Praise for THE WIND SINGER

Winner of the Smarties Prize Gold Award and the Blue Peter Book Award

‘This is a truly extraordinary book that will haunt you’

Daily Telegraph

‘Positively surreal imagery, a fast-moving adventure and a cutting satire all in one. An original and striking read’

Melvin Burgess

‘. . . A gripping read . . . A beautifully narrated, warm thriller of a book, full of inventiveness, action and passion’

Guardian

‘A lyrical, evocative and powerful story’

Kate Agnew

‘. . . A truly imaginative, fantastical and distinctive adventure story that grips from the very beginning and absolutely refuses to let go’

Amazon

‘An accesible, rebellious and fast-paced adventure, and, as you would expect from the author of Shadow lands, a heart-wringing celebration of love’

Sunday Times

‘. . . A potent mix of thundering adventure and purposeful fantasy’

Guardian

‘A page-turning quest adventure that crackles off the page’

Books Magazine

‘. . . A story that delves deeper into human nature and relationships’

Bookseller

Books by William Nicholson

The Wind on Fire Trilogy

The Wind Singer Slaves of the Mastery Firesong

The Noble Warriors Trilogy

SeekerJango Noman

For older readers

Rich and Mad

First published in Great Britain 2000

This edition published 2011

by Egmont UK Limited

239 Kensington High Street

London W8 6SA

Text copyright © 2000 William Nicholson

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

ISBN 978 1 4052 3969 1

eBook ISBN 978 1 7803 1210 1

www.egmont.co.uk

www.williamnicholson.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,Or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner

Egmont is passionate about helping to preserve the world’s remaining ancient forests. We only use paper from legal and sustainable forest sources, so we know where every single tree comes from that goes into every paper that makes up every book.

This book is made from paper certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council (FSC), an organisation dedicated to promoting responsible management of forest resources. For more information on the FSC, please visitwww.fsc.org. To learn more about Egmont’s sustainable paper policy, please visit www.egmont.co.uk/ethical.

Contents

Long ago

1 Baby Pinpin makes her mark

2 Kestrel makes a horrible friend

3 Bad words said loud

4 Practising for Maroon

5 A warning from the Chief Examiner

6 Special Teaching

7 The Emperor weeps

8 The Hath family shamed

9 Escape from Aramanth

10 In the salt caves

11 The mudnut harvest

12 A Queen remembers

13 The Hath family punished

14 Return of the old children

15 Prisoners of Ombaraka

16 The wind battle

17 The Hath family fights back

18 Crack-in-the-land

19 Mumpo goes wrong

20 Into the fire

21 The march of the Zars

22 The Hath family broken

23 The Scourge of the Plains

24 The last High Examination

Long ago

At the time the strangers came, the Manth people were still living in the low mat-walled shelters that they had carried with them in their hunting days. The domed huts were clustered around the salt mine that was to become the source of their wealth. This was long before they had built the great city that stands above the salt caverns today. One high summer afternoon, a band of travellers came striding out of the desert plains, and made camp nearby. They wore their hair long and loose, men and women alike, and moved slowly and spoke quietly, when they spoke at all. They traded a little with the Manth, buying bread and meat and salt, paying with small silver ornaments that they themselves had made. They caused no trouble, but their near presence was somehow uncomfortable. Who were they? Where had they come from? Where were they going? Direct questions produced no answers: only a smile, a shrug, a shake of the head.

Then the strangers were seen to be at work, building a tower. Slowly a wooden structure took shape, a platform higher than a man, on which they constructed a second narrower tower, out of timber beams and metal pipes. These pipes were all of different sizes, and bundled together, like the pipes of an organ. At their base, they opened out into a ring of metal horns. At their upper end, they funnelled together to form a single cylinder, like a neck, and then fanned out again to end in a ring of large leather scoops. When the wind blew, the scoops caught it and the entire upper structure rotated, swinging round to face the strongest gusts. The swirling air was funnelled through the neck to the ranked pipes, to emerge from the horns as a series of meaningless sounds.

The tower had no obvious purpose of any kind. For a while it was a curiosity, and the people would stare at it as it creaked this way and that. When the wind blew hard, it made a mournful moaning that was comical at first, but soon became tiresome.

The silent travellers offered no explanation. It seemed they had come to the settlement with the sole purpose of building this odd structure, because when it was done, they rolled up their tents and prepared to move on.

Before leaving, their leader took out a small silver object, and climbed the tower, and inserted it into a slot in the structure’s neck. It was a tranquil summer dawn, the day the travellers departed, and the air was still. The metal pipes and horns were silent as they strode away across the desert plains. The Manth people were left as baffled as when they had arrived, staring at the overgrown scarecrow they had left behind.

That night, as they slept, the wind began to blow, and a new sound entered their lives. They heard it in their sleep, and woke smiling, without knowing why. They gathered in the warm night air, and listened in joy and wonder.

The wind singer was singing.

1

Baby Pinpin makes her mark

‘Sagahog! Pompaprune! Saga-saga-HOG!’

Bowman Hath lay in bed listening to the muffled sounds of his mother oathing in the bathroom next door. From far away across the roofs of the city floated the golden boom of the bell in the tower of the Imperial Palace: mmnang! mmnang! It was sounding the sixth hour, the time when all Aramanth awoke. Bowman opened his eyes and lay gazing at the daylight glowing in the tangerine curtains. He realised that he was feeling sad. What is it this time? he thought to himself. He looked ahead to the coming day in school, and his stomach tightened, the way it always did; but this was a different feeling. A kind of sorrowing, as if for something lost. But what?

His twin sister Kestrel was still asleep in the bed next to him, within reach of his outstretched arm. He listened to her snuffly sleep-breathing for a few moments, then sent her a wake-up thought. He waited till he heard her grumpy answering groan. Then he counted silently to five, and rolled out of bed.

Crossing the hall on the way to the bathroom, he stopped to greet his baby sister Pinpin. She was standing up in her cot in her fuzzy night-suit, sucking her thumb. Pinpin slept in the hall because there was no room for a cot in either of the two bedrooms. The apartments in Orange District were really too small for a family of five.

‘Hallo, Pinpin,’ he said.

Pinpin took her thumb out of her mouth and her round face lit up with a happy smile.

‘Kiss,’ she said.

Bowman kissed her.

‘Hug,’ she said.

Bowman hugged her. As he cuddled her soft round body, he remembered. Today was the day of Pinpin’s first test. She was only two years old, too little to mind how well or badly she did, but from now till the day she died she would have a rating. That was what was making him sad.

Tears started to push into Bowman’s eyes. He cried too easily, everyone told him so, but what was he to do? He felt everything too much. He didn’t mean to, but when he looked at somebody else, anybody else, he found he knew what they were feeling, and all too often it was a fear or a sadness. And then he would understand what it was they were afraid of or sad about, and he would feel it too, and he would start to cry. It was all very awkward.

This morning what made him sad wasn’t what Pinpin was feeling now, but what he knew she would feel one day. Now there were no worries in her sunny little heart. Yet from today, she would begin, at first only dimly, but later with sharp anxiety, to fear the future. For in Aramanth, life was measured out in tests. Every test brought with it the possibility of failure, and every test successfully passed led to the next, with its renewed possibility of failure. There was no escape from it, and no end. Just thinking about it made his heart almost burst with love for his little sister. He hugged her tight as tight, and kissed and kissed her merry cheeks.

‘Love Pinpin,’ he said.

‘Love Bo,’ said Pinpin.

A sharp rending sound came from the bathroom, followed by yet another explosion of oaths.

‘Sagahog! Bangaplop!’

And then the familiar wailing lament:

‘O, unhappy people!’

This had been the cry of the great prophet Ira Manth, from whom his mother was directly, though distantly, descended. The name had been passed down the family ever since, and his mother too was called Ira. When she flew into one of her rages, his father would wink at the children and say, ‘Here comes the prophetess.’

The bathroom door now burst open, and Ira Hath herself appeared, looking flustered. Unable to find the sleeve-holes of her dressing-gown, she had fought her way into the garment by sheer fury. The sleeves hung empty on either side, and her arms stuck out through burst seams.

‘It’s Pinpin’s test today,’ said Bo.

‘It’s what?’

Ira Hath stared for a moment. Then she took Pinpin from Bowman and in her turn held her close in her arms, as if someone was trying to take her away.

‘My baby,’ she said. ‘My baby.’

At breakfast there was no reference to the test until near the end. Then their father put away his book and got up from table a little earlier than usual and said, as if to no one in particular,

‘I suppose we’d better get ready.’

Kestrel looked up, her eyes bright with determination.

‘I’m not coming,’ she said.

Hanno Hath sighed, and rubbed his wrinkly cheeks with one hand.

‘I know, darling. I know.’

‘It’s not fair,’ said Kestrel, as if her father was making her go. And so in a way he was. Hanno Hath was so kind to his children, and understood so exactly what they felt, that they found it almost impossible to go against his wishes.

A familiar smoky smell rose from the stove.

‘Oh, sagahog!’ exclaimed his wife.

She had burned the toast again.

The morning sun was low in the sky, and the high city walls cast a shadow over all Orange District, as the Hath family walked down the street to the Community Hall. Mr and Mrs Hath went in front, and Bowman and Kestrel came behind, with Pinpin between them holding a hand each. Other families with two-year-olds were making their way in the same direction, past the neat terraces of orange-painted houses. The Blesh family was ahead of them, and could be heard coaching their little boy as they went along.

‘One, two, three, four, who’s that at the door? Five, six, seven, eight, who’s that at the gate?’

As they came into the main square, Mrs Blesh turned and saw them. She gave the little wave she always gave, as if she was their special friend, and waited for Mrs Hath to catch her up.

‘Can you keep a secret?’ she said in a whisper. ‘If our little one does well enough today, we’ll move up to Scarlet.’

Mrs Hath thought for a moment.

‘Very bright, scarlet,’ she said.

‘And did you hear? Our Rufy was second in his class yesterday afternoon.’

Mr Blesh called back,

‘Second? Second? Why not first? That’s what I want to know.’

‘Oh, you men!’ said Mrs Blesh. And to Mrs Hath, in her special-friend voice, ‘They can’t help it, can they? They have to win.’

As she spoke these words, her slightly poppy-out eyes rested for a moment on Hanno Hath. Everyone knew that poor Hanno Hath hadn’t been promoted for three years now, though of course his wife never admitted how disappointed she must feel. Kestrel caught her pitying look, and it made her want to stick knives into Mrs Blesh’s body. But more than that, it made her want to hug her father, and cover his wrinkly-sad face with kisses. To relieve her feelings, she bombarded Mrs Blesh’s broad back with rude thoughts.

Pocksicker! Pompaprune! Sagahog!

At the entrance to the Community Hall, a lady Assistant Examiner sat checking names against a list. The Bleshes went first.

‘Is the little one clean?’ asked the Assistant Examiner. ‘Has he learned to control his bladder?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs Blesh. ‘He’s unusually advanced for his age.’

When it was Pinpin’s turn, the Assistant Examiner asked the same question.

‘Is she clean? Has she learned to control her bladder?’

Mr Hath looked at Mrs Hath. Bowman looked at Kestrel. Through their minds floated pictures of Pinpin’s puddles on the kitchen floor. But this was followed by a kind of convulsion of family pride, which they all felt at the same time.

‘Control her bladder, madam?’ said Mrs Hath with a bright smile. ‘My daughter can widdle in time to the National Anthem.’

The Assistant Examiner looked surprised, then checked the box marked CLEAN on her list.

‘Desk twenty-three,’ she said.

The Community Hall was buzzing with activity. A great chalkboard at one end listed the names of the examinees, all ninety-seven of them, in alphabetical order. There was Pinpin’s name, looking unfamiliar in its full form: PINTO HATH. The Hath family formed a protective huddle round desk twenty-three while Mrs Hath removed Pinpin’s nappy. Now that she was down as clean it would be counted as cheating to leave her in a nappy. Pinpin herself was delighted. She liked to feel cool air on her bottom.

A bell rang, and the big room fell quiet for the entrance of the Examiners. Ninety-seven desks, at each of which sat a two-year-old; behind each one, on benches, their parents and siblings. The sudden silence awed the little ones, and there wasn’t so much as a cry.

The Examiners swept in, their scarlet gowns billowing, and stood on the podium in a single line of terrible magnificence. There were ten of them. At the centre was the tall figure of the Chief Examiner, Maslo Inch, the only one in the hall to wear the simple shining white garments of the highest rating.

‘Stand for the Oath of Dedication!’

Everyone stood, parents lifting little ones to their feet. Together they chanted the words all knew by heart.

‘I vow to strive harder, to reach higher, and in every way to seek to make tomorrow better than today. For love of my Emperor and for the glory of Aramanth!’

Then they all sat down again, and the Chief Examiner made a short speech. Maslo Inch, still only in his mid-forties, had been recently elevated to the highest level: but so tall and powerful was his appearance, and so deep his voice, that he looked and acted as if he had been wearing white all his life. Hanno Hath, who had known Maslo Inch a long time, saw this with quiet amusement.

‘My friends,’ intoned the Chief Examiner, ‘what a special day this is, the first test day of your beloved child. How proud you must be to know that from today, your little son or daughter will have his or her own personal rating. How proud they will be, as they come to understand that by their own efforts they can contribute to your family rating.’ Here he raised a hand in friendly warning, and gave them all a grave look. ‘But never forget that the rating itself means nothing. All that matters is how you improve your rating. Better today than yesterday. Better tomorrow than today. That is the spirit that has made our city great.’

The scarlet-gowned Examiners then fanned out across the front row of desks and began working their way down the lines. Maslo Inch, as Chief Examiner, remained on the podium like a tower, overseeing all. Inevitably his scanning gaze fell in time on Hanno Hath. A twinkle of recognition glowed for a moment in the corner of one eye, and then faded again as his gaze moved on. Hanno Hath shrugged to himself. He and Maslo Inch were exact contemporaries. They had been in the same class at school. But that was all long ago now.

The tests were marked as they were completed, and the marks conveyed to the big chalkboard at the front. Quite soon, a ranking began to emerge among the infants. The Blesh child was close to the top, with 23 points out of a possible 30, a rating of 7.6. Because B came earlier than H, the Blesh family were finished before the Haths had begun, and Mrs Blesh came down the aisle with her triumphant infant in her arms to pass on the benefit of their experience.

‘The silly fellow left out number five,’ she explained. ‘One, two, three, four, six.’ She wagged a mock-angry finger at the child. ‘Four, five, six, you silly! You know that! I’m sure Pinto does.’

‘Actually, Pinpin can count to a million,’ said Kestrel.

‘I think we’re telling tiny stories,’ said Mrs Blesh, patting Kestrel on the head. ‘He got cow, and book, and cup,’ she went on. ‘He didn’t get banana. But 7.6 is a good start. Rufy’s first rating was 7.8, I remember, and look at him now. Never below 9. Not that I care for ratings as such, of course.’

The Examiner was now ready for Pinpin. He approached the desk, his eyes on his papers.

‘Pinto Hath,’ he said. And then raising his eyes, his face took on an all-embracing smile. Pinpin met this look with instinctive suspicion.

‘And what are we to call you, my little fellow?’

‘By her name,’ said Mrs Hath.

‘Well then, Pinto,’ said the Examiner, still beaming. ‘I’ve got some pretty pictures here. Let’s see if you can tell me what they are.’

He presented Pinpin with a sheet of coloured images. Pinpin looked, but said nothing. The Examiner pointed with his finger to a dog.

‘What’s this?’

Not a sound from Pinpin.

‘What’s this, then?’

Silence.

‘Does he have a hearing problem?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Hath. ‘She can hear you.’

‘But he doesn’t speak.’

‘I suppose there’s nothing much she wants to say.’

Bowman and Kestrel held their breath. The Examiner frowned and looked grave, and made a note on his papers. Then he returned to the pictures.

‘Well now, Pinto. Show me a doggy. Where’s a doggy?’

Pinpin gazed back at him, and neither spoke nor pointed.

‘A house, then. Show me a little house.’

Nothing. And so it went on, until at last the Examiner put his pictures away, looking graver still.

‘Let’s try some counting, shall we, little chap?’

He started counting, meaning Pinpin to follow him, but all she would do was stare. He made another note.

‘The last part of the test,’ he said to Mrs Hath, ‘is designed to assess the child’s level of communication skills. Listening, understanding, and responding. We find the child is usually more at his ease when held in the arms.’

‘You want her in your arms?’

‘If you have no objection.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I have done this before, Mrs Hath. The little fellow will be quite safe with me.’

Ira Hath looked down at the ground, and her nose twitched just a little. Bowman saw this, and sent an instant thought to Kestrel.

Mama’s going to crack.

But all she did was lift Pinpin from her seat and give her into the Examiner’s waiting arms. Bowman and Kestrel watched with keen interest. Their father sat with his eyes closed, knowing it was all going as wrong as it possibly could, and there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Well, Pinto, you’re a fine fellow, aren’t you?’ The Examiner tickled Pinpin under the chin, and pressed her nose. ‘What’s this, then? Is this your nosey?’

Pinpin remained silent. The Examiner pulled out the large gold medal which hung round his neck on a chain, and dangled it in front of Pinpin’s eyes. It shone in the morning light.

‘Pretty, pretty. Do you want to hold it?’

Pinpin said nothing. The Examiner looked up at Mrs Hath in exasperation.

‘I’m not sure you realise,’ he said. ‘As matters stand at this moment, I shall have to give your child a zero rating.’

‘Is it as bad as that?’ said Mrs Hath, her eyes glittering.

‘I can get nothing out of him, you see.’

‘Nothing at all?’

‘Is there some rhyme or word game he likes to play?’

‘Let me think.’ Mrs Hath proceeded, rather ostentatiously, to mime the act of thinking, lips pursed, finger stroking brow.

Bowman sent a thought to Kestrel.

She’s cracking.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Hath. ‘There is a game she likes to play. Try saying to her, wiss wiss wiss.’

‘Wiss wiss wiss?’

‘She’ll like that.’

Bowman and Kestrel sent the same thought at the same time.

She’s cracked!

‘Wiss wiss wiss,’ said the Examiner to Pinpin. ‘Wiss wiss wiss, little fellow.’

Pinpin looked at the Examiner in surprise, and wriggled a little in his arms, as if to settle herself more comfortably. Mrs Hath watched, her nose now twitching uncontrollably. Bowman and Kestrel watched, their hearts thumping.

Any minute now, they thought to each other.

‘Wiss wiss wiss,’ said the Examiner.

‘Any minute now,’ said Mrs Hath.

Now, Pinpin, now, willed Bowman and Kestrel. Do it now.

Mr Hath opened his eyes and saw the looks on their faces. Suddenly realising what was going on, he rose from the bench and reached out his arms.

‘Let me take her – ’

Too late.

Hubba hubba Pinpin! exulted Bo and Kess in the joyous silence of their thoughts. Hubba hubba hubba Pinpin!

A faraway look of contentment on her round face, Pinpin was emptying her bladder in a long and steady stream down the Examiner’s arms. The Examiner felt the spread of the gentle warmth without at first understanding what was happening. Then seeing the look of rapt attention on the faces of Mrs Hath and her children, he dropped his gaze downward. The stain was seeping into his scarlet cloak. In utter silence, he held Pinpin out for Mr Hath to take, and turned and walked gravely back up the aisle.

Mrs Hath took Pinpin from her husband, and smothered her with kisses. Bowman and Kestrel dropped to the floor and rolled about there, quaking with silent laughter. Hanno Hath watched the Examiner report the incident to Maslo Inch, and he gave a small private sigh. He knew what his wife and children did not, which was that they had needed a good rating this morning. Now, with no points at all, they would probably have to leave their house in Orange District and make do in humbler quarters. Two rooms if they were lucky; more likely one room, with the use of a kitchen and bathroom on a communal landing. Hanno Hath was not a vain man. He cared very little what others thought of him. But he loved his family dearly, and the thought of failing them hurt him deep inside.

Ira Hath cuddled Pinpin tight and refused to think about the future.

‘Wiss wiss wiss,’ murmured Pinpin happily.

2

Kestrel makes a horrible friend

On getting to school, Bowman and Kestrel found they had forgotten to bring their homework.

‘Forgot?’ roared Dr Batch. ‘You forgot?’

The twins stood side by side at the front of the long classroom, facing their teacher. Dr Batch smoothed his hands over his substantial stomach, and ran the tip of his tongue over his substantial lips, and proceeded to make an example of them. Dr Batch liked making an example of his pupils. He considered it part of his job as a teacher.

‘Let’s begin at the beginning. Why did you forget?’

‘Our little sister had her first test this morning,’ said Bowman. ‘We left the house early, and we just forgot.’

‘You just forgot? Well, well, well.’

Dr Batch liked lame excuses.

‘Hands up,’ he said to the class, ‘hands up who else attended an infant test this morning.’

A dozen hands went up among the serried ranks of desks, including the hand of Rufy Blesh.

‘And hands up who else forgot their homework.’

All the hands went down again. Dr Batch turned to Bowman, his eyes popping out with friendly attention.

‘It seems you are the only ones.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Throughout this proceeding, Kestrel remained silent. But Bowman could hear the seething of her angry thoughts, and knew she was in one of her wild moods. Dr Batch, unaware of this, began to waddle up and down in front of them, conducting a ritual exchange with the class.

‘Class! What happens if you don’t work?’

Back came the familiar response from fifty-one young mouths.

‘No work, no progress.’

‘And what happens if you make no progress?’

‘No progress, no points.’

‘And what happens if you get no points?’

‘No points ends up last.’

‘Last.’ Dr Batch relished the word. ‘Last! La-a-ast!’

The whole class shivered. Last! Like Mumpo, the stupidest boy in the school. Some eyes turned furtively to look at him, as he sat glowering and shivering right at the back, in the seat of shame. Mad Mumpo, whose upper lip was always shiny with nose-dribble, because he had no mother to tell him to wipe it. Smelly Mumpo, who stank so badly that no one would ever go near him, because he had no father to tell him to wash.

Dr Batch waddled over to the class ratings board, on which every pupil’s name was written in class order. Every day, at the end of the day, the new points were calculated, and the new class order written up.

‘I shall deduct five points each,’ said Dr Batch. And there and then, he recalculated the class order. Bowman and Kestrel dropped two places, to twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth respectively, while the class watched.

‘Slipping, slipping, slipping,’ said Dr Batch as he made the changes. ‘What do we do when we find ourselves slipping down?’

The class chanted the response.

‘We strive harder, and reach higher, to make tomorrow better than today.’

‘Harder. Higher. Better.’ He turned back to Bowman and Kestrel. ‘You will not, I trust, forget your homework again. Take up your places.’

As they walked back down the rows of desks, Bowman could feel Kestrel seething with hatred, for Dr Batch, and the big ratings board, and the school, and all Aramanth.

It doesn’t matter, he thought to her. We’ll catch up.

I don’t want to, she replied. I don’t care.

Bowman came to a stop at the desk where they were now to sit, two places behind their old desks. But Kestrel went on, all the way to the back, where Mumpo sat. Beside Mumpo there was an empty place, because he was always bottom of the class. Here Kestrel sat down.

Dr Batch stared in astonishment. So did Mumpo.

‘Hallo-o,’ he said, breathing his stinky breath all over her.

Kestrel turned away, covering her face.

‘Do you like me?’ said Mumpo, leaning closer.

‘Get away from me,’ said Kestrel. ‘You stink.’

Dr Batch called sharply from the other end of the room.

‘Kestrel Hath! Go to your correct place at once!’

‘No,’ said Kestrel.

The whole class froze.

‘No?’ said Dr Batch. ‘Did you say no?’

‘Yes,’ said Kestrel.

‘Do you wish me to deduct five more points for disobedience?’

‘You can if you want,’ said Kestrel. ‘I don’t care.’

‘You don’t care?’ Dr Batch went a bright red. ‘Then I shall teach you to care. You’ll do as you’re told, or – ’

‘Or what?’ said Kestrel.

Dr Batch stared back, lost for words.

‘I’m already at the bottom of the class,’ said Kestrel. ‘What more can you do to me?’

For a moment longer, Dr Batch struggled with himself in silence, searching for the best way to respond. During this moment, in which the whole class held its breath, Mumpo shuffled closer still to Kestrel, and Kestrel twisted further away from him, screwing up her face in disgust. Dr Batch saw this, and the look of bewilderment on his face was replaced by a vindictive smile. He set off at a slow pace down the room.

‘Class,’ he said, his voice smoothly under control once more. ‘Class, turn and look at Kestrel Hath.’

All eyes turned.

‘Kestrel has found a new friend. As you see, Kestrel’s new friend is our very own Mumpo. Kestrel and Mumpo, side by side. What do you think of your new friend, Mumpo?’

Mumpo nodded and smiled. ‘I like Kess,’ he said.

‘He likes you, Kestrel,’ said Dr Batch. ‘Why don’t you sit closer? You could put your arm round him. You could hug him. He’s your new friend. Who knows, maybe in later years you’ll marry each other, and you can be Mrs Mumpo, and have lots of little Mumpo babies. Would you like that? Three or four little Mumpo babies to wash and wipe?’

The class tittered at that. Dr Batch was pleased. He felt he had regained the upper hand. Kestrel sat stiff as a rod and burned with shame and anger, and said nothing.

‘But perhaps I’m making a mistake. Perhaps Kestrel is making a mistake. Perhaps she simply sat down in the wrong seat, by mistake.’

He was close to Kestrel now, standing gazing at her in silence. Kestrel knew that he was offering her a deal: her obedience in exchange for her pride.

‘Perhaps Kestrel is going to get up, and go back to her correct place.’

Kestrel trembled, but she didn’t move. Dr Batch waited a moment longer, then hissed at her:

‘Well, well. Kestrel and Mumpo.What a sweet couple.’

All that morning, he kept up the attack. In the grammar lesson, he wrote up on the board:

NAME THE TENSES

Kestrel loves Mumpo

Kestrel is loved by Mumpo

Kestrel will love Mumpo

Kestrel has loved Mumpo

Kestrel shall have loved Mumpo

In the arithmetic lesson, he wrote on the board:

If Kestrel gives Mumpo 392 kisses and

98 hugs, and half the hugs are

accompanied by kisses, and one-eighth

of the kisses are slobbery, how many

slobbery kisses with hugs could

Kestrel give Mumpo?

And so it went on, and the class snickered away, as Dr Batch intended. Bowman looked back at Kestrel many times, but she just sat there, doing her work, not saying a word.

When time came for the lunch-break, he joined her as she walked quietly out of the room. To his annoyance, he found the dribbling Mumpo was coming with Kestrel, sticking close to her side.

‘Get lost, Mumpo,’ said Kestrel.

But Mumpo wouldn’t get lost. He simply trotted along beside Kestrel, his eyes never leaving her face. From time to time, unprompted, he would murmur, ‘I like Kess’, and then wipe his nose-dribble on to his shirt sleeve.

Kestrel was heading for the way out.

‘Where are you going, Kess?’

‘Out,’ said Kestrel. ‘I hate school.’

‘Yes, but Kess – ’ Bowman didn’t know what to say. Of course she hated school. Everyone hated school. But you had to go.

‘What about the family rating?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kestrel. And walking faster now, she began to cry. Mumpo saw this, and was devastated. He skipped around her, reaching out his grubby hands to paw her, and uttered small cries designed to give her comfort.

‘Don’t cry, Kess. I’ll be your friend, Kess. Don’t cry.’

Kestrel brushed him away angrily.

‘Get lost, Mumpo. You stink.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Mumpo humbly.

‘Kess,’ said Bowman, ‘come back to school, sit in your proper place, and Batch will leave you alone.’

‘I’m never going back,’ said Kestrel.

‘But you must.’

‘I’m going to tell pa. He’ll understand.’

‘And I will,’ said Mumpo.

‘Go away, Mumpo!’ shouted Kestrel, right in his face. ‘Go away or I’ll bash you!’

She raised a threatening fist. Mumpo dropped whimpering to his knees.

‘Hurt me if you want. I don’t mind.’

Kestrel’s fist remained suspended in mid-air. She stared at Mumpo. Bowman too was watching Mumpo. Suddenly he was caught unawares by the feeling of what it was like to be Mumpo. A dull cold terror rolled over him, and a penetrating loneliness. He almost cried out loud, so intense was the hunger for kindness.

‘She doesn’t mean it,’ he said. ‘She won’t hit you.’

‘She can if she wants.’

His face gazed adoringly up at her, his eyes now as shiny as his upper lip.

‘Tell him you won’t hit him, Kess.’

‘I won’t hit you,’ said Kestrel, dropping her fist. ‘You’re too stinky to touch.’

She turned and walked fast down the street, Bowman at her side. Mumpo followed a few paces behind. So that he wouldn’t hear, Kestrel talked to Bowman in her head.

I can’t go on like this, I can’t.

What else can we do?

I don’t know, she said. Something. Something soon, or I’ll explode.

3

Bad words said loud

As she left Orange District with Bowman and Mumpo following her, Kestrel had no plan in her head, other than to get away from the hated school: but in fact she was making her way down one of the city’s four main streets to the central arena, where the wind singer stood.

The city of Aramanth was built in the shape of a circle, a drum even, since it was enclosed by high walls, raised long ago to protect the people from the warrior tribes of the plains. No one had dared attack mighty Aramanth for many generations now, but the great walls remained, and few people ventured out of the city. What was there in the world beyond that anybody could possibly want? Only the rock-strewn seashore to the south, where the great grey ocean thundered and rolled; and the barren desert wastes to the north, stretching all the way to the distant mountains. No food out there; no comfort, no safety. Whereas within the walls there was all that was necessary for life, more, for a good life. Every citizen of Aramanth knew how fortunate they were, to live in this rare haven of peace, plenty, and equal opportunity for all.

The city was arranged in its districts in concentric rings. The outermost ring, in the shadow of the walls, was formed by the great cube-shaped apartment blocks of Grey District. Next came the low-rise apartments that made up Maroon District, and the crescents of small terraced houses of Orange District, where the Hath family lived. Nearest the central sector of the city lay the broad ring of Scarlet District, a region of roomy detached houses, each with its own garden, laid out in a pleasing maze of twisting lanes, so that each house felt special and different, though of course all were painted red. And finally and most gloriously, at the heart of the city, there was White District. Here was the Imperial Palace, where the Emperor, Creoth the Sixth, the father of Aramanth, looked out over his citizen-children. Here were the great houses of the city leaders, built in marble or polished limestone, beautiful and austere. Here was the huge pillared Hall of Achievement, where the family ratings were displayed; and facing it, across the plaza where the statue of Emperor Creoth the First stood, the many-windowed College of Examiners, home of the Board of Examiners, the supreme governing body of Aramanth.

Next to the plaza, beneath the towering walls of the Imperial Palace, at the meeting point of the four main streets, lay the city arena. This great circular amphitheatre had originally been designed to bring together the entire population of Aramanth, for the debates and elections that had been necessary before the introduction of the ratings system. Today there were far too many citizens to cram into the arena’s nine descending marble tiers, but it had its uses, for concerts and recitals. And of course this was the venue for the annual High Examination, when the heads of all the households were tested, and their family ratings adjusted for the following year.

In the centre of the arena, in the circle paved with white marble that formed the stage, there stood the curious wooden tower known as the wind singer. Everything about the wind singer was wrong. It was not white. It was not symmetrical. It lacked the simplicity and calm that characterised the whole of White District. It creaked this way and that with every passing breeze, and when the wind blew stronger, it let out a dismal moaning sound. Every year a proposal would come up at the meeting of the Board of Examiners to dismantle it, and replace it with a more dignified emblem of the city, but every year the proposal was vetoed; by the Emperor himself, it was whispered. And it was true to say that the people regarded the wind singer with affection, because it was so very old, and had always been there, and because there was a legend that one day it would sing again.

Kestrel Hath had loved the wind singer all her life. She loved it because it was unpredictable, and served no purpose, and seemed, by its sad cry, not to like the orderly world of Aramanth. Sometimes, when the frustrations of her existence grew too hard to bear, she would run down the nine tiers of the arena and sit on the white flagstones at the bottom and talk to the wind singer, for an hour or more. Of course, it didn’t understand her, and the creaky groany noises it made back weren’t words, but she found that rather restful. She didn’t particularly want to be understood. She just wanted to vent her feelings of fury and powerlessness, and not feel entirely alone.

On this day, the worst so far, Kestrel headed instinctively for the arena. Her father would not be home from the library yet, and her mother would be at the clinic, where Pinpin had to have her two-year-old physical assessment. Where else was there to go? Later she was accused of plotting her disgraceful actions in advance, but Kestrel was not a schemer. She acted on impulse, rarely knowing herself what she would do next. It would be more true to say that Bowman, following her, sensed that she would get herself into trouble. As for Mumpo, he just followed her because he loved her.

The main street to the centre led past the courtyard of the Weavers’ Company, where, because it was lunchtime, all the weavers were out in the yard doing their exercises.

‘Touch the ground! Touch the sky!’ called out their trainer. ‘You can do it! If you try!’

The weavers bent and stretched, bent and stretched, in time with each other.

A little further on they came upon a street-cleaner sitting by his barrow eating his midday meal.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any litter you’d care to drop?’ he asked them.

The children searched their pockets. Bowman found a piece of charred toast that he’d put there so as not to hurt his mother’s feelings.

‘Just drop it in the street,’ said the street-cleaner, his eyes brightening.

‘I’ll put it in your barrow,’ said Bowman.

‘That’s right, do my job for me,’ said the street-cleaner bitterly. ‘Don’t you worry about how I’m to meet my target, let alone exceed it, if nobody ever drops any litter in the street. Don’t ask yourself how I’m supposed to get along, you’re from Orange, you’re all right. It doesn’t occur to you that I want to better myself, same as everyone else. You try living in Grey District. My wife has set her heart on one of those apartments in Maroon, with the little balconies.’

Bowman dropped his piece of toast on to the street.

‘Well, there you are,’ said the street-cleaner. ‘I may just look at it for a while, before I sweep it up.’

Kestrel was already far ahead, with Mumpo trailing after her. Bowman ran to catch them up.

‘When are we going to have lunch?’ said Mumpo.

‘Shut up,’ said Kestrel.

As they crossed the plaza the bell in the high palace tower struck two. Mnang!Mnang! Now their classmates would all be trooping back to their desks, and Dr Batch would be marking the three truants down as absent without leave. That meant more lost points.

They passed through the double row of marble columns that ringed the highest tier of the arena, and made their way down the steps to the bottom.

Mumpo came to a sudden stop on the fifth tier, and sat down on the white marble step.

‘I’m hungry,’ he announced.

Kestrel paid no attention. She went on down to the bottom, and Bowman followed her. Mumpo wanted to follow her, but now that he had become aware of his hunger he could think of nothing else. He sat on the step and hugged his knees and yearned for food with all his heart.

Kestrel came to a stop at last, at the foot of the wind singer. Her rage at Pinpin’s test, and Dr Batch’s taunts, and the whole suffocating order of Aramanth, had formed within her into a wild desire to upset, to confuse, to shock – she hardly knew who or what or how – just to fracture the smooth and seamless running of the world, if only for a moment. She had come to the wind singer because it was her friend and ally, but it was only when she stood at its foot that she knew what she was going to do.

She started to climb.

Come down, Bowman called in alarm. They’ll punish you. You’ll fall. You’ll hurt yourself.

I don’t care.

She hauled herself up on to the platform, and then she started climbing the tower. This wasn’t easy, because it swung in the wind, and the footholds were slippery among the pipes. But she was wiry and agile, and held on tight as she ascended.

A sharp cry sounded from the top tier of the arena.

‘Hey! You! Get down at once!’

A scarlet-robed official had seen her, and came hurrying down the steps. Finding Mumpo sitting hunched on the fifth tier, he stopped to question him.

‘What do you think you’re doing? Why aren’t you in school?’

‘I’m hungry,’ said Mumpo.

‘Hungry? You’ve just had lunch.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘All children eat school lunch at one o’clock. If you didn’t eat your lunch, then you have only yourself to blame.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said the unhappy Mumpo. ‘But I’m still hungry.’

By now Kestrel had reached the wind singer’s neck, and was making an interesting discovery. There was a slot cut into the broad metal pipe, and an arrow etched above it, pointing to the slot, and a design above the arrow. It looked like the letter S, with the tail of the S curling round and right over its top.

The scarlet-robed official arrived at the base of the wind singer.

‘You, boy,’ he said sharply to Bowman. ‘What’s she doing? Who is she?’

‘She’s my sister,’ said Bowman.

‘And who are you?’

‘I’m her brother.’

The fierce official made him nervous, and when nervous, Bowman became very logical. Momentarily baffled, the official looked up and called to Kestrel:

‘Get down, girl! Get down at once! What do you think you’re doing up there?’

‘Pongo!’ Kestrel called back, climbing ever higher up the structure.

‘What?’ said the official. ‘What did she say?’

‘Pongo,’ said Bowman.

‘She said pongo to me?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Bowman. ‘She might have been saying it to me.’

‘But it was I who spoke to her. I ordered her to come down, and she replied, pongo.’

‘Perhaps she thinks it’s your name.’

‘It’s not my name. No one is called Pongo.’

‘I didn’t know that. I expect she doesn’t know that.’

The official, confused by Bowman’s tremulous but reasonable manner, turned his face back up to Kestrel, who was now almost at the very top, and called out:

‘Did you say pongo to me?’

‘Pongo pooa-pooa pompaprune!’ Kestrel called back.

The official turned to Bowman, his face rigid with righteousness.

‘There! You heard her! It’s a disgrace!’ He called back up to Kestrel, ‘If you don’t come down, I’ll report you!’

‘You’ll report her even if she does come down,’ said Bowman.

‘I certainly shall,’ said the official, ‘but I shall report her more if she doesn’t.’ He shouted up at Kestrel, ‘I shall recommend that points be deducted from your family rating!’

‘Bangaplop!’ called Kestrel. She was on a level with one of the wide leather scoops as she called out this rude word, and the sound travelled down the pipes of the wind singer and emerged from the horns, a second or so later, in a fuzzy distorted form.

‘Bang-ang-anga-plop-op-p!’

Kestrel then put her head right into the leather scoop, and shouted:

‘Sagahog!’

Her voice came booming out of the horns:

‘SAG-AG-AG-A-HOG-G-G!’

The official heard this aghast.

‘She’s disturbing the afternoon work session,’ he said. ‘They’ll hear her in the College.’

‘Pompa-pompa-pompaprune!’ called Kestrel.

‘POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA-PRU-U-UNE!’ boomed the wind singer across the arena.

Out of the College of Examiners, in a flurry of white robes, poured the high officials of the city to see what was intruding on their afternoon.

‘I HA-A-ATE SCHOO-OO-OOL!’ cried Kestrel’s amplified voice. ‘I HA-A-ATE RA-A-ATINGS!’

The examiners heard this in shock.

‘She’s having a fit,’ they said. ‘She’s lost her wits.’

‘Get her down! Send for the marshals!’

‘I won’t strive ha-a-arder!’ cried Kestrel. ‘I won’t rea-ea-each hi-i-igher! I won’t make tomorr-orr-ow better than today-ay-ay!’

More and more people were gathering now, drawn by the noise. A long crocodile of children from Maroon District, who had been on a visit to the Hall of Achievement, appeared between the double row of columns to listen to Kestrel’s voice.

‘I don’t love my Emperor-or-or!’ Kestrel was now crying. ‘There’s no glor-or-ory in Aramanth-anth-anth!’

The children gasped. Their teacher was too shocked to speak. A band of grey-coated marshals came running down the steps, their batons in their hands.

‘Get her down!’ cried the scarlet-robed official.

The marshals formed a ring round the wind singer, and their captain called up to Kestrel:

‘You’re surrounded! You can’t get away!’

‘I don’t want to get away,’ Kestrel replied; and putting her head back into the leather scoop, she called out,

‘PONGO-O-O TO EXAM-AM-AMS!’

The Maroon children started to titter.

‘Oh, the evil child!’ exclaimed their teacher, and herded her class back to the Hall of Achievement. ‘Come along, children. Don’t listen to her. She’s a wild thing.’

‘Come down!’ roared the captain of the marshals. ‘Come down or you’ll be sorry!’

‘I’m sorry now,’ Kestrel called back. ‘I’m sorry for me, and I’m sorry for you, and I’m sorry for this whole sorry city!’

She put her head into the scoop and called out over the wide arena:

‘WON’T STRIVE HAR-AR-ARDER! WON’T REACH HI-I-IGHER! WON’T MAKE TOMORROW-OW-OW BETTER THAN TODAY-AY-AY!’

Bowman made no more attempts to control his sister. He knew her too well. When she got into one of her rages, there was no reasoning with her until her passions were exhausted. The schoolteacher was right: Kestrel had become a wild thing. The wildness coursed through her, glorious and liberating, as she swung from side to side on the top of the wind singer, and shouted all the terrible unthinkable thoughts that had been buried within her for so long. She had gone so far now, she had broken so many rules and said such wicked things, that she knew she would suffer the most severe punishment; and since what was done could not be undone, she was free to be as bad as she wanted to be.

‘Pongo to the Emperor!’ she cried. ‘Where is he anyway? I’ve never seen him! There isn’t any Emperor!’

The marshals started to climb the wind singer to bring her down by force. Bowman, afraid they would hurt her, slipped away to fetch their father from the sub-library in Orange District where he worked. As he left the arena on one side, the Chief Examiner himself entered from the other, and stood gazing down on the chaotic scene in grim silence.

‘POMP-PA POMP-PA-PRU-U-UNE TO THE EMPEROR-OR-OR!’ rang out Kestrel’s amplified voice.

Maslo Inch drew a long breath and strode steadily down the steps. By the fifth tier he felt a small hand clutch at the hem of his clean white robe.

‘Please, sir,’ said a small voice. ‘Do you have any food?’

The Chief Examiner looked down and saw Mumpo, his nose dribbling, his face grimy, his moist stupid eyes gazing up at him, and he snatched his robe away in sudden fury.

‘Don’t you touch me, you poxy little brat!’ he hissed.

Mumpo was used to being brushed off, or laughed at, but the pure hatred he heard in the Chief Examiner’s voice astounded him.

‘I only wanted – ’

Maslo Inch did not wait to hear. He strode on down to the stage of the arena.

His arrival caused panic among the officials and marshals.

‘We’ve ordered her down – we’re doing all we can – she must be drunk – have you heard her? – she won’t listen to us – ’

‘Be quiet,’ said the Chief Examiner. ‘Someone remove the filthy child back there, and wash him.’ He made a gesture over his shoulder towards Mumpo.

One of the marshals hurried up the steps and took Mumpo by the wrist. Mumpo went slowly, looking back many times at Kestrel high in the wind singer. He didn’t complain, because he was used to being dragged here and there by people in authority. The marshal took him to the fountain by the statue of Creoth the First, and held his head under the stream of cold water. Mumpo screamed, and struggled violently.

‘You better watch out,’ the marshal said, cross at being splashed. ‘We don’t want your sort in Aramanth.’

He released his hold, and washed his hands in the fountain bowl.

‘I don’t want to be in Aramanth,’ said Mumpo, shivering. ‘But I don’t know where else to go.’

In the arena, Maslo Inch watched the efforts of the marshals clambering over the wind singer, trying to catch hold of the lighter and more agile child.

‘Come down,’ he ordered the marshals.

‘They’ll get her in the end, sir,’ said the captain of the marshals.

‘I said, come down.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The marshals descended, panting and red in the face. Maslo Inch looked with his steady and contemptuous gaze at the assembled crowd.

‘Has nobody here got any work to do this afternoon?’

‘We couldn’t let her say those wicked things – ’

‘You are her audience. Go away, and she will become silent. Captain, clear the arena.’

So the officials and the marshals trickled away, looking back over their shoulders as they went to see what the Chief Examiner would do next.

Kestrel did not become silent. She made a kind of song out of all the bad words she knew, and sang it through the wind singer.

‘Pocksicker pocksicker pompaprune!

Banga-banga-banga plop!

Sagahog sagahog pompaprune!

Udderbug pongo plop!’

Maslo Inch gazed up at her for a few moments, as if to familiarise himself with her face. He said nothing more. The girl had mocked and insulted everything that Aramanth most respected. She would be punished, of course; but the case called for more than punishment. She must be broken. Maslo Inch was not a man to shrink from hard decisions. Young as she was, it must be done, and it must be done once and for all. He gave a single brisk nod of his head, and turned and strode calmly away.

4

Practising for Maroon

By the time Bowman returned with his father, the arena was empty and the wind singer was silent. The marshals guarding the perimeter refused to let them enter. Hanno Hath told them he was the wild child’s father, and had come to take her home. The marshals sent for their captain, and their captain sent for instructions to the College of Examiners. Back came a simple order.

‘Send her home. She’ll be dealt with later.’

As father and son made their way down the arena steps, Bowman asked in a low voice,

‘What will they do to her?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Hanno.

‘They said we’d lose points from our family rating.’

‘Yes, I expect they’ll do that.’

‘She said pompaprune to the Emperor. She said the Emperor doesn’t exist.’

‘Did she now?’ said her father, smiling to himself.

‘Does the Emperor exist, pa?’

‘Who knows? I’ve never seen him, and I’ve never met anyone else who’s seen him. Perhaps he’s just one of those useful ideas.’

‘Will you be cross with Kess?’

‘No, of course not. But it would have been better if she hadn’t done it.’

They reached the wind singer, and Hanno Hath called up to the top, where they could see Kestrel curled up among the leather scoops.

‘Kestrel! Come down now, darling.’

Kestrel looked over the edge, and saw her father below.

‘Are you angry with me?’ she said in a small voice.

‘No,’ he replied gently. ‘I love you.’

So Kestrel climbed down, and as she reached the ground her courage suddenly forsook her, and she started to tremble and cry. Hanno Hath took her in his arms, and sat down on the bottom step of the arena, and held her close. He hugged her, and let her sob out all her tears of anger and humiliation.

‘I know, I know,’ he said over and over again.

Bowman sat beside them, waiting for his sister to calm down, and shivered, and wanted to cuddle close to his father too. He moved nearer, and leaned his head against a wool-rough arm. Pa can’t help us, he thought. He wants to, but he can’t. It was the first time he had ever thought this thought, clear and simple like that. He said it to Kestrel in his head.

Pa can’t help us.

Kestrel thought back, I know. But he does love us.

Then they both felt it at the same time, how much they loved their father, and they both started kissing him at once, all over his ears and eyes and scratchy cheeks.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘That’s my bright birds.’

They walked home quietly, the three of them arm in arm, and nobody troubled them. Ira Hath was waiting for them, with Pinpin in her arms, and they told her briefly what had happened.

‘Oh, I wish I’d heard you!’ she exclaimed.

Neither of Kestrel’s parents blamed her, or said she’d done wrong. But they all knew there would be a price to pay.

‘It’ll be bad for us, won’t it?’ said Kestrel, watching her father’s eyes as she spoke.

‘Well, yes, I expect they’ll want to make an example of us somehow,’ said Hanno, sighing.

‘Will we have to go to Maroon District?’

‘Yes, I think so. Unless I astonish the world with my brilliance at the next High Examination.’

‘You are brilliant, pa.’

‘Thank you, darling. Unfortunately whatever brilliance I have remains undetected in exams.’

He pulled a funny face. They all knew how he hated exams.

There was no visit from the marshals that evening, so they had supper together, and Pinpin was given her bath, just as if nothing had happened. Then before Pinpin’s bedtime, as the setting sun turned the sky a soft dusty pink, they made their family wish huddle, as they always did. Hanno Hath knelt down on the floor and reached up his arms. Bowman nestled under one, and Kestrel under the other. Pinpin stood with her face pressed to his chest, and her short arms round his body. Ira Hath knelt behind Pinpin, and wrapped her arms over Bowman on one side and Kestrel on the other, making a tight ring. Then they all leaned their heads inwards until they were touching, and took turns to say their night wish. Often they wished for comical things, especially their mother, who had once wished five nights running for the Blesh family to get ulcerated boils. But tonight the mood was serious.

‘I wish there were no more exams ever,’ said Kestrel.

‘I wish nothing bad happens to Kess,’ said Bowman.

‘I wish my darling children to be safe and happy for ever,’ said their mother. She always wished like that when she was worried.

‘I wish the wind singer would sing again,’ said their father.

Bowman nudged Pinpin, and she said, ‘Wish wish.’ Then they all kissed each other, bumping noses like they always did, because there wasn’t an agreed order. Then Pinpin was put to bed.

‘Do you think it’ll ever happen, pa?’ said Bowman. ‘Will the wind singer ever sing again?’

‘It’s only an old story,’ said Hanno Hath. ‘Nobody believes it any more.’

‘I do,’ said Kestrel.

‘You can’t,’ objected her brother. ‘You don’t know any more about it than anyone else.’

‘I believe it because nobody else believes it,’ she retorted.

Her father smiled at that.

‘That’s more or less how I feel,’ he said.

He had told them the old story many times before, but Kestrel wanted to hear it again. So to calm her down, he told them once more about the time long ago when the wind singer sang. Its song was so sweet that everyone who heard it was happy. The happiness of the people of Aramanth angered the spirit-lord called the Morah –

‘But the Morah’s not real,’ put in Bowman.

‘No, nobody believes in the Morah any more,’ said his father.

‘I do,’ said Kestrel.

The Morah was angry, went the old story, and sent a terrible army, the army of the Zars, to destroy Aramanth. Then the people were afraid, and took the voice out of the wind singer, and gave it to the Morah. The Morah accepted the offering, and the Zars turned back without destroying Aramanth, and the wind singer never sang again.

Kestrel became very excited as she heard this.

‘It’s true!’ she cried. ‘There’s a place in the wind singer’s neck for the voice to go. I’ve seen it!’

‘Yes,’ said Hanno. ‘So have I.’

‘So the story must be true.’

‘Who knows?’ said Hanno quietly. ‘Who knows?’

Kestrel’s words reminded them all of her defiance that afternoon, and they fell silent.

‘Maybe they’ll just forget about it,’ said Ira Hath hopefully.

‘No,’ said Hanno. ‘They won’t forget.’

‘We’ll have to go down to Maroon District,’ said Bowman. ‘I don’t see what’s so bad about that.’

‘The apartments are quite small. We’d all have to sleep together in the one room.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Bowman. ‘I’ve always wanted us to sleep in one room.’

Kestrel thanked him with her eyes, and his mother kissed him and said, ‘You’re a dear boy. But your father snores, you know.’

‘Do I?’ said Hanno, surprised.

‘I’m quite used to it,’ said his wife, ‘but the children may be kept awake for a while.’

‘Why don’t we try it?’ said Bowman. ‘Why don’t we practise for Maroon District tonight?’

They took the mattresses from the twins’ beds, and carried them into their parents’ room. There stood the big bed, with its bedspread in stripes of many colours: pink and yellow, blue and green, colours rarely seen in Aramanth. Ira Hath had made it herself, as a small act of rebellion, and the children loved it.

By pushing the big bed against the far wall they could fit both mattresses side by side on the floor, but there was no room left to walk on, and certainly no space for Pinpin’s cot. So they decided Pinpin would sleep between Bowman and Kestrel, on the crack of their mattresses.

When they were all ready for bed, the twins lay down, and their father lifted the sleeping Pinpin out of her cot in the hall, and laid her between them. She half woke, and finding her brother on one side and her sister on the other, her small round face broke into a sleepy smile. She wriggled in her space, turned first one way and then the other, murmured, ‘Love Bo, love Kess,’ and went back to sleep.

Their parents then went to bed. For a little while they all lay there, squeezed together in the dark, and listened to each other’s snuffles. Then Ira Hath said, in her prophetess voice,

‘O, unhappy people! Tomorrow comes the sorrow!’

They laughed softly, as they always did at their mother’s prophetess voice; but they knew what she said was true. Shivering, they wriggled deeper into the bedclothes. It felt so friendly and safe and family-ish to be sleeping together in the same room that they wondered why they had never done it before, and when, if ever, they would be able to do it again.

5

A warning from the Chief Examiner

The summons came early, while they were still at breakfast. The doorbell rang, and there outside was a messenger from the College of Examiners. The Chief Examiner wished to see Hanno Hath at once, together with his daughter Kestrel.

Hanno rose to his feet.

‘Come on, Kess. Let’s get it over with.’

Kestrel stayed at the table, her expression showing stubborn resistance.

‘We don’t have to go.’

‘If we don’t, they’ll send marshals to fetch us.’

Kestrel stood up slowly, staring with extreme hostility at the messenger.

‘Do what you like to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Me?’ said the messenger, aggrieved. ‘What’s it got to do with me? All I do is carry messages. You think anyone ever explains them to me?’

‘You don’t have to do it.’

‘Oh, don’t I? We live in Grey District, we do. You try sharing a toilet with six families. You try living with a sick wife and two thumping great lads in one room. Oh no, I’ll do my job all right, and more, and one fine day, they’ll move us up to Maroon, and that’ll do me nicely, thank you very much.’

Maslo Inch was waiting in his spacious office, sitting at his broad desk. He rose to his full imposing height as Hanno and Kestrel entered, and to their surprise, greeted them with a smile, in his high grand way. Coming out from behind the fortress desk, he shook their hands, and invited them to sit down with him in the circle of high grand chairs.

‘Your father and I used to play together when we were your age,’ he told Kestrel. ‘We sat together in class, too, for a while. Remember, Hanno?’

‘Yes,’ said Hanno. ‘I remember.’

He remembered how Maslo Inch had been so much bigger than the rest of them, and had made them kneel before him. But he said nothing about that. He just wanted to get the interview over with as soon as possible. Maslo Inch’s white clothes were so very white that it was hard to look at him for long; that, and his smile.

‘I’m going to tell you something that may surprise you,’ the Chief Examiner said to Kestrel. ‘Your father used to be cleverer than me at school.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Kestrel.

‘Doesn’t it?’ said Maslo Inch evenly. ‘Then why am I Chief Examiner of Aramanth, while your father is a subdistrict librarian?’

‘Because he doesn’t like exams,’ said Kestrel. ‘He likes books.’

Hanno Hath saw a shadow of irritation pass across the Chief Examiner’s face.

‘We know this is about what happened yesterday,’ he said quietly. ‘Say what you have to say.’

‘Ah, yes. Yesterday.’ The smile turned to hold Hanno in its steady shine. ‘Your daughter gave us quite a performance. We’ll come to that in due course.’

Hanno Hath looked back at the smooth face of the Chief Examiner, and saw there in those gleaming eyes a deep well of hatred. Why? he thought. This powerful man has nothing to fear from me. Why does he hate me so?

Maslo Inch rose to his feet.

‘Follow me, please. Both of you.’

He set off without a backward glance, and Hanno Hath and Kestrel followed behind, hand in hand. The Chief Examiner led them down a long empty corridor, lined on both sides with columns of gold-painted names. This was such a commonplace sight in Aramanth that neither father nor daughter looked twice at them. Anyone who achieved anything noteworthy was named on some wall somewhere, and this practice had been going on for so long that virtually no public wall was spared.

The corridor linked the College of Examiners to the Imperial Palace, and emerged into a courtyard at the heart of the palace, where a grey-clothed warden was sweeping the pathways. Maslo Inch began what was clearly a rehearsed speech.

‘Kestrel,’ he said, ‘I want you to listen to what I say to you today, and look at what I show you today, and remember it for the rest of your life.’

Kestrel said nothing. She watched the warden’s broom: swish, swish, swish.

‘I’ve been making enquiries about you,’ said the Chief Examiner. ‘I’m told that at school yesterday morning you placed yourself at the bottom of the class.’

‘What if I did?’ She was watching the warden. His eyes looked down as he worked, and his face looked vacant.

What is he thinking? Bo would know.

‘And that you said to your class teacher, What more can you do to me?’

‘What if I did?’

Why does he go on sweeping? There’s nothing to sweep.

‘You then went on to indulge in a childish tantrum in a public place.’

‘What if I did?’

‘You know of course that your own rating affects your family rating.’

‘What if it does?’

Swish, swish, swish, goes the broom.

‘That is what we are about to find out.’

He came to a stop before a door in a stone wall. The door was heavy, and closed with a big iron latch. He put his hand on the latch, and turned to Kestrel once more.

‘What more can you do to me? An interesting question, but the wrong one. You should ask, What more can I do to myself, and to those I love?’

He heaved on the iron latch, and pushed the heavy door open. Inside, a dank stone tunnel sloped downwards into the gloom.

‘I am taking you to see the salt caves. This is a privilege, of a kind. Very few of our citizens see the salt caves, for a reason that will soon become evident.’

They followed him down the tunnel, their footsteps echoing from the arched roof. The sides of the tunnel, Kestrel now saw, were cut out of a white rock that glistened in the dim light: salt. She knew from her history that Aramanth had been built on salt. The Manth people, a wandering tribe in search of a homeland, had found traces of the mineral, and had settled there to mine it. The traces became seams, the seams became caverns, as they tunnelled into a huge subterranean treasure-house. Salt had made the Manth people rich, and with their wealth they had built their city.

‘Have you ever asked yourself what became of the salt caves?’ said Maslo Inch, as they descended the long curving tunnel. ‘When all the salt had been extracted, there was left only a great space. A great nothingness. A void. What use, do you think, is a void?’

Now they could hear the sound of slow-moving water, a low deep gurgle. And on the dank air they could smell an acrid gassy smell.

‘For a hundred years we took from the ground what we wanted most. And for another hundred years, we have poured back into the ground what we want least.’

The sloping tunnel suddenly opened into a wide underground chamber, an indistinct and shadowy space loud with the sounds of moving water, as if a thousand streams here disgorged into a subterranean sea. The smell was unmistakable now: pungent and nauseating.

Maslo Inch led them to a long railing. Beyond the railing, some way below, lay a vast slow-swirling lake of dark mud, which here and there bubbled up in ponderous burps, like a gigantic simmering cauldron. The walls of the chamber above this lake glistened and shone, as if with sweat. They were pierced at intervals by great iron pipes, and out of these pipes issued grey water, sometimes at a trickle, sometimes at a gush.

‘Drains,’ said the Chief Examiner. ‘Sewers. Not beautiful, but necessary.’

Instinctively, both Kestrel and her father raised their hands to cover their noses against the stench.

‘You think, young lady, that if you do as you please, and make no effort at school, you and your family will go down from Orange to Maroon. You think you don’t mind that. Perhaps you will go down again, from Maroon to Grey. You think you don’t mind that, either. Grey District isn’t pretty, or comfortable, but it’s the bottom, and at least they’ll leave you alone there. That’s what you think, isn’t it? The worst that can happen is we’ll go all the way down to Grey.’

‘No,’ said Kestrel, though this was exactly what she thought.

‘No? You think it could be worse?’

Kestrel said nothing.

‘You’re quite right. It could be far, far worse. After all, Grey District, poor as it is, is still part of Aramanth. But there is a world below Aramanth.’

Kestrel stared out over the murky surface of the lake. It stretched far into the distance, further than she could see. And far, far away she seemed to glimpse a glow, a pool of light, like the light that sometimes breaks through clouds on to distant hills. She fixed her gaze on this distant glow, and the stinking lake appeared to her to be almost beautiful.

‘You’re looking at the Underlake, a lake of decomposing matter that’s bigger than all Aramanth. There are islands in the lake, islands of mud. Do you see?’

They followed his pointing finger, and could just make out, far away across the slithering grey-brown surface of the lake, a group of low mounds. As they watched, they caught a movement near the mounds, and staring, half-incredulous, saw what looked like a distant figure pass over the mud, and sink abruptly out of sight. Now, their eyes attuned to the gloom, they began to spot other figures, all as uniformly dark as the mud over which they crept, slipping silently in and out of the shadows.

‘Do people live down here?’ asked Hanno.

‘They do. Many thousands. Men, women, children. Primitive, degraded people, little better than animals.’

He invited them to step closer to the railing. Directly ahead, through a gate in the rails, there projected a narrow jetty. Tethered to its timbers some twenty feet below were several long flat-bottomed barges, half-filled with refuse of every kind.

‘They live on what we throw away. They live in rubbish, and they live on rubbish.’ He turned to Kestrel. ‘You asked, What more can you do to me? Here’s your answer. Why do we strive harder? Why do we reach higher? Because we don’t want to live like this.’

Kestrel shrugged. ‘I don’t care,’ she said.

The Chief Examiner watched her closely.

‘You don’t care?’ he said slowly.

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Then don’t.’

‘Prove you don’t care.’

He opened the gate in the railing and held it wide, inviting her to pass through. Kestrel looked out along the slick boards.

‘Go on. Walk right to the end. If you really don’t care.’

Kestrel took one step on to the narrow jetty, and stopped. In truth, she was frightened of the Underlake, but she was bursting inside with angry pride, and would have done anything to wipe that smooth smile from the Chief Examiner’s face. So she took another step.

‘That’s enough, Kess,’ said her father. And to the Chief Examiner, ‘You’ve made your point, Maslo. Leave her to me.’

‘We’ve left your children to you for too long, Hanno.’ He spoke evenly as always, but now there was an undertone of sharp displeasure. ‘Children follow the example given by their parents. There’s something broken inside you, my friend. There’s no fight in you any more. No will to succeed.’

Kestrel heard this, and went cold inside with fury. At once, she started to walk briskly down the jetty. She looked straight ahead, fixing her gaze on the place where the far-off light streamed down on to the dark surface of the lake, and put one foot in front of the other, and walked.

‘Kess! Come back!’ called her father.

He started after her, but Maslo Inch seized his arm with one hand, and held him in a grip of iron.

‘Let her go,’ he said. ‘She has to learn.’

With his other hand, he operated a long lever by the jetty gate, and there came a hissing gurgling sound, as the posts supporting the far end of the jetty began to sink into the lake. The jetty sloped downwards, becoming a ramp tilting ever more steeply down into the mud. Kestrel gave a cry of alarm, and turned and tried to run back up the boards, but they were coated with slime, and she couldn’t get a grip. She started to slither backwards.

‘Papa!’ she cried. ‘Help me!’

Hanno lunged towards her, pulling furiously in the Chief Examiner’s hold, but he could not free himself.

‘Let me go! What are you doing to her? Are you insane?’

Maslo Inch’s eyes were locked on to Kestrel, as she tried in vain to stop her downward slide.

‘Slipping, slipping, slipping,’ he cried. ‘Well, Kestrel, do you care now?’

‘Papa! Help me!’

‘Get her out! She’ll drown!’

‘Do you care now? Will you try harder now? Tell me! I want to hear!’

‘Papa!’ Kestrel screamed as she slithered off the end of the sloping jetty, and into the lake. Her feet hit the brown water, and with an awful sucking sound they disappeared into liquid mud.

‘I’m sinking!’

‘Tell me you care!’ called out Maslo Inch, his hand gripping Hanno’s arm so tight his fingers had gone white. ‘I want to hear!’

‘You’re mad!’ said Hanno. ‘You’ve gone mad!’

In desperation, he swung his free arm, and struck the Chief Examiner hard across the face.

Maslo Inch turned on him, and suddenly he lost all his self-control. He shook Hanno like a doll.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ he screamed. ‘You worm! You dribble! You maggot! You failure! You fail your exams, you fail your family, you fail your country!’

At the same time, Kestrel realised she wasn’t sinking any more. Somewhere beneath the surface there was hard ground, and she had only sunk to her knees. So she took hold of the sides of the narrow jetty with both hands, and began to claw her way back up. She didn’t call out any more. She just fixed her eyes on the Chief Examiner and willed herself up the slope.

Maslo Inch was too absorbed in screaming at her father to notice.

‘What use are you? You’re a nothing! You do nothing, you make no effort, you expect others to do it all for you, all you do is read your useless books! You’re a parasite! You’re a germ! You infect everyone round you with your sick lazy failure! You disgust me!’

Kestrel reached the top of the jetty, took a deep breath, and with a yell of blood-curdling fury, threw herself on the Chief Examiner’s back.

‘Pocksicker!’

She locked her arms round his neck and her legs round his waist and squeezed with all her might, to make him let go of her father.

‘Sagahog! Pooa-pooa-pooa-banga-pompaprune! Pock-sicking udderbug!’

The Chief Examiner, taken by surprise, released Hanno Hath’s arm and turned about to pull Kestrel off him. But whichever way he swung, she was always behind him, her wiry little arms throttling him, her muddy feet kicking at his ribs.

The tussle was short but intense. During it, much of the mud on Kestrel’s legs was wiped on to the Chief Examiner’s clothing. When at last he got a grip on her and tore her off, she let go, and he threw her farther than he intended. At once she sprang to her feet and ran.

He made no attempt to chase her. He was too shocked at the sight of his muddy clothes.

‘My whites!’ he said. ‘The little witch!’

Kestrel was gone, streaking away as fast as she could, up the tunnel towards the distant door.

Maslo Inch brushed himself down, and pulled back the lever that raised the jetty to its former position. Then he turned to Hanno Hath.

‘Well, old friend,’ he said, icily calm. ‘What do you have to say to that?’

‘You shouldn’t have done that to her.’

‘Is that all?’

Hanno Hath was silent. He would not apologise for his daughter’s behaviour, but nor was it wise to say what he really felt, which was that he was intensely proud of her. So he kept a neutral expression on his face, and looked with inner satisfaction at the mudstains on the Chief Examiner’s once-pure robes.

‘I now see,’ said Maslo Inch quietly, ‘that we have a far more serious problem with the girl than I had realised.’

6

Special Teaching

Kestrel ran out of the tunnel, and straight into the grey-clothed warden. He must have heard her coming, since he had dropped his broom and was waiting for her, arms spread wide. As soon as he had her tight, he picked her up and dangled her in the air, where she kicked as hard as she could, and screamed at the top of her voice. But he was a big man, bigger than he’d looked bent over his broom, and he was strong, and her screams didn’t seem to trouble him in the least.

Maslo Inch came out into the courtyard, followed by her father, just as two more wardens came running, drawn by the noise she was making.

‘Papa!’ she screamed. ‘Papa-a-a!’

‘Put her down,’ said Hanno Hath.

‘Be silent!’ cried the Chief Examiner, with such terrible authority that even Kestrel stopped screaming.

‘Get this man out of here,’ he said more quietly, and the two wardens started to hustle Hanno Hath away. ‘Take the girl to Special Teaching.’

‘No!’ cried Hanno Hath. ‘I beg you, no!’

‘Papa!’ screamed Kestrel, kicking and struggling. ‘Papa-a-a!’

But she was already being carried off in the opposite direction. The Chief Examiner watched them both go with a grim and unmoving look on his face.

‘What more can you do to me, eh?’ he said softly to himself. And he strode away to change into clean white robes.

The separate building set aside for Special Teaching was inside the old palace compound, on one side of a small deserted square. It was a solid stone structure, much like any other in this grandest of the city’s districts, with a high handsome door at the top of three steps. This door was opened from the inside, as the warden approached with Kestrel in his arms. It was closed after them, by a doorman dressed in grey.

‘Referred by the Chief Examiner,’ said the warden.

The doorman nodded, and opened an inner door. Kestrel was pushed through into a long narrow room, and left there without a word. The door closed with a click behind her.

She was alone.

She realised for the first time that she was shaking violently, out of a combination of fear, rage and exhaustion. She took several deep breaths to steady herself, and looked round the room. It was empty and windowless.

She turned her attention to the door, hoping to find a way of opening it. The door had no handle. She felt all over it, and round its edges, but it was close-fitting, and there seemed to be no way to open it from the inside. So she turned back to examining the room.

All along one wall hung a plain grey floor-length curtain. She drew the curtain back, and found there was a window behind it, looking through to a much larger inner room. Cautiously, she drew the curtain all the way back, and stared at the strange scene beyond. It was a classroom. Sitting at the rows of desks, with their backs to her, were a large number of children, perhaps as many as a hundred. They were all bent studiously over their books, working away in silence; or so she supposed, for no sound of any kind came through the glass. There was a teacher’s desk at the far end, and a blackboard, but no teacher.

The children at the back of the class were quite close to the window. Perhaps they would help her. She tapped on the glass softly, just in case a teacher was nearby. The children didn’t move. She tapped more loudly, and then as loudly as she could, but they seemed to hear nothing. It began to strike her that there was something strange about them. They kept their heads so low to their books that she couldn’t see their faces, but their hands were unusually wrinkly. And their hair was grey, or white, or – she saw it now – some of them were bald. Now that she looked properly, she asked herself why she had thought they were children at all. And yet, they were the size of children, and the shape of children. And surely –

The door opened behind her. Kestrel turned round, her heart hammering. A scarlet-robed examiner entered, a middle-aged lady, and closed the door behind her. She held a file open in her hands, and she looked from the papers in it to Kestrel and back again. She had a friendly face.

‘Kestrel Hath?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Kestrel. ‘Ma’am.’

She spoke quietly, clasping her hands before her and lowering her gaze to the floor. She had decided, on the spur of the moment, to be a good girl.

The examiner looked at her in some perplexity.

‘What have you done, child?’

‘I was frightened,’ said Kestrel in a tiny voice. ‘I think I must have panicked.’

‘The Chief Examiner has referred you for Special Teaching.’ As she spoke, she glanced through the window at the silent class working in the room beyond, and shook her head. ‘It does seem a little extreme.’

Kestrel said nothing, but tried very hard to look sad and good.

‘Special Teaching, you know,’ said the lady examiner, ‘is for the most disruptive children. The ones that are entirely out of control. And it is so very, well, permanent.’

Kestrel went up to the lady examiner, and took her hand and held it trustingly, gazing up at her with big innocent eyes.

‘Do you have a little girl of your own, ma’am?’ she asked.

‘Yes, child. Yes, I do.’

‘Then I know you’ll do what’s best for me, ma’am. Just as you would for your own little girl.’

The lady examiner looked down at Kestrel, and gave a little sigh, and patted her hand.

‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘I think we should go and see the Chief Examiner, don’t you? Maybe there’s been a mistake.’

She turned to the handleless door and called,

‘Open, please!’

The door was opened by a warden on the far side, and the lady examiner and Kestrel, hand in hand, went out into the square.

Now that she wasn’t being carried, Kestrel could see that one side of the square was formed by the back wall of the Great Tower, which was the building at the centre of the Imperial Palace. This tower, the highest building in Aramanth, could be seen even from Orange District. This close, it seemed immensely tall, reaching up and up even higher than the city’s encircling walls.

As they crossed the square, a small door at the foot of the tower opened, and two white-robed men came sweeping out. Seeing the lady examiner holding Kestrel’s hand, the older of the two frowned and called out to them.

‘What is a child from Orange District doing here?’

The lady examiner explained. The man in white studied the file.

‘So the Chief Examiner ordered Special Teaching for the girl,’ he said sharply. ‘And you have taken it upon yourself to question his judgment.’

‘I think there may have been a mistake.’

‘Do you know anything about this case?’

‘Well, no,’ said the lady examiner, going rather pink. ‘It’s more a kind of feeling, really.’

‘A kind of feeling?’ The man’s voice was cutting with contempt. ‘You propose to make a decision that affects the rest of this child’s life on a kind of feeling?’

The rest of this child’s life! A chill ran through Kestrel. She looked round for a way of escape. Behind her stood the Special Teaching building from which they had come. Ahead, the men in white.

‘I meant only to speak to the Chief Examiner, to make sure I understood his wishes.’

‘His wishes are written here. They are perfectly clear, are they not?’

‘Yes.’

Kestrel saw that the door into the tower had not closed all the way.

‘Do you suggest that when he made this order, and signed it, he didn’t know what he was doing?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do you not carry it out?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’

Kestrel knew then that she had lost her one source of protection. The lady examiner turned distressed eyes on her, and said once again, this time to Kestrel,

‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Kestrel, and gave the lady’s hand a little squeeze. ‘Thank you for trying.’

Then she released the hand, and she ran.

She was through the tower door and pushing it shut behind her before they realised what was happening. There was a bolt on the inside, which she drew shut. Only then, heart beating fast, did she look to see where she was.

She was in a small lobby, with two doors, and a narrow curving flight of stairs. Both doors were locked. She heard voices shouting outside, and the outer door rattling as they tried to open it. Then she heard louder bangs, as they tried to break the bolt. Then she heard a voice call out,

‘You stay here. I’ll go round the other way.’

She had no choice: so she set off up the stairs.

Up and up she climbed, and the stairwell grew darker and darker. She thought she could hear doors opening and closing below, so she kept climbing as fast as she could. Up and up, round and round, and now there was light above. She came to a small barred window, set deep in the stonework of the tower. Through the window she could see the roofs of the palace, and a brief glimpse of the square where the statue of Emperor Creoth stood.

Still the stairs rose above her, so breathing hard now, her legs aching, she climbed on and on, and the light from the little window dwindled away below her. Strange distorted sounds came floating up from below, the clatter of running feet, the boom of voices. Up and up she climbed, slower now, wondering where the staircase led, and whether, when at last she reached the top, there would be another locked door.

A second window appeared. Exhausted, trembling, she allowed herself to rest a moment here, and looked out over the city. She could make out people passing in the streets, and the elegant shops and houses of Scarlet District. Then she heard a sound which was very like boots climbing the winding stairs below her, and fear gave her strength to get up and go on. Up and up, forcing her legs to push, half giddy with exhaustion, she followed the tightly winding staircase that seemed to have no end. Clop, clop, clop, went the noise of the boots below, carried up to her by the stone walls. Not far now, she said to herself, in time with her steps. Not far now, not far now. Though in truth she had no way of knowing how much farther she must climb.

And then, just when she knew she could go no further, she came out on to a tiny landing, and there before her was a door. Her hand shook as she reached out to try the handle. Please, she said inside her head. Please don’t be locked. She turned the handle, and felt the latch open. She pushed: but the door didn’t move. At once her fear, held at bay by this last hope, broke through and overwhelmed her. Bursting into bitter tears, she crumpled up in a ball at the foot of the door. There she hugged her knees and sobbed her heart out.

Clop, clop, clop. The boots were coming up the stairs, getting nearer all the time. Kestrel rocked and sobbed, and wished she was dead.

Then she heard a new sound. Shuffling footsteps, close by. The slither of a bolt.

The door opened.

‘Come in,’ said an impatient voice. ‘Come in quickly.’

Kestrel looked up and saw a blotchy red face staring down at her: watery, protruding eyes, and a grizzly grey beard.

‘You’ve certainly taken your time,’ he said. ‘Come in, now you’re here.’

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