The Spin by Rebecca Lisle

dusted.’
    â€˜And
our
lunch?’ Stormy’s breakfast porridge was a long time ago.
    Ralf laughed. ‘You should’ve grabbed some when it came up. Now you’ll have to wait for the leftovers.’
    â€˜Leftovers?’
    â€˜That’s right. That’s what we eat.’ He saw Stormy’s startled expression and laughed. ‘It’s not so bad, just a bit cold. Hey, leave the trolley and let me show you this.’
    Ralf nipped off down a side corridor and pushed open a big door.
    â€˜No one’s around, they’re all stuffing their faces. This is the Gallery.’ He pulled Stormy inside. ‘The Silver Swords. Look! I don’t care for spitfyres, but aren’t
they
something?’
    â€˜The Silver Swords?’ Stormy repeated. ‘Oh, my . . .’
    The room was long and narrow and down one side were seven large swords. Each sword was wobbly and misshapen, strangely undefined, as if it hadn’t been quite finished. Above each sword was a name on a placard.
    â€˜I’ve read about the race,’ Stormy said.
    â€˜Yeah? It’s next year. They’re talking about it already. It’s the highest trophy of all. I wish I had a sword . . . Come on, let’s go get a breather.’
    They went out and sat on the low stone wall. It was icy cold and Stormy shivered. Ralf took out a mouth organ and began playing it softly. The sad notes seemed to be caught by the breeze and dragged away towards the mountains.
    Stormy peered down at the barred dungeon windows and below that the roofs of the kitchen, and beyond that the village and down into the distant valley and the town of Stollenback, a smudge in the distance. ‘Miles and miles to the bottom,’ he said.
    Ralf shuddered. His mouth suddenly trembled and the notes wavered and died.
    â€˜Ollie.’ He held his mouth organ against his chest and stared down into the valley. ‘Ollie had an accident,’ he said quietly.
    Stormy stared at Ralf, then at the emptiness below.
    â€˜Here?’
    Ralf nodded, turned away and walked slowly back to his room.

10
Araminta
    Al was still sitting at the table when Stormy went back in. He’d pushed the scraps of food around and around until they’d formed a flying thing – a bird or a spitfyre; it was hard to tell which. Stormy wondered if Al ever ate anything.
    â€˜Lift,’ Al said, nodding towards it.
    Stormy went to the lift.
    â€˜Cake,’ Al said.
    Stormy collected an enormous iced cake studded with nuts and cherries and placed it gently on the table.
    â€˜Cake,’ Stormy agreed.
    â€˜For the Director’s house,’ Al said. ‘You take it.’
    â€˜Me?’ said Stormy in horror, looking at the vast cake beneath its pristine dome.
    â€˜You. It’s an Otto special, for the Director. He and his darling daughter, they like cake. I think they’d like to eat cake for the rest of their lives. Just cake. Soft and creamy and no chewing. Funny, I don’t like cake. I like something to gnaw on. Bones and crusty bread.’
    â€˜Can Ralf show me?’ Stormy was thinking of those sneering boys and girls at the window.
    â€˜No need. It’s the tall building. Lots of windows. You’ll have seen it when you came in. Buck up, lad.’
    Stormy felt panic rise up and lodge heavily like a brick in his chest. But he couldn’t not do it, the first job he was given.
Buck up
.
    He walked carefully across the empty courtyard without glancing at the students’ windows. The courtyard seemed to have expanded and the Director’s house looked tiny and distant. The walk took years. He was sure he was being watched. It made him walk like somebody else, like someone who hadn’t done much walking and had to think about how to do it. He glared at the cake, willing it not to touch the sides of its glass dome.
    Maud opened the door.
    â€˜Hello,’ Stormy said. ‘It’s me again.’
    For an