Read Online A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge - Free Book Online Page A

to think of something calming and cheery to say to them, but her mind was a mass of scribbles. Soon she was close enough to make out
the silhouettes of the girls’ heads against the light of the lantern, which touched the older girl’s long and elegant neck with alabaster, and set the stray wisps of Borcas’s hair
agleam. It made the pair of them look warm, angelic and fragile.
    ‘Stop trembling.’ The older girl was wearing her warm, confiding smile, and her voice sounded kind and infinitely sensible. ‘It’ll all be all right as long as you stick
with the plan. You don’t need to worry about anything. You don’t ever need to worry about making decisions. I’ll do that for you. I’ll always look after you.’
    She sounded wonderful and big-sisterly, and Neverfell felt a flood of hope. Unguarded as ever, her heart galloped into a sudden wild liking for the two girls, with their scrubbed skin and clever
voices. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all. She could talk to them – they would be kind. They were her friends. Of course they did not know that yet, but if she
followed them and listened to them and found out all their likings and habits and secrets and if she told them so, they would have to like her . . .
    These excited thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Borcas stiffening slightly.
    ‘Zouelle! ’ot’sh ’hat?’ The younger girl’s voice was hushed with fear.
    ‘What?’
    Have I been heard? Have I been seen?
    ‘I . . . I can shnell shun’hing . ’
    ‘What? Wait . . . oh yes, so can I. It smells like rot, or maybe . . . cheese?’
    Neverfell sniffed, perplexed, for this tunnel smelt less like cheese than anywhere she had ever been. It took a moment for the real explanation to strike her.
    ‘Borcas . . .’ Zouelle, the older girl, sounded less than confident for the first time. ‘I . . . I think you’re right. There’s something down there behind us. I
heard . . . I heard it snuffing.’
    Quick! I need to make a sound like a . . . a horse!
    Neverfell had no idea what a horse really sounded like, only what they looked like they would sound like. Her panic-stricken effort came out as a cross between a yawn and a screech, and was soon
echoing down the tunnel. The two girls screamed.
    The pony-boy, with admirable presence of mind, threw a pebble down the corridor to strike a large, sleeping trap sprouting just behind Neverfell. It flared into a vivid and irritable glow,
snapping its combs of fine teeth in search of food. Suddenly she was back-lit, and her long, tapering shadow was extending down the tunnel before her.
    ‘There! Look – there it ish!’
    ‘It’s got no face!’
    ‘Aaaaaah! Red wormsh for hair!’
    The pit pony and cart took off with unprecedented speed, the lantern bouncing and jolting before it.
    ‘Wait! Please! Don’t go!’ Neverfell’s words were lost amid the muffing of the mask and the echoes of the screams and pounding hoofs. She broke into a sprint, struggling
as the rocks beneath her feet rolled, crumbled and barked her shins. She saw both girls twisting around in their seats, mouths stretched in screams as a faceless monster pursued them in a lolloping
run, one hand clawing out to take hold of the rear of the cart. Zouelle’s features still held the remnants of her smile, and Borcas wore her lopsided ‘exercise’ Face. The shock
had been so great they had forgotten to change their expressions.
    As Neverfell tried to take hold of the back of the cart and clamber on to the luggage trolley, she felt a blow to her neck. In panic, Zouelle had snatched up a horsewhip by the wrong end and
swung it, so that the handle had hit Neverfell below the chin. Out of surprise and hurt Neverfell lost her grip, and then her footing, and tumbled to the ground, jarring her jaw. She could only
watch, winded, as the cart rattled away and the light of the lantern faded.
    ‘Please . . . please don’t run away from me . . .’
    As the cart receded, the