This light sparkled more than any knife or fork the girls had used at their parents’ banquets. This light seemed to burn brighter than the moon, as its shining rays beckoned them in. This light was extraordinary.
‘What is it?’ said Emelia, as the girls jumped out of the boats and tied them to various rocks lining the new side of the lagoon.
‘We won’t know until we go a little closer,’ said Agnes. ‘Frida, wise to pursue?’
All the sisters turned to Frida. Frida looked first at the moored boats, secondly at Agnes’s hopeful little face, and then towards the lagoon, darker than a thought that never ends.
‘It would be a shame,’ she said, ‘given how enterprising Ariosta has been with getting us over the water, and how observant Chessa has been about this light, not to carry on. To do anything else feels wrong. Agnes, you shall lead the way.’
Agnes’s small body puffed up with pride and pleasure at such responsibility, and the older sisters hid their affectionate smiles at their little walking popcorn. With Agnes at the fore, princess after princess slipped through the crack in the rock. Once they were all safely through, they abandoned their lamps and approached the glowing magnificence.
Any fear they might have been holding in their hearts was forgotten. The light made their cheeks pale, their eyes shining coins, their hair a moving field of silver wheat. As they kept on, the princesses soon realised they were walking through the most beautiful forest. They trod a delicate path lined by tall and slender birch trees, each leaf on the branches a glorious, shimmering pocket of light. Silver birds sang to each other, glimpsed through the foliage like falling stars.
‘I can’t believe it,’ whispered Polina. ‘I’m sure I dreamed of such a place when I was a little girl!’
‘Me too,’ said Frida, turning up her face in wonder.
‘Me three,’ breathed Lorna.
The eldest three sisters agreed that the silver forest, for all its surprise, also had the air of familiarity – as if, once upon a time, someone had told them about it, as if it had always been there, waiting for them to return. Frida scrunched up her face, trying to remember where, how, why this place felt like a second home. But it was no use – and Frida knew when it was best to accept a mystery and not pull its wings off, like a brute might to a butterfly.
After a while, the birches started to thin out, and the calls of the silver birds fell silent. The light that had cloaked them faded away, and everything went dark. Polina looked up, in case there were any stars she could use to guide their way – but she couldn’t see a thing. The girls stopped walking and formed a circle, holding hands, palm against damp palm as they looked outwards on the endless night.
‘I wish we still had our lamps,’ whispered Bellina.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Delilah.
‘We could retrace our steps,’ Mariella suggested.
‘We don’t know where those steps are, it’s so dark,’ replied Vita.
It was true. They’d lost their bearings. They were surrounded by a nothingness, a looming absence of landscape and dimension, depth and time. A strange feeling of uncertainty crept up the backs of their legs and spines, into their stomachs, their throats, their eyes. It was as if the silver forest, the lagoon, the staircase – even the palace upstairs – had never existed.
Without warning, Emelia broke the circle and dropped down on to all fours. ‘Shh!’ she said. ‘Can you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ said Flora.
‘That,’ replied Emelia. ‘Where are you?’ she called. ‘I can hear you!’
‘Who is she talking to? Has she gone mad?’ said Vita.
But then the other sisters began to hear it too, a faint sound of dried leaves swishing, a thrum of movement on the air.
‘Maybe it’s one of Father’s advisers, come to punish us,’ said Ariosta. The girls huddled closer together against this new fear.
‘Never,’ said Frida. ‘They’re not brave enough to come down here.’
Emelia carried on crawling around in the dark, and called gently, ‘Don’t be scared, I’ll help you.’
As she said this, a small fox crawled into view.
Now, you probably know what a fox looks like.
Perhaps you picture a proud red coat, neat and springy black legs, intelligent eyes the colour of an orange stone?
Well, this fox didn’t look like that. This fox had green eyes and fur like tarnished gold, a weak star fallen in the girls’ circle. He was dragging one of his back legs. It was broken, and little whimpers were coming from his damaged body. Suddenly, the girls forgot their own worry, and turned instead to this beautiful, suffering creature, so fantastical he could have climbed out of a treasure chest.
Emelia got to her feet and went over to Mariella. Without warning, she dug deep in her sister’s dressing gown pocket. ‘Aha!’ she said, pulling out Mariella’s favourite wooden ruler. ‘I knew you still had it. Perfect for a splint.’
‘Hold on –’
But Emelia was down again, facing the fox. She put out a hand, and he turned his muzzle, sniffing the scent of her welcome on the air. He approached her – slowly, timidly – his emerald eyes fixed on her in the hope that she would remove his pain.
‘But that’s my best ruler!’ said Mariella.
‘We’ll make sure you have a new one, sweetheart,’ Frida replied. ‘By the looks of it, right now that little creature needs it more than you.’
Emelia whipped off her dressing gown cord and fashioned it into a bandage against the fox’s leg. The fox didn’t flinch under her ministrations. He kept quite still, as if he trusted her. The other eleven girls admired their sister, her deftness, her confidence, her gentle handling of such a frightened being.
Emelia finished securing the fox’s bad leg into a splint.
‘I’m sure it’s glowing brighter,’ said Agnes, and it did seem as if the fox had absorbed Emelia’s expertise. His golden fur was shining; his body beamed like a living lantern. Nudging Emelia’s hand as if to say thank you, he trotted out of the circle, three good legs padding on the ground, his healing leg treading lighter. The girls followed the fox’s glow, happy that Emelia’s skill had led them from that place of doubt.
As they followed the fox, the princesses noticed that the air had warmed, its texture thicker. A forest of oaks began to appear, trees with bark so shining the sisters were dazzled by their light. Delilah patted one of the trunks. ‘These must be made of gold!’ she said. When the others touched it too, it certainly felt to them like something precious.
The forest where the fox had led them became a glowing goblet. In the canopy that beamed above, every leaf on every tree turned honey, amber, topaz, ruby. It was as if the world was on fire, and they were standing in the centre of their father’s crown. Delighted, they spun round and round until the forest was nothing but a bright blur.
But by the time they steadied themselves, the little fox had vanished.
‘We must keep walking,’ said Frida. ‘This adventure isn’t over yet.’ She looked round at her sisters. Their eyes were bright; they were chatting amongst themselves. ‘We have to keep going.’
‘Can’t we just stay here?’ said Flora. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
‘We could. But I think something even more special is waiting for us at the end,’ said Frida.
And as she uttered these words, just as the forest of silver had done, the forest of gold began to disappear. The darkness grew around them once more. But this time the princesses were not frightened. They knew now that the dark was simply the beginning of new things. The dark was necessary. The dark might bring you a golden fox. The dark could be kind to twelve girls simply looking for their next path.
And soon enough, they could hear the tinkling of bells, the same they had heard standing in their bedroom at the top of the staircase.
As they kept on through the dark, following this sound, a forest of diamonds appeared, diamonds hanging everywhere in heavy vines of brilliance, a splendour tha
t outshone even the forests of silver and gold. Nature itself was a jewel. Beholding this sight, the girls felt themselves to be as powerful as the glittering stones draping every inch of the underground world they had discovered.
Delilah approached the shining vines, her eyes wide in wonder. ‘It can’t be!’ she whispered. She stood before the sinewy, silvery ropes, not daring to touch them.
‘What is it, Delly?’ Chessa asked.
‘It’s a dormidon plant,’ said Delilah. ‘The diamonds are growing on its vines.’
‘My goodness!’ said Bellina.
‘I’d read that they existed,’ Delilah went on, the excitement growing in her voice, ‘but no one’s ever seen one in the flesh. It’s such a powerful plant, and that’s why diamonds choose to grow on it.’
‘How beautiful it is!’ said Agnes.
As the other girls ran over to join Delilah and Agnes, to take in the twisting, twinkling, intoxicating strings of stones, they realised the source of those tinkling bells: it was the diamonds themselves, moving against each other on the vines.
‘The seeds live inside the vine,’ Delilah said. She turned to her eldest sister. ‘Do you … do you think I could take some back with me, Frida? Just to see if I could grow one in the palace gardens, if Father ever lets me?’
Frida put her hands on her hips and stood back to survey the thick, swaying curtain of dormidon vines. From somewhere very near came the sound of that clarinet, except now there was something else – a beating drum – and was that a trumpet, so fast and lively and exciting? The other sisters looked at each other: they could hear it too.
‘I promise you, Delilah,’ Frida said, ‘that one day you will return to those gardens. So you’d better take some dormidon with you, for when the moment comes.’
Delilah stepped in amongst the vines and gently tugged one. It came away in her hands like a girl’s cut plait. She tucked it into her dressing gown pocket and began to wander further in.
‘Let me help you, Delly,’ said Frida, reaching towards the cool plant, feeling the icy touch of the diamonds as they tumbled from the vine on to the forest floor. ‘You’re going to need a bit more.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’ asked Mariella.
Frida shrugged. ‘Just a feeling. Sometimes a feeling can be as true as fact.’
Mariella laughed at this, but she helped her sisters with the vines regardless. Bellina joined in too, and then all the princesses, and as several hands touched the swaying ropes, something astonishing happened.
With a whoosh, a whole sheet of vines and diamonds fell to the forest floor, revealing the most incredible sight any of the princesses had ever seen.
None of them could speak. They simply stood there in their dressing gowns. All they could do was stare at the scene beyond them, as the dormidon vines snaked silverly around their feet.
And what did they see? It’s not easy to describe. But seeing as you’ve come this far with me, I will most definitely try.
It was a gigantic tree, probably the biggest tree they’d ever seen, and bigger even than that. At the front of this gigantic tree, the twists of its own roots – the thickest, strongest, highest roots imaginable – made an arch wide enough, and tall enough, for a three-storey house to fit beneath with room to spare.
‘I can see lights in there!’ said Agnes.
‘And can you hear that wonderful music?’ said Chessa.
They looked closer: under that soaring arch of roots, deep into its heart, a hollowed entrance hall spanned out in shining tiles of black and white. Around the hall, lights of every colour bobbed like fireflies, whilst above, hanging in the ceiling, clear chandeliers glittered like illuminated raindrops.
It felt wonderful to be near. In a funny way, it was just as they imagined it would be, even though they didn’t know they were coming and they’d never seen it before. It felt like, in this place, the girls might have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.
‘Wise to pursue?’ Agnes whispered to her eldest sister.
‘Wise to pursue,’ replied Frida, and Agnes was sure that Frida had quickly wiped away a tear.
Four
A Dance and a Doughnut
The girls moved as if in a living dream. Never in their lives had they desired something as much as they desired to enter that tree.
But just as they had walked under the soaring tree roots and were about to set foot on that black and white floor, they heard a voice.
A blustering, slightly squeaky, indignant voice.
‘Do you have the right to come in here?’ asked the voice. ‘Oh, goodness me. There’s twelve of you?’
They looked down. To their surprise, a peacock had appeared before them, his tail feathers spread. He wore a red velvet waistcoat that could not meet across the plump brilliance of his turquoise chest. His wings clutched a huge leather book, gold letters across it spelling out the words: Necessary Guests. The feathers on the crown of his head quivered in a way that was strangely familiar to the twelve sisters.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Lorna, who could not abide rudeness.
‘You can’t just walk in here, you know,’ said the peacock. ‘You have to be expected.’
‘Saleem,’ said another voice. ‘Please calm down.’
From across the black and white floor came a lioness. Her voice was very different: smooth and deep, a little smoky, warm as a rug on a cold winter night. She was big, and the girls shrank away a little in fear. Her fur shone under the multicoloured lights, changing rainbow shades as she strode towards them. Her paws were huge, the size of dinner plates, and her eyes burned with an intelligence that intimidated the girls.
The lioness sat up straight before them. ‘Page thirty-five, Saleem,’ she said patiently.
Saleem riffled through the pages of his book, even as his own feathers ruffled with indignation. ‘Ah!’ he squeaked. ‘The princesses. I see. Yes, yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Item: found door to staircase, and descended despite spiders. Item: sourced boats and crossed lagoon. Item: walked the three forests, and endured doubt. Item: befriended, tended and mended the fox. Item: identified the dormidon amongst the diamonds. Item: discovered the tree palace.’
The lioness examined her claws. ‘Brave, resourceful, clever and kind. And terribly imaginative. Just how I like princesses to be.’ She grinned, retracting the claws. The girls still felt a little unsure. The lioness extended her front right paw. ‘I wasn’t sure you were ever going to find us,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you did.’
Frida was the first to shake the lioness’s paw. ‘Perhaps you’ve been expecting us,’ she said. ‘I believe we have a reservation.’
Lioness and princess eyed each other, and each seemed satisfied by what they could see. ‘You have indeed,’ replied the lioness. She swished her majestic tail. ‘Welcome to the tree palace.’
‘The what?’ said Agnes, forgetting her manners in a moment of curiosity.
‘The tree palace. You’re a little late, but Saleem and I appreciate that sometimes one’s delays are not one’s fault,’ the lioness went on. ‘Moreover, of course, certain guests never know they’re coming to the tree palace until they find it.’
‘Very true,’ said Saleem. ‘I call it the reverse search.’ He peered at the girls. ‘Often happens with the likes of you. Down here, you don’t find what you’re looking for, but you will find what you need.’
One by one, the other girls lined up to shake the lioness’s paw. And a strange thing happened when human palm met feline pad: each of the princesses felt a touch of power. It was as if they had drunk a mug of hot chocolate and it was coursing through their bodies, with a little kick of chilli at the end. It felt, quite frankly, marvellous.
‘We could hear music,’ said Chessa.
‘Ah, that’s how you did it. Of course!’ said the lioness. ‘Well, I expected you girls to have excellent taste. I do love jazz.’ She swept a paw back to welcome the girls in.
‘My goodness,’ said Emelia. ‘Ca
n you smell the food?’
The princesses were starving; they hadn’t eaten a morsel since the cook’s thin porridge many hours ago. And indeed, on the air, there was a mixture of the most delicious cooking aromas the girls had ever smelt.
‘I can smell lamb chops,’ said Lorna.
‘Juicy ones!’ said Vita.
‘Sprigged with rosemary,’ said Flora.
‘Look,’ said Polina, and she pointed to a trestle table at the back of the dance floor.
On this trestle table there were indeed lamb chops, and next to these the princesses could also see doughnut pyramids – and next to these, glistening pavlovas and roast chickens. Oh, how they wanted to touch the tiny caraway seed rolls and curls of the creamiest butter! There were peppercorn biscuits piled high like a pastry chef’s counting house. Fountains of elderflower champagne, fizzing and frothing into the finest glasses they’d ever seen. They wanted to dip their fingers in the tureens of bubbling chocolate sauce and the ice creams to pour it on, flavours of cinnamon, satsuma, vanilla and coconut all mingling in the air. They wanted it all.
Round the edges of the dance floor, small circular tables had been arranged, with tasselled, pristine tablecloths. And in the near distance, a band of musicians was playing jazz – the jazz they’d been hearing so far away, for so long – now here, before them, sweet and clear, free and joyous! The girls felt a happiness they had never dared hope could be theirs again.
The lioness gazed at their pyjamas and dressing gowns. ‘I adore your evening attire. A little louche, yes, but inimitably stylish.’
‘Hold on,’ said Mariella. ‘Are they … bears?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied the lioness. ‘Dancing bears.’
Two bears were shimmying in sequin skirts whilst a leopard played the clarinet. A tiger was playing the piano, a monkey was on the sax, a tabby cat was on the trumpet, an ostrich in a red beret was shaking her tail feathers, and three tortoises were working together, one on top of the other, to strum the double bass. The music they were making was perfect to the girls’ ears: lively, happy and quick. It was dizzying to watch them.
The Restless Girls Page 3
