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Kestrel under the other. Pinpin stood with her face pressed to his chest, and her short arms round his body. Ira Hath knelt behind Pinpin, and wrapped her arms over Bowman on one side and Kestrel on the other, making a tight ring. Then they all leaned their heads inwards until they were touching, and took turns to say their night wish. Often they wished for comical things, especially their mother, who had once wished five nights running for the Blesh family to get ulcerated boils. But tonight the mood was serious.
    ‘I wish there were no more exams ever,’ said Kestrel.
    ‘I wish nothing bad happens to Kess,’ said Bowman.
    ‘I wish my darling children to be safe and happy for ever,’ said their mother. She always wished like that when she was worried.
    ‘I wish the wind singer would sing again,’ said their father.
    Bowman nudged Pinpin, and she said, ‘Wish wish.’ Then they all kissed each other, bumping noses like they always did, because there wasn’t an agreed order. Then Pinpin was put to bed.
    ‘Do you think it’ll ever happen, pa?’ said Bowman. ‘Will the wind singer ever sing again?’
    ‘It’s only an old story,’ said Hanno Hath. ‘Nobody believes it any more.’
    ‘I do,’ said Kestrel.
    ‘You can’t,’ objected her brother. ‘You don’t know any more about it than anyone else.’
    ‘I believe it because nobody else believes it,’ she retorted.
    Her father smiled at that.
    ‘That’s more or less how I feel,’ he said.
    He had told them the old story many times before, but Kestrel wanted to hear it again. So to calm her down, he told them once more about the time long ago when the wind singer sang. Its song was so sweet that everyone who heard it was happy. The happiness of the people of Aramanth angered the spirit-lord called the Morah –
    ‘But the Morah’s not real,’ put in Bowman.
    ‘No, nobody believes in the Morah any more,’ said his father.
    ‘I do,’ said Kestrel.
    The Morah was angry, went the old story, and sent a terrible army, the army of the Zars, to destroy Aramanth. Then the people were afraid, and took the voice out of the wind singer, and gave it to the Morah. The Morah accepted the offering, and the Zars turned back without destroying Aramanth, and the wind singer never sang again.
    Kestrel became very excited as she heard this.
    ‘It’s true!’ she cried. ‘There’s a place in the wind singer’s neck for the voice to go. I’ve seen it!’
    ‘Yes,’ said Hanno. ‘So have I.’
    ‘So the story must be true.’
    ‘Who knows?’ said Hanno quietly. ‘Who knows?’
    Kestrel’s words reminded them all of her defiance that afternoon, and they fell silent.
    ‘Maybe they’ll just forget about it,’ said Ira Hath hopefully.
    ‘No,’ said Hanno. ‘They won’t forget.’
    ‘We’ll have to go down to Maroon District,’ said Bowman. ‘I don’t see what’s so bad about that.’
    ‘The apartments are quite small. We’d all have to sleep together in the one room.’
    ‘I’d like that,’ said Bowman. ‘I’ve always wanted us to sleep in one room.’
    Kestrel thanked him with her eyes, and his mother kissed him and said, ‘You’re a dear boy. But your father snores, you know.’
    ‘Do I?’ said Hanno, surprised.
    ‘I’m quite used to it,’ said his wife, ‘but the children may be kept awake for a while.’
    ‘Why don’t we try it?’ said Bowman. ‘Why don’t we practise for Maroon District tonight?’
    They took the mattresses from the twins’ beds, and carried them into their parents’ room. There stood the big bed, with its bedspread in stripes of many colours: pink and yellow, blue and green, colours rarely seen in Aramanth. Ira Hath had made it herself, as a small act of rebellion, and the children loved it.
    By pushing the big bed against the far wall they could fit both mattresses side by side on the floor, but there was no room left to walk on, and certainly no space for Pinpin’s cot. So they decided Pinpin would