their voices spinning in eddies. They weren’t bad, Ophelia knew. Just very, very lonely.
Before the door, she asked, “Why?”
I would like to leave the forest
, said Kyra,
just for a minute and run in the light without fear
.
And all around her the ghosts recited their stories loudly to blot out her heresy.
We are Joan. We are the youngest of twelve. We are Beattie. We like to pretend we have wings. We are Nora. We lived in the little house beside the mill stream. We are Valda. Our mother made dresses for the Queen. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light
.
But Ophelia took a deep breath, and she felt Kyra do the same beside her, and she very calmly opened the door, and they stepped into the light-filled room.
It was a museum room, which made Ophelia extremely glad. A typical museum room, with a vast tiled floor and a seat in themiddle for sitting on and admiring the paintings on the walls. These paintings were very large and mostly of a woman in a variety of white gowns and a variety of sparkling crowns. The woman looked vaguely familiar to Ophelia, with her brilliant blond hair and the cool smile on her face. She must have been someone famous. At each corner of the room, there was a white marble pillar, and atop each marble pillar, there was a stone snow leopard.
Ophelia knew they were snow leopards. Max Lowenstein had done a talk on them at the Children’s Science Society of Greater London one Tuesday night. He was only eleven but knew everything there was to know about cats. These cats were smaller than the other great cats. They had domed heads and smallish ears and long, thick tails.
“Kingdom Animalia, phylum Chordata, class Mammalia, order Carnivora, family Felidae, subfamily Pantherinae, genus
Uncia
,” said Ophelia. “But just statues. They’re only statues.”
Careful
, said Kyra.
All is not as it seems
.
Ophelia spotted a box with a large keyhole on a small wooden table near another set of silver elevators.
“Where have you gone, Kyra?” she asked.
I am right here beside you
, said Kyra. Yet her voice had grown very faint, as though she were a long way off.
Look now, they’re waking
.
One of the stone snow leopards stopped being stone. Ophelia watched it in horror. It rose on its large paws and arched its back languidly, as though it had all the time in the world.
It dropped to the floor from the pillar with a dull thud.
“Impossible,” whispered Ophelia. “They’re moving.”
I am right beside you
, Kyra whispered back.
Quickly, ask me who I am. They’ll not come near us if I stay strong
.
“Who are you?” said Ophelia. “Tell me something. What do you remember?”
I remember where I lived, a small place with a little window that looked out at the palace, and each morning, the snow
.
One by one the three remaining snow leopards dropped to the floor. They did not roar—they made a low hissing noise as they moved toward Ophelia. Their yellow eyes gleamed, but they crouched suddenly at the sound of Kyra’s voice. Ophelia backed slowly toward the table and the box.
“Tell me who you lived with.”
I remember a man, a big, tall man with a large red beard
.
One of the snow leopards took the lead. It stayed low to the ground, stalking, with its tail swishing behind. Ophelia knew it was waiting for the ghost girl to grow weak.
“Was the man your father?”
Yes
, said the ghost girl.
“Tell me about him.”
All four snow leopards crept forward, snarling. Ophelia could see their teeth, smell their breath. They hissed and chuffed and mewled. They sounded very hungry.
Don’t look at them
, said the ghost girl.
Only speak to me
.
“What did you like about him?”
I liked his hands. My two little hands could fit inside his, and sometimes he spun me around and around in the air
.
“What else did you like about him?”
I liked his laugh. He had a laugh as big as he was, and when he
Before the door, she asked, “Why?”
I would like to leave the forest
, said Kyra,
just for a minute and run in the light without fear
.
And all around her the ghosts recited their stories loudly to blot out her heresy.
We are Joan. We are the youngest of twelve. We are Beattie. We like to pretend we have wings. We are Nora. We lived in the little house beside the mill stream. We are Valda. Our mother made dresses for the Queen. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light. Do not look at the light
.
But Ophelia took a deep breath, and she felt Kyra do the same beside her, and she very calmly opened the door, and they stepped into the light-filled room.
It was a museum room, which made Ophelia extremely glad. A typical museum room, with a vast tiled floor and a seat in themiddle for sitting on and admiring the paintings on the walls. These paintings were very large and mostly of a woman in a variety of white gowns and a variety of sparkling crowns. The woman looked vaguely familiar to Ophelia, with her brilliant blond hair and the cool smile on her face. She must have been someone famous. At each corner of the room, there was a white marble pillar, and atop each marble pillar, there was a stone snow leopard.
Ophelia knew they were snow leopards. Max Lowenstein had done a talk on them at the Children’s Science Society of Greater London one Tuesday night. He was only eleven but knew everything there was to know about cats. These cats were smaller than the other great cats. They had domed heads and smallish ears and long, thick tails.
“Kingdom Animalia, phylum Chordata, class Mammalia, order Carnivora, family Felidae, subfamily Pantherinae, genus
Uncia
,” said Ophelia. “But just statues. They’re only statues.”
Careful
, said Kyra.
All is not as it seems
.
Ophelia spotted a box with a large keyhole on a small wooden table near another set of silver elevators.
“Where have you gone, Kyra?” she asked.
I am right here beside you
, said Kyra. Yet her voice had grown very faint, as though she were a long way off.
Look now, they’re waking
.
One of the stone snow leopards stopped being stone. Ophelia watched it in horror. It rose on its large paws and arched its back languidly, as though it had all the time in the world.
It dropped to the floor from the pillar with a dull thud.
“Impossible,” whispered Ophelia. “They’re moving.”
I am right beside you
, Kyra whispered back.
Quickly, ask me who I am. They’ll not come near us if I stay strong
.
“Who are you?” said Ophelia. “Tell me something. What do you remember?”
I remember where I lived, a small place with a little window that looked out at the palace, and each morning, the snow
.
One by one the three remaining snow leopards dropped to the floor. They did not roar—they made a low hissing noise as they moved toward Ophelia. Their yellow eyes gleamed, but they crouched suddenly at the sound of Kyra’s voice. Ophelia backed slowly toward the table and the box.
“Tell me who you lived with.”
I remember a man, a big, tall man with a large red beard
.
One of the snow leopards took the lead. It stayed low to the ground, stalking, with its tail swishing behind. Ophelia knew it was waiting for the ghost girl to grow weak.
“Was the man your father?”
Yes
, said the ghost girl.
“Tell me about him.”
All four snow leopards crept forward, snarling. Ophelia could see their teeth, smell their breath. They hissed and chuffed and mewled. They sounded very hungry.
Don’t look at them
, said the ghost girl.
Only speak to me
.
“What did you like about him?”
I liked his hands. My two little hands could fit inside his, and sometimes he spun me around and around in the air
.
“What else did you like about him?”
I liked his laugh. He had a laugh as big as he was, and when he
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