Peril en Pointe

by Helen Lipscombe

  Lottie’s eyes widen. ‘Got him?’

  Cook sniffs over a bowl of washing-up. ‘Close your ears, Emmie. They found him in the hippo enclosure in London Zoo.’ She shakes her head. ‘They’re only pygmies, but he was a small man. I was heartbroken, as you can imagine. A hungry little girl to feed and no qualifications except a Brownie badge in crime prevention. That’s when O, bless his heart, gave us a roof over our heads and took me on as cook. Turns out I had a talent I never knew about. Mince pie?’

  ‘Um, no thanks . . .’

  Filipp whines in my ear. ‘Why are you wasting time here? The Scarlet Slippers are just one week away. You should be rehearsing.’

  ‘But I’ve been dancing all morning.’

  ‘Your Lilac Fairy needs more practice. You still have an hour until kung fu with the Captain. I will teach you if I must.’

  ‘S’all right,’ says Lottie. ‘I know an expert. Hey, Nora. We need your help!’

  Nora Doone moves like a flower in the breeze.

  ‘The Lilac Fairy is a storyteller,’ she says. ‘Her moves are expressive. Languid. Like this . . .’

  Filipp sulks in the corner of the studio. ‘I don’t see why you need her to teach you when you’ve got me.’

  ‘Lottie – do you wish to turn me off?’ says Nora.

  ‘No!’ I say.

  ‘Don’t take no notice of Filipp, Nora. You carry on.’

  ‘Very well. It’s your turn now, Milly. Remember to take your time.’

  Filipp walks through Nora and poses in front of me. ‘Like this.’ He steps forward on his left foot and piqués on his right in a wonky arabesque.

  ‘One movement should really flow to the next,’ says Nora.

  I try to copy her but Filipp struts between us. ‘Think river. Think Danube. Not Niagara Falls! No, no, no. Your expression is like this.’ He scrunches his face like an old tissue. ‘My m-mother always says you must never show people how you feel. We dancers must hide the effort, the pain, the fear. This is a performance. We are performers. We perform. Or die.’

  I force a smile at Lottie and try not to die.

  With five minutes to change for the Captain’s class, I leave Lottie and hurry past the biggest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. Topsy is on a stepladder, untangling fairy lights and howling ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ at the top of her lungs.

  Outside in the courtyard, specks of sleet stick to my hair. Danny and Fleur jog past without saying hello.

  ‘Pssst . . .’

  A hand tugs me into the archway.

  ‘Merv, what are you doing?’

  ‘Shhh. Can’t talk here.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Been sleeping in the control room,’ he says, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘It shows,’ says Filipp.

  Merv shoves his hand in his pocket and the next thing I know, Filipp has gone. ‘This way. Hurry!’

  ‘Did you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make Filipp go away?’

  ‘Stop asking questions. Come on!’ Merv sprints in a very un-Merv-like way towards the trees. ‘Merv, we’ve got kung fu with the Captain. We’re going to be late.’

  ‘The Captain can wait.’

  Merv throws himself against a tree trunk and rests his hands on his knees.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  He puffs and wipes his forehead. ‘I’m being followed.’

  I glance around. It’s just me, Merv and the trees. ‘Followed? Who’s following you?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there are two of them. I think they might be sixth years.’

  ‘Why would a couple of sixth years be following you?’

  ‘Because Ms Celia told them to. She thinks I’m a mole.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘I never joke. The control room’s been searched too. I don’t wear aftershave but this morning it ponged of eau de sixth year. Kydd, why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Merv, you haven’t done anything silly, have you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you a mole?’

  Merv swipes his little pink nose with his fingerless mittens, shakes his black hair and blinks. ‘Do I look like a mole?’ I stare at my feet. ‘OF COURSE I’M NOT A MOLE! There ISN’T a mole.’

  ‘So why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘I want you to look after something for me.’ Merv does a swivelly thing with his eyes and looks over his shoulder. He presses a small brown envelope in my hand. ‘Hide it, please.’

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘My life’s work. I don’t want them to find it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Merv, you can’t expect me to hide something without telling me what it is.’

  Merv sighs. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Probably not, but I’ll try.’

  Merv inspects the trees for hidden microphones. ‘It’s a very sophisticated jammer.’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘Basically, it stops electrical stuff working. It can make you invisible to electronic surveillance too. It’s like a digital invisibility cloak.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I know. It’s called Merv’s Universal Magnetic Blocker. MUMB for short. I’ve been testing MUMB since we got here. It’s still slightly unpredictable.’

  ‘Has MUMB got anything to do with the security cameras not working?’

  Merv nods miserably. ‘That’s why Ms Celia thinks I’m a mole.’

  ‘You mean that stuff you said about teething troubles was a lie? Why don’t you just tell her?’

  ‘Don’t you see? If Ms Celia gets her hands on MUMB, she’ll pass it to Madge Little to develop. I’ll get sidelined faster than you can say “Merv Crump is a twelve-year-old nobody from Nowheresville”. It’s taken me five years to get this far. Once I’m done, Madge can have it, but until then, it’s mine to perfect.’ Merv padlocks his satchel and turns back towards the school.

  ‘Merv!’ I scramble after him. ‘It’s Christmas soon. Why don’t you just take MUMB home with you?’

  Merv hrumphs. ‘I’m not going home.’

  ‘But what about your mum?’

  ‘She doesn’t care about me. The day I came here she moved to Bovey Tracey with an Elvis impersonator called Ray.’

  ‘Oh, Merv. I’m sure she cares about you. Of course she does.’

  ‘Do you know what she gave me for my last birthday? Superman underpants, I don’t think she was being ironic. Anyway, I don’t mind staying here. It’s a lot cleaner than Ray’s flat and there’s a live-in nurse. Did you know that more people die at Christmas than at any other time of year?’

  ‘No, Merv. I didn’t. Look, I’ll hide MUMB in my music box for a couple of days, but that’s all.’

  ‘NOT IN YOUR MUSIC BOX. It’s the most obvious place.’

  ‘Fine, can we just go back? I’m freezing.’

  As we cross the hall, Merv leaps behind the Christmas tree.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They’re there. They just went in the loos.’

  ‘Who? Where?’

  ‘Them,’ Merv whispers. ‘The sixth-year boys I told you about. They just walked past.’

  ‘You mean those two little old ladies?’

  ‘It was them. Same height. Same shaped heads.’ He shuffles down the corridor.

  ‘Merv, they were cleaners. They went in the girls’ loos.’

  ‘Believe me. It was the same boys. Every time I see them they’re in a different disguise but they can’t fool me.’ Merv shuffles away. ‘Remember, Kydd, MUMB’s the word . . .’

  ‘Merv . . . Merv! What about kung fu? Merv!’

  I’m going to be late but I have no choice but to rush back to the dorm and hide Merv’s MUMB the best I can.

  21

  The Stars of Tomorrow

  ‘Wakey, wakey, Milly. Guess who’s coming to dinner?’

  I
bolt up and Morris slides off my face. ‘KOROLEV!’ Today I get to see the man who stole Mum. Tomorrow I get to save her. I leap out of bed and yank on my clothes.

  Willow rolls her eyeballs. ‘Personally, I don’t know what all the excitement’s about. If Spencer’s mentor is anything to go by, Ivan Korolev wouldn’t say boo to a swan. I couldn’t care less about the mission anyway. O shouldn’t have gotten himself kidnapped in the first place. He can’t be a very good spy, can he?’

  I wonder if Willow’d say that if she knew O was Mum? She witters on as she brushes her hair. ‘It’s the Scarlet Slippers that really matter. Madame said if something happens to you, we might have a chance of winning. Did you hear me, Milly? If I was dancing, the trophy would be ours.’

  What can I say? I totally agree.

  I escape Willow and go to find Lottie.

  The courtyard is frostier than Madame. I slip on the icy cobbles and Filipp laughs. Careful not to knock the little holly wreath, I tap on Lottie’s door.

  ‘Come in!’ shouts Lottie. ‘Fleur and Dipti have gone for breakfast, but I’m too excited to eat!’

  I watch her bounce around the dorm. It looks like she’s already put her foot though a lampshade. Nora is on the rug, stretching like a see-through cat. Filipp sits next to her and starts stretching too. He’s so competitive.

  ‘Korolev’s goin’ to wish he never set eyes on your mum!’ says Lottie.

  At the mention of Mum, my worries gush out. ‘Oh, Lottie, what if Kristina won’t tell me where Mum is? What if she doesn’t trust me?’

  ‘Who could blame her?’ says Filipp to Nora.

  Lottie jumps on the bed. ‘Course she will. She’d never have gone to all this trouble to bottle it at the last minute. When are you meetin’ her?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. And I’ve got to get through my Lilac Fairy first. What if I mess up? What if Kristina pulls out? What if Korolev catches us? There are so many things that could go wrong!’

  Lottie karate chops the wall. ‘Oops.’ She pats a dent in the plasterwork.

  I grab her ankle. ‘Let’s go, before you break anything else.’

  Once I’ve got Lottie outside, she points past the courtyard to the frosty, white lawn. ‘Will you look at that? First they turn the assault course into a football pitch and now there’s a tennis court where the shootin’ range used to be. I hate flamin’ tennis.’

  ‘They’re just trying to make Swan House look like an ordinary school, Lottie. They don’t want the Van Twinkles to guess what goes on here.’

  ‘I know. But tennis!’ Her sigh hovers in the freezing air.

  Fillip runs after us as we cut through the refectory. Extra tables have been brought in for the Scarlet Supper tonight. The year sevens are busy covering them in red velvet tablecloths.

  I dodge a trolley. ‘So much has happened, I can’t believe I’ve only been here for one term.’

  ‘But we ain’t done nuffink yet,’ says Lottie. ‘If I have to practise one more chaîné, I’ll . . . Flamin’ Nora, what the Scarlet Supper’s that?’

  We stand aside as Cook wheels a giant cake out of the kitchen. It’s covered in lumpy grey icing and the decoration on top looks like a brown marzipan boat.

  ‘That looks nice,’ I say, practising my unreadable spy face.

  Cook beams. ‘I hope they like it. Took me ages to make that Scarlet Slipper.’

  Lottie pinches my arm. ‘What’s in it?’ I ask.

  ‘Ooo, it’s my secret recipe, so you won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘Scout’s honour,’ says Lottie.

  ‘You weren’t in Scouts,’ I whisper.

  ‘I know,’ says Lottie.

  ‘Well, there’s flour, of course. And eggs. And chocolate. And let me see . . . cornflakes for crunch. Turnips. Mayonnaise. And anchovies. Just enough to give that je ne sais quoi. Topsy says it’s the best cake I’ve ever made.’

  Lottie honks through her nose.

  I take her away.

  In the corridor, we dodge two fifth years taking off their ice skates. Spencer goes by with a pair of Nordic skis. Ivan Korolev trails behind him reciting from the Guide to Espionage. It’s hard to walk in a straight line without bumping into someone doing something important.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ I say. ‘We’d better help Topsy.’

  Over at the reception, Topsy is balancing on the top rung of a stepladder.

  ‘Neeeearly . . . there . . .’ She stretches across the desk. The ladder starts to wobble.

  Luckily, the Captain arrives just in time to catch her. ‘I’ll take that, pet.’ He doesn’t even have to stand on tiptoes to pin the banner in place.

  Topsy turns fuchsia. ‘Thank you, Captain. What do you think of my banner? I made it myself.’

  The Captain stands back and his straw-coloured eyebrows knit together. ‘Welcome to Swan House,’ he reads. ‘Hosts of the Scarlet Slipper Ballet Prize. Honk-honk!’ The banner is decorated with baby swans and little pink love hearts.

  ‘It’s – it’s – help us, girls.’

  ‘As lovely as your mum’s cake?’ says Lottie.

  ‘Well said, Li.’ The Captain turns to Topsy. ‘If that’s all you need, pet, I’ve got to check the theatre.’

  Topsy sighs as the Captain strides away. ‘He’s like Mummy’s chocolate pudding. Hard on the outside and all melty in the middle.’

  Lottie coughs.

  ‘Sorry. What was that, Lottie?’

  ‘Uhh, we got time before our last rehearsal. Can we do anyfink to help?’

  ‘Let me see – no. I’ve just got to make the place cards and I’ll be nearly-almost done.’

  Lottie and I head for class, but as we round the corner, she yanks me back. I signal to Filipp to stay beside me. Outside the studio, Madame is whispering with Ms Celia.

  ‘Do not weaken now, Celia,’ says Madame. ‘Ze evidence is clear.’

  ‘I wish I shared your certainty, Blanche. The closer we get to the competition, the more concerned I am that Garth may be right and we’ve made a dreadful mistake.’ Madame takes Ms Celia’s arm and the doors bang shut behind them.

  ‘Are they still going on about a mole?’ says Lottie.

  ‘Sounds like it,’ I say.

  Which reminds me, I should check on Merv later. I haven’t seen him for a week.

  Five minutes later, everyone else arrives and we trail them into the studio.

  Madame claps her hands. ‘Fleur, stop talking. To ze barre, tout le monde.’

  Ms Celia waits while we warm up, then everybody watches as I run through my Lilac Fairy. But I’m not thinking about my dance. I’m thinking about her conversation with Madame. I don’t understand. The Scarlet Supper is tonight. She should be talking about Korolev. She should be talking about the mission. She should be talking about Mum.

  When I’ve finished, Madame waves me back to the barre. ‘You are dancing like a robot,’ she says. ‘It will be a miracle if we are taken seriously as a school of ballet. Don’t you agree, Ms Celia?’

  ‘O once told me that miracles can only be achieved with patience and kindness, Madame.’

  Mum’s words are wasted on Madame. ‘Patience and kindness are luxuries we cannot afford.’

  ‘Then we must agree to disagree,’ says Ms Celia. ‘All right, everyone. Please take your positions for Romeo and Juliet.’

  We all get into our lines. Miss Batty thumps out ‘The Dance of the Knights’ on the piano and my spine tingles with every foreboding note. Fleur yelps when I bump into her and Willow rolls her eyes.

  Ms Celia sighs. ‘Milly, please try and concentrate. The rest of you, well done.’

  Madame’s eyes say ‘I told you so’. She calls me and Danny to the centre. ‘And now for ze final pas de deux. Remember your core, Millicent. We do not want any accidents zis close to ze competition.’

  I glance at Danny. There are four lifts in our pas de deux. Four ‘accidents’ waiting to happen.

  The music begins. Every time Danny takes my waist, I tense my core and wa
it to be dropped. At the end, he whispers in my ear, ‘I promised you could trust me, and I meant it. But only when we’re onstage.’

  ‘That was better, Milly,’ says Ms Celia. Thank you, boys and girls, I think you are ready. Cycni venustas, cor leonis!’

  Everyone cheers except me. ‘The schools will be here shortly, and as the refectory is being prepared for this evening, Cook has made a picnic lunch, which you can eat in Studio Four. Off you go. You too, Milly – I’ll see you later.’

  Lottie takes my arm. ‘Don’t listen to Madame. You got to believe in yourself. You deserve to dance in the Scarlet Slippers, don’t she, Spence?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ says Spencer, who’s playing with his Swanphone and not listening.

  ‘Who will be judging with my grandm-mother?’ asks Filipp.

  ‘Your mum, I fink,’ answers Lottie.

  ‘My m-mother?’ Filipp blinks. ‘Will she see me?’

  ‘No chance,’ says Lottie. ‘We got to turn off our mentors while there’s visitors here.’

  Filipp tries to prod me with a see-though finger. ‘You do know my m-mother is impossible to please. If you’d listened to me you wouldn’t be such an embarrassment.’

  I open my mouth to reply but Spencer butts in. ‘Kydd, do you want the good news, or the good news?’

  ‘The good news?’

  ‘You can turn Popov off now. Because a coach has just been spotted pulling into the park!’

  Filipp opens his mouth to argue, but for once I don’t have to listen. At that moment, one of the year seven girls crashes into the studio. ‘THEY’RE HERE! THE VAN TWINKLES. THEY’RE HERE!’

  Spencer shakes his head. ‘Year sevens – they’re so excitable.’ But seconds later, he’s hurtling into the hall with everyone else.

  Madame is standing guard at the entrance. ‘Arrêtez! Do you forget zis is a school of ballet? Unless you are part of ze welcoming party, stand back from ze door. Dipti Patel – is zat your mentor? Turn her off IMMEDIATELY!’

  Lottie hooks her arm primly though mine. ‘’Ead up, Millicent,’ she says in the worst French accent I’ve ever heard. ‘Shouldeurs back! ’Ave you forgotten we are ballerinas?’ She grabs my arm. ‘Quick! Best view’s from the studio next door.’

  The studio is quiet but I hold Lottie back. In the window is a Viking silhouette. Captain holds a puckered fingertip to his lips and heaves up the sash.