of two talented and willin’ rodents, who danced their socks off to my beautiful music? Who do you think trained the rhythms into ’em? Old Nick? Who put the skill in their little feet? Who gave ’em the music to make ’em dance? This food is payment. Mine. You can bugger off, if you like, and leave my wages where they be, thank you.’
Jordy felt the grip relax and he wrenched his hand free, so that he could run back into the forest of clocks.
Once he’d got away he stood there panting and sweating.
Who the heck was that? Was it human?
Jordy gathered his courage and went back, to stare out at his erstwhile captor.
It was indeed a person. It was a tall powerful-looking boy in a thick ankle-length raincoat with many folds. On his feet were knee-length leather boots with heavy heels. On his head was a broad-brimmed felt hat with a wide floppy brim. You could imagine rain pouring off that brim as the rugged face beneath stared out over unexplored regions.
‘Hey!’ cried Jordy. ‘Are you a local or are you like me?’
The boy looked up from his task of chewing a sweetmeat. There was a tough air about him. He had a jutting jaw that made granite look like soft sandstone.
‘Human? Was once, I s’pose.’
‘I’m human too.’
‘You be a bloody nuisance, that’s what you be.’
It had been a long time since Jordy had talked to another member of his own species.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked. ‘Can I come out there and talk with you?’
‘If you do I’ll break your neck.’
‘No you won’t.’
The squatting youth looked up from his eating again and seemed to sigh.
‘Come on out then, but mind, I live up here ’cause I don’t like my own kind. I prefer the company of rats to people. But you look lost, boy. Come on out and tell me the tale of woe.’
Jordy set his jaw. ‘It’s not a tale of woe,’ he argued, stepping out of the clock forest. ‘There’s no woe in it. I’m simply missing a bit of company. My brother and sister are around somewhere, and when I find them I couldn’t care less what you do – whether you hate people or not – but until I find them I haven’t got anyone else to talk to.’
‘I’m not sure if I care for that or no – I think I don’t. But come anyway, if you must.’
Jordy squatted down near his new companion.
‘Was that an Irish jig you were playing?’
‘It was a jig all right, but not all jigs have to be Irish. It were a sailor’s tune, learned from sailors. I might have been one once. Hard to remember now.’
‘What are you doing up here – in the attic? Are you lost?’
Jordy had been about to add ‘like me’ but pride held back the words in the end.
‘Nope. I like it here.’ The youth was eating what looked like the roasted leg of a bird. ‘It’s peaceful and unbothersome.’
‘Can I have some of that?’ Jordy pointed to the meat. ‘I’ll swop you for some apples I found.’
The boy gave Jordy three cold drumsticks.
‘Here – but keep your shrivelled old apples.’
‘How do they cook it?’ asked Jordy. ‘I haven’t seen any fires.’
‘And you won’t,’ replied the boy. ‘They use lenses – from telescopes, binoculars, magnifying glasses. With lenses you can cook something under direct sunlight without producing a naked flame.’
Jordy ate the bird with relish wondering why a naked flame was so much of a problem. ‘You better watch out for those rats,’ he told his companion, ‘or Nelson will have them for breakfast.’
‘Nelson bein’ …?’
‘Our cat. He’s got three legs.’
‘Kind of guessed that, by his name. If he kills my boys though, I’ll skin him alive and eat him too. What’s a damn cat doing up here in the attic? Who let him up here?’
Jordy felt a little shame. ‘I guess we did.’
‘Huh! Well, you’ve been warned.’
‘So have you. Nelson won’t listen to me. He doesn’t listen to anyone. All I’m saying is, watch your rats. If they dance in front of Nelson he’ll think it’s Christmas.’
Suddenly the youth grinned at Jordy over a legbone.
‘I’m beginnin’ to like you, boy,’ he said. ‘You’ve got some grit about you. Most of the lost ones up here cry for their mummies. This is a good, generous land up here, if you know how to live. I do and I like it.’
‘How did you come to be up here?’ asked Jordy, taking a swig of