‘We’re all going to help out next week at the university,’ said Effie. ‘Actually, I’ve got to go in this weekend to help my dad set up for the Winter Fair. But he’s giving me some pocket money for that, which is good. Then next week I’m going to be in the Creative Writing Department with my friends. Which is better than the rest of my class, who are stuck helping children from the Mrs Joyful School do papier-mâché or learn to knit and cook and develop “life skills”.’
‘Tell me more about this Mrs Joyful School,’ said Dr Wiseacre. ‘It sounds delightful.’ She raised a pink eyebrow.
‘I promise you, it’s not,’ said Effie, smiling. She told Dr Wiseacre about how rough it was there, with all the impoverished children who couldn’t even afford lunch and ate sweets instead and then beat each other up. She would have gone there herself had she not passed the test to get into the Tusitala School.
Effie found herself talking in a way that didn’t quite sound like her, but she didn’t seem able to stop doing it. It was partly because of the way Dr Wiseacre responded, smiling and laughing when Effie complained about something at home. And everyone here hated the Realworld, it seemed, so Effie found herself playing up to it and making it sound much worse than it really was. She felt like an Otherworlder – a mainlander – at heart and always had done. If that meant hating the island as much as they all did then she could do it.
She could maybe also get a pet dragon, and dye her hair blue, and try to grow a cat’s tail and ears, and perhaps just have a single pink flower growing out of the back of one of her hands . . .
‘All right, Effie, thank you,’ said Dr Wiseacre. ‘We should probably start to review everything now. You’re quite right that you are a true hero and an interpreter. That’s all confirmed now. Quite an unusual combination, especially here. So all that remains is the matter of your shade. Tell me, what do you know about the shades?’
‘Not very much,’ said Effie. ‘I’ve got a book with a chapter on the shades, but I didn’t read it because I didn’t want to influence my result.’
‘So, do you even know what the six shades are?’
‘Philosopher?’ said Effie. ‘That’s the one at the top?’
‘That’s right. Go on.’
‘Then . . . No. I’ve forgotten. I’ve been saving it up to read after this, so I’ve only ever glanced at the picture really. Sorry. Oh – protector is at the bottom of the circle, I think?’
‘Yes. You’ll have noticed it’s structured as a clock face. It’s Philosopher at twelve o’clock, then Aesthete at two o’clock, Artisan at four o’clock, Protector at six o’clock, Galloglass at eight o’clock, and Shaper at ten o’clock. They all merge into one another in different directions, but mainly clockwise and anti-clockwise. Where do you think you might go on the clock?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Effie. ‘I don’t know enough about what each shade does.’
‘It’s not really about what they “do”. The kharakters concern what you do. But the shade tells you why you do it. Everyone is a blend of all six shades, but most people fall between two shades in particular. It’s up to them to develop themselves in one direction or another. Philosophers ask the big questions about life. Aesthetes prioritise beauty. Artisans create useful things. Protectors keep things safe. Galloglasses, well, we don’t have any of them here. We expel any that we find. They are individualists who act for their own profit – completely out of place here on the mainland. Shapers are people who change things. Obviously we prefer shapers who end up on the philosopher side than the galloglass side. Any questions?’
‘No,’ said Effie. ‘Well, actually, what are you?’
‘I’m between shaper and artisan.’
‘But they’re not next to one another, are they?’
Dr Wiseacre sighed. ‘You’re observant, aren’t you? It’s far too complex to get into now, but it’s possible in rare cases to move across, rather than around, the circle.’
‘Oh. That sounds interesting.’
‘It is. Now, any more thoughts on what you might be?’
‘Probably a protector. I mean, I want to defend Dragon’s Green and my friends and . . . But I don’t really make things, so that must mean I’m going towards philosopher rather than artisan? I do think a lot about how the world works.’
‘Interesting. Not many philosophers left on the island, so it’s fairly unlikely. And, as I said, it’s extremely rare to move across the circle.’ Dr Wiseacre got up. ‘I need to go and consult with a colleague. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
While she was gone Effie looked at the chart again. She thought about her friends. Maximilian would probably be somewhere between philosopher and aesthete, she supposed, what with all his Beethoven tapes and trips to the Underworld to learn deep secrets about life. Raven, with all her spells and witchy ideas, would probably be a philosopher-shaper. Lexy would definitely be a protector-artisan, with all her homemade healing remedies. Wolf? Effie wasn’t so sure. He was probably a protector like her, but what direction would he be going in?
After a couple more minutes, the door opened and Dr Wiseacre entered again. She was not alone. With her was a man in a very black cloak who looked as if he had never smiled in his life. His face was etched with hundreds of deep wrinkles and more than one massive scar. He had what looked like a large thorn growing out of each ear.
‘Mr Greyday, here is the galloglass,’ said Dr Wiseacre, not catching Effie’s eye.
Effie didn’t understand at first that she meant her.
‘What?’ said Effie, when she realised. ‘But . . . No, that’s—’
‘Take her away, Frank,’ said Dr Wiseacre.
The man in the cloak – Frank Greyday seemed to be his horribly appropriate name – walked towards Effie and took her firmly by the arm – right by the shimmering letter M that meant Effie could travel through portals to the Otherworld – and yanked her to her feet.
‘But I’m a Truelove,’ said Effie. ‘I’m going to be a Keeper at Dragon’s Green. You can’t—’
‘Lock her up,’ said Dr Wiseacre. ‘We’ll let the town council work out what to do with her. She’ll need to be sent back to the island, of course, but she must have that mark removed first. And any boons that help her to get here will need to be confiscated. We might have to surgically remove all her memories about being here, too.’
‘But . . .’
‘Come on, islander,’ said Frank Greyday.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To the dungeon, where we put all the monsters.’
‘But my cousin—’
‘She won’t ever want to see you again when she knows you’re a galloglass,’ said Dr Wiseacre. ‘You can forget about her, and anyone you ever met here. It’s all over.’
5
Lexy was pretty sure that everyone was asleep when she crept down the stairs holding a small hessian bag full of healing gemstones that she was going to steep in the light of the full moon. This was how you recharged them. She had several pieces of greeny-blue aventurine, which she used for Effie’s remedies, and some bloodstone for Wolf. She was almost running out of Maximilian’s black onyx, though, and . . .
‘Hello, little lady.’
Lexy jumped at least a foot in the air, while her heart felt like it had dropped to the bottom of her stomach.
‘Oh my God, it’s you, JP!’ she said. ‘You gave me a fright.’
He was sitting at the kitchen table wearing a pair of red silk pyjamas and reading a book of what looked like poetry. His hair was still swept back in its extravagant pompadour style. It didn’t look as if he’d been to bed at all. Buttons, the kitten, was on JP’s lap, but didn’t look that happy about it. Indeed, he would certainly have jumped down by now, had JP not been holding him by the neck.
‘Sleeping’s overrated,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Um . . .’ said Lexy.
Buttons now managed to jump off JP’s lap and up onto the table, where Lexy could stroke him.
Lexy put down her bag of gemstones and picked him up. He climbed onto her shoulder as usual, and nibbled her ear.
‘Do your parents know you go sneaking around in the middle of the night?’
Lexy shook her head. ‘No. You won’t say anything?’ she said. ‘My mum worries enough as it is.’
‘Of course not. Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘On one condition.’
‘What condition?’
‘I want you to keep me company for a while. I like you. You’re not like normal little girls. I’d say you’re much more mature. What do you think?’
‘Um . . .’
‘Sit,’ said Jupiter Peacock. ‘I want to read something to you. It’s called “Galloglass”. It’s a very old poem that I have recently translated into English. It contains some extremely important philosophy, from the days before the Great Split, when all worlds were one. But I expect you don’t know anything about that. Anyway, sit. SIT.’
Buttons jumped off Lexy’s shoulder and went back to his basket. He didn’t like shouting.
Lexy had no choice. She had to sit down. She calculated that she could listen to him for five minutes, but then she’d need to get outside before the moonlight faded. It was at its strongest right now – which was why she’d come down at exactly this moment.
Jupiter Peacock began reading.
‘In days of yore, when brave and true, the heroes of the day shone forth . . .’
As Jupiter Peacock continued to read, Lexy felt her mind wander elsewhere. She would need to order the black onyx first thing on Monday so that it would arrive by the end of next week, and . . .
‘What do you think?’ said Jupiter Peacock. He’d finished reading. Maybe Lexy would be able to get out into the garden now.
‘Um . . .’
‘A great deal has been written about this one poem,’ said Jupiter Peacock. ‘Most of it wrong. What do you think of this line – We’re born each one of us alone, and separate is how we stay’?
‘Um . . .’
‘People think it’s bad to be selfish, but this poem says that selfish people make the world a much better place. Bet that’s not what you learn at school, huh?’
‘No,’ said Lexy. She wasn’t really listening. She could see the moon beginning to drop and fade. What about her crystals? Surely she’d been polite enough by now. She scraped the chair back and was about to stand up.
‘I really must—’
‘Not so fast, little lady. I want a rematch before you go.’
‘A rematch?’
‘Indeed. I still think I can beat you at arm wrestling.’
Earlier on, while Hazel, flushed with pleasure at how well her little dinner party had gone, was making peppermint tea in the kitchen area, Jupiter Peacock had challenged Lexy’s father Marcel to a series of ill-considered physical competitions. Marcel had won them all. He was, after all, a yoga teacher. He had stood on his head for longer (JP hadn’t actually been able to stand on his head at all), and had performed five handstand press-ups. He had also held his breath for three minutes, which was two and a half minutes longer than JP could manage.
Then had come the arm wrestling. After he’d been beaten by Marcel several times, Jupiter Peacock had challenged Lexy. Marcel had smiled gratefully when Jupiter Peacock had used his left hand and let Lexy win. What a good sport he was, as well as everything else!
Lexy hadn’t enjoyed it that much, though. Jupiter Peacock’s breath had smelled strongly of all the wine he had drunk, and his hand had been hot and sweaty. And he’d gripped Lexy’s fingers far too hard again, almost as if he wanted to hurt her. Surely he couldn’t be that unaware of his own strength? When she’d exclaimed and said Ow! he’d just ignored her. And now he was asking her for a rematch?
‘No,’ said Lexy. ‘Sorry, I really must—’
‘Just one more time?’ said Jupiter. ‘Be a good hostess. Your mother would want you to.’
This was true. Hazel would want Lexy to do whatever it took to make Jupiter Peacock happy.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘But really just one more time. I have to get into the garden. It’s important.’
‘We’ll keep going until you win. Ready? We’ll use our right hands this time.’
‘But I’m left-handed,’ said Lexy. ‘You’ll win easily!’
And so he did. When he finally decided to give up, after about ten goes, and once the moon had fallen so low in the sky as to be of no use, Lexy’s hand was pink and blotchy. Jupiter Peacock had gripped it so hard that Lexy had almost started crying. But she had to do what he wanted. There was no way Lexy was going to be the one to jeopardise her mother’s chance of having her name engraved on the plaque in the Town Hall. After this, Lexy would just have to make sure she was never alone with him again. It would be fine. She simply had to be a lot more careful in future. No more coming downstairs at night while he was staying.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jupiter Peacock, seeing Lexy’s hand. ‘I forget my own strength. Here . . .’ He held out his own large hand to take hold of Lexy’s again. ‘Let me kiss it better.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Lexy, moving her hand out of reach and getting up. ‘I must get back to bed.’
‘LET ME KISS IT BETTER.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ said Lexy.
‘Why ever not?’
‘I just don’t.’
‘You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.’
‘I just want to go to bed.’
‘If you don’t let me kiss it better, then I will go back to thinking you are a child. In which case, I’ll have to tell your mother what you’ve been doing. Not only did you come down here in the middle of the night and interrupt my reading, you also insisted on arm-wrestling me. Not really the nicest way to treat a guest, is it?’
‘Why are you being like this?’ asked Lexy.
‘I told you: I like you. I think you’re mature. Now I want you to show it by letting me kiss you better.’
Lexy took a deep breath. What harm could it really do? It was just one kiss on the hand. Grown-ups always wanted you to kiss them, after all, and it was always horrible. At least this was nowhere near her face. Lexy would let him kiss her hand, and then she’d go upstairs and wash it in very hot water. Worse things had happened to her, after all – much worse. She’d fought an evil man during an earthstorm. And she’d helped her friends defeat Skylurian Midzhar during a massive meteor shower. She’d agree to this one stupid request, but then she’d never let this happen again. She’d make sure.
‘All right,’ she said, sighing. ‘Here.’
Lexy held out her right hand. Jupiter Peacock took hold of it, turned it over, looked at it hard, then planted the most horrible, disgusting, slobbery kiss imaginable right in the centre of the palm.
‘Not so bad, was it?’ he said, when it was over.
Lexy didn’t say anything. She ran back upstairs, leaving her bag of crystals behind. She just had to wash her hand as soon as possible. And never, ever let Jupiter Peacock arm-wrestle her, or shake her hand, or anything like that ever again.
Effie never cried. But she felt pretty close to tears now, as Frank Greyday led her out of the door and back onto the street. Before Effie had been taken away, Dr Wiseacre had tied her hands together and then smeared two large black streaks on either side of Effie’s face with something like charcoal. Effie didn’t have to wait long to find out what this meant.
‘Galloglass,’ people hissed, as she walked past. ‘Island galloglass. Island trash. Send her back. Send her back!’
Where was Clothilde? Surely she’d rescue Effie as soon as she knew what was happening to her. This was, after all, just a massive, horrible mistake. She’d said she’d be back in an hour. Where was she?
Instead of following the narrow cobbled lane down into the town, the man roughly pushed Effie off to the left, where, after going up some steps and through a low stone arch, they came to a big wooden door which was studded all over with
brass rivets.
‘Please,’ said Effie. ‘This is a huge mistake.’
‘Galloglasses need to be punished,’ said the man.
‘But I’m not a galloglass!’ said Effie. ‘I promise. She got me all wrong. I just need to take the test again and—’
‘Anyone can tell you’re a galloglass just from looking at you,’ said Frank Greyday. ‘You’re an islander. You should have stayed there and not come here and brought contamination to our world. You lot are filth.’
‘But—’
‘You can’t even speak our language properly. “But . . .”’ Frank Greyday imitated Effie’s way of saying the word in Rosian. It was true; Effie was much better at reading and writing Rosian than she was at speaking it. After all, she barely got a chance to practise.
Frank Greyday knocked at the door and another cloaked man opened it.
‘A galloglass for you,’ Greyday said to him. He roughly shoved Effie through the door. ‘Not sure if we’re sending her back alive or just killing her here. Same difference, more or less. We also have to remove the mark. We don’t want her trying to sneak back after we’ve ejected her. Anyway, you prepare her for questioning. I’ll open up one of the consultation rooms. Dr Wiseacre is returning to do the questioning herself.’
‘Has she got any weapons?’
‘Nope,’ said Frank Greyday. ‘Not that I can see. But I think I’ll take this necklace away for testing.’
For a moment Effie thought he meant her Sword of Light. But it was her vial of deepwater that he was interested in. The Sword of Light was so small, and so bright, that people usually didn’t notice it at all, or simply thought it was a reflection, or a trick of the light. The second man untied her hands and then Effie took off the bigger necklace and quickly gave it to Frank Greyday before he had a chance to notice the tiny gold sword on the other chain.
Effie couldn’t understand what was happening to her. Surely Clothilde would find her soon. But if not, Effie had to make a plan, and quickly. If only her friends were here. Of course, they couldn’t come to the Otherworld. But they were such a good team. Effie thought of Wolf working out an escape plan, Lexy concocting some remedy or other, and Raven saying a useful spell. Effie imagined Maximilian doing mind control on the guards and then throwing her a little vial of deepwater. She could really do with it now. Effie’s headache had got worse, and she could feel her lifeforce dwindling. And now the guard had taken the last of her own stash of deepwater away.
Galloglass Page 5
