‘A constellation of stars,’ Anna called them.
Celeste thought that her scars, white marks that pinpricked her skin, made her look strange. They covered her body, some clustered together, some further apart. She wondered if there was a pattern to them that was more than random marks.
‘You’re as pretty as you always were.’
‘That was Maria,’ said Celeste. ‘She is prettier than I am.’
Anna ignored that. ‘They will fade, my little treasure – they have already begun to fade.’
‘My eye won’t,’ said Celeste.
To which Anna could say little, except that her eye made her unique. It was, without a doubt, the most striking thing about her. Celeste wasn’t convinced. Her right eye looked like a green-grey marble.
‘You can see out of it,’ said Anna.
‘Yes, but sometimes light comes from it.’
‘Celeste,’ said Anna, ‘where do you get these notions?’
Celeste had discovered this just after Anna had told her that she didn’t believe that she wasn’t Maria. Celeste had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. She felt an intense pain in her right eye and a beam of light crossed the room. It came from within her eye. Quickly she had put her hands over her face and waited until the pain had passed. Ever since the accident her fingers tingled and she felt full of a curious kind of strength.
If only Maria was here to talk to, thought Celeste. Perhaps she could explain what was happening, but since they had moved to this apartment, Maria had only appeared once, on the night they had arrived here. It worried Celeste that she’d not returned. What if they had missed the moment, missed the gutter in time? But if that was the case surely she would have met the man in the emerald green suit again. He would have been blunt, telling her that she’d lost the game, that he’d won the Reckoning.
She knew she had once had a mother and father who had loved her. Their love had left an imprint on her heart that no story could wash away. She didn’t believe she’d been left as a baby on the steps of the opera house; that was a lie. At night she would lie awake and push her mind to think further back into the past. It always arrived at the same spot: the toy theatre. Could it be that this was the point at which the past met the present, that this was the gutter in time? But why and when and where had she been when she played with the toy theatre? She was certain that the Harlequin was hers. Her only memory was of being on board a ship; after that, just inky blackness.
‘Maria, where are you?’ said Celeste. ‘I’m incomplete without you – half of who I should be.’
She felt angry. Why had this responsibility fallen on her? It was too much. She couldn’t save Mother and Father and the rest of the sleepers if she didn’t know what the play was, or where to find the song of a bird who can’t sing, or a light that blinds the seeing.
There was a piano in the apartment. It was out of tune, and to while away the long evenings after supper Anna would play and Hildegard would sing. The first time they heard her sing, Celeste and Anna were astounded. Celeste had imagined that Hildegard would have a high voice. It was anything but. Deep, rolling, it was a wave of sound.
‘You have a voice, Hildegard,’ Anna said. ‘To have a voice that stirs the soul is quite something.’
Hildegard herself seemed surprised at the effect her singing had on Celeste and Anna.
‘You’re making fun of me,’ she said. ‘Telling me I’m good because you don’t think I’m good.’
Anna was stunned. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because Mama thinks that when I sing, I sound like boots marching on gravel. She says I’m out of tune, that it’s indecent for a girl to have such a low voice.’
‘Then your mama is a nincompoop,’ said Celeste.
‘If you think that being nice to me is going to make me change my mind about sharing a room with you, then you’re very wrong,’ said Hildegard.
From the day they’d moved into the apartment, Hildegard had refused to share a bedroom with Celeste.
‘It’ll only be for a short time,’ Anna had said to Celeste as they’d moved Hildegard’s bed to her own room. ‘She just needs to get used to being with us.’
Hildegard was still sleeping in Anna’s room and there was no more talk of changing back.
‘Do my scars really make me look so frightening?’ Celeste asked Hildegard.
‘No,’ said Hildegard. ‘You don’t look frightening – just odd. That eye makes you look a little bit crazy.’
‘Then why are you scared of me?’
Hildegard looked at her, amazed. ‘You are asking me that? That’s a silly question. You know why.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Celeste.
Hildegard lowered her voice. ‘I’ve seen what you can do.’
‘What can I do?’ asked Celeste.
‘You know,’ said Hildegard.
‘I really don’t,’ said Celeste.
‘That day in the hall,’ said Hildegard, ‘when you were angry, and you went to get a hat and coat from the cloakroom. You remember – don’t pretend you don’t. You lit up – all those pinpricks of light came from you.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Celeste, with a sickening feeling that it was.
‘Do you know what the doctor said to my mama?’ said Hildegard. ‘He said that he didn’t think you would live. He said it would take more than a miracle, it would need magic for anyone to survive such an accident. Then when you started to get better, he told Mama it would be at least a year before you’d be able to walk again. Look at you – you’re well, you’re walking, and light beams from you. That’s why I don’t want to share a room with you, and you know it.’
One evening while Anna and Celeste were preparing supper, through the open door Celeste saw Hildegard pick up the snail that Viggo had given her and put it in her pocket. Again Celeste felt a burning pain in her eye. She was furious. How dare Hildegard touch her possessions. She had stolen the doll – the gift from the king – she was not going to have the snail as well.
‘Here,’ said Anna handing Celeste the knives and forks, ‘go and lay the table.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Celeste as she went through to the dining room. Hildegard now had her hand on the little Harlequin. ‘Give me the snail. I saw you take it.’
Hildegard, hearing Anna busy with pots and pans in the kitchen, knew she was safe.
‘If you do anything frightening,’ she said, backing away, ‘I will scream, and Anna will come rushing in. Then how will you explain yourself?’
Celeste felt her right eye twinge. Without knowing what she was doing she held out her hand and light came from her fingertips, and from every scar. She felt the energy inside her and had no idea what it meant except that it scared her.
Hildegard went a ghastly green and fainted just as Anna came into the room.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, putting a plate of bacon and roasted potatoes on the table. She bent over Hildegard, loosened her collar and told Celeste to get some water.
‘She stole my snail and put it in her pocket,’ said Celeste, handing Anna the glass. ‘I asked her to give it back, but she wouldn’t and then she fainted.’
After that Hildegard stayed well away from Celeste and clung to Anna.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ said Anna to Peter one evening when he was paying a visit. ‘I’ve been woken two nights running by Hildegard’s nightmares.’
She didn’t doubt that Hildegard was genuinely scared of Celeste but she had no idea why.
‘Perhaps it would be best if Celeste stays with us for a while – until Hildegard has settled,’ said Peter.