“Hello,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Ralf picked up a slab of butter, which he licked like it was ice cream. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Sit.”
“I don’t want to,” Sophie said.
She thought they were going to argue with her, but Gail only shrugged and crammed the toast into his mouth. She stared at them, looking for a blob of paint, a hint of embarrassment, a single glint of triumph in their faces. Cartwright pulled out the chair next to him.
“Scree made scrambled glowfish,” he said. “It’s . . . unusual.”
Sophie stared at the twins again, willing them to say something incriminating. Their hands were completely clean of paint. She looked at her own nails, which she’d scrubbed clean last night. She did scrub them, didn’t she? Or was she imagining things? She sat down and gingerly picked up a fork as the Battleship swept half a kipper into her mouth.
“There’s paint on your shoulder,” she said to Ralf.
“There’s not,” he said without looking.
“And on your face,” she said, and they stared at each other for a few seconds. Ralf didn’t even blink.
Scree came in, dragging a trolley piled with plates of green jelly.
“Wasn’t expecting extra people,” he said, wrinkling his nose at Sophie. “Ain’t enough jelly for you, too. You could have mine, I suppose. It doesn’t matter. I can go hungry. I’ll just have yesterday’s fish. Never mind old Scree.”
“You enjoy your jelly,” she said to him as Ralf poked his with a long finger and the Battleship inhaled hers. Scree gave her a sour look and shuffled off again. Sophie realized with a pang of guilt that he must have cleaned up the paint-splattered mess that she trailed all through the house.
“What on earth happened last night?” Cartwright murmured as the twins tried to build their jelly into castles. “They haven’t thrown a single thing at me this morning. They’re pleased with themselves.”
“I’m not sure,” she said, then remembered that she was annoyed with him. “You’re not meant to be talking to me, are you? I’m the Great Betrayer.”
“I’ve forgiven you,” he said.
“How kind.”
“I’ve forgiven you for stealing my clothes, too,” he said. “They suit you.”
“You shouldn’t leave your things lying around in old wardrobes,” she said, suddenly irritable. “Why have you forgiven me? What’s in it for you?”
“Everything,” he said. “Shall we at least be polite to each other? I think it could be mutually beneficial.”
“What are you two driveling on about?” asked Ralf dangerously, flicking a lump of jelly toward them.
“Your wonderful nails,” said Cartwright. “Do you file them into points, or are they natural?”
“You’re a creep, Cartwright.”
“You’re a blithering little idiot.”
“Your face looks like it was hit with a really boring spade.”
“I’m sorry about your face. It must be terribly hard for you.”
“Shut up!” barked the Battleship, bringing her fist down on her plate, which cracked in half. “I’m sick of your bickering.”
“Yes. Do something fun or we’ll scream,” said Gail, fingers twitching impatiently.
“Let’s have a play!” shouted Ralf, leaping out of his seat.
“Great,” said Cartwright.
The twins jumped onto the table, kicking all of the dishes and cutlery out of the way. They sang completely out of time with each other, stamping their feet so the table shook. Their eyes were fixed on Sophie and Cartwright, and she knew it was a ploy to stop them talking, but they soon got carried away and started dancing up and down, slipping through the jelly and snorting with laughter when they landed on their backs. The Battleship picked up her butter knife as though contemplating a murder.
Sophie grabbed hold of Cartwright and pulled him under the table.
The thick tablecloth muffled the sound of falling cutlery, but the air vibrated with the twin’s stamping and horrible laughter.
“I know what you want from me,” Sophie said. “You want something called the Monster Box. I don’t know what’s in it, but you’re going to ask me to find it for you, and in return you’ll get me to the New Continent. That’s right, isn’t it?”
He stared at her, so she continued: “I’m not stupid. The twins are already trying to stop me.”
“I underestimated you,” he said. “You’re quite sharp.”
“As Ralf’s nails,” she said. “Tell me what’s in the box or I won’t do it.”
The noise above them stopped. They both held their breath.
“Applause! Applause!” shouted Gail, and Scree, who had secreted himself in a corner somewhere, clapped weakly.
“Well done, young sirs . . .”
“Don’t clap, Scree,” said the Battleship, and he stopped.
“Clap!” said Ralf.
“Don’t you dare!”
“ANOTHER ONE!” shouted Gail, and they started again, cheering themselves as they stamped across the table.
“I don’t know exactly what’s in the box,” Cartwright said. “I never had a chance to find out.”
“You’re telling me that you came all the way here for a box that your mad old uncle gave you, and you don’t even know what it’s for? Let them have it!”
“It’s important,” he said.
“Do you know that for a fact, or is it just a feeling?”
“You help me and I’ll help you. I can’t do it myself, not with both of them hounding me at once. If we work together we’re as strong as they are.”
“Is this box worth all the trouble?”
“If my suspicions are correct, it will save the world,” he said.
The twins’ song finished, and Scree clapped again. They jumped around on the table, whooping and applauding themselves.
“Hey, where did Silverfish and Cartwright go?” said Gail.
“You’re ridiculous,” said Sophie. “And you’re mad. I don’t trust you.”
He beamed. “Meet me in the courtyard this afternoon. And be careful of the twins.”
Sophie glared at him. The twins whipped the tablecloth away and light flooded in. Their heads appeared, upside down.
“Camping,” said Gail. “Can we play?”
Sophie crawled out from under the table. Ralf dropped jelly on her head.
“Whoops,” he said.
She scraped it out and flung it right back.
“Whoops,” she said. She scrambled up and sat at the table again, among all the wreckage. She slid her hand into her pocket and felt the silver scissors that she’d stolen last night, and which she’d kept, just in case. She was having an idea.
“How about a story?” she said. “A good one. If I tell you a story, will you let everyone eat breakfast in peace?”
The twins considered the offer. It was possible to see the corners of their lips twitching as they tried to work out what the catch was. Gail was the first to give in.
“Let’s hear it, then,” he said. “I bet it’s rubbish.”
“I bet it’s not,” said Sophie.
“Does it have blood in it?” said Ralf.
“It begins,” said Sophie, looking at them all, “with a murder.”
Chapter 14
The Tailor
In Which We Learn Why Scissors Are Dangerous
On the windswept coast of a gray land there was a tall and terrible scissor factory. It was made of steel, and it had doors that could withstand an army. Every day hundreds of workers filed in and out, walking in unison because the steady snip, snip of the scissor-making machines was drummed into their hearts.
The scissor factory was run by the Tailor. While the scissor-making machines ran, he sat in his tower designing t
he newest pair of blades. He created scissors that were huge and silver, small and gold, stone and shell, scissors you could eat, and scissors with curved blades that looked like a parrot’s beak.
* * *
“I like scissors,” interrupted Gail, and everyone looked at him. It felt like someone had punched a hole in the glass between them and Sophie. She blinked, confused.
“Shut up,” said Ralf.
“Yes, shut up,” said Cartwright. “Both of you.”
“The Tailor liked scissors, too,” said Sophie, and their heads swiveled back. She grasped blindly for the tail end of the story. “That’s why nobody liked him.”
* * *
He loved the way their long blades went snip, snip. Each pair he made was beautiful and satisfying in a way nobody could put their finger on (and wouldn’t want to put their finger in between, because each pair was sharp as a razor clam). When a new design was brought out, people would line up in front of their local scissor shop to get their hands on the first pair.
But one night one of the workers, a blade inspector, crept into the factory to steal the Tailor’s latest designs. He was caught by the pearl polisher, who was still working, and a fight ensued. In the morning the pearl polisher was found dead with a pair of Silver Snips in his heart. The murderer had fled, and it was the Tailor who discovered the body. The factory workers saw the Tailor standing over the pearl polisher, and each, seizing a pair of scissors, chased the Tailor from the factory and into the sea.
As was his habit, the Tailor had his favorite pair of scissors up his sleeve. They were long and keen, and as he entered the water, the chopping of a hundred pairs of scissors behind him, he drew them out and opened the blades.
The workers thought he was trapped. There were sea creatures in the water, huge and hungry ones that ate whoever went near them. But the Tailor slipped and slid across the tidal path, toward an island so full of holes it was like a peach stone, and every time a creature came near him—snip! snip!—he cut off their tentacles.
He lived on the island for the rest of his life, with nothing to eat but the roaming tentacles he chopped off for his dinner, and nothing to drink but the salt water which eventually made him mad. He could never return to the mainland, because day and night there was someone waiting on the beach with a pair of his scissors. Eventually, after eating a poison-tipped squid, he died.
* * *
“Right,” said Ralf. “I knew that was going to happen.”
Sophie’s head jerked up and the vision cleared again. Both the twins were trailing their fingers through the slime on the table, although Cartwright and the Battleship were staring at her like they’d seen her have a fit.
“You didn’t know what was going to happen,” said Sophie. “Anyway, that’s cheating.”
“We did a play like it once,” said Gail. “I was the pair of scissors.”
“I like it,” interrupted the Battleship, shifting forward on her throne. “I feel sorry for the Tailor. He must have felt very alone.”
“Oh, stop making it about you,” said Ralf. “We know you feel alone. You married father for his oysters. It’s your own fault you don’t have anything left.”
“This house,” she said, “is mine.”
“This house is ours. We just let you stay here because you’re too heavy to move.”
The Battleship looked at them with barely suppressed rage. Cartwright put his hand over his aunt’s and said, “Don’t listen to them.”
Sophie had assumed that Cartwright hated his aunt, but even she felt some pity for the woman, who looked sad and deflated.
“Oh, listen to Cartwright sucking up,” Ralf said with a sneer. “She does it for attention. Next she’ll start whining about how bad she feels about driving our father insane.”
“I rather think you drove him insane,” said Cartwright.
“Besides, Mother,” said Ralf, “you must remember that we’re on the same side. We’re both trying to protect the same thing, aren’t we?”
From the corner of her eye Sophie saw Cartwright’s free hand tighten around his spoon. The Battleship pulled her hand away from his and pushed the table aside so she could get out. She swooped over to the door, and Ralf cackled, long and loud.
“I’m going to get you one day,” Cartwright warned Ralf. “It’s your fault my uncle went mad. I’m going to grab you by your scrawny little neck and—”
“He returned!” shouted Sophie. Everyone stopped and looked at her. Ralf’s mouth began to open, so she plowed on before he could make any more noise. “The Tailor. He came back.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Gail.
“Yeah. He rose from the dead.”
Cartwright looked at her murderously, but he let go of the spoon. Sophie thought again about the scissors, and a plan began to form. She didn’t know how or when she would use it. But it was there, uncurling like a streamer, along with the wicked urge to teach them all a lesson.
“The Tailor rose from the dead,” she said calmly.
* * *
His death should have been the end of him, but he was full of hate for his factory workers, and hate is one of the only things strong enough to drag a dead man back to his own body. He rose from his resting place looking for revenge.
The island he haunted became Catacomb Hill, and his ghost is still here. At night he wanders the house with his scissors, and every time he turns a corner they go snip, snip. If you hear that sound you’d better run. When he sees someone he doesn’t like the look of, he leaps on to their back and stabs them with his pair of scissors.
Legend has it that if you catch the ghost, you will be granted three and a half wishes by the Tailor. Power, fame, immortality—you could have anything.
The chance comes once in a lifetime, but what a lifetime it would be. You would rule the world.
Chapter 15
Scree’s Warning
Sophie had created something monstrous with her story. All day she fought the sensation that a character had crept out of it and was following her around. Everywhere she went there was rustling behind her, creaking floors, and shadows that flickered just a second after she passed. Either the Tailor’s ghost had oozed out of the walls, or she was being followed by a sea creature that had learned to quietly walk on the tips of its tentacles. It wasn’t a crazy idea. It happened on her street last year, when the local constable went to check on a family that had been missing for days. He’d found them cowering behind the kitchen door, on which an enterprising toe-tentacled squid had stuck itself and was playing with the light switch on the other side of the room.
Another thing was haunting her, too. During the midday Bone Snatching, in which she’d nearly lost a foot, Sophie had been struck by what Ralf had said to his mother: We’re both trying to protect the same thing. She wondered if he meant the Monster Box. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to look for it. Not until Cartwright told her what was in it, which he wouldn’t because he was a self-satisfied, irritating idiot.
Which made her wonder why she was searching the house from top to bottom, looking for a sword she could give him.
It’s only fair, she told herself sternly. You lost his in the sea.
She entered the corridor of portraits that she saw with Scree on the first night. Almost too late she heard the stairs creak, and when she looked around she saw a shadow forming at the top of a spiral staircase. Her first thought was ghost, and without thinking she secreted herself behind a roll of boggy carpet leaning against the wall. Moments later the twins appeared.
“I thought you said she went this way,” said Gail.
“We’ll go back. Maybe she’s on the beach.”
Sophie pressed herself against the wall, praying to sink through the moldy plaster until they left. She watched them saunter down the corridor, until Ralf suddenly noticed the portrait of them and their father and stopped.
&nbs
p; “So that’s where he put it,” he said. “That horrible picture. Do you remember when we had to stand there for the painter?”
“He’s made that one taller,” said Gail, pointing to the picture, which struck Sophie as very odd. Ralf laughed and jabbed it with his finger, leaving a small dent in his father’s forehead.
“Stupid old man,” he said. “He deserved everything he got. Self-obsessed, unloving . . .”
“Cold,” suggested Gail.
“Yes, that’s a good one,” mused Ralf. “Cold. But never as cold as he was on the beach.”
Sophie shuddered at the image of Laurel lying on the stones, an icicle on his nose.
“I sort of miss him,” said Gail. “It was fun to terrorize him.”
“He hated us. He called us little monsters.”
“We did our best.”
They stared at the portrait a little longer.
“Father’s problem,” Ralf said thoughtfully, “is that he had no ambition. He could make things, but he never knew what to do with them. If he’d paid attention to us we could have guided him. Turned his coffee machines into guns. We’d all be kings.”
“Instead he made that stupid box.”
“Cartwright should be thankful we’re hiding it from him.”
“Why don’t we just throw it in the sea, Ralf?”
“You can’t just destroy something like that. It’s too good an invention. It could make us powerful.”
“If only we had the key.”
“We’ll find it when we want to. Then we can use the box to make people do whatever we want. One day. When we’re ready to leave the island.”
“When our play’s finished. But . . . maybe it won’t ever be ready,” Gail said hopefully.
Sophie snorted with laughter, then remembered that she was hiding and held her breath. Ralf looked around, but she was too well hidden.
“Shut up,” said Ralf finally. “You’re too soft, Gail.”
He dug around in his pocket and came up with a pickled egg. He put the whole thing in his mouth at once, chewing while he regarded the painting.
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