The Stolen Prince of Cloudburst

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  ‘Yes, Daisy Pollock is a hoot.’ That was Ms Saji, Astrid’s teacher, speaking. I almost called, ‘Thank you!’ through the vent. Obviously I didn’t. But I was pleased with her for answering my question.

  They were discussing Mrs Pollock. And now I knew her first name was Daisy, and that she wasn’t there tonight. Plenty of teachers go to bed early. To cope with us, they need to be well-rested.

  ‘Funny,’ Ms Saji said next. ‘I heard a rumour before she arrived that she was an Ogre!’

  There were chuckles. ‘She’s so tiny!’ several voices murmured.

  There was a pause. Liquid being poured into a glass, glug, glug, glug, and somebody said, ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Where did the rumour start?’ somebody asked.

  ‘Well, she’s from Horseshoe Island, apparently,’ said a clipped voice. ‘And it’s mostly Ogres who live there, you see.’ That was Ms Ubud, the school secretary. She sits behind the counter in the admin offices and scowls distrustfully when you speak to her, even if you’re saying something innocent like, ‘Mr Brown says the stationery closet is out of paperclips’.

  ‘Horseshoe Island? Where’s that?’ somebody asked.

  ‘It’s one of the Candle Islands,’ Mr Dar-Healey replied—I recognised his voice, but it sounded odd. Formal. Like someone giving a speech. ‘A cluster of small islands off the coast of the Kingdom of Storms—about equidistant from Spindrift in Storms, and the Whispering Kingdom. It’s well known for its Ogre population.’

  ‘Imagine if Hortense had hired an Ogre!’ Doctor Lanwish exclaimed.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ somebody added drily.

  They all laughed and a few voices said, ‘That Hortense.’

  ‘Ogres aren’t Shadow Mages though, are they?’ Ms Saji asked.

  ‘No, just very large people,’ Mr Dar-Healey said, using the same careful tone. ‘But centuries ago, they used to help Shadow Mages with their shadow mines. Apparently, the contact with so much shadow thread affected them, gave them shadow powers. Strengthened their handshake, I believe.’

  A splutter of laughter. ‘Strengthened it! They’re so big, their regular handshake could surely crush a person’s hand as it is!’

  A number of teachers agreed.

  ‘Anybody been to Horseshoe Island?’ Ms Saji asked.

  The sound of somebody clearing his throat. ‘Yes,’ Mr Dar-Healey said. ‘I have. I was at the Candle Islands on vacation about ten years ago. I don’t recall seeing the Ogres on Horseshoe Island, but I don’t recall much of that trip, to be honest. It was—’ His voice fell away. A scraping sound, and a muttered, ‘So sorry, excuse me,’ footsteps, and a door closing.

  There was a pause.

  ‘What did I say wrong?’ Ms Saji wondered.

  Doctor Lanwish spoke up. ‘You only started here last year, didn’t you? So you probably don’t know. Toby Dar-Healey used to have a little girl named Paige. His wife had died not long after Paige was born, and then, when she was two years old, he took her to the Candle Islands for a vacation. She disappeared while playing in the shallows. She must have drowned.’

  ‘Oh,’ murmured Ms Saji softly.

  Another long pause.

  After a while, there were sounds that might have been people slicing cheese, putting it on crackers and eating them.

  Voices rose and faded.

  I climbed out of the attic, back down the drainpipe, reached my toes for the window ledge, hopped back inside, crept along the corridor, and went back to bed.

  No wonder he’d chosen swimming lessons as our Wednesday activity, I realised. His only little girl had drowned.

  Astrid had been right. Mr Dar-Healey did have a sadness deep within him.

  The next day, I dressed sleepily and was late to breakfast. Most people were already in the dining hall while I was still drifting by the school’s entryway.

  So I was the only person who saw a flash of lightning cross the window.

  Thunderstorm! I thought, pleased.

  Right then, the door opened, revealing a clear blue sky. No thunderclouds.

  Pelagia slipped in. She didn’t see me. Her eyes were bright, and her hair was wet. She sprinted towards the staircase.

  Had Imogen and Pelagia’s swimming training started already? But Imogen had said they would be afternoon sessions. And when I arrived in the dining hall, I saw Imogen at the Grade 7 table, and Mr Dar-Healey sitting with the teachers.

  Strange.

  I was pouring milk into my cereal when Mr Dar-Healey stood up, twirled, and made another announcement.

  ‘I think you’re ready for a new Wednesday afternoon activity while they rebuild the pool. It’s going to be …’ He jiggled his hips side to side. ‘… dance classes!’

  Not surprising. We smiled.

  ‘Classes will take place here in the school gymnasium,’ Mr Dar-Healey continued, ‘and the boys of Nicholas Valley Boarding School will be joining us. First class is tomorrow.’

  Boys from Nicholas Valley! We couldn’t believe it!

  ‘Not boys!’ Mrs Pollock yelped, and she leapt up and hid under the teachers’ table. There was a nervous pause, then she emerged again, grinning, and we all laughed.

  In class the following day, something completely astonishing happened.

  Mrs Pollock was whistling a tune. (That’s not the astonishing bit.)

  She was wearing linen trousers and a blouse, and she strolled between the desks, thumbs hooked into belt loops, whistling. Very snazzy for an old person.

  We were shading a map of the Kingdoms and Empires using a code. Yellow for farming regions, red for urban centres, pink for Faery territory, grey for Shadow Realms, and so on. We were allowed to chat quietly as we worked, and it was very relaxing.

  Mostly, we chatted about the fact that our first dance class would take place that afternoon, with boys from Nicholas Valley Boarding School attending.

  ‘Two of our cousins go to Nicholas Valley,’ Tatty Rattlestone said, nudging her twin. ‘Don’t they, Hetty? The older one, Sam, is all right, but Simon is awful! He plays the cello!’

  There was a pause. I caught Autumn’s eye and she tilted her head in a humorous, puzzled way. I giggled.

  ‘Oh, are those the sons of your Aunt Tiana?’ Zoe Fawnwell piped up. ‘And isn’t your Aunt Tiana the Queen of the Cascade Kingdom?’

  ‘Aunt Tiana?’ Tatty murmured. ‘Now, is she a queen? Or is that Great-Aunt Tiona? I’m trying to remember … Hetty?’

  Of course she knew the answer.

  Hetty spoke loudly. ‘Yes, that’s right. Aunt Tiana is the queen of the Cascade Kingdom. Great-aunt Tiona is Queen of the Unruly Straits, I think. Might be wrong. I get all the royals in my family so mixed up.’

  Both Hetty and Tatty shifted their chairs a little towards Zoe.

  ‘Still,’ Hetty admitted after a moment. ‘Our cousins at Nicholas Valley are not actually the sons of Aunt Tiana. Their parents are Uncle Dave and Aunt Jan.’

  ‘Ah well,’ a few people said.

  Then Autumn spoke up. ‘What’s wrong with playing cello?’ she asked. ‘I love the cello.’

  Tatty looked startled. She shifted her chair back towards Autumn. ‘Oh, me too,’ she said. ‘Adore it.’

  ‘Beautiful instrument,’ Hetty agreed.

  ‘All I meant about my cousin Simon was that playing the cello …’ Tatty paused.

  ‘Makes him proud of himself,’ Hetty offered.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That must be annoying,’ Autumn agreed, and both Tatty and Hetty beamed.

  Zoe Fawnwell sighed quietly.

  ‘I know a boy at Nicholas Valley,’ Pelagia put in now. ‘He’s from my hometown. I once rescued him from a swamp turtle. Remind me to tell you the story. Clive’s his name.’

  Other girls contributed stories of Nicholas Valley boys they knew, or boys their relatives knew, or boys they’d seen at coach stops.

  I glanced across at Katya. Her twin brother, Stefan, is at Nicholas Valley, and I thought she’d menti
on him. But she carried on shading her map, her face solemn. Now and then her forehead creased and she pressed it with her fingertips, as if shading had given her a headache.

  I myself was colouring in the area around the Kingdom of Storms. It’s the most dangerous Shadow Realm of them all—generally known as the region of Wicked and Nefarious Kingdoms—and I was riffling for my sharpener when Mrs Pollock stopped whistling.

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Almost forgot!’

  We looked up at her expectantly. You never knew what zany thing she might say.

  ‘There are two new girls in your class this year!’

  Disappointing. Not zany. We already knew there were new girls.

  ‘You see, you are all new to me,’ Mrs Pollock explained, ‘so I forgot that two were new to you. Does that make sense?’

  Sure. Plenty of sense.

  ‘These girls should introduce themselves! Tell stories about themselves! Share who they are!’

  At once, Pelagia straightened. Her heels bounced. Even though I hadn’t spoken to her directly, it was clear to me that Pelagia enjoyed telling stories. She was always surrounded by mesmerised girls. I was excited to hear her introduction.

  Pelagia stood. Took a step towards the front.

  ‘Autumn Hillside!’ Mrs Pollock cried, eyes skating right over Pelagia. ‘Come on up!’

  Pelagia dropped back into her seat. Her cheeks turned candy pink and I felt sorry for her.

  But then I glanced at Autumn.

  If Pelagia’s cheeks were candy pink, Autumn’s were ice-cream white.

  She had picked up a coloured pencil and was rolling it rapidly between her palms. Her hands trembled.

  ‘Come along then!’ Mrs Pollock coaxed. ‘We already know you’re a hero! You saved everyone from Sterling Silver Foxes! But there must be more to you than that! Hop up and tell us! Brothers? Sisters? Hobbies? Talents?’

  At this point, Autumn caught my eye.

  And her expression reminded me of the summer there was a wild thunderstorm in my village. Lightning! Thunder! Lightning! Thunder! Or maybe more like: lightning—

  THUNDER!!!

  Really loud thunder, I mean.

  I had taken cover in our local cake shop—I’m happy to be out in rain, but I know lightning can be dangerous—when I caught sight of a pair of deep brown eyes underneath a shelf. It was the owner’s puppy.

  Help me! the puppy’s eyes said. I have never been so frightened! Help!

  That’s exactly what Autumn’s expression said.

  I wanted to rescue her.

  ‘Maybe,’ I suggested, ‘Pelagia could tell us about herself instead?’

  Pelagia’s shoulders jumped, pleased.

  Autumn’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. ‘Yes. Good idea.’

  But Mrs Pollock raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you want to hear from Autumn, Esther?’ she said. ‘Are you afraid of her? Anybody else here frightened of Autumn?’

  There was laughter. ‘I’m not—’ I began. ‘I just—’

  ‘You do want to hear from Autumn? Or you don’t? You’re making my head spin, Esther! Wait, is it actually spinning? Anybody see anything odd about my head?’ She twisted her neck this way and that.

  Again, the class laughed.

  I gave up. ‘Of course I’d like to hear from Autumn,’ I said. ‘I just thought maybe she’d prefer—’

  ‘Okay, Autumn!’ Mrs Pollock interrupted. ‘Good news! Esther has made a decision! News alert! Esther has made a decision! She wants to hear from Autumn! Let’s go, Autumn! Quick!’

  Autumn walked to the front, took a deep breath and started speaking.

  I have no idea what she said. She spoke at the speed of a runaway carriage.

  Mrs Pollock sat on her own desk, swinging her legs and pulling humorous faces.

  ‘What?’ she kept saying. ‘Um, excuse me, what?’

  Everyone giggled.

  I did catch that Autumn had a cat named Polly (or maybe Holly). She usually lived with her father (a teacher or preacher) and mother (plumber or drummer) in Nina Bay (or maybe Gina Hay?).

  I think her hobbies included fishing and darts, but it might also have been knitting and arts.

  At last, Autumn smiled. ‘And that’s it!’ she said. ‘Great to meet you all!’

  She stepped towards her desk.

  ‘Well, hold up,’ Mrs Pollock said. ‘Hold on there, Autumn.’

  Autumn’s eyes panicked like that puppy in the storm again.

  ‘You haven’t told the full story yet, have you?’ Mrs Pollock grinned.

  ‘The full story?’

  ‘You said you were living in Nina Bay for the past two years, yes?’

  Autumn blinked.

  Had she said that? I’d only heard her say she lived in Nina Bay (or Gina Hay)—I must have missed the two years bit.

  ‘What about before then?’ Mrs Pollock prompted.

  Autumn widened her eyes at Mrs Pollock. She seemed amazed.

  ‘You want me to tell them …?’ she began. Her voice drifted away like leaves in the wind.

  ‘Tell them all about yourself, Autumn!’

  No, I thought.

  Surely Autumn hadn’t told Mrs Pollock the secret that she was a Spellbinder?

  Surely Mrs Pollock wasn’t telling Autumn to give away her identity as a Spellbinder?

  Surely Autumn wouldn’t do it?

  There was a long, long pause.

  Autumn gazed at Mrs Pollock and Mrs Pollock, who had stopped swinging her legs, gazed right back.

  Then Autumn gave a little shrug, turned to the class and spoke: ‘The Whispering Kingdom,’ she said. ‘That’s where I lived before. I grew up there. I’m a Whisperer.’

  ‘Oh my,’ Mrs Pollock said. ‘You decided to tell them that, did you, Autumn? I thought that was a secret!’

  Autumn frowned. ‘But you just said that I should …’

  ‘Oh, I see! No, I just meant you lived in Vanquishing Cove for six months before moving to Nina Bay!’

  Autumn was trying to get hold of her breathing. It was like an overflowing shopping bag.

  ‘Calm down!’ Mrs Pollock said. ‘Don’t worry! Everybody will treat you the same! Won’t you, girls? Help Autumn fit in? Despite her difference?’

  We all nodded. Our mouths were open in wide circles, but you can nod and have a wide-open mouth at the same time. (Try it.)

  Autumn did not appear reassured. In fact, her face was crumpling.

  ‘Never mind, Autumn!’ Mrs Pollock said. ‘You can’t take it back now! It’s out!’

  It certainly was.

  Autumn Hillside was a Whisperer.

  One, two, three

  One, two, three

  One, two … three

  One, two ...

  ‘Hold up, hold up.’

  That’s what our dance class was like.

  Mr Dar-Healey was our instructor, along with a teacher from Nicholas Valley Boarding School named Ms Potty. She was dressed in a startlingly colourful smock that appeared to have been splashed with paints by a toddler. This was maybe to distract us from her name.

  When we first arrived in the gymnasium, we were all so caught up in the news about Autumn Hillside that we hardly even noticed the boys waiting for us to be their dance partners. I do remember thinking, ‘Oh, there are some boys.’ And then thinking: ‘Tall ones, small ones, and middle-sized ones.’ But mostly, as I said, we were distracted.

  Girls from my grade were busy murmuring to girls in other grades about Autumn and then, as we mingled with the boys from Nicholas Valley, saying hello to those we knew. I’d walked in with Katya and she introduced me to her brother, Stefan, even though we’d already met. He and I had both represented our schools in the district speech competition the year before, and Katya had come along to watch. We’d even had milkshakes afterwards.

  ‘Remember?’ I prompted Katya. ‘You asked for caramel mixed with strawberry and Stefan and I laughed, but the man in the shop said that was beautifully innovative and well done.
Stefan and I were jealous so we asked for banana mixed with pineapple and he said that was just plain silly?’

  Katya rubbed her eyes with her fists, murmuring that they were itchy.

  I shrugged at Stefan and he shrugged back, and we might have gone on shrugging, except that, as I’ve mentioned, the place was buzzing with news about a Whisperer.

  The Whisperer herself, Autumn Hillside, was hovering near the coat hooks at the back of the room, pretending not to hear.

  She must have heard.

  Words were flying around the room like—oh, I need a new way to describe words flying between people. Why is that always happening in my story?

  Okay, got it. This time the words flew around like a Satin Sugar Glider flitting between plum trees on the Isle of Curtain Falls. (I haven’t actually seen this but Father described it to me after he’d been there on a research trip.)

  Here were the sorts of words that were flying:

  ‘There’s a Whisperer at Katherine Valley Girls!’

  ‘In Grade 6!’

  ‘It’s that one—the one with the long hair!’

  ‘SHHH! She’s looking at you!’

  ‘She’ll Whisper you! Stop staring!’

  Giggle, giggle.

  ‘Why did they let her into the school?!’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t know!’

  ‘Well, of course she has long hair! All Whisperers have long hair! How did nobody realise she was a Whisperer?’

  ‘I thought Whisperers had hair all the way to their ankles or something? Hers is just to her waist, which is what I had until my mother got tired of brushing it and made me cut it off.’

  ‘Still!’

  ‘Didn’t I say there was something strange about Autumn? I saw her in the dining hall the other day and I thought, she’s too quiet.’

  ‘You did too! You said that!’

  ‘They should expel her. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘How do we know she’s not Whispering us right now?’

  Muttering and hissing. Boys and girls babbling away. I didn’t say anything, I was still bewildered. I mean, I liked Autumn, as you know.

  But I didn’t want her to be a Whisperer.

  Stefan and I rocked on our heels listening to all of this.