The Spin (23 page)

Stormy jumped up, banging his knees against the little table so the milk jug spilled. He glanced at Maud. The blood had drained from her face instantly; she looked terrified.

‘I'll be in such trouble if I'm found here!'

Stormy took her hand. ‘It's OK.'

Mr Small pointed to a staircase in the corner of the room and held his finger to his lips. ‘Shh!'

Stormy and Maud scuttled over to the stairs and quickly went up, ducking under the low ceiling as they went.

Mrs Small snatched up the cake and whisked it out of sight into a cupboard. Mr Small chucked the book under the little table and pulled the tablecloth down to hide it.

The hammering on the door sounded again, louder.

‘Coming. Coming!' Mrs Small checked the room showed no signs of her other visitors and went slowly to draw back the lock.

Upstairs, crouching in the tiny bedroom, Maud and Stormy strained to hear what was going on.

It was Hector.

Immediately Stormy wished he'd stayed downstairs to confront him but he couldn't go down now – he'd look a fool, and anyway Maud's fingers were locked around his arm. She needed his support.

He heard Hector stride boldly into the room below. ‘My God, you are
so
titchy!' Hector cried, then there was a horrible crunching thud.

Stormy unpeeled Maud's fingers from his arm and crept to the top of the stairs to peek down.

‘Ouch!' Hector had smashed his head against a low beam. ‘Ouch, ouch!' he yelled, clutching his head. ‘What a totally stupid place to put the ceiling!'

‘Oh, Hector, sir, I'm so sorry,' Mr Small said. ‘I can't think what made me put that beam there. How foolish of me. If you'd perhaps ducked a little sooner? Or were just four, five inches smaller . . .'

‘I'll get him some ice,' Mrs Small said. ‘Won't you take some ice for that, Hector? It helps with the swelling.'

Petra and Bentley followed Hector in. ‘You all right, Hector?'

‘Isn't this so cute!' Petra said.

‘It's like a flipping doll's house!' Bentley said.

‘Oh, Hector, you've got a massive bump!' Petra said.

‘You have. I'm thinking duck eggs,' Mrs Small said kindly, staring at Hector's forehead. ‘Even aubergines, that bump is so big.'

‘Will you all just shut up and leave me alone,' Hector said. ‘Shut up!'

The room fell silent.

‘That's better,' Hector said. ‘Now listen, midgets, you've got something I need –'

‘Excuse me, but technically we're not midgets,' Mr Small butted in. ‘We're –'

‘Be quiet, will you?' Hector shouted. ‘Something you've got! I
need
something you've got!'

‘Of course, of course,' Mrs Small said. ‘Don't interrupt him, Mr Small. It doesn't matter that we're not midgets. Or pixies or –'

‘I'm warning you!'

‘Let me get it for you,' Mr Small said. ‘What is it? What can it be?'

‘Ice?' Mrs Small suggested.

‘Not ice, you idiot! Volume seventeen. Spring, the time when Al came. Quick!'

At the top of the stairs in his hiding place, Stormy felt a jolt like lightning shoot through him. Hector knew!

‘Yes, yes, Hector, sir,' Mr Small said.

Mrs Small went to the shelves. ‘It doesn't seem to be there,' Mrs Small said. ‘I don't understand it. Mr Small, do you understand? Where could volume seventeen be?'

The littles began taking down volume after volume and piling them up on the floor.

‘I am sorry, it seems to be –'

‘I really can't imagine where it might have got to.'

‘Fancy it going missing,' Mrs Small said, ‘how could that happen?'

‘Yeah, how?' Hector said, kicking a chair over. ‘Don't worry, we'll find it.'

‘We will!' Petra started throwing the cushions out of the armchairs and tipping the wood out of the wood bucket. ‘Must be here somewhere.'

‘Ever seen me do this trick?' Bentley asked and yanked the tablecloth as if he could take it off without moving the crockery.

The cups, saucers and plates went flying and smashed on the stone flags.

Stormy jumped up, ready to go and fight, but Maud held him back. ‘Better you don't,' she whispered. ‘Better for me –'

‘Ah ha!' someone cried.

They had found the book.

‘Well done, Bent!' Hector said, as Bentley handed it to him. ‘Weren't trying to hide it, were you, Mrs Small?'

Hector laid the large book on the table and flicked through it. ‘Just need . . .
this
!' And he ripped a page out.

‘No!' Mrs Small cried.

‘You can't do that!' Mr Small shouted. ‘That's stealing. That's destruction of Academy property!'

‘But I have and I did,' Hector said. ‘And now, let's see what it says.' He looked up and down the page. Suddenly he roared with laughter. ‘Oh, that little rat! Stormy lied! He dared to lie to me.'

‘What does it say, Hector?' Petra said.

‘Never mind, never mind what it says, what it
doesn't
say is Starlight. It's best no one else knows this. This can be my little secret.'

‘Watch out!' cried Mrs Small. ‘The fire!'

‘Oh, mercy me, I'm so clumsy . . .' Hector was holding the torn page over the flames. ‘The page has gone and fallen in the fire!'

‘No!' The two littles rushed to the fireplace, but Bentley and Hector held them back.

‘Let me go!' Mr Small cried.

No, please, no
, thought Stormy, seeing the burning paper.
That's my last chance
. He turned and looked at Maud; there were tears in her eyes. She knew how much hope he'd pinned on that book.

‘Hector, you are
so
naughty!' Petra squeaked.

They watched the page burn.

‘If that skivvy comes along searching for it, he won't find it. Will he?' Hector said.

‘No, sir.'

‘And you won't know where it went, will you?'

Mr Small shook his head.

‘Here, something for your trouble.'

Hector threw a coin onto the floor; Stormy and Maud heard it roll over the flagstones, followed by the clomp, clomp of three pairs of feet as they went out, slamming the door shut behind them with a crash.

Stormy and Maud hurried downstairs. The littles were scrabbling around in the fireplace. Mr Small was trying to lift out an ashy bit of paper with the fire tongs. Mrs Small was fishing through the coals with a long toasting fork.

‘What bad luck!' Mr Small cried. ‘Why would Hector come tonight of all nights?'

‘It's my own stupid fault,' Stormy said. ‘I told him I knew where it was – I mentioned records.'

‘Oh, Stormy,' Maud said in a hushed voice.

‘I know; I'm an idiot. I even told him I knew the spitfyre's name and now of course he knows I was lying.'

‘The rotten thing,' Maud said, kneeling down by the fire and grabbing at bits of burnt paper. ‘Oh dear, all black and scorched.'

‘Quick, here.' Mrs Small held up some charred paper. ‘Look, it's high quality; the very best parchment. We might save a bit . . .'

But there was almost nothing left of the page. Mr Small held up another fragment; Stormy peered at the faint lines on the grey paper. It was scorched right through, but because the paper was so thick it hadn't disintegrated and some words showed like ghostly writing, but nothing that could be read clearly.

‘Was this the only time Al came into the Academy?' Stormy asked.

‘Yes, like I said,' Mrs Small said. ‘Only in, no one goes out. Specially Al.'

‘Al's scared of Otto,' Stormy said.

Mr Small nodded. ‘He says Otto's waiting for him,' Mr Small said, ‘that Otto stands guard on the path with a meat cleaver ready to chop off his head.'

It wasn't true, but they weren't that far wrong.

‘And the big D wants him here,' Mrs Small said, ‘just as he wants us here. We don't cause a fuss, you see. We let things be.'

Al let things be too. He let Ralf feed the spitfyres the powder and let the Star Squad behave badly, let the other spitfyres get poor care, let his own animal suffer . . . He had a lot to answer for.

‘I'm sorry for the trouble and the mess, Mrs Small,' Maud said as she and Stormy left. ‘You were so kind to help.'

‘Don't worry, my dear Maud,' Mrs Small said. ‘Goodnight.'

The door closed behind them and Stormy walked Maud back to the house. ‘I hope no one missed you,' he said.

‘Me too . . . I've heard the other students talking, Stormy,' Maud said quietly, giving him a sidelong glance. ‘I've heard you've got a real way with flying horses – they say you could be a spitfyre whisperer. Even when you were just clearing them out, a skivvy, you got a reputation for being brilliant with them. They're jealous, that's why Hector did this. He doesn't want you to have a chance.'

Stormy shrugged. His heart was heavy.

It was flattering to believe what she said, but flattery was no good right now. All he needed was the spitfyre's name, and it looked as if his only chance of ever finding it had gone for good.

Stormy was woken by an awful scream. He went to the window and pulled back the curtains. Everything was bathed in a spooky silvery blue; the moon was high in the sky in front of him, shining right over his body so he glowed white.

There was another scream and a shout.

Stormy felt his pulse quicken.

He opened the window and leaned out as far as he could, staring into the night sky.

All of a sudden he heard the whoosh of wings nearby, like giant umbrellas violently opening and closing. Three winged horses came into view. Instinctively he ducked down and crouched there, watching.

The spitfyres were Bluey, Sparkit and Polaris – Star Squad.

There was another scream. Stormy peered up at them trying to see who – or what – it was.

For a moment the light shone on Bluey; he seemed to be carrying something in his mouth, something alive and wriggling, but before Stormy could work out what it was, the spitfyre flew over the courtyard and disappeared from view. The other two circled, criss-crossed and swooped lazily over the castle, and within seconds they'd disappeared too.

Stormy got back to bed and snuggled under the covers. He was shivering violently. He didn't know what he'd seen, but his instincts told him it was bad. He pushed it to the back of his mind, refusing to dwell on it; it wasn't his business. It was the Star Squad going about their secret work, their work to make a New World. Alone in his room he felt excluded, a little jealous, even. Perhaps one day, he thought, he might be part of the Director's plans – even though he wasn't sure what they were, wasn't sure that they were even good, he needed to belong.

In the morning when he woke, he was able to tell himself that it had been a dream. That was all. He didn't even call it a nightmare, though the truth was, it had felt like one.

Araminta searched him out after breakfast.

‘I hear you've adopted Al's old spitfyre,' she said.

‘You hear a lot of things, I expect,' Stormy said. Had she perhaps seen Maud go to the Smalls' house and sent Hector along? He wouldn't put it past her.

‘Hector told me. He knows everything. Anyway, here's something totally different. There's a charity I support,' she went on, ‘for old and injured spitfyres, and I was hoping you might contribute to it. It's called the Happy Home for Spent Spitfyres. You could support it, couldn't you, now you're rich?'

‘I suppose I could. I'd have to ask Mr Topter.'

‘These poor worn-out spitfyres are kept on farms in the lowlands,' she went on. ‘They can't fly or make fire so they're no use to anyone, but this refuge looks after them until they die a natural death. But of course it costs a lot.'

Stormy didn't want to talk to her but found it impossible to get away. He was impressed she was involved in charity work.

‘Please, Stormy.'

‘Of course I'll sign, and I'll write and ask Mr Topter to give them some money.'

‘Oh, thank you, Stormy,' she said, handing him the board. ‘That's very generous of you. Just there, your full name and your signature, and over there the name of your spitfyre. Well, that doesn't matter, just leave it blank. Or put thirteen, if you want.'

Stormy spent as much time with the neglected spitfyre as he could while trying to keep the visits secret. He told everyone that she was dangerous and that she'd tried to attack him. He didn't want anyone going in and seeing the progress she was making.

These days the terrace was busier than usual as the Silver Sword Race was coming up and the sky-riders were training for it. A form had been pinned up in the hall and those wishing to enter the race had to put their names on the list. Hector had been the first to do so. Only a few other brave riders did the same.

One day Stormy went in to cave thirteen and the spitfyre was standing on her feet for the first time, wobbly, but standing.

He stood and gazed at her in delight and she looked back at him with a spark in her dark eyes that was quite new. He wanted to reach out and hug her but stopped, not wanting to frighten her. ‘Dear thing,' he whispered instead. ‘It's so good to see you like this. So good.'

Mrs Cathcart had once shown him a tiny dried seahorse sent from far away by her sailor brother. This thin spitfyre was delicate and beautiful like that, with an air of mystery, as if, like the seahorse, she had come from a long way off, seen a great many things and was very wise.

She puffed out two small clouds of green smoke and pawed the ground with her front hoof.

Stormy took the bucket across to her and she immediately started to eat, stopping every now and again to lift her head and look at him.

‘You look so much better,' he told her. ‘I can hardly believe you're the same creature! I've just got to get all that dirt off you. Your tail is solid with muck and your hooves . . .'