‘Uhh, thanks, Willow.’ Why is she being so nice all of a sudden?
Her eyelids flutter. ‘Listen, Milly. I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, but I’d like to put everything behind us and start again.’
‘You would?’
‘Absolutely. What do you say?’
Lottie saves me from answering. ‘She bovverin’ you, Milly?
‘Run along, Li,’ says Willow. ‘This is a private conversation.’
Lottie juts out her dimply chin. ‘Why don’t you run along, Perkins, before I smack this over your kale ’ole.’
I don’t think Lottie realizes she only comes up to Willow’s armpits. She peels something off my back. It’s a piece of paper with one word in big, red letters.
BACKSTABBER.
Willow’s eyes darken. ‘I’d watch yourself if I were you, Li. When Milly falls, she drags her friends down with her.’ Then for no reason at all, she starts to sob. Lottie spins around as footsteps pad along the corridor.
A twig-thin woman with long, white hair swoops towards us. A white skirt swishes at her ankles. A white scarf shimmers at her throat. Judging by her frosty expression, Willow Perkins is in serious trouble.
‘Willow?’ says the woman. ‘Is there a problem, ma chère?’
Willow sniffs. ‘They were trying to make me wear that, Madame.’
The woman snatches the sign from Lottie. ‘What is zis?’
Lottie clenches her fists. ‘She’s lyin’!’
‘Willow, you may go.’
‘Yes, Madame. Thank you, Madame.’ Willow bolts through the doors.
Madame’s grey eyes ice over. ‘Have I not warned you before, Charlotte Li? It is not even twelve o’clock and already you are making trouble. Look at you! What did you do to your eye – and your hand also? Always it is ze fisticuffs!’
Lottie shrugs. ‘No one bullies a friend of mine and gets away wiv it. And I did like the Captain said, I never broke no rules – only used my fists.’
Madame tuts. ‘Only used your fists?’ She frowns at my dungarees and tuts again. ‘And you. What have you got to say for yourself? It is your first day, yes?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t Lottie’s fault just now—’
‘Enough. Another incident like zis and it will be your last. And take off your hat when you address me.’ I tug off my beret and my bracelet jangles.
Madame’s eyes widen. ‘If you had read our prospectus you would know zat Swan House does not allow jewellery. Give zat to me.’
I slip off the bracelet and clutch it behind my back. ‘But, Madame, it’s my mum’s. I won’t wear it again, I promise.’
‘Give it to me, I said.’
I can’t help it. I do a little stomp. ‘No.’
Madame lifts my chin with a long, white fingernail. ‘No one says non to Madame.’ She grabs my wrist and seizes Mum’s bracelet. ‘Charlotte, you will see me after supper. Millicent Kydd – you should choose tes amis more carefully.’
Madame marches into the theatre and the doors swing in our faces.
Lottie groans. ‘I keep forgettin’ I promised Ms Celia I’d count to a hundred when I got angry.’
My wrist is red where Mum’s bracelet should be. ‘Is she always so horrible?’
‘Yeah, Madame is as bad as Perkins. Did I tell you she got my room-mates turfed out last term?’
‘Really?’ I trail Lottie into the theatre and Madame pops out of my head. I gawp at the golden balconies, the velvety curtains, the swans painted on the sky-blue ceiling. The back of the stage is open to the lake. Branches sway in the breeze. Real life swans glide on the sparkling water. It’s small and utterly ideal’no.
‘Wow.’
Lottie shrugs. ‘S’all right, ain’t it. C’mon, there are three empty seats near the boy wiv the . . . wait a minute, is he wearin’ a mask?’
We squeeze between lots of boney knees and squash either side of Merv. Spencer’s slouched in the chair in front.
‘Is the back of the stage always open?’ I ask.
‘Only when it’s sunny,’ replies Lottie. ‘It’s a right lark – you can dive into the lake from up there.’
Merv pulls down his mask. ‘Only if you want to get expelled. Anyway, the shutters are closed most of the time for security purposes.’
‘Who asked you?’ says Lottie.
‘This is Merv,’ I say. ‘Merv, this is Lottie Li.’
Lottie pulls a face. ‘What’s wiv the mask?’
Merv blinks. ‘It’s for protection.’
‘Protection against what?’
‘Pollution, dust, bacteria, viruses––’
‘Wish I’d never asked,’ says Lottie.
I point at a glass box suspended above the exit behind us. ‘What’s that, Lottie?’
‘It’s the control room, where they keep all the sound and lightin’ and stuff.’
I think Merv’s grunt is Mervish for ‘Awesome’.
Spencer twists around in his chair and stares at Lottie.
Lottie glares back. ‘What are you lookin’ at? Ain’t you seen a black eye before?’
‘OK, Shorty. Keep your tights on.’
‘Who are you callin’ short?’ Lottie jumps up. ‘You want to go outside?’
Spencer pulls a please-don’t-hurt-me face, then laughs. ‘I should warn you – I’m a blue-belt in taekwondo.’
‘Ooooo,’ says Lottie. ‘I’m so scared. NOT.’ Luckily, Madame claps for silence and a hush falls like snow.
‘Welcome to Swan House School of Ballet. My name is Madame de La Cloche, your Head of Ballet. I have one short announcement to make before ze director makes her speech, and it is zis: ze term ahead, it will be dark, it will be dangerous. You might think it is warm outside, but for every one of you, ze summer is now over.’
Merv squeezes his satchel. Lottie kicks Spencer’s chair. Spencer slips his sunglasses into his pocket. Outside, there’s a rumble which sounds like thunder, but as it draws nearer, Lottie whispers in my ear. ‘That’ll be Ms Celia and Winifred.’
‘Who’s Winifred?’
‘You’ll see,’ says Lottie.
Behind Madame, a pair of steel shutters grate together and I watch ze summer disappear. A large screen lowers in front of the shutters and Ms Celia strides out from the wings. There’s a rip in her trousers and a black smudge on her cheek. Her smile is so brief, I wonder if I imagined it.
‘Thank you, Madame,’ she says in a no-nonsense voice. ‘I will follow your example and get straight to the point.
‘As most of you know, every year, the Popov family invite three schools to compete in the Scarlet Slipper Ballet Prize. This year is no exception, and this morning the selected schools were announced.’
She gestures behind her and photographs of two men light up the screen. A chubby one hugging a trophy and a scary one in a black fur coat.
‘The gentleman on my right, holding the trophy for Texan Ballet School of the Year is Dick Van Twinkle – director of Van Twinkle’s Stars of Tomorrow. On my left, and making a return to the world of ballet, is Ivan Korolev, founder of the leading ballet school in Casova, the Korolev Dance Academy.’
The girl next to Spencer gasps.
Ivan Korolev? Wasn’t he the boy in the painting – the one with the bottle of poison?
Ms Celia turns to face us. ‘You will be pleased to learn that the third and final school to take part in the Scarlet Slippers this year, and hosting the competition, is Swan House School of Ballet.’
The Scarlet Slippers? At Swan House?
My hand flies to my throat. I feel like I’m about to cough up a furball.
Ms Celia holds up her hand for silence. ‘Girls and boys, we are not entering on a whim. We are entering because we have a mission . . .’
Spencer straightens to attention. Lottie punches the air. Merv almost falls off his chair.
Ms Celia begins to pace. ‘The Scarlet Slippers provide an opportunity to lure our old friend Ivan Korolev to London. Some of you may be alarmed
at the name, and so you should be. Korolev was once a student at Swan House and now controls the only other school in the world to mirror our own. But where we seek to uphold harmony and peace, Korolev incites discord and war. He is a dangerous adversary.’
I whisper to Merv, ‘What about the Stars of Tomorrow? Are they spies too?’
‘If you’d been listening, you’d have heard Ms Celia say that Swan House and Korolev’s Academy are the only two schools—’
‘SHHH,’ says the girl next to Spencer.
Ms Celia stops pacing and her forehead wrinkles in my direction. ‘I have done what I can to secure our place in the competition. But now it is up to you. It is vital that Swan House excels or suspicions will be aroused. If we fail, lives may be lost. That is all you need to know for now. You have less than four months of training before we host the competition. Cycni venustas . . .’
A chorus of voices join in, ‘ . . . COR LEONIS!’
Ms Celia thrusts her hands in her trouser pockets and steps back into the shadows. The faces disappear from the screen and up pops the school badge. The pair of swans morph into a lion’s head and a roar rattles the theatre. When the lion fades away, all that’s left is the school motto.
Cycni venustas, cor leonis.
‘Grace of a swan, heart of a lion,’ says Spencer.
‘Know a bit of Latin, do you?’ says Lottie. ‘Ain’t you Mr La-di-da.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being smart.’
‘What’s smart about speakin’ some old language no one uses no more?’
Spencer grins. ‘I couldn’t agree more. Who needs to speak Latin when you have a phone in your pocket?’
‘A phone?’ splutters Merv. ‘You were supposed to hand in your electrical devices at reception!’
‘So? Do you always do what you’re told, Merv?’
‘Can’t answer that without my lawyer present,’ says Merv.
Lottie scowls. ‘Smugglin’ stuff into Swan House ain’t smart. You’ll be laughin’ on the other side of your face when you’re doin’ the Dance of Deaf.’
I don’t get to find out what the Dance of Deaf is, because Madame is back onstage. With a click of her long white fingers, the screen rises, the shutters grind apart and the lake reappears.
‘Mes enfants. Before ze Captain makes his presentation, I have one last thing to say. Some of you may think your karate kicks are more important than your chaînés turns. Think again. To dance in ze Scarlet Slippers is to dance as you have never danced before.’
Lottie nudges Merv. ‘My chaînés are rubbish. I’m guessin’ yours ain’t too clever neiver. Where did you train?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘So, who taught you?’
‘No one.’
‘You taught yourself to dance?’
‘I don’t dance.’
‘But we all got to dance.’
‘Not me,’ says Merv. ‘I’m special.’
At that moment, the stage doors crash open and Thor marches down the aisle. His ponytail swishes one way, his beard swishes the other.
‘The Captain’s a legend,’ whispers Lottie. ‘Tough as old boots, he is. Take a butcher’s at his fingernails. All missin’.’
My chair trembles. Or maybe it’s my knees.
‘Thank you, Madame,’ booms the Captain. ‘This won’t take long . . .’
Turns out Thor’s mortal name is Captain Thurgood and his home on Earth is Newcastle upon Tyne. He folds his Viking arms. ‘Now that the intro’s over, everyone can look under their seats.’
I grope under my chair and find a pale-blue kit bag. The theatre fills with the sound of zips unzipping. We all pull out identical slim wallets.
The Captain climbs the steps up to the stage and draws something from his wallet. ‘This is everything you need for now. It’s the latest Swanphone and as you can see, it’s no ordinary phone. It’s one of the smartest devices on the planet. Turn it on and you’ll get the idea.’
Blimey. My first ever smartphone and it’s the smartest device on the planet!
Spencer tosses his old phone into his bag.
The Swanphone weighs less than a feather. It’s slimmer than an ordinary phone and totally see-through.
I whisper to Merv, ‘I can’t find the buttons. How do you switch it on?’
‘You talk to it,’ says Merv, like he can’t believe I’ve never seen a Swanphone before.
‘Hello, there,’ I say, like I’ve got ten at home. ‘How are you today?’
My Swanphone glows. ‘Hello, Millicent Kydd, I am charged and ready to go, thank you for asking.’
Lottie sticks her nose in the air. ‘Posh, ain’t it. Sounds just like him.’
Luckily, Spencer’s too glued to his Swanphone to hear.
I’m still confused. ‘How it does it know who I am?’
‘It recognizes your DNA.’ Merv says this verrry slowly. ‘You do know what genes are?’
‘Of course I do. But how can it recognize my genes? I’ve only been here for three hours.’
‘Saliva,’ says my Swanphone.
‘Uh?’
Merv grunts. ‘Your reply letter? You licked the envelope?’
Blimey.
‘Your Swanphone is made of smart silicone,’ says the Captain. ‘It appears to be transparent because it possesses a chameleon-like ability to mirror its environment. It’s also extremely flexible. See . . .’ He holds up his Swanphone and bends it around his wrist like a bangle. The phone disappears. ‘As good as invisible.’ He holds the phone under Willow Perkins’s nose and a ripple of applause runs across her row.
I wrap my phone around my wrist.
Wow.
‘The Swanphone does everything you’d expect from a smartphone and more. As well as planning your school day, it tracks where you go. It monitors your health. It has environmental and weather sensors. It also has an inbuilt weapons system which you’ll be able to access once you’ve completed your training.’
‘Yes!’ says Spencer.
‘So, now to your mentors. Existing students, you’ll be happy to know your mentors have been transferred to your upgraded Swanphones. If you’re new to Swan House, stand up for the Pairing.’
The Pairing?
I look around as a handful of people shuffle to their feet. Spencer gestures at Merv. ‘You heard the Captain – stand up.’
Merv folds his arms. ‘Technically, I’m not new.’
‘You too, Merv,’ booms the Captain.
‘Go for it, Milly,’ says Lottie. ‘This is the fun bit.’
I stand up. With any luck, the Captain can’t see me behind Spencer.
‘No point in hiding behind Spencer, Kydd,’ says the Captain. ‘You’re first up. Ask it nicely and your Swanphone will activate your virtual mentor.’
I do as I’m told and my wrist glows.
‘We know you lot pay more attention to your peers than us,’ says the Captain, ‘which is why we ask all of our students to sign up to the mentor program before they graduate. We then create avatars that are programmed to help with your personal development and act as guides and advisors from now until you leave.’
Avatars? I whisper to Merv, ‘What’s the mentor programme?’
Merv grunts. ‘That’s MNTR. Your data was fed into the program when you accepted your place. It assessed your background, personality type, strengths and weaknesses, then paired you with one of the alumni on its database.’
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Merv points at the empty chair next to me. ‘I mean him.’
I double take.
There’s a boy on the chair . . .
And I can see right through him.
‘Kydd,’ says the Captain. ‘Say hello to Filipp Popov.’
Filipp Popov has see-through mousey hair, see-through mousey ears and see-through mousey teeth. His see-through mousey hands are shaking. He looks like he needs a hug.
My new mentor is the third least likely looking ballet dancer I’ve ever seen.<
br />
7
The Heart Maker
Filipp Popov shakes his mousey head. ‘Please wait while I reboot. There appears to be a malfunction.’ His words whistle through his teeth.
‘There hasn’t been a malfunction, Popov. You’ve been paired with Milly Kydd.’
Filipp Popov puffs out his bony chest and I realize he’s not shaking with nerves, he’s shaking with rage. ‘In that case, I wish to make a formal complaint. When I signed up to offer my services as a mentor – I did not expect to be paired with someone like her.’
Does he mean me?
The Captain strokes his ponytail beard. ‘It’s nowt to do with us, Popov. Blame the program.’
‘Then there must be a fault with the program.’
‘No,’ mutters Merv. ‘The MNTR program is never wrong! NEVER!’
Filipp Popov waves a boney wrist at Merv. ‘Who’s he?’
The Captain pulls a book from his pocket. ‘He’s the new programmer. Rule One of The Guide to Espionage. Never judge a book by its cover.’
Filipp Popov’s cheeks turn as red as a Scarlet Slipper. ‘But doesn’t he know who I am? Without my grandm-mother, there would be no Scarlet Slipper! And she –’ he definitely means me – ‘almost turned the competition into a laughing stock!’
Laughter fills the theatre. It’s not easy to look dignified with a pink face and oily bottom, but I try my best.
‘How does Filipp Popov know so much about me?’ I whisper to Merv.
‘Because the mentors are constantly updated with information about their students.’
‘Quiet you lot,’ barks the Captain. ‘Sorry, Popov – you’re stuck with each other. Kydd, the good news is you can turn him off whenever you like.’
The Captain checks his Swanphone. ‘I’ll say this for you, Merv, that program of yours has got Popov’s personality down to a T. Now, can we get on with it? Who’s next? Philpot, where are you?’
Filipp Popov’s angry little face vanishes into thin air and I wish I could vanish too, but I have to endure the rest of the Captain’s presentation with everyone staring and talking about me. ‘Cringy’ doesn’t come close.
‘OK, Merv. Your turn,’ says the Captain.
Peril en Pointe Page 4