The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  You

  WILL

  Not

  Cut

  Your

  Hair

  AGAIN!

  I woke up tangled in my sheets. Slivers of moonlight found their way between the cracks in the blackout drapes. My neck felt strange and bare without its usual long hair, and I ran my palms down my shoulders feeling where it should be. I missed it. If I am perfectly honest, I had been very fond of my hair! It was just the same colour and length as my Aunt Rebecca’s, and I liked to think we were linked in this small way. Aunt Rebecca lives in the Kingdom of Vanquishing Cove, one of the few non-wicked Kingdoms in this region, and I haven’t seen her in almost three years. So I needed that link! I never would have chosen to cut my hair!

  My heart was beating in a sort of jumble, and images from the day and from my dream were still jumbled in my mind. Everybody seemed to be shouting: Uncle Dominic! Sir Brathelthwaite! The Orphanage children!

  Right before the attack, I remembered, we had shouted at each other. How silly that seemed now. How childish! That orphan girl, Glim, had saved our lives! We should try to be friends with them! Maybe even join up with them to help with the war effort? I would suggest it to the others. Sir B wouldn’t like it, of course, but the Mayor might give us medals, which would be very persuasive to Victor.

  I lay back in my bed again, sorting through my thoughts. And then I remembered. ‘SPIES? WHAT SPIES?’ one of the orphan boys had shouted. ‘YOU CALL OFF YOUR SPIES!’

  Right as I remembered this, an image from my dream leapt to mind: a boy and girl in coats through carriage windows.

  They were not just from my dream, they were real children—Orphanage spies, we had thought.

  But if they were not Orphanage spies, who were they? They were not Spindrifters!

  Another memory came. Sir Brathelthwaite at breakfast: Children from the Whispering Kingdom are travelling throughout Kingdoms and Empires, luring good children away.

  The boy and girl in coats.

  They were not Orphanage spies.

  They were Whispering children.

  The enemy.

  In our midst.

  FINLAY

  Yes, at the Orphanage, we realised the same thing, only in a less dramatic way.

  I mean, without the drama. And romance. And details from dreams that are not actual facts. And without words running

  down

  the

  page

  as

  if

  they

  are

  far

  too

  important

  to

  share

  lines

  with

  other

  words—

  far

  too

  fancy

  to

  act

  like

  regular

  words.

  Rich people’s words, taking one line each.

  And without being terribly upset about a lost braid when people were dead and severely injured—but oh no, it’s very important Aunt Rebecca and Honey Bee have the same hair.

  Without all that, I mean, we figured it out.

  We were sitting up late while the other children slept, listening to Glim tell us a story. The twins and I were crowded onto Glim’s bed in our dressing gowns, and Glim was cross-legged on her pillow. As usual, her story was about flying machines and adventures in the stars and, as usual, we were mesmerised. It’s one of the only times the twins stop reading newspapers—when Glim tells us a story.

  Halfway through an exciting battle scene, though, she stopped. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘we should offer to help with the war? Like Lili-Daisy suggested?’

  ‘We could ask the Brathelthwaite kids if they want to form a team of volunteers with us,’ I joked—and then realised I was serious. Hadn’t Lili-Daisy said we ought to cooperate with our enemies?

  Remembering their attacks on us, that seemed a bit too much to ask. Rats, they’d sent in, and spies, and the day of the Radish Gnome attack, they’d shouted at us so nastily—

  ‘Hang about,’ I said. ‘Those Boarding School kids seemed to think we were the ones spying on them.’

  Eli shifted so that the bed creaked. He quoted Victor, remembering exactly what he’d shouted that day: ‘We know you have spies! The girl and boy in the stolen coats!’

  (The twins have memories as sharp as fillet knives. I think I’ve mentioned that already? Have I? Can’t remember. I’m not a twin. Ha ha.)

  ‘The girl and the boy in the stolen coats,’ I said. ‘They think those kids stole their coats?’

  ‘They think they were orphans who stole coats to look posh,’ Glim said slowly, thinking aloud.

  ‘But we thought they were Boarding School kids.’

  ‘So who are they?’ Taya frowned. ‘They’re not from around here.’

  All four of us realised at once. ‘Whispering children,’ we said. All at the same time, we said it. But without any of the drama, as I mentioned,

  Without

  Single

  Words

  Or

  Dreams.

  Honey Bee

  Hmph.

  Very well, I agree that it was foolish of me to feel sad about having lost my braid. I apologise.

  In my defence, I did think a great deal about the lives lost and damaged, in addition to missing my braid.

  I disagree that there was anything wrong with my description. I was trying to capture the way I felt that night. Finlay, not being me, has no idea how I felt.

  I used the words on separate lines for dramatic effect.

  If Finlay is not aware of the importance of dramatic effect, then that is a real shame for Finlay.

  Poor Finlay.

  After breakfast the next day, I asked Victor, Rosalind and Hamish to meet me in the green common room.

  Victor yawned when he arrived and said that all attacks against the Orphanage would stop. They put us in too much danger now that the war was underway. ‘So why have you called this meeting, Honey Bee?’ he wanted to know. ‘The Anti-Orphanage League has been disbanded.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ Hamish yelped. ‘Disbanded, eh? Sounds serious. Here’s an idea, what’s say we band it again? Can we do that? I mean, I haven’t the faintest idea how to band something. But, tell you what, I bet the school handyman knows! Let’s go ask him, shall we? He’s a good chap.’

  We ignored Hamish.

  I told Victor I agreed that our attacks on the Orphanage should stop.

  Then I said that I thought the two children in coats were Whisperers.

  Victor’s eyes lit up, very interested. After quick consideration, he agreed that they probably were Whispering children.

  Hamish was baffled.

  Rosalind was thrilled and alarmed by the idea of dangerous creatures like Whispering children. She sidled close to Victor. I believe she might have a crush on—oh, sorry, I cannot finish that sentence, as it would be too emotional and romantic for Finlay. (By the by, I can’t think where Finlay got the idea that my chapter was romantic. I suppose it’s because I mentioned that my heart was in a jumble. Finlay probably thinks the word heart is romantic. Poor boy has no clue there is an organ in his chest that pumps the blood around his body. He imagines his own chest is empty. Actually, it probably is empty, now that I think about it.)

  Where was I?

  Oh yes, I was having a meeting in the common room with the others.

  I suggested we capture the two Whispering children.

  Again, Victor considered.

  Quite quickly, he agreed. As I’ve mentioned, he’s terribly bored most of the time, that Victor, and the idea of doing something different excited him.

  After more confusion, Hamish agreed to join us. Rosalind was truly frightened now—earlier she’d enjoyed being frightened, but the idea of going near these children terrified her. She tried to hide this by giggling and flicking Victor’s forearm, but she kept making ‘jokes’. For example, at o
ne point she said, ‘Oh, try this for a tongue twister:

  The Whispering Children use super-charged Whispers,

  To Steal us Away

  To the Whisper-filled Whispering Kingdom!’

  Two things became clear to me: first, she was not especially good at tongue twisters; and second, she was afraid we would be stolen away to the Whispering Kingdom.

  I promised her that we were perfectly safe. Those two children obviously did not have the ‘super-charged’ Whispers, (I reasoned), or they’d have used these against us already. We had seen them often enough. In fact, (I added), Whisperers probably could not ‘whisper’ until they were grown-up. Why else was it only the adult Whisperers who had such long hair? As long as we did not allow the two children to lead us to a Whispering adult, we would be perfectly safe (I concluded).

  I did not have a clue whether any of this was true, of course. Still, it seemed to make sense.

  We decided we would lure the Whispering children to a place where we could lock them up and call the authorities.

  ‘I expect we’ll get medals,’ Victor said, a gleam in his eye. So that was another reason for Victor’s participation: he pretends nothing much matters to him, but he likes very much to get medals and pats on the head.

  I do hope that this chapter has not offended Finlay’s sensibilities by being interesting or honest at all.

  FINLAY

  All right, Honey Bee. Take it easy.

  You can actually see her temper catching alight, can’t you? Like she’s breathing dragon fire onto the pages.

  I didn’t mean she couldn’t be dramatic. I was just gently making fun of her for the dramatic way she acted in her last chapter. (I do know what a heart is, by the way.)

  Anyhow, we decided the same thing.

  Us four at the Orphanage? We also decided we would capture the Whispering children in their coats. To make Lili-Daisy happy and proud. To show her we were contributing to the war effort. So she’d smile at us again without her mouth looking like a wolf’s snarl—she’s not very pretty when she does that, no offence, Lili-Daisy, if you ever happen to read this—and without making her cry into our hair.

  Only, we decided to chase the kids. Not lure them. More straightforward, us lot. More direct.

  Honey Bee

  We wrote a note for the Whispering children.

  Victor and I composed it between us.

  Dear Children,

  We have seen you about and you seem awfully nice! As we do not recognise you, we think you must be new to Spindrift, and perhaps rather lonely and friendless?

  Never fear! Help is near!

  As part of our school curriculum, we must undertake one ‘good deed’ each month. We rather thought that YOU could be our good deed for this month!

  May we invite you to a tea party? T here is a little hut on the Beach with the Yellow Sand that is exclusively for the use of the students of Brathelthwaite Boarding School. It is at the southern end of the beach, and is striped in red and white (our school colours). Perhaps we could meet you there this Saturday? At say 12 noon? We will be waiting with tea and treats.

  Fond regards,

  His Grace, the Duke of Ainsley (also known as Victor) (aged 12), Master Hamish Winterson (10), Miss Rosalind Whitehall (11), and Miss Honey Bee Rowe (12).

  Hamish said we had it all wrong and should instead say they’d have to sit in broken chairs with sharp bits that poked at their bottoms, while we fed them squashed cockroaches and filled their teacups with sand.

  ‘That way they won’t come,’ he said. ‘Which is what we want, isn’t it?’

  The rest of us looked at him.

  ‘Well, old chaps, didn’t you say they were Whispering children? Ghastly! Little devils trying to steal other children away! I mean to say, we don’t want to be having tea with them, do we? Or do we? Have I missed something here?’

  Once again, we explained the plan to him, and he did seem to understand for a moment. Although a little later he said, ‘Tally ho, I suppose it’s worth it to get those extra points for our good deed this month, no?’

  We invented the part about having to do good deeds each month, to make our invitation sound credible, but I don’t think anybody had the energy to explain that to him.

  We copied out the invitation four times, and each took one into our pockets. That way, whoever saw the Whispering children first would be able to invite them.

  Rosalind surprised us by being the winner. She has a wealthy aunt who travels throughout Kingdoms and Empires, and sometimes comes by Spindrift to take her niece to lunch. The day after we had composed the invitation, the aunt telephoned to say she was dropping by to collect Rosalind.

  The aunt was trilling as she burst into the entrance hall of our school building: ‘Rosalind! Rosalind! I’m here! This will be our last lunch for some time! It’s far too dangerous here in Spindrift with this war on! Rosalind? You children there, run and fetch my niece, would you—I don’t want to linger a moment longer than I must in Spindrift! So dangerous!’

  She seemed to guess what we were thinking as we stared at her, for she suddenly rapped on the wall with her knuckles. ‘Perfectly safe here, though!’ she said. ‘This boarding school is a fortress!’

  Rosalind skipped down the stairs wrapped in her fur stole with pearls around her neck, and she and her aunt set out.

  When she returned an hour later, she rushed us three into a corner and breathlessly told us that she’d seen them!

  ‘The Whispering children! I walked right by them as we crossed the road to go to the Elegant Swan Bar and Grill with Aunt Clara! We were this far apart!’ She held up thumb and forefinger. Hamish studied the gap.

  ‘Awfully close,’ he agreed.

  ‘So you passed them the invitation?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Of course! I popped it into the girl’s coat pocket!’

  ‘Do you think she noticed? Maybe she won’t even find it there?’

  ‘I tapped her shoulder and pointed it out,’ Rosalind hastened to explain, ‘and then I hurried after my aunt.’

  We all congratulated Rosalind, and Victor shook her hand. She blushed. I felt a little sorry that it hadn’t been me, but I cheered up, thinking of the great deed we were doing for the war effort, and the children we might save.

  That Saturday, we gathered in the Brathelthwaite Beach Hut.

  In fact, it is a hut for Brathelthwaite teachers, rather than students, but I’ve only ever seen Madame Dandelion using it to smoke her cigars after she bathes. However, Victor, being a young duke, has special privileges, including a key to the hut.

  It is small but brightly painted with windows on either side, their curtains pushed open. There is a low table, a couple of chairs, a sofa, and a chest filled with beach towels and sporting equipment—racquets, balls, nets and so on.

  We set the table, as if for a tea party. Hamish had bought up half the bakery.

  Then the four of us sat down to wait.

  Rosalind chewed on her fingernails and giggled. Hamish hummed to himself. Victor sat perfectly still, eyes on the door.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘The plan is, we sit them down, offer them cake, then rush out and lock the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the windows? Couldn’t they escape through the windows?’

  Rosalind stopped giggling to roll her eyes at me. ‘You and Hamish will guard the hut, Honey Bee, while Victor and I run to get the authorities. Honestly. It’s not rocket science.’

  We carried on waiting.

  Twelve o’clock came.

  ‘Perhaps we ought to tie them up?’ I suggested. ‘To be sure they don’t escape.’

  ‘We haven’t any rope,’ Victor shrugged.

  Quarter past twelve.

  Twelve-thirty.

  ‘We can use stockings!’ I said. I made the others close their eyes while I unclipped and peeled off my stockings. Rosalind said she would leave hers on, thank you, until they got here. This did not seem terribly efficient. Was she pla
nning to request that the Whispering children avert their eyes, please, while she removed her stockings ready to tie them up?

  Twelve forty-five.

  ‘Rightio,’ Rosalind said. ‘Seems they’ve chosen not to come. Shall we pack up and go home?’

  ‘Let’s wait,’ Victor said.

  ‘I suppose we ought to eat some of these cakes,’ Hamish suggested.

  That seemed wise. We ate cake.

  At one o’clock, I was convinced they were not coming. Minutes later, there came a distant shout: ‘In here!’ and ‘Locked! Try that one!’ Footsteps and panting breath drew ever closer, then a violent rattling of the doorhandle—the door burst open and in crashed the children in coats.

  Honey Bee (again)

  ‘I say,’ Hamish hissed. ‘Awfully keen to get their hands on tea and cake, aren’t they?’

  The two children were hunched over, puffing and panting. Upon hearing Hamish’s voice, they sprang up and backed away a little.

  Then, unexpectedly, the boy kicked the door closed behind him.

  Oh my, I thought. Now we’re for it.

  I looked down at my stockings, rolled ready in my lap. It seemed very unlikely that I would be able to use them to tie up these two. They were brimming with such energy! (The children, I mean, not the stockings.)

  Suddenly, I knew I’d been wrong about child Whisperers not being able to Whisper.

  They were going to capture us. Not the other way around.

  Goodbye, Spindrift, I thought forlornly. Here we come, Whispering Kingdom.

  The girl straightened her shoulders and tidied her sky blue coat. There was a jagged tear in its sleeve, which was a shame.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘I see you are enjoying your tea. We do apologise for the intrusion, but may we… impose upon you for a little and remain in your …’ She paused, considering the room. ‘Is it a sort of beach hut? It’s charming.’

  Oh my, I thought a second time. She’s pretending to be polite. She’s awfully good at this.

  I felt around in my mind to see if she or the boy had placed any super-powered Whispers there yet, but it only seemed to be my own thoughts.

  Unless perhaps the girl herself had made me think that she was awfully good at this?