Amethyst Page 15

  Taking Amy with him, he began to inch, toad-like, round the room. ‘Where is it? I smell it, I smell it. She made gold, didn’t she?’ He swept his fingers across the desk and held them up to the light, examining them for specks of gold dust. ‘I knew she could and she did. She’s taken it back to her Wood friends, has she?’

  He pushed Amy into the corner, and sat down on the chair.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Amy.

  ‘Didn’t you want the gold? Didn’t you want all the fine things I had to offer? Stupid Amethyst, have you no sense?’

  ‘I, I …’

  ‘What a hopeless girl you are. What will become of you now, hmmm? Will Agate and Jarosite want you back? Will I cast you out into the snow? Well, you will not remain my guest in Malachite Mountain for one minute longer, that is for certain. Call yourself a Rock? Huh! I do not want to look on your miserable traitor’s face, ever again.’

  The two men were staring at her with such loathing. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  ‘In fact,’ croaked Granite, ‘since I can assure you that neither Agate, Jarosite or I ever want to see you again, you can stay here. Locked in this place for the rest of your miserable life.’

  ‘No. You couldn’t!’

  ‘I certainly could. And I will. What do you say, Shane?’

  ‘It’s a fine idea,’ said Shane Annigan, grinning. ‘Sure it is. I like the idea – she’s dangerous. Let her die here. Alone.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Amy ran at the door, but Shane got there first and pushed her back. She tumbled against the desk, bruising her hip.

  ‘You can’t!’

  Granite laughed. ‘Goodbye.’

  The great stone door closed behind them.

  ‘Sure and it was never a pleasure knowing you!’ cried Shane.

  ‘No keyhole on that side, Amethyst!’ Granite shouted back. ‘No way out at all – unless you jump!’

  Amy ran back to the door but there was no door handle, no lock, nothing. She put her ear against it, there wasn’t a sound. She was trapped.

  26

  On Ice

  Amy leaned against the cold stone wall. She stared at the room’s dark walls. Her eyes followed the blood-red veins and purple swirls. Was she going to stare at them for the rest of her life? Was this the end? She felt her heartbeat quicken. She was panicking. That was no good. She had to keep calm. At least she had the rat with her. He’d keep her company.

  She looked around the room again. There was a window. That was her only chance.

  She shrugged off the coat and thick jumper. She dragged the big chair over and climbed on it. She could reach the window now. It was a circle of blue glass, about the size of a bathroom sink, set into the thick wall.

  Amy leant on the sill and looked out. The window was halfway up the mountainside and all she could see was sky.

  Her chest went tight. Her heart stopped beating. She was doomed.

  ‘That doesn’t look very hopeful, does it, Rat?’ She whispered. ‘I suppose I might wait for Copper to come back … But she might never come back. I can’t just sit here, can I?’

  ‘You just sit there and wait until you’re spoken to.’ Aunt Agnes’s much repeated words whined in her head.

  ‘Not this time, Aunt Agnes. Leave me alone.’

  The rat twiddled his whiskers. He wiped his little paws across his face.

  ‘I have to get out,’ Amy said to it. ‘Maybe Copper will need me … No time to waste … so … I think I’d rather fall all the way down the mountain and die than sit in here and die.’

  There was no way of opening the window. She picked up the rock from the desk and threw it at the glass with all her might.

  The window shattered. Glass tinkled onto the marble floor. More glass went flying out of the window. Amy heard it splintering and chiming as it hit the rock below.

  ‘Who’s going to clean that up? You’re such a messy girl, you always have been …’

  ‘Please leave me alone, Aunt Agnes.’

  Quickly Amy climbed back onto the chair. She wrapped her hand in the coat and punched out the remaining shards of glass. When it was clear she climbed up onto the deep sill and stuck her head out into the fresh, sharp air.

  Down, up, sideways, it was all the same. Sheer ice. Above her, below her, the cloudy green ice of Malachite Mountain stretched out like glass.

  Amy slipped back inside. She took a big breath.

  ‘Rat, it’s the only way to go. We have to do it. Are you ready?’

  ‘You’re scared of heights, you know you are. Don’t try this, you hopeless girl …’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  The rat dived under her shirt, claws scratching against her skin and curled itself into a ball.

  ‘Sorry, Rat, I didn’t mean you be quiet. But anyway, I’ll take that as a yes.’

  Amy hoisted herself onto the windowsill. She stuck her head and arms out through the window. Below her, the mountain slipped away, down, down, down. It seemed to go on for miles and miles. Above her it reached into the sky. The dome of the Crystal Crown glinted on the peak.

  ‘Up or down?’ she asked the rat.

  The white rat poked its nose out between the shirt buttons, sniffing the air. ‘Pss, pss.’

  ‘I agree, I rather think it’s going to be down,’ said Amy.

  The rat’s beady bright eyes scanned up and down across the mountainside. His whiskers flickered. His pink nose twitched and wrinkled as if he was thinking. Finally, with a positive sort of ‘squee-ak’ the rat suddenly leaped off the windowsill and launched himself into the air.

  ‘Rat!’ Oh, my goodness. He’ll die, thought Amy. He’ll fall to his death. ‘Rat!’

  But the white rat didn’t fall. He had leapt sideways, about an arm’s-length from the window. He pressed himself flat, holding onto the ice by his claws. He lay so flat against the ice, he looked like a white handkerchief knotted at four corners.

  ‘You silly thing!’ cried Amy. She leaned out to try and reach him. ‘You nit! Now what? I can’t reach you!’

  The rat was not worried. His nose was twitching. His eyes darted everywhere. He grinned at her.

  Then he released his grip on the ice. Just a tiny bit, until only the end of a claw held him. He began to slide slowly down the mountain. His nails squealed against the ice like chalk on a blackboard, as he went.

  ‘Oh, you clever rat!’ cried Amy. ‘I see it. I understand!’

  She opened her tool apron. She chose a small pick and a chisel. Holding one in each hand, she turned herself round and slipped herself feet first out of the window. ‘Oh, golly, Rat! This is so awful!’

  ‘Squeak, squeak,’ called the rat. It really did sound encouraging.

  Amy’s legs were now dangling out of the window. She was holding on to the windowsill by the ends of her fingertips. She didn’t want to let go. She kept thinking about that great drop below. She imagined herself falling, slipping and slithering all the way to the bottom …

  ‘Squeak. Pss. Eeek!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amy. ‘I’m coming.’ She moved one hand out and dug the pick into the ice. When she had all her weight on that, she moved her other hand out. She dug in the chisel until it would take her weight. She hung there.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’

  It was so terrible. She pictured herself, like a fly, a dot on the great white vastness of the mountain. ‘Oh, my, my, my …’

  She couldn’t move.

  She took a big breath of the sharp air but it didn’t help. It was too much for her. She was stuck.

  ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Oh, I’m stuck. Rat, I’m stuck here, hanging like a spider or something … Rat!’

  It’s all gone wrong, everything, again. My plan to save Copper hasn’t worked. She’s probably right now being locked in a dungeon. Here I am, stuck on the mountain, about to fall to my death …

  ‘Yes, silly girl, stupid girl, you spoil everything, don’t you?’ Aunt Agnes was a mosquito whine in her head.

  ‘Leave m
e alone, Aunt Agnes, please. Please.’

  Amy’s arms were on fire. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly round the metal tools she didn’t think she’d ever be able to unbend them. They were beginning to burn and cramp.

  She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the ice. ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t … Aunt Agnes is right. She knows me and I’m useless … I’m doomed.’

  But the rat came back.

  He inched himself across the ice, hanging on by the tips of his tiny claws. He crawled across the smooth surface until he was close to Amy’s face.

  ‘I can’t,’ whispered Amy. ‘Help me.’

  ‘Pss, pss, squeak.’ The rat moved up to the steel pick in her right hand. He pushed his nose beneath it. Immediately, the tiny pick lifted a fraction out of the ice and grazed over the ice. Amy slipped. She screamed. But as soon as she slipped and screamed, she thrust the pick back into the ice … only now it was twenty centimetres lower down and all her weight was on her left arm.

  Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, she could feel it beating against the mountainside. ‘All right, all right.’ She breathed slowly. ‘I understand. Yes.’

  Amy dug the pick in again very hard. Now, very carefully she released the chisel, which was easier to get out than the pick because it wasn’t curved. It would be harder to get in, too. She let it slip a little way, then the moment she felt the speed increasing too quickly and her right hand take too much of her weight, she thrust the chisel back into the ice. Both arms were now taking her weight.

  ‘Eeek eek!’ said the white rat chirpily. He set off, skating and slip-sliding downwards and sidewards. He looked as if he’d done it all his life.

  Amy watched him.

  Her stomach tightened when she saw below her the miles and miles of mountainside. Slippery green rock, sheer ice and snow and ledges … ledges! Yes, there were bumps and cracks and wasn’t that a window? It would be a window, of course it would. Her spirits soared.

  ‘See, Aunt Agnes, you’re wrong. I can do this!’

  Amy let go with the pick again and moved slowly down the mountain. It was hard. Her shoulders screamed out in agony. She imagined her bones popping out of their sockets under the strain, her tendons and sinews snapping like wires in an electric cable and bursting apart. Every-thing hurt. But as she grew more confident, she found invisible protrusions and tiny jutting bits where, by kicking her legs into the ice, she could rest for a second.

  Looking down, she saw the rat had almost reached a window. Slowly, Amy inched her way sideways and down towards him. ‘I’m coming. I’m coming!’

  She was over confident. She made one hurried move and the pick didn’t connect; it slipped, gouging a long deep channel in the ice. She was pulled up tight with a terrible wrench. All her weight hung on the chisel.

  ‘Ow! Help!’

  She swung, legs scrabbling for a hold, her right arm jabbing the pick at the ice. At last she got a hold. Her feet found substance to stand on; she stopped falling. A hot tear ran down her cheek. ‘Oh, Rat, Rat,’ she muttered. ‘This is the worst bit of my entire life.’

  She took a deep breath. From now on, every move, until she reached the window, was going to be slow and careful. She inched in crab-like manoeuvres across the ice until at last she reached the rat. He was sitting on a wide windowsill, licking his paws. Amy guessed they were cold and sore.

  ‘Done it.’ Amy slithered onto the sill beside him. She tightened her fingers around the window frame. It felt good and solid.

  Through the window she spied an empty room. Good. But even if it had been full of rockgoyles, Granite and Shane, she still would have gone in. She had no choice.

  Amy pushed hard against the window frame and it burst open. She tumbled onto the floor. ‘Phew!’ She sat on the solid ground, relishing the feel of it. Her hands were trembling, her legs were shivering from the effort. She was panting and hot. Her borrowed trousers had ripped at both knees, her shirt was wet and torn.

  The rat jumped down beside her.

  ‘Did it,’ said Amy. She stroked his head. ‘Thanks Rat.’

  The rat smiled his rattish smile and scampered up her arm. He snuggled under her chin. He nudged her with his cold nose.

  ‘Thank you,’ Amy said again. Her legs were still shaky. Her fingers felt cramped and stiff. She put away her tools in the apron and stood up. ‘Now, I suppose I’d better get a move on.’

  Outside the room, she made a discovery: she was on the same landing as her bedroom. She could get fresh clothes.

  She ran to her bedroom and pushed open the door. Then her heart stopped with a jolt.

  She, Amy, was already there! She was standing at the end of her bed. She was wearing the blue, hooded cloak that Granite had given her.

  It wasn’t possible!

  The eye-cycle! It’s what I saw in Squitcher’s eye-cycle, she thought. My fortune. But how can I be there?

  Very slowly, the figure turned round. It wasn’t Amy. It was an ugly, grey-skinned rockgoyle with a hairy chin and pointed ears. The rockgoyle grinned sheepishly at Amy.

  ‘Thought you’d gone,’ she muttered. ‘They said you weren’t coming back.’ She shrugged off the cloak. ‘Just trying it on.’

  ‘Have it, have it,’ said Amy. She rushed at her and thrust the cloak back over the rockgoyle’s shoulders. ‘It suits you. Honestly. It looks so much better on you. Please take it.’

  ‘Sure? Don’t need to tell me more than once. Thanks!’ The rockgoyle pulled it round her and ran out of the room.

  Amy twirled round in delight. She made the rat so dizzy, he crawled out and jumped onto the bed, shaking his head.

  ‘It wasn’t me in the eye-cycle!’ she cried. ‘Not me! Not my face!’

  She dashed into the bathroom and stared at her reflection. It was exactly as it should be. Her nose was the same, her big blue eyes were the same. Her chin, cheeks and brows all normal. ‘I’m not turning into a rockgoyle! I’m not! I’m not!’

  ‘Eeek,’ said the rat.

  ‘Yes, eeek! Isn’t it great? I feel so much better. I’m not spoiling, Rat. I’m not ugly and I can make things good.’

  Amy ripped off Copper’s clothes and put on her own. She chose boring old things she’d brought with her from the South. She held Copper’s shirt against her nose for a second before casting it off. It smelled of wood shavings, sawdust and something cosy and pleasant that she couldn’t identify.

  ‘First I thought that was so disgusting,’ she told the rat. ‘Now I sort of wish I smelled like that, but I don’t. That’s sweet little Copper and I’m hard little Amy. But I can be kind, reliable Amy too.’

  ‘Eek, eek,’ said the rat.

  Amy took the gold square from inside her boot. It was exquisite. She could dribble it through her fingers like liquid, but it was as strong as Shane’s cobweb thread. She put it into her left pocket. In her right were the cobweb squares.

  ‘Double magic,’ she told the rat. ‘For spoiling everything for Granite and Shane Annigan if I can.’ The white rat wiggled his whiskers at her and squeaked in agreement. ‘Absolutely,’ Amy said. ‘This isn’t over yet! To the Crystal Crown!’

  27

  Amy Spoils Things for Shane Annigan

  Amy ran up the narrow spiral staircase to the Crystal Crown. The trap door was open and she crept through warily. The startling brilliance of the sun stopped her momentarily. She halted, blinking.

  Questrid and Wolfgang twirled sadly from the ceiling, like old Christmas decorations or dried old hams. Shane Annigan and Granite were there too. They had their backs to her and had not seen her. Still, she knew there was no chance of her getting the prisoners down.

  Had Copper escaped?

  There was something high up above them in the sky. Granite and Shane were watching it. It suddenly came swooping over the Crystal Crown, a flash of pink and purple and silver.

  Boldly Seer! It was the dragon.

  She skimmed past, then came back and hovered like a glimmering silvery bird.
The fine pink skin was stretched tight between the webs of cartilage so her wings were like a giant kite.

  Amy’s heart skipped a beat. Something inside her soared upwards towards the dragon, willing it success. Go, go! she urged it silently. Go on, you beauty!

  Then she saw that Copper and little Squitcher were on the dragon’s back.

  Copper had got free!

  I did that, Amy told herself. I got her out. There’s something I haven’t spoiled. She grinned happily.

  ‘Dragons?’ Granite said.

  ‘Just one dragon,’ said Shane Annigan.

  Granite waved a fist towards it. He stamped his foot. ‘Is that her up there? Is that the Beech Twig? Shoot that flying lizard out of the skies!’

  Amy didn’t think either of the two men had a weapon, she couldn’t see one. Still, if they were going to try and shoot Copper down, she’d stop them. She crept up behind them.

  As she got nearer, Shane reached for his throat. He made a choking sound and spun round.

  ‘You!’ he spat at her. His face went hard and sharp. ‘Sure, it’s her again, Granite. Your Rock girl has escaped!’ He sneered at her.

  Granite growled. ‘How? How did you get out? Do you know some magic I don’t?’ He ground his fist into his palm as if he was trying to wear his hand away. ‘I am angry. I am very angry. No time now. We’ll deal with her later.’ He glared up at the dragon again.

  Shane retreated. Amy saw his light glowed again with renewed strength when he moved away from her.

  That happened before, she thought. Did I do that? Could I have something that did that?

  The knitting.

  She clamped her hand over the pockets containing the squares. That was it! Squitcher said they were strong. They’d made her feel better but they made Shane feel bad. A taste of his own medicine. Ha!

  The Questrid-shaped bundle wriggled and whined. Amy shivered. Poor thing! Shane said poison would be eating at their flesh. Were they in terrible pain? Was the poison working right now?

  She cupped the white rat in her hands, kissed his head. ‘Go on,’ she whispered. ‘You can do it. Just like you did for Ralick. Go!’