said a man’s voice. “Follow me no more, or I shall end by killing thee.”
“Better to die by the hand I love than to go back. Now come, Demetrius, make not such a fuss. Lay thee down to sleep, that Puck may cast his spell upon you. ’Tis warmer now,” a woman’s voice replied.
“Never,” Demetrius retorted. “My heart belongs to Hermia alone. I do not wish to forget her nor to freeze to death this night.”
“Here—take thou my kerchief,” Helena said with a sigh.
From somewhere nearby came the sound of sobbing—somebody was obviously overcome with emotion at this touching little scene. It sounded suspiciously like Werther. I stumbled onward, trying to get to him; but now the sobs turned into giggles, produced—unless I was very much mistaken—by Puck. I changed direction, angrily and a little too hastily, and walked slap bang into a tree. I hit my head on the trunk so hard it sent me staggering backward.
“Ouch!” I gasped, landing on my bum on a particularly solid tree root. I rubbed my forehead and felt a lump swelling rapidly beneath my fingers. Great. And to think I was actually less clumsy in the book world than the outside world! Although I’d probably been tempting fate a bit by running through a forest in the pitch dark, to be fair.
When I got to my feet again I felt slightly dizzy. My forehead throbbed, and I groped my way through the darkness even more gingerly now. I couldn’t hear Demetrius and Helena anymore and Puck’s giggles had receded too. For a while I walked deeper and deeper into the thicket without hearing a sound. There didn’t even seem to be any animals stirring. I felt almost like the only living creature in the whole wood. I wouldn’t even have been sure there were trees either side of me if I hadn’t been running my fingers over their trunks and branches.
I almost tripped a few times after catching my foot on a vine or a tree root, and several times I had to stop to untangle my hair from low-hanging twigs and brambles.
But the darkness persisted.
I was completely enveloped by Puck’s fog. The blackness was thick and impenetrable and showed no sign of lifting as I went on. I’d long since lost all sense of where I was. Was I getting closer to the city? Was I going around in circles? Or was there no longer an end and a beginning—had the darkness become all-encompassing, omnipresent? I started to feel afraid.
Where was I?
Where were Will and Werther? Where were all the characters from the play?
I tugged frantically at anything I could lay my hands on: ferns, stones, tree branches. If I could only turn the page! Take myself somewhere a bit lighter! But no matter how much I tugged and strained, it was no use—the pages would not turn, and the darkness persisted. Why could I not find the corners of any of these pages? Had I really come so far from any sort of plot? Shouldn’t I at least have come to the edge of the play eventually, and crossed over into another story? Was there no way out?
Panic welled up inside me.
A little voice in my head whispered spiteful things: You’re lost. You’re never going to find your way out of this wood. You’re going to die in this fog.
No, I thought, standing still and forcing myself to breathe deeply. The darkness wouldn’t last forever. Eventually I’d run into one of the others and together we’d find our way back. I would get out of this book—I just had to stay calm. Damp, cold forest air filled my lungs. But my heart was still racing. Panic clutched at my throat with a grip like iron, and I couldn’t shake it off.
And then I saw it. All of a sudden, in the darkness.
It was a blade.
The silver blade of a dagger flashed before me; its bright gleam hurt my eyes. I gasped. The antique weapon was jewel-encrusted and gripped by a pale hand—I couldn’t see who it belonged to. Perhaps the wrist disappeared into a black sleeve, or perhaps it was a hand without a body, floating through the night.
One thing was certain: the hand was preparing to strike.
The blade glinted in the blackness of the fog as the dagger hummed through the air. Somebody was driving it toward my chest. Somebody was aiming for my heart. I realized all this within a fraction of a second. I heard myself scream. At the same time I took a step backward, tripped over a stone, fell. The blade missed me by millimeters. The back of my head cracked against a tree.
I blacked out for a moment.
When I came to, the dagger and the pale hand that held it had vanished. I blinked. The blackness was total once more. It surrounded me, heavy and unbroken. I sat there with my back to the tree trunk. My whole body trembled.
I listened intently to the darkness.
Was I alone again?
You’re going to die in this wood, whispered the cruel voice in my head. You see—you’re going to die, just like I said. It’s only a matter of time. Tears welled from the corners of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away. Perhaps it was only a matter of time until the attacker found me and tried again, I thought. Then I heard the footsteps. I knew I had to run. But my body was paralyzed. I couldn’t move.
A rustling noise nearby. There was somebody there. Far too close.
I held my breath.
“Amy? Amy, where are you? Was that you screaming?”
It wa
s Will’s voice, unmistakable. “Amy, is everything okay?”
Will! Relief flooded through me and I let out my breath. “I’m here,” I whispered.
“Amy?”
“Will?”
The rustling came closer. Will bumped into my shoulder, and his fingers moved tentatively along my hairline, over my ear, and down to my chin.
“Why are you crying?” asked Will. I felt him lower himself to the ground beside me.
“I … somebody attacked me,” I faltered. “With a dagger.”
“What? With a dagger? Are you hurt?”
“No, I … I managed to get out of the way and then … then all of a sudden he was gone.”
“Thank God,” said Will. “Did you see who it was? Or where he went?”
“No. I’m just so glad he’s gone. Do you know where Werther is?”
“No.”
I sighed. “I hate this fog. I wish Puck would make it stop.”
“That might take a while,” said Will. “Puck is having way too much fun confusing everybody.”
“Oh, great!” I shuddered at the thought of being stuck in this darkness a moment longer.
“Are you cold?” Will put his arm round me. In daylight I’d never have dared but now I leaned gratefully against him. The darkness seemed to wrap itself more tightly around us, pushing us closer together, as if it were trying to shackle us to the tree behind our backs. My breathing gradually slowed as I listened to Will’s heartbeat. His T-shirt gave off a smell of moorland and soap. It smelled of Stormsay—a kind of proof that the island did still exist beyond this darkness. And it smelled of Will.
“I’m so glad not to be stranded here on my own anymore,” I murmured into the thin fabric.
“Me too,” said Will. “Thank you for opening my eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Coming here was the right thing to do. The chaos in this story is unbelievable—we have to do something about it. You were right: I can’t keep hiding in the outside world.” He shifted his weight a little. “Amy?” His face was suddenly very close to mine. So close that I felt his breath on my cheek.
I felt a flutter in my chest. “Yes?”
“I … I’m glad you and your mum came to Stormsay,” he murmured.
“Really?”
Will’s reply was soft and warm. It brushed my lips as gently as a butterfly’s wing.
“Miss Amy!”
Will’s reply ended abruptly.
“Werther,” said Will, letting go of me.
It was only then that I realized I’d had my eyes closed, because when I opened them again the darkness had given way to a dusky light; the fog still clung to the grass and ferns in places, but it was starting to recede. I must have gone around in a circle after all, because we were back in the fairy queen’s clearing (if indeed we had ever left it). There was no sign of the dancing fairies or of Titania herself, but the hammock with the bed of moss was still there, swinging gently to and fro.
In it sat Werther.
Loose strands of hair hung down around his face, leaves and twigs tangled up in them. One of the sleeves had come off his frilled shirt and his silk stockings were in tatters. He scrutinized us, lips pursed, his eyes moving from me to Will and back again. Then he nodded slowly, looking as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Good to see you again,” said Will.
Werther’s nostrils flared. “Well,” he said, without looking at Will, “I have been looking everywhere for you, Miss Amy, anxious to ensure your safety. Are you quite well? Are you wounded?”
“Just a scratch.” I prodded the lump on my forehead, which had already started to go down. “Um—where are the fairies?”
Werther shrugged.
“No idea,” said Will, tipping his head back. It had started snowing again. Thick flakes rained down on us from the sky. The temperature was dropping with every breath we took. “Let’s get back to the city before Puck conjures up the fog again. Perhaps the summer was stolen right at the beginning of the story, and the characters there can help us.”
“Hmm,” I said, unconvinced. “Oh well—if that’s the case at least we won’t freeze to death trying to find out.”
Will stood up and put out a hand to help me to my feet. Werther climbed down from the fairy hammock, and we left the enchanted wood. Soon we were passing through the gates of the city of Athens.
The princess waited for the knight to return.
For days on end she waited.
Had he forgotten her?
13
SHAKESPEARE’S SEAT
IT WAS ALREADY LATE AFTERNOON by the time Will and I decided to jump back to Stormsay. We’d spent hours questioning the characters in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but our efforts had met with little success. Only one character—the weaver who’d ended up with a donkey’s head partway through the story—had reported seeing a hooded figure scurrying through the woods just before the summer had been stolen. Though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it had been the thief he’d seen, or just a fairy.
I was frustrated by our lack of progress. We urgently needed a more effective plan of action: far from making things clearer, our foray into A Midsummer Night’s Dream had just confused matters. Instead of catching the thief, I’d nearly got myself stabbed. And then there was the thing with Will, whose eye I’d been avoiding ever since the fog had lifted.
Had he really kissed me, out there in the dark? Our lips had touched so briefly … or had it just been my imagination? Just a product of the fairy magic that had given rise to such unlikely pairs of lovers, and had even made a fairy queen fall for a donkey? I felt another flutter in my chest when I remembered how close I’d been to Will. But at the same time a horrible memory popped into my head, a memory that had been fighting its way to the surface with increasing persistence for the past few hours. The memory of a school trip. The others had been playing Truth or Dare one evening and—
“You’re jumping again!” squealed Betsy the moment we landed on the mat in the stone circle. A second later she was rushing over to Will, hugging him fiercely. “I knew it!” she cried, ruffling his hair. “You’ve seen sense! At last!”
I stood up and took a few unsteady steps away from them.
“You’ve been in The Jungle Book together, have you?” Glenn inquired.
I gave a start—I hadn’t seen him standing there. A gray monk’s habit in a circle of gray stones was the perfect camouflage. “Yes … Um, actually we were in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and—”
“Not to worry,” said Glenn, who was sitting on one of the boulders with a thermos flask between his knees. Beside him were two used teacups. He and Betsy had clearly been waiting for us for quite some time. He smiled. “If Shakespeare is what it takes to get Will jumping again, that’s fine by me.”
“You’re jumping again, you’re jumping again!” sang Betsy. She’d taken both Will’s hands and was trying to spin him around in a circle. He went along with it reluctantly but stared over her shoulder the whole time, exhausted. I kept looking at his lips.
On that school trip Paul had asked for a dare and Tamara had given him a simple task: kiss Amy. It was pretty easy as dares go. Especially considering that his best friend Tom had just been made to eat half a lipstick. I hadn’t exactly been mad keen to kiss Paul either, but the fact that he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to do it.… He’d shuddered in disgust and flatly refused. “Ew! Not her!” he’d shouted. “I’d rather eat the other half of the lipstick! Please!” The others had laughed and come up with a new dare for him. I’d gone to bed.
At last Betsy released her hold on Will. She was out of breath, but still beaming. “It’s all sorted now, but you have to come up to the castle,” she panted. “Your parents have been going mental at us on the phone for hours.”
“What?” Will exclaimed. All at once he was wide awake.
“Apparently they heard about what happened to Holmes and they want you to go and live with them on Mainland,” Glen
n explained. “They’re saying that if you’re not jumping anymore anyway—”
“Really?” Will’s face darkened.
“Don’t worry—my dad is fuming. He’s already given them a piece of his mind,” Betsy assured him, but this only seemed to make Will angrier.
“Let’s go,” he growled. “I’ll talk to them.” He stomped down the hill, Betsy following behind.
Glenn, meanwhile, tucked the cups and the flask away in the folds of his robe and set off back to the Secret Library.
At last I stood alone in the middle of the stone circle, pressing the soft red leather of The Jungle Book against my chest. On the moor the shapes of Betsy and Will grew smaller and smaller the closer they got to Macalister Castle. The wind blew in my face and brushed my lips, so much harsher and colder than Will’s kiss. Assuming he had actually kissed me, and it hadn’t just been one of Puck’s pranks. In my imagination, a gawky girl with a donkey’s head and a red ponytail ran through a dark wood and the boy she met did not realize, because he had been enchanted by the juice of a magic flower.
* * *
The Macalisters had always been proud of their warlike past—hence the suits of armor, helmets, and chain-mail shirts lined up along the walls of the knights’ hall. Behind them hung swords and flails and paintings of various battle scenes. The Macalister Dragon stared out from every corner of the hall, keeping a watchful eye on proceedings. There was something menacing in its look. The family had once been famed for its bloodthirstiness and the Laird, regally ensconced in a huge armchair at one end of the room, still liked to remind people of this fact when he wished to intimidate them. Unfortunately for him, however, his brother and sister-in-law Arran and Liza Macalister could not see him, and therefore had no idea how majestically he was holding the telephone.
Will strode hurriedly across the hall and snatched the handset from the Laird without a word. “Mum? Dad? What’s up?” he asked.
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