The Fairy Rebel by Lynne Reid Banks Read Free Book Online Page B

at once that it wasn’t a rose at all. The stem had no thorns on it—it was smooth, and the petals were stiff.
    When they leaned over Bindi’s cot and put it intoher hand, she gurgled with pleasure and shook it, and it made exactly the sort of noises babies like best, a mixture of clicks and tonkles and pings and rattles, like all the musical instruments played in school—tambourines, triangles, drums and woodblocks—all in one.
    Jan and Charlie looked at each other across Bindi’s cot.
    “Of course it’s from Tiki,” said Jan. “It’s her birthday present to Bindi.”
    “So she’s back,” said Charlie.
    “Why doesn’t she show herself?”
    “She’s probably still having to lie low so as not to let the Queen notice her,” said Charlie.
    That evening, after the party, Jan went out and put a thank-you present under the pear tree. It was a little silver slipper she had taken off her own charm bracelet, with the smallest pink flower that she could find in it, and the cap-cup full of maple syrup. She picked a pink rose petal and laid it on the grass like a tablecloth and put the presents on it.
    Then she stood for a while. She didn’t dare call Tiki in case one of the Queen’s spies should hear her. Twilight came over the garden. Just when the last light was fading, Jan thought she felt the flutter of furry wings against her cheek and quickly turned to look—but there was nothing there. She sighed and went back indoors.
    Next morning, though, the maple syrup had been drunk, and the silver slipper had gone.

2
Rose-Presents
    Bindi grew.
    On her second birthday, there was a rose with a hollow stem. When Charlie blew up the stem, all the petals filled with air and opened, and soon the rose didn’t look anything like a rose—it looked like a balloon, a pink balloon with a funny, surprised face on it.
    But it was warmer and softer than a real balloon, and what’s more, it didn’t burst. It bobbed about on its stem beside Bindi’s bed and baby carriage for a whole year, and she played with it and loved it. On her third birthday, it shriveled up.
    But there was another rose that year. This one came to pieces. All the petals, which were hard, came out and could be fitted back together again. By the time Bindi was four, she had learnt a lot from that rose. On the eve of her fourth birthday, the puzzle-rose got lost.
    But Bindi didn’t notice. Because next day, beside her birthday cake, was a new rose with a very long stem. This one had thorns, but they weren’t sharp. Bindi soon found out that if you wiggled one, the rosewould tell you a story. The stories lasted, at the rate of a new one every week, for a whole year.
    On Bindi’s fifth birthday, the rose was made of some kind of sweet stuff. Bindi, like her mother, loved sweet things, and this rose didn’t last a year—it didn’t last a day. Every delicious petal was eaten before bedtime on her birthday. Each petal tasted different, and none tasted quite like any kind of candy Bindi had tasted before. The magic thing was that next day the rose was whole again, with a new lot of petals.… Bindi (and Jan) would have grown very fat indeed that year if Charlie hadn’t been firm. He put the candy away and only brought it out on special occasions.
    Bindi’s sixth rose had letters painted on every petal. The petals came apart and she could make words with the letters. If she spelled a word wrong, the petal with the right letter on it would jump into the right place. Bindi learned to spell simple words that year, which got her off to a good start in school.
    Just before her seventh birthday she was given a part in a school play. She was to play a queen. Bindi wasn’t pleased. Though she was ashamed to say so, she felt she’d rather die than get up on a stage and act.
    But then, on her birthday, the rose came. This time it was a big, billowy rose, and when she touched it, she realized that its petals were made of fine, fine silk. She tugged one, and it drew out