Riding on the stream of flakes had come two large wasps.
How could wasps possibly have found their way into a sealed bag?
They were sitting in the bowl on the heap of frosted flakes, feasting on the sugar. They waved their horrid antennae at her and seemed to guzzle. Bindi wanted to shout at them and shoo them away, but she was afraid of them.
She left them there and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted to jump back into bed and pretend the day hadn’t started yet, because so far it had been worse than her bad dreams in the night.
But just as she was going to jump into bed, she stopped.
Lying on her pillow, in the dent where her head had been, was the rose twig.
4
The Necklace
She stared at it from a little way away. Well, it certainly was magic, that was for sure. How else could it have arrived here? And if it was magic, it must be from Tiki. Or Wijic, getting up to his tricks. It was babyish to be afraid of a twig.
She reached out her hand and picked it up.
It lay in her hand, a dull, harmless rose stem with the petals gone and just the green leaf-things at the top, like a star, and a yellow pad half hidden among them.
She touched the pad. Some yellow stuff came off on her finger. Pollen. Well. That was natural enough. Maybe it was just an ordinary little twig after all.
She put the twig on her bedside table and got dressed. Then she found that the yellow stuff was still on her finger. She wiped it on the side of her school skirt. It left a long streak that glittered like gold.
She didn’t say anything about the twig to her parents. She didn’t know why she didn’t, she just didn’t. When her mother asked why she’d poured out a bowl of cereal and not eaten it, she just said, “I found I wasn’t hungry after all.”
There was something else she didn’t tell them. When she went to the bathroom to clean her teeth, she squeezed a wasp out onto her toothbrush with the paste.
She went to school with her teeth unbrushed.
She was early. She found some of her friends in the playground, and almost as soon as she reached them, one of them, a girl called Manda, said, “What’s that hanging out of your pocket?”
Bindi looked down at the side of her skirt. Dangling from her pocket was something that gleamed. She pulled it out. It was heavy in her hand. She held it out, and Manda gasped, and the others crowded round.
“Where on earth did you get that? Is it your mother’s?”
It was a gold necklace. Most of it was gold. It had some dark brown gemstones in it too. The gold parts were pointed, like little curved knives, or an animal’s teeth. Or (but that was silly) like big stings.
“It’s not my mother’s,” said Bindi.
“Did you get it for your birthday?”
Bindi didn’t answer. The dark gemstones were shiny. They had a gold stripe across them. They seemed to be staring at her, like round eyes. She hated the necklace—hated it. She wanted to throw it away.
“Put it on, put it on!” the others were saying.
She didn’t want to put it on. It was the last thing she wanted to do. But one of the girls snatched it out of her hand and quickly fastened it round Bindi’s neck.
The moment it was on her, Bindi felt something strange. The necklace seemed to cling to her; the pointy bits stuck into her like little sharp claws, but oddly enough they didn’t hurt. She just had the feeling she couldn’t take it off again even if she tried.
All the others stood back. They’d gone oddly quiet.
“You should have worn that when you played the queen,” said one girl. “It shines, like real jewelry.”
“It wouldn’t have gone with the pink dress,” said Manda. “I think it’s ugly. Take it off, Bindi.”
Bindi started to put up her hands to take it off, but suddenly she heard a shrill, high voice, not like her own voice at all, saying, “I won’t. I like it. It’s beautiful. I’m going to wear it always.”
All the other children stared at her. Manda, who was her best friend, took a step backward. A boy called Keith, who normally never stopped teasing and bullying her, said, “Well, you’d better button your blouse right up to cover it or Miss Abbott’ll make you take it off.” And Bindi’s hands, which had felt frozen to her sides a minute ago, moved by themselves up to her neck and hid the necklace under her school blouse.
All day at school, Bindi felt the necklace clinging to her. But the warmth of her skin didn’t take away its coldness. She couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork at all. All she could think of was the necklace. Part of her longed to tear it off and throw it as far away from her as she could. But another part of her couldn’t and wouldn’t.
She was told off four times during the day for being lazy and not paying attention. She stared at her reading book and couldn’t make sense of it. She did her math, but every single sum came out wrong, so wrong that the teacher said she was just being silly. She refused to do P.E. Usually she quite enjoyed it (as long as it wasn’t jumping the horse), but today she pretended to be ill and sat out.
The only nice thing that happened all day was that Keith didn’t tease her or bully her. In fact he seemed to be trying to make friends with her. She couldn’t stand him usually but today she felt different about him. On the other hand, Manda kept away from her.
After school, Bindi walked slowly to the gate. Keith had suggested they meet at the shops. She could see Manda watching. They lived on the same street and they usually went home together, either with Jan or with Manda’s mother, whoever came to get them. Today it was Manda’s mother. Bindi pretended not to see her and set off toward the shops. She heard footsteps running behind her.
“Bindi!”
She stopped. Manda’s mother ran up to her.
“Where do you think you’re off to?” she panted.
“I’m not coming home today,” Bindi heard herself say. “I’m meeting Mummy.”
“Jan didn’t say anything to me about that. I think you’d better come with us.”
“No,” said Bindi. “Mummy told me not to go home with you. She’s waiting for me.” And she ran off in the opposite direction from home.
She slowed down when she got round the corner. Her heart was thumping and she felt very strange. Her feet had hardly touched the ground. It was as if … as if the necklace had been pulling her along, pulling her almost through the air. She had a funny feeling that if she really needed to, she could fly.
She walked to the shops. She kept trying to think about what she was doing. She had told a complete lie to Manda’s mother. As a matter of fact she’d been telling lies all day, to the teachers, to the other children … to herself, even. One bit of her mind knew very clearly that the necklace was causing her to behave like this—to change. Another part of her was enjoying it. The two parts of her mind seemed to be fighting each other. It was giving her a headache.
At the shops she met Keith. The first thing he did was give her a fruit-and-nut bar.
“Where’d you get it?” Bindi asked.
“Nicked it, didn’t I,” Keith said, boldly.
Bindi thought, “Yesterday I’d have been shocked. I’d have given it right back to him.” Today she wasn’t shocked and she ate the chocolate and wished there were more.
“How do you nick things?” she heard herself ask.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Keith said.
He led her to the paper shop.
“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“Naaaaa,” said Keith.
As they walked into the shop and Bindi saw all the sweets laid out, the necklace was quivering round her neck, digging its spikes into her. It was just as if it were saying, “Go on, go on!” the way you might if you were watching an exciting film.
Bindi’s heart was beating. Her hands were trembling. She saw Keith glance round and then put his schoolbag down on the display of sweets. He dawdled about for a while, and then picked it up again.
“Here! You—boy! None o
f that—I saw you!”
Keith jumped with fright and dropped the bag, and a Clark bar fell on the floor with it. He started to run away, but the shopkeeper, a very big Sikh with a turban and a fierce-looking rolled black beard, grabbed him.
“You are a thief! I am going to call the police!” he was roaring as he shook Keith back and forth furiously.
Everyone in the shop took sides. In the end the Sikh let Keith off, because he cried and swore he’d never done it before and would never do it again. But the shopkeeper told him not to come back into the shop, and pushed him out, throwing his schoolbag out after him.
Bindi sneaked out too. She had kept very quiet. She’d also been very busy.
As she and Keith crept off down the road, she passed him the Clark bar she had stolen while all the fuss had been going on. In her schoolbag were two Mars bars, a Snickers and a Heath bar.
5
More Toys!
When Bindi got home, she ran straight up to her room without saying hello to her mother and tipped out her bag. The stolen chocolate bars tumbled onto her bed with her books.
She looked at them for a moment or two. The points on the necklace stuck into her gleefully, seeming to say: “Go on, go on!” She ate one of the Mars bars. Then half the Snickers. She was full, but the necklace was still urging her on. “More! More!”
“But if I eat the lot, I’ll have none left,” Bindi said aloud.
Her eyes fell on something lying on the table by her head. It was the rose twig.
Bindi felt no fear of it now. She put out her hand at once and snatched it up. The thorns stuck into her hand, but they didn’t hurt. And she knew exactly what she had to do.
Holding the twig like a wand, she tapped it on the Heath bar. In a flash, it became two. She did the same with the others. They doubled themselves. More. More. Another tap—ten bars—twenty!
Bindi felt a wild sense of excitement. She tapped again. The bed was overflowing with chocolate bars. They began to tumble to the floor.
She could do anything with this! She could have anything. Anything she liked. She looked round the room. In one corner was her wooden toy box. She ran across to it and hit the lid with the top of the twig.
“More toys!” she cried. “I want more toys!”
The next second, the lid burst open. Like a volcano erupting, out poured a mass of toys—dolls, stuffed animals, puppets grinning at her, games of every sort and size. They flowed and tumbled onto the floor and piled up around Bindi’s feet.
Instead of stopping, Bindi kept hitting out with the twig again and again, and the more she did it the more toys came. She only paused when a magnificent doll, as big as a real baby, shot up out of the toy box and landed in her hands. It was oddly dressed in purple satin and gold lace. Its eyes opened as Bindi straightened it. They glowed like green lamps.
An awful feeling went through Bindi. She threw the doll on the bed, but its eyes didn’t close. They stayed open, staring at her.
And suddenly she was frightened. All excitement left her. The twig was still clinging to her hand. She felt the necklace throbbing round her neck. She tried to tear it off. Like the thorns of the twig, the sharp gold spikes dug into her. She shook her hand frantically to shake the twig off, but it clung to her. As she shook, it banged again and again on the heap of toys, which were still boiling up out of the box. Jan was down in the kitchen. She didn’t know Bindi had come home. Now, suddenly, Jan heard Bindi calling. She’d never heard her voice sound like that.
Jan hobbled out of the room and tried to run upstairs. She could hear Bindi screaming, “Mummy, Mummy! Come quickly!” But Jan couldn’t come quickly—her lame leg wouldn’t let her. She had to go up the stairs one step at a time. It was like the worst kind of bad dream, when you have to run, and you can’t.
At last Jan reached Bindi’s bedroom door. She tried to throw it open. The handle turned, but something was jamming the door. She cried through the crack, “What is it, love? I’m here!” Bindi was not screaming any words now. She was just screaming. Jan pushed and pushed against the door but she hadn’t the strength to open it. She was helpless.
Suddenly she heard footsteps running up the stairs behind her, and there was Charlie. He didn’t stop to ask questions. He threw himself against the door with all his weight. There was a crash as the wood split. With a great heave, Charlie pulled the broken door off its hinges.
There was a second’s pause. Charlie’s and Jan’s eyes nearly popped out. Then Charlie jumped back, dragging Jan out of the way.
A torrent of toys, like an avalanche, fell out of Bindi’s room. Every kind of toy you can think of. The games came open and the separate parts tumbled everywhere like pebbles among rocks—only the rocks were dolls, and bricks, and trains, and balls, and jump ropes, and puzzles, and computer games. Everything a child might dream of, only it wasn’t a dream. It was more like a nightmare, except that it was real. They were real, solid toys. And somewhere in that bedroom which was flooding with toys was Bindi. She wasn’t screaming anymore. And Charlie, when he scrambled to his feet, knew at once why she wasn’t. She couldn’t scream because the toys were burying her.
Like two mad people, Charlie and Jan began to tear at the toy-mountain. They burrowed into it, throwing toys everywhere. All the time they were shouting, “Bindi! Bindi!” Soon they’d dug a kind of cave in the toys, but the toys kept tumbling down on them. They were both bruised from the sharp edges of the boxes of games, the handles of rackets, the wheels of toy trucks, the hard little heads of dolls.
“It’s too much!” Charlie ground out between his teeth. “There’s too much of it! We can’t—”
But Jan wasn’t digging and struggling anymore. She had suddenly turned in the breaking-up cave and was half crawling back to the door.
“Keep digging, Charlie!” she cried. “I’m going to get help!”
She didn’t try to run downstairs. She leaned on the banister, lifted her feet and slid all the way down on her stomach. She was going to call the police—the fire engine—the ambulance—anything, everything! But when she got downstairs she didn’t do that after all. Instead she ran out into the back garden and yelled, “Tiki! Wijic! Help! Help! Help!”
6
The Tyrant Queen
The day before, on Bindi’s birthday, the roses in full bloom had made the garden bright and scented. Now the whole place had gone dark, because they were all dying. The ground was thick with pink petals. All that was left on the bushes were the hearts of the roses, the green and yellow stars. And buzzing thickly around these bare, sad remains were clouds of wasps.
As Jan stood there, staring round in dismay, a wasp left the heart of a dying rose and flew straight at her. It flew against her face, buzzed harshly and swerved away. Like a warning. She turned her head sharply and hit out at it with her hand. Another wasp did the same thing, and then another. The eighth wasp stung her on the cheek.
Jan cried out. But it wasn’t because of the pain. It was because she suddenly understood.
For eight years the wicked Fairy Queen had been biding her time. Or perhaps it had taken her this long to find the child that Tiki had helped to be born. And now she was taking her revenge—she, and the wasps. Jan knew now why the rose twig had not been there this morning when she had gone out to look for it. She even guessed where it was. Bindi had it. It was with Bindi, up there, in her bedroom.
Ignoring the wasps that were now buzzing furiously round her, Jan ran right into the midst of them, down the garden path. Halfway, she turned and looked back up at the house. The window of Bindi’s room was blocked with toys. As Jan gazed, there was the crash of glass. The window panes had burst. A shower of glass and toys rained down the wall of the house and smashed on the patio. Only a moment before, Jan had been standing on that spot.
She ran to the bottom of the garden with the wasps buzzing after her. Without stopping to think, she headed for the one thing—the single link she had with the Fairy Queen who was doing all this. The holly bus
h. She grabbed it with both hands, ignoring the prickles, and shook it, shouting into thin air:
“All right, you Queen! That’s enough! Stop it! Stop it now. What more do you want? Do you want to kill us all? Are you so cruel? Do you hear me, Queen of the Fairies? Stop!”
And it stopped. All of it. Everything stopped.
The wasps stopped in midair. Turning her head, Jan saw another shower of toys falling from Bindi’s window. They stopped halfway down. Just stopped, as if someone had pinned them to the wall behind them. Everything—the grass, the trees, the rosebushes—seemed to rush away from Jan into a dark mist. There was a deadly, deadly silence in the garden.
Jan was all alone, gripping the holly prickles. She slowly let them go. The bush didn’t spring back—it didn’t move. Nothing moved. There wasn’t a sound, until a high, thin, thrilling voice close to Jan suddenly said:
“Are you speaking to me?”
Jan turned to look.
And there she was. Jan knew at once that this was the Queen.
She was sitting level with Jan’s face on a strange brown throne. It took Jan a second to realize it was made entirely of wasps, piled on top of one another, and that it stood on a tall wasp tower.
The Queen was bigger than Tiki. She was about the size of Jan’s middle finger. She wore a long dress the colors of oil when it’s floating on water—every color there is—glinting and gleaming and ever changing. She wore a glistening crown of wasps’ stings.
But it was her wings that fascinated Jan. They were enormous for her size, as dark and gleaming as polished metal, with shaped edges and long sharp points. They moved slowly, like a butterfly’s wings when it’s resting. Sometimes they were behind her, but sometimes they opened out on each side of her. When they did that, Jan could see a pattern on them, like two big, cold eyes. It was these eyes Jan looked at, not the Queen’s real, tiny eyes. When those false eyes were on her, Jan felt frozen. She couldn’t speak or move.
The Fairy Rebel Page 6
