cutting off our retreat. Maybe it was you, messing around with their photo albums.’
Alex had moved away from the sewing-machine car now.
‘Maybe it’s because you stole some of their food and drank from their umbrellas without asking,’ he said.
‘Or because you nicked one of their cars,’ riposted Jordy, ‘and started taking it to bits.’
Chloe cried, ‘Stop arguing. They’re still coming.’
The villagers were indeed in an ugly mood. They were making low grating sounds in the back of their throats. It was an eerie noise which scared the three children, who began to back away into a corner, towards the edge of the attic. They were not used to violence, even though Jordy had done karate at one time, and had boxed a little. They were kids who came from neighbourhoods where things were settled with words rather than weapons. Alex and Chloe, especially, were beginning to get very frightened. Jordy put on a brave front, but he too felt the terror of the moment.
Just when it seemed the villagers were about to fall on them and start beating them, a bugle sounded from afar in the attic. There were startled looks on the faces of the advancing locals. They stopped dead in their tracks. One of them shouted something. They all began running back to their wardrobes where they took up stances of defence, as if they expected an attack.
Sure enough, out of the dusty columns of light came another set of villagers, all swishing golf clubs. They were also bearing makeshift shields: lids of cooking pots and dustbins. This group were generally thinner and less robust than the wardrobe people: they had a willowy appearance to them. They were just as bald, however, and carried just as much plaster dust on them, and had a similar number of lumps on their skulls.
The two groups stood about twenty metres apart and began to yell and wave their weapons at their adversaries, obviously each daring the other to come forward. Finally both sides rushed together and began striking their opponents with their various clubs. In the confusion the three children were forgotten. Chloe, Jordy and Alex made off as quickly as they could, running out into the wide open area of the attic, anxious to be gone once the combatants had finished their fight.
As well as Chloe’s bag they took with them a backpack they had found, filled with edible plants they had taken from the hydroponics beds. The ‘food’ was quite light, even when crushed down, and the boys took turns in carrying the backpack. With Chloe’s water bottle they were prepared for another trek across the attic. All of them had their particular cravings, of course: with Chloe it was chocolate; chicken tikka masala for Jordy; hamburger and chips with Alex. The vegetables they had to eat were nourishing and kept them alive, though they were hardly enjoyable.
But at least they wouldn’t starve to death.
Jordy could hear the sound of hockey stick on dustbin lid for quite a while, before the noise of battle faded away behind them.
After half a morning’s walk they came across another village, which Chloe called ‘the wash-tub village’ where the inhabitants obviously curled up in wooden tubs to go to sleep. They passed one or two tubs in which village children were resting, coiled neatly round like a length of rope on the deck of a sailing ship. It was possibly part of the reason why the wash-tub villagers were so lean.
Here there were no sewing-machine cars, but old golf trolleys propelled – or rather, yanked rapidly forward – by casting with a fishing rod, catching the fishing hook in a plank or rafter, and winding in the slack. This transport was not so efficient as the sewing-machine cars, but there was less to go wrong. The drivers sat astride the golf bag attached to the trolley, and balanced it on its two wheels with tremendous skill. When they reached the end of their lines they removed their hooks from the wood with sets of what looked like long-handled pliers.
The children watched enthralled as some of the villagers – obviously those who had chosen not to go to war with their fellows – were engaged in casting huge distances with heavy lead weights. They stared as the drivers then reeled in the line with astonishing speed, thus covering a great distance in a very short time.
‘We should try that,’ Jordy said. ‘Better than walking.’
‘The skill required,’ Alex pointed out, ‘must take years to acquire.’
The