Free The Wind Singer by William Nicholson Page A

stiff old scroll.
    ‘Kess, this is extraordinary .. .’
    ‘He told me the Morah’s real, and we’re all in his power.’
    Her father nodded, deep in thought.
    ‘This is written in old Manth. This map was made by Singer People.’
    ‘What are Singer People?’
    ‘I don’t exactly know, except that they lived long ago, and they built the wind singer. Oh Kess, oh Kess, my darling, my dear one. How am I to get away? And what will they do to you?’
    Kestrel was by now infected by her father’s intense excitement. She held tight to his arm, as if to stop him going anywhere without her.
    ‘So it’s real?’
    ‘Yes, it’s real, I know it. I can read old Manth. Look, here it says
The Great Way
. Here,
Crack-in-the-land
. Here,
The Halls of Morah
. Here,
Into the fire
.’
    He turned the map over, and looked at the writing there, and the curious S shape drawn beside it.
    ‘This is the mark of the Singer People.’
    ‘The Emperor said it was the voice of the wind singer.’
    ‘Then it must be made in the shape of their mark.’
    He studied the faded writing carefully, piecing together the words, speaking slowly.
    ‘The song of the wind singer .. . will set you free. Then seek .. . the homeland.’
    He looked up at Kestrel, his eyes shining.
    ‘Oh, Kess. If only I could get away .. .’
    He began to pace up and down the tiny bathroom, his mind racing with wild plans, each of which, after a moment of hope, ended in a frustrated shake of his head.
    ‘No .. . They’d take Ira, and the children .. .’
    He shivered.
    ‘It’s best if I co-operate. My punishment isn’t so bad. I’m to go on a Study Course, until the High Examination.’
    ‘Study Course! Prison, you mean.’
    ‘Well, well,’ said her father gently. ‘It’ll do me no harm. And perhaps if I work hard I’ll do better in the High Examination, and then I’ll ask for you to be given a second chance.’
    ‘I don’t want a second chance. I hate them.’
    ‘But I couldn’t bear it if you – ’
    He cut himself off with a shrug.
    ‘I’d do anything for you, my darling one. I’d die for you. But it seems the trial I have to endure is knowing I can do nothing.’
    He fell silent, gazing at the map. From the foot of the stairs they heard Dr Minish’s cross voice calling up.
    ‘Come along, sir! We’re waiting!’
    ‘The Emperor said if I brought the voice back, and the wind singer sang, there’d be no more tests.’
    ‘Ah, did he say that?’
    For a moment the sadness left his eyes.
    ‘But, my darling one, you can’t go, you’re only a child. And anyway, they’ll never let you leave the city. They’re watching out for you. No, this must wait until I come home again.’
    In the front room downstairs, the waiting teachers were growing more impatient and thirstier by the minute. When Mrs Hath returned from the kitchen, she was carrying Pinpin, now fast asleep in her arms. Dr Batch, eagerly awaiting his lemonade, stared at her in a pointed way. Dr Minish frowned and looked at his watch again.
    ‘You said something about lemonade,’ said Dr Batch.
    ‘Lemonade?’ said Mrs Hath.
    ‘You offered us a drink,’ said Dr Batch, a little more sharply.
    ‘Did I?’ She sounded surprised.
    ‘You did, ma’am. You asked if we would like some lemonade.’
    ‘Yes. I remember that.’
    ‘And we replied in the affirmative.’
    ‘Yes. I remember that too.’
    ‘But you don’t bring it.’
    ‘Bring it, Dr Batch? I don’t understand.’
    ‘You asked us if we would like some lemonade,’ said the teacher slowly, as if to a particularly stupid pupil, ‘and we said yes. Now it is for you to fetch it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because – because – because we want it.’
    ‘But Dr Batch, there must be some misunderstanding. I have no lemonade.’
    ‘No lemonade? Madam, you offered us lemonade. How can you deny it?’
    ‘How could I offer you lemonade, when I have none in the house? No, sir. I asked you if you liked lemonade. That is not the same thing at