School for Nobodies

by Susie Bower

  I stopped.

  ‘Cut,’ he whispered.

  Soon, long strands of matted hair covered our feet and lay in a circle around us on the floor. At every snip of the scissors, Feral jumped. I had to keep stopping to wipe away my tears, but each time I did, Feral said ‘Cut’ again, and I tried to concentrate on how we would soon join Silver at the school next door, and how much Feral would love the circus lessons.

  After what seemed like a hundred years, Feral’s mane was cut to his waist. I turned to Silver, who was watching us with a strange expression in her eyes. Shouldn’t she be glad that we were passing the test? But she didn’t look glad at all. The niggling feeling twisted in my chest again.

  ‘I’ve done it,’ I said.

  Silver smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

  ‘Higher,’ she said.

  ‘But look—I’ve cut all this.’ I pointed at the strands of Feral’s mane strewn over the floor. ‘We’ve proved—’

  ‘Higher,’ repeated Silver. ‘You’ve proved nothing yet.’

  ‘Feral?’ I whispered.

  A low growl vibrated from Feral’s chest.

  ‘Cut,’ he said again.

  I took hold of another hank of his mane, and sliced it right up to his shoulders. The scissor blades were blunted from all the cutting. Feral shivered, from the top of his head to his toes, and I stopped and rubbed his shoulder. He dropped his head.

  ‘Finish,’ he said.

  At last, it was done. Feral stood before me, his hair the same length as mine, cut to the shoulders. He no longer looked like a lion. He looked like a boy with shaggy hair and whiskers painted on his face.

  I sniffed, and wiped my eyes. My fingers were blistered from the scissors. I turned to Silver, who was standing like a statue in the mirror.

  ‘Can we come through now?’ I whispered.

  Silver’s face was white as a ghost. Her lips were pinched together.

  ‘What is it, Silver? Are you—’

  ‘Higher,’ she hissed.

  ‘But I’ve—’

  ‘Do it.’

  I moved round to face Feral. Tears had left tracks through the yellow paint on his face, and his whiskers were a blackened mess. I raised the scissors and cut higher, until his hair was up above his ears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, my own tears falling again. ‘So sorry.’

  Then Feral reached out and touched my cheek with his hand, where my burn was.

  ‘Friend,’ he said, and gave a strange, watery smile. Without his mane, he reminded me of someone, but who?

  ‘Done?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s just one last bit. Right at the back of your head.’

  The scissor blades were so blunt now that they would hardly work, and the blisters on my fingers were raw and weeping. I took the hair on the back of Feral’s neck, and very carefully cut a straight line through it, just below his ears.

  Then I gasped.

  Because right at the top of Feral’s neck were a single word and a date, written in blue ink:

  FINN

  11 JUNE

  And then I understood.

  Feral—not Silver—is my twin.

  MY TWIN

  Time stood still. And then memories began to tumble through me, memories of the messages.

  The message on my leotard, telling me my twin was alive. It had never actually said my twin was a girl, or that she looked like me—I’d jumped into thinking that because I’d wanted a sister.

  The message in the leaves, telling me my twin was next door. He wasn’t at the school next door—he was sleeping in the next-door dormitory!

  The last message, made out of Miss Cruet’s hairpins, telling me to beware of the Shapeshifter. It hadn’t been warning me about Feral.

  It had been warning me about Silver.

  Slowly, I looked up at the mirror, into her eyes.

  Silver stared at me, her face pale and cold as the moon.

  Feral gave a shiver and a growl and his hand reached for mine. I grabbed it. It was warm and comforting.

  ‘That boy is dangerous,’ Silver whispered. ‘Send him away.’

  ‘That boy,’ I said, ‘has a name. He’s Finn.’

  Silver’s face went even whiter.

  ‘Lies,’ she said. ‘The boy has no name.’

  I turned Feral around so that his neck was facing Silver.

  There was a terrible silence.

  ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ I said. ‘You didn’t know that we both had our names tattooed on the backs of our necks?’ I turned away from Silver and lifted my hair. ‘Look—here’s mine.’

  I turned back to face her.

  ‘You thought Feral—Finn—would run away and leave me rather than having his mane cut. But you were wrong! He loves me, you see.’

  ‘Loves you!’ hissed Silver. ‘He’s deceiving you. I told you—he’s nothing but a lying little Shapeshifter.’

  I stared at her. Suddenly, she was no longer beautiful. She was as cold and hard as the mirror.

  ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘It was you all along. You’re the REAL Shapeshifter.’

  The silence stretched out like an elastic band. Then Silver reached out her hand to the mirror.

  ‘Give me the scissors,’ she said.

  I let go of Feral’s hand, picked up the scissors and walked right up to the mirror, so that Silver and I were face to face. The glass around her hand began to melt.

  Behind me, Feral’s growls echoed around the room.

  ‘Give them to me,’ whispered Silver, ‘now.’

  I raised my arm, and with every bit of strength I had, I brought the scissors stabbing down to break the glass. But Silver was faster. Just before the scissors hit the mirror, her hand reached through and gripped my wrist. The scissors dropped from my fingers.

  Feral gave a gigantic roar and leapt towards us, grabbing my other hand and pulling with all his might. But Silver was stronger. I stared at the hand gripping my wrist, and it was no longer the pale, slim and beautiful hand I’d loved, but a skinny talon with blackened, broken nails. And a terrible smell seemed to wrap around me like a filthy cloak.

  Dog’s breath, coffins, drains.

  Pus, sweat, sick.

  Feral gave a snarl, his fingernails squeezing my arm, his eyes fixed on Silver.

  I raised my eyes to look at her. An icy coldness filled my tummy and the hairs on my arms stood up.

  Silver’s perfect face was crumpling and shrinking. Her shoulders stooped and her chest caved in. Her mouth opened, baring tombstone teeth, and a familiar, raucous laugh echoed round the room. There, instead of my beautiful twin in her smart uniform, stood an old man with a hooked beak of a nose and cruel yellow eyes, wearing a stained, black suit with tattered sleeves and a dusty top hat. His breath stank of dead fish and smoke.

  ‘Well, well, missy,’ he croaked. ‘We meet at last.’

  I took a step backwards, but the man twisted my wrist.

  And as I did so, the door behind us burst open and a voice shouted: ‘What’s going on here?’

  It was Mr Gold.

  THE TRUTH

  Mr Gold peered towards us, and I knew he could only make out our outlines in the dim light.

  The old man laughed again and I almost passed out from the stench of his breath.

  ‘Felix Gold,’ he hissed. ‘At last.’

  At the sound of the other man’s voice, Mr Gold stiffened and clenched his stick. All the colour fled from his face.

  ‘Murgatroyd,’ he said.

  I gasped, and Feral’s hand tightened on mine. Merrick Murgatroyd, the evil fire-eater who had shot Mabel the lion. Who had set the fire in the Big Top that killed Fred and Leonora and their child. Suddenly, my throat was dry as sandpaper.

  ‘Mr Gold!’ I shouted. ‘Make him let me go!’

  ‘Child?’ Mr Gold’s face changed and he limped towards us.

  ‘Not another step, Gold!’ Merrick Murgatroyd snarled. ‘Or she will suffer and die, like your beloved brother and his wi
fe.’

  There was a terrible silence. Then Mr Gold spoke in a low voice to Feral.

  ‘Boy, let go of her hand, and come to me.’

  A chill ran through my body. Was Mr Gold going to take Feral and leave me to die? He’d said he was afraid of Murgatroyd.

  ‘Feral stay,’ said Feral, grasping my hand even harder.

  ‘Let her go, boy,’ repeated Mr Gold, so sharply that Feral let go of my hand and backed towards Mr Gold, low growls echoing in his throat.

  My wrist was numb from Murgatroyd’s grip and my heart was hammering. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  ‘Is missy afraid?’ Murgatroyd’s voice was full of triumph. ‘She has every reason to be.’ He bent down and whispered in my ear, ‘Tonight is Halloween, when my power is at its strongest—just as it was at this very hour on the night of the fire, seven years ago.’

  ‘What… what do you—’

  ‘Let her go, Murgatroyd,’ said Mr Gold. ‘She has done you no wrong.’

  ‘Done me no wrong?’ hissed Murgatroyd. ‘By the very fact that she has lived she has done me wrong. She should have died that night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Mr Gold. He sounded as confused as I felt.

  Murgatroyd’s eyes narrowed into slits, and his fingers tightened on my wrist.

  ‘Felix Gold. Such a clever man,’ he sneered, ‘but too stupid to work out the truth. Or perhaps I should say, too blind.’ And he gave a horrible cackle—a sound I’d heard before. I tried to pull away from Murgatroyd’s grip, but he wrenched me roughly towards him.

  ‘Let me GO!’ I yelled.

  My wrist was burning from his fingers and the reek of his foul breath made me want to be sick.

  ‘Oh no, missy,’ he whispered to me. ‘You escaped me seven years ago, you and your lion brother, but I’ve got you now.’

  He jerked me round to face Mr Gold.

  ‘Take a last look—oh, but of course, you can’t see,’ he laughed.

  Mr Gold gripped his stick as if he wanted to use it to kill Murgatroyd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Feral slip out of the room.

  ‘Felix Gold,’ hissed Murgatroyd, ‘the blind man. Too blind—and stupid—to see what’s been under his nose all along. Allow me to introduce your niece, Flynn Gold.’

  Time stood still.

  I gaped at Mr Gold. He had turned even whiter than before. For a moment, he swayed.

  ‘More trickery, Murgatroyd?’ he said. ‘More lies?’

  Murgatroyd cackled again. ‘For once, Gold, I give you the unvarnished truth.’

  Mr Gold stood still as a statue, his eyes screwed up as if that might help him to see me better.

  ‘Flynn? Is it really you?’

  ‘I am Flynn,’ I said, ‘but I don’t understand what’s—’

  ‘Oh, child, I never thought to see you again!’ Tears were pouring down Mr Gold’s cheeks.

  ‘How touching,’ murmured Murgatroyd. ‘A family reunion. What a pity this will be the first and only time.’

  My mind raced. What was Murgatroyd talking about?

  But Mr Gold was limping towards me, his eyes full of light and love.

  ‘One more move,’ hissed Murgatroyd, tightening his grip on my wrist, ‘and I’ll pull her through the mirror. Then you’ll never see your darling niece again.’

  Mr Gold froze.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I whispered, turning to Mr Gold. ‘What does he mean?’

  His voice seemed to come from a long way away.

  ‘Flynn, you are Fred and Leonora’s child. I am your uncle. The night of the fire, seven years ago, you were just three years old.’

  My head spun. My knees began to shake so I could hardly stand. Mr Gold—my uncle? Leonora and Fred—my real parents? For a moment, everything went black and I thought I was going to faint.

  Then I heard Mr Gold’s voice: ‘Flynn! Flynn, are you all right?’

  ‘Y-yes. I think so.’ My body hardly seemed to belong to me. ‘But I still don’t understand—’

  ‘Explain it to her, Gold,’ sneered Murgatroyd.

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ said Mr Gold, ‘about the night of the fire? How I crawled into the Big Top and found him—Murgatroyd—in the flaming ring, standing over Fred and Leonora’s little daughter? Well, that child was you, Flynn.’

  ‘Me?’

  I suddenly remembered the newspaper cutting in Mr Gold’s study. So the baby girl who Mr Gold had saved from the burning tent was me! I stared from Mr Gold to Murgatroyd and back again, trying again to take in the meaning of it all. I was Fred and Leonora’s daughter. Mr Gold was my uncle. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have died in the fire that Murgatroyd set.

  ‘You saved my life!’ I whispered to Mr Gold.

  A strange, warm feeling was bubbling in my heart. I didn’t care that Murgatroyd had me by my wrist. Nothing mattered except that I had a family of my own. An uncle and a brother.

  I turned to Murgatroyd. ‘But why do you hate us so?’

  Murgatroyd glared at Mr Gold. ‘I hated him. For getting my circus closed down, for sending me to jail.’

  ‘But it wasn’t only that, was it, Murgatroyd?’ said Mr Gold. ‘You hated me because I was happy. Because I was surrounded by a loving family, and you had nothing… and no one.’

  Murgatroyd’s face twisted.

  ‘So you decided to get your revenge. You decided to murder my family, so that I would suffer. You wanted me to lose what was most precious to me, just as you did when your wife died.’

  Murgatroyd bared his tombstone teeth in a cruel grin. ‘I watched and waited. And on Halloween night, after the show was over, I found them all together in the Big Top: your show-off brother, hanging upside down from the trapeze; Leonora, training her pathetic lion; and the children, playing in the ring. One fiery breath from me, and the sawdust was ablaze. They would all have perished. But, once again, you had to interfere. I knew the game was up when you burst in and picked up the girl. So I did what I do best.’ His yellow eye closed in a wink.

  ‘You shapeshifted and escaped through a tear in the roof,’ said Mr Gold.

  ‘You shapeshifted into Silver?’ I couldn’t see how Murgatroyd shapeshifting into the form of Silver would have helped him to escape through the roof of the fiery tent.

  Murgatroyd gave a high, piercing laugh.

  ‘Think, missy,’ he croaked.

  And then everything fell into place. The tattered black wings; the croaking voice and the yellow eyes; the terrible smell.

  ‘It was you,’ I said. ‘You were the Bird. The Bird in the cabinet.’

  Mr Gold ignored my words. He was gazing at me as if willing me to hear him. ‘I picked you up and ran with you to the entrance, but it was a wall of fire. Just for an instant, the smoke cleared, and I saw a tiny gap in the tent and crawled through it. Then a great piece of steel fell on me and I remember nothing more…’

  ‘And that’s how her pretty face burned,’ cackled Murgatroyd.

  My hand went up to my burn. No wonder Sonia and Claude had refused to tell me about my family and what had happened to them. No wonder they’d hated circuses.

  Murgatroyd wrenched me towards him, pulling me closer and closer to the mirror. I dug in my heels and pulled back with all my strength. Then suddenly, he stopped, and a savage grin spread across his face, his yellow eyes alight with cruelty.

  ‘But wait—what am I thinking?’ he whispered. ‘Why should I trap you in the mirror, when I can finish what I set out to do, seven long years ago?’

  He looked at Feral’s shorn hair, lying on the floor all around me.

  ‘Human hair—dry as sawdust, and so flammable. I need only to breathe on it and you will be trapped in a circle of flames. You will not escape this fire.’

  And he took in a deep, rasping breath.

  ‘No!’ Mr Gold shouted. ‘Let her go. Take me instead.’

  ‘You still don’t understand, do you, Gold? I have no wish to kill you. Where would the fun be in that? It is muc
h, much more satisfying to separate you forever from all those you love. To make you suffer for eternity, as I have suffered.’

  ‘And you have succeeded,’ said Mr Gold quietly. ‘You took away my family: my brother and his wife and my nephew.’

  Murgatroyd began to laugh, wheezing his foul breath around me. But I hardly noticed. My thoughts were whirling. If Mr Gold was my uncle, and Feral was my twin…

  ‘Mr Gold!’ I shouted. ‘You haven’t lost your nephew! Finn is alive!’

  FIRE

  Mr Gold went very still. ‘What do you mean, Flynn?’

  But Murgatroyd interrupted.

  ‘Wretched girl!’ he snarled, pulling my wrist so hard it felt like my arm would be torn from its socket. ‘If it was not for you, Gold would have lived the rest of his life alone and grieving. And if it was not for the lion, your twin brother would have died in the fire, along with his parents.’

  ‘The lion?’ I said. ‘Kula?’

  ‘Yes, Kula,’ spat Murgatroyd. ‘The stupid creature who adored you all. Who risked her own life for her precious Golds.’

  ‘What about her?’

  Murgatroyd threw a furious glance at the door through which Feral had disappeared.

  ‘The lion did not die in the fire. And neither did your nephew, Finn.’

  Mr Gold’s face was white.

  Murgatroyd went on speaking. ‘The lion took the boy and escaped into the night. I hoped she’d devoured him. But instead the animal cared for him.’

  ‘You mean… the boy is alive?’ whispered Mr Gold.

  ‘Alive, yes,’ snarled Murgatroyd. ‘And more of a little savage than a human. What else could you expect, brought up in the forest by a lion?’

  Mr Gold shook his head as if trying to understand.

  ‘You are lying,’ he said finally. ‘This can’t be true.’

  ‘It is true!’ I shouted, the words tumbling out of my mouth. ‘It really is! It’s Feral—Feral is Finn. He’s my twin!’

  Mr Gold stared at me. He spun round and stared at the empty doorway. There was a long silence, then he began to speak, as if he was trying to piece everything together.

  ‘They told me Finn had died in the fire… and I didn’t know… How could I have known?’