The Spindlers by Lauren Oliver Page B

a golden staircase that spiraled toward the ceiling. Mounting the stairs in a very dignified way was the smallest person Liza had ever seen. At first she thought it must be a child; but as she squashed her nose even farther against the window, she saw that the person had a luxurious, sprouting beard that hung shaggily around his deeply lined face, almost like a cat’s fur. He was simply no taller than a toddler. His hands and fingers were, on the other hand, extremely large.
    â€œA nid,” Liza breathed. Her breath fogged the glass in front of her, and she swiped it away quickly with a fist.
    â€œNot just any nid,” Mirabella whispered. “A royal. Only kings and queens can preside over the dance.”
    As he reached the top of the staircase, the king of the nids cleared his throat and raised both arms.
    The mole maestro made a sweeping gesture with its baton, and the orchestra fell totally silent. Liza found herself holding her breath.
    â€œLet the dancing begin,” the king said in a high, reedy voice. Instantly, in response to his command, the ceiling glittered with thousands of flickering lights.
    Liza stifled an instinctive cry. Her first impression was that the ceiling had caught fire. Then she saw that the shifting, mobile pattern of blinking, blazing lights was, in fact, made of fireflies: Thousands of them floated across the ceiling, arranging and rearranging themselves among the polished roots in dazzlingly complex patterns.
    The orchestra burst into a triumphant, joyful waltz, and the doors at the far end of the vast room were flung open as nids began to stream into the ballroom, chattering and laughing, as above their heads the roots continued to glow and sway and let off showers of sparkling color.
    Now Liza saw that the king was, comparatively, quite tall. Most of the nids would not have reached higher than her knee, and all of them—including the women—had soft-looking, red-whiskered faces. They wore tunics that seemed to be made of moss and cobweb, and as they spun and twirled across the room, Liza felt as though she was looking through her old kaleidoscope at the dizzying array of swirling colors.
    The dancing was as beautiful—no, more beautiful—than the music. She had an irrepressible urge to get closer, to join in the celebration. The toads, increasingly excited as the music switched from a waltz to a jig, began hopping up and down, periodically blocking her view of the dance floor.
    Liza darted to the next window, where the view was better. She barely heard Mirabella calling her back. Her ears were filled with the rhythm of the music and the drumming of all the nids’ tiny feet against the floor. The window was very slightly ajar, and it was hinged like a door, so it opened into the room.
    If Liza just poked her head in—just for a second—she would have a view of the whole ballroom....
    â€œMiss Liza! Miss Liza! Be careful!”
    Liza placed one hand very carefully on the window and eased it open a few more inches....
    Suddenly a red-whiskered face popped up directly in front of her.
    â€œIntruder!” the nid trumpeted. “Trespasser! Stranger! Gate-crasher!”
    Liza tried to pull back, horrified, but the nid grabbed her wrists and tugged her headfirst into the room. She toppled forward, somersaulting in the air, and landed on the palace floor on her rump. The broom was ripped from her hand. Now everything was a chaos of thin, piping voices.
    â€œIntruder! Intruder! Intruder!”
    Nids swarmed her, tugging her hair and sniffing her shirt, poking her with long, pale fingers.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œHow ugly it is.”
    â€œWhere are its whiskers?”
    â€œIs it a giant?”
    â€œIt isn’t a giant. It’s a human child. Can’t you smell it?”
    â€œLeave me alone!” Liza cried out. She tried to push the nids away, but there were too many of them. There were hands all over her now, hauling her