Amethyst (4 page)

The rockgoyle shuffled out.

Amy slipped off her boots and socks and stood barefoot on the polished granite floor. She spread out her toes and flattened her feet against the cold, smooth surface.

Bliss.

She padded over to the bed, pushed the heavy furs off and lay down on the crisp white, cool sheets. She gazed up at the jagged, roughly-hewn rock ceiling. She looked round at her splendid room. She smiled.

No wonder Aunt Agnes hadn’t wanted her to come here! She was jealous! She and Uncle John would be eating pigs’ trotters in their narrow little kitchen! If only they could see me now! she thought.

And they’ll have to go on making gargoyles for ever and ever and they’ll never be as horrid as mine. Never. And I’ll never have to make another one! She drummed her feet on the bed. Brilliant!

Granite was in his room deep inside Malachite Mountain. The room was lined with strips of silver and gold the way ordinary people would line a room with wallpaper. Granite sat at a great slate desk. His chair was carved from finest obsidian and studded with rubies and emeralds. He sipped a turquoise iced drink from a crystal glass.

He was smiling. He picked up the pair of metal knitting needles lying on the desk. He kissed them. Smiled. Kissed them again. A low, gritty laugh escaped his lips. It sounded like gravel slithering down a long, long tunnel.

Next morning, after she had been brought her breakfast in bed, Amethyst joined Granite in the Reception Chamber.

‘We will go up to the top of the mountain,’ Granite said. ‘The view is magnificent.’

Amy had no particular wish to see the view, but she guessed Granite was going to tell her more important things. She followed him meekly.

Granite lived in the uppermost third of Malachite Mountain. This meant the rooms, hewn out of the greenish-coloured stone, became smaller and more oddly-shaped, the higher up you went.

‘Lord Lazulite dropped dead,’ Granite said as they tramped up the stairs. ‘Lucky I was available to take command. I was thrown out of Marble Mountain. Discarded like an old boot by my conniving sister and that Copper Beech … Is it any wonder I want revenge, eh?’

The staircase wound upwards like a snail shell. The steps were wide, shallow and well-worn. The floor was a jumble of coloured stone chips, flat and smooth as a skating rink. The landings were lit up by windows of coloured glass. On the walls hideous stone gargoyles were displayed. They were some of the most unpleasant Amy had ever seen – and she’d seen lots.

‘Rockgoyles?’ she asked.

‘Rockgoyles,’ repeated Granite.

‘Where do they live? The ones that serve us?’

‘Down,’ said Granite, stabbing his thumb towards his feet.

‘I know this sounds a bit mad, and impossible,’ Amy said, ‘but I – well, some of the rockgoyles look like ones I made, and—’

‘Do they?’

‘Yes, and—’

But he cut her off. ‘More stairs. They’ve got spiral stairs in that Spindle House,’ he said. ‘It’s a tree. They live in a tree, it’s all wood and curves and soft. Pah!’

Wood. A tree house. He’d told her that last night. She was going there. It would be so strange … Being a Rocker, she’d been brought up to despise and mistrust the Wood People.

She didn’t dare bring up the subject of the rockgoyles again. It was madness anyway. Probably all gargoyles and rockgoyles looked alike …

Each staircase they climbed up was narrower than the last. They went up in silence, their feet flapping on the hard steps like dying fish.

The air grew cooler. Near the top the stairs were less trodden, sharper and harder. They were emerald green. Granite began to puff and grunt. His chest rattled as if it were full of pebbles.

‘There are seven flights,’ he puffed. ‘At the top, crystal. Clear. Magnificent.’

‘It sounds fantas—’

‘The girl, Copper Beech. The one who owns the wolf cub. She’s half-Rock, half-Wood.’

‘Really?’ Amy stopped. ‘I didn’t know you could be, but of course her name says it all and—’

‘Copper Beech. Huh!’

Rockers and Woods mixing! Immediately a picture of this Copper sprang into Amy’s mind. She saw an awkward, misshapen thing with dull brown hair. She was leaning sideways, shifting in the wind. Bending. I bet she can hardly do anything, thought Amy. What
could
such a person do?

‘Yes, Wood and Rock,’ growled Granite. ‘And it breeds disaster, disaster.’

They came out onto a small round landing. The floor was made of shimmering pale stone, like frozen milk, smoother than silk. Granite sat down on a carved stone box.

‘Last stop before the crown,’ he said. ‘See, Copper stole Amber from me. My Amber. She can do it. That’s why they took her.’ He peered at Amy from below his black brows. ‘Amber can make gold … S’true. And you know how? No, course you couldn’t imagine it, never. She knits it! Yes.’ He paused, breathing heavily. ‘She
knitted it out of the rock. That’s why they took her from me. So she’d make
them
gold.’

Granite stared at the gold rings on his blackened fingers. ‘Lovely, lovely gold,’ he crooned. ‘There whenever you want it. Like a tap. Turn it on. Turn it of—’

‘I’d never turn it off!’ said Amy.

Their eyes met and they roared with laughter.

‘Girl after my own heart!’ cried Granite. ‘No. Never stop making it, eh? Why would you? And that’s why Copper Beech stole Amber from me. For that gold!’

Greedy things! Amy hated them all. Wood People. Enemies.

‘Come on, then,’ Granite said. He got up. ‘One more flight.’

The stairs grew so narrow that Granite’s body rubbed the sides as he shuffled along. It was dark. The only light seeping up from the windows on the last landing. Suddenly the stairs stopped. Above Granite’s head was a trap door. He pushed it open. Light washed over them like a white tide. Amy was blinded. Granite took her hand and pulled her up into the light.

‘The Crystal Crown.’

It was like stepping out on top of the world.

They were at the very apex of the mountain. They were surrounded by a massive crystal globe. It was made from a myriad of glass shapes held together by narrow metal strips, like the mosaic of a giant insect’s eye.

‘Cazonite Crystal,’ said Granite. He sat down on the circular glass bench which ran round the edge of the dome. He waved a hand at the snow-capped peaks and
crags which rose up sharp and vivid against the intense blue sky. ‘All mine. Everything you can see. It’s Rock. Solid.
Mine
.’

Amy put her hand against the crystal. It was cold. It was very beautiful. It was see-through and yet full of minuscule silver and gold fragments, like stars.

‘That’s fossilised insects trapped millions of years ago,’ said Granite. ‘Fine stuff, isn’t it? There’s the odd diamond and ruby in there too.’

‘Really?’

‘And amethysts … somewhere.’

Amy gazed out at the mountains.

‘Why do you want me to steal the wolf cub?’ she asked. Granite laughed. ‘Ralick is special. I want him. You don’t need to know more.’

‘But—’

‘Listen. My sister – calls herself Ruby – she’s in charge of the Rock at Marble Mountain. Ruby wants to trust me, though she knows she shouldn’t. She wants Rockers and Woods to be allies. She’s persuaded the Beech family of Spindle House to let you stay with them. As if we want to be friends, you see.’ He chuckled. ‘As if I sit around saying,
let bygones be bygones
.’ He laughed. ‘You go in and get Copper’s trust. Then steal the cub. They’ll try and turn you against me, but their sappy words won’t touch your Rock soul. I know.’

‘I hope I can do it.’

‘You can.’

‘What do I do when I’ve got the cub?’ Amy asked.

‘Bring him back here.’

‘On my own? Just like that?’

‘It won’t be difficult. There’s a tunnel – a one-way tunnel. It cuts through the mountain. Those soft, sappy Woodies will find it hard to pass through and if they do, they won’t get back. There’ll be help at hand … Don’t worry your little head about a thing.’

Don’t worry my little head.
Huh! Amy stared at Granite. Where’s he been for the last hundred years? she thought.

Amy spent the afternoon padding around the icy corridors and empty chambers of Malachite Mountain. She spent some time in Granite’s studio, making a gigantic, gruesome gargoyle with twisted lips and long fangs. It felt good knowing other children were in school.

When she was in her sumptuous chamber that night, she concocted lists of all the things she was going to buy when she was rich. She would introduce electricity to the mountain, bring television and real lights! The whole place needed modernising. And if she wasn’t going to go to school, then she needed lots of things to do, maybe a home cinema? An ice rink? Some shops. Why weren’t there any shops nearby?

Amy delighted in ordering the rockgoyles about. She asked for sandwiches with twenty different fillings. Iced lemonade. Iced tea. Turquoise tea. Fizzing crystal water. She didn’t want any of it, but she loved seeing the
rockgoyles staggering up the stairs to her room, carrying trays laden with goodies for her.

Amy thought a lot about her mission. Spindle House became a warped, twisted thing in her mind. Weevil holes spotted its smooth surface. It smelt rank, of rotting fungus and mould. It was full of bendy, tall and nasty-smelling Wood People. Twittering birds perched in the branches. Amber, the gold-making mother, was fat, spiteful and rich. Amy made them all distorted and ugly in her mind, just like she made her gargoyles.

The sound of someone laughing loudly broke into her thoughts. Granite’s distinctive chuckle – like cascading pebbles, joined in. Amy wondered who Granite was having fun with. Why hadn’t he invited her?

In the middle of the night, she woke from a troubled dream. She lay for a few minutes trying to identify what had disturbed her. Then she heard it. A faint, steady throbbing. The noise came from deep down inside the mountain. It seemed to travel up through the walls, the floor, her bed. It was like the thrumming of a large machine … Or an army of men marching.

She knew what it must be. The rockgoyles, deep, deep down in the bowels of the mountain.

Amy had quickly got used to ignoring the rockgoyles. She hardly saw the squat female rockgoyle packing a bag for her journey the next day.

‘Is it true you’re the one who carves us?’ the rockgoyle said.

‘What?’ Amy jumped. She didn’t like the rockgoyle’s
tone. She didn’t like the rockgoyle talking to her before she’d been spoken to.

‘Do you make rockgoyles?’ repeated the creature.

‘I do! Did! Well, I used to make
gargoyles
.’

‘Gargoyles. Rockgoyles. We’ve heard you make them worse and worse, as bad as you can do it. True is it?’

Amy stared into the goggly eyes of the rockgoyle. The creature had no eyelashes, a squashed piggy nose and pointed ears.

‘I might. Why?’ she said.

‘Just wondered,’ said the rockgoyle. ‘We wondered if it was you, because if it is, we reckoned …’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What? Tell me.’

The rockgoyle fixed her bulbous eyes on Amy. ‘Granite says you made some of us.’

‘That’s crazy! No, you’ve got it wrong. I made stone
gargoyles
for churches, old monuments and things and—’

‘But do you make them for Granite? Specially ugly ones for him?’

‘Er, well, some of them were for Granite—’ Amy stared blankly into a corner of the ceiling. Her skin felt hot and prickly.

‘But you didn’t know that Granite throws them in the germinating compost and they come out alive?’

‘What? I don’t know what you—
Germinating compost
?’

Aunt Agnes had always sent the ugliest gargoyles to
Granite. But they were just clay models! It couldn’t be true … but if it was, then what about those really evil, malicious ones she’d made? Her heart fluttered.

‘Only the worst come here,’ said the rockgoyle. ‘The compost gives them life—’

‘Oh, be quiet! I don’t want to hear.’

‘I’ll keep quiet. Only what you’ve done’s not nice. You keep an eye on the mirror, young lady, that’s my advice. Spoilers end up spoiling more than they bargained for …’