The Wind Singer. William Nicholson

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      ‘Special Teaching, you know,’ said the lady examiner, ‘is for the most disruptive children. The ones that are entirely out of control. And it is so very, well, permanent.’

      Kestrel went up to the lady examiner, and took her hand and held it trustingly, gazing up at her with big innocent eyes.

      ‘Do you have a little girl of your own, ma’am?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, child. Yes, I do.’

      ‘Then I know you’ll do what’s best for me, ma’am. Just as you would for your own little girl.’

      The lady examiner looked down at Kestrel, and gave a little sigh, and patted her hand.

      ‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘I think we should go and see the Chief Examiner, don’t you? Maybe there’s been a mistake.’

      She turned to the handleless door and called,

      ‘Open, please!’

      The door was opened by a warden on the far side, and the lady examiner and Kestrel, hand in hand, went out into the square.

      Now that she wasn’t being carried, Kestrel could see that one side of the square was formed by the back wall of the Great Tower, which was the building at the centre of the Imperial Palace. This tower, the highest building in Aramanth, could be seen even from Orange District. This close, it seemed immensely tall, reaching up and up even higher than the city’s encircling walls.

      As they crossed the square, a small door at the foot of the tower opened, and two white-robed men came sweeping out. Seeing the lady examiner holding Kestrel’s hand, the older of the two frowned and called out to them.

      ‘What is a child from Orange District doing here?’

      The lady examiner explained. The man in white studied the file.

      ‘So the Chief Examiner ordered Special Teaching for the girl,’ he said sharply. ‘And you have taken it upon yourself to question his judgment.’

      ‘I think there may have been a mistake.’

      ‘Do you know anything about this case?’

      ‘Well, no,’ said the lady examiner, going rather pink. ‘It’s more a kind of feeling, really.’

      ‘A kind of feeling?’ The man’s voice was cutting with contempt. ‘You propose to make a decision that affects the rest of this child’s life on a kind of feeling?’

      The rest of this child’s life! A chill ran through Kestrel. She looked round for a way of escape. Behind her stood the Special Teaching building from which they had come. Ahead, the men in white.

      ‘I meant only to speak to the Chief Examiner, to make sure I understood his wishes.’

      ‘His wishes are written here. They are perfectly clear, are they not?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Kestrel saw that the door into the tower had not closed all the way.

      ‘Do you suggest that when he made this order, and signed it, he didn’t know what he was doing?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Then why do you not carry it out?’

      ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’

      Kestrel knew then that she had lost her one source of protection. The lady examiner turned distressed eyes on her, and said once again, this time to Kestrel,

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ said Kestrel, and gave the lady’s hand a little squeeze. ‘Thank you for trying.’

      Then she released the hand, and she ran.

      She was through the tower door and pushing it shut behind her before they realised what was happening. There was a bolt on the inside, which she drew shut. Only then, heart beating fast, did she look to see where she was.

      She was in a small lobby, with two doors, and a narrow curving flight of stairs. Both doors were locked. She heard voices shouting outside, and the outer door rattling as they tried to open it. Then she heard louder bangs, as they tried to break the bolt. Then she heard a voice call out,

      ‘You stay here. I’ll go round the other way.’

      She had no choice: so she set off up the stairs.

      Up and up she climbed, and the stairwell grew darker and darker. She thought she could hear doors opening and closing below, so she kept climbing as fast as she could. Up and up, round and round, and now there was light above. She came to a small barred window, set deep in the stonework of the tower. Through the window she could see the roofs of the palace, and a brief glimpse of the square where the statue of Emperor Creoth stood.

      Still the stairs rose above her, so breathing hard now, her legs aching, she climbed on and on, and the light from the little window dwindled away below her. Strange distorted sounds came floating up from below, the clatter of running feet, the boom of voices. Up and up she climbed, slower now, wondering where the staircase led, and whether, when at last she reached the top, there would be another locked door.

      A second window appeared. Exhausted, trembling, she allowed herself to rest a moment here, and looked out over the city. She could make out people passing in the streets, and the elegant shops and houses of Scarlet District. Then she heard a sound which was very like boots climbing the winding stairs below her, and fear gave her strength to get up and go on. Up and up, forcing her legs to push, half giddy with exhaustion, she followed the tightly winding staircase that seemed to have no end. Clop, clop, clop, went the noise of the boots below, carried up to her by the stone walls. Not far now, she said to herself, in time with her steps. Not far now, not far now. Though in truth she had no way of knowing how much farther she must climb.

      And then, just when she knew she could go no further, she came out on to a tiny landing, and there before her was a door. Her hand shook as she reached out to try the handle. Please, she said inside her head. Please don’t be locked. She turned the handle, and felt the latch open. She pushed: but the door didn’t move. At once her fear, held at bay by this last hope, broke through and overwhelmed her. Bursting into bitter tears, she crumpled up in a ball at the foot of the door. There she hugged her knees and sobbed her heart out.

      Clop, clop, clop. The boots were coming up the stairs, getting nearer all the time. Kestrel rocked and sobbed, and wished she was dead.

      Then she heard a new sound. Shuffling footsteps, close by. The slither of a bolt.

      The door opened.

      ‘Come in,’ said an impatient voice. ‘Come in quickly.’

      Kestrel looked up and saw a blotchy red face staring down at her: watery, protruding eyes, and a grizzly grey beard.

      ‘You’ve certainly taken your time,’ he said. ‘Come in, now you’re here.’

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