Shamanka Read Online Free PDF Page A

up again and again.

    We will now leap forward a week. With the aid of the magician’s notes Sam has built a false compartment into the orange crate she uses as a bedside cabinet. She’s hidden the witch doctor’s notebook and the goatskin pouch inside. Aunt Candy still hasn’t forgiven her for escaping from the attic. She’s thought of a devious way of getting rid of Lola while Sam’s at school today.
    School is not a happy place for Sam. She has no friends. It’s not that the other children are deliberately cruel; they just think she’s odd and leave her alone. They huddle in little gangs in the playground and play games she doesn’t know the rules for. Or they talk about television programmes she knows nothing about. Aunt Candy has no TV. No radio. No computer.
    Sam can never bring anyone home in case they tell the rest of the class about her drunken aunt and her poky bedroom. Then there’s the problem of her clothes. Although Sam dresses in the correct school colours – red and grey – her uniform is by no means standard; it’s made from chopped-down versions of Aunt Candy’s old circus outfits. All the other girls wear plain red-wool blazers, but Sam’s is made from silk and shot through with glitter. None of the teachers comment on her uniform, but the children do. Not to her face; they’re afraid of her in the way that some of us are scared of spiders no matter how many times we’re told they mean us no harm.
    Sam isn’t bothered about being friendless; she’s used to it. She enjoys her lessons, but the subject she
really
likes to study is People. She watches them constantly and makes notes, such as these:
    a) When people like something, their pupils dilate.
    b) People often scratch themselves when they are lying.
    c) Tugging the earlobes means people are nervous.
    She has been observing body language since she was a baby. Aunt Candy hardly ever spoke to her, and when she did, she slurred. Lola can’t talk human, so Sam learnt to read facial expressions instead, partly to make up for the lack of conversation, but also for self-defence.
    If the muscles in Aunt Candy’s jaw twitched, it meant she was about to scream. If the vein in her temple throbbed, it was a three-second warning that she was about to throw a vase at Sam’s head. Being able to predict this gave her a chance to duck out of the way.
    Sam can read people’s emotions even if they try to disguise them. Body language always gives them away: a scratch of the head, a twitch, a slightly unnatural grin. She notices and can calculate their state of mind with frightening accuracy.
    It’s morning break now, and she’s in the playground observing a group of children. Without hearing their conversation, she can tell they’re concerned about something they’ve found under the rose bushes by the art block. They don’t want to touch it; whatever it is must be dead. And it’s a small creature because they’re crouching over it. They look sorry for it, so it must be an animal that looks sweet in death, rather than a dried frog or a squashed rat. As they keep looking up at the window, she guesses it’s a bird that crashed into the glass pane and broke its neck.
    She’s right. It’s a sparrow. One of the smallest girls is stroking its head with a pencil. She doesn’t like to touch it with her hands.
    â€œAw, poor little fing. Wot a shame. Wish I could bring it back to life.”
    â€œDo you?” says Sam.
    The girls turn and look up at her, not quite sure why she’s there. They didn’t hear her coming.
    â€œGo away, you. It’s our dead bird,” says Smallest Girl.
    Sam kneels down and studies the bird.
    â€œI could bring it back to life if you like.”
    Smallest Girl stares at Sam and pulls a face.
    â€œNo, you can’t. It’s dead, look!” She prods it with her pencil again. “It’s gone