Attica - By Garry Kilworth Page 0,114

to speak to him. To Alex’s ears she sounded like a creaking gate, but he had heard the language before and knew it to be Attican. The boy answered her, defiantly it seemed, glaring at her. He kept pointing back into the darkness, in the direction where the Music Makers had come from. He seemed adamant about something. Finally Amanda let go of his ear. The Attican youth remained for a few more moments, still creaking away, then he ran off.

‘Well?’ asked Alex. ‘What was all that about?’

‘Fireworks.’

Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Fireworks? You mean bonfire night fireworks?’

‘That brat,’ she waved a hand at the departing child, ‘said the Organist had made a firework. A very big one. I don’t believe him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why make a firework? They had a box up here that went off once. The Removal Firm dealt with it, but it was terrible. It started a great fire which spread over a large area of the attic. They managed to put it out but if it hadn’t been close to a water tank the whole attic might have been destroyed. You can go to the place now and walk for three days over charred wood with charcoal beams overhead. Now the Removal Firm seek out any boxes of fireworks that are put up here and throw them in a water tank.’

‘But one firework – I doubt that would do much harm.’

Amanda shrugged. ‘Then what would be the point?’

Alex thought about it for a bit, then said, ‘I suppose – I guess it would depend on how big it was.’

‘The spy said the Organist had put torch batteries on it.’

‘That doesn’t sound right,’ admitted Alex. Then he asked, ‘Why did the boy tell you – about the firework?’

‘He said he was scared – he said they all are – they don’t like sudden loud noises, the village children. He said the Organist is bragging that it’ll make the loudest bang the attic has ever heard. That one said the other children had sent him as their messenger, behind the Organist’s back.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t believe it. I think it’s another one of his tricks.’

‘Does he think you’ll run, threatened by a firework?’

She shrugged again. ‘He’ll try anything. We’d better get some sleep now. We’ve got a long journey in the morning.’

Alex found himself a comfortable spot and curled up, trying to go to sleep. But something was bothering him. He kept thinking about the big firework and the batteries. In the middle of the night he woke up with a start. Something awful had come into his head. Something really bad. He went over to where Amanda lay and shook her.

‘Amanda! Did he say anything about a timepiece?’

‘Wha— who, what? What timepiece?’

‘Did the boy mention a timepiece of any kind?’

She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

The owl, guarding the camp, looked down with contempt on Alex from a rafter above his head.

Sleepily, Amanda said, ‘Oh – the firework. Yes, that was the stupidest part. The boy said the Organist had fixed a pocket-watch to the firework.’ She thought for a bit. ‘I suppose the Organist might have stolen one of my collection. Do you think he’s going to launch one of my watches into the high rafters on a skyrocket?’

‘No.’ Alex stared at her. ‘I think he’s made a time bomb.’

‘A bomb?’ Amanda shook her head in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘Why not? He’s crazy, isn’t he?’

‘A bit – well, quite a bit, actually.’ Amanda stared at Alex with wide eyes from behind her mask. ‘Do you really think he’d make a time bomb? Only anarchists do that, don’t they?’

‘We call them terrorists.’

Just at that moment Alex felt himself being gripped by strong hands. He tried to break away, but they held him fast. Looking round, he saw he was being held by two large Atticans wearing dustcoats. He recognised them as the same ones Nelson had chased off on the other side of the Great Water Tank. The others were standing close by. Six in all. One of the others tipped out the contents of Alex’s backpack. Among the things that fell out was the small camping stove, along with boxes of matches.

‘You let me alone,’ Alex cried. ‘Who do you think you are?’

‘The Removal Firm, that’s who they are,’ replied Amanda in a low voice. ‘Are those your matches, Alex?’

‘I only use them to light the stove. I need to cook my food.’

‘Oh, Alex,’ she said in a voice of despair. ‘You’re in very grave trouble.’

‘But

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