Freax and Rejex. Robin Jarvis
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to be feared, but you’ll never have to worry about the likes of them, being of such obvious high-born quality.”
“I dunno… I still wouldn’t like to see them every day. Snow White always used to freak me out. When she woke up an’ all them tiny old bald blokes were pervin’ at her. That was well dodgy, know what I mean?”
Marcus remained silent. He heard Mrs Benedict speaking about Mooncaster as though it was a real place, in exactly the same way everyone else he knew spoke about it. He could not understand how or why anyone could believe such infantile rubbish. When this madness had first started, he had wondered if it was a massive con and they didn’t actually believe in it at all, but why they would pretend to do so was an even bigger mystery. What were they getting out of it?
In his darkest moments, and there had been many of those in recent months, when he felt utterly alone and filled with despair, he had questioned his own reason. But his ego was indefatigable and pulled him through every time. He almost wanted this weekend to successfully change him into a believer, just to see what the fuss was about, but he really couldn’t see it happening. How could it? It was only a stupid book.
Elsewhere in the crowd, Christina turned to Jody and whispered in a frightened voice that she hadn’t liked ‘Mr Big Nose’ and was glad he’d been ‘deheaded’.
Jody put her arm round her. “There’s no such things as Punchinellos,” she assured the seven-year-old. “They’re only monsters in a story; they don’t exist.”
“But the Jacks and Jills are in the book too,” Christina said. “They’re real.”
“Just kids playing dress-up. There aren’t any witches or fairy godmothers, no Mauger beast at the gate, no werewolf and no castle.”
“My mummy and daddy say there are,” the little girl uttered unhappily.
Jody glanced over to where Christina’s parents were standing. Mr and Mrs Carter had forgotten about their young daughter and were transfixed by what was happening on the stage. Jody looked away in disgust. She didn’t even wonder where her own mother and father had got to.
“People are the only real monsters,” she said.
It was time for the reading. A distinguished actor, who had appeared in countless movies and voiced umpteen CGI characters, stepped on to the stage to appreciative applause. The serving maids made sure every child had a copy of Dancing Jax and the recital commenced. The actor’s voice rang out, with that dry, clipped, resonant gravitas only the best Shakespearean thespians possessed.
“Dora, poor Dora the blacksmith’s daughter, was a lumpen girl, built like bricks and mortar. When she was ten, she was as tall as her father, at sixteen even he could not have fought her. She could wrestle the burliest farmhand and punch out a horse’s molar. The villagers of Mooncot were justly proud of her prowess, but none of them would court her. Dora, plain Dora despaired how nature had wrought her, so one bright morn she set forth – with ham and cheese and a flagon of well-drawn water. Every young maid knew of magick Malinda, so off she went and sought her. A pretty face and voice of silver was all that she was after. But Dora, dim Dora lost her way, forgetting what her father taught her. ‘Don’t go down the dingling track, where the toadstools grow much taller!’ Down the dingling track she tramped and heard strange voices call her – to Nimbelsewskin’s forest house where soon began the slaughter.”
Through force of habit, Jody followed the words on the pages. She had learned very early on that rejects who showed willing were persecuted far less than those who rebelled. Marcus was doing the same. He pretended to read along with the rest, but all the while his eyes were flicking left and right.
The face of every adult was transfigured with rapture as they found their way back into the Realm of the Dawn Prince and resumed their vivid lives there. Soon they were rocking back and forth, their eyes rolling up into their heads. Only the children who arrived that day remained motionless – they and the Ismus.
The Holy Enchanter gazed out over the sea of bobbing heads. His questioning stare fixed upon each and every one of those youngsters. Which of them? he asked himself. Which of them?
He saw Charm concentrating, desperately wishing for the power of the book to swallow her up. She even tried nodding her head, but only succeeded in catapulting her sunglasses on to the stage. She let out a squeal of frustration. The Ismus looked further back, to where Lee Charles was moving his head from side to side, in time to the music blaring in his eardrums. He hadn’t been paying the slightest attention to anything and wasn’t even holding a copy of the book. Then the Ismus regarded Spencer. He was fidgeting nervously while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
A twelve-year-old boy next to him caused the Ismus to narrow his eyes. There was something unusual and furtive in the way Jim Parker was gently patting his shirt, as if he was hiding something beneath it. Nearby, Tommy Williams was still peering around like a baby bird. He and the other small boys had been put in the same cabin as Alasdair and they were now gathered about him. The Ismus considered the Scottish lad and discovered he was staring straight back. Such deep hatred blazed in those young eyes. Could he be the one?
When the reading ended, the crowd uttered wretched groans and gasped miserable breaths as they were torn from the blissful existence in Mooncaster and found themselves back here.
It was time for the parents to depart in the coaches. The Ismus thanked them for bringing their children on this journey. He was confident the next time they met they would have found their rightful places in the world of Dancing Jax.
Kate Kryzewski and Sam filmed the farewells eagerly. In spite of the neglect and unhappy home life, many of the smaller children cried when they saw their parents board the vehicles without them. Rupesh Karim tried to jump on after his father and had to be dragged clear. Jody disappeared into her cabin long before her parents thought to look for her.
There was only one sad parting.
“Now don’t you worry,” Mrs Benedict told her daughter. “When this weekend’s over, you’ll be a real-life princess – I know it.”
Charm tilted her head back and fanned her eyes to stop the tears.
“I wish you wasn’t going, Ma,” she said. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”
“S’only two days,” her mother consoled her. “I’ll be here first thing Monday morning to pick you up and take you back home. Don’t you fret none.”
“You promise?”
“I vow it, if you’re not too grand for me by then. And don’t you forget, when you finally wake up in the castle, come find Widow Tallowax in the wash house and spare her a silver penny or two so she can buy ointment for her poor chapped hands.”
“It’ll be the first thing I do!” Charm swore. “I’ll buy you everyfink the Queen of Hearts has got.”
Her mother smiled and stroked the girl’s face tenderly.
“You’re a good child,” she said softly. “Your real mum will be so proud. Blessed be.”
Charm wanted to tell her how much she loved her, but the lump in her throat made further speech impossible. Instead she threw her arms round her mother’s neck and sobbed.
“Don’t you worry,” Marcus declared, imposing on this intimate moment. “I’ll take care of her.”
Neither took any notice of him. Mrs Benedict stepped on to the coach and Charm mouthed the words she hadn’t been able to say. Her mother found a seat and waved.
When the coaches pulled away and drove up the long forest road, Charm covered her eyes with the sunglasses once more.
“If you want a great big cry,” Marcus invited, holding out his arms, “my shoulders are damp-proofed and I give good hug.”
Charm flicked her ponytail back and walked briskly away.
“You’re a cucumber, you are,” she said over her shoulder.
Marcus