Other Alice (20 page)

It was a spread for a fortune telling, that was clear enough. I guessed the person who was having their cards read must be the Seeker, and, after they had shuffled the cards and asked their
question, the cards were then laid at these positions on the cloth to give an answer.

As I studied the words, it occurred to me that the list also looked a lot like the sort of things Alice wrote down when she was planning her stories. I started looking through the cards. Each
one was so beautifully painted. I set aside the ones I’d seen already and began studying the others. They were easier to put meanings to now I knew the cards were linked to stories. Some were
obvious: two children following a breadcrumb trail, a spinning wheel, a poisoned apple, a girl in a red cape.

There were others I didn’t understand: an open book full of words that were too tiny to read. Next to it was a burnt-out candle stump. Another card was almost identical, except the book
was blank and the candle was tall and had only just started burning.

The next card showed a man who was rowing a boat between two places. Alice had told me this story a few times; it was in an old book of myths and legends. The only way the man could escape was
by tricking someone else into taking the oars.

The final card was a story that had always frightened me. A hooded man was playing a flute, leading a trail of hypnotised rats to drown in the river. I pulled the blanket round myself more
tightly, remembering what happened next. Though the Pied Piper had got rid of the town’s rats, the mayor cheated him out of being paid. In revenge, the piper played a tune which lured all the
town’s children away with him, except one, a little boy who was deaf and unable to hear him play. The rest were never seen again, nor was the Pied Piper.

Piper
.

I glanced at the boy sleeping nearby. He’d shifted in his sleep and his arm was tucked round his flute case, holding it protectively.

A coldness spread over my skin like river water.

I was now almost certain that Alice had used these fortune cards to plan out her story.

I
WOKE TO THE SOUNDS
of something breaking and sat up in a panic, at first wondering where I was. My head felt as though it
were full of sand, my eyes gritty and my mouth sour. It had taken me a long time to fall asleep and when I finally had it was uneasy.

There was another crack from the kitchen. I looked up, aware that I was alone in the snug. There was no sign of Piper or the cat, but Gypsy had her back to me in the kitchen.

Instinctively, my hand shot under my pillow, checking the box was still hidden. It was. I’d slept with it there all night.

‘Where’s Piper?’ I asked, getting up. ‘And Tabitha?’

Gypsy nodded to the window above the sink, then turned, whisking a basin of eggs.

‘They’ve gone out?’ I stumbled to Gypsy’s side. ‘What if they disappear?’

Gypsy stopped whisking and picked up some chalk to write on a slate hanging up nearby.
I’ve been watching them. I’m not letting Piper out of my sight
.

I looked out of the window, searching the riverbank. Piper was kneeling in the grass, fiddling with something. There was no sign of the cat. I sat down at the table, chewing my thumb. A couple
of minutes passed and then Piper’s voice carried down into the hold, making me jump.

‘Miss me?’ He grinned, stepping down into the kitchen.

Gypsy snorted.

‘Thought so.’ His smile widened obnoxiously. ‘Never been so popular. I’m starting to get used to this.’

He shook a jumble of mushrooms out from the scrap of cloth he was carrying. ‘Is that any way to greet someone who’s just brought in the breakfast?’

‘Mushrooms in February?’ I said, eyeing them doubtfully. ‘You sure they’re not poisonous?’

Piper laughed. ‘You sure you’re awake yet? It was September last time I checked. Right, Gyps?’

Gypsy nodded, but didn’t turn round. Piper went to the sink and began washing the mushrooms.
September?
So they’d come from another season – though they didn’t
know it yet – and brought some of the autumn with them.

‘If they were poisonous, I’d be dead,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘I’ve been foraging for years. I know what I’m doing.’

Gypsy put a pot of tea and four cups on the table. We poured it in silence, which was broken by a lovely hiss as she threw a scoop of butter into the hot pan, then added the eggs and mushrooms.
Minutes later, we were each served a fluffy, golden omelette with crusty bread. I couldn’t wolf it down quick enough.

I’d just put down my fork when Tabitha appeared at the window behind Gypsy with a dead bird clamped in her jaws.

‘Seconds, anyone?’ Piper said, stuffing another crust into his mouth.

A muffled sound came from the other side of the window.

‘Did you say something, puss?’ Piper asked the cat.

Tabitha nodded vigorously. A feather came loose and stuck to the glass, smeared with blood. ‘
Et ee in!
’

‘I think she wants to come in,’ Piper told Gypsy with a smirk.

Gypsy wrinkled her nose and shook her head, then put her fork down on her plate with a couple of bites still unfinished. I felt my own breakfast lurch in my tummy. I was used to seeing Twitch
kill small creatures, but it seemed different with Tabitha: a cat you could speak to and reason with . . . and who’d been munching happily on candyfloss only last night.

‘I reckon that’s a no,’ Piper called. ‘It’s breakfast al fresco for you, Tabitha!’

Tabitha’s golden eyes narrowed, then she vanished from the window, leaping on to the roof above. Once or twice, her long black tail swung into view and a couple of feathers floated
down.

When she returned to the window, her mouth was empty.

‘May I come in now?’ she asked coldly.

Gypsy unlatched the window.

‘Hope your whiskers are clean,’ said Piper, grinning.

‘Of course they’re clean. What do you think I am, some kind of savage?’ Tabitha strolled in, bringing a cold draught with her, and jumped straight on to the table. ‘Is
there any tea left in the pot?’

I poured a cup for her. ‘Need to wash something down, do you?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ Tabitha replied sarcastically, dipping her head to drink. ‘Nothing worse than having fleas and feathers stuck in your teeth.’

‘Why didn’t you have an omelette?’ I asked. ‘You drink tea like the rest of us.’

‘Tea doesn’t keep me alive,’ the cat answered. ‘It just helps make my situation more bearable.’

‘So you don’t have a choice?’ I asked.

‘If I did, do you think I’d choose to crunch up bones and beaks?’ said Tabitha. She hiccuped, looking gloomy. ‘It was a scrawny thing, too. That’s the price you
pay, I suppose.’

For what?
Gypsy wrote.

‘Having nine lives. The food is terrible and takes ages to digest,’ she grumbled. ‘Speaking of which—’ she yawned, ‘—I need to do some of that
now.’ She jumped off the table and strolled lazily to the snug, flopping down on a pillow.

I watched her for a moment, unsettled, then went outside on deck into the frosty morning. It wasn’t so much the killing of the bird that bothered me, but the realisation that I
didn’t really know much about Tabitha at all.

Every character in a story must want something
, Alice had explained to me once.
That’s what makes the story work and gives it conflict
.

Besides Gypsy, who I guessed must want to break her curse and get her voice back, and Ramblebrook, who wanted his museum, I had no idea what the others were after. Piper and the cat were still a
mystery to me and, without the story itself, I only knew whatever they chose to tell me.

I didn’t trust either of them.

Perhaps the pages Piper had stashed would hold some extra clues, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop Gypsy reading them. When she did, there was every chance she’d find out the
truth, about who and what she was. I considered telling her, but it didn’t seem like something she’d believe. Either way, it couldn’t stay hidden much longer. Once she knew, once
Piper knew, what would they do?

I tried to imagine someone telling me something quite so shocking about myself. It would be like finding out I was adopted and everything in my life was a lie. Yet this still didn’t
compare to finding out that you yourself were a lie, entirely dreamed up by someone else.

I heard footsteps beside me and turned. Gypsy stood there, watching me with her notepad in her hand.

We’re going soon
, she’d written.

‘To get the pages Piper took?’ I asked.

She nodded, staring across the water. I gazed at her. Her skin was smooth and rosy. I searched her jawline for a small scar that Alice had from the time she’d had chickenpox as a baby, but
it wasn’t there. I reminded myself that this wasn’t Alice, and thought of the fortune cards. The spinning wheel with its cursed spindle, the black cat, the Pied Piper.

‘What happened between you and Piper?’ I asked.

He betrayed me
, she wrote
.
Her eyes clouded a little and she blinked.
It was a long time ago
.

I remember the notes Alice had written on Gypsy. They had said she’d been betrayed by a boy she loved. Surely this couldn’t be Piper?

‘He could still betray us both now,’ I said. ‘We only have his word that he hid those pages. He could be leading us into a trap.’

She frowned.
What kind of trap?

‘He could be working with Dolly. If she wanted it enough to steal it, then perhaps she wants to make sure no one else can come after it. Perhaps she wants us out of the way.’

Gypsy narrowed her eyes.
You still haven’t asked me why I want the story. Why is that?

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. ‘I just . . . it’s none of my business,’ I muttered.

She waited, unconvinced.

I shrugged. ‘I thought, if you wanted to tell me, then you would. And . . . and I wanted you to help me. I guessed I had a better chance of that if I didn’t seem too
nosy.’ My face burned at the lie and I rushed on to change the subject. ‘I say we ditch Piper as soon as we get those pages. He’ll just lead us into trouble.’

‘I reckon I’ve been pretty helpful so far.’

I spun round, horrified.

Piper was on the steps, leaning casually against the roof. He didn’t look pleased, but nor did he look especially angry, either. ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to it,’ he
said. He buttoned up his coat and blew into his fingers. ‘And I only heard the last part of what you were saying, in case you’re wondering.’

There was no way of knowing if he was telling the truth.

‘Come on then. I’ll take you to the pages I hid.’ He bit off a fingernail, spitting it into the canal. ‘If they’re still there.’

‘They’d better be,’ I muttered under my breath

It was still early when we arrived in the town square. The shops were starting to open, and road sweepers were out, clearing litter strewn across the cobbles from the Summoning
the night before.

We’d left Tabitha snoozing on
Elsewhere
. Gypsy hadn’t been entirely happy about this, but we’d decided that a cat trailing after us – especially one that
couldn’t keep its mouth shut – was likely to attract attention.

‘Please tell me you didn’t leave those pages somewhere stupid,’ I said to Piper, seeing a discarded newspaper blowing all over the place.

‘They’re safe,’ he grunted. ‘In plain sight in a way. But I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

‘What do you mean “in plain sight”?’ I asked.

‘You’ll see.’ He strode on, towards the library, nearing the fishmonger who was taking a delivery. We hurried past the stacked crates outside and saw that Piper had stopped a
little way ahead in front of a door set back in a row of crooked buildings. He rapped on the door and waited.

‘This place looks empty,’ I said, peering at the painted-out windows. The uppermost one was fogged up from the inside. ‘Wait. Someone’s in there.’

Piper knocked again, louder this time. A light snapped on, flooding the cracked glass pane above the door. Then came the clipped sound of shoes on wood and a bolt sliding back. The door opened
and there stood a man in a poorly fitting tweed suit. He had a severe nose and a neat, grey moustache.

‘Yes?’

‘I was here yesterday,’ said Piper, scratching the back of his neck. ‘I helped you carry some boxes in?’

The man peered down his nose through gold-rimmed spectacles. Though he was neat, there was something about him that seemed neglected and undernourished. The only fleshy things about him were the
puffy, grey bags under his eyes. ‘Oh, yes.’ His eyes swept over the rest of us, then back to Piper. ‘What is it?’

‘I think I dropped something,’ said Piper. ‘A watch my grandfather gave me. It’s not worth much, but it means a lot to me. Could I take a quick look around for
it?’

The man gave an impatient sigh. ‘As long as it
is
quick. I’m busy.’ He stood aside, opening the door wider. Boxes were stacked all along the hallway. Piper stepped
past him. The man glanced sternly at the rest of us. ‘You’d better come in; it’s cold out there. But don’t meddle with any of these boxes, do you hear? There’s
precious work in them, not things to be touched by sticky-fingered children.’