Attack of the Cupids by John Dickinson Page A

♥ff!’ said the cupid.
    â€˜Oh, sorry,’ said Muddlespot. ‘My mistake.’
    â€˜
Hai, Hai!
’ cried Windleberry, fighting the Good Fight as only he could. Cupids were flying in all directions – mostly without wanting to. He had one by the ankles and was using it as a club. It was swearing horribly.
    â€˜Everything – you say,’ gasped Windleberry, ‘will be – taken down and used in evidence . . . Sally –
duck
!’
    â€˜Quack,’ said Sally, and dropped to the floor. Windleberry hurled the cupid through the air. It caught the two remaining cupids and knocked them off their feet just as they loosed their shots. One arrow went high into the air, whistling up out of the great window and into the wide world. The other hissed over Windleberry’s shoulder and—
    â€˜OW!’ cried Muddlespot.
    â€˜I’ll have that,’ said Windleberry, disarming the stunned cupids. ‘And those. Now be
off
with you.’He tossed them one after another out of the window.
    â€˜What did they want?’ said the Inner Sally.
    â€˜To change your life,’ said Windleberry. He took a cupid bow, tested it, and made to break it over his knee. Then he stopped himself and put it down thoughtfully.
    â€˜I could have handled them,’ said Sally.
    â€˜So many people think that.’
    â€˜What’s the matter with him?’
    In the far corner of the chamber lay Muddlespot, flat on his back with his arms wide. He was not moving.
    â€˜There were a lot of arrows flying about,’ said Sally doubtfully. ‘Do you think he stopped one?’
    They bent over the recumbent form.
    Feeling just a little self-conscious, Windleberry patted his foe gently on the cheek. ‘Are you all right?’
    Muddlespot opened his eyes.
    â€˜My win,’ said Ismael, relieved. ‘Everybody take a look round and see what a fine day it is. Be thankful for it.’
    â€˜Sure,’ said Scattletail sourly. ‘Done that. Now deal again.’
    Flick, flick, flick
went the cards.
    WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeTHUMP!
went something else.
    â€˜Erk!’ went Billie.
    She stiffened. Slowly she slumped forward onto the table. Ismael stared at her. There was something, he saw, sticking out of her back. He blinked at it once, twice, before the things his eyes were seeing made sense in his shocked brain. With a horrible, cold, crawling feeling he recognized it for what it was – the butt of a golden arrow, protruding from between her shoulder blades.
    There was even a calling card attached to it. With a pink heart.
    â€˜Holy cow!’ he gasped.
    Scattletail was also staring at it, mouth gaping. ‘Where did
that
come from?’
    â€˜Billie? Speak to us, Billie – are you OK?’
    Slowly Billie lifted her head. Her eyes were wide. They were shining. Her lips broke slowly into the most glorious smile. One look at her was enough to tell Ismael that it was far, far too late to do anything.
    â€˜It’s him,’ she whispered. ‘It’s him!’
    She ran to the great windows like the Lady of Shalott running to see Sir Lancelot ride between the barley-sheaves.
    â€˜Er – who exactly . . .?’ Scattletail sounded nervous.
    â€˜
Him!
’
    A yell rang out across the rec. The girls looked up, startled. None of them had noticed that Billie had wandered a little way from the group.
    â€˜Hey,’ she called, down to the street where the boys were wheeling to and fro. ‘Hey,
Tony
!’
    The boys were looking up at her. Everyone was looking at her. She scampered down the field to the fence. Out in the road Tony Hicks, demigod of Year Twelve, skidded to a halt.
    â€˜Hey, Tony!’ said Billie, holding the railings and bouncing up and down. ‘You want to come in? Come in and have something to eat!’
    Tony had joined the Year Nine boys riding up and down the road because he had nothing else to do (except