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box was narrow
enough to fit through it.
    ‘Here – sign this!’ She unbolted the hatch and pushed a receipt through it. Once the footman had signed it, Neverfell thrust the box through the hatch, and bolted it again.
‘There! Take it!’ She watched him depart through the spyhole, then leaned gasping against the door.
    I can sleep now, I can . . . no, wait! The next Sturton turning!
    She sprinted down the corridors to the Sturton room, and flung open the door. One sniff of the air told her that she was almost too late. The fumes from the unturned cheese were starting to turn
poisonous, and her eyes stung as she staggered forward towards the crank. Grandible was already crawling his way across the floor, jowls shaking as he choked on the now overpowering smell of
wildflowers. Holding her breath and closing her eyes, Neverfell cranked the handle and slowly inverted the Sturton. At last it found itself standing on its head, and began to settle.
    ‘Master Grandible!’ Neverfell ran to his side, all forgotten in her concern. It took a while for his breaths to steady.
    ‘Child . . . I shall forgive you your wakefulness. If I had slept on . . . the cheese would have been ruined. ’ This was clearly of far greater horror to him than the prospect
of his own demise. ‘Good . . . good work, Neverfell.’ His eyes rose to her face. ‘Why . . . why are you wearing your mask?’
    ‘Oh.’ Neverfell felt her skin tingle and grow hot as she removed the mask. ‘I . . . I . . . A footman came for a delivery . . . Madame Appeline . . .’
    And, looking into her master’s eyes, Neverfell was suddenly sure that he knew absolutely the reason for her stammer and the greasy cutter at her belt. Somehow he could see right through
her.
    ‘I wanted to protect you!’ she squeaked, giving up all hope of pretence.
    ‘Death’s gate,’ whispered Grandible. His expression was grim and dogged as ever, but suddenly he was ashen pale.

 

Spyders
    ‘What have I done? What have I done? I have done something terrible – what is it? I just wanted to help! I thought if I sent Madame Appeline what she wanted it
would make friends for you in the Court . . . I just wanted to keep you safe!’
    ‘Safe?’ Grandible’s face was still that of a statue, frozen and greyish with suppressed emotion. ‘Safe?’ His voice rose to a roar, tiny flecks of Stackfalter
Sturton falling out of his eyebrows. Neverfell gave a wordless squeak of apology as she was shaken like a doll and then abruptly thrust away.
    Master Grandible stared at her, one hand raised as if he were considering striking her. Then he reached out unsteadily and shoved at her shoulder with the flat of his hand. Neverfell quivered
and went nowhere, uncertain whether he wanted her to leave, unsure whether the gesture had been angry or affectionate.
    ‘A person I could trust,’ was all he said, and gave a small choking sound that she did not immediately recognize as a laugh. ‘That was what I thought. When I pulled you out of
the whey. You were so . . .’ He sighed and cupped his hands as if a small, damp kitten were resting its paws on his palms. ‘What more could I do? I boarded my doors against every
betrayal I could imagine. But there was one I never expected.’ He rasped his yellowing fingernails through his beard with a sound like a toothbrush war. ‘Ha. Betrayal for my own
good.’
    ‘What . . . what does it mean? What have I done?’
    ‘You have woken the spiders.’
    Master Grandible sometimes had an odd, unbalanced way of saying words that gave them new meanings. When he talked of ordinary spiders of the spindle-legged and spinning variety the word had its
usual ring. But here there was a greater weight on the first syllable, and second dusty and dead, almost inaudible. Spy . . . der.
    ‘Go and fetch the prune gin. Bring it to the reception room.’
    Neverfell ran off to fetch the bottle, her face burning and her stomach acid. She had gone so fast from lifesaver