Amethyst (17 page)

Amy kicked the cloak across the room. ‘Putting that on would be asking for trouble!’ she told the rat. ‘I won’t touch it.’ She chose a long dark red dress instead. It had matching blood-red, leather boots. Their soles were so thin and soft she could feel the hard coldness of the floor through them. She laced them up quickly.

Now she was ready to go. Amy stood very still in the centre of the room.

It was the mirrors that held her there.

You have to know, she told herself. You can’t go round suspecting your face is changing all the time. Get in that bathroom, now! She forced herself to turn round, open the bathroom door and go in.

She leaned close to the nearest mirror. She stared at her reflection.

‘Oh, no!’

Her face was horrible. It was distorted and lopsided. Her eyebrows were thick and shaggy, like twin brown hairy caterpillars crawling over her forehead. Her nose was a swollen, bulbous thing like an old mushroom. She almost couldn’t see her eyes, they were such tiny, bloodshot things, devoid of lashes. And her mouth – that was the worst. Her mouth was twisted into a snarl showing long, sharp yellow fangs.

No! No! Amy’s eyes filled with tears. The reflection became blurred. Please don’t let this be true! Please! Amy ran her fingers all over her face. It felt the same. It didn’t feel like it looked. Distorted. The rockgoyle said the mirror was wonky, didn’t she? It’s the mirror that’s wobbly and distorts images, it’s not my face changing … Is it?

Amy was shaking. She knew what this meant. The rockgoyle was warning her, was letting Amy see her true self, just as the eye-cycle had. She went back to her room and picked up the rat.

I’m ugly and foul inside and it’s showing. I’m turning into the horrid things I made. I’m spoiling myself.

‘Why didn’t Aunt Agnes let me make nice things, Rat?’ she said, stroking him, fiercely. ‘If I don’t truly change I’ll have to stay here forever living like a rockgoyle, with the rockgoyles … I don’t want to. I can’t.’

She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Through the pillow she heard the dull throbbing sound of those faraway chanting voices. It seemed as if her bed trembled in time to the dull thud of pounding hammers
and feet striking rhythmically against the rock.

My fault. All my fault, she thought. Those poor miserable things, stuck down there away from the light …

Suddenly Amy felt the rat busying himself about. His little paws trod over her stomach, then up to her face. Something light and warm fell over her cheeks.

‘What are you …?’

She couldn’t speak. All of a sudden she felt so happy. So glad, that she just wanted to hold onto this glorious feeling of bright joy. It was as if she could see inside her own head and the space inside it was enormous. Awhole universe. Or maybe her head had become part of the universe. She buzzed. She glowed. She knew she was smiling. She tried to peer into this great empty space and grasp it. It was such a wonderful, good feeling she wanted to hold it forever.

She couldn’t though. Already the sensation was slipping away. Amy put her hands up to her face. She felt a cloth. She opened her eyes. It was the two knitted squares that Copper had made.

‘Oh, Rat! It was this!’ She pressed the fabric onto her skin. ‘You clever thing! It is magic! Like Squitcher said. It’s wonderful.’

She closed her eyes again. She couldn’t get that wonderful feeling of space back, but she felt different. She felt good. I am not ugly. I am not ugly. Stop me from going ugly, she begged. Stop the rot, please! I’m not going to spoil anything ever again. I’m going to be different! I can do it. Like Wolfgang said, I have a choice. I choose not to spoil.

The rat snuggled under Amy’s chin, purring. She lay and watched the sunlight as it moved slowly across the walls, lit up the gold candlesticks and silver ornaments, caught the rich veins in the marble and set it glittering and sparkling. It was very beautiful.

At last she went back to look in the mirror.

The glass was old and tarnished. It was misted with condensation. Amy wiped it quickly with a towel. Her face looked back, her ordinary old Amy face. The glass
was
wonky and wet and that was all.

‘Right,’ she said to the rat. ‘I’m going to do my last bit of spoiling – but good spoiling. I’m going to spoil things for that double-crossing Granite. And horrid Shane. Come on, Rat!’

Getting out of the room was easy. Amy jiggled the crochet hook in the lock and opened the door. The white rat skidded across the polished floor and bumped into the wall beside her.

‘Pss, squeak!’

Amy picked him up. ‘Rat, dear Rat. Right now, you’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve got,’ she told him. ‘Let me give you a lift.’

‘I just can’t believe it,’ said Copper. ‘Amy was – she – she was tricking us the whole time?’

Questrid shook his head. ‘How mean of her. How mean.’

Wolfgang nodded. ‘But she was regretting it.’

‘I hope you aren’t too jolly squashing-hard on her,’ said Squitcher. ‘She did write you a sorry-note …’

‘Yes, I read it,’ said Copper. ‘And I still say Amy’s my friend. She helped us.’

‘Did she?’ said Questrid coldly. ‘Think about it. What did she do? Nothing. She watched us and hung around but she never helped.’

‘Oh, you’ve always been unfriendly to her, Questrid,’ said Copper. ‘Right from the start.’

‘You think everyone’s nice,’ said Questrid, gently. ‘I never trusted her. Remember when I gave her a silver spoon to eat with? It distorted in her hand! She spoiled
it. But I never told you because you wouldn’t hear a word against her.’

‘I wanted a friend,’ said Copper, miserably. ‘I wanted the Rockers and Woods to be friends.’

‘Of course! No blame, Copper,’ said Wolfgang. ‘To think good thoughts is a fine thing.’

‘Granite sent her. He probably sent Shane Annigan,’ said Questrid. ‘But she didn’t know Annigan, did she? Unless she’s a brilliant actor. Yet she must have been in on the plot. She kept you in the Root Room longer than you wanted, didn’t she, so he could snatch Ralick?’

Copper shook her head. ‘I don’t think so … No, the only bad thing she did was to try to persuade me that you’d taken Ralick.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, and worse, I almost believed her!’

They stared at each other.

‘Amy brought you here,’ Wolfgang said. He sat down. ‘Wanted you to come after the wolf cub. So!’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘So! You must
not
go into Malachite Mountain, Copper!’

‘But I have to! If Amy’s gone there to get Ralick, then I must too.’

‘Wolfgang’s right, Copper. Granite’s never forgiven you,’ said Questrid. ‘Copper freed Amber from Granite’s clutches. She forced him out of the Rock. She outsmarted him.’

‘If he seeks revenge, Copper, that’s dangerous,’ said Wolfgang. ‘Much better you go home.’

‘Never!’ said Copper. ‘I’m not going back without Ralick. He’s my, my … everything!’

‘Wood madness,’ laughed Wolfgang. ‘Wood shavings for brains. Well, then … I believe the wolf cub is prisoner in the mountain peak.’ He paused to pack his pipe and relight it. ‘In the Crystal Crown.’

‘How do you know, Wolfgang?’

‘I have lived inside that mountain,’ he said. ‘When I was a boy. It was a place for wolves and dwarves. In those days few rockgoyles and not so ugly or mean.’

‘Rockgoyles?’ said Questrid.

‘What’s a rockgoyle?’ asked Copper.

‘What’s a …? Think ugly gargoyle with a bit of ogre and you have rockgoyle. They live in the mountains. Are grown there, like mushrooms, in the composting room deep in the mountain. Granite keeps them ugly so they won’t leave.’

‘OK, OK, enough about rockgoyles. What about this crystal place?’ Questrid said. ‘Do you know how to get up there, Wolfgang?’

‘I do.’

‘Then what are we waiting for? The fog’s cleared! Let’s go!’

Squitcher let out a little squeak. ‘Not me, please. I’m sorry, but Boldly Seer is so much puffed-out-exhausted. I must stay and care for her. And I am scared – frightened, it’s true. But it’s true also we’ll need the dragon strong to carry us all home again.’

‘Of course you must stay here with Boldly,’ said
Copper. ‘You’ve been brilliant. Without you we’d never have got here, Squitcher.’

Wolfgang insisted that he come as a guide. The wolves, he assured Questrid and Copper, would be fine without him.

‘We’ll go round by the waterfall,’ Wolfgang told Questrid and Copper. ‘Over the hanging bridge and take the path up the back of Malachite Mountain, away from prying eyes.’

Wolfgang led the way. They followed the path Amy had taken (Questrid saw her tracks), then they turned off into the forest. They pushed their way through dense pine trees and leathery-leaved bushes up the mountainside. When they broke out of the dark woods at last, the sun shone down on them warmly. They blinked in the brilliant light. The snowy slopes around them glistened and twinkled. Now they could see the shape of Malachite Mountain rising up in front of them. It was all sharp crags, black crevasses and smooth green ice. Tiny odd-shaped windows were dotted all over it, glinting brightly.

‘Green is the malachite shining through,’ Wolfgang said. He pointed to the very top. ‘See that? That’s the crystal globe!’

Copper squinted up into the sky. The great crystal ball was like a Christmas tree decoration perched on the apex of the mountain. The sunlight bounced off it so it shone like a small sun.

‘Poor Ralick,’ whispered Copper. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

They trudged through the snow. Soon Copper heard the trickle of running water. ‘That’s the waterfall,’ said Wolfgang. ‘There’s a bridge across the gorge. I told you, remember?’

The waterfall was fantastic: half of it was frozen into a massive white-blue frozen wave, like a thick fringe of human hair. It hung way above their heads, suspended over the side of the mountain.

Beneath the cloud of ice, water rushed down the rock. Over the years the running water had cut a deep gorge. Below them the water tumbled and splashed as it made its way down to the valley.

A bridge hung over this gorge.

‘We need to cross here,’ said Wolfgang. ‘The path goes on the other side up to the top of the mountain. No one sees us there.’

Copper stared at the narrow bridge and deep gorge with horror. The bridge was a thin, insubstantial thing made of rope and iron. It looped over the ravine like a bit of string. The wooden planks of the walkway were wet and slimy, constantly sprayed by the waterfall. It did not look safe.

‘You first, Copper,’ Wolfgang said.

‘It looks very rickety,’ said Copper.

‘It’s been there for years. But anyway, you are the lightest and if it breaks, then you are over it and can find the cub. You are most important.’

‘That won’t break!’ said Questrid, laughing.

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Copper.

Gingerly Copper stepped onto the bridge. It swayed
a little. She held on to the rope, letting it slide through her hands as she edged forward. She took five steps and then she was hanging over the ravine. She sensed the great depth below her, it was horrible. Empty. She shivered.

‘Don’t look down!’ shouted Wolfgang.

At her next step, the bridge began to tremble the way a strand of cobweb trembles when a fly is caught on its sticky surface.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Go on! It’s fine!’ yelled Wolfgang.

Copper went on. The further she got, the more the bridge wobbled and swayed. She was so frightened she closed her eyes. Think of Ralick, she told herself. Think of Ralick. Go on! Go on! You can do it!

She opened her eyes. She began to hurry. She could hear Questrid and Wolfgang shouting encouragement.

The planks were spaced in such a way that her boots caught on them. The ropes beneath her hands were wet and slippery. The whole contraption felt unsafe and wobbly. The other side was looming up. She was nearly there. She ran. She made a flying jump at the end and fell into the deep snow on the far side.

‘Done it!’

Her heart was pounding. Blood raced hotly round her limbs. She turned round and waved triumphantly.

‘You next, Questrid,’ said Wolfgang. ‘I follow then behind.’

Questrid jammed his hat down firmly, wrapped his scarf tightly round his neck and set off. He was scared
of heights; he felt queasy. He didn’t like the way the bridge swayed.

Questrid was halfway across when the wood beneath him dropped with a jolt. He stopped. His fingers curled round the rope rail. He stared down at the wooden planks, willing them to stay still.

A strange whining sound, like a cloud of mosquitoes, filled the air. Something made a popping noise.

Suddenly strands of rope burst out, fraying like bunches of whiskers, all along the length of the bridge. The ropes snapped. The metal rings holding the ropes into the ground clanged and rang as they popped out.

The bridge jolted another stomach-sickening drop. The wooden treads began to shatter, spurting out of their fastenings. They tossed into the air and fell, tumbling into the water below.

‘Questrid!’ Copper screamed at him.

Wolfgang was shouting. Questrid did not know which way to go. He turned to go back. Wolfgang was sprinting out to help him. He moved and then – there was nothing to run on, his feet were paddling thin air.