Free SandRider by Angie Sage Page B

complaining the day before they went. But of course, you weren’t here then. You were still . . .” The ghost trailed off, embarrassed.
    â€œAlive,” the other ghost finished for him, sourly.
    There was an awkward silence—it was bad manners among ghosts to talk about Life and Death. “Well,” said another, “even if Sarah and Silas are in the Forest, someone should go and tell them. It doesn’t seem right not to know your boy’s dying, does it?”
    The ghosts nodded and sighed, sending a chill breeze ruffling the sheets. It was tough being stuck in the Quiet Roomof the Sick Bay for one’s Leaving Time. It was a small, gloomy place and it was crowded enough without having another ghost join them—especially a young one who had not expected to Leave his Life just yet. Those ghosts were always noisy and disruptive. And so—just like the Living who hurried in and out of the Quiet Room—the resident ghosts wished heartily that Sam Heap would recover.
    But no one wished Sam to live more than Marwick. He sat beside the high, narrow bed, clutching Sam’s cold hand. It seemed to Marwick that Sam was getting ready to Leave. His skin was sweaty, his breath came in rapid, shallow gasps and around his waist his fresh bandage was already showing a dark red stain of blood.
    Dr. Dandra Draa came in carrying Ptolemy on a starched white line square and very gently laid him on top of Sam’s bandage.
    The attendant ghosts looked at one another in disbelief. “She’s gone mad,” hissed one.
    â€œTotally bonkers,” agreed the others.
    At the comforting presence of the tortoise, Sam’s eyelids flickered and Marwick thought his breathing eased a little. And maybe his hand felt a little warmer. Maybe . . .
    Ptolemy pulled in his legs and head and concentrated on what was beneath his shell. It did not feel good—the tissues felt damaged and disturbed and there was metal there, sharp and bright. This was not a job for a tortoise, Ptolemy reflected. This was a job for a chirurgeon: something inside Sam needed to be taken out.
    Dandra knew that too. She knelt down so that she was at eye level with her old tortoise. “Ptolemy. Show me, I pray, where the sharpness lies,” she said.
    Careful not to cause Sam any extra pain, Ptolemy put his legs out, raised himself up and moved around in a half circle. Then, three times, very slowly, he dipped his head down and touched his nose to the sharp bright spot beneath the bandages.
    Dandra looked at Marwick. “It is as I feared,” she said. “There is something in the wound. But at least now we know where it is. And Marcellus Pye will be here soon to take it out.”
    â€œI knew it,” Marwick mumbled. “I knew the blade had broken off.” Marwick saw Sam’s lifeblood oozing through the bandages and he knew that Marcellus Pye could not get there a moment too soon.



T HE E GG B OX
    F orgotten in the crisis, Kaznim sat alone on the hard wooden bench outside the Sick Bay. She watched a succession of people rush by: four Wizards staggering with a small, but clearly very heavy, ancient wooden chest, followed at intervals by three young men who all looked a little like Sam Heap. One wore black, one looked like a sailor, in navy blue jerkin and trews, and the last wore long green robes and looked to Kaznim just like the one to whom she had given her precious tortoise, except he had very short hair. People carrying piles of towels and large colored bottles came and went. Silently Kaznim watched them all pass by with no more than a brief glance and perhaps a distant smile.
    Suddenly a young woman wearing the most beautiful red silk robes and a simple crown, her eyes blurry with tears,hurried by. Kaznim stared in amazement. Enough Queens and Princesses had visited the star tent for her to recognize the real thing when she saw it. Like everyone else, the Queen raced by without noticing her and