School for Nobodies

by Susie Bower

Tap-tap… Tap-tap… Tap-tap…

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered again. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  The two doves bobbed their heads, as if to say yes.

  Behind me, Custard turned over in bed, muttering to herself. I put my finger to my lips, and grabbed the window. It was old and battered and would probably squeak when I raised it. I’d have to pull very gently and lift it just high enough for the doves to get through. Slowly, I pulled… and pulled… and the window opened with a groan.

  No sooner was it open than the two doves hopped over the sill. They fluttered up to land on my shoulders, one on each side. They were light as the air and their gentle cries—turrrr, turrrr!—purred in each ear, and suddenly my heart and my tummy and my arms and my legs were filled with that warm, chocolatey, huggy feeling, and my eyes were full of tears.

  ‘Did Silver send you?’ I whispered. Maybe Silver was sorry for saying she didn’t trust me. Maybe she was waiting for me in the Room of Reflection.

  At the sound of Silver’s name, the doves leapt from my shoulders, giving strange, haunting cries. They flew to the door, which was ajar, and perched on top of it, gazing down at me.

  ‘You want me to follow you?’ I whispered.

  The doves bobbed their heads again.

  I tiptoed over to the door. Custard was still sound asleep, her thumb in her mouth. Silently, I pulled the door open and we slipped out.

  I listened. All was silent and still. The doves glided along the empty corridor, their grey wings brushing the ceiling and the walls as they headed for the stairs. I tiptoed down the corridor after them, the soles of my feet cold against the stone floor. Then I climbed the stairs, hoping against hope that Miss Cruet would still be snoring safely in her room. She was an early riser and would often sweep into the dormitory to wake up anyone daft enough to have a lie-in, shouting, ‘WAKEY-WAKEY, RISE AND SHINE!!!!’ in your ear and scattering hairpins all over your face.

  I was almost at the top of the stairs when I accidentally stepped on the second-from-the-top stair and it gave a loud creak. I froze, clutching the banister, my ears like bats’ ears, scanning the air for sound. The two doves landed on the top stair above me and waited, still as statues. I stood there for a minute or two, just in case Miss Cruet got out of bed with a torch, ready to confront any burglar foolish enough to break into Nobodies. The only sound was a distant rumbling snore. Carefully, I took the last stairs. All we had to do now was to get safely past Miss Cruet’s door and reach the spiral staircase to the Room of Reflection.

  Keeping to the wall, the doves floating above my head, I slipped along the corridor. A huge snort from Miss Cruet’s room made me stop. I stood, not daring to breathe, for a few seconds. Then the snoring began again, louder now that I was almost outside her door. She sounded like a warthog, and I had to press my lips tight together to stop myself giggling.

  In the window opposite Miss Cruet’s door, the moon was hidden behind a bank of drifting cloud. It was dark in the corridor. Then I remembered the pile of hairpins somewhere outside Miss Cruet’s door. I must be extra careful when I walked there in case I trod on them and hurt my bare feet. With any luck, the clouds would blow away and the moonlight would shine on to the floor, showing me where the hairpins were.

  I edged along the wall until I was almost there, and waited. Miss Cruet’s snores echoed down the corridor. I seemed to stand there for an eternity, staring at the dark window. I found myself whispering a prayer to my twin.

  ‘Please, Silver, send the clouds away?’

  As if she had heard my words, the clouds magically drifted away and the moon appeared, lighting up the floor and the scattered, glittering hairpins with silver.

  And it was then that the strangest thing of all happened.

  Instead of flying ahead, up the spiral staircase to the Room of Reflection, the two doves began to wheel and hover over the pile of hairpins. They dived down and began to pick up the hairpins in their bills, rearranging them on the floor. As they did so, the clouds drifted over the moon again so that all I could see were their fluttering wings as they swooped and picked and dived.

  Then, as suddenly as they had begun, they flew to the window and began to tap gently on it with their bills. Did they want me to let them out? I tiptoed over and opened the window. Their cries—turrrr, turrrr!—whispered in my ears as they fluttered out of the window and disappeared into the night sky, two black specks, and were gone.

  As I carefully closed the window, the moon crept out from behind the bank of clouds and lit up the floor at my feet.

  And then I saw the message.

  THE NEXT MESSAGE

  The hairpins glittered in the moonlight, and spelt out the words:

  Have you found your long-lost sister?

  BEWARE! Beware the cruel Shapeshifter!

  I stared. What did this mean? It was a warning, that much was certain. But a warning against who—or what? I had never seen the word Shapeshifter before.

  Then I realized that it was very quiet in the corridor. Too quiet.

  The snoring had stopped.

  As fast as I could, I kicked the hairpins, sending them tumbling in all directions.

  There was no time to escape. Miss Cruet’s door was creaking open.

  Quickly, I stuck both hands out in front of me, shut my eyes tight and began to shuffle along the corridor. My heart was hammering, but I made myself walk slowly, as if I was fast asleep. A hairpin pricked my foot, and it was all I could do not to cry out.

  ‘Stop!!’ Miss Cruet’s voice was thunderous.

  I lowered my arms and blinked my eyes a lot, then gave a great yawn.

  ‘Wh-a-a-a-t? Where am I?’ I said, pretending to be surprised to see Miss Cruet.

  Actually, I was a bit surprised. I’d never seen her in her nightgown before and I’d never seen a knitted nightgown. Miss Cruet looked as if she had about fifty hula-hoops wound around her, all in different colours. The nightgown ended in a huge knitted bow at her neck. Her hair was all over the place.

  ‘And what…’ growled Miss Cruet, ‘are you doing up here?’

  I sort of shrugged and looked at her as if I didn’t know either.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Miss Cruet, giving me a very suspicious stare.

  I tried to look innocent. The stare went on for a long time.

  Eventually, she said: ‘Sleepwalking, eh? That’s a dangerous thing to do, especially in a building with so many stairs.’ And she looked meaningfully at the spiral staircase.

  ‘I-I’d better get back to bed,’ I said.

  ‘Not so fast, young lady!’ snapped Miss Cruet, absentmindedly bending to scoop up some of the hairpins from the floor and jabbing them into her hair. ‘We can’t have you sleepwalking around the school at all hours. Perhaps we will have to lock the dormitories in future.’

  ‘Oh! Please don’t,’ I said. ‘I’ve never sleepwalked before. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It certainly won’t,’ said Miss Cruet with a nasty smile. ‘I will accompany you to your dormitory now, just to make sure there are no further incidents.’

  And she set off down the corridor. I had no choice but to follow her.

  Back in the girls’ dormitory, the clock said six o’clock. There wasn’t much point in trying to go back to sleep—Mr Gold’s lesson started at seven thirty.

  I sat on my bed, my mind racing. What to do? Miss Cruet was suspicious now and there was no way I could sneak up to the Room of Reflection while her beady eye was on me. If I didn’t get into the room at noon on Saturday, I would never see Silver again. And Saturday was tomorrow!

  Later that morning, I could hardly keep my eyes open. After all, I hadn’t slept a wink, what with meeting Silver at midnight, then following Feral to the Amphitheatre—not to mention meeting the doves and reading the message about the Shapeshifter, and being caught by Miss Cruet.

  After we’d had breakfast (baked beans with yoghurt, and chunky chips dipped in porridge), Mr Gold led us all down to the Amphitheatre. Miss Crue
t’s lessons were always in the classroom, but Mr Gold taught us outside. He must have felt more at home there, like when he belonged to the circus. He carried an orange box under his arm. When we got there, he laid the box on one of the stone seats.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘about your circus show. And I remembered I had these and thought you might find them useful.’

  He took the lid off the box. Inside were lots of coloured, greasy sticks and a pile of small mirrors. An oily smell rose up, a smell which made my nose tickle and my heart thump. It smelt of the circus. I didn’t know how I knew that, because I’d never been to a circus, but it did.

  Feral leant right down into the box, sniffing at the sticks and giving little purring growls.

  ‘W-what are they?’ said Custard.

  ‘Greasepaints,’ said Mr Gold. ‘And they’re used in the circus for—’

  ‘Painting the clowns’ faces!’ interrupted Rule Boy.

  ‘Mr Gold used to be a clown,’ I told Saddo.

  ‘Cool,’ he said, looking at Mr Gold with new respect.

  ‘There’s a rule in circus,’ said Mr Gold, and Rule Boy immediately perked up. ‘Every clown’s face must be unique—just as every human face is. So paint your face your way. No copying!’

  We began rummaging in the box. Rule Boy pulled out a blue stick. Custard and Feral both grabbed a yellow one.

  ‘I w-want that one,’ stammered Custard. ‘It’s the colour of my c-cuddly.’

  ‘Lion,’ growled Feral. ‘Yellow.’

  ‘Take it in turns,’ said Mr Gold. He turned to Custard. ‘You may paint the boy’s face first, then you can swap and he can paint yours.’

  Right at the bottom of the box, something glinted. I reached down and pulled out a golden stick—the colour of my leotard.

  Saddo, who had hung back until we’d all taken our sticks, stared into the box, looking miserable.

  ‘There’s hardly any left,’ he said.

  I took my gold stick and mirror over to a seat, lifted my mirror and began to slather on the gold paint until my whole face was gold. My burn mark disappeared. Without it, I looked like Silver. When Silver and I performed together, she’d paint her face silver and I’d paint my face gold, and we’d shine like the moon and the sun.

  ‘Now,’ said Mr Gold, ‘it’s time for the Grand Parade. Walk round the ring, one at a time, and show us your faces.’

  Rule Boy stepped up immediately, humming his Shostathingy tune and marching round the ring in time to it. He’d drawn blue musical notes around his eyes and mouth. We all clapped, and he did a fancy bow.

  Then it was Custard’s turn. Feral had painted her face yellow to match her blanket, and she’d drawn pictures of lions and birds up her arms, like tattoos. She danced round the ring. For once, she didn’t look frightened.

  ‘You look just like Leonora,’ I said, and she grinned.

  Feral bounded round the ring. His face was yellow, and he’d drawn a black nose and long, white whiskers. With his hair hanging down around his face, he looked exactly like a lion. He gave an enormous roar, and Custard squeaked then giggled.

  Then it was my turn. I strode into the centre of the ring and bowed. Then I cartwheeled round and round the ring and ended up standing on my hands for a whole minute.

  ‘Wow, Antsy,’ said Rule Boy. ‘You look really different without your b—’

  ‘Shh!’ said Custard.

  That left only Saddo. He was lurking at the edge of the Amphitheatre, with his hood drawn down over his face and his sweatshirt zipped up. There were streaks of greasepaint all over his front.

  ‘Go on,’ said Rule Boy. ‘Show us your face.’

  Saddo ignored him.

  ‘You scared or what?’ said Rule Boy.

  Mr Gold said: ‘Let the boy decide for himself.’

  Saddo stared at Rule Boy for a long time, until Rule Boy dropped his eyes. Then he got to his feet and shuffled to the centre of the ring. With a shaking hand, he pulled back his hood.

  He had painted a red smile around his mouth, a smile the colour of a postbox; a smile so enormous that it took over his whole face. We all gasped, then Custard and I began to giggle, Feral gave a loud growly laugh and Rule Boy doubled over.

  Saddo’s real mouth turned down and this looked so funny compared with his painted-on smile that we all burst out laughing again.

  ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d all laugh.’ And he hung his head.

  Suddenly, it wasn’t so funny after all.

  Then I had an idea.

  ‘Our circus show’s going to be the best thing ever,’ I said. ‘We’ve got an orchestra, an acrobat, a lion and his trainer. All we need now is a clown.’ I turned to Saddo. ‘Will you do it?’

  ‘Be our c-clown?’ said Custard.

  ‘Clown,’ said Feral.

  Rule Boy said nothing. I gave him a kick on the ankle.

  ‘Yeah, go on,’ he muttered.

  Saddo blinked hard. Then he gave a gruff little nod.

  We all cheered, even Rule Boy. Our circus show was complete. And just for a moment, I felt happy all the way through.

  ‘That’s the end of the lesson,’ said Mr Gold. ‘Off you go, back to school. No doubt Miss Cruet will have a snack for you.’

  The others hurried off, but I hung back.

  ‘Mr Gold,’ I said, ‘can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Up above us, a bird fluttered in the branches of an ancient tree. I looked up. Was it the dove again? But I could see nothing.

  I took a deep breath. ‘What’s a Shapeshifter?’

  And Mr Gold’s face went very still.

  SHAPESHIFTER

  ‘A Shapeshifter?’ said Mr Gold. ‘Why do you ask, child?’

  ‘I… um… I read the word,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know what it means.’

  ‘A Shapeshifter,’ said Mr Gold, slowly, ‘is someone who has the ability to change shape—to transform into different people or animals.’

  ‘Animals?’

  I suddenly thought of Feral, with his mane of hair and his long fingernails, like claws. Last night he’d howled at the moon, calling for his mother, a lion. Could Feral be a Shapeshifter? Was the message in the hairpins warning me about him? I shivered, and moved nearer to Mr Gold.

  ‘Have you ever seen one?’

  Mr Gold was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be wrestling with whether to speak or not. Then he said: ‘Yes. I saw a Shapeshifter once.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  Mr Gold peered at me in his odd way. ‘Where did you read about Shapeshifters?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ I said.

  Mr Gold went on looking at me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really can’t. But it’s very important to find out.’

  After a moment, Mr Gold nodded. ‘My story is a tragic one. Are you sure you can bear to hear it?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  ‘Very well.’ Mr Gold’s eyes went distant, the way they always did when he talked about the circus. ‘After we joined the new circus, Fred and I—and Leonora and Kula—were very happy for a while. Murgatroyd was safely locked up in prison for cruelty to animals. Then, one day, to our horror, his rickety caravan appeared. He’d got a job in our circus as a fire-eater. No one knew about his past except for us. On the surface, he was friendly, but his eyes were full of hate. He never forgave us for taking Kula and reporting him to the police. And, finally, he got his revenge.’

  ‘What did he do? What happened?’

  Mr Gold ran a hand through his mop of red curls.

  ‘It was the night of Halloween. The show was over and the crowds had long gone. The animals were in their quarters and the other performers were resting in their caravans, except for Fred and Leonora. They were practising in the Big Top, with Kula and their children.’

  ‘They had children?’

  ‘Yes. A boy and a girl.’ Mr Gold’s face looked sort of closed down, as if he didn
’t want to talk about that, so I pressed my lips together and waited for him to go on.

  ‘I was in my caravan, reading, but I couldn’t concentrate. There was a strange feeling in the air, as if something bad was going to happen. I told myself it was because it was Halloween. It’s said that bad magic is strong on such a night. I must have dozed off.’ Mr Gold sighed. ‘Suddenly, I jerked awake. And a terrible sight met my eyes.’

  ‘What?’ I whispered.

  ‘The Big Top was alight. Smoke billowed out of it, and flames licked over the canvas like they were eating it up. Circus folk ran to and fro, yelling. No one could get inside—the flames leapt right across the entrance, and the tent looked like it might collapse at any moment. The clowns passed buckets of water down a line of people. The ringmaster, his costume black with smoke, beat at the flames with a broom to try to put them out. But the smoke choked them all, and the flames only grew fiercer.’

  ‘What did you do?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but it was too late now. I had to find out about the Shapeshifter.

  ‘I ran outside and filled a bucket of water from the tap. I poured it over my head and my clothes until I was dripping. I wetted a towel and threw it around my mouth. Then I ran towards the tent. I could hear Kula, roaring inside. The ringmaster grabbed my arm. “Get back, Felix!” he shouted. But I ignored him and pulled myself free. The smoke was thick as soup. It caught in my throat, making me choke. My eyes were streaming. Then I heard the sound of laughter from inside—mad laughter. And I knew who had done this.’

  ‘Murgatroyd?’

  Mr Gold nodded. ‘I got down on my hands and knees—the smoke was a little less thick there—and crawled over the blackened grass towards the entrance. There seemed to be no way through. A wall of flames billowed from the tent, and I pulled the towel tighter around my face. Then, for a moment, the flames flickered and faded, and I took a deep breath and somersaulted as fast as I could through the entrance and into the tent.

  ‘At first, I could see nothing. The tent was full of acrid smoke and yellow flame. And all I could hear was the shouting of the circus folk outside, and Kula’s angry roaring. The leg of my trousers smouldered, and I slapped at it with my hands. Then, the smoke cleared, and standing before me in the middle of the ring was Murgatroyd, his black, tattered clothes singed and smoking, his evil eyes glinting in the flames and a tongue of fire flashing from his mouth. All around him, the ring was burning. And sitting at his feet in the sawdust was Fred and Leonora’s little girl. She wasn’t scared—she was only three, too young to understand. She looked up at me and smiled, and reached out her arms to me. Then Murgatroyd saw me.