The Snow Spider Trilogy. Jenny Nimmo

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СКАЧАТЬ fingers over the silver pipe he could hear waves breaking on the shore; he could hear icicles singing when the wind blew through the trees, and children’s voices calling over the snow. And he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he was hearing sounds from another world.

      Once Arianwen spun a larger cobweb again, covering an entire wall. The white tower appeared and the same houses. Children came out to play in the square beneath the tower. Pale children with wonderfully serene faces, not shouting as earth-bound children would have done, but calling in soft, musical voices. It began to snow and suddenly they all stood still and turned to look in the same direction. They looked right into the web. They looked at Gwyn and they smiled, and then they waved. It was as though someone had said, ‘Look, children! He’s watching you! Wave to him!’ And their bright eyes were so inviting Gwyn felt a longing to be with them, to be touched and soothed by them.

      But who had told the children to turn? Gwyn realised he had never seen an adult in the webs, never heard an adult voice. Who was looking after the faraway children? Perhaps they had just seen the thing that was sending the pictures down to Arianwen’s web. A satellite perhaps, or a ship, another star, or another spider, whirling round in space, and they had turned to wave to it.

      * * *

      A few weeks before the end of term three new children appeared at Pendewi Primary. They were children from the city, two boys from poor families who had no room for them, and a girl, an orphan it was said. They had all been put into the care of Mr and Mrs Herbert, a warm-hearted couple with four girls, a large farmhouse and an eagerness to foster children less fortunate than their own.

      John, Eirlys and Dafydd were officially entering the school the following term, but had been allowed three weeks of settling in before the Christmas holidays. Miss Pugh, the headmistress, was a little put out. She had expected only two children, eight-year-old boys, to put in a class where there was still space for at least five more. There were thirty children in Gwyn’s class, where Eirlys would have to go. Mr James, their teacher, a rather fastidious man, was already complaining that he could feel the children breathing on him. He gave Eirlys a tiny table right at the back of the class, where no one seemed to notice her.

      In the excitement of Christmas preparations some of the children forgot about Gwyn and his stories. But for Gary Pritchard and his gang, baiting Gwyn Griffiths was still more entertaining than anything else they could think of, especially when they saw a flicker of anger beginning to appear in their victim’s dark eyes.

      And then, one Monday, Dewi Davis went too far. It was a bright, cold day. Snow had fallen in the night, clean white snow that was kicked and muddied by children running into school. But the snow fell again during the first lesson and, as luck would have it, stopped just before the first break, and the children were presented with a beautiful white playground in which to slide and snowball.

      Dewi Davis never could resist a snowball, just as he could never resist shoving girls with white socks into puddles, or putting worms down the backs of the squeamish. He took a lot of trouble with Gwyn’s snowball; patting and shaping it until it was rock-hard and as big as his own head, then he followed Gwyn round the playground, while the latter, deep in thought, made patterns in the snow with his feet.

      Soon Dewi had an audience. Children drew back and watched expectantly while Gwyn trudged, unaware, through the snow. Dewi stopped about three metres behind Gwyn, and called, in his slow lisping voice, ‘’Ullo, Mr Magic. Seen any spaceships lately?’

      Gwyn began to turn, but before he could see Dewi, the huge snowball hit him on the side of the face and a pain seared through his ear into his head.

      Girls gasped and some giggled. Boys shouted and laughed, and someone said, ‘Go on, get him!’

      Gwyn turned a full half-circle and stared at Dewi Davis, stared at his fat silly face, and the grin on his thick pink lips, and he wanted to hurt him. He brought up his clenched right fist and thrust it out towards Dewi, opening his fingers wide as he did so, and a low hiss came from within him, hardly belonging to him, and not his voice at all, but more like a wild animal.

      There was nothing in Gwyn’s hand, no stone, no snow, but something came out of his hand and hit Dewi in the middle of his face. He saw Dewi’s nose grow and darken to purple, and saw anguish and amazement on Dewi’s fat face. Only he and Dewi knew that there had been nothing in his hand.

      Then, suddenly, the rest of the gang were upon Gwyn. Someone hit him in the face, someone punched his stomach, his hair was tugged, his arms jerked backwards until he screamed, and then his legs were pulled from under him and he crashed on to the ground.

      Everyone stopped shouting: they stared at Gwyn, motionless in the mud and snow. And then the bell went and, almost simultaneously, Dewi Davis began to scream for attention. The children drifted away while Mr James ran to Dewi and helped him from the playground, he never noticed Gwyn lying in a corner.

      The whole of Gwyn’s body ached, but his head hurt most of all. He could not get up and did not want to. There was blood on the snow beside him and his lip felt swollen and sticky. The playground was empty, and he wondered if he would have to lie there all day. Perhaps the snow would fall again and no one would see him until it was time to go home. He managed to pull himself up until he was kneeling on all fours, but it was an effort and he could not get any further because something in his back hurt whenever he moved.

      And then he saw that he was not alone. Someone was standing on the other side of the playground. Someone in grey with long, fair hair and a blue hat. It was Eirlys. The girl began to walk towards Gwyn; she walked slowly, as though she was approaching a creature she did not wish to alarm. When she reached Gwyn she bent down and put her arms beneath his and round his body. Then, without a word, she began to lift him to his feet. She was very frail and Gwyn could not understand where her strength came from. Her hair, beneath his hands, was so soft it was like touching water, and her face, now close to his, was almost as pale as the snow. He had never really looked at her before and realised, with a shock, that he knew her. He had seen her somewhere but could not remember where.

      They walked across the playground together, still without speaking, his arm resting on her shoulders, her arm round his waist, and although his legs ached he tried not to stumble or lean too heavily on the girl. When they reached the school door, Eirlys withdrew her arm and then took his hand from her shoulder. Her fingers were ice-cold and Gwyn gasped when she touched his hand.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked.

      ‘You’re so cold,’ Gwyn replied.

      Eirlys smiled. Her eyes were greeny-blue, like arctic water; it was as though they had once been another colour, but that other colour had been washed away.

      When they got to the classroom Gwyn told Mr James that he had slipped in the snow. Eirlys said nothing. Mr James nodded. ‘Get on with your work now,’ he said.

      Eirlys and Gwyn went to their desks. Everyone stared. Dewi Davis was still holding his nose, and Gwyn remembered what he had done. All through the next lesson, through the pain in his head, he kept thinking of what he had done to Dewi Davis. He had hit him with magic. Something had come out of his hand and flown into Dewi’s face, something that had come to him from Gwydion, the magician, and from Gwydion’s son, who had once ruled Gwynedd. And it was the same thing that had turned the seaweed into a ship, the brooch into a spider and the whistle into a silver pipe. These last three, he realised, had merely been waiting for him to release them; they had been there all the time, just waiting for his call. But when he had hit Dewi Davis, he had done it by himself. He had wanted to hurt Dewi, wanted to smash his silly, cruel face, and he had done it, not with a stone nor with his fist but with his will and the power that had come from Gwydion. If he could do that, what could he not do?

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