by Kim Newman
Several of Amy’s uncles had slunk off after Mother told them, ‘It’s not that you did that thing… it’s that you didn’t tell me.’ In every case, the issue absolutely was that the rotters had done that thing. Uncle Simon borrowed the Wedgewood dinner service on the pretence of finding a match for a chipped plate then pawned it to buy a banjo. Uncle Peasegood was seen boarding the Brighton train with a barmaid from The Hand and Racquet when he was supposed to be spending Bank Holiday weekend in Troon attending an ailing Archbishop.
Amy pressed her card face down on the desktop.
Miss Kratides showed no concern.
Thorn’s card burned in a flare. She stuffed the black ashy bits into the inkwell.
‘Get out your Time-Table Books and pens,’ said Miss Kratides. ‘From Monday, the Remove will meet every afternoon, here in Windward Cottage. I advise you to cut Break short and be here at half past three sharp. Tardiness on the part of any girl will mean Black Notches for the whole class…’
Hisses of disbelief.
‘Absence, for any reason other than death or dismemberment, will result in expulsion – without refund of fees. Those of you who have mummies or daddies will have an idea how such news would be received at home.’
Hands went up. Miss Kratides ignored them.
‘These aren’t my rules, so don’t try to debate them with me. If you have complaints, Dr Swan will receive you. I can assure you, from unhappy personal experience, that there will be little profit in visiting the Swanage with a moan. Headmistress is perfect. The school is perfect. Any complaint, therefore, is an indication that the complainant is in error… which, when you are facing Myrna Swan, is not a comfortable situation.’
Hands went down.
‘Score through whatever lessons you used to have in that slot,’ continued the teacher. ‘From now on, in that period, you’ll be mine. I have posted a schedule for personal tutorials. These will be a great part of your future education. Dr Swan has faith in the potential of the Remove – in each of you. She also has concerns that a drift to slackness has put that potential at risk. We are all going to see a lot of each other and we are all going to learn our lessons.’
Amy realised everything had just changed. Again.
V: Secrets
AFTER SUPPER THE Moth Club convened an extraordinary meeting. Only one item was on the agenda: Miss Kratides’ Game of Secrets. Amy’s envelope was snug in her inside front blazer pocket. Light Fingers was last to sit at the baize-topped folding table that barely fit into the square between their cots. She’d nipped around the dorms double-fast, to see how others in the Remove were faring.
Knowles, ash-faced, peeped into the cell and asked casually if anyone had seen Devlin. No one had. Desdemona Fifths seldom had reason to visit the Fourth corridor. The visitor lingered on their threshold a moment longer than necessary, but didn’t volunteer any secrets or boldly ask after theirs. The Moth Club didn’t ask Knowles in or shoo her off, just waited. Unsatisfied, she drifted away, muttering as she did when crammed facts poured out of her mind like flour through a sieve.
Kali got up and firmly shut the door, then returned to her place.
‘Devlin’s on the sick list, by the way,’ said Frecks. ‘She’s had a relapse and come over all floppy again.’
‘I’m surprised Knowles doesn’t know that,’ said Amy.
‘She does,’ said Frecks. ‘That was a fishing expedition.’
‘So was my night patrol,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Miss Kratides said espionage was allowed. We live in a glass house now.’
In only one lesson, their new teacher had turned all the Remove into twitching snoops.
Light Fingers reported that Frost and Thorn were on the outs. Amy supposed they’d been given each other’s secrets and whatever was written on their cards was shocking enough to blot their friendship. Conversely, De’Ath and Light were in a huddle, negotiating on terms of new intimacy. If they’d exchanged secrets, the swap brought them closer together rather than drove them apart.
‘Psychological warfare,’ said Light Fingers. ‘To set us against each another. Miss Kratides’ secrets don’t even have to be the truth to hurt.’
‘Though they sting more if they are,’ said Frecks.
‘Yes,’ said Light Fingers. ‘In my case, it is and it does.’
‘It could be that telling the truth in the first secret is a way of getting you to believe the second,’ suggested Amy.
‘That’s too clever by half,’ said Kali.
‘Which wouldn’t be half as clever as Moria Kratides thinks she is,’ said Frecks. ‘The woman can hum, I’ll give her that. But who’s to say about the rest of it? Wasn’t she a duffer as a girl?’
Frecks, for once, didn’t sound convincing.
‘She didn’t knuckle under,’ said Light Fingers, ‘but that doesn’t mean she was a Dim.’
‘I’m not sure I even understand my secret,’ said Amy.
‘But is it true?’ Frecks asked.
Amy thought about it. ‘The wording is odd. It’s not something concrete, like water is wet or lollipops are sweet…’
‘You don’t say,’ put in Kali, pantomiming astonishment.
‘I’m told I’m right about something… No, I’m told I’m right to feel something about something. It’s not a clear-cut true-or-false secret like “the diamonds are hidden in the chandelier” or “Uncle Frewin already has a wife in Canada”.’
‘For example,’ prompted Frecks.
‘Yes, for example,’ said Amy. ‘On top of that, my second secret is a double conundrum. Oh, I think it’s about you, Emma.’
Light Fingers wasn’t shocked.
‘My second secret definitely isn’t about you,’ she said. ‘I mean, I don’t think it possibly could be. No offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘So they’re not all straight swaps,’ said Frecks. ‘Miss Kratides has mixed things up to make it more amusing. How delightful. I can see this game catching on at weekend parties… like the country house dos in Carleton Knowles books, where the host turns up dead under the compost heap and everyone has a motive but nobody could have done it.’
Amy kept touching her envelope, then pretending she had an itch under her arm which needed scratching.
‘Ah, this is Nicholas Ridicholas,’ said Kali, slapping her card down. ‘Come on, kittens, follow suit. We won’t get any shuteye unless we put all our cards on the table.’
Frecks put her card down too – white side up, like Kali’s.
Light Fingers matched them.
They all looked at Amy. Going last in this game made her friends think she was hiding something terrible.
Which she didn’t think she was.
‘Fess up, Amy,’ said Frecks.
‘Yeah, full house or no house,’ said Kali, hand over her card.
Amy opened her blazer and fished her secrets out of her pocket with a mentacle.
‘Show-off,’ said Frecks.
She was too clumsy to open the envelope without using her fingers. Two weeks ago, that would have been a simple party piece. Since the Great Game, the trick was beyond her.
She slipped her card out and laid it down carefully.
They all took deep breaths.
‘Ready,’ said Kali.
‘Steady,’ said Frecks.
‘Aim,’ said Amy.
‘Fire!’ said Light Fingers.
A moment’s hesitation, then a turning-over of cards. The Moth Club sat back with arms crossed, waiting for the ceiling to fall.
Amy knew her own secrets.
You are right to be afraid of the Broken Doll.
She will blame you for not telling what you know about Laurence.
Now she read the others – as they read hers.
Light Fingers had:
You refuse to visit your father in prison.
She could use her Talent to heal the sick – but won’t.
Kali had:
Your mother is alive.
Her f
ather makes plans to murder her.
Frecks had:
You hate your blessing.
She has cause to hurt you all.
They all looked at each other.
‘It’s true,’ said Light Fingers, with relief. ‘I stopped visiting Dad last term. I know I shouldn’t, but I blame him for being where he is. Not Mum so much… but Dad… He was a headliner. He performed before the King and Queen in the Royal Variety Show. He didn’t have to be a crook. You don’t hear of Nervo and Knox or the Tiller Girls making off with the silverware or shoving heirlooms under their shirts. With all his Talent, the best Application Dad could think of was burglary. Not Robin Hood, but a sneak thief. Smiling as he lifted jewels. Stealing from awful people, sometimes. But also from folk who were nice to him, invited him to their homes. He didn’t steal for the money, even… but for the thrill, to puff himself up, to show up the slowcoaches. Dad never makes or gives or adds anything… just takes trinkets and sells them cheap. Meeting his fence made me see that. Runcorn Fowley, of Fowley, Fowley and Wisk, Antiques and Estate Clearances. He was at the trial every day. He gave me his card and asked if I planned on taking over “the family business”. Then he smiled, showing his real face for a fragment of a second. Another thing I’ve not told you is that I’ve a new Application. My eyes are fast. I see people’s real faces, expressions that just show in a flash. People give themselves away. Then they cover up, and put on a sham. Fowley’s real smile was a leer. Remember the old man on the beach that time when we were in our bathing costumes and wet and shivering? Fowley’s real smile was like his. You were right to kick the old man where you did, Kali. Fowley’s smile made me knot up inside. I knew then I wasn’t like Dad and didn’t want to be. I’ve been thinking of joining the Women’s Auxiliary Police when we leave school. Dad’ll disown me, but I’ll feel better. I think I have to make up for him.’
Amy, Frecks and Kali were stunned. They’d had no idea how their friend felt.
‘Sorry,’ said Light Fingers. ‘I’ll pipe down now.’
Frecks hugged her and kissed the top of her head.
‘Do you hate your handle now?’ asked Frecks. ‘Because of criminous connotations?’
‘Not at all,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Too late to change anyway.’
‘I hope that’s not true,’ said Frecks.
Amy wondered whether Frecks would prefer to be called Seraph.
‘Kratides is right about the coif, if you doubted it,’ said Frecks. ‘Snaky as she be, our new Miss ain’t been caught in a lie… yet.’
‘But your blessing protects you,’ protested Amy.
‘On its own terms, which ain’t mine. The Lady in the Lake is a colossal prig and her gifts are more nuisance than not. Paladins lumbered with her patent dripping wet swords, shields or magic drinking horns all totter off to bad ends, you’ll have noticed. That went for the original Round Table Mob as much as for the prawns of Pendragon Squadron. The wire-wool is ruination on the hair and has scabbed up my lugholes. See…’
She lifted her locks to show slight reddening of the ears.
‘I wouldn’t notice,’ said Light Fingers.
‘You would. Honest. The blessed thing protects me from all harm… except when it decides to teach me a lesson and harm me itself.’
Frecks turned to Kali and said, ‘So… Ma alive, then?’
Kali shrugged. ‘Hold the front page… I’ve had a letter smuggled out of a lamasery in the Himalayas. The Ma’am says she’s lying low there. When Dear Old Dad sent her to the chopping block, she sweet-talked the family fakir into spiriting her out from under the scimitar and spiriting in some other disposable dame. No one looks too close at the face on a lopped-off noodle, it transpires. I’d have spilled sooner, but the tea smelled too sweet to drink straight off. I suspected a long con and had ideas about the grifter who might be working it – an individual who has the same last name as me. Word from Miss Kratides that the Ma’am’s still got a hatstand on her shoulders is credible corroboration. If I didn’t half believe before, I do now. All the way.’
Amy realised her friends were looking at her.
Not only were their cards on the table – they’d explained their first secrets.
‘So what’s this Broken Doll?’ asked Frecks.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Amy.
The rest of the Moth Club had speeches – almost prepared. She had a bad dream she only vaguely remembered.
‘You had a doll when you came to school,’ said Light Fingers. ‘A doll that got… if not broken, then ripped a bit.’
Amy remembered all too well. Roly Pontoons. A keepsake of her father. Cruelly treated by – ugh – Sidonie Gryce and her Murdering Heathens.
‘Not him,’ said Amy. ‘You sewed his arm and leg back on. He’s safe in my trunk.’
She had a guilt pang. Once, she couldn’t sleep without Roly Pontoons on her pillow. Her private superstition was that he anchored her to her bed. Without the stuffed clown, she might turn insubstantial and float through coverlet, ceiling and attic – then rise into the night sky until the air became too cold and thin to breathe. If Mother tidied Roly away on a shelf, she’d throw a fit. On her first night at Drearcliff Grange, Amy watched in horror as the elder Crowninshield ripped off Roly’s limbs. He was invisibly mended, but not the same. The doll was thrown in with books she didn’t need any more and shoes she’d grown out of. She’d not thought of him in months.
‘This doll is china, not cloth,’ she told the Moth Club. ‘Old-fashioned, like something from when Mother was a girl. I don’t know where I heard of her. Or anything else about her, really.’
‘But you’re afraid of her?’ asked Frecks.
Amy thought of her friend as fearless. Which made her think of herself as timid.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I might be. I suppose it’s a silly secret.’
‘That’s not what’s on the card,’ said Light Fingers. ‘As you said, “the wording is odd”. The secret isn’t that you’re afraid of the Broken Doll, it’s that you’re right to be afraid of the Broken Doll.’
The lights went out and Amy jumped.
At Lights Out, Kaveney – the Desdemona House Captain – yanked a master switch and turned off the electricity throughout the dorms. Then she patrolled the corridors with a battery torch, ensuring all were properly a-bed.
‘Get your feets under them sheets,’ shouted Kaveney. ‘Up early for Chapel.’
Loud groans from Peebles Arbuthnot’s cell next door.
Amy shivered, glad she couldn’t be seen.
Ghost squiggles – in the shape of electric-light filaments – danced across her vision. She got used to the dark and blinked. Across the table, where she knew Frecks was sitting, a white oval appeared. Across it – a forked crack. Around it – long, dark hair. No, shadows in the shape of hair. Velvet black against matt black. In the oval, live eyes opened. Deep, liquid, cunning. Amy was looked over. Unkindly.
The Broken Doll knew her. Knew her for what she was.
A fraud and afraid… No paladin, no exemplar of School Spirit.
A curse. A pest. No Glory. A Death’s Head.
She couldn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t move a mentacle.
A lighter flared. Kali lit an emergency candle.
Frecks – with uncracked face and red hair – sat across from Amy. No one else – nothing else – had taken her seat. Amy saw concern spark in her friend’s eyes.
‘Are you with us?’ she said, snapping fingers under her nose. ‘Or wandering off in the wild woods?’
Amy turned to Light Fingers and asked, ‘Did you see my real face?’
‘You don’t have a false one. Your face always tells the truth. Even when you wear a mask.’
‘I’ve been meaning to talk about that. I’ve had a thought…’
Frecks rapped the table.
‘Matters in hand, Moth Clubbers,’ she said. ‘Our secrets are shared and need no further discussion. That’s not the whole story. We could do wit
h hours and hours of further discussion, and I don’t doubt we’ll get to that – but for the moment we’ve only addressed the first secrets. The easy ones. The set prep is the second secrets. The tricky dickies. Unless I mistake myself, which I think not to be the case, we’re no wiser as to any of them.’
‘Amy, you thought your second secret was about me,’ prompted Light Fingers.
Amy was uncomfortable.
‘I saw that face,’ said Light Fingers. ‘I said you were no good at hiding your thoughts.’
‘I spotted the tell too,’ said Frecks. ‘An almighty Siegfried leaf. Come on, cough up…’
‘What do you know about Laurence you think I’ll blame you for?’ said Light Fingers.
Kali moved the candle nearer her. Now Amy felt like a culprit, hauled in for the third degree. Light Fingers leaned forward.
‘You’ll make a good policewoman,’ Amy told her.
Light Fingers nodded. ‘Nice, but no answer.’
Amy sighed and talked. ‘Something happened in the Game. To a girl from Draycott’s. Poll Sparks. Alias the Glove. An Unusual. A Wrong ’Un. She did for Bok’s knee.’
‘I’ve heard of her,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Packs a punch.’
‘Not any more,’ said Amy. ‘She stuck her glove where she shouldn’t have… Into Larry’s pocket. When she pulled her fist out again, she wasn’t a Wrong ’Un any more. She wasn’t hurt. Not immediately. But her Talent was gone.’
‘For good?’ asked Frecks.
Amy shrugged. ‘I think so. She lost her glove in the Purple. Her hand was electric when it went in and ordinary when it came out.’
Light Fingers sat back, thinking. Her expression went blank. Since discovering what flashes of feeling could give away, she must have worked hard on showing a wooden face.
‘And I’ll blame you for not telling me?’
‘I know how you feel about Unusuals and Ordinaries, Emma. You’ve gone on and on and on about it. Larry can turn one into the other.’
‘I’d like to see her fit Gillian Little in her pinny pocket,’ said Kali.
‘If she tried, I think she could,’ said Amy.
