Amethyst Page 5

  Questrid came in. Their eyes met and Amy smiled as best she could, but he knew! She could tell! He gave her such a calculating stare. He knew she was a spy. His honey-coloured eyes were fierce and hard as amber. She expected him to leap on her and demand to know what she was up to.

  But he didn’t. He patted Ralick and then politely asked Amy what she’d been doing and if she liked Spindle House.

  ‘It’s wonderful here,’ she said.

  ‘But I expect you’d rather live up at the Rock,’ said Questrid. He eyed her suspiciously. ‘More your type of thing.’

  ‘I’ve never been to the Rock, never been up to the mountains at all,’ she said. ‘Though I know it was Ruby’s idea. Helping break down the barriers between our clans. Forging new links, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Questrid. ‘Trust Ruby to think this one up.’

  The rest of the family came in and took their places at the long table.

  Amy noticed that everyone had wooden spoons and wooden-handled knives and forks, except her. Even Amber did, and she was a pure Rocker. Amy had been given a silver soup spoon. It was engraved with flowers and birds.

  ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said. ‘Far too lovely for me!’ She distinctly heard her Aunt Agnes’s voice saying: She’ll spoil it! She spoils everything!

  ‘Oh, that’s nonsense, Amethyst. It’s perfect for you,’ said Amber, gently. ‘Why shouldn’t you have the nicest thing? You’re lovely too!’

  Amy felt her cheeks go so red and hot she thought her head might burst. A compliment. They were so rare. First Granite and now Amber. Amy stared down at the table, waiting for someone to contradict Amber, or laugh. No one did. Conversation continued around her. Amy stared unseeing at the loaf of bread, listening to Aunt Agnes whining in her head: Don’t believe a word of it. You’re not pretty. You’re as ugly as a gargoyle. Horrible little girl! Glad you’re not mine!

  Had Amber only said that to make her feel good? Had she guessed Amy was a spy, a traitor and liar come to steal? Was it a trick to disarm her?

  ‘You could try a wooden spoon if you wanted,’ Questrid said.

  ‘Could I? I just feel I ought to do the same as all of you,’ said Amy. ‘I mean, I’m trying to fit in, aren’t I?’

  ‘Sure, go ahead!’ Questrid handed her a wooden spoon. He glanced at the silver spoon as he took it away. Amy saw him out of the corner of her eye. He slipped the spoon into his pocket. She felt anxious. The silver spoon had changed, she’d felt it. She’d spoilt it.

  Amy picked up the wooden spoon. Everyone else stopped eating to watch her.

  Uh oh, she thought. A trick of some sort? They were holding their breath, they were staring! Using a wooden spoon can’t be that difficult!

  ‘Go on,’ said Copper.

  Amy dipped the spoon into the soup, then, as she raised it to her lips, the handle went completely slack. It hung limply from her hand like a rag. Soup dribbled out.

  ‘Ow!’ cried Amy, dropping the spoon. ‘What the …?’

  Everyone, except Amber, burst out laughing. ‘Don’t mind them, or the spoon,’ she told her. ‘It’s a Greenwood spoon and temperamental. So much for our two clans working together, hmm? Stick to the metal one for now, until you’ve got a bit more influenced.’

  Amy hoped nobody could see the tears smarting her eyes. ‘But you’re a Rocker, Amber,’ she said. ‘How can you use the wooden ones?’

  ‘Practice,’ said Amber, gently.

  ‘And Copper and Questrid,’ Amy went on. ‘They’ve got Rock in them … They can do it.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Questrid passing her a less elaborate metal spoon and hurriedly offering her some bread. ‘If you really want to use a wooden spoon it will let you soon enough. Listen! Did you hear that wind? I think a storm’s brewing up.’

  The conversation about the spoon was dropped. But not forgotten.

  Not by Amy.

  And not by Questrid.

  That night Amy lay in her iron and stone bed unable to sleep. Outside the wind was howling. It whistled and whined as it roared through the branches of Spindle House. The old tree creaked and groaned, bending against the blast. Amy imagined Copper lying snug and warm in her bed, with her arms around the wolf cub, luxuriating in the movement of the tree around her. But poor Amy lay stiffly on top of her covers, too hot to sleep, thinking about steady marble floors and unflinching malachite walls.

  When there was a sudden lull in the roar of the wind, she heard the murmur of voices from the next room. She heard Copper’s voice, and another voice she didn’t recognise. Surprised and intrigued, Amy slipped out of bed and put her ear to the wall. Someone was talking to Copper, but who? It was a gruff, low voice, neither like a child nor an adult.

  With a whoosh, the wind suddenly tore at the tree again. It whined through the branches and drowned out the voices. Amy waited a few more minutes, but the wind didn’t let up and she went back to her bed, puzzled and thoughtful.

  She slipped between the sheets, pushing her toes down to the end where it was coldest. But there was something down there. Something alive.

  ‘Eeek!’ She yanked back the covers.

  It was the white rat. Amy didn’t want to see the rat. He made her think about Granite. She didn’t want to think about him or why she was here.

  The white rat sat on her pillow. He twitched his nose and whiskers at her. His pink eyes were alight with mischief.

  ‘Pss, pss! Eeek!’

  ‘Hello,’ said Amy. ‘What do you want? How did you get here? It’s miles and miles from Malachite Mountain! Do you have a message there?’

  He did. Amy took the small slip of tissue paper from the tube. Her heart beat faster.

  Woods tell lies. They have a thick layer, BARK, but it flakes and cracks easily. Beneath it is SOFT SAP and pale wood. Inside that, nothing. Nothing but LIES.

  Steal the beast quickly!

  Well. Thanks Granite. Short and not very sweet, Amy thought. I wish, I wish – I wish Granite were different. I wish I were different. I wish I were a nice Rock girl and didn’t have to do this!

  The rat curled up on her pillow and went to sleep.

  Amy gingerly laid her head down beside him. Almost like having a pet, she thought. She touched him with her fingertips and stroked his fur. It was so soft. The rat began to purr. Rats don’t purr, thought Amy. But this rat did.

  Amy wrapped her other hand around the iron bed rails. The coldness seeped into her flesh and soothed her.

  Lies. Yes, it was all lies. Granite was right. They didn’t trust her so they were being so nice to her, lulling her into feeling safe. She forced herself to picture her room in Malachite Mountain. She saw her icy chamber, the gleaming rock walls and splendid mirrors. She saw all the things she was going to have when she was rich. Fine gowns. Parties. Silver skis. White skates with gold blades …

  But as she visualised it, it altered … She saw herself opening a wardrobe full of gowns which were covered in dust. She threw back the doors to welcome people to her party and there was no one there. Her lovely skates lay beside the frozen lake unused. Amy stood in the Reception Chamber with Granite and he was laughing at her …

  11

  On the Frozen Lake

  Next morning Amy looked out of her window. The light was strange. The sky looked bruised, purplish grey, threatening snow.

  Questrid and Copper were in the yard stroking the horses’ noses and feeding them carrots. Amy dodged out of sight. She tried to catch what they were saying.

  ‘You were mean to her last night. What were you trying to do?’ said Copper.

  ‘She’s …’ Questrid’s words were lost in the wind.

  ‘… You must be kind to her …Think of what Aunt Ruby would say …You and Ralick are both …’

  Oh, it was so annoying! Amy heard a few words and then the rest were snatched away.

  There was a hoarse croak and Amy looked up and saw the big white seagull, Casimir, on the roof opposite. He was staring at her. His yello
w eyes fixed on her greedily, as if she were a herring.

  ‘Sssss!’ she hissed at him.

  Amy closed her window. They’re talking about me. The bird’s spying on me. It’s not fair. They don’t trust me. Serves them right that I’ll steal Ralick!

  I wish they were really nasty, Amy thought. Like Aunt Agnes and Uncle John. But they’re not. I’m not used to all these smiles and kind words. And that Amber! She’s the worst. She’s like a perfect sort of mother, a dream mother from a book. I love her. I hate her!

  Amy couldn’t help imagining staying at Spindle House. She’d become part of their family, helping them carve wood instead of stone. She saw herself with a wooden figure in her hands. It was lovely – no, it was horrid, it was turning into ugly little goblins with evil expressions … the goblins suddenly came alive! They ran round the house setting it on fire. She could hear Copper screaming.

  Amy shook her head. Stop it! That’s what sleeping surrounded by wood does to you, she told herself. It’s not safe.

  The white rat had disappeared again. She wondered if he had stayed all night, or crept away in the dark. She hoped he had stayed. She dressed and went downstairs.

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ said Oriole. ‘I have a bowl of porridge ready for you. Honey or brown sugar?’

  ‘Honey please,’ said Amy, then was cross with herself for not just making do with salt, as she had at home. I’ll go soft like them if I stay here much longer.

  A blackbird sat on the back of a chair. It cocked his head at her as if about to ask her a question. Suddenly it flew off and disappeared through a tiny gap in the window.

  ‘Don’t they make a mess everywhere?’ asked Amy, picking up a feather from the table.

  ‘Not more than the odd bit,’ said Oriole. ‘Robin trains them to be clean in the house, of course.’

  Amy finished her porridge, put on her boots and went out into the courtyard. There was no sign of Questrid or Copper.

  The sky was very dark. It looked hard and shiny, as if there was a domed metal helmet curving above her head.

  She went over to the horses and tried to stroke their noses. They backed away, snorting. Amy kicked the door crossly. ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘See if I care. I didn’t want to stroke you anyway, nasty, big, smelly thi—’

  Copper came out of the shadows at the back of the stable. ‘What’s the matter, Amy? Are you all right?’

  Ralick, as usual was in her arms. Questrid followed a few paces behind. ‘It’s nothing,’ said Amy.

  ‘We heard a noise.’

  ‘Just the horses banging against the door.’

  Questrid shot her a dark look.

  ‘We’ve been to get the skates,’ said Copper. ‘Look. Aren’t they fine?’

  Questrid dangled three pairs of skates in his hands. ‘Hope you’re size four!’

  ‘Yeah, sure, something like that.’ Amy knew she sounded rude. I must be good-tempered. I must. Remember the money, she told herself. Remember being here means no school. Living up here for ever. Princess-style. Be nice!

  ‘It’s still a bit windy, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Do you think there’ll be a storm? The sky’s so heavy.’ A storm might be perfect, she realised. She could disappear in a blizzard.

  ‘Hope not, but think yes,’ said Copper.

  They walked side by side to the snow-covered lake. Their shoulders bumped together. When Amy slipped, Copper pulled her up, laughing. When Copper explained something enthusiastically, she slipped her arm around Amy’s waist. Amy meant to shrug her off, make her leave her alone. But she couldn’t. She liked it. She liked Copper liking her.

  ‘Isn’t it cold?’ said Copper.

  ‘Not really,’ said Amy. ‘The colder the better.’ She heard herself laugh; the same light-hearted laugh that Copper had. Something was happening to her – she wasn’t acting.

  Today the frozen lake was violet-coloured, reflecting the strange steely sky. The wind lifted the loose snow and flung it about, whisking and curling and rolling it in flurries. It dusted their heads and clothes.

  Questrid put his skates on and set off. ‘Yahoo!’ he yelled. ‘Watch me!’

  Amy sat down on the lake edge to put on the skates. I’m trying to hate them, Granite, honestly I am, she said silently. I know I’ve got to steal Ralick. I know … She looked at Ralick. He was curled up in a hollow beside the lake. His fur was all standing on end, lifted by the wind, like a dandelion clock. She felt her tummy squidge inside her when she looked at him. He looked so sweet … No! No, he doesn’t! She looked round guiltily. As if Granite was watching and could read her mind.

  ‘Come on, Amy! What are you dreaming about?’ cried Copper. She had already got her skates on. ‘Those do fit you, don’t they? If not you can have these, they’re a bit bigger. The skates we gave you are the newest and fastest.’

  Typical, thought Amy. Copper gives me the best ones. Typical.

  She kept her face hidden as she did up her laces so they couldn’t see her expression. She wasn’t sure quite what her expression showed, but it felt odd, confused. It would surely tell them something about her.

  Questrid was circling the lake, his long striped scarf trailing behind him.

  Copper skated up to her. She grinned and held her arms out to Amy but Amy pretended not to notice and skated straight past her.

  Spoil it, spoil it, she thought, spoil it all, Amethyst Basalt, just like you do the gargoyles. Tears stung her eyes. I wish Granite had never thought up this plan. Wish I could be an ordinary girl called Amy with ordinary Copper. Simple. So simple.

  They circled the lake several times, getting the feel of the ice. Suddenly Questrid gave a yell. He started to chase them. Amy squealed, she couldn’t help herself. She went faster. Questrid zoomed alongside her. He knocked off her hat. He nudged her arm sending her off in a mad whirl. He skated up behind her and shunted her along like a train. Amy laughed out loud. She’d never heard herself laugh like that. It was wild and wonderful. Granite, Malachite Mountain, the rockgoyles, all those things, flew from her mind. All she knew was the wind on her cheeks. The searing sound of her blades cutting the ice as she skidded over the lake.

  Time passed. The chance to steal Ralick, if there ever had been one, was lost.

  The wind suddenly shifted gear. Now the strong wind pushed against them and slowed them almost to a standstill. Hard pellets of ice, like frozen peas, stung their cheeks. The sky grew darker and heavier. Snow began to fall. Great fat chunky snowflakes whirling about so they could hardly see.

  ‘Time to go in!’ roared Questrid. He skated to the bank. ‘Oh, look at Ralick! He’s turned into a snow-cub!’

  The falling snow had almost hidden Ralick. He quickly jumped up and shook it off. He bounced about, tossing the snow with his nose, biting it fiercely. He skidded through a snow heap on his belly and shot out the other side shaking himself.

  ‘He loves the snow,’ Copper said. ‘Wolves don’t mind the cold at all, their fur is so thick. But I do! Let’s go in. I bet we’ll be stuck inside for the rest of the day now!’

  12

  The Unexpected Visitor

  The storm had arrived. A fierce wind ripped and roared around Spindle House. The tree creaked. Snow fell thick and fast, it drifted against the windows till they were blocked with white.

  Copper dug out an old board game called Goblins, Dwarves and Diggers. She put it out on the kitchen table and they tried to work out how to play. They had to shout above the sound of the wind. ‘I think you go into the mountain first,’ Copper said, ‘then you can—’

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Someone was hammering on the front door. The birds lifted, twittering in alarm, then drifted back to their perches.

  Silver barked. Her hackles rose stiffly like a scrubbing brush.

  Cedar and Questrid went to the door. Silver padded behind them growling.

  ‘Who could it be?’ said Copper. ‘We never get visitors!’

  ‘I’m one, don’t forget,’ said Amy.
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br />   The big door was outlined with light. Something on the other side was shining very brightly.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Amy.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Copper.

  ‘Keep back, Questrid,’ said Cedar. He opened the door. At first it looked like a pillar of dazzling, brilliant light on the doorstep. Then Amy saw it was a man. Light oozed out of the pores of his skin. It came through his clothes and even out of his eyes.

  ‘Good evening to you. Good evening,’ he called. ‘Do excuse the light now, won’t you? It’ll fade, sure it will.’

  He glided into the hall as if blown there on a puff of wind.

  He was a small, slender man with silvery hair surrounding a glowing translucent disc of a face. His eyes were pale grey. A white fur cloak was slung over his shoulders. Beneath it, he wore pale floating garments and white boots.

  He brushed the snow from his shoulders and hood. ‘My name is Shane Annigan, so it is. Thank you for letting me in. Thank you indeed!’

  Everyone watched him as he went into the kitchen. The birds twittered and scattered.

  Amy stared. Now there was a new outsider which made her an insider.

  ‘The wind has blown us another visitor,’ said Cedar. ‘This is Mr Shane Annigan.’ He took the man’s cape and hung it up. Snow melted and dripped to the floor.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ Amber said. ‘You must be cold. Are you hungry? Tired?’

  Nothing ever upsets or surprises her, thought Amy admiringly. She imagined Aunt Agnes twittering and going into a tizz: Look at that mess on my clean floor! We don’t want your sort here, you light-bulb man! Get off with you!

  Shane Annigan illuminated different parts of the room as he sailed past. He made the kitchen seem dull when before it had seemed bright. He wafted towards the big rocking chair and settled down as gently as a feather.

  Oriole handed him a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Good evening,’ said Uncle Greenwood, who had come into the kitchen to see what the fuss was. He peered over his spectacles at the visitor. ‘Greenwood’s the name.’ He waved a length of half-worked wood at him. ‘I was carving downstairs. We rarely get strangers at Spindle House, I had to come and see.’