Other Alice

by Michelle Harrison

Aren’t you forgetting something? she wrote. My voice. Unless Alice can’t speak, either.

  ‘Let me do the talking,’ I said. ‘Unless you have to. If you do, pretend you’re doing research for a story, about someone who can’t speak.’ I looked her up and down. ‘We need to make you look a bit more like Alice.’

  How?

  ‘Tie your hair back and take those little plaits out,’ I said. ‘And take off your jewellery.’ She did, combing the tiny plaits out with her fingers and sweeping her hair back. I gasped as her neck came into view. There, just below her ear, was a small tattoo of a scorpion with its tail curved over its back. I stared at it, stricken. I’d completely forgotten about that.

  ‘Wait, no, put your hair down again, but mess it up a bit. Mum will go mad if she sees that on your neck.’

  Gypsy rolled her eyes, but did as I’d said.

  ‘That’s better.’ I studied her. ‘We can’t do much about the clothes.’

  Gypsy frowned. What’s wrong with my clothes?

  ‘They’re just . . . not what Alice would wear,’ I said. Though they were clearly what she’d want to wear if she were brave enough. ‘Let’s go. We can talk about the rest on the way. You, too,’ I called to Piper, who’d started to slink away.

  He turned, cocky again. ‘I’m not sure Gypsy wants me around.’

  The look on her face suggested she agreed, but in her notebook she wrote:

  We’re not going anywhere without him. He’s coming, too.

  I repeated the message to him.

  Piper grinned. Some of his teeth were a little crooked, but it was a charming grin nonetheless, although wasted on Gypsy.

  For a long moment, they stared at each other and, though no words were exchanged, an unspoken message passed between them. I could sense it. Gypsy’s was a cold loathing and something else . . . hurt? What had he done to her? Piper’s face was harder to read past his ever-present smirk. But there was more warmth in his eyes.

  ‘Aw, I never knew you felt that way about me,’ he said at last.

  Gypsy stabbed at her notepad. Her writing had become jagged and ugly.

  ‘She says she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘That’s underlined. She says you know more than you’re telling us, and that she’s not letting you out of her sight.’

  ‘Oh, does she?’ Piper’s grin was gone. ‘And what makes you think I take orders from you, Gypsy Spindle?’

  I waited for Gypsy to finish. My eyes strained in the gloom of the evening to make out the words. Hatred seeped off the page.

  ‘Because of what you took,’ I began.

  The blush that had coloured Piper’s cheeks only moments earlier drained away, leaving him grey.

  ‘You have a debt to repay and it starts here.’

  He lowered his eyes and nodded. Then, like a dog that had been kicked, he skulked after us.

  My eyes darted from Piper to Gypsy and back again, trying to figure out what was going on. What could Piper have taken? It must have been something huge if Gypsy had such a hold over him. Had she witnessed whatever he’d stolen and was threatening to rat on him?

  None of us spoke. We passed through Mad Alice Lane and went towards the square. I was aware of Piper’s presence at my back, the hiss of his breath over the top of my head. Having him so close made me want to pat my pockets, but I stopped myself. There was nothing in them worth stealing.

  ‘It’s started,’ I said, pointing to the sky. Thick smoke drifted in the air above. We headed for the clock tower, skirting round the edge of the crowd as far as possible until there was no choice but to break into the thick of it.

  ‘Stay together,’ I told them.

  I slipped my hand into Gypsy’s. It was only slightly bigger than mine, and cold and dry to the touch. She didn’t seem to mind.

  I spotted Mum before she saw us, waving to get her attention. We pushed the rest of the way through to her, and I was glad to see she looked more relieved than annoyed, which meant less of a telling-off. There were a few cross words and questions, but I quickly put an end to them with the fib I’d thought up.

  ‘I was almost at the clock tower when I saw Alice,’ I said, realising I was speaking a little too quickly, the way I always did when I told a lie.

  ‘I was wondering when you were going to show up, young lady,’ Mum said to Gypsy. ‘Next time you decide to disappear all day, leave a note, will you?’

  Gypsy nodded. I held my breath, waiting for something to go wrong, for Mum to notice her eyes or something else we’d overlooked, but it was too dark and smoky for that. Luck was on our side and, besides, there was no reason for Mum to think she was seeing anyone other than her daughter.

  ‘Is that a new jacket?’ Mum asked.

  Gypsy nodded.

  ‘It suits you.’ Mum nodded approvingly, then noticed Piper lurking behind me. ‘Alice, who’s your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.’

  I held my breath as Gypsy flipped open her pad and began to write. I peered over her shoulder, with quick glances at Mum. She was distracted by the smoking pyre in the town centre, but kept sneaking looks at the boy behind me.

  His name is Piper, Gypsy had written. I met him at the library. He’s helping me with the story I’m working on.

  ‘That’s nice, dear. Why are you writing things down instead of talking? Have you got a sore throat? It is quite smoky, I must say.’

  Gypsy shook her head and wrote something else.

  It’s for research. I’m writing about a character who can’t speak.

  Mum rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond, if a little sad. She was used to Alice doing odd things to get ‘in character’ as she called it, but I guessed she must be reminded of Alice’s father. ‘You do the daftest things for your stories.’

  Her voice was muffled, lost in a crackle of dry wood rising up around us. A faint orange glow lit up the faces of people in front, growing stronger until the flames were visible and the crackling of the fire became a roar. Likenesses blackened and charred like tiny, wingless birds tangled in a giant nest. I thought of the Alice Likeness, tucked inside the twigs like an egg waiting to hatch. Had she burned yet, or was she still smouldering?

  Sparks flew through the air like tiny sprites, glowing and fizzing, and I felt as if some had gone into my tummy and were fizzing there, too. One by one, the lamps lighting the square blinked out. The town glowed amber. This was the signal. It was time to say the words: the words spoken on this night every year. I knew them by heart.

  ‘When straw and cloth burn to ash

  And the smoke reaches the ends of the earth to find them

  They will be Summoned.

  For one night

  No more, no less

  To answer a single question

  No more, no less.’

  I thought of Alice and wondered if it could happen. If she could be Summoned. If the magic was real. What was the one question that would unlock the mystery of where she was?

  The heat of the rising flames warmed my cheeks. Something hissed within the bonfire and twisted free, shooting up into the air in a shower of silver sparks. They streaked through the smoke, glittering like sequins, then rained down over the flames. Some of them drifted over the heads of the people in front, fanned towards me by the breeze, and, as they got closer, I saw they were white-hot flecks of ash. For a split second, they seemed to be letters tumbling through the air like broken words. I blinked and they were ash again, fading as the heat left them. I thought of the pages I’d stuffed in the Alice Likeness.

  A murmur went through the crowd, of excitement and confusion. Had others seen it, too? It was going to work. At that moment, I felt absolutely certain that Alice would come to us, because I knew that some magic is real.

  I only had to look at Gypsy and Piper for proof of that.

  10

  Mistaken Identity

  THE LAMPS ABOVE OUR HEADS flickered back on. A few people began to drift away, but many stayed, eager to make the most of the atmosphere and the shops being open later
than usual.

  Mum went off to buy us paper cones of sweet roasted nuts. We stood in silence, not quite sure what to do next. Piper would clearly rather have been anywhere else and looked like a snared fox that was thinking about chewing off its own leg in order to escape, but whatever power it was that Gypsy held over him kept him there.

  Once he took his flute out and brought it to his lips, but Gypsy swiped it away from his mouth and scribbled something down, holding it out for me to read.

  ‘She said put your flute away,’ I said slowly. ‘And don’t try any of your tricks with us, or she’ll snap it under her boot.’

  Piper put the flute away sulkily. I watched him, remembering the eerie faces of the people who had been throwing coins to him earlier. Had he been using the music to cast some kind of spell? Charming their money from them? What was he trying to do now – escape?

  When Mum returned, she handed out the treats, then glanced at Gypsy. ‘I have to go now, my darlings. My car to the airport will be picking me up soon. But you two stay out and enjoy the evening. Not too late, though.’

  Gypsy nodded.

  Mum eyed Piper. I could tell she didn’t much like the look of him. ‘No guests tonight, either.’

  I looked over Gypsy’s shoulder as she wrote something.

  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.

  Mum kissed the both of us, then shrugged her handbag further up her shoulder and left. We watched her go in silence. Gypsy held her fingers to her cheek where Mum had kissed her, like she had forgotten what a kiss felt like.

  ‘Now what?’ I asked.

  Gypsy shook her head slightly, as if shaking a cobweb or a memory away.

  We find somewhere quiet to sit and have a drink, she wrote. Piper’s paying. And then he’s going to tell us everything he knows about that story and who he stole it for.

  We found a stall and each got a frothy hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows, then sat on some stone steps nearby. They were cold and damp and within seconds my bottom was freezing. I shivered, hoping we wouldn’t be long.

  If the Summoning had worked, we needed to be home in time for midnight; that’s when the Summoned were supposed to appear. I wanted to be in Alice’s room, around her things, if she did come. I needed to plan what to say. I sipped the hot chocolate, too anxious to enjoy it, but glad of its warmth in my hands.

  Luckily, Gypsy wasn’t planning on wasting any time. She settled next to me, indicating that I should read out the questions she’d written.

  ‘Who told you to steal the notebook?’ I asked.

  Piper stared at me, a slight sneer about his mouth, then he looked away. He’d refused to sit down, instead leaning against a wooden door set back in the wall.

  ‘A woman,’ he said finally. ‘Well, a girl, I s’pose.’

  I frowned. Gypsy made another note.

  ‘Which is it?’ I read. ‘A girl or a woman?’

  ‘A girl,’ said Piper. ‘About Gypsy’s age, maybe a bit older. She was small, thin.’ He bumped his shoulder into the door like he wanted it to open and reveal an escape route. ‘I . . . I didn’t like her. Proper creepy, she was.’

  ‘Describe her.’

  Piper drained his paper cup, then crushed it in his fist and dropped it. Gypsy shot him a loathsome look, but it was wasted. When he spoke, his breath misted the air.

  ‘I just did.’

  Try harder.

  He shrugged. ‘Sort of pretty if you looked at her quick. In a plastic kind of way.’ He paused, glancing in Gypsy’s direction. ‘Not . . . not natural. But when she spoke to me that’s when I saw her properly and she just looked . . . weird. Like a doll that had been put together wrong. Her clothes were too big, like they belonged to someone else.’

  I waited tensely for him to go on, a feeling of dread spreading in the pit of my stomach. Gypsy sighed in a way that suggested she was finding none of this very helpful. What else? She wrote. Hairstyle, scars?

  I repeated this aloud to Piper.

  ‘Black hair, too neat like a wig. Bright red lipstick.’

  Dolly. The hot chocolate curdled in my stomach. I put the cup down, feeling sick. She’d known there was no way I’d give her the notebook – or that she’d even get near me again after I’d run – so she’d sent Piper instead.

  Gypsy made a note.

  ‘And her eyes were like blue glass.’ He picked at a flake of paint on the door. ‘I didn’t see her blink once. But it was her hands that really got to me.’

  I read out Gypsy’s next question, my voice hoarse. ‘What about them?’

  At this, Piper shuddered. ‘She had gloves on at first, but she took them off when she paid me. Her hands were just . . . black. Rotten with oil, or dirt or something. And her nails were bitten, ripped off right down as far as they could go, all bloody and scabbed round the edges.’ He grimaced. ‘But it was good money, or I’d have told her to forget it.’ He looked at me, then Gypsy. Both of us were glaring. ‘Knew it was a bad idea,’ he muttered.

  Boohoo, Gypsy wrote, which I didn’t read out. Where did you meet her and what did she say?

  Piper folded his arms. ‘I’d pitched up in the square for a while, over there.’ He nodded to the other side of the roaring bonfire. ‘She asked me how much money I’d made.’ He allowed himself a small smirk. ‘I thought about telling her to keep her nose out, but I’d had a good afternoon, so I told her. Added on a bit extra for good measure, like. She said she’d double it if I collected something for her.’

  An angry noise escaped my lips, something between a bark and a hiccup. ‘Collect?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The corners of his mouth turned down. ‘I knew it wouldn’t be nothing good, not for that amount of money, but it was easier than I thought it’d be.’

  ‘What were you expecting?’ I asked, curious.

  ‘From the state of her hands, I thought she’d been trying to dig something up. Something buried maybe. So, when she said what she wanted, it didn’t seem a big deal. easy just to take something from a kid.’

  ‘Did she describe me to you?’ I asked.

  Piper shook his head. ‘Nah. She just pointed. You were walking through the town square right at that moment.’

  The sensation I had then was as though a large spider had crawled over the back of my neck. So, even when I thought I’d escaped Dolly earlier, I’d been wrong. She’d been watching me from a distance. But how did she even know who I was? Had she been watching before today, too?

  ‘She came up to me earlier,’ I said quietly. ‘She was trying to get me to give the notebook to her – she told me her name was Dolly and that she was a friend of Alice’s. I didn’t believe her.’

  What would she want with the notebook, though? Gypsy wrote.

  Piper shrugged. ‘Seems like there’s a lot of people who want it. Gypsy, you and this Dolly. And, if you lot want it, then there’s bound to be more who are looking for it, too.’

  I didn’t like the idea of that at all.

  Gypsy flapped the notepad, drawing everyone’s attention back.

  What about the notebook? What did it look like? How big was it?

  ‘Pretty small,’ said Piper. ‘But thick, and well made, not cheap. Stitched together, not glued, but so well used the binding was falling apart. Some pages were missing.’

  I kept my eyes on Piper, not daring to look at Gypsy. I couldn’t let her know I had the missing pages. They were all I had. I didn’t want to risk losing them, too.

  How many were missing? My voice croaked as I read.

  Piper fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. I wondered, as he couldn’t read, if maybe he was unable to count, either. ‘I dunno.’ He held a thumb and forefinger a tiny distance apart.

  Gypsy seemed to be doing a small sum in her head. She scribbled something, then tapped the page.

  Probably only sixteen pages.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ I asked. Her accurate guess unnerved me.

  Gypsy wrote impatiently. It’s to do with how books are mad
e. My father worked with someone who repaired books. A bookbinder. Sometimes I’d talk to her and she’d tell me about her work. That’s how I know. But it’s just a guess.

  ‘Gypsy?’ Piper’s voice was low. He was half hidden in the shadow of the doorway. ‘I’m . . . sorry, all right? If I’d known you were looking for that story, I’d never have given it away.’

  Gypsy stared at him, her expression unreadable. Perhaps, like me, she was wondering if he was genuinely sorry, or just trying to make things easier on himself.

  ‘You didn’t give it away,’ I said huffily. ‘You sold it! And don’t ever tell me how much you were paid, because it’ll never, ever be enough!’

  Piper shrank back further into the shadows as if they could shield him, but it just made me angrier.

  ‘Anyway, why are you saying sorry to Gypsy? I was the one you stole from. Me! That notebook belongs to my sister, who’s missing. And that story is more important than you can possibly know!’ I broke off as Gypsy took my hand. It was trembling with anger.

  ‘I can make it up to you.’ Piper’s voice was low, unexpected. There was no trace of arrogance now. If anything, he sounded a little afraid.

  ‘How?’ I muttered. ‘Not that you can make things much worse.’

  Piper slid down the door and rested on his haunches. ‘I think Gypsy was right. There weren’t that many pages missing when I took it. But before . . . before I handed it over . . . I pulled out another section.’

  ‘What?’

  Gypsy sat bolt upright. She began writing frantically.

  You’d better not be lying.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I swear.’

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked. ‘Show us.’

  ‘I ain’t got it on me. I knew she’d be suspicious if some of it was missing and ask me to turn out my stuff, so I stashed it.’

  Where? Gypsy scrawled.

  He swallowed. ‘Somewhere close. It’s safe.’

  ‘Why did you take it?’ I asked.

  ‘Dunno. I hadn’t meant to. I only thought of it when I saw part of the book was already missing. I thought if some pages were gone it wouldn’t hurt to take a few more.’ He stopped, clearly reluctant to finish.