that the sky glowered greyly through. Triss could even make out her own teeth-marks on some of the rafters.
I didn’t
, she tried to protest. But it was a lie, and she knew it. She had no voice, only a dry rustling like a forest path underfoot.
‘Triss ate the ceilings!’ shouted Pen. ‘Triss ate the walls! There are only four left now! Only four!’
Triss woke with a jerk and spent a long minute panting and waiting for her heart to slow. A dream, just a dream. She rolled over on to her side, and her cheek pressed against something rough
that crackled with the pressure. She sat up with a gasp.
There were dead leaves on her pillow, several of them. Slowly she raked her fingers through her hair, and her hand came away with a fistful more brown, broken leaves. Her eye crept to the chair
she had propped against her door, and her heart sank. Only then did she realize how much she had been hoping that the ever-malicious Pen had been responsible for the mysteriously appearing
leaves.
Triss sat up, carefully, and pulled back the covers. There were more leaves on the sheet around her, some inside her nightdress, and a few tiny twigs and wisps of hay.
Mouth dry, she cleaned away the debris once again, then moved to the dresser for her hairbrush. To her surprise, she found tiny flakes of dead leaf clinging to the bristles, despite the fact she
was certain she had removed from it everything but a few strands of her own hair. As she stared at it, however, a horrible suspicion crept spider-like into her mind.
No. It can’t be.
She had to know. After shaking off all the leaf fragments, Triss plucked a few hairs from her own head and trailed them over the brush. Then she forced herself to look away for a time, counting
to three hundred under her breath. When she looked back, her spirits plummeted like a stone. There were no hairs draped across the brush’s bristles. Instead there was a piece of a skeleton
leaf, moth-wing dry and more frail than any lace.
The leaves in my hair, the dirt on my floor – I didn’t bring them in from outside. And Pen didn’t scatter them over my room.
They’re me.
‘Triss looks pale. Doesn’t Triss look pale?’ Pen’s voice rang out again and again at the breakfast table. ‘Is Triss all right? What did the doctor
say? Does she need to see him again?’
Triss sat carefully dissecting her egg and found herself almost hating Pen. It was all too close to the dream from which she had struggled. At least she was not ravenously hungry, but it was
hard to feel relieved about that when she remembered eating the half-doll. She wanted to cry, but her tears seemed to be trapped in a gluey mass behind her eyes. Her mind was haunted by the leaves
on her hairbrush, and the thought of Sebastian’s letter, now hidden beneath her mattress.
Hazily she managed to follow some of her parents’ conversation. Her father had to work that day after all, and was going into Ellchester. The new station he had designed was nearly
finished. It was shaped like a pyramid, following the craze for all things Egyptian that had followed the discovery of the Tutankhamen tomb the year before. Somehow ten years ago was dead history,
but anything Ancient Egyptian was now the most modern thing imaginable.
‘Holiday over, I’m afraid,’ Triss’s father sighed. ‘They want me at the building site to approve everything, which means that if anything goes wrong afterwards they
can blame their handiwork on me. And of course once the main structure is complete, they want me to be present for the Capping Ceremony so that the press can take pictures.’ The
‘Capping Ceremony’ involved using a crane to lower the pointed tip into place at the top of the pyramid, symbolizing the building’s completion.
‘More hullabaloo,’ murmured Triss’s mother, in a tone that combined martyrdom and pride.
‘I know, I know.’ Triss’s father gave her a quick smile. ‘But it is only four days more. Then it will all be
I didn’t
, she tried to protest. But it was a lie, and she knew it. She had no voice, only a dry rustling like a forest path underfoot.
‘Triss ate the ceilings!’ shouted Pen. ‘Triss ate the walls! There are only four left now! Only four!’
Triss woke with a jerk and spent a long minute panting and waiting for her heart to slow. A dream, just a dream. She rolled over on to her side, and her cheek pressed against something rough
that crackled with the pressure. She sat up with a gasp.
There were dead leaves on her pillow, several of them. Slowly she raked her fingers through her hair, and her hand came away with a fistful more brown, broken leaves. Her eye crept to the chair
she had propped against her door, and her heart sank. Only then did she realize how much she had been hoping that the ever-malicious Pen had been responsible for the mysteriously appearing
leaves.
Triss sat up, carefully, and pulled back the covers. There were more leaves on the sheet around her, some inside her nightdress, and a few tiny twigs and wisps of hay.
Mouth dry, she cleaned away the debris once again, then moved to the dresser for her hairbrush. To her surprise, she found tiny flakes of dead leaf clinging to the bristles, despite the fact she
was certain she had removed from it everything but a few strands of her own hair. As she stared at it, however, a horrible suspicion crept spider-like into her mind.
No. It can’t be.
She had to know. After shaking off all the leaf fragments, Triss plucked a few hairs from her own head and trailed them over the brush. Then she forced herself to look away for a time, counting
to three hundred under her breath. When she looked back, her spirits plummeted like a stone. There were no hairs draped across the brush’s bristles. Instead there was a piece of a skeleton
leaf, moth-wing dry and more frail than any lace.
The leaves in my hair, the dirt on my floor – I didn’t bring them in from outside. And Pen didn’t scatter them over my room.
They’re me.
‘Triss looks pale. Doesn’t Triss look pale?’ Pen’s voice rang out again and again at the breakfast table. ‘Is Triss all right? What did the doctor
say? Does she need to see him again?’
Triss sat carefully dissecting her egg and found herself almost hating Pen. It was all too close to the dream from which she had struggled. At least she was not ravenously hungry, but it was
hard to feel relieved about that when she remembered eating the half-doll. She wanted to cry, but her tears seemed to be trapped in a gluey mass behind her eyes. Her mind was haunted by the leaves
on her hairbrush, and the thought of Sebastian’s letter, now hidden beneath her mattress.
Hazily she managed to follow some of her parents’ conversation. Her father had to work that day after all, and was going into Ellchester. The new station he had designed was nearly
finished. It was shaped like a pyramid, following the craze for all things Egyptian that had followed the discovery of the Tutankhamen tomb the year before. Somehow ten years ago was dead history,
but anything Ancient Egyptian was now the most modern thing imaginable.
‘Holiday over, I’m afraid,’ Triss’s father sighed. ‘They want me at the building site to approve everything, which means that if anything goes wrong afterwards they
can blame their handiwork on me. And of course once the main structure is complete, they want me to be present for the Capping Ceremony so that the press can take pictures.’ The
‘Capping Ceremony’ involved using a crane to lower the pointed tip into place at the top of the pyramid, symbolizing the building’s completion.
‘More hullabaloo,’ murmured Triss’s mother, in a tone that combined martyrdom and pride.
‘I know, I know.’ Triss’s father gave her a quick smile. ‘But it is only four days more. Then it will all be
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