Attack of the Cupids (22 page)

Muddlespot was there too, wallowing in a large bath of warm water that Sally had obligingly imagined for him. He was scrubbing away at the remaining bits of paint on those areas of himself that it was possible to reach. ‘If they're anything like our ways,' he said happily, ‘they're beyond
all
understanding. Even we sometimes don't—'

‘They are nothing like your ways,' said Windleberry frostily.

‘Thief!'
cried the oboe case.

‘Shut up,' said Sally.

‘So you've given the leaden arrow to your man Ismael,' said Muddlespot, ‘And he's going to use it on Billie next time she sees Tony?'

‘It won't be that simple,' said Sally. ‘Not if I know Billie.'

‘Here I
am!'
chirped the oboe case.

‘Shut up,' said Sally. ‘Someone will hear you.'

‘No,' said Windleberry. ‘The leaden arrow is only permitted in the most extreme cases. Neither Ismael nor I would use it on Billie. I gave Ismael the golden arrow, for him to use as he sees fit. As you said, another arrow, another boy. That was not why we went to Heaven.'

Muddlespot sat up with a splash. ‘Well that's nice! What did we go all that way for, then?'

‘Guil
ty!
'

‘
SHUT UP
!' cried Sally, Windleberry and Muddlespot all at once.

‘meep,'
said the oboe case. Its lower catch trembled tearfully.

Muddlespot's eyes narrowed. ‘So what happened to the arrow of lead?'

‘I have it here,' said Windleberry, producing it. ‘And also this.' He produced a short bow with curvy ends. He strung it and plucked the string. It hummed. The gentle note lingered in the air.

‘Where did that come from?'

‘The cupids dropped it when they last came visiting.
You will remember that they left in a hurry. They dropped several, in fact.' Deftly he placed the leaden arrow on the string and drew it back. ‘Stay still.'

‘What are you . . .?' Muddlespot's eyes widened in horror. ‘No, Windleberry! Not me! You can't—'

‘It won't hurt – much.'

‘You don't understand!' cried Muddlespot, frantically trying to hide behind a heap of soapsuds. ‘I love you, Windleberry. Nothing can stop me loving you—'

‘Yes it can!'

‘. . . Please! I'm nothing but love for you. If I don't love you I am nothing – don't you see? You're my light, my living, my meaning – there's nothing for me without you. My angel, truly my angel, you can't—'

Twangg – THUMP!

‘You see?' said Windleberry. ‘I told you it would work.'

An oboe case.

What is it?

Just a small, black container of hard plastic, with a handle and cheap metal fastenings, and inside something that was once part of a tree. How could it possibly matter so much?

Skill made the oboe. Music could come from it, stirring the soul to soar or to weep. But there were many instruments scattered in their cases around the Music block, and most were a lot bigger than this one.

It
was
the only one of its kind in Darlington High. It couldn't be swapped for a clarinet or a cornet. But it had spent all this term and last term being unique. Nothing new there.

The reason it mattered
now
was because of what it meant to everyone around it.

Imogen's family expected her to pass her exam on it this afternoon. Everyone knew they were pushy.

Imogen had lost it. Someone had taken it to show her how much she was hated in her class. That was big.

Worse still, the teachers were on the case. Blindly, blunderingly, but definitely on the case. They weren't going to give up until someone had been punished because of it.

It was just a black box with a bit of former tree inside it. But right now there was so much hearts-and-minds stuff packed with it that it might have been a bomb. One way or another, between now and five o'clock, it was going go off. Which would be tough for pretty well everyone. Especially for whoever was holding it at the time.

Unless . . .

Unless Sally could change what it meant.

Unless she could change it from a message of hate to a message of love.

For example, by returning it not just as a case with an oboe inside it, but as a case with an oboe inside it around which was wrapped a piece of folded card
with a heart drawn upon it, and in carefully disguised letters, the words i love you.

And now the bomb was not a bomb any more. It was a cupid's arrow.

It was a
white
lie, thought Sally guiltily. It was a false trail. It suggested a completely different reason for the disappearance of the oboe. Not a bitchy attempt to put a spoke in Imogen's music career, but a secret admirer, who had stolen it just so that he could return it with a love note. Nothing to do with Billie or Ameena. Nothing to do with the war.

It lowered the stakes. If things went wrong and some boy got caught with it, the worst that would happen to him would be some sharp words and a bit of embarrassment. But if it worked, the teachers would slouch back to their lairs with knowing smiles and shakes of the head. Imogen would be left in a world not of secret enemies but of secret admirers. She'd have something to think about that wasn't Cassie-and-Viola. For all Sally knew, she might put in an inspired performance this afternoon and get a distinction from her examiner. And in all the confusion that would follow, maybe all the problems among the girls would have a chance to die down a bit.