Let the Dance Begin

  To Jenny Fell, my clever friend who knows the names of wild flowers, the calls of birds, and who showed me where Cassandra Marramgrass lives.

  And thanks to Sara Byers who lent me her shell sculpture for inspiration.

  First published in Great Britain in 2009

  by Piccadilly Press Ltd,

  5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR

  www.piccadillypress.co.uk

  Text copyright © Lynda Waterhouse, 2009

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any

  means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

  without the prior permission of the copyright owner

  The right of Lynda Waterhouse to be identified as Author of this work

  has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978 1 85340 982 0 (paperback)

  eBook ISBN: 978 1 84812 180 5

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Printed in theUK by CPI Bookmarque Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4RD

  Cover design by Simon Davis

  Cover illustration by Sue Hellard

  Extract from The Book of Faeries and Other Strange Creatures by Nathaniel Relyveld, 1847:

  The Sand Sprites

  Little is known about these mysterious creatures apart from the fact that they live inside sand dunes and follow the rules set down in a book: The Sands of Time. They are winged creatures that have lost the ability to fly.

  Male sand sprites are known as sand farers, and spend long periods of time travelling the deserts of the globe in sand galleons, or go to sea. Young males are known as surf boys. They spend their time (earning the ways of the sea, preparing to be sand farers.

  Female sand sprites either sift the sand to keep it pure, or those with the most talent for dancing become sand dancers. Sand dancers train for many a long year until they can perform the secret dune dances. Their feelings run deep and, when thwarted, they can bear a grudge.

  Let us not forget the ancient belief that if they stop dancing then disaster will strike the earth.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  ‘Hope is like a strong wind;

  it can carry a grain of sand over thousands of miles.’

  The Sands of Time

  Cassandra Marramgrass sneaked away from her birthday tea party. She was feeling very grumpled and needed some time alone. Feeling grumpled was a strange mixture of sadness, happiness and crossness, and she always felt grumpled on her birthday. It was the day she missed her mother the most.

  Cassie climbed out of the dune and crept as close to the beach as she dared. No one would miss her for a while. Her only guests were old Mrs Sandpiper, Lena Sealovage and her Aunt Euphorbia, and they were far too busy drinking endless cups of sage tea and gossiping to notice she’d slipped away.

  It was a cold afternoon and the wind whirled around her flowing pink dress, which had been a present from Aunt Euphorbia. The wind whipped up grains of salty damp sand which stuck to her face, but she didn’t care – for the first time that day her unhappy feelings melted away. Her heart beat wildly as it pumped hot fiery thoughts around her body making her feel powerful and strong. She picked up a pebble and hurled it as far as she could towards a large rock, waiting for the thudding sound as it crashed into the sand.

  ‘OUCH!’ A small surf boy popped out from behind the rock, rubbing his head and looking cross.

  ‘Rubus!’ Cassie smiled as she ran towards her friend. ‘Are you all right?’

  The boy stopped rubbing his head and stood up straight. ‘’Course I am. Takes more than a tiny stone to hurt me.’ He shook his wings and stretched out his skinny brown arms in a sand surfing pose and grinned at her. His skin was tanned by the sun and his loose, sandy hair was tangled by sea breezes.

  Cassie sat down on the edge of the rock as she checked that no one else was around. Female sand sprites were not supposed to leave the safety of the dune and they certainly weren’t supposed to talk to surf boys – not until they were old enough to be considered true sand farers, anyway.

  But Rubus and Cassie had been friends since they were sand babies. Cassie could talk to Rubus about anything that was on her mind. Rubus always seemed to know exactly how Cassie felt, sometimes even before she knew it herself. They had both lost their parents in the Great Sandstorm seven years ago. But while it was known that Rubus’s parents and Cassie’s father had perished while helping others caught in the sandstorm, Cassie’s mother had just vanished. Cassie knew that she was probably dead, but she badly needed to find out what had actually happened to her – and Rubus understood this more than anyone.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve brought me any snacks?’ Rubus sniffed and scratched his chest, releasing the fresh tangy smell of seaweed. Cassie took out a large samphire bun and Rubus gobbled it down.

  ‘Euphorbia always makes you a good birthday tea,’ he mumbled between mouthfuls.

  ‘She wouldn’t approve of your terrible manners – talking and eating at the same time! You’d get a big frown for doing that.’ Cassie pulled a face. Then she folded her long dress around her legs and stared out to sea. ‘How is the sand surfing going?’

  Rubus’s sea-green eyes glistened. ‘It’s so much harder than sand boarding because you have to control the sail as well as the board. But I raced the other day and I came in fifth. There’s a lot of work to be done, but I’m learning all the time. I’ll take you out for a ride if you like.’

  Cassie sighed. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t stay too long.’

  Rubus swallowed the last crumb of samphire bun and wiped his mouth. ‘That’s a shame. I was hoping you’d give this a try.’ He reached behind the rock and pulled out a long piece of smooth, shaped driftwood.

  Cassie gasped. ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘All yours,’ Rubus replied. ‘Happy birthday!’

  Cassie stared open-mouthed. ‘My very own sand board!’ she said eventually.

  Rubus blushed. ‘You’ve been wittering on about wanting one for long enough and I was sick of lending you mine. It’s about time you had one of your own!’

  Cassie jumped up and carefully hitched up her dress. ‘Come on, Rubus. I’ll show you!’

  Rubus grabbed his own board and, giggling, they clambered to the nearest sand dune. Cassie glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then balanced herself carefully on the oval wood. Slowly, she shifted her weight forward and felt exhilaration flood through her as the board tilted downwards and began to slide, scuffing the sand and picking up speed all the way down, while Rubus weaved his board in and out of her path.

  After about half an hour of running up and racing down the dunes, Cassie collapsed in a heap of giggles. ‘That was such good fun. You knew I’ve always wanted my own board. Thank you, Rubus. I’ll practise every day when I come home from school.’

  Rubus smoothed the sand off his board. ‘You certainly look less grumpled now. The look on your face earlier would have turned back th
e tide!’ He pulled an exaggerated cross face.

  Cassie stuck out her tongue and waggled her ears at him. ‘I can’t help the way I look. Besides, it’s against the Rules for a surf boy to speak so impolitely!’

  Rubus’s green eyes sparkled as he said, ‘You must be breaking a few Rules at the moment.’

  Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘Rules schmooles! There are 623 Rules in The Sands of Time so I’m bound to break at least one every five minutes! From now on I am going to spend all my free time sand boarding.’

  Rubus laughed. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be dancing? I hear the dance school over at Dreamy Dune is going to be opening again. And there are now only 622 Rules for you to break. Rule 623 has been repealed – it’s no longer forbidden to dance in public.’

  ‘Yes, the school reopening is all anyone’s talking about,’ Cassie replied. ‘I wonder why it’s happening now, after it’s been closed for seven years.’ She tugged at her hair. ‘I know it is supposed to be every sand sprite’s dream to be the prima dune dancer, but it’s not mine. You have to be really special to be a sand dancer, and only the best become dune dancers. I’m not nearly good enough.’

  ‘Sand dancers all think they’re so special, anyway, so dune dancers must be really awful! I’m glad you don’t want to be one.’ Rubus pulled himself into a classic sand dancer pose and put on a squeaky voice. ‘I am a sand dancer! Don’t spoil my dress. I have to look beautiful at all times! My wings will only flutter and flap when I’m dancing!’ He picked up a handful of seaweed and draped it over his head and shrieked. ‘My hair … don’t mess with my hair! It took me three days to get it just right.’

  He collapsed on the sand and rolled around laughing.

  Cassie mimed pumping up her arm muscles and put on a deep voice. ‘And surf boys think that they are so cool, but they are so dumb!’

  ‘That’s not fair, Cassie,’ Rubus said, his eyes flashing. ‘We have to understand the flow of the tides and the science of the waves, as well as care about all the sea life. We also deliver messages because we are not the ones with the reputation for bearing grudges!’

  ‘At least female sand sprites take things to heart – which is why we are good at bearing grudges. Sand dancers dress to blend in with the dunes, and when the dune dancers dance, they make the dunes sing,’ Cassie retorted.

  Rubus looked surprised. ‘I never knew that it was the dancing that made the dunes sing.’

  Cassie sighed. ‘Why does everyone have to keep to their separate ways? There’s so much we can learn from each other!’

  ‘It’s supposed to keep us safe.’ Rubus peeped out at her from beneath his long fringe of sun-bleached hair.

  ‘Surely you have to feel a bit of danger in order to appreciate being safe? It makes me mad! The only dance I’m good at performing is the Rage Stomp! And I feel one coming on right now!’

  Rubus and Cassie stomped their feet, spun around and around, and chanted:

  ‘Rat a tat rage

  Rat a tap rage

  Feelings surge

  Like an angry wave.’

  Cassie swirled around three times, swishing her hair around her head so that Rubus had to duck out of the way. They both stomped furiously and then flopped down, exhausted, on the beach.

  Cassie looked at Rubus. ‘Your dancing’s getting better.’

  ‘Just don’t tell anyone. I don’t care what we’re meant or not meant to do, but I certainly don’t want the other surf boys teasing me. Your stomp was great, though!’

  Rubus chewed on a piece of sea grass and said in a soft voice, ‘You could always try to get into the dance school. I thought you might want to join the dance school because …’ He paused.

  ‘Because of my mother,’ Cassie finished. She took a long deep sigh. ‘Marina Marramgrass was the finest prima dune dancer ever. Look at me. I am nothing like her. My hair is light – like bleached sand. My eyes are blue instead of green and my nose is flat and squidgy as if it has a barnacle on the end. Marina could twist and turn her body in the most amazing ways. My arms and legs are floppy and have a mind of their own. Everything about my mother was perfect. What is the point in even trying?’ Cassie felt her toes beginning to itch into a rage stomp again and her eyes prickle with tears.

  ‘If only she hadn’t gone out that night when the sandstorm struck.’ Cassie chewed her lip and her wings trembled. There was a faraway look in her eyes. ‘I always wonder what happened to her. No one seems able to tell me.’

  Rubus suddenly dropped the stick that he was digging with in the sand. ‘Wouldn’t the dance school be a good place to try to find out what happened that night? Didn’t you say you once overheard your Aunt Euphorbia telling someone that your mother was heading there that evening? Sandringham Dance School reopening is the perfect opportunity. Didn’t your mother love the place? You need to go there.’

  Cassie’s toes began to tap. ‘Me, at dance school? That is such a ridiculous idea!’

  ‘But you might find something out!’ Rubus insisted.

  ‘Like how hopeless I am at dancing,’ Cassie replied. ‘I’d never get in, anyway.’

  As she watched the dark clouds knitting a frown across the sun, Cassie was reminded of her aunt’s eyebrows. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she said.

  Rubus looked out to sea. ‘Have you ever wondered what’s out there beyond the sand dunes and the sea?’ His face flickered with feeling, and it seemed to Cassie that his eyes changed colour in the way that a cloud passing over a rock pool changes it from green to grey.

  ‘All the time,’ Cassie said as she picked up her sand board and raced back towards Mite Cove.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Follow your heart, be good and kind,

  and never pollute the sand.’

  The Sands of Time

  Cassie squeezed herself through a small peephole that led back inside Mite Cove. You were not supposed to leave the dune without permission – and you certainly weren’t supposed to spend unsupervised time with surf boys.

  Mite Cove was such a small, isolated place – a dune bug trip away from Silica City, with its vast network of dunes. All there was at Mite Cove was a sand factory where everyone worked sifting sand, a small square of shopping stalls and thehoneycomb of kutches – as the holes hollowed out of the dune, where the sand sprites lived, were called. Cassie sighed. In a couple of years she would be expected to work in the factory; every female sprite needed to help restore and repair the dunes.

  Cassie often used this peephole, situated in a deserted dune walkway, when she needed to escape – or to hide things. She slipped the sand board on to a ledge and then walked slowly back to the small kutch that she shared with her aunt. Rubbing some dune sand on her feet and arms to dampen the smell of fresh sea air that clung to her, she tiptoed inside.

  Aunt Euphorbia was sitting by the fire snoring. Cassie felt a pang of guilt. All the dishes had been washed and the heavy shutters over the peephole had been closed, and that was really a two-sprite job. On the table was a slice of wild honey cake and a battered old box.

  Cassie took a bite of the cake. All that sand boarding had made her hungry again.

  She sat at the table munching and stared at the box. It looked too old and battered to be another birthday present. Was it meant for her? Surely there would be no harm in looking. She flicked open the box and peered inside. There, wrapped in a delicate gossamer fabric, was a pair of dancing shoes. Cassie carefully took them out. They were a deep red and made of very soft silk. The soles were worn and the silk was faded.

  Euphorbia slowly opened her eyes. ‘They were your mother’s favourite pair,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like them. There are so few things left that belonged to her. Marina had such tiny feet.’

  Cassie held one up. ‘They’d almost fit me now. Perhaps if I wore them I’d be good at dancing.’

  Euphorbia’s dark eyebrows knitted together in a big frown. She picked up her walking stick and banged it on the table. ‘Dancing causes nothing
but misery and heartbreak. Think yourself lucky that you are going to be one of the few Marramgrasses who does not go to dance school!’

  Euphorbia joined Cassie at the table and she fixed her with her dark brown eyes. She reached out and brushed Cassie’s hair from her face. Her hands were rough from doing too many shifts at the sand factory.

  Cassie held the dancing shoes tighter. She liked the feeling of softness next to her skin. They smelled of roses and sea kelp with a hint of sea breezes – her mother’s favourite perfume.

  Euphorbia watched her carefully as she said, ‘You know Sandringham Dance School will be holding auditions soon. It seems that everyone is full of the news and wants to give it a try. It’s just as well you don’t like dancing or I would have had to forbid you to go.’

  Cassie sat silently, finishing her cake.

  Euphorbia smiled. ‘Despite what it says in The Sands of Time, being a sand dancer is not so special.’ She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘You are probably more like your father. He was a free spirit – and you’re always sneaking off! He was always laughing and joking. He never took anything too seriously.’

  ‘He was a great sand farer, though,’ Cassie said.

  ‘The finest. No one could control a sand galleon like he could. He said steering a ship was like wresting a jellyfish with one hand tied behind your back.’ Euphorbia chuckled. Then her expression changed. ‘He was very brave during the Great Sandstorm. He rescued lots of sand sprites. When he heard Marina was missing he raced off straight into the eye of the storm.’ Euphorbia’s voice went quiet and she twisted her fingers in her lap before she swallowed and continued. ‘I have not told you this before – it is not something I am proud of – but you are old enough now to understand how important it is for sand sprites to keep control of their feelings. Your mother and I quarrelled on the night of the sandstorm.’