The Spin

by Rebecca Lisle

  Sparkit, heedless of Hector’s shouts and anger, was flying up towards the Academy with his prize, but it was an almost vertical climb, and within a few moments his great wings were beating more slowly with the effort.

  Below him, unseen, little Seraphina began to circle. Round and round she flew without any effort or sound as if she’d found an invisible air current that she was riding. Faster and faster she went, then, with no warning, she flew straight at the mountain wall. Stormy toppled to one side, righted himself, threw his arms round her neck, nearly fell, hung on.

  ‘Seraphina!’ he cried, seeing the wall rushing up. ‘Seraphina! No!’

  But at the last moment, just as he thought they’d hit the rock, she twisted and, using her strong legs, ricocheted off the wall with a harsh metallic sound as hooves hit stone. Stormy shuddered at the impact. He was almost knocked off her back, but clung on. Seraphina darted across to the chasm to the next wall and sprang off that in the same way. Then she bounced off another wall, turned and vaulted off the next. Each leap gave her more power and more speed. Now she accelerated until she was going so fast she didn’t touch the sides at all, but began to spiral upwards, like a corkscrew rising up on a whirlpool of air.

  The Spin! She was doing the Spin!

  Stormy laughed out loud. ‘Seraphina! You star!’

  Round and round they whizzed, as if they were in a vortex.

  Hector’s goggled face peering down at them was full of horror and amazement.

  Seraphina came whirling up with her wings tucked in close to her side. She was a rocket. A torpedo. A bullet. She shot straight into Sparkit’s underbelly –

  Whoosh!

  There was a tremendous collision of body against body and Sparkit somersaulted backwards. Hector yelped and dived forward, locking his arms round Sparkit’s neck. The Silver Sword fell from his grasp.

  And Sparkit dropped Mungo.

  The grubbin plummeted like a stone, tumbling over and over into the valley below, screaming as he went, a whirl of legs and arms, like a broken wheel.

  Seraphina shot after him.

  Sparkit was winded and flew this way and that in confusion. He was giddy and dazed by the impact. All Hector could think about was his trophy and he jabbed his finger at the fallen Silver Sword. It was lodged in a crevice a few hundred metres below them, shining, tantalising, a dream.

  ‘That way!’ he screamed. ‘The Sword!’

  But Sparkit only had eyes for the grubbin. He went for Mungo again.

  Now the two spitfyres were racing to reach Mungo, who was still plummeting through the air.

  Sparkit jetted out plumes of fire and smoke but Seraphina was nimble as a flea and zigzagged out of his way. She shot down through the gulley like a meteor, faster than Sparkit and more nimble.

  Go, Seraphina, go, Stormy urged her.

  Mungo was caught on the branches of a small tree jutting out of the hillside. He was flapping like a bit of washing, yelping and shouting.

  Seraphina glided in beneath him, hovering with her wings beating gently. Sparkit was coming.

  ‘Jump!’ Stormy yelled.

  The dangling grubbin squealed, let go of his branch and dropped down behind Stormy. He fastened his arms round him like a crab. Sparkit was seconds behind them. He belched out balls of fire that came rolling through the air at them, but too late, and only the little tree went up in a blaze of orange flames.

  Seraphina was away, flying fast. She zigzagged upwards, quickly avoiding the fireballs that Sparkit spat towards her. Stormy was dizzy; he hardly knew which was the sky and which was the ground. His ears hummed and his throat was dry.

  ‘Well done, my sky-rider!’ the grubbin wheezed in his ear. ‘That’s my boy!’ He wrapped his arms more tightly round him.

  Seraphina flew over the courtyard walls and into the square, where the students were peering up into the sky. They cheered as they saw the first flying horse appear. Stormy could hear surprise that it was his spitfyre in their shouts and cries of amazement.

  Seraphina slowed and landed gently, tucking in her wings as she touched down. She was breathing heavily and her legs almost gave way beneath her as she righted herself. Her chest heaved and throbbed. She was burning hot. Stormy peeled off his helmet and goggles and wiped the sweat from his face.

  Sparkit came next, roaring, billowing fire and smoke so he was almost invisible inside the cloud of grey. The students scattered, taking shelter as he skidded into the square.

  Sparkit galloped across the yard towards Seraphina, his hooves ringing out loud and hard on the stones. The whites of his eyes showed; dense, dark smoke curled from his nostrils. He snapped his jaws and spat out fire.

  Seraphina backed into the corner near the tower. The grubbin clutched tighter at Stormy, whimpering.

  ‘Stop him, Hector! Stop your spitfyre!’ Stormy cried.

  ‘I can’t. It’s the grubbin he wants. Just hand over the grubbin,’ Hector shouted. ‘It’s the only thing that’ll stop him. It’s his life’s blood now. He needs them. He must have them.’

  ‘He can’t have this one!’ Stormy yelled.

  ‘What’s going on?’ It was the Director. He flung back the door and marched down the steps.

  ‘Control your spitfyre, Hector!’ Mr Jacobs shouted, running along behind the Director. ‘Keep him back!’

  ‘I can’t!’ Hector was pulling on the reins and digging in his heels but Sparkit was incensed, like something possessed. Steam rose from his glistening coat. He tossed his head and let out a shrill whinny that set Stormy’s teeth on edge. Sparkit was edging closer, snapping again and again at Seraphina, at the wall and now at Mr Jacobs as he tried to get near.

  ‘If you can’t –’ Mr Jacobs took a dart from his pocket. ‘I shall have to quieten him, Hector,’ he warned. ‘Do something, or I shall have to.’

  ‘No, don’t do that!’ Hector roared. ‘Sparkit, Sparkit, down. Down. Relax!’

  Mr Jacobs was already fitting a dart to his gun and aiming it. ‘This is your last warning . . .’

  ‘Sparkit, relax!’ But Sparkit did not. Could not.

  Hector jumped off his back, just as the dart hit Sparkit’s neck. Almost instantly the spitfyre’s front legs buckled. The rest of his great body slowly began to crumple, his neck flopped, his head hit the stone with a thonk and he toppled to the ground in a dead sleep.

  Hector strode towards the Director. ‘So much for your vitamins,’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ he sneered. ‘Nothing!’

  ‘What vitamins?’ Mr Jacob asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea at all,’ the Director said quickly. ‘Where’s the sword? What have you done with the Silver Sword?’ He looked round at the gathering of students.

  ‘The Director does know about the vitamins, Mr Jacobs,’ Stormy interrupted. ‘He knows everything.’ The grubbin shivered behind him as he went on. ‘The vitamins are a drug. A yellow powder, and they give it to the Star Squad spitfyres. It makes them catch grubbins. That’s what the Star Squad do. They bring the molemen here, take their money and –’

  ‘Be quiet, boy. Where are the others?’ the Director interrupted. ‘And where, Hector, is my Silver Sword?’

  ‘Just a moment –’ Mr Jacobs tried, but couldn’t get a word in.

  ‘Hector cheated,’ Stormy started to say, pointing at Hector. ‘He –’

  But Hector was just as quick. ‘The others had to retire. Injured. Stormy lost – they’ll all back me up. Stormy was last to land on Moleman Mount and he’s trying to deny it. He doesn’t want me to have his stupid spitfyre. Sparkit and I were just trying to –’

  Mr Jacobs rubbed his bald head nervously. ‘I don’t understand. Could you –’

  ‘Where is the sword?’ the Director said very precisely and now his voice was icy cold. ‘Where is the Silver Sword, Hector?’

  ‘The sword fell. I got it, but it fell and . . .’

  The Director’s expression was ghastly, all colour drained from his face. ‘You have to bring it
here. That’s the condition.’ He wiped his hands slowly over his face and shook his head. ‘Hector, Hector, have you any idea what you’ve done? I put a fortune on you winning. So did your father. We’re ruined. You’ve ruined us.’

  ‘But why was Sparkit attacking you, Stormy?’ asked Mr Jacobs. ‘That’s what I don’t understand.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ the Director snapped.

  Mungo abruptly slipped out from his hiding place. ‘Because of me.’ He dropped down to the ground and waved his arms to get their attention. ‘Hey there! Hey! Listen to me!’ he cried. ‘Listen to what I have to say!’

  ‘My God, it’s Mungo!’ the Director whispered. He staggered backwards as Mungo came towards him.

  ‘You know this moleman?’ Mr Jacobs asked, amazed. ‘How is that possible?’

  The Director’s eyes grew hideously round, as if they were about to pop out of his head. His lips and nose became pinched and tight as the horror of the situation grew on him. ‘Where are the guards? Guards!’ he called hoarsely. ‘There’s a grubbin in the Academy! Guards?’

  Stormy jumped down from Seraphina’s back.

  ‘This is Mungo Muddiman, the Director’s brother,’ he said very loudly, to make sure the students peering from the open windows and door heard too. ‘That’s right, this grubbin is his brother, and the Director had him locked up in the dungeon. You don’t need guards, Director. This is your brother,’ Stormy said. ‘Now everyone knows your secret, don’t they?’

  ‘No, no, of course not, no guards.’ The Director tried to smile. ‘Stormy hasn’t been here long,’ he said, in a false cheery voice. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I suggest we go into my office and discuss this.’ He spun round and headed quickly towards the house. ‘Follow me, Mr Jacobs.’

  ‘Just a minute . . .’ Mr Jacobs said.

  The gatehouse door opened and was flung back against the wall with a loud crash. Mr and Mrs Small ran out. ‘Hang on! Hang on there!’ shouted Mr Small. He cartwheeled across the yard and spun into a backflip, landing right in front of the Director, blocking his path.

  ‘That grubbin is his brother!’ Mr Small said, pointing a finger at the Director. ‘The Director is a liar.’

  ‘Yes he is,’ Mrs Small, said. ‘We know. We knew Mungo from long ago. It’s all true.’

  ‘How can you believe these two, these littles, I mean . . .’ The Director began to edge backwards towards the house.

  But everyone did believe them. The truth was written in the littles’ round, honest faces. And the Director’s guilt was obvious.

  ‘Thank you, my dear vertically challenged friend,’ Mungo said. ‘Sylvester is my brother. Always has been, always will be; that’s the sad truth. He locked me up because he didn’t want anyone to see what he really was: half-grubbin. He’s a thief, liar, cheat . . .’

  ‘And he was training his Star Squad to rid the world of grubbins!’ Stormy shouted, just in case they hadn’t understood.

  ‘These are serious accusations,’ Mr Jacobs said nervously, looking from one person to another. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Seraphina had been puffing out orange sparky smoke, her eyes fixed on the Director. Now she began to shift towards him, inching closer and closer. Suddenly she charged the last three paces between them and jumped up, pushing him over with her front legs, toppling him as if he were a toy and treading him flat on the ground.

  The Director opened his mouth but had no breath to speak.

  ‘See!’ Mr Small shouted. ‘She knows what’s what!’

  Stormy thought the Director’s eyes were going to pop right out of his head.

  ‘Stormy, remove your spitfyre,’ Mr Jacobs said, but without much conviction.

  ‘No, keep him there,’ Mungo said. ‘Hold him tight. He’s not going to squirm out of this!’

  Stormy went on talking quickly, fearing that if he didn’t speak up now he might not get another chance.

  ‘The Director has filled the dungeons with innocent grubbins,’ he said. ‘He’s stolen their money. He’s been deceiving you all!’

  ‘I knew there was a lot of money,’ Mr Jacobs said. ‘I heard the spitfyres went out at night. Oh, dear, why did I never enquire . . .?’

  ‘They have been feeding them some nasty concoction made by Brittel, down in Otto’s kitchen,’ Stormy said. ‘It makes them mean and horrid and determined to go after grubbins.’

  ‘I did wonder, did worry, but not enough,’ Mr Jacobs admitted, stopping as he saw Mr and Mrs Small running towards the door to the dungeons.

  ‘Let them out!’ roared Mr Small.

  The guards had slunk away at the first sign of trouble; no one was protecting the cellars now.

  Stormy and Mungo ran to help the littles unlock the door. Minutes later the noise of clanking chains and stunned voices filled the air.

  The grubbins were free!

  A crowd of convicts came up. They emerged blinking in the light and rubbing at their sore arms and legs, tugging their ragged clothes over their dirty bodies.

  ‘I should have known,’ Mr Jacobs said. ‘And there are so many! Poor things. What a fool I’ve been.’

  Mungo bobbed around amongst the prisoners and patted one or two on their backs, greeting old friends. ‘Grand to see you! It’s a good day, a fine day. It’s all over, done with,’ he said. ‘You’re free. Sylvester is finished.’

  The grubbins cheered when they saw the Director trapped beneath the spitfyre’s hooves. ‘Down in the dirt where he belongs,’ one said.

  ‘What shall we do with them?’ Mr Jacobs said.

  ‘What shall you do?’ Mungo cried. ‘Why nothing, Mr Teacher. They do as they want to do themselves. They are living things like you and me and shall go free and live their lives as they wish to. Digging gold and silver and living where they wish and how they wish. That’s what they’ll do.’

  ‘And what about him?’ Mr Jacobs pointed at the Director, whose face was turning blue.

  ‘Will you take him, Mr Jacobs?’ Stormy said. ‘Make sure that he leaves the Academy and never comes back? He should never be able to work with spitfyres again.’

  Mr Jacobs nodded. He beckoned to the other teachers, who had gathered on the Academy steps but had not yet had the courage to come down and find out what was going on.

  ‘Come and help,’ he called. ‘Tell your spitfyre to release the Director, Stormy. What a day! I suppose this will be the end of the Academy,’ he added sadly. ‘I’ll have the Director escorted off the premises later. Everyone leave the courtyard, please. Back to your rooms; no more excitement for today. I’ll take over now.’

  38

  End

  As Mr Bones came over to help Mr Jacobs with the Director, Mungo ran over to him.

  ‘Brother, brother,’ he said, catching hold of the Director’s free hand. ‘One moment, please.’

  The Director snatched his hand free. ‘Don’t touch me!’

  ‘All right. All right, but listen, all these years I’ve thought about my wife and daughter,’ Mungo said. ‘I must know what happened to them. Please.’

  Mungo had begged Stormy to try and find out about his family and Stormy had done nothing. Except, he thought, smiling, quite by chance he had found something out. Something wonderful that would please Mungo no end.

  The Director stared ahead coldly, refusing to look into Mungo’s face. ‘Your wife died,’ he said. ‘And daughter? What daughter?’

  ‘You know there was a daughter!’ Mungo cried. ‘Don’t deny it. Don’t take away the only reason I’ve gone on living. Hoping to see her again. Hoping and praying she were alive . . .’

  Mrs Small stopped him with a gentle touch on this arm. ‘Of course you have a daughter. That’s your daughter, right there!’ she said.

  She was pointing at Maud.

  Maud was like a ghost. She didn’t move. She had been watching and listening from the shadows, as she always did, and now she came forward hesitantly, staring at Mungo.

  ‘She is your d
aughter, Mungo,’ Stormy shouted, unable to stop himself butting in. ‘Listen to me! I know she is. Look at the dimples! Same dimples! She’s your daughter, all right!’

  Mungo stared at Maud. A smile cracked his face and lit it up as if a torch had been shone on it. He knew his own daughter when he saw her. He tottered over to Maud and reached out a trembling hand to her.

  ‘Little Maudie,’ he whispered.

  For a second Stormy feared Maud might be appalled at having a grubbin father, and at this moment Mungo was a very dirty grubbin, his clothes torn and his hair wild, but it was just the shock that held her back for a few seconds. Suddenly she smiled, dimples and all, and, taking a white ribbon from her hair, she handed it to Mungo as if it were a fine trophy.

  ‘I knew you’d find me in the end,’ she said.

  Mungo put his arms round her and hugged her.

  ‘I don’t care about him!’ Mungo said, nodding at the Director. ‘He is nothing to me. Now I’ve got me own dearest daughter, I don’t care about anything. And it’s all thanks to this lad here,’ he added, patting Stormy on the back. ‘Our hero.’

  Stormy stared at the floor.

  ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on your face, boy,’ the Director said as Mr Jacob took one arm and Mr Bones took the other and they tried to move him on. The Director refused to budge. He went on addressing Stormy, staring at him intently, as if he was really seeing Stormy for the first time. ‘Or I wish that I’d set eyes on you earlier, when you were younger . . . I could have moulded you into the perfect grubbin chaser. The most daring sky-rider ever! You would have been putty in my hands.’

  ‘I never would! I never would have been!’ Stormy said.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ the Director said. ‘But I know. You are a born sky-rider. You are a whisperer. Now you’ll be nothing, because I’ll make sure of that! I’m not finished. You’ll see!’

  ‘Never mind him,’ Mungo said, putting his arm round Stormy. ‘Never mind anything.’