Amelia Dee and the Peacock Lamp by Odo Hirsch Page B

her flamboyant curtsies. Or five. Amelia didn’t know if she wanted to curtsy. She had thought about that and she couldn’t decide. Maybe she should bow. But she didn’t know whether she wanted to bow, either.
    And what was she going to say then? Something about being sorry for spying on the Princess in Mr Vishwanath’s studio. Your Highness. And what would the old lady say to that? Amelia didn’t even want to think about it. It would be a lot easier if she really did run away and hide. There was still time.
    Amelia saw her father come out of the shed at the bottom of the garden. He was almost at the verandah before he noticed her.
    ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘How long have you been sitting there?’
    ‘Twelve minutes,’ said Amelia, although she didn’t really know, and it could have been thirteen minutes, or eleven. Or eight, for that matter, or sixteen.
    ‘Didn’t hear an explosion, did you?’ said her father. ‘Where?’ asked Amelia.
    ‘Down there.’ Her father pointed to the shed.
    Amelia shook her head.
    ‘No, neither did I.’ Her father frowned. ‘Odd. I was expecting one.’
    He crossed his arms, and gazed thoughtfully at the shed.
    Suddenly there was a loud pop. Purple smoke poured out of the shed’s windows.
    Amelia’s father beamed. ‘There we are! Perfect!’
    They both watched the shed. Eventually the smoke stopped coming out of the windows. Only a few purple wisps hung around the roof.
    From the sculpture room above them, they heard a bang. And then a shout of frustration.
    Amelia’s father grinned. ‘We’ll have to move the sculptures soon. I’ve made improvements to the machine.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Amelia. ‘It was working pretty well before.’
    ‘Now it’ll work better!’
    Amelia looked at him doubtfully.
    ‘You can’t just stand on the spot, Amelia! You should never be satisfied. Things can always be improved. Remember that. If people didn’t try to improve things, we’d still be in the Stone Age.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Amelia.
    Her father nodded. Then he frowned slightly. ‘Are you waiting for something?’
    ‘Not really,’ said Amelia.
    ‘What have you been doing this morning? Reading?’ ‘Yes,’ said Amelia. ‘Kind of . . .’
    ‘Always reading, Amelia.’
    Amelia shrugged.
    ‘What’s that you’re holding?’
    ‘Nothing.’ Amelia folded her arms, hiding the pages in her hand against her chest.
    Her father didn’t say anything.
    ‘It’s nothing.’
    Her father looked at her questioningly for a moment longer. Then he nodded. ‘Alright. Well, best be getting back, I suppose.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Amelia.
    ‘There might be another explosion. Don’t be concerned.’
    ‘No,’ said Amelia.
    Her father headed back to the shed.
    Amelia watched him go. He picked his way through the white sculptures, then stopped near one and looked at it. He cocked his head thoughtfully. An idea was going through his mind, Amelia could see. Probably about yet another improvement he could make to the statue-stacker. He was always having ideas, that was one of the things Amelia loved most about her father. Almost all of them were rubbish, which was one of the things she loved least. Although, in a funny way, she loved that as well.
    He turned around and kept going, and a moment later the shed door closed behind him.
    Amelia thought about the Princess again. It couldn’t be much longer now. Her stomach knotted. After she had apologised, she didn’t know what she was going to say to the Princess. Or what the Princess would say to her. She looked at the pages she was holding. It was one thing to have written them. She wondered if she really did have the courage to show them.
    Maybe she should just get up and go while she still had the chance. Mr Vishwanath would understand.
    ‘Amelia.’
    Amelia jumped.
    Mr Vishwanath was behind her. ‘Amelia, the Princess is ready for you now.’

CHAPTER 9
    The Princess was sitting at a small table in a corner of Mr Vishwanath’s yoga room, draped in