Attica - By Garry Kilworth Page 0,116

thing was a hoax. Perhaps the Organist had made a fake bomb and had then taken it apart and scattered the pieces over a large area? But then why would he run? That bit didn’t make sense. He had fought Amanda for years over this territory. Why would he abandon it just because the Removal Firm were close by?

Yet where was the bomb? They had looked everywhere.

At that moment Amanda’s watches began to chime the hour.

It was noon.

Among the tunes that started up came the one that had been haunting him.

He put words to it in his head:

Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques …

There it was! That was it. The bothersome sound.

… dormez vous? dormez vous? …

‘Out of the way!’ cried Alex, jumping up and leaping over the heads of the Removal Firm.

He ran to the pillar of watches.

… sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines …

All the chiming watches were in full sound now, spilling out their own tinkling variations.

… ding, dang, dong …

Alex scraped away at the base of the pillar, scattering Amanda’s precious collection over the boards.

… ding …

There was the bomb! There Mr Grantham’s watch! There the batteries!

… dang …

Alex ripped out the wires, tore away the watch.

… dong.

Alex fell back, sweating, the watch in his palm. He felt drained. He held up the pocket-watch and looked at its hands. The hour hand had been bent inwards so that when it reached it, it would touch the metal figure 12. Hair-thin wires were connected to both. Vertical noon. It had almost made it. Almost. If it had touched that would have completed the circuit and detonated the bomb. How close it had been! After a while he was aware of a ring of faces above him, looking down on him. Amanda was smiling. He could see the curve of her mouth below her mask. He could see the twinkle in her eyes. There was hero worship in those eyes.

‘Alex, you did it. You found the bomb. You are so clever.’

She gently took the pocket-watch from his hand.

He explained. ‘I heard the tune. I’ve been hearing it all day, somewhere in the distance. But it didn’t connect until now. Frère Jacques. You said you hadn’t got a watch that chimed Frère Jacques.’

‘And I don’t. I didn’t. The Organist must have found it himself, while he was out looking for musical instruments.’

Alex sat up. ‘It nearly did for us, that French monk’s song. If the bomb had gone off – well, I think it would have brought the pillar down.’ Alex slapped the wooden support. ‘And if that one had come down, they would all have started snapping.’ He looked up. ‘The roof of the world would fallen on our heads.’

Once this had sunk in, Amanda interpreted it for the Removal Firm, who all nodded their heads sagely and patted the pillar.

Amanda turned back to Alex and said, ‘They agree with you – they say you saved the whole attic from destruction.’ Her eyes showed how proud she was to be associated with him. ‘Oh, Alex.’

He shrugged modestly. ‘Anyone would have.’

‘No, they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t have the brains. An engineer’s brains. However …’ She looked downcast.

Alex said, ‘What is it?’

‘They – they say you can’t stay. You have to go. Go back to where you came from. You’re a risk, you see. You play with fire.’ She looked into his eyes again. ‘But they won’t arrest you. You’re free to go. In your own time.’

‘That’s nice,’ he remarked sarcastically, then said, ‘Oh well, you can’t fight the Removal Firm. Will they let you take me?’

‘Yes – they trust me.’

‘That’s all right then.’

Alex turned away. He felt a little flat now. The saviour of the world ought, he felt, to be given a parade or something. But they wanted him to go: said he had to go. He’d broken the rules, the law of the attic. All right, he’d take his punishment. He knew he had done one of the best things in his life. Something he would never forget. They couldn’t take that away from him. Nobody could. It was his moment and they all knew it too.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, turning and shaking their hands, one by one. ‘May all your removals be as easy as this one.’

They looked surprised. They probably weren’t used to shaking hands, he thought. Maybe they didn’t do such things? But they looked pleased. These were the guardians of the attic, the preservers of wood and life up here among the beams and timbers. And he,

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