The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  FINLAY

  No, wait, she didn’t speak into her loud hailer right then, did she?

  That happened after the argument with Mayor Franny and the others?

  Honey Bee

  Yes, you are right.

  I beg your pardon, I’d forgotten. I’m very tired.

  The Queen stepped out of the Town Hall, paused at the top of the stairs, and she reached for the loud hailer but then a little cluster of important people interrupted. Mayor Franny was one of them, and other town councillors, and military officers with shiny brass buttons. One of these was a terribly important fellow, I think, perhaps a Sergeant? Anyhow, I believe he was in charge of the soldiers in some way.

  Some kind of urgent conversation took place. You know, the kind where all the faces are worried and frowny, and people lean in close to each other, hands gesticulating madly. Quickly, it became an argument! Rather than leaning in, people were stepping back, and voices were growing louder!

  I heard several curse words. Mostly from Mayor Franny.

  Was the brawl about to happen again, only this time on the Town Hall steps between the Queen and the Mayor?!

  No.

  The Queen has guards, you see. She is the big boss, able to throw you in the dungeon at the drop of a hat.

  Mayor Franny lowered her voice and carried on speaking in rapid, earnest tones.

  The Queen shook her head. She broke out of the ring of people and raised the loud hailer to her mouth.

  FINLAY

  One of these was a terribly important fellow, I think, perhaps a Sergeant? Anyhow, I believe he was in charge of the soldiers in some way.

  Ha ha. I’d like to pass that bit on to General Hegelwink, Commander in Chief of the Kingdom of Storm’s Army and Navy, who is the person she means.

  That part of Honey Bee’s chapter gave me a good laugh.

  Still laughing, actually.

  But what happened next was not funny at all.

  Here is what the Queen said into her loud hailer:

  ‘By order of the Queen, Her Majesty, Ruler of the Kingdom of Gusts, Gales, Squalls and Violent Storms, every Whisperer and Shadow Mage, including but not limited to Witches, Sirens, Fire Sirens, Radish Gnomes, Ghouls and Sterling Silver Foxes, whether of full or part blood, and no matter what age, residing or currently present in the city of Spindrift, must immediately surrender themselves to the Kingdom’s forces. Any individual who does not so surrender his or herself will be forcibly arrested. All such individuals will be interred for the duration of the Whispering Wars and for such time thereafter as the Queen, Her Majesty, determines. While interred, no such individual will be permitted to speak to or in any way communicate with any other resident of Spindrift, and neither shall residents of Spindrift be permitted to communicate with the aforementioned.’

  No, I didn’t get it either.

  I was thinking, Jeepers, she’s good at Queenly gobbledygook, isn’t she? when the person beside me explained it.

  They were going to round up all our local Whisperers and Shadow Mages and throw them in a cage.

  Honey Bee

  Within hours, the army had set up tents, makeshift bathroom facilities and a vegetable patch in the fairground. They strung this all around with barbed wire fencing, rounded up the local Whisperers and Shadow Mages, and locked them inside.

  It was remarkable how rapidly they did this. I think they must have been planning it for some time, and the Queen just pretended it was a last-minute ‘emergency’ thing.

  I knew I should be back at school but I could not bring myself to leave the downtown area. For one thing, I could not stop crying. Embarrassing, I know. But you see, I have been at Brathelthwaite Boarding School for three years, and Carlos and I often come into town. So I know most of the local characters. And right before my eyes, they were being arrested.

  The Radish Gnome who works in the bicycle repair shop was stamping his feet and shouting angrily. It took three soldiers to drag him through the streets.

  The Ghoul who wanders around playing the accordion was very polite: ‘I do beg your pardon but there’s been some kind of mistake,’ she kept saying. ‘I live here.’ They pulled the accordion out of her hands, kicked it away along the pavement, and marched her down to the fairground.

  The rowdy Witches who drink too much beer and dance on the tables in the Square made a run for it, their cats prancing along beside them. I heard they were captured hiding under the netting in a fishing boat.

  Remember the woman I saw chasing a dog? Two soldiers instructed her to come along with them, please. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I’m not a Whisperer or a Shadow Mage.’

  The soldier checked his papers. ‘You are Wilma Sfanski?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’re quarter-Siren.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right!’ Wilma Sfanski beamed. ‘My grandmother was a Siren. She was such a laugh—my mother always said I inherited her shriek. You’re out of luck, though, she died years ago. Excuse me, I’ve got to get to the butcher’s. That blasted dog stole my—’

  But the soldiers had clasped handcuffs onto her wrists and were leading her away. I could not tell you exactly what she said next because it was spoken in a cacophony of shrieks.

  She wouldn’t have had much luck with the butcher anyway. Turned out he was half Radish Gnome—used his long claws to cut up meat—and had been carted off himself.

  The Sterling Silver Foxes who play cards in the Square argued about the technicalities of the Queen’s orders as they were rounded up.

  Snatty-Ra-Ra and most of the other Whisperers just nodded sadly and followed along, which made me cry harder. Oh, it was awful.

  Whole families were rounded up. Very young children grew excited, thinking they were being taken on a holiday or adventure, and reaching up their little hands into the soldiers’ hands. There are plenty of mixed relationships in Spindrift, and I saw couples clinging together and being prised apart. In fact, the butcher’s wife grabbed on to her husband’s legs and refused to let go, so she was dragged along the gravel for quite some distance. A great tug from a soldier, and she finally let go and lay weeping and bleeding in the middle of the road.

  Around this time, Randalf, the lighthouse keeper, came wandering into the Town Square—he needed to pick up a flat-head screwdriver, he said—and he found himself carted away. I’d forgotten he was half-Witch. Some people laughed about this, at first.

  ‘You can’t lock up our lighthouse keeper!’ they said. ‘There will be shipwrecks!’

  But the soldiers ignored them. The laughter turned into angry yelling. Every soul lost at sea will come back and haunt you soldiers! they yelled, only with very strong language.

  ‘Just following orders,’ one of the soldiers said. But her face was grim. She didn’t want to be haunted, I could tell.

  When they took Motoko-the-Chocolatier away, I shouted. Motoko had just sheltered me from the brawl! Who cared that she was a Sterling Silver Fox! Others were bellowing and clutching at Motoko too, but I think they were worried about their chocolate.

  Anyway, I won’t talk about it anymore. It upsets me too much. I felt so helpless!

  Which is why I was pleased when somebody—it was Ronnie-the-Artist, I think—suggested a protest. We would refuse to leave the Town Square, he said, until the captives were all set free.

  And that is how we came to be gathered together, a crowd of us, in the Square. Most of the children from the Orphanage were there—as well as Finlay, Glim and the twins, I recognised Daffo from the relay team—and I was surprised to find Hamish participating. When he swung his head to the side to say, ‘Ahoy there, Honey Bee! Here you are!’ his hair cleared away long enough for me to see a nasty bruise forming beneath his eye.

  ‘However did you get that?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, remember that enormous brawl?’ he chatted—as if the brawl was a stage play we had seen weeks before. ‘Well, it was that! I thought to myself, hold up! I don’t want anybody harming the locals! I mean to say
, people were shouting, Kill them! What? I thought. No, I like them! Anyhow, I’m not a bad boxer, so I—’

  But I did not hear how he had boxed his way to a black eye as, right then, the chanting started up. ‘SET THEM FREE! SET THEM FREE!’

  That was how the protest worked, it seemed. We all linked arms in rows and chanted, ‘SET THEM FREE!’

  Hamish and I joined in.

  Now this is where things went wrong. A few of the local buskers stepped up to accompany the chant. I suppose this was thoughtful of them, to add musical flair to a rather dull chant, but the fellow who plays the violin stood right beside me. I think I have mentioned before that I cannot abide the sound of violin? I truly cannot.

  I decided I would just duck around the corner, into an alleyway, until the violin had stopped, and then I would rejoin the protest.

  The moment I saw them, I knew what they were. Something ran down my spine like hot tea. A man and a woman, both dressed rather casually in dungarees, linen shirts and high-collared jackets, were standing close together, just along the alleyway.

  If you had not looked closely, you might easily have missed the long, tightly wound braids tucked into each of their jacket collars.

  But I did look closely, and I saw.

  I could have spun around and run straight back to the Square.

  I could have screamed.

  I did neither.

  I walked directly to them, smiled and said, ‘Hello there, my name’s Honey Bee. I’m twelve.’

  FINLAY

  ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS WHOLE THING STARTED BECAUSE HONEY BEE CANNOT ABIDE THE VIOLIN??

  Again with the violin!!

  I never knew that’s why she ducked around the corner! I am shaking my head here. That’s all I can do: shake, shake.

  Well, I’ll let it go for—no, still can’t.

  Still shaking my head.

  Shake. Shake.

  Sigh.

  I guess it was our plan to get ourselves captured by Whisperers, and that is exactly what Honey Bee did.

  But I was going to make a few more preparations first!

  Of course, if I’m honest, I’d have done the same as Honey Bee. Pounced on the opportunity. Because who knew when you might run into a Whisperer again? Plus, after the day we’d just had, I was pretty het up and ready to pounce on anything.

  Fair play to her, actually. Marching up to a pair of Whisperers like that takes guts.

  Look at that, I’ve written myself around to Honey Bee’s side! What are the chances?

  At the time, I myself was in the Town Square with the protesters and my main thought was that we ought to sit down. It was my birthday, and my legs were tired.

  You should not have tired legs on your birthday.

  Everything about me was tired, in point of fact. When you fight and shout for hours, it wears you down, see, the same way sucking on lemon wedges wears out your teeth. (Lili-Daisy told me that—come to think of it, was that true or was that her way of stopping me stealing lemons off local trees?) Anyhow, like a worn-out tooth I was, half-leaning against Glim, and she was leaning against Eli, and he was not leaning against anyone. He was standing straight like a proper solid tooth that has never seen a lemon in its life. Taya, beside him, was also a good tooth. Those twins are unstoppable.

  Now, protesting was a very good plan. But the Queen did not seem the type to hear the news and say, ‘Hold up! Fifty people in the Town Square chanting? Well then, I’ll revoke the order at once! Set them free! On the double! Quick-sticks! Spit spot! (and so on).’

  I suspected we’d be hanging around here chanting a few weeks. Maybe a year. Another good reason for us to sit.

  It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. ‘Set them free! Set them free!’ I said, while watching the clock tower. I’d have to nip away at three, to pull the lever for the laundry chute.

  Of course, it wouldn’t be the same without Lili-Daisy screaming when I hit the cart—she was still laid up with the influenza in hospital, so Cook stands on the pavement supervising these days. He’d be more likely to scratch his ear and say, ‘Oi, boy, outa there.’

  Still, it was tradition for me to slide down the laundry chute, and that was what I intended to do. I’d come right back to the protest afterwards, of course. They’d be all right without me for a minute.

  ‘What’s she up to?’ Glim murmured, between chants. I followed her gaze and there was Honey Bee, striding along on those long legs of hers. She’d broken away from the protesters and dashed around the corner, into Mariah Alley.

  Next thing, Hamish was hurrying after her.

  I don’t know why I followed. I think it was just that I’d got accustomed to keeping an eye on Orphanage kids, making sure nobody went about in groups of less than three. Two kids alone in an alley? Dangerous.

  ‘I’ll check,’ I said to Glim.

  They looked like a happy family out for an afternoon stroll. A family that had chosen a really daft place to go strolling. Two adults, two kids, arms linked, heading down the alleyway, over broken cobblestones, past spilling garbage cans, sidestepping rats, into the shadows and the dark.

  ‘Oi,’ I called.

  They spun around, the four of them. Shuffled a bit as they turned, and then re-linked their arms.

  The man and the woman, I didn’t recognise. That made me suspicious, but they had that posh sort of face. You know, smooth with very tidy smiles? Teeth like sunlight? And they were dressed pretty smart, so my first thought was that they must be Boarding School teachers come to fetch Honey Bee and Hamish back to the school.

  Then I looked at Honey Bee’s face. Couldn’t see Hamish’s, what with his hair covering it, but Honey Bee—well, she appeared to be sliding down a laundry chute. Eyes half-closed, mouth half-open—mad, wicked, blissful.

  I’d never seen that look on her face before.

  Something was wrong.

  I jumped my gaze back to the adults—they widened their tidy smiles—and the man ducked his head. That’s when I caught it: a glimpse of coiled braid at his neck.

  Whisperers.

  The shadow kind.

  Honey Bee and Hamish had been taken.

  Here now, said a voice inside my head. I’ll pop along with them to the Whispering Kingdom too.

  It was a bit like that purple flower, what’s it called? Wisteria. Bit like wisteria, the voice was.

  Honey Bee

  Right, well, I never would have imagined Finlay using the word wisteria.

  I don’t mean that in a snobby way. He just doesn’t seem like a wisteria sort.

  But he’s right. In the Spindrift Gardens, there is a lane that runs beneath wooden trellises and, in the late spring, it overflows with wisteria. Lacy purple flowers that dangle overhead—delicate, exquisitely pretty—and you walk beneath them in a sort of dream.

  That is how it felt, that first encounter with the Whisperers.

  ‘Hello there, my name’s Honey Bee,’ I said. ‘I’m twelve.’

  I thought I should tell them my age so they knew I was a child. I suppose they would have figured it out from looking at me, but I am tall, and for all I knew, Shadow Whisperers might be a little daft.

  ‘Hello yourself, Honey-Bee-who’s-twelve,’ the woman replied with a quick little grin—teasing me but friendly at the same time. ‘Quite a day Spindrift seems to be having! My husband and I are tourists here, and we’re taken aback by all the goings-on. Aren’t we, William?’

  At this, the man nodded gravely. He pushed at the cuff of his shirt and I saw he was wearing a wristband of woven red-and-black twine. ‘Indeed we are, Eleanor,’ he said, before turning to address me. ‘Are you a local, dear child? Only, we appear to have got ourselves thoroughly lost and would be glad of your help.’

  This seemed silly. The noise from the Town Square was a little muffled down this narrow alley, but still perfectly clear: the chanting of Set them free! Set them free!, the thumping of drums, even the screech of the violin. Behind all that you could hear Jean-Pierre, th
e newspaper vendor, shouting, ‘Read all about it! How a Whisperer Spoiled my Potato Soup! Read all about it!’

  I arched an eyebrow at the man, William. I’m quite good at raising one eyebrow at a time. My Aunt Rebecca taught me this skill. She has many other talents: cricket, cake-baking, the larks head knot you use to make string bags for grocery shopping, how to cheep like a bird by curling your tongue.

  ‘The Town Square,’ I told him, pointing, ‘is just down there.’

  They both chuckled. ‘Oh yes!’ they said. ‘Hard to miss with all that racket! Only, we are trying to find our motorcar. It’s a bright red one, and I believe we parked it on a street called Gerbera Lane. Do you know it?’

  Now I felt a little foolish about my arched eyebrow. This was when I noticed the voice within my head. In fact, it had been speaking to me from the moment I approached the pair, only it had been buried. Now I rummaged through my regular thoughts and there it was, glowing softly: a faint, lulling voice. It was rather like tossing aside blankets in a wooden chest to find an emerald necklace beneath.

  I’m going to accompany these people to the Whispering Kingdom, said the voice. What a lark!

  The couple looked down at me with the same friendly smiles.

  ‘Do you know it?’ the man repeated.

  I’m going to accompany these people to the Whispering Kingdom, said the voice again. What a lark!

  Oh my, I thought. They can do their super-Whispers at the same time as carrying on a normal conversation!

  ‘Gerbera Lane? Yes, I do know it,’ I began—but they had raised their chins, their attention caught by something behind me. I turned around, and here came Hamish, his pale hair swishing as usual.

  Oh dear, I thought. He’s going to mess this up. Still, I was happy to see a familiar figure; I realised my heart had been thumping rather fast.

  I don’t really remember what happened next. It was so puzzling because we all chatted and introduced ourselves and then we set off, arms linked, to show the strangers the way to Gerbera Lane—and then Finlay joined us, which cheered me even more—and we reached the couple’s motorcar and us three children admired its bright colours and fancy wheels—and next thing, the doors were opening and we were all hopping in. We all found ourselves pretending that the strangers were taking us for a spin around town, for a treat. The automobile slowed down at some point—near the Boarding School, I think, and there was Victor strolling along—and the woman called out the window to him in her sunny voice. Victor climbed inside too, and we all said, ‘Hello Victor! What about this motorcar, eh?’ And carried on exclaiming at the leatherwork but at the same time, over and over, this terribly pleasant, shining, golden-emerald voice was chanting softly inside my head: I’m going to accompany these people to the Whispering Kingdom. What a lark!