The Castle by Sophia Bennett Page B

in its comfy seat, moving it with my feet so it faced away from the door. My plan was to swivel round when Max came in, like someone from a Bond movie. Except it would make me look like the villain, but whatever. I sat in position and waited.
    And waited. Thirty long minutes ticked by. I used the time to stretch out my aching muscles. Eventually, there were footsteps in the corridor and the door opened. A young man’s voice shouted out, ‘Amina! Amina!’
    Hell. That servant girl would be here in a minute. Didn’t anyone in this place spend any time alone? I hunkered down where I was. Another bad choice of hiding place, Peta. Seriously bad choice.
    â€˜Sir?’
    It wasn’t a girl who answered, though. This time, it was a boy.
    â€˜Not you,’ Max said, irritated. ‘I called for Amina. I want Amina.’
    â€˜Can I help you, sir?’ the boy insisted. Odd. His voice sounded familiar. ‘Amina is busy. Miss Yasmin has asked—‘
    â€˜I don’t care about my sister! I don’t care about you ! I want Amina. Tell my sister I want her now. Do it.’
    The boy disappeared. Max opened another door and I heard the sound of a shower running. Meanwhile, I sat where I was and thought about those voices. One was quiet and musical, the other harsh and cruel. But they were the wrong way round.
    Max wasn’t the boy who’d called me.
    Somehow, I’d made a terrible mistake.
    As I hunched in my stupid swivel chair, the sound of the shower stopped. Max could emerge at any moment. I sat there, frozen. The bathroom door opened and the harsh voice snapped, ‘Ah, Amina! Good. You’re here.’
    â€˜Master Max,’ the girl said obediently. Once again, I hadn’t heard her come in.
    â€˜Tidy the bathroom. Lay out my clothes. The blue linen for tonight, I think. No, the silk. Do it!’
    While she worked, I listened to Max’s fists rhythmically hitting the punch bag. Smack. Smack. Smack. I moved the chair around, microscopic centimetre by centimetre, using my toes, so it was still facing away from them both.
    â€˜Your clothes are ready, sir,’ the girl said. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.
    He moved over to inspect them. ‘What’s this?’ he called out.
    â€˜Shirt. Sir.’
    â€˜The linen one. Did I ask for the linen? No! It was the silk.’
    The sharp sound of a slap. A hard one. She gasped and he grunted with the effort of hitting her. I bit my lip. This wasn’t my secret friend. This boy so wasn’t my friend.
    â€˜Get me the silk,’ he said icily.
    The girl ran past him to get the new shirt. On her wayback, eager to stay as far away from him as possible, she passed around the front of the swivel chair. Her leg brushed mine; she glanced around and gasped again.
    The shock on her face matched the shock I felt seeing her.
    She only looked about ten, with a black scarf over her hair, a red mark on her cheek where he’d hit her, and big dark eyes staring at me. Then, in a single moment, those eyes went blank. Her face was a mask – you’d never know she’d seen anything at all. She went over to Max and handed him the shirt.
    â€˜Now go,’ he spat. ‘I don’t know why I ask for you, you lazy dumbskull.’
    She almost ran from the room. I stayed motionless while he went back to the bathroom, humming. My mind was racing. What if he found me? Should I try and hit him with something? Or go for his nose, or eyes? Those were the vulnerable places. But Dad said never to take on someone stronger than you in a fight if you could possibly avoid it. Cheat or run away, he said. I wanted to run, but where?
    Here was it. Max had always been it. Max Wahool was where I’d been running to.
    Without warning, the chair swivelled round, flinging me sideways. Hell! But to my amazement, I was facing the little girl again. She must have come back silently. She brought her finger to her lips.
    Very